21st Century Storytelling: How Cliché Killed the Three Act Structure and Forced Us to Write Four Acts… Sort of

Moviemaking today is a different beast than it was 20 years ago. Storytelling has changed.  None of this is news.  Screenwriters everywhere (yours truly, included) write and rewrite in an attempt to grasp what “makes a movie”.  This concept is clear as mud to some and completely inherent to others.  However, it seems like this shift took place around the turn of the century and the problem is only going to get worse.

Take this scene for example. A man walks into a dark house. He calls out.  No answer.  The hardwood floor creaks as he walks across the floor. At this point the audience plays all the potential scenarios in their head.  They’ve literally seen this one hundred times.  THUD! A figure in dark clothes knocks him unconscious.  SURPRISE! His wife planned a Birthday party for him. One step further, SURPRISE then THUD.  He has a heart attack.  We’ve seen it all. Audiences are so in tune to visual storytelling that by the time they’re fifteen minutes into the film, they’re already sizing up the ending. They recognize the archetypes.  They see the set ups and are conditioned for the pay-offs. Much of screenwriting focuses on keeping away from cliché choices.  I’m sure that as you read my “guy in a dark house” setup many of you were writing in  your head how you’d do it differently.  That’s good writing and we should fight cliché. However, the problem I see it is with Cliché with a capital “C”.

Individual choices are relatively easy to navigate away from cliché. The larger issue is Cliché in our main plot.  I think Romantic Comedies should go away.  There’s really only one ending in a Romantic Comedy… they end up together.  The only variation is how far apart your characters begin and the journey that brings them together.  The problem is, even if you put them on different planets, we know they will end up together.  Rom Com writers continue to look for fresh ways of telling the same story, but it’s the same story.  While this genre is possibly the most closed, the same holds for other genres as well.
In a crime story, the bad gets caught, or he gets away.  This is an oversimplification but the point holds true.  We’ve seen just about every variation.  We’ve sat through the Act 1 setup, watched the story develop through Act 2 until things look their darkest and cheered our hero to victory in the third act, or commiserated as they failed, tragically.

This brings us to 20th Century vs. 21st Century films.  Many writers, knowingly or unknowingly have uncovered a trick that plays with Cliché and keeps the audience invested.  There are many theories and methods out there on how to structure your story.    Without setting one as the way to go, or another as crap, I’d like to propose an addendum to how you write.   It’s meant to work with whatever else you use in your writing process.  Since, as writers we like to name things, I’ll call it the Two Movie Method .

With the last three or four screenplays I’ve written, the first half of the script rocks.  They’re not perfect, but they work on many levels and the story is there. However, coming out of the back nine, the story loses steam.  It became clear to me that, outside the opening and ending of your film, the most important beat in a film is the… midpoint.  Your story needs to take a dramatic turn that is new, fresh and makes the second half
of your film a different movie.  Others have written about this moment in their tomes on craft, but I’m not sure it’s ever been adequately expressed.

As much as we all love movies, and damn I love me the movies, television is our society’s primary source of visual stories. Television does things movies can’t (although with franchises and sequels, they’re trying).  Each week we tune in to the adventures of our favorite characters. There’s very little setup needed because we already know the players.  A film (think original story) has to set up the characters and setting… the world.  By the midpoint, roughly an hour long television program in, we know where it’s going.  That’s why we need a second episode  to spin our heads out of cliché mode and disorient us just enough to turn off our brains and enjoy the ride.

The structure of this method then looks like this.  We have Act 1 and Act 2 of our first story leading to the midpoint.  Instead of resolution, our midpoint careens the story in an entirely new direction.  This is essentially a new movie.  However, because we already got our character set up in the first movie, we go straight to Act 2 of the second story followed by Act 3 which is the resolution of both stories.

This is our task as screen writers.  Create a compelling what if? This presumably is resolved at the end of the film, but instead gets answered at the midpoint and the answer to the what if kicks us off in a new more urgent direction for the second half of the film.  In our third act we find out how our what if and our second half plot are related in the film’s final climax.  And, of course, all of this needs to be accomplished without the use of cliché or Cliché.  It’s a daunting task, but not insurmountable.

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Pitchfests: Are They Worth It? (part 2)

Let’s assume that you’re ready to pitch. You’re well prepared and there’s no danger of wasting anyone’s time. There are still two major problems with pitchfests.  As long as you consider attempting to sell yourself as a talented, capable and friendly writer while also conveying how your story is an amazingly well written, marketable star vehicle, in a scant five minutes, a small or mid-size problem.

The first major problem is expectations.  Writers place too much value on these events.  In our imaginative minds, we conjure up life changing events happening across folding tables with blue tablecloths in function rooms named for famous buildings in New York.

The second major problem is, who’s on the other side of the table.  So often, large companies send an assistant to an assistant to listen to your pitch.  I pitched to a person from a well-known cable network. I spent 2-3 minutes, out of the five minutes allotted, convincing this professional that the pirates in my modern re-telling of Swiss Family Robinson were, in fact, modern pirates.  The conversation went a bit like this.

UNNAMED EXECUTIVE
How does the family end up on the island

ME
They escape from pirates by working together.

UNNAMED EXECUTIVE
Pirates?

ME
Yes.

UNNAMED EXECUTIVE
Old-time pirates?

ME
No.  Off-the-Somali-coast pirates.

No response.

ME
Unfortunately there are still pirates.

UNNAMED EXECUTIVE
Is this a dream or real life?

ME
Real life.  It’s actually only part of the story.
It’s mostly about how the family works
together on the island.

UNNAMED EXECUTIVE
Are the pirates the ummmm… You know…

ME
Aarrrrrgh pirates?

UNNAMED EXECUTIVE
Yes.

ME
No.  Completely modern.

A few more exchanges down the road it came out that this network had passed on a pirate movie.  The reason they passed, and I should add that this is a network geared toward children, was that kids don’t identify with pirates.  That’s right, a network battling Disney turned down someone else’s pirate script because kids don’t see pirate movies.  Evidently, Pirates of the Caribbean was not about pirates, or not successful.  I’m still not sure which.

I highly doubt that they really turned down the story because it wasn’t something that kids would connect with.  However, that doesn’t even matter. My pitch was dead because this woman was so afraid that bringing a pirate movie to her boss would call into question her judgment or, in an extreme case, cause her to get fired.  She was not a decision maker.  I don’t even think she was the person below the decision maker.  The person sitting across the table from me was a glorified errand person whose main goal was to not screw up.

A friend gave me a great piece of advice for pitchfests.  Don’t try to sell your script.  Build a fan base.  No one sells his or her scripts at these events.  Sure, it might have happened once, but this is not what happens. Hollywood, and even the larger world of filmmaking, is a small world.  Someone you pitch to today may be someone ready to work with you later on down the line.  Hollywood is a “who you know” business, so get to know people.

I do think these events are helpful.  Two managers really liked my ideas and another production company showed genuine interest as well.  Will anything come of this? Perhaps, but probably not.  That’s the way it goes. Although, that’s not the point.  The value, in my estimation, is that people who do this for a living, who aren’t my friends or colleagues, liked what I’m doing.  It was independent verification that I’m on the right track.  I still have a long way to go, but this was another small step toward… something.

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Satisfying Endings and Superbowls

My intention for today was to post the second part of blog on pitching and pitchfests. However, I was motivated by the drama of the grid iron and wanted to discuss something a bit different.

There is something captivating about sport.  For me the appeal is the unscripted raw drama that plays out in real time before our very eyes.  There’s a dramatic quality of the game matches that of great theatre and sometimes exceeds it.  I have friends in theatre that challenge this.  To this I counter, when was the last time someone jumped up and down screaming at the outcome of a play or movie.  The experiences are different, yet both dramatic and there are times when real life is not as dramatic as the stories of the big screen.

Last night, in the climax of Super Bowl XLVI, there was potential for truly great drama.  There was drama, I was riveted, but in the end I felt cheated.  With about a minute left, Ahmad Bradshaw scored the winning touchdown for the New York Giants.  Most likely a dream from his childhood.  As the teams returned to their benches, Bradshaw’s teammates came over and… consoled him.  The man just put the cap on a fourth quarter winning drive in the Super Bowl and you could see distress on his face.

The reason for this was a twist of gamemanship put on by Patriot coach Bill Belichik. The essence of the move was let the Giants score to get the ball back in hopes of mounting their own fourth quarter heroics.  I get it.  It’s part of the game, but it wasn’t satisfying.  I was in my seat rooting for the Giants and it should have been one of those jump from the rafters moments, and it wasn’t.

The Giants beat down the Patriots on the final drive.  Eli Manning threw an amazing pass to Mario Manningham and the team chewed through the Patriots defense. They earned that final score.  The Patriots final defensive stand fizzled out as the Giants knocked on the door. So why wasn’t this a happy ending… it wasn’t dramatic.  Seeing a running back sprint toward the end zone only to realize there’s no opposition, squat, and do a butt plant into the end zone was like grabbing a chocolate from the box and realizing you got the nougat.  It’s chocolate so that’s good, but it wasn’t the filling you hoped for.

This is where we, as writers of drama, can exceed real life.  We can, and should, script endings that are more satisfying.  It isn’t enough to simply have your hero win.  If you’re writing an “up ending” then the opposition needs to continue to fight even after all hope of success is gone.  They should fight to the last and our protagonist should triumph in the face of the greatest adversity.  After all, we expect that of our heroes. If we fall short of this task, the feeling of fulfillment at the story’s conclusion will also fall short.

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Pitchfests: Are they worth it? (part 1)

Writers waiting to Pitch

Writers in line waiting to pitch

I recently went to a pitchfest in Manhattan.  When I left the event, I had a slight feeling of optimism tempered by a tinge of disappointment leading to a general feeling of “now what?”   Several people asked me to fill them in on how it went, so I began to think about the event as a whole.  Was it worth it?  I’m pretty sure it was, but it’s hard to say why.

In the last few years I’ve gone to several similar events.  To this point I have seen no tangible results from any of them. However, there’s still something about these events that makes them feel worthwhile.  There is a real value in having the opportunity to pitch your story ideas to people that either make films or work for people who make films or, sometimes, people who work for people who talk to other people who make films.

The flip side of the opportunity is the reality of this business and the insanity of our task as writers.  For this event, I stood in a room with over 100 writers, all with the same goal.  We were all trying to convince 14 people that our stories were the best thing they’ve ever heard.  The theory being that if we could somehow accomplish this task, we’d leave with a check for gobs of money and a golden ticket to success and fame in our chocolate covered fingers.

For many writers, these pitchfests represent their first interaction with “industry types”.  At one event, I actually witnessed a writer run from the pitch room in tears after their interaction.  It begs the question, what could have gone that wrong in 5 minutes?  This leads me to a cautionary note.  Don’t go to a pitchfest if you’re not ready to pitch.  One of the things I’ve noticed is that every pitch begins with the “feeling out” phase, where the producer/manager attempts to discern if you know what you’re doing or simply wasting their time.  Many of us, unfortunately, do the latter, because we just aren’t ready.

If you want guidance on how to pitch, find a pitch expert.  There are plenty out there and many have valuable and conflicting advice. They all have a plan and they’re all right… and all wrong. I sat in a panel discussion where one manager/producer pleaded with a roomful of writers to tell him the whole story right up to the ending.  The next member of the panel argued the exact opposite, stating that he didn’t want to be told how the film ends during a pitch.  I’ve heard pitch experts argue both sides as well, which is why they’re both right and both wrong.  The target changes on you, pitch to pitch.  What is sound advice for one situation can sink you in another.  That said, I think there are some things we can do to prepare ourselves for these speed dating-like events.

I put together a few areas where some preparedness should help.  This is just a list of things to think about before you pitch.  It’s not a list of rules. That seems to put less pressure on the whole thing.

  • Have a good idea, a really good idea.  Even better, have two or three really good ideas.
  • Make sure they’re your best ideas ever.
  • Make sure they’re marketable.
  • Make sure you know what films they’re like, and make sure you know what makes them unique.
  • Have an idea what type of star might be interested in making this film.
  • KNOW THE BUDGET. If you’re not sure find a budgeting tool that will help you come up with a ballpark or look at similar current films and investigate their budgets.
  • Practice your pitch, but don’t rehearse it.  Leave room for flexibility.  If all goes well, they’ll ask questions. So, just be ready to talk about your great idea.
  • Be ready for them to NOT like your idea.  It’s possible, even likely, they will not love the idea you think is the best concept since “Die Hard”. Just move on to your second or third really good idea.
  • Listen to what they say. If the person you’re pitching likes the idea, why?  If they don’t, why not?  Do they want more information or do they want you to go away?
  • Find out to whom you’re pitching.  Don’t pitch a rom-com to a horror producer.  Also, going back to budget, don’t pitch a futuristic sci-fi film with massive set pieces to a small indie producer.

Failure to do most, if not all, of these things causes you to just be a waste of their time and part of the reason writers get a bad name in the business.  If you don’t like my list, find someone else’s you like better, or make your own list.

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Welcome to the Online Home of Screenwriter, Matt Wohl!

microphone

Doesn't it make you want to sing.

As a writer, I sit in front of a computer staring at the screen hoping for words to imprint themselves on my brain.  When that doesn’t happen, I surf the web.   Writing screenplays is deceptively difficult and the path of the writer is beset with bad advice and false promises.

My main goal with this page is to share my thoughts and experiences. I hope they help… someone.

 

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