by Jeff Kitchen
Remember, it’s Saturday night at the movies. People are coming for entertainment, so I really want to cut loose. Does Apollo have a hidden agenda with trying to recruit Cutter for this job? If he’s a trickster, then how many hidden agendas might he have? Is he actively trying to drag Cutter kicking and screaming back into his former ways? Does Apollo see Cutter as a wild tiger locked in a cage, his soul crying out to be set free? How much can the audience empathize with Apollo’s point of view? How much would the audience mistrust him? How much do viewers secretly want him to shake Cutter out of his rut? How much do they truly want Cutter to be able to resist Apollo? Hundreds of questions pour out of me in my heady new enthusiasm for this growing story.
My favorite part of writing a script is the point where there’s a premise laid down but everything is utterly wide open. Watching Michael Douglas’s character reminded me how over the top you can go. I had begun to form a picture of Apollo, and The In-Laws totally shattered it, then expanded it by a factor of 10,000. The more outlandish Apollo is, the better it will be for this movie. If Apollo sweeps in already caught up in a full-blown adventure, then he’s way ahead of where I had pictured him. It’s all much less casual if he’s being hunted, or in the middle of a crime gone wrong, or in disguise, or in huge trouble, because the movie starts at 100 mph rather than from a standstill. You’re supposed to start a script with a bang. It’s called in medias res—“in the middle of things.” So, what are some possible reasons for Apollo’s sudden appearance in Cutter’s life? Has he stolen something and is now trying to get away with it? Has he come to hide out? Has he been mowing Cutter’s lawn in disguise for months without Cutter recognizing him? Does he crash a burning car into Cutter’s house? Does he kidnap Cutter from a nice dinner with his family? Did Cutter think Apollo was dead until now, when he reappears seemingly by magic? Or does he just approach Cutter out of the blue at the grocery store?
ATTACK AS A STORYTELLER
In chapter 3, I mentioned science-fiction writer Alfred Bester’s idea of attack as a storyteller: giving the reader the ride of their lives. Do you see in how many different directions this story can still go? Everything is still wide open and fun. Any new idea might trigger an explosive brainstorming session. In the paragraph above I talk about starting with a bang. Bester says you should start a story at white heat and build from there. That is quite a challenge.
How would you handle the opening of this story? What’s the craziest opening scene you can possibly invent? What’s the most unexpected, the least clichéd, the most preposterous, the funniest, the scariest, the most ridiculous, the last thing you’d ever expect? How can you throw a monkey wrench into the audience’s expectations, into your own pattern of storytelling? How do you get outside your own story, or even outside your own concept of what this story could be? A big part of the fun of writing is this ride, this joy of creating something that will blow viewers’ minds. Think about how you go to the movies begging to have your mind blown. Tear into your story with that level of attack. The audience wants the ride of their life, and it’s your job to give it to them!
TRYING OUT SOME TITLES FOR THIS SCRIPT
As I’ve been developing this story, I’ve brainstormed and collected some titles. In Playwriting for Profit, Arthur Edwin Krows describes how a London playwright told him that the measure of a good title is if it looks good on a bus. This may sound funny, but it’s actually a great way to gauge a title in a country where plays are advertised on buses. I tend to not get too caught up in the search when I’m beginning a script because I routinely stumble onto potential titles as I work through the material. I’ll be brainstorming and writing notes for the story or reviewing my Writer’s Notebook and happen on a phrase that clicks. You’ll acquire an ear for it. I find titles all the time in the course of daily life and keep them in a file. Here is a list of potential titles that I compiled for this script:
Don’t Get Me Started
Good Old St. Nick
Count Your Blessings
Believe You Me
You Don’t Want to Know
Straight and True
Laughing All the Way to the Bank
The Slush Fund
It’s Only Money
You Bet Your Life
The Whole Truth
The Trickle-Up Effect
Golden Opportunity
There are a few decent ones in there and some regular junk, but I keep coming back to Good Old St. Nick because somehow it just works for me. Perhaps I could generate many more, but I liked Good Old St. Nick as soon as I hit on it, and while I collected others, none had that particular ring to it—none had the juice. Although it conjures up images of Christmas, it benefits from the irony, as well as a curious sound and a certain playfulness. Could it still be changed? Absolutely, but I think it would look good on a bus.
You should know that a film title cannot be copyrighted. In 1989 there were, in fact, two feature films called Black Rain released in theaters. Studios do have agreements not to step on one another’s titles, but legally you can put any title on a screenplay.
[Note: If you’re following the detour from the Chapter 8, then return there now and resume the book’s normal flow.]
Using the Central Proposition
ecall from the information in Chapter 6 that the Central Proposition looks at the core conflict or opposition in a budding plot. The process goes: set up a potential fight, touch off a fight to the finish, and then leave the audience hanging in an unresolved state so you can evaluate how intensely you’ve got them. The Central Proposition takes you right to the heart of the protagonist-antagonist clash, right to the nucleus of your story, whether it’s a goofy comedy or a hard core thriller.
In applying the Central Proposition to Good Old St. Nick, focusing on the core conflict between Cutter and St. Nick opens up all kinds of remaining uncertainties in the plot as it stands. There’s a difference between knowing roughly what I want to happen and figuring out how to actually enact it. It’s like a jigsaw puzzle or an engineering project: If you move this piece or change that piece, how does it impact the whole? As a writer, you learn to hold story possibilities in suspension, often doing much of the work in your head as you wrestle the basic story into shape. However, the Central Proposition requires some of the plot basics to become specific, and certain questions about the protagonist-antagonist relationship to be answered—so you generally don’t apply this tool until you’re ready to solidify certain aspects of the plot.
DEVELOPING THE CONFLICT
My main question is, If Cutter and St. Nick’s conflict builds toward a fight to the finish near the end of the script, then what specifically does their fight consist of? I envisioned that the big showdown between Cutter and St. Nick two-thirds or three-quarters through the story—the touch-off to the fight to the finish—as an outrageous lying contest. But what would that look like? How can I ratchet up that conflict while narrowing in on the specifics? I imagine that Cutter has totally reverted to his old pathological liar self, while St. Nick is still desperately attempting to become a legitimate banker. Cutter’s overall intention is to destroy St. Nick, but he can’t reveal that or the game is over. If St. Nick discovers that Cutter is not who he’s pretending to be, then he’ll kill Cutter instantly. In other words, I’m trying to engineer a savage, screwball lying contest, but if Cutter’s cover gets blown then nothing he says will regain St. Nick’s trust. But if St. Nick almost finds him out or suspects something, then Cutter could lie like a wildcat to try to keep his mission of revenge alive. I see the lid finally coming off Cutter’s secret with just a few minutes left in the movie, and the two of them begin a real fight to the death.
Much of how the conflict plays out depends on exactly how Cutter comes unhinged. Does he go so far off the deep end that he loses his original focus on revenge? Does he even know what he’s doing anymore—who his true self is, why he’s involved in this scheme? Does his fascination with St. Nick impact his actions? Has he been stee
red into a different sense of mission? Also, what’s the status of the bank—now a legitimate entity, or just on the edge of being fully certified? Is the first loan to Umbotha hanging in the balance? The conflict or covert conflict between St. Nick and Cutter will have much to do with that.
Wrestling with Plot Problems
Before I get into Cutter touching off the fight to the finish, I need to backtrack and figure some things out, incorporating new ideas into the crisis and the decision and action. Shallott is in a state of thinly disguised rage at St. Nick for having murdered his brother and is not a seasoned pro like Cutter. He may slip up and blow his cover but I’m not yet quite sure how—although it will definitely heighten the conflict. I want the FBI to start an investigation of St. Nick and the bank, while Senator Hutchings frantically scrambles to quash it. Umbotha’s deal is in trouble somehow, so he has come to America to oversee the first round of agricultural loans released by the bank and has hit it off with Cutter. Perhaps one of St. Nick’s old mob friends shows up to blackmail his way into a piece of the action, amplifying the tension even further. Plus, I want the CIA to enter the plot line, along with drug money, arms dealers, sheiks, former KGB agents, generals, and billionaires.
Apollo is not in the story enough to suit me—he’s too strong a character to lose for a long period—so I’ll involve him more, even if he’s working in disguise as the janitor in the building. I have yet to develop how Mischa finds out where Cutter is and starts spying on him. Finally, I want to keep St. Nick’s tantalizing secretary in the mix, and I need to keep Margarita active. Essentially, I’m trying to increase tension while steering the plot where I want it to go, but I’m also very aware of how the plot is coming together on its own. Remember, screenwriting is part act of creation and part voyage of discovery.
The following section switches over to my Writer’s Notebook, as it will take several pages of thinking on paper to figure all these things out.
Creating Some Solutions
Let’s say that Shallott’s cover is blown during a meeting in St. Nick’s office with Umbotha and Cutter present. If Shallott makes a critical mistake and gets badly roughed up by St. Nick, then he could begin to collapse under the pressure. Cutter will immediately come under suspicion since Shallott was the one who brought him in on this job. Cutter must counteract this suspicion or die, and then the mission against St. Nick will be totally lost. I would need to add an earlier scene between Shallott and Cutter, in which they discuss the eventuality that one of their covers will get blown. They agree that each would disavow the other for the good of the mission, and they’re deadly serious. So Cutter completely distances himself from Shallott in St. Nick’s office, saying that he’d worked with Shallott a few times but didn’t know him well before the offer to be his assistant on this job. He’d say, “Hey, I don’t give a damn about him. Kill him. What do I care?” The earlier scene between him and Shallott is crucial, otherwise the audience would lose sympathy for Cutter.
So Cutter would cut Shallott loose and Umbotha would be there watching as St. Nick rages at Shallott for being a traitor. He could execute Shallott with an injectable drug that makes it look as though he’s had a heart attack. Cutter is on the spot and can show no emotion. Then the phone rings and it’s the FBI agent who’s investigating St. Nick, wanting new information about an IRS irregularity with the money that’s been placed in reserve. St. Nick has Shallott’s body on the floor, but he’s got to take the call: His whole operation hangs in the balance. He could send Cutter to phone an ambulance, which would buy Cutter a few minutes.
I see Cutter making the call and then going into the bathroom and freaking out, throwing up, looking at himself in the mirror, telling himself that he’s going to die—that he’s useless and doesn’t know how to even begin to pull this off. If he’s only getting two hours of sleep a night because he’s reading banking books to maintain his cover, then he’s primed for a nervous breakdown. I want Mischa, who’s spying on his dad, to be hidden in the air vent so he can witness Cutter’s meltdown. Then I want Cutter to start to pull himself together with the “Judy Garland transformation” (see chapter 8). This is the cornered wild animal that comes out fighting, the lump of coal transforming under intense pressure into a diamond. Mischa would see his father completely morph into this legendary wild man he’s heard about his whole life but never seen. It should be like watching Dr. Jekyll turning into Mr. Hyde. The Cutter that emerges is ready for absolutely anything.
He goes back into St. Nick’s office in attack mode, arguing for his job and for his position of trust. There should be conflict between Cutter and St. Nick, but it has to be carefully controlled. Umbotha is impressed with Cutter’s fearlessness and drive. At that moment, one of St. Nick’s old mob buddies barges into the office and demands big money or he’ll give the police proof of a murder that St. Nick committed. Cutter turns on this brutal-looking Mafia executioner, cooks up a lie, and threatens to ship him off to work for Umbotha in Mambia, never to be heard from again. Umbotha laughs and picks up on it, descibing a special prison for his political enemies, for whom death is too easy a punishment: tiny cells where you can never lay down, intense prison labor, torture, bad food, and erratic sleep periods. But not to worry because they have excellent health care . . . and it can take decades to die. The mobster turns white and runs out. Cutter and Umbotha smile gleefully and high-five each other. Now Umbotha is even more taken with Cutter and declares to St. Nick that if Cutter does not negotiate his deal, then there won’t be a deal. St. Nick is still not convinced, but Cutter pressures him, conjures up lies, and works to earn his respect.
Umbotha’s insistence that Cutter do the deal is the strongest thing I can come up with at this point to create overt conflict between St. Nick and Cutter. This catches St. Nick in a tough spot. He has come to like Cutter and wants someone that sharp on his team, but he’s no pushover, and Shallott’s betrayal has set off his internal alarms. He’s got Cutter in his sights.
A CIA agent could show up to get Umbotha out of there after Shallott is killed. But Umbotha brushes him off—he’s having fun and besides, an old friend is stopping by for lunch, so he’s not going anywhere. The CIA agent could get really aggressive and demand that Umbotha leave, saying too much could be compromised, but Umbotha will not budge and scares the agent off. Cutter could help drive him off, too, with another extravagant lie.
Then one of St. Nick’s guys comes in holding Mischa, saying he found him lurking in the hall. Everything grinds to a halt. Our new unleased Cutter turns on Mischa and, without missing a beat, slaps him hard across the face, then kisses him full on the lips and calls him a jealous bitch. Cutter tells St. Nick that Mischa is his boyfriend and he’d heard so much about St. Nick’s sexy secretary that he came in to sneak a look at her. Mischa catches on instantly that their survival depends on this, and he drops into character. He’s a natural, and he wanted in—he just didn’t want in this way. But he’s lucky to be alive and so is Cutter. Cutter seems totally unfazed. Umbotha thinks this is hilarious, saying he loves young guys, which throws St. Nick a little. Umbotha sweeps up Cutter and Mischa, insisting that they come out to lunch with him.
They all go out to eat and who should walk in but Apollo! Umbotha leaps up and hugs him, introducing him to Cutter and Mischa as his oldest friend. Cutter is stunned but doesn’t show it in the least, and Mischa manages to play it cool. Umbotha explains how they raised hell together as kids when their fathers, both presidents of totalitarian countries, visited each other. Apollo and Umbotha start partying it up, and Cutter matches them drink for drink. Umbotha asks Apollo what he’s up to these days, and Apollo says he’s into counterfeiting, child pornography, drugs . . . the usual. To Cutter’s astonishment, Apollo reaches into his bag and pulls out a stack of counterfeit hundreds. Umbotha is delighted, saying his diplomatic immunity allows him to get away with anything and he loves passing bad money. They end up in a high-stakes poker game at Umbotha’s penthouse suite atop a luxury hotel; thing
s degenerate into a raucous party. Cutter is the life of the party, telling lie after outrageous lie to Umbotha, who roars with laughter. Mischa is having the time of his life now and hardly recognizes his father, who is a genuinely changed man—and not in a good way. This is a real adventure and is quite unnerving for Mischa—but it’s pure adrenaline all the way.
I need to complicate things here and send everything into a headlong rush toward the ending, so I could see something like St. Nick calling Cutter for an emergency down at the bank. He wants Cutter to cook up some elaborate half-truth for a sheik who won’t take no for an answer on some banking business. Meanwhile, Senator Hutchings would be using the White House to help get the FBI off St. Nick’s back. Cutter could be eavesdropping with the old can-and-string trick on St. Nick and Hutchings, using what he learns to weave yet more lies. It all remains unformed at this point, but what is certain is that it should get as crazy as possible. I’m just trying to launch the wild Cutter with an element of conflict between him and St. Nick. All of these ideas came from looking at possibilities for creating and cranking up the conflict between them—without Cutter’s cover getting blown.