When we’re
toddlers, we love merry-go-rounds. Well, most of us do. When we’re teenagers,
we love rollercoasters. When we’re in love, we love the image with which we’re
obsessed. Oh, that’s another subject. Back to rollercoasters.
Your movie needs
to be like a rollercoaster. I don’t mean made of wood and steel, I mean made of
ups and downs and unexpected twists and turns, and mostly made of danger. Most
of all it’s all about danger!
We go to movies
for the same reason we once rode rollercoasters and before that
merry-go-rounds. To experience what feels like extreme danger while at the same
time knowing we are really pretty darn safe. Granted, the top of the theater
could fall in on us. Or a crazy person with a gun could invade the theater. But
it’s a good bet no one on the movie screen is going to actually interact with
us (unless we’re in Woody Allen’s “The Purple Rose of Cairo”). We are
pretending they will. We’re pretending, for that matter, that they are us, specifically
that we are the movie’s brave protagonist, willing to risk everything to 1.
save the world, or 2. get the girl, or 3. find redemption (take your pick).
That’s the point of going to movies, so we can empathize with, identify with a
character who’s taking big, BIG chances and, usually, pulling it off, while we munch
away on popcorn from our safe stadium-seated perch.
Of course, some of
the best movies ever made don’t follow that rule. I think those that have
affected me the most have in common that they are about a protagonist unwilling
to take the risk he really needs to take in order to be complete, “La Dolce
Vita,” “Five Easy Pieces,” “Annie Hall.” (It’s not really about Annie Hall.)
But just as we
can’t all be Picasso, we should probably not start out trying to break that
rule that drives virtually all movies, or at least all Hollywood movies.
I read in one of
the thousands of books on how to write a screenplay that seem to be out there
that each movie is about the most exciting day in the protagonist’s life.
Because, who would want to see the second most exciting day in that person’s
life if we could see the most? So that’s probably a good test for each of us to
try when thinking about story ideas. “Day” doesn’t have to be literal, of
course. But most emotionally involving movies do take place over a short time
span. Maybe a week or two, not months or years.
Probably the most
popular book on screenplay writing these days is “Save the Cat!” by Blake
Snyder. And it’s a very good book to start off with. Blake was a guest speaker
at my class about four years ago, and he proved to have an amazing talent for
summarizing plots instantaneously, and making them sound exciting and fresh.
Each of my students would tell him the idea of the script they were working on
and he would instantly tell it back to them, only making it seem much more
compelling than they had, with a dynamite logline improvised on the spot. And
Blake insists in the book, quite rightly, that a logline – a one or two
sentence description of a film’s story (usually from the protagonist’s point of
view) -- isn’t just a selling tool. If you don’t know your logline, you don’t
know your story.
Unfortunately,
Blake passed away at a shockingly early age a couple of years ago. But his book
keeps selling like proverbial hotcakes. Ironically, it’s subtitled: “The last
book on screenwriting you’ll ever need.” But it became so popular so fast that
he wrote two sequels. Not necessarily unfortunately, he was a better teller of
tales and loglines than he was a screenwriter. Although he had a couple of
million dollar sales, the few films of his that were filmed demonstrate a lot
more formula than genius. But much of what he writes about when he is writing
about how to do is extremely valuable.
I think the most
important thing I learned from reading “Save the Cat!” was the word “primal.”
Make your story primal. I’d never thought about that. But he’s absolutely
right. If you learn to write actually good scripts about primal needs based on
enticing, emotionally connecting loglines, you’re halfway home.
Two cases in
point. Two international thrillers were released in 2009, “Taken” starring Liam
Neeson and “The International” starring Clive Owen. Neither star has any
resonance for me. I certainly didn’t go to see either of them. One’s a big lug
and the other blends into the scenery. “The International” was probably by most
standards a better film. It was much more sophisticated and complex and
thoughtful, and it featured beautiful architecture and exotic settings.
Actually, it was so complex that I couldn’t even explain the story. Something
about banks financing terrorists, maybe.
On the other hand
I can tell you exactly what “Taken” was about: a former CIA agent’s daughter is
kidnapped, and he puts his life and limb on the line, racing through some of the
most glamorous and seamy locations in Europe, to rescue her from sex slavers.
That’s a synopsis I can remember. The first act is pretty on-the-nose; the rest
of the movie is a non-stop rollercoaster ride. And nothing could possibly be
more primal than saving your daughter from “a fate worse than death.”
“The
International” cost $50 million to make. It took in $10 million in its opening
weekend in the U.S., and by the time its run ended grossed a total of $55
million worldwide. That’s a disaster. (Remember, half of that goes to the movie
theaters that showed it, and then a healthy percentage of the other half goes
to the distributor. By the time the production company gets a taste, there’s
only about a third of that $55 million left, thus leaving the production and
its financiers around $30-40 million in the red.)
On the other hand,
“Taken” cost $25 million to make, opened making $24.7 million its first weekend
in the U.S. (and it wasn’t even an American film, it’s French, although shot in
English), and had a worldwide gross of $224 million. Everybody made a bundle,
and the audience had a great time watching it.
Primal. That’s a
word to remember.
-
Bob shayne