Could It Be a Movie

by Christina Hamlett

  If and when you do find someone with whom to write a film, approach the project just as you'd approach an assignment at work; specifically, by determining intermediate deadlines for completion of each component. While it's true that some people work better under pressure and like to wait until zero hour to turn anything in, it's not a practice that lends itself to working as a team.

  By laying a solid foundation of understanding, a good collaboration should unite the best of all talents, a shared expectation of the result, and -- last but not least -- someone with whom to celebrate when the first check comes in!

  CHAPTER 10: SHOW US YOUR SPECS AND SHORTS

  As a writer, you are the salesperson of your own best talent. Your screenplays — your wares — are the creative merchandise that you will be putting into circulation with the hope of stirring consumer interest and a “gotta have it” attitude. This chapter explains how expanding your story-telling repertoire through spec scripts and shorts can increase your chances of a sale… and a long-term career.

  MAKING A SPECTACLE OF YOUR WRITING

  Until such time as your screenplays start getting the attention and notoriety they deserve from agents, director, and producers, the bulk of what you write will be done “on spec.” “Spec” is short for “speculation” and means exactly that: maybe you’ll sell it, maybe you won’t. (Hence, the wisdom of having a day job to keep your creditors happy in the meantime.)

  Spec scripts take two forms; specifically, those that are written for an existing television series and those that are original concepts. The purpose of both is essentially the same: to provide a sample of writing that demonstrates your comfort level and expertise with a given platform or genre.

  THE SMALL SCREEN

  Let’s say that you have been a fan of The West Wing since Day 1 and know President Bartlet’s Oval Office staff as well as you know your own family. Furthermore, you’ve made a study of the program’s multi-layered structure in terms of introducing new White House crises and revisiting past character foibles.

  While it’s not terribly likely that TWW’s current writers are going to pull out a chair and invite you to join them for doughnuts and weekly brainstorming, a spec script that captures the show’s cadence, nuances, and emotional energy will nevertheless make an impression on a prospective agent, a contest judge, or a producer looking to launch a similarly themed show regarding American political infrastructure.

  It goes without saying, of course, that you need to maintain some semblance of coloring within the lines. For instance, a plot in which a high school friend of Zoey’s turns out to be a hooker and puts Josh in a compromising position in the eyes of the press could be introduced and resolved within the one-hour dramatic framework. Likewise, the ensemble reaction to an incident ripped from national headlines (i.e., a nuclear accident, a high-profile crime, the assassination of a prominent foreign ally) becomes the backdrop for the characters’ respective — and oftentimes predictable — displays of strength and weakness.

  On the other hand, a story in which President Bartlet comes out of the closet and professes passion for a summer intern named Maurice presents an irreversible challenge that doesn’t mesh with the vision of the show’s originators. True, such a development would be daring, unexpected, and put Nielsen ratings through the roof. Remember, however, that your objective here is to show your perception of the show as is, not how you might like it to be just to shake up the status quo.

  Another approach to spec writing for television is to take a program that is no longer on the air and either script a reunion of the core characters or simply a continuation of the last broadcast episode. What accounts for the popularity of this strategy, I think, is Hollywood’s retro trend of bringing back, via feature film, the shows that baby boomers grew up with (i.e., Lost in Space, Charlie’s Angels, The Wild Wild West). While there has certainly been plenty of evidence to support the adage that you really can’t go home again, this scriptwriting strategy nonetheless offers more latitude in terms of program content than current, long-running hits in which the structure is more tightly defined.

  There is also the avenue of submitting spec scripts for network and cable programs that have yet to build a following and, thus, may be open to what your imagination has to offer. Granted, the shows may get cancelled before your episode ever airs, but you still will have had the opportunity to participate on a writing team and get valuable feedback that can be applied to your subsequent efforts.

  Don’t rule out teleplay competitions, either, or the opportunity to place spec TV scripts on Web sites such as www.InkTip.com. Again, both of these arenas are an opportunity to demonstrate your talent for creative mimicry, advancing the suggestion that if you’re that skilled at copying an existing format, you’re probably also adept at following the instructions of development personnel on something new. InkTip in particular (formerly Writers Script Network) has a consistently high percentage of writers who are approached to develop projects based on their handling of dialogue and pacing in hypothetical episodes of sitcoms and crime dramas.

  IDEA-STARTERS

  Identify a television program (past or present) that you feel you know well enough to write a spec script for.

  What is the show’s main thread of continuity that runs through every storyline? For example:

  Gilligan’s Island

  The castaways want to get off the island.

  7TH Heaven

  God never hands us more than we can handle.

  Everybody Loves Raymond

  Family: you can’t live with ‘em and you can’t live next door to ‘em.

  How does your idea interface with the core premise of the series?

  If your idea doesn’t fit the chosen show’s parameters, come up with a different idea OR select a different show where that idea would be compatible.

  EXAMPLE: You decide to write a script that illustrates the ripple effect of unprotected sex in the transmission of HIV. As topical a subject as that is, the dramatic nature of your message wouldn’t fit the castaways of the S.S. Minnow nor any members of the Romano household. It would, however, be a natural for 7TH HEAVEN whereby someone in the minister’s congregation or community faces the deadly consequences of prior actions.

  THE BIGGER PICTURE

  My Aunt Liz has always been an apologist for her waffles. In spite of the fact that she has been making them for over half a century of Sunday mornings, she continues to be dismayed every time the first one turns out badly and has to be thrown out.

  An analogy can be drawn to writers and their first scripts. No matter how committed you are to making that first one come out perfect, it’s more important that you jump in and give it a try than if you cautiously contemplate the process for years without ever actually doing anything about it. It’s also important that you start your next one immediately thereafter and apply what you’ve learned on how to make it better.

  This is how a portfolio of spec scripts gets built for feature films and MOWs (movies of the week). Whether your objective is to specialize in just one area such as comedy or if you want to demonstrate your range in a variety of genres, the end-product is a ready supply of samples that you can pull out at a moment’s notice whenever someone asks, “Do you have something finished that I can read?”

  In addition, a cache of completed scripts will also allow you to respond to the invitation, “This one didn’t quite work for me but I really like your style. Do you have anything else?” If they end up having to wait six months to a year for you to come up with something, in all likelihood they will have forgotten they ever asked, necessitating a re-introduction of who, exactly, you are and why they liked you.

  How many times in your life have you had to pass up an opportunity because (1) you didn’t have enough gas in your car, (2) your lucky suit wasn’t ironed, or (3) you hadn’t set anything aside for a rainy day? The Scouting movement may have coined the motto “Be Prepared” but it’s a mantra that aptly serves the writing community, as we
ll. Those ideas in your head may be the very best plots anyone has ever come up with but until such time as a device is invented that can scan the contents of your brain directly onto paper, you still need to write them down in order for someone else to recognize their value.

  So how many spec scripts constitute a good sample of what kind of writer you are? And why, for that matter, can’t you just go with the singular masterpiece you really poured your heart into? Shouldn’t that tell them enough about your capabilities?

  Unfortunately, it’s a reality of this business that you may need to write quite a few stories that you’re not particularly wedded to in order to open doors for those projects that are dear. That’s okay. It is through this succession of works that you’ll perfect your craft and create networking opportunities that would not have been available if you only had one script to show for your abilities. Granted, that one script could well be a future Oscar candidate, but getting someone to finance the dream is not unlike trying to get your first credit card; everyone would love to give you one… as long as someone else takes the risk first and proves you worthy.

  That said, the more amenable and versatile you are when it comes to modifying your scripts in response to advertised needs, the closer you’ll get to selling the very plots that made you want to get into this career in the first place.

  Not surprisingly, those projects which have interchangeable and/or generic components built into them are among the easiest to push forward on producer “Scripts Wanted” callboards such as those found at www.hollywoodlitsales.com, www.backstage.com, www.madscreenwriter.com, and www.moviebytes.com.

  Take location, for instance. The more geographical specificity you introduce, the harder it is for a producer to supplant his/her own locale in that scene. Therefore, unless the setting itself is integral to the action, aim for neutrality.

  For example, let’s pretend you have scripted a conversation between two lobbyists that transpires in the bar of Aïoli Bodega Española in midtown Sacramento on the corner of 18th and L Streets. Now if the production company happens to operate in California’s capital city, this Spanish/North African eatery is probably well known to them. But what if you submit your script to a producer in Des Moines? With nothing comparable in all of Iowa to go on, he or she might pass on a perfectly great script when all the writer had to do was describe the bar’s address and attributes in less exacting terms.

  The same holds true with characters, a topic which is discussed at length in Chapter 15. If the two leads in your comedy script are a pair of Latinas who run a thrift shop and you run across a script search for a comedy in which two African American girlfriends manage a book store, are you going to ignore it? Or are you going to utilize the search-and-replace feature on your computer and make the necessary tweaks to fit what the producer is seeking?

  One word of caution in this exercise, of course, and that’s to make sure your switcharoos aren’t obvious. I am reminded of a screenplay contest I judged in which the theme of the submissions was to celebrate the quality of life found in Sacramento. One of the entrants had apparently decided that his much recycled script about a jaded gumshoe would pass muster if he simply replaced the word “Chicago” with “Sacramento” every time it appeared in the text. What he neglected to check, however, was the weather. For nearly 10 pages, his protagonist contemplated the meaning of life as he trudged through the bitter cold and “snow-choked downtown streets.”

  He didn’t win.

  RECOMMENDED READING

  Writer’s Guide to Places (2003) written by Jack Heffron and Don Prues. Publisher: Writer’s Digest Books. This user-friendly guide gives insider tips on landmarks, eateries, demographics, social concerns, myths, and neighborhoods throughout all 50 United States and Canadian Provinces. It’s not only a handy reference for when you do want to be specific about a story location but also for those times when you’re tailoring an existing project to fit someone else’s preferred locale.

  WRITING SHORTS THAT WILL KNOCK THEIR SOCKS OFF

  If the idea of writing a feature length screenplay as your first project sounds daunting, you may want to start out with something smaller. Many aspiring novelists, for instance, hone their narrative skills on short stories for magazines before committing to a full book. Beginning screenwriters use this strategy in creating and funding mini-samples of their work for film festivals in order to garner attention for their future, larger-scale endeavors.

  Sound fun? This is where your television can become your new best friend and teach you how to use the same techniques that advertisers employ in crafting lasting impressions in a compact space of time.

  In the early 1990s, Taster’s Choice® launched what would become a successful series of coffee commercials that instantly stirred (no pun intended) the public’s attention. The 60-second increments featured the flirtatious attraction between two strangers who live in the same apartment building and who are brought together by circumstance: one of them needs to borrow coffee from the other.

  Audiences loved the concept of recurring characters whose mini love story nudged forward a few months at a time, always ending in some sort of cliffhanger. Recognizing an opportunity when they saw one, the sponsors went so far as to publicize a national writing contest (yours truly was a finalist) and offered as part of the prize package a private screening of one of the upcoming episodes. “Just don’t tell your friends,” they warned us after the awards dinner. “Make them wait and see.” Such torture was nothing less than delicious.

  This approach to marketing was also embraced by Hallmark Cards®, Country Crock Margarine®, Budweiser® and others, providing us with entertaining station breaks that actually made us stay in the living room to see how the respective stories would come out. The only downside, of course, occurred when writers got too clever for their own good, bringing us romantic comedy commercials in which the actual product somehow got lost amidst the speculation of whether James Garner and Mariette Hartley — and later, Howie Long and Teri Hatcher — were really husband and wife.

  As a communications major in college, I had been studying the dynamics of commercial ads long before I ever launched a touring theater company and began writing plays. To my surprise, the penchant I still retain for penning scripts and books with twists and “Aha!” moments derives from understanding how advertisers capture our attention through creative storytelling.

  The immediate example that comes to mind was a spot done by Wells Fargo Bank in which a road-weary traveler in a century past is assisted by a teller who’s working late. Appreciative of the bank employee’s responsiveness in an after-hours emergency, the traveler asks if he might put in a good word for him. The teller, of course, turns out to be none other than Henry Wells himself.

  This type of “revelation vein” is one that I often use in setting up audiences for a denouement that will catch them off guard. With Exit, Grand Balcony, for instance, they are vicariously swept up in the backstage dalliance between a married actress and one of her former leading men. When he refuses to fall in with the plans she has made to leave her husband, she pulls a gun on him, a gun which — unbeknownst to her — fits in well with his own agenda for later that evening. The name of her lover? John Wilkes Boothe.

  I use commercials in my workshops as an example of the power of brevity, the ability to maximize one’s allotment of space. Given the cost of advertising, especially during high-profile events such as the Super Bowl, every second of air-time has to count, calling for imagination and extremely tight wordsmithing to fit a 30 or 60-second framework.

  Short films (abbreviated as “shorts”) lend themselves to exactly the same dynamics and structure that PR firms use in framing a story to sell a product. Why? Because both venues are only selling one idea in a compressed timeframe, as opposed to multiple products or — in the case of feature-length movies — peripheral plots and themes. A short, thus, isn’t simply a big story squished into a small box but, rather, a facet of a big story that has been momentarily i
solated and magnified in order to make a point.

  At the same time, a well-financed commercial spot follows exactly the same structure common to all films; specifically, even if the ad is only a minute long, a complete story with a definitive beginning, middle, and end still has to be conveyed. To simply meander without a purpose won’t hook our attention, nor will it accomplish its ultimate goal of generating a sale or influencing public opinion.