by Jeff Kitchen
Cutter screams like a trapped animal. He’s ripping the radiator pipe down through the ceiling but still can’t get free.
APOLLO
When it was all over they’d done $4 million worth of damage; got nine girls pregnant; six people had to leave the country, including Keith Richards; and the Mayor of Cleveland quit his job and ran off with Keith to be his assistant guitar tech.
(taking another hit)
The Stones still claim it was the single wildest party they’ve ever been to.
An expression of criminal glee fills Mischa’s face and he looks over at his dad, awestruck.
MISCHA
WOW! And dad went to jail for that?
APOLLO
Hell no! He lied his way out of it. Weren’t you listening? He is by far the best liar ever. And that’s why I need him now.
Cutter is bashing his head through the sheetrock.
APOLLO
But hell, that was a just harmless stunt. You want to hear about the really bad stuff he—
Cutter screams bloody murder, cutting Apollo off.
CUTTER
Okay, okay! I’ll do it! I’ll listen to your plan, goddamn you, Apollo! Just stop!
APOLLO
Tell me you love me and I’ll take off the handcuffs.
CUTTER
Just get me out of here! I’ll do whatever you friggin’ want!
APOLLO
Tell me you love me.
Cutter stands there in his tiny red spandex shorts, his head covered with white plaster. Tears stream down his face, cutting tracks through the white powder.
CUTTER
Okay . . . .I love you.
(furious)
Now get me the hell out of here!
Apollo grabs his raincoat off a hook behind the door. He unlocks the cuffs, wraps the raincoat around Cutter, and escorts him outside.
CUTTER
Mischa, go to church!
So that’s the process: I structured everything from the whole script down to the scene level using Sequence, Proposition, Plot, and then I wrote the scenes with dialog and stage direction. I had a blast writing those scenes. You can see they’re well written, have good flow, and propel the plot forward. They’re lean yet alive, and they clearly implement the structure that I laid out for them, without being a merely robotic execution. I discovered all kinds of things and got to really play around as I wrote the actual scenes, even surprising myself by how the dialog finally materialized. I didn’t feel constricted by the structure I’d put together, but I did feel organized and in control, which is a nice way to write. In The Philosophy of Dramatic Principle and Method, Price sums it up beautifully:
When you finally arrive at the dialog fresh detail will occur to you as you write. Inspiration accompanies you at every step if you use the proper method of work. If something new did not constantly arise in your mind you would weary of the composition. This same pleasure which you experience is communicated to the audience.
Earlier in the book I mentioned the synchronicity or serendipity that can occur when writing, and an interesting illustration of this happened when I was coming up with dialog for these scenes. As I worked, I was listening to the radio at about 3:00 A.M., and in the section at the end where the handcuffed Cutter finally relents, I heard the DJ on the radio say, “Tell me you love me and I’ll take off the handcuffs.” I wasn’t sure if I was hallucinating—it was so impossibly perfect for the scene, and I was loopy from exhaustion. But then the DJ said it again and I thought, “Wow, that is insane. What perfect dialog for this spot,” so I used it. It came out of nowhere and was truly a gift. I couldn’t conceivably have made up that line of dialog, but it came to me unexpectedly and it works wonderfully.
DIAGRAMS OF SEQUENCE, PROPOSITION, PLOT FOR GOOD OLD ST. NICK
Now let’s get an overview of all the Sequence, Propostion, Plot work that we just did for Good Old St. Nick.
Sequence, Proposition, Plot for the overall script of Good Old St. Nick:
Sequence, Proposition, Plot for Act I:
Sequence, Proposition, Plot for Act I, Sequence 2:
Sequence, Proposition, Plot for Act I, Sequence 2, Scene 1, followed by the dialog:
Sequence, Propostion, Plot for Act I, Sequence 2, Scene 2, followed by the dialog:
Next let’s look at Sequence, Proposition, Plot as a pyramid diagram, an architectural map of the plot’s structure. It shows the whole script at the top, the acts below that, with the sequences and scenes farther down. Focus on the overlay of what I’ve just completed for the Good Old St. Nick script. I did Sequence, Proposition, Plot for the whole script; for Act I; then for Act I, Sequence 2; and then for the first two scenes in that sequence. You can see that there’s a lot more to do in order to work out all the mechanics of the complete script, but I’ve definitely laid a solid foundation.
To complete the structuring of Good Old St. Nick, I would have to apply Sequence, Proposition, Plot to Acts II and III, and then to the remaining sequences. Next I would do the same for the first scene and write the dialog, then for the second scene, writing the dialog after that, and so forth. I would continue on, structuring all the scenes and then writing each one out with dialog and stage directions, until I ended up with a working draft of the screenplay. This would represent a considerable amount of work and is beyond the scope of this book, but the process would be a continuation—and an exact mirror—of what we’ve already done with Sequence, Proposition, Plot in developing the script, act, sequence, and scene levels.
Notice that we’ve done exactly what Aristotle was talking about when he said that in constructing a plot, the writer “should first sketch its general outline, and then fill in the episodes and amplify in detail.” And Price’s quote (see chapter 7) makes complete sense now: “You saw that each act was about one thing, each scene about one thing, and that each step was a development toward one given end. Following this out, you have seen that a play is a Unit made up of other Units.” It really clicks now, hearing Grebanier say, “If we ourselves were asked to whom we were indebted for the basis of our ideas about playwriting, we should have to answer, ‘Aristotle and Price.’” That’s especially true when you realize that applying Sequence, Proposition, Plot to a script with a powerful dilemma already built into it means you’re developing a solid, integrated dramatic structure for a story that’s already inherently dramatic. It’s crucial to bear in mind that all these advanced structural tools still don’t mean anything if your original premise doesn’t pass the “So what?” test. It may be the most perfectly structured thing ever, but if the story is lame, then it’s going to be . . . BORING!
After reading Price and Krows for almost three years, I finally hit on this key tool. I can still feel the electrifying jolt of that eureka moment. When Price summed up the process of Sequence, Proposition, Plot, I literally saw a light bulb. I had to piece it together with what Krows said about double proposition and then add to it, but this is very much what Price described in 1908. I’m the only person in the world who teaches Sequence, Proposition, Plot, and you won’t even find it in Price’s books—I had to work like a dog to synthesize it, as though I were tearing gold ore from the ground and extracting the precious metal.
I’ve worked with this tool non-stop for decades, constantly refining it both through my own writing and by working hands-on with the many thousands of writers I’ve taught, including story development executives from all the major Hollywood studios. Everybody loves this tool, but development executives go bananas over it because they immediately recognize how incredibly useful it is. They’re constantly bombarded with screenplays from the mediocre to the god-awful—the results of poor structure and lack of craft—and these execs consistently say that Sequence, Proposition, Plot is the most advanced development tool in the film industry. It is my genuine pleasure to share it with you.
Post Script
ongratulations on finishing this book. It’s a lot of information to wrap your brain around, but
I tried to make Writing a Great Movie an entertaining read and I hope that sweetens the hard work necessary to acquire a solid working knowledge of these tools. I also tried to make it as truly practical and usable as possible, so that it presents not just theory but highly functional tools and techniques that you can really utilize on a daily basis. Fancy abstract ideas may sound great in a lecture hall, but if you can’t go home and build a better screenplay with them, then they’re just so much hot air. This book is designed as a practical working manual for the dramatist, and with plenty of hard work, focus, and persistence, you can definitely make these tools your own.
Let’s briefly review the Key Tools presented in Writing a Great Movie. We started with Dilemma, Crisis, Decision & Action, and Resolution, all of which assist you in both shaping your plot and rendering it dramatic. Theme gets right to the core of what your story’s really about—its heart and soul. The 36 Dramatic Situations provide a full spectrum of dynamic elements that can energize your storytelling and trigger fresh ideas. The Enneagram offers a rich resource for creating and developing complex, realistic characters. Good Research can meet you halfway with unexpected story material, and Brainstorming helps you to explore possibilities and open up new story dimensions.
The Central Proposition pulls all your story elements together to form the nucleus of your script, and reinforces the primary conflict. Finally, Sequence, Proposition, Plot is a sophisticated structural tool that guides you through the actual plot construction process. Starting with a master plan, you systematically develop each unit of your script, applying the tool first to the overall story and then to each act, each sequence, and each scene. The result is a structurally unified architectural map of your screenplay, which helps create consistent, coherent, compelling Dramatic Action—the Holy Grail of dramatic writing.
Whether or not Good Old St. Nick turns out to be a great movie, I can’t tell. At this point it’s just the skeleton of a work in progress, but it does give you a comprehensive look at the process in action—a demonstration of how to really use these tools to build your own screenplays. Hearing me think out loud as I developed this story will help instill in you the thought process and habits of a working screenwriter.
MASTER THE CRAFT OF THE DRAMATIST
If you have the burning desire to master the skills in this book, then you should spend at least a year making a professional study of it. When I first started out, I spent three solid years reading Price and Krows before I began writing at all; this gave me a solid foundation in the dramatic craft. Learn the tools inside out, backward and forward. You should be able to disassemble and reassemble all the films in this book the same way a soldier can take his or her rifle apart and put it back together in the dark. My book Script Analysis: The Godfather, Tootsie, Blade Runner takes those three screenplays apart in full detail and can help you further substantiate your knowledge of my process. You can buy it on my Web site (www.DevelopmentHeaven.com), or at Amazon (www.amazon.com).
Practice these tools over and over until you become completely comfortable with them and the skills become second nature. Learn to create, develop, and structure a screenplay from a raw premise. Learn to read a script and articulate its strengths and weaknesses, and then build upon its strengths and create solutions for the weaknesses. This is a craft, the same as shoemaking, and the master shoemaker had to study every aspect of his trade, practicing long and hard before he became a master craftsman. In The Analysis of Play Construction and Dramatic Principle, Price advises on the process of learning the craft of writing:
Do not become impatient at going over the same ground a number of times. To him who understands there is constant variety and newness of interest. The deeper you go the more interested you will become. The more facile and correct your work the greater the gratification to you. You will note the gradual acquirement of thinking in drama. A dramatic study requires that you become acquainted first with each principle singly and then in combination with other principles. When you have them firmly fixed in mind and come to apply them to original work you will not be disturbed as to uncertainty as to meaning and application.
Learn the underlying principles behind the tools, as well as the specific application of each particular technique. Practice using each tool diligently until you have a real facility with it. This will pay off in your writing, because your mastery of the process will allow you to exploit the full power of the tool while keeping your focus on your story. Use the tools precisely; don’t muddy the distinctions they create if they become inconvenient, because then you lose their power. Dramatic writing is notoriously elusive, and you need every edge you can get. Take all the energy that goes into rewrites and put it into engineering your script properly before you write it. Strive to be one of the very best screenwriters ever. Don’t do anything by halves.
Here’s another quote from Price (from the same book) about the learning process:
This period of learning the nature of principle is a necessary preparation for actual playwriting. The preliminary work required is in effect playwriting itself, for the same processes of thought are employed. During this period there should be no interruption in the study. One should let it take hold of him like a fever that runs its course. One should saturate himself with the intelligent analytical reading of plays. In every education a point is reached where one can abandon his research and can proceed with confidence in applying what he has mastered in theory.
Learn the habits of mind of a trained dramatist. Remember, the core of your job is to turn Story into Drama—to turn an interesting narrative into a compelling dramatic plot—whatever the genre. Work from the general to the specific, because if the big picture doesn’t work, then the details of the story won’t mean anything. Learn to work structurally, so that you train yourself to be able to see architectural blueprint of a plot.
Separate the Necessary from the Unnecessary—it’s one of the underlying principles of writing good drama, and it will free you from the profusion of unnecessary detail. It’s so easy to get gummed up in material that is not pertinent to your immediate task at hand, which is usually hard enough on its own. Always bear in mind that a movie is a performance medium—actors must be able to act out your story in a way that will grip an audience. Consider studying acting, even if you just audit a class. You’re writing for actors, so think about learning that aspect of your craft. It really helps.
Keep a sense of proportion as you work. It will come in handy if you get lost. Think about where you are in the story and where you’re headed. Make a quick chart of the script—are you halfway through? Three-quarters of the way? Remember that it’s the protagonist’s story, so keep making your way back to his or her trajectory. This will give you a compass—a sense of direction. Constantly evaluate and adjust as you go. Stand back from what you’re creating and give it a good, hard, objective look. On a scale of 1 to 10, how powerful is it? What works and what doesn’t? Your screenwriting tools can help you articulate what the problem is and assist you in creating solutions.
Go back and forth between intuition and logic, between rapture and control, between total fearlessness and meticulous attention to detail. Remember, it’s all about the audience. Focus specifically on the mood you want the audience to be in when your movie is over. This will clarify a lot for you. Billy Wilder said, “An audience is never wrong. An individual member of it may be an imbecile, but a thousand imbeciles together in the dark—that is critical genius.” Keep this in mind. Christopher McQuarrie, who wrote The Usual Suspects, says he has tremendous respect for the intelligence of the audience, which is certainly borne out by that film.
BECOME A GREAT STORYTELLER
Immerse yourself in storytelling—all forms of it. Write every day. Read as much as you can. Listen to books on tape while you drive or exercise. Read the best screenwriters, playwrights, novelists, and other great writers. Study mythology and legend—they’re at the core of all storytelling.
Turn off mindless television.
Learn to concentrate. When you’re writing, turn off the e-mail and Internet on your computer and focus. Be on the lookout for great story ideas. The more you work as a storyteller, the more you’ll become sensitive to catchy ideas that swirl about you all the time. Keep a list of story ideas. Always carry pen and paper so that you don’t lose fleeting ideas or story fragments. Sometimes a clever observation can lead to an entire screenplay, but it can be lost as quickly as a dream.
Respect your creative instincts. If you’ve got a hunch, run with it. That’s part of the fun of writing. If it turns out to be wrong, you will see that soon enough and will be able to correct it, but if you control everything too rigidly, you’ll never stumble into unexpected dimensions. Sometimes your subconscious will produce a left-handed idea that may seem utterly crazy at first, but which turns out to be ingenious, fresh, and dynamic.
Know how to get away from the intensity of your work altogether when you need to. Turn off your brain and take a walk. Give your subconscious a chance to percolate. Go to a coffee shop with a blank notebook, forget everything, and see what pops into your head about the story you’re working on. Read a novel just for fun to energize your storytelling. Take the entire day off and go to the movies—you can see five movies in one day. After all, movies are your job. Go to have fun. Go to get away from writing. Go as a kid who wants a great ride. Try sitting in the front row—it’s like being in the movie. Develop a sense of play. Rekindle that magic and wonder at hearing incredible stories around a campfire when you were a child. Let your imagination run free. You’re a screenwriter and it’s your job to dream. Allow the wild animal in you to charge ahead with your plot and land you in a heap of trouble. If you’re not in over your head, then you’re just playing it safe.