Christopher Vogler uses the hero’s journey template in his book, The Writers Journey: Mythic Structure of Storytellers and Screenwriters. The hero’s journey model is definitely industry standard. (Think Star Wars.) If you can use “hero’s journey” buzz words when pitching your script, you’ll definitely have an edge. I was struggling with a producer who wanted to cut a key character from my script. I pointed out she was a mentor and the opposition faded away.
You’ll get a much better feel for the hero’s journey by reading the book, but if you’re writing a hero journey script, you do need to know the players:
Hero, Mentor, Threshold Guardian, Herald, Shapeshifter, Shadow, Trickster.
The stages of the journey are:
Ordinary World
Call to adventure
Refusal of the call
Meeting the Mentor
Crossing the First Threshold
Tests, Allies, Enemies
Approach to the Inmost Cave
Supreme Ordeal
Reward
The Road Back
Resurrection
Return with Elixir
I could list explanations for all of these elements, but there are tons of books and articles out there about them just by doing a simple Google search.
If you study the Star Wars Trilogy, you’ll be able to pick out the players and the stages fairly easily. It was definitely constructed from this classic structure. One reason this structure works so well, is that it is based on myths—which speak directly and strongly to people. I’ve been told this type of script is easier to sell, though a good strong structure will always help your script, even if it’s not a classic hero’s journey.
In American cinema, structure is king. Foreign films or scripts targeted for foreign markets can have a more flexible structure, but if you want to sell on this continent, you need to pay attention to structure.
There are as many ways to structure as Carter has pills—well, almost. I’m going to cover several of them, because each person has to find their own way to get where they need to go. I pull ideas and techniques from a variety of sources. In the end, it’s all a way to brainstorm—with guidelines.
Most movie people talk about the three-act structure, though a MOW (movie of the week) is actually seven acts, but still within a three-act structure. A short list of a MOW would be:
Act 1 – 10 pages—grabber; 12-15 pages—set up ending in a plot point
Act 2 – 4-15 pages (or so) segments, each ending with some sort of climax/twist/etc.
Act 3 – 15 pages (or so) —the climax; 5 pages—the tag
A grabber is the hook at the beginning of a MOW or television show, something specifically designed to pull the viewer into the story and keep them there through the commercial break. The tag would be the wrap of the story, where the ends are neatly tied.
A MOW is usually between 107-110 pages and has a 94-minute running time, so it can fit between commercials and hook the viewer strongly enough to hold them through those commercial breaks.
It’s typically shot on a schedule of 18-21 days, at a rate of about 4-6 pages a day and on a smaller budget. Remember, the film will be shot for television and viewed on a small screen, thus the scenes tend to be more intimate and you should be careful that you’re not using too many expensive or complicated action shots in your script.
A big-screen spec script is typically structured as follows:
Act 1: 1-30 pages
Act 2: 31-90 pages
Act 3: 91-120 pages
You also need to be sure you have a process for identifying the key, visual plot points, or key elements of your story. If you’re wondering about plot points, the phrase was coined by movie guru Syd Field, in his book The Screenwriter's Workbook.
Plot points move the story forward. They can be, according to Field, “incidents, episodes or events that hook into the action and spin the story in a new direction.” Plot points are the building blocks of a strong story structure. You can have as many as 15-20 plot points by the time you finish your script, but you need to know four of them in order to structure your idea properly: ending, beginning, Plot Point I and Plot Point II.
Ending and beginning need no explanation, but points I and II are pivotal because they move or spin the plot into new and important directions.
Act one is about thirty pages of script, contains a set-up, and ends with plot point I. In the script for Do Wah Diddy Die, the main plot point that hooks the story in a new direction is the discovery of the first body. This forces Mickey, my hero, to deal with my heroine, Luci—a person he has vowed to avoid.
Act two is 60 pages and deals with the building story—the confrontations and complications as the story unfolds. Without strong plot points that push the story forward, your script can sag and stall out. That’s why you need to include the second plot point at the end of act two. In my script, that is the last attempt on Luci’s life by my hired hit couple. This sets in motion the resolution, as my villain is forced to deal with her himself.
Still not sure about plot points? Let’s look at The Last Enemy.
Inciting incident: A hired killer attempts to kill Dani, a witness to a mob-connected murder. This propels/forces her into action.
First major plot point: Dani decides not to seek protection from the authorities, but instead contacts her online friends. This is my character deciding, which forces the authorities and the killer to react to her. This action spins the plot into a new direction, as authorities and the killer race to find her first. Dani must, of course, stay ahead of the killer to survive.
Second major plot point: Dani learns something new about the killer that forces her to seek out authorities for help, which in turn changes the actions of the killer. To tell you more would be spoiler, but this plot point sets up the climax of the book/script. This plot point would fall near the end of the second act. If it occurs too soon in the act, your suspense will dissipate rather than build.
Lots of story points occur in between these three events but these are key points that are pillars to both the book and the script. They have to be in both for the story to make sense.
Act three is 30 pages and contains the resolution and climax. A strong climax is important to a strong script. You have to deliver on the promise of the action set up earlier in the script.
Vogler calls the inciting incident the “call to adventure.” We start by seeing the protagonist in their ordinary world and then something happens. But whatever model you choose, remember, something always has to happen! That seems obvious, but you’d be surprised the number of scripts that go on for pages without anything happening.
The inciting incident can happen very quickly or you can take some time to set the scene, but it has to happen before the end of Act I, unless you’re writing an art house film.
So the first thing you need to find in your novel is the event that sets your plot in motion. At this point, the character can still stop things, but you want to be driving toward that moment when your character has to act, has to decide, that point when the forward motion of the story can’t be stopped. Sometimes the inciting incident and first plot point occur right after one another.
The first Die Hard is an example of this. Once the bad guys take hostages, Bruce Willis’s character can’t leave. He has to act or be taken prisoner himself.
In Luci, my inciting incident occurs when Luci decides to go to New Orleans. That sets in train the events that propel the story forward. This is off stage in the script and the book, but it is what sets the story in motion, because this puts her in the path of a killer.
As I mentioned previously, in Enemy the inciting incident occurs when Hayes attacks the safe house, and Dani is propelled out into the world on her own.
The nice thing about writing mystery and suspense books, you pretty much know what starts the story. But what about a romance?
The inciting incident in Sleepless in Seattle is when Meg Ryan’s character hears Tom Hank’s c
haracter talking on the radio and feels something a recently engaged woman shouldn’t feel. The plot point occurs when she decides to find out more about the man behind the voice on the radio. This action spins the story in a new direction, away from her engagement and toward Seattle. The suspense in the movie builds because we’re wondering who she’ll choose and if she’ll choose in time, because Hanks’ character is getting involved with someone else. What is interesting about this story is that the second major plot point, the one that propels the story to the climax, is made by Hank’s son, who runs away to New York to meet Ryan. One could also make the case that it occurs when Ryan’s character breaks her engagement and goes to the meeting with Hank’s character. No matter which it is, both events spin the story toward the climax.
As you’re working on adapting your book, keep in mind that the halfway point in the novel needs to happen at page 60 in your script (or whatever is halfway through your script). Scripts can be less than 120 pages, but should never be more!
The second act straddles your halfway point and is the longest block of action and the most difficult, particularly for the novelist. This is where you take the largest chunk of your book and reduce it to visual scenes that carry the story forward to the third act. This is an act filled with confrontation, wins and losses, and rising complications that get worse and worse with the last being another of those hookish plot points that spin the story toward the black moment when all seems lost, then the all-important climax.
One thing that really helped me to adapt The Last Enemy was sitting down with the book and some note cards and just writing a brief description of each scene and who was in it. Once I’d gone through the book, I divided the scene cards into acts. It took some math, but basically in a four hundred page novel, the first act would be the first 100 pages. Then 200 for the second act and 100 for the third. And I also found the halfway point of my book. I knew that by page 60 of my script I had to be the novel’s halfway point, or have a good reason why I wasn’t!
Then I took each act and identified the scenes I had to have for the story to make sense. The process wasn’t without pain, though, as I had to lose some scenes I was particularly fond of.
One problem I had was that the person behind the attempted hits on Dani was her brother-in-law. His story was easy to tell on the page, but very difficult to show on the screen without making the story too complex and confusing. In the end, I had to cut him entirely from the story, which rippled through the story in some interesting ways, but didn’t alter the basic conflict between Dani, the hero, Matt, and my hit man. By focusing on these three key players, I was able to keep focused on what had to be in, which made the choice of what had to be cut out somewhat easier.
Another problem I ran into was that Hayes, my hit man, didn’t really interact with anyone early in the book. His early scenes were a real challenge, since other than some tapping on a computer, in the novel, most of his scenes were inside his head. He is involved in a lot of action in the last half of the novel, but I had to create someone for him to talk to in the early scenes. Was I successful? I’m not sure. I’ve had good-to-great feedback from producers and the script was a semi-finalist in a contest, but never optioned. (One producer told me scripts with women as leads never sell because women are too hard to work with.)
You can see that as you move through the process, your script really does become something new, making the transition from apple into orange.
It’s not an easy process, but it can be fun and it should always, always, always be about what can be seen. You can have a great scene in a book that can’t be shown on a screen because most of it happens inside the character’s heads.
As you’re assessing your scenes, try playing them mentally. Sometimes you find undiscovered possibilities in the story. If it works, go with it.
Lest you become too discouraged, also keep in mind that you can do things on the screen that are hard to describe in a book. Action scenes can spring to life in ways not possible on the page. And you don’t have to use dialogue tags or spend a lot of time describing things or people.
Another advantage you have in adapting your own work is that you already know the spirit—the essence—of your story. You’re just building it with fewer pieces.
Now would be a good time to start crafting your logline and keep it in front of you as you work, so that your story doesn’t stray off course and get lost.
CHOOSING YOUR FILM CAST
The Stars
It would be so great if we could cast our scripts with the film stars, but we don’t get to do that. This film cast is going to come straight from the pages of your novel.
If you’ve got a complicated story with lots of subplots and things going on, you’ll want to focus on the characters with problems, you want the ones with something to overcome, with a huge stake in the outcome.
Again, if you can’t see these main characters working things out, then the book isn’t going to be easy or suitable for adaptation. This is why you’ll see few straight romance novels adapted for film. If you look at the romances that have been adapted, you’ll find that they usually have a suspense or mystery subplot, or some kind of visual subplot that can carry the romance on its shoulders.
Hallmark has been filming some straight romances with, in my opinion, mixed results. These seem to rely on plot devices, such as the hero being Santa’s son, as subplots to the romance. They have done, or aired, some rather fine westerns, at least one of them adapted from romance novels. So it’s not impossible, just difficult.
Another book that will help you hone in on which of your characters has the biggest stake in the outcome is Deb Dixon’s Goal, Motivation and Conflict. While you’ll find this for sale, used, on Amazon.com, if you visit her website you’ll find a link to more reasonably priced editions from Gryphon Books, the publisher.
Basically, her book suggests you give your characters strong goals, with strong motivations and lots of potential conflict. You chart each major character’s external and internal goals, what motivates them, and their conflicts. If the external and internal goals of a character are also in conflict, you’ve got some good stuff to work with.
What’s nice about having the novel already written is that all this material should already be there, you just have to find it…and narrow it down into a central conflict for your script. Remember, you’re going for clarity and the visual.
If you’re satisfied that your main characters have what it takes to make the transition to film, then you’re ready for the next set of questions that you need to ask yourself. Again, hopefully they’ve been answered in your book.
A. Can this character carry the action? Will viewers believe the character can do the actions required?
B. Does this character have the stature to grab a star’s attention because of the character’s strength and intensity?
C. Does your character have volition, the will power to propel events? Again, you’re looking for characters that actors will be interested in playing.
D. Does your character interrelate well with the other characters in your story? Your character needs to be involved, on some level, with most of the other characters in your book. Stars like lots of scenes. (I had this problem with a proposal I was putting together. I had an interesting premise, but my main character wasn’t directly involved in the story problem. To get her involved, I had to create an incredibly involved storyline. An editor loved it, but felt it was too complex. I went back to the drawing board, cut out a lot of characters and looked for a story problem that affected her directly to make the story a better sell.)
E. Attractiveness is a commercial consideration, but it is important in creating a heroic character. This isn’t just about the physical, but the internal. Is your main character ethically admirable? Even anti-hero types have something that makes them heroic to the viewer. And keep in mind that real people will have to be enticed to take the role. They are going to want to look good.
F. Does my ch
aracter have credibility? Is my character consistent and believable without getting inside the character’s head? Remember, on film you can’t explain inconsistencies like you can in a novel. I like an exercise Donald Maas has in his book, Writing the Breakout Novel. He suggests finding the one thing your character would never do and then create a situation where that is the one thing the character must do. But remember, if you try this for your script, it has to be seen and not read.
G. Clarity is the last quality you need to assess in your main character/s for. Characters need to be lucid in feeling, thought and action. Take time to let the viewer see that one, driving quality that is propelling the story. (This is your character’s goal, their end game.)
In some rare cases, you may find you need to shift your focus from the character you consider to be the main protagonist. When I was doing rewrites of Luci, I was asked to make Mickey the main focus of the story, not Luci. Scripts with male characters as leads are easier to sell. That’s not to say there isn’t a market for female leads. There is, but it is a harder market to crack. When you’re casting your script, it is all right to maintain the purity of your story, but you need to do so knowing that you may make it harder to sell.
Adapting Your Novel for Film Page 2