by Blake Snyder
Too plain.
The second logline is a great example of “too complicated,” which usually starts with confusion. I was pitched Partly Cloudy by a good friend, a writer who has more winning concepts than most people I know, and I apologize for picking on him with this one because 9 out of 10 of his ideas are home runs. But this leaped out at me as a perfect example of how easily we go crazy at our key-boards. When he pitched this idea via email, I smiled. It seems like a fun comedy; there's a sense of comic chaos anyway. Can you spot the problem? It should be fairly obvious.
What's “reverse 911”?
You may know, but not everyone does, and if I don't, I won't be interested. And so, still smiling, I emailed this writer back with that very question. His response made it even worse! He explained that reverse 911 is “a service you can sign up for and get alerts sent to your phone. My idea riffs off of that.”
Okay, so far so good.
But then he went on to say, “The hero of my story gets phone alerts, then signs on for the optional chip implant…” Huh? Well, now I'm really confused. Not only am I on shaky ground with the technology he's pitching, but he's adding in something fantastic that throws me off even more.
But the real problem here is: By getting so involved with the “thing,” the device that sets this story into motion, my pal completely lost the human part. How does any of this relate to a caveman like me? How's this affect the hero? What's it about?
Again, good thinking! This writer has an eye for ideas. But…
Too complicated.
This leads to what the third idea has wrong with it, and the concept of “hiding the ball.” I love this final example because it's not just we spec screenwriters who have to confront this problem, moviemakers have to deal with it all the time.
And it costs a lot of money when we make a mistake.
Hiding the ball is really the psychological quirk writers demonstrate when they have a “secret” or a big reveal in their story. What they've got is such a whammy, such a Sixth Sense boffo element, they don't want to tell us about it for fear of ruining the “surprise.”
But it leads to our not caring.
That's what happened to the writer of Dark Streets. When I got this email, I wrote back saying “too plain.” There is nothing about this idea I couldn't see on an average episode of Law & Order. Well, she wrote back, it's because she didn't want to “give it away.” Give what away? Well, about the reincarnation story. The what? It took six emails to drag the real story out of this writer, and each time, she still didn't want to tell me the secret — that it's really about a cop who discovers the killer he's chasing is… himself. There's a lot of mumbo jumbo I won't go into, but the bottom line is, even when pressed, she held back from saying it! She didn't want to ruin “the best part.”
Well, I've got news: I will not ask to see that script based on what she gave me, so she'd better figure out a way to say it.
She was being too cute by half. She was hiding the ball.
And I encouraged her not to. If it's about reincarnation, tell me! If the cop is the killer, then at least give us a hint!
I love this dilemma because it even happens to the pros.
The Island is my favorite example of orb obfuscation. This is the film that came out in the summer of 2005. Directed by Michael Bay, the studio spent $150 million to make it, and another $50 million on advertising. Here in Los Angeles, there is a giant storage building near Santa Monica and La Brea and the whole face of the superstructure was devoted to the pulchritude of the movie's star, Scarlett Johansson. It is a poster one might see on the side of the Pyramids or The Hanging Gardens of Babylon. I dream about it late at night. Still!
They just had one small problem: The filmmakers couldn't tell us what The Island was about. And the title sure didn't help! (Is this about castaways? Is Dr. Moreau involved?) And as a result, it brought in just $35 million at the box office.
What went wrong?
The problem was the story was a secret. It's about clones who discover they're being used as spare parts for their “real,” other selves. It's “ Logan's Run with organ donors.” But they couldn't say that because they didn't want to “give it away.”
In my opinion, I think the movie would have done a whole lot better if they had given us a clue about the plot. If I knew going in that our heroes were being used like this, and had to run for their lives to escape being put under the knife, you've grabbed me — and even knowing this, I still don't know what happens, so I've got a reason to find out!
But the makers of The Island chose to hide the ball.
OTHER THINGS THAT CAN GO “WRONG” WITH AN IDEA
When pitching me, or anyone, your job is to identify the best part of your movie idea and push it to the forefront. There are other things that stop us from getting what you're saying:
► Tone - “Is it a comedy or a drama?” If I ask this, if I can't tell whether to laugh or cry, you are not communicating.
► One Joke - Your idea, while interesting, is limited. If I can't see where it goes beyond the gimmick, I won't ask for more.
► No Stakes - One cause of me saying “Who cares?” is there isn't enough on the line for the hero. I have to sense importance.
► “What does the giant eat up there?” - This line came from an agent who heard Colby Carr's and my pitch for a Jack in the Beanstalk update, and he was right! Any logic flaw in your pitch is fatal and stops us all from “seeing” it.
► “Heaven” movies - This goes for “Angel” movies, “one-last-chance-to-make-good-on-earth” movies, and movies where we go into “the future” or “a fantasy world.” We can't root for dead people is one problem; the other is not knowing what your “world” is.
If you try to assuage me because “It's like The Chronicles of Narnia!”, I'll tell you:
a. Write a beloved international bestseller
b. Sell the rights to the movies.
Then I'll buy you lunch.
THE END OF THE LOGLINE LOGJAM!
The way out of this conceptual miasma — and the exercise that will help you take the next step in turning your glimmer of an idea into a full-fledged script — has been created by our own José Silerio, my Development Director and right-hand man when it comes to script consultations. José took the basics of the Cat! method, including key points of the “Blake Snyder Beat Sheet” (which, if you haven't read my first two books, we'll discuss in Chapter 2), and put them into a single sentence for anyone who wants a little more oomph in his logline. And though it is no substitute for the simple pitch I prefer when I first hear your idea, it's a great way to take your idea-vetting process to the next level.
I still want to be pitched in one sentence, and I prefer the pithiest, easiest, way to say it. But if you have an idea that's not working, or if yours is too plain, too complicated, or hiding the ball, by plugging your story elements into this template, you will quickly see where you're coming up short — or why your idea might be a non-starter!
The template:
On the verge of a Stasis = Death moment, a flawed protagonist Breaks into Two; but when the Midpoint happens, he/she must learn the Theme Stated, before All Is Lost.
What do each of these phrases mean?
Let's start with “On the verge of.” It's one of my favorite logline boosters. “On the verge of” describes where a hero is when we begin the story; often he's going in a very different direction from where he ends up. This handy phrase also sets up what's at stake for him.
“Stasis = Death” we will be discussing shortly, but know for now it's the moment early on when the hero suspects his life is deficient, an emotional starting point implying needed change.
Why “flawed” protagonist? Same thing. Any deficit suggests there will be a “filling in” of that flaw during the story.
What sets this story into motion? That's “Break into Two,” where we see what your “poster” is — and get excited about it!
The key plot points are “
Midpoint” — the “no-turning-back” part of your story — and the “All Is Lost” beat, that moment when the hero is “worse off than when this movie started.” “Theme” is what your movie is “about.”
And if you don't believe these simple components can be used to troubleshoot your logline, take a look at these examples:
On the verge of another “suit and tie” assignment, a tomboy FBI agent goes undercover as a contestant in the American Miss Pageant; but when the pageant receives a new threat, she must learn to be a woman andtough, before she's thrown off the case and out of the bureau. (Miss Congeniality)
On the verge of returning to Earth after another routine mission, a rules-obsessed warrant officer lets an unknown alien species onto the ship; but when the creature kills one member of the crew and begins to grow in power, she must do what is right rather than what she's been told or else all on board will meet the same deadly fate. (Alien)
On the verge of missing Thanksgiving when his flight is diverted, an uptight ad executive is forced to travel by any means possible with a zany salesman with a secret; but when he loses the last rental car to get back home, he must learn that family is more important than his job, and get back in time or bust. (Planes, Trains & Automobiles)
Still need more information?
Believe it or not, we can also add to this simple logline template by including The B Story — the love interest, mentor, or group that “helps” the hero learn the lesson — and Catalyst, the event that sets the story into motion, and even the Antagonist — our hero's nemesis or obstacle and subject to his own flaw. The enhanced template is ideal for those who have a finished script to pitch:
The enhanced template:
On the verge of a Stasis = Death moment, a flawed protagonist has a Catalyst and Breaks Into Two with the B Story; but when the Midpoint happens, he/she must learn the Theme Stated, before All Is Lost, to defeat (or stop) the flawed antagonist (from getting away with his/her plan).
Take a look at how these enhanced loglines tell the tale:
On the verge of a divorce, a bullheaded street-smart cop is trapped in his wife's office building by terrorists and teams up with a “desk cop” patrolman to thwart them; but when he taunts the terrorists, and risks exposing his hostage wife's identity, he must learn to adapt to change to outsmart the leader and stop what are really thieves from getting away with a billion-dollar heist. (Die Hard)
On the verge of losing the girl he loves, a super-powered young man's abilities start to wane as a demented criminal he helped create begins to rain havoc on the city; but when he gives up his crime-fighting ways, he must learn what it means to make a promise, before more innocents die, to save his city from the criminal's super weapon. (Spider-Man 2)
On the verge of another meaningless year, a repressed high school nerd gets an unexpected visit from his crush and is left on his own under the care of his loser uncle to pursue her; but when enlisted by his best friend to win the student presidency, he must realize he has more depth than others think, before he loses his crush's friendship forever, and can finally gain his snobby peers’ respect. (Napoleon Dynamite)
All of these films can be found in beat sheet form either in Save the Cat! or Save the Cat! Goes to the Movies. But for fun, try using these logline templates, either the simple A Story version or its enhanced B Story cousin on any idea you have that's not working.
I think you'll be amazed by how it helps.
Juno: Can you pitch a movie that feels Indie?
JUNO: PERFECT MOVIE, PERFECT LOGLINE?
And then there was Juno.
I'm in the middle of putting this book together and a writer emails to say he just saw Juno on the plane. He almost didn't see it, even though he knew it had won the Academy Award® for Best Original Screenplay for writer Diablo Cody. Why? Because in the airplane movie guide the logline of the film read thusly:
“JUNO – A teenage girl gets pregnant.”
Can you blame him?
This is a lousy logline and does not in any way reflect the experience that is Juno or what makes the movie special. And yet, at core, the editors of Now Og Smart, Caveman Airline's in-flight magazine, aren't wrong. So, if a movie with a bad logline can win an Oscar®, why should we even care? Why shouldn't we go with our gut, write “Fade In,” and leave the selling to our agent?
The answer is simple.
Because nailing the pitch and the logline not only helps to sell your script — and helps you write a better story — it forces you to find its essence, the “grabber,” and push it to the forefront in your pitch, so you can better deliver in the writing.
My elevator pitch for Juno is: “It's a 21st-century Scarlet Letter.” I might go on to say: “It's Baby Boom with Doc Martens” or ask: “What if instead of saving France, Joan of Arc lived near the Mall of America and decided to have an out-of-wedlock baby?”
Have I got your interest?
Of course I do.
But what about that dreadful logline?
Although we can't control what Caveman Airlines does, when we pitch our yet-to-be-sold idea, we must do just that: sell. The email query you will write is all about a good logline. Does Juno have one? I posed this on my website and the winning entry came from writer Christina Ferguson:
JUNO - A plucky pregnant teen from a broken family finds herself at a crossroads between the awkward teen father and the husband of a seemingly perfect adoptive couple.
Well? I don't know about you, but I'm racing to see this movie. Christina nailed it! And she makes us realize another secret: Juno may be an “indie”… but it's as “high-concept” as it gets.
And if you're still not sure whether this idea, or any one you have, is too plain, too complicated, or hiding the ball, there's no better test than our new story template.
Here's Juno's:
On the verge of another dull year of high school, a pregnant teen decides to have her baby and give it up for adoption; but when an afternoon with the would-be adoptive husband convinces her she's found the right couple, she must learn that some things in life can't be undone when the seemingly perfect couple decide to get divorced.
Can your ideas be improved by using this method?
Totally, homeskillet.
TURN IT AROUND TO STRIKE BACK!
Are you excited?
Say “yes.”
Good! You should be. Because what we've been discussing relates directly to you. If you have cringed while reading this chapter, excellent! Me too! Those “mistakes”? I've committed every one. But one thing that's been revealed for sure is: We can't hide any more.
We need to talk. We need to get in the game by not being afraid to play. To strike back we must be willing to try something new, and getting rid of our fears is the first step.
In truth, no matter how you dice it, it all comes down to hiding the ball. That's what we writers do best. We keep our ideas secret, at first just sharing with our computers, and then only with a few very special friends who understand our very special ways. We're private people; these thoughts have to germinate! We can't say it before we ourselves have a grasp of it. We can't speak it aloud until we're satisfied it's safe to share. To which I now say:
Poppycock!
Or the millennial equivalent thereof.
At the outset of this chapter, I posed the “Seven Warning Signs” that what you are working on doesn't work. Since we now have insight to fix all that, it's old news. “All stories are about transformation” and that includes the death of old ideas. So let me introduce our new creed when it comes to our pitches and loglines — and the business of spinning gossamer into gold:
The Seven Warning Signs I Might Have a Great Idea:
► I love talking about my story; I'm eager to share what I'm working on and get reaction to it.
► I have no fear my idea will be stolen! No one can tell this story like I can, and in fact someone I tell may give me an insight I didn't have before.
► I increase the magic when I
say it out loud. It lets the world know I'm a writer with lots of great ideas.
► I can't “lose” an idea; it will only get better the more I work on it.
► I look for potential flaws in logic knowing they are an opportunity to make my story stronger.
► Even if someone wrote my story before, I can come up with a new twist that will make my version the best.
► I have a great story and that means I have great scenes — they serve my story, not detract from it!
And speaking of which, I'm not giving up on Twinkle. That title's not half bad and there is a way to fix the story. Maybe if we tell it from Annette Bening's character's point of view…
Yeah.
That just might work.
chapter 2
IN TROUBLE
IN THE
CLASSROOM
Blake's Blog/February 9, 2009
“The discipline of clearly stating what your movie is about will make the writing of that story that much better.”
All over the world, since the beginning of my adventure into Cat! ness, I've had the pleasure of working with writers in small groups — and what a variety of locales we've met in!
In the past few years, I've led my workshops in a castle in Cornwall, England; in a beautiful farmhouse outside Barcelona, Spain; in a moldy, but evocative, old theater in Seattle; in the back of a Chicago saloon; and yes, God help us all, in the conference room of an Arizona Red Roof Inn. Sometimes in these settings it's raining outside, and the sound of a storm only stokes the imaginary campfire. For no matter where we find ourselves, when you start your pitch the only thing we hear is your story.