What's the Point?

What is a plot point?  Every writer talks about them.  Most use them. Many abuse them.  Some plain lose them.  But what are they really? Where do they go?  And what do they do? 

All great screenplays are broken into three acts.  The Introduction.  The Complication.  The Resolution.  Plot points are the major twists that propel the hero from one act to the next.  In the good movies, they come as a surprise to the hero and the audience.  In the bad movies, the hero and/or the audience see them coming from a mile away.  Ideally, they are significant twists that drop the hero into a new equilibrium from which they cannot return.  If a hero loses his keys, no big deal, he goes back and finds them.  Bad plot point.  If a hero loses his job, or his leg, or his virginity, tougher to fix.  Good plot point.  As the story progresses, these unforeseen turns should complicate matters for the hero, raise the stakes and push the character into deeper and deeper kimchi.  

Do you have to have them?  Yeah, you kinda do.  Plato, Shakespeare, Hitchcock, Spielberg, Tarantino all have plot points in their work.  Because they work.  Because we’re wanting something to happen.  We’re wanting progress.   You know what they call movies without them?  Boring.  Trust me, if you’re sitting in a movie theater and nothing significant happens in the first third of the movie, you’re going for Milk Duds and not coming back.  

Where do they go?  If you’re writing a 120 minute movie it equates to about 120 pages of script.  A three act structure breaks down like this:  Plot Point 1 lands between pages 25-30.  Plot Point 2 lands between pages 85-90.  But that leaves a dark and murky sea between them of almost 60 pages.  In the old days, early filmmakers could get away with that.  But not these days.  We’re used to getting too much too quick and need a Midpoint Plot Point around page 60 to bridge the gap.  And maybe more.  James Cameron says he writes in seven acts.  Joel Silver wants major wham-o’s every ten pages.  Something that turns your hero’s life upside down with the turn of a key, the draw of a gun or the blue of a pregnancy stick.  

The good news is these building blocks help make climbing your mountain of a screenplay more manageable.  Instead of looking up at Kilimanjaro from 19,000 feet below wondering how the hell you’re going to get to the top… you break it down.  Knowing you just have to make it to each tier.  One step at a time.  

Happy climbing.  

What's the Big Idea?

The beginning of the year! Time to brush off the dust of yesterday and tackle ye ol’ New Year’s resolution. What’s that, you say? You want to write a screenplay? Well, what the hell is stopping you? It doesn't take money. You don’t need a crew. You can do it anytime you want. There are no tools, equipment, weaponry needed. Except for the little box you’re reading this on. So let’s get started, shall we?

But what are you going to write about? Ahh. Well, there’s a stopper.

Sure, everyone has an idea for a movie. But is it one everyone wants to see? The movie business is, after all, a business. And no studio, network or independent financier worth their salt is going to drop a dime on a movie no one wants to see but your grandmother. So make sure it has broad appeal.

Write what you know. That’s what the writing scholars say. No one is going to know better than you what it’s like to be a single parent, a cancer survivor, a blue-collar cop or priest in training. Writing what is in your world allows you to write with authenticity, which wins over even the most critical of critics. But be sure also to write what you want to know. You’re going to be spending the next three weeks, three months, three years laboring over this baby. Might as well delve into waters you’ve longed to swim. Maybe you are fascinated by the afterlife, aspire to be a brain surgeon or yearn for a romantic adventure on the French Riviera. Now’s your chance to live vicariously through your characters. Bringing them to life will inevitably breathe oxygen into your life as well.

Most of all, write something that will be fun to write. We’re not coal mining here. We’re writing movies. They’re supposed to be fun, exciting, a break from the everyday. And your joy, your passion, your enthusiasm will show up on the page. Every time. And trust me… if it’s not fun for you to write, it won’t be fun for anybody to read. Or watch. Including your grandmother.

Why Rewrite?

Do I have to rewrite my screenplay? Yes. You do. Sure, you think it’s perfect. You’re supposed to. At first. But then step away from it. For a day or a week or a month. And then have a look. Chances are you’ll find that gremlins came in the night and took a blowtorch to it. Now you’re left to pick up the pieces. Fret not. It’s tough for anyone to see the forest from the trees when they’re in the thick of the thicket. Taking time away from your work is the easiest way to see what it needs.

Hemingway said writing IS rewriting. Of course, that’s probably what drove him to drink. But if you know it’s part of the deal going in, chances are it will be a smoother ride coming out. The trick is knowing what to look for.

Is your theme resonant?
Do your characters arc?
Are the promises of your genre being fulfilled?
Do your transitions propel you from one scene to the next?
Are your scenes scenic?
Is your climax climactic?
Is the story emotional?
Is it interesting?
Is it clear?

Have you answered all the questions you raised???

Writing a movie is like juggling. You may throw 100 balls in the air in the process. You can throw as many as you want. You just want to make sure you’ve caught them all before you’re done or your audience is going to feel robbed.

Once you’ve done everything you can think of… cut it. That’s right. Slice and dice, baby. How? You can usually come into scenes later than you think and get out earlier. Lose anything that’s not pushing the story forward or revealing character. Toss extraneous dialogue. Eliminate repetition. Tighten descriptions. You might even be able to cut a character. Or two.

Then as the saying goes… “Kill your darlings.” There is a chance some of your favorite lines, beats or scenes are holding you back. Print them, frame them, hold a small parade for them should you like, but if they’re not serving the best interest of the story at large… lose them. More than likely, you won’t miss them. Really.

Be strong. Be bold. And beware the gremlins.  

Do I have to live in LA to be a screenwriter?

It helps! There. I said it. Not what you wanted to hear? Sorry. If it makes you feel any better, half the screenwriters working in LA are asking themselves the same thing. Do I have to be here?

Sure, you can write from anywhere. Your suburban home in Ohio, your beach condo in Destin, your mom’s basement in Hackensack. But what do you do then? Email it, you say! Riiiiiight. To whom? If you need an agent, it’ll behoove you to be in LA to find one. That’s where they live, drink and dine. If you’re lucky enough to have an agent already, they can send your script out to producers and studios, but what then? If it sells, you’re going to need to be around to develop it with everyone who is a part. Not to mention, everyone else in Hollywood is going to want to meet with you, which is what you want! If it doesn’t sell, you can hope that those that read it and like it will want to work with you on another project. Your job is to stoke as many irons in those fires as possible to land a writing assignment. And that takes time. To do that, it’s best to be within an hour or two of 90210. And remember, it takes an hour in LA to get to the grocery. Sure, once you hit the big time, you might be able to keep a house in the Hamptons. But you’re still going to have to make yourself available to the powers that be. In LA.

Even in Atlanta, a city that is blowing up with film production thanks to the tax incentive, the productions get their scripts (and paychecks) from LA.

The exception to this rule are, of course, the independent film scribes. They don’t have to be anywhere. Except where there’s money to finance their films. They may be able to dig it up in their backyard from friends, family and financiers locally. But more often than not, guess where most indy film money comes from? Riiiiiight. LA.

Don’t forget to write.  

Best,

Michael

When is the best time to write?

First thing in the morning.  Late at night.  Lunch breaks.  Weekends.  Vacations. When is the best time to write?  Everyone has jobs.  Commitments.  Responsibilities.  A family even.  Groceries.  Laundry.  Cows to milk.  There’s always something.  The trick is finding time that works for you. 

 
One of the most esteemed writers in Hollywood, Ron Bass, was working full time as an attorney in Los Angeles when he started writing screenplays.  While he was married.  With young children.  So he got up at 4:30am everyday to type before diaper duty.  And wrote Rain Man.   Diablo Cody wrote Juno on her lunch breaks.  By hand.  At the McDonald’s.  In the Walmart.  In Minnesota. 
 
Maybe you’re one of the lucky ones — who has time to write during the day.
 
But then there’s the whole muse thing.  The angels.  The mojo.  The unknown quantity that shows up when you least expect it.  How do you plan for that?  Well, if it comes at the same time each day, by all means, lean into it.  Brew you up a cup of cocoa at 10:36p each night and let her rip.  Then work everything else out around it.  Hemingway used to wake up and type every morning because that’s when he felt it come to him.  Granted, the rest of the day he was drunk, but you get the idea.
 
If you don’t find you’re better at night or funnier in the morning, be careful of falling into the age-old trap of waiting for inspiration.  This is the worst way of procrastinating.  You could be working on your eulogy before you get to anything else.  After all, many believe the muse shows up when you do.   So pick your favorite watering hole or patio chair and get on with it.  The angels will find you. 
 
Whatever you decide, best to come up with a plan.  Work out a schedule.  Set some goals.  Be consistent.  Write 2 pages every night before bed.  Or 5 pages every other day.  Or 1 page every lunch.  Do what you got to do to make it work.  Inevitably, you’ll look back at the week happier that you wrote something rather than nothing.  And before you know it, you’ll find yourself having written those all elusive words… “Fade Out.”