Save the Cat Goes to the Movies

by Blake Snyder

  Bad Guys Close In: Cary tries to get clever and trick the man who is observing them through a closed-circuit monitor. He pretends to “kill” Leigh by poisoning him, but Jigsaw isn’t buying and electrocutes the screenwriter/actor. Stunned but alive, Leigh reveals he knows a lot more. He is a photographer, assigned to catch Cary in the act of adultery. We now replay the events of the night before and see that Cary was about to meet an assignation at a sleazy motel. A-ha! Finally his sin will be revealed! But at the last minute, Cary changes his mind. This sequence also explains Leigh’s connection to the mystery: Danny hired Leigh to spy on Cary.

  All Is Lost: Cary knows what his “sin” is: not appreciating his life. But it looks like it’s too late to change his ways.

  Dark Night of the Soul: Cary laments his mistakes: “How did I get here? I had everything in order.”

  Break into Three: Suddenly Cary has an idea about who’s behind all this: Zep, the custodian at the hospital. When the phone rings and Cary speaks to his desperate wife and daughter, he knows he must save them. His insanity grows when he hears gunshots. A and B stories cross as Danny catches the “kidnapper,” but Zep gets away — and Danny pursues.

  Finale: As a frantic and very bizarre climax unfolds, we see Zep is not the killer, but a victim — and just a part of the game, assigned by Jigsaw to kill Cary’s family in order to live. Danny is killed. So is Zep. And, completely insane, Cary begins to saw off his own foot to save his family. By the time he hobbles away, only Leigh is left. But the filmmakers have a last surprise.

  Final Image: The “dead” man on the floor isn’t. The “monster” is alive, and as Leigh watches, Jigsaw rises to go. “Game over,” he says, closing the door and entombing Leigh in his “house” forever.

  Tom Hanks and company go “on the road” in Saving Private Ryan. And just like the story of Jason and the Argonauts, it’s not about the “Golden Fleece” — it’s how those who go on the journey are transformed.

  Talk to any cavemen about what tale they’d like to hear around the ol’ campfire and three out of five Neanderthals agree: More road stories!

  There’s something about recounting what occurs when we leave home to go foraging for food — or look for a better cave. What happens “out there” fires our imaginations, and gives us pointers about what to expect. The bottom line of what makes up the story type I call the “Golden Fleece” is this truism: It’s not the destination that matters … it’s what we learn about ourselves along the way.

  The term “Golden Fleece” comes from the Greek myth about Jason and the Argonauts. In that tale, the fleece is the thing Jason has been sent to retrieve in order to become king. To do so, Jason collects a team, including Hercules — the Vin Diesel of his era — and off they go, leading to many adventures until Jason finally confronts himself and gets his reward. The “Fleece” is the object of the hunt, the goal of the journey, and like many stories in this genre largely a “McGuffin,” a thing that sets the quest into motion, but has less meaning once achieved. And it’s an oft-told tale. From Greek myth we get not only the story of Jason, but also Homer’s Odyssey; from Chaucer, the Canterbury Tales; and from modern literature, James Joyce’s Ulysses and William Faulkner’s As I Lay Dying. This story tradition has carried over to movies, of course, and includes some journeys that may surprise you.

  Whenever we screenwriters pitch a “road picture,” that story almost always falls into the GF category, but there are many types. A “Buddy Fleece” is often lighter in tone and includes Planes, Trains and Automobiles; Road Trip; and Little Miss Sunshine; while the “Epic Fleece” is more like its Greek antecedent, as Saving Private Ryan and Star Wars show. There is also the “Solo Fleece,” where a single participant goes on the trip, as seen in About Schmidt and Garden State, and some biographical films where the road that is one’s life reveals the risk and reward of the passage, e.g., Capote and Ray.

  And since there’s gold in that-there Golden Fleece, this category also includes “Sports Fleece” movies like The Bad News Bears, Hoosiers, and Slap Shot — where the gold is a trophy, and the “Caper Fleece” like Ocean’s Eleven — where the gold is an actual treasure kept in a locked room. In these, the team is a variety pack of oddballs who have characteristics the leader lacks, but needs to be whole, and to win.

  What’s great about a Golden Fleece is the adventure of being away from home, the lift of participating in a team effort with meaning beyond just us. And what a good time at the movies when it’s done well!

  Like Monster in the House, a Golden Fleece is about three essentials: (1) a “road,” (2) a “team,” and (3) a “prize.”

  So let’s go “on the road” and take a look.

  The “road” is that thing we venture out onto, going away from home and perhaps coming back, but it need not be actual blacktop. It can also be metaphor. The road can be someone’s life, a trip across oceans or across the street — so long as the meaning of that journey is life-changing. And as The Lord of the Rings and Three Kings prove, the road can cross whole universes, planetary systems, war zones, and dimensions of time and space.

  The test of whether or not you are writing a Golden Fleece comes when you ask: Are my heroes going somewhere definite, and can I chart their journey? That demarcation can be seen in the rungs up the ladder of a “Sports Fleece,” for instance. Think of that stock shot in Major League as the Cleveland Indians climb out of the cellar, or in Dodgeball: A True Underdog Story when Vince Vaughn’s team of Average Joes start knocking off the competition — you can see that whatever path the heroes of these tales are on, these notches let us know how they’re progressing on the way to the prize. Whether the road is large, small, or imaginary, it’s how the heroes of these tales grow that makes the trip worth taking.

  As far as the “team” goes, especially in a “Buddy Fleece” movie like Planes, Trains and Automobiles, the story is often about friendship, and whom one picks as one’s teammate(s) — or has thrust upon him — is almost as important as the prize itself, whether it’s one buddy or a lot of them. The hero in a typical Fleece is an underdog, or iconoclast, and his team often represents other qualities such as “heart” or “brains” or “soul” that will be integrated into the hero’s character by the end.

  The hero is the centrifugal center of the team, and often the “dull” one. Of all the characters in filmdom, isn’t Luke Skywalker the dullest? But that’s why he needs to be surrounded by Han Solo, a walking shag rug named Chewbacca, and a couple of snarky droids — each with his own unique voice. Luke shares with Jason the thing that makes him a hero: He is us on our best, Type-A day — eager, bright-eyed, and plain as vanilla.

  In films with larger teams, the introduction of each member can incorporate a goodly chunk of the set-up and a brilliant entrance for each individual is almost required. Masterful versions of this can be seen in heist films like The Hot Rock and Ocean’s Eleven, in which we establish character and skill set with amazing economy. And check out Dodgeball for the comic version of how to intro a team, each with a unique “Limp and Eyepatch” — and in the case of the “Steve the Pirate” character of that film, an actual eyepatch!

  When we get to the end of the road, the “prize” doesn’t have to be an actual thing to qualify — and your heroes may not even win it! The “Caper Fleece” includes prison sagas like Papillon and Escape from Alcatraz where the prize is freedom. And even when the prize is money — as in most heist movies — the good ones are those in which there is a primal reason for taking it: revenge, love, or in the case of Ocean’s Eleven, manhood.

  Yet when it comes to winning, there’s often a monkey wrench. The road apple pops up in a lot of GFs, and is defined as that thing that kyboshes the plan just when victory is in sight, as when Tom Hanks’ team rescues Private Ryan — who promptly says “no thanks,” and Walter Matthau realizes his “Bad News Bears” can never win. Part of what makes a GF work is our heroes learning that the gold they seek doesn’t even matter, and pales in comparison
to the real gold of friendship. Just like in Rocky, starring my close personal friend Sylvester Stallone, Rocky Balboa need not beat Apollo Creed to learn who his friends are — and it’s certainly a great way to set up Rocky 2!

  If you are assaying a true road picture, however, keep in mind that these are not as easy to write as you might think. Just sending someone out on the road and assuming the adventure will be great is why I read so many bad “lesbians cross America in a car” scripts (that, sadly, all end up winning Honorable Mention at Sundance). The trick of any story where we send our heroes on the road to find something is making each stop along the way count. Each signpost must have a reason, really mean something, and can’t just be included because it’s “funny” or you’ve always wanted to shoot a scene that takes place at the site of the World’s Biggest Ball of String in Yuma, Arizona. Nope. That may be interesting eye candy, but it really has to have a point to be included.

  The journey story is one of the oldest we have in our quiver, but one of the hardest to do well. So take note of what the good ones do right.

  And do likewise.

  IS YOUR GOLDEN IDEA A GOLDEN FLEECE?

  If your screenplay shares any of the following (and I bet it does!), then these are the telltale signs you’ve got an itch for the broad highway — and a passel of GF movies to watch:

  A “road” spanning oceans, time, or across the street — so long as it demarcates growth. It often includes a “road apple” that stops the trip cold.

  A “team” or a buddy the hero needs to guide him along the way. Usually, it’s those who represent the things the hero doesn’t have: skill, experience, or attitude.

  A “prize” that’s sought and is something primal: going home, securing a treasure, or re-gaining a birthright.

  The Golden Fleece tale reveals the amazing range of the genre, each with a unique goal, hero, lesson — and a host of meaningful pit stops!

  THE BAD NEWS BEARS (1976)

  Some movies are icons. Die Hard is one. Jaws another. And The Bad News Bears certainly qualifies. Not only is it a great example of the “Sports Fleece,” it spawned a series of movies that can be pitched with the phrase: “It’s Bad News Bears with _____________” in which the blank can be any sport (e.g., hockey in The Mighty Ducks, bobsledding in Cool Runnings). Of many “Sports Fleece” films that show a quest for athletic gold, The Bad News Bears is the champ.

  As this story’s down-and-out Jason, an ex-Greek hero with sciatica and a hangover, Walter Matthau is superb; it is to my mind one of his better roles in a long, distinguished career. And with the Bears, that foul-mouthed group of pint-sized Argonauts, director Michael Ritchie treats us to some of the finest sketches of pre-teen suburban dysfunction ever put on film.

  To compete for the Little League trophy, Walter and the gang must fight over-involved parents, small minds, and big time Cyclopes, including Vic Morrow as the opposing coach — whom I still have nightmares about! And yet the quest these no-names are on is as noble and real as any ancient mythmaker ever put to papyrus: the search for dignity. In the end, the Bears will learn it’s not the trophy, it’s the journey that makes us heroes. Walter and his peewee players will discover that love and friendship of the team trumps gold every time.

  GF Type: Sports Fleece

  GF Cousins: The Longest Yard, Slap Shot, Rocky, Major League, Hoosiers, A League of Their Own, Cool Runnings, The Mighty Ducks, Remember the Titans, Dodgeball: A True Underdog Story

  THE BAD NEWS BEARS

  Screenplay by Bill Lancaster

  Opening Image: A baseball field watered in preparation for the new season. Morris Buttermaker (Walter Matthau) arrives in a beat-up Cadillac. Walter looks tired; he grabs a beer and spikes it with something stronger, as Kelly Leak (Jackie Earle Haley) watches. Jackie Earle will be key later, but for now he’s a stranger who lights Walter’s cigar. A child shall lead them — or at least have a handy Zippo.

  Theme Stated: Walter meets with the parent hiring him to coach the team. A politician, the man says: “I think we’re doing a really fine thing.” Are we? We’ll find out.

  Set-Up: The team Walter is guiding has sued to be included. As their coach, Walter gets the brunt of the disdain from the parents who run the league. Of these, Roy Turner (Vic Morrow) is the draconian Yankees’ head, and Joyce Van Patten is the power-mad “Cleveland.” Walter is tossed the rule book and meets his team. They are a collection of misfits, each with a peculiar “Limp and Eyepatch,” each less talented than the last — and each with an unusual “skill” Walter doesn’t have. Tanner is “the mouth” whose racial epithets are hair-curling; Engleberg is “the gut” who can’t stop eating; Ogilvie is “the brain” who knows baseball statistics but can’t play for beans; and Lupus is “the heart” who — though a “booger-eating spaz” according to Tanner — will be worth protecting.

  Catalyst: The season starts. At the league kickoff dinner at the local Pizza Hut, Walter is told he better get on the stick. He needs to get the kids’ uniforms. Walter rues the day he agreed to take the job, but now it’s too late to turn back.

  Debate: Or is it? Walter half-heartedly “coaches” the team, but mostly he drinks and has the boys cleaning pools for him. On opening day the results are clear: The Bears’ game against the Yankees is a disaster. Yankees’ coach Vic emerges as the bad guy — and dark opposite of Walter. In the overall scheme of things, it’s just a game, but the tragic look on Walter’s face while the Bears are embarrassed reveals more. As a metaphor for his life, the loss is a reflection of longtime failure. The humiliation is so bad, one of his team, a Hank Aaron wannabe, Ahmad, runs off the field, strips out of his uniform, and climbs a tall tree (ironically, the exact same reaction I had the day Stop! Or My Mom Will Shoot came out).

  Break into Two: In the aftermath of the game, Walter realizes what he’s done, but does he have the guts to take responsibility? He’s given an out when he’s “fired,” but he won’t give up. This “quitting thing” is a hard habit to break, he tells the boys, then yells at them. Walter is coming alive.

  B Story: We meet Amanda Whurlitzer (Tatum O’Neal). The long-lost girl phenom with the great curve ball is selling maps to the star’s homes. She is the daughter of a woman Walter used to date and clearly hurt by his departure. Whiskey-voiced Tatum is poised between childhood and young ladyhood, but Walter needs her, and offers Tatum a bribe to get her to join the boys.

  Fun and Games: As the quest unfolds, we see how difficult the Bears’ challenge will be. The “fun” is in watching them come together as a team. If there were ever underdogs worth rooting for, these are them. They become the “Bad News Bears.” As Tatum joins the misfits, the “upside-down version of the world” now includes girls. And when Walter recruits Jackie Earle, we know they’re going to get somewhere. He may be a juvenile delinquent, but he’s the best athlete in town. The team bonds further when Lupus is bullied and Tanner defends him. Being a Bear, even if a “booger-eating spaz,” now trumps everything. The Bears start to show promise; the “road” is now open and the “prize” may be attainable.

  Midpoint: At Minute 58 the Bears win their first game, but it is a “false victory” that keeps getting falser. Will they become soulless weenies like the Yankees? The possibility exists, especially as Walter’s relationship with his charges becomes colder in the guise of being “professional.” When a player gets hurt, Walter is less concerned with the kid and more concerned with beating Vic. Walter has peaked and the “fun” has turned serious.

  Bad Guys Close In: Walter has caught Little League fever and wants victory no matter what. He tells Jackie Earle to handle the ball — even if it means cutting out the other players.

  All Is Lost: On the eve of the championship, Tatum begs Walter to have dinner with her and her mother after the game. Walter gets angry. He throws beer at Tatum and she cries.

  Dark Night of the Soul: The result of going for gold is a “road apple”: Jackie Earle is ostracized by his teammates, and Tatum’s pitching arm i
s hurt.

  Break into Three: After arguing, the Bears decide to play anyway.

  Finale: The final game is a bookend of the first. Egged on by Vic, Walter wants to win at any cost. Having learned the Little League way, Walter has become one of them — and it isn’t pretty. But when Vic slaps his own son during a tense moment of the game, the truth of “doing a really fine thing” becomes apparent. Walter goes back to the old way, letting all the Bears play. Despite this, fate almost smiles on them; in the final play, they nearly win. But no. Afterward, in a great Synthesis moment, Walter gives the boys beer. Tanner throws their 2nd place trophy back at the Yankees, and all celebrate.

  Final Image: As we pull back from the ball field, the American flag waves, dissolving into the Bears’ team photo. They’ve secured the prize — it just isn’t the one they expected.

  PLANES, TRAINS AND AUTOMOBILES (1987)

  Between creating teen touchstones like The Breakfast Club and kid classics like Home Alone, writer-director John Hughes made one for adults. And though the hi-jinks of this “Buddy Fleece” are light, the quest Steve Martin is on is one of the most meaningful: to go home. Two days before Thanksgiving, Steve must get from New York to Chicago, and the only thing in his way is a snarled transportation system — and John Candy.

  As a frozen-in-time moment before the handy use of cell phones and the Internet, Chicagoan Hughes paints an enduring portrait of mid-America. He dips again into icons like the wood-paneled lime green rent-a-car (from his first script, National Lampoon’s Vacation), chipper airport employees discussing the little marshmallows in the Thanksgiving “Ambrosia,” and the strange lives of desperate men.