For a short to click at film festivals and contests on the same level as a successful ad, there are five conditions that need to be met:
Minimum casting
Minimum scenes
A Problem
An Attempt to Resolve
A Resolution
As an example, here’s one of Budweiser’s most popular commercials:
The setting is an Old West street on the back lot of a Hollywood studio. The director and camera crew are frustrated with their canine star because he’s not reacting with proper pathos to the fact his human pal has just been gunned down. The trainer, desperate to appeal to the dog’s sense of method acting, pleads with him to recall his most painful moment. The scene dissolves to the dog’s blissful memory of trying to catch a passing Budweiser truck by leaping the fence -- and crashing his nose right into it. Back on the set, he is now howling with such convincing agony that the entire crew is weeping.
What may look like an amusing sketch concocted to sell beer only works — even from an advertising standpoint — because it has all the elements necessary to communicate a complete plot:
The Cast: The dog and the Hollywood crew
The Locations: The Western set and the dog’s front yard
The Problem (BEGINNING): The dog will lose his job if he can’t project sadness.
The Attempt to Resolve (MIDDLE): Flashback/memory sequence.
The Resolution (END): By recalling his most painful moment, the dog summons the necessary emotion to make the scene a howling success.
On a final note, keep in mind that commercial advertising is all designed to sell us on one of four concepts: food, sex, self-esteem, and security. With the exception of food (not counting popcorn, of course), movies — regardless of their length — are out to sell us on the very same things. The shorter the playing time, the more obvious your “product’s” relationship and significance to the audience needs to be.
CINEMA CHALLENGE
Write your screenplay idea as a 60-second short, applying what you have just learned about commercials.
RECOMMENDED WEB SITE
Every year, the advertising industry bestows prestigious worldwide awards called “Clios” for excellence in TV, Radio, Print, Design, Internet, Outdoor, and Integrated Media. In addition to Clio festivals, screenings of the award winning ads are shown throughout major cities, as well as compiled in collector editions sold directly through their Web site at www.clioawards.com. The entertainment value of seeing the best of the best is as noteworthy as the tips and tricks you’ll glean for making your own films click from start to finish.
IDEA-STARTERS
Commercials provide a ready source of scenarios from which to develop ideas for shorts. Here’s how:
Pick any commercial that is either currently airing or one from the past that was memorable enough to have stuck with you.
Assign names to the characters (if they don’t already have them).
Decide what their central issue is going to be.
Using the commercial as the beginning of your story, develop a 10-minute script with a middle and an ending.
EXAMPLE: Remember the General Foods International Coffee® commercial in which two women friends are fondly reminiscing about their trip to Europe and, in particular, a certain Frenchman who set their pulses aflutter? What would happen if he were to stroll into their lives again at that very moment? Will his handsome looks now trigger fierce competition and jealousy? Or with the passage of years, did this same monsieur consume a tad more Brie and pastry than he really should have?
TALL ORDERS FOR SHORT STUFF
For aspiring screenwriters, the ability to create memorable shorts serves a two-fold purpose:
The first is to provide a home for those plots that simply aren’t meaty enough to fill up a screen for two hours. Because they generally take less time to write and less money to produce than features, they also constitute a faster track to building a diversified screen portfolio. The second is to fill the needs of a growing market of indie and student filmmakers seeking scripts that can be used in film festivals and competitions as a demonstration of their directorial and production skills. While the pay is usually low and/or on a deferred comp basis, you’ll still get a credit and a copy of the finished product.
Nor should you ignore the fact that shorts ranging from two to 30 minutes and developed specifically for Internet viewing have become “virtual resumes” for prospective producers to scope out writing, acting, and directing talent for future projects. As access becomes more and more of a two-way street, the demand for original material will translate to showcase opportunities for newcomers that were previously limited.
The insular nature of shorts as a medium allows screenwriters to explore and concentrate on one facet of a character’s life rather than execute a major personality makeover. To return to the earlier-referenced Budweiser commercial, the only issue that concerns us in this 60-second tableau is whether the dog will be able to perform convincingly. Whether he has litter-mate rivalries, abandonment issues with his mother, distrust of his trainer, or feels that he deserves a bigger dressing room never comes up. Nor does it invite any speculation of where his tail-wagging career might go next. We as the audience know that he’s going to do fine, given the positive outcome of this brief slice of life we have just been privy to.
Where feature films strive to make life bigger than it actually is, shorts tend to mirror life from a workaday perspective and, thereby, involve the audience on more of an interpersonal level. They originate from those experiences which strike a universal chord and, unlike a studio feature that endeavors to wrap up all loose ends, a successful short can plant seeds of introspection which will continue to grow after the final roll of credits.
Keep this simplistic layout in mind as you go through the process of deciding which of your ideas might make for compelling shorts. The objective here isn’t to see how well you can scrunch a big plot into a tiny box, but rather how you can isolate a select dimension of that big plot and allow audiences to experience its emotional depth at a level they would have missed in the context of a longer story.
The following movie excerpt demonstrates how this principle works in defining your own story’s external boundaries and internal focus.
In Robin Hood, Prince of Thieves, there is a melodramatic (some might even say sappy) moment when Kevin Costner tearfully grabs Christian Slater and acknowledges him as his heretofore unmentioned younger brother, Will Scarlet. Although Robin subsequently saves his life at Nottingham and even invites him to dress up and come to the wedding, there are never any “bro bonding” scenes in which these two lads sit down, throw back a couple of Friar Tuck’s beers, and discuss their innermost feelings.
Why not? Well, aside from the fact that moviegoers really wouldn’t care at this point, such a scene would impede the more necessary task of rescuing Maid Marian before she can become Mrs. Sheriff.
Suppose, however, that the theme of sibling reconciliation appeals to you as a development project. Because the intent of your short is to zero in on the newly discovered relationship between these half-brothers, everything else depicted in the film would be extraneous. The here-and-now window through which we view Robin and Will’s interaction doesn’t require that we resolve all of the issues of the past (i.e., “Did Dad really like you best?”) nor address any contingencies of the future (i.e., “Can I come and live with you and Marian?”).
As one of my clients succinctly put it, “A short simply is.”
USING ONE-ACT PLAYS AS A STARTING POINT
Back when I first began testing the commercial waters with my plays, I was dismayed to discover that producers and publishers were only interested in reading full-length scripts. One-acts, the likes of which I was penning for my acting company, simply weren’t considered a viable venue at the time.
Although a trio or quartet of short works united by a common theme certainly offer a more equitable distribution of roles for school
and community actors, it wasn’t until fairly recently that the theatrical equivalent of a short really caught on as a program alternative. Today, many competitions not only offer a one-act division, but distill the category even further to include entries of 10 minutes duration.
It is in this particular category that you can easily test whether your movie idea is structurally suited to a short film format. Unlike two and three act works which are sometimes too talky and physically static to adapt to a feature, short plays lend themselves extremely well. After all, they already contain the minimalist elements of cast, setting, and scope inherent in this screenwriting genre, freeing the author to switch over and substitute the eye of the camera for the collective eye of the audience.
One-act plays for study can readily be found in published anthologies at your local library or bookstore or through magazine and catalogue subscription services such as Plays, Inc., Meriwether Publishing, and Eldridge Publishing. In addition, theater-related newsletters such as Insight for Playwrights (www.writersinsight.com) provide monthly contest information for festivals, regional production, and publication.
IDEA-STARTERS
Each of the following set-ups would lend itself to a 20-minute short. Select the one you like best and identify:
The emotional tone you’d like to communicate;
The characters;
The setting(s);
The outcome (which can be positive or negative); and
The experience(s) you can draw from your own background that would enable you to write a credible script.
THE SCENARIOS:
A housewife arrives home from the store and realizes she has accidentally shoplifted a tube of lipstick.
A young man receives the news that a girl he was cruel to at the previous night’s dance has committed suicide.
A real estate agent mistakenly assumes that the burglar she has encountered is a prospective buyer for the house she is showing.
A businessman discovers that a neighborhood panhandler is someone he once envied in high school.
Sibling allegiance is put to the test when one of them needs a kidney from the other.
SECTION III:
WORKING IT OUT
CHAPTER 11: THE REALITIES OF REVISION
Four years ago, a friend of mine started writing her first screenplay. She’s still writing it. She also has yet to complete the first scene. It’s not that she’s lacking in inspiration or free time, however. It’s that she’s spending all of her energy on rewrites that no one has even requested.
Obviously, she’s not alone in the mindset that every word and thought has to be perfect before it can be sent out. While it goes without saying that presentation, spelling, and punctuation should always adhere to that rule, writers do themselves a huge disservice by trying to second-guess what someone else is going to want changed. Time and again, I’ve labored over eloquent narratives, only to have an editor “X”out the entire passage. On the flip side, I’ve penned throwaway lines just to put down something and received back-slapping “Bravo’s.” Go figure.
Bottom line: Always write your first draft from the heart and show it to someone whose opinion counts before you even start the deconstruction process.
WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT NEEDS ‘FIXING’?
The year after I graduated from high school, my very first play — a western melodrama entitled West — was produced. I share the following anecdote as a dose of reality for starry-eyed screenwriters who believe that everything they have put into their script will translate, line for line, to the finished product. It doesn’t.
My initial euphoria as the lights went down in the theater quickly segued to one big “Arghgh” as the curtains parted and the first two actors walked out on stage. “How could they have gotten the town setting so blatantly wrong?” I thought. “And who are these two actors supposed to be playing?” Certainly they couldn’t be the sheriff and his long-suffering deputy, two personas who were so meticulously described in the cast list.
The moment they opened their mouths, even further discrepancies revealed themselves. A part of me wanted to jump out my seat and start explaining to the audience that this wasn’t the way I had written it at all. Another part of me wanted to just slump further into the cushions and pray that no one dared introduce me as the author at the end of it.
During intermission, I sought out the director and, in as calm a voice as I could muster, remarked that the play looked a smidge different from what I remembered writing.
“Oh that,” she nonchalantly replied. “I always wanted to try my hand at fixing a script. I didn’t think you’d mind…”
Such is the fate awaiting you once you’ve typed FADE OUT and sent your creation out into the world to be discovered. On the one hand, you can’t wait for someone to fall in love with it and want to produce it. On the other hand, a part of you is dreading how much they’re going to screw it up and turn it into something you no longer even recognize.
Depending on the terms of your option agreement with a producer, you may or may not be brought in to do the rewrites for it. While extra work usually doesn’t equate to any extra money — especially with smaller studios — neither does it mean that any money or recognition will be taken away from you if a second or third screenwriter takes the helm. Whatever happens from this point forward has still flowed forth from your original concept, a condition which, accordingly, still will be acknowledged when they roll the credits.
Obviously, if the rewrite responsibilities are taken out of your control, there’s really nothing you can do about it. Instead of venting or vexing, take that energy and go apply it to your next script.
Easier said than done, yes.
Having brought this baby into the world, you might like nothing better than to hold its hand for as long as possible. Suffice it to say, however, this insular approach cuts off the chance of it being groomed by others who are perhaps more worldly and better traveled in this journey called filmmaking.
On the flip-side, you may be asked to participate, incorporating those changes that the power-brokers think would make for a better movie. How you respond to that invitation (or directive, as it were) depends on the following perceptions of what the rewrite process means to you on a personal level.
GROUSING ALL THE WAY
We all have a possessive streak when it comes to our own work. Woe to the critic who dares to suggest we’ve got a comma out of place or that we used an incorrect word. Or what of the reader who shows undisguised ignorance of Marjorie’s motivation to get back together with Chad or completely overlooks what you thought was a darned clever allegory to the curse of Jonah?
Good grief! Are these people stupid or what?
While you certainly can content yourself with the secret opinion that, yes, they do have the functional IQ of paste, it wouldn’t do to voice that out loud to those who hold the key to your cinematic future. Nor would it behoove you to say “yes” if it’s with the intention of protesting throughout the entire exercise.
A hard lesson for writers of any medium to accept is that editors, agents, and producers really aren’t out to make you look like a rube. They want the project to be just as successful as you want it to be. As such, the changes they recommend are to maximize the story’s good points, minimize or eliminate its flaws, and to flesh out those areas that aren’t as well developed as they should be.
CHOOSING YOUR BATTLES
Provided you don’t turn obsessive about it, you can sometimes negotiate compromise on a script revision. If there is something that you really feel needs to stay in for the sake of integrity, you can certainly broach the subject with the producer. That said, of course, you need to be amenable when he/she comes back and says “no” on something else.
Could It Be a Movie Page 14