The Screenwriter's Roadmap

21 Ways to Jumpstart Your Story

Neil Landau

• Publisher: Routledge
• Year: 2013
• ISBN:
  9781136071898
• Edition: 1
• Topic: Media & Performing Arts
• Subtopic: Film & Video

Finally, a GPS system for screenwriters!The potentially long and arduous journey of writing a screenplay was just made easier to navigate with The Screenwriter's Roadmap. Avoid the wrong turns, dead ends, gaping p(l)otholes, and other obstacles that result in frustration, wasted time, and wasted energy. The Screenwriter's Roadmap keeps you on track and helps you reach your destination- a finished, professional quality screenplay.Neil Landau, a successful Hollywood screenwriter and script doctor with over 2 decades of experience, provides you with 21 Guideposts, that if implemented, will help you nail down your screenplay's story structure, deepen its character arcs, bolster stakes, heighten suspense, and diagnose and repair its potential weaknesses. These Guideposts are based on field-tested, in-the-trenches experiences that have been proven to work. The Guideposts are augmented by interactive exercises, end of chapter "homework" assignments, examples from the latest blockbusters, as well as over 20 interviews with some of Hollywood's most successful screenwriters and directors, including David S. Goyer ( Batman Begins, The Dark Knight, The Dark Knight Rises, Man of Steel ), David Koepp ( Jurassic Park, Mission: Impossible, Spider-Man, Panic Room, War of the Worlds, Angels & Demons ), Melissa Rosenberg ( The Twilight Saga: Twilight, The Twilight Saga: New Moon, The Twilight Saga: Eclipse, The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn - Part 1, The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn - Part 2, Dexter (TV)), and Eric Roth ( Forrest Gump, The Insider, Munich, The Good Shepherd, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close ).

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1

WHAT'S THE CATCH?

Clarify the Central Conflict of Your Premise

Many newer screenwriters have the tendency to begin their scripts without having a clue what their screenplay is about. I'm not suggesting this should be a source of shame. In fact, it's an essential part of the writer's discovery process. As you'll read in this book, even the most accomplished professional screenwriters stumble and flail as they mine for the gold in what might, on the surface, seem like a great, original idea. Screenwriting is a series of tough decisions. When facing the infinite possibilities that a good premise presents to you, how do you tame and contain it? How do you narrow it down and make it accessible? How do you get that overwhelming jumble of thoughts and ideas—Post-Its on the brain—to make sense on the page? For me, a helpful place to start is by clarifying the central conflict of the movie.

The “catch” of your premise is its inherent central conflict—the “but” embedded at its core.

During the research and development process (aka floundering and flailing), I think it's crucial that you clarify and define the central conflict of your premise. Choose an idea that you're not only terribly excited to write, but is also a concept that contains a strong inherent conflict . Embedded in the idea itself will be a contradiction which is usually articulated with the word “but.”

The “but” will provide you with the foundation and “narrative drive” for the entire second act—or core—of your screenplay. For many screenwriters and storytellers, this is just instinctual. It's part and parcel of telling a good story with a beginning (setup), middle (complication), and end (resolution). The complication will be the “but” at the center of your premise.

Check out the following examples of strong, viable central conflicts. Notice how each one begins with a compelling character (or two or a whole family). Remember, a premise is only as good as the character(s) it challenges. There are no driverless movies, so be sure to figure out not only the narrative drive of your story, but also who's behind the wheel.

Notice the Central Conflict in Each Idea:

Erin Brockovich : a single mom takes on a giant utilities conglomerate, but she's uneducated and broke.

Little Miss Sunshine : a family of losers pins its hopes on a children's beauty pageant, but the road to victory is paved with misfortune and their finalist daughter is hopelessly gawky.

Knocked Up : a slacker adult must prepare for fatherhood, but he's still an immature child himself.

American Beauty : a depressed family man rediscovers his joy in life when he falls in lust, but with his teenaged daughter's best friend.

If your protagonist's active goal or Plan A (at the start of act two) is based upon desire versus necessity, it's probably not going to be strong enough to sustain 50+ pages in the middle.

Think of the second act as a big challenge that the protagonist must tackle and/or overcome—or else there will be consequences. If he/she can walk away or get out of trouble with the greatest of ease, then he/she's not worthy of our time or the price of admission. But, then again, as an audience member, you probably already knew that. An audience can collectively feel when a story runs out of gas. Plot propulsion is necessary for them to keep paying attention—not because they have nothing better to do, but because the characters and story are too irresistible to tune out.

Always ask yourself: what will happen if my protagonist doesn't accomplish his/her goal?

The stakes of your movie can be defined as the consequences for inaction. What does he/she stand to lose? If the answer is: nothing, then your second act is already too flimsy or lukewarm. Revise. Rework. Reconsider . Heighten the conflict. Strengthen the antagonist. Turn up the heat. Tighten the timeline to increase the urgency. Clarify the central conflict of your premise before you start writing. If you make a list of ten possible central conflicts, there's usually one that jumps out at you as the most fertile to really delve into and explore. See Chapter 5 on Stakes .

A good, viable central conflict will be brimming with possibilities.

In the early stages of developing an idea, if you hit a concrete wall right away, it's most likely telling you to make a U-turn or find another avenue. Or, sometimes it's through the demolition of this wall that you find a secret tunnel to a better conflict. Be open to every possibility. As Tony Gilroy discusses in the accompanying interview, his way in to a new premise is “almost always through a very small hole.”

Mr. Gilroy also comments that he never consciously thinks about central conflict before he starts writing. And yet, when you examine his work, there it is:

Michael Clayton : a legal fixer, Michael (George Clooney), struggles to rein in a renegade senior law partner, Arthur Edens (Tom Wilkinson), after Arthur goes off his bipolar meds and psychologically spirals out of control—but Michael discovers that Arthur may be the sanest among them as he threatens to expose a dangerous corporate conspiracy.

Duplicity : two double-dealing corporate spies (Julia Roberts, Clive Owen) fall in love and team up—but can they ever truly trust one another?

The Bourne Identity : an assassin, Jason Bourne (Matt Damon) is being hunted by his enemies, but has no memory of his past.

As the central conflict deepens at the midpoint, the protagonist's outer conflicts (via an antagonistic force) provoke inner conflict.

The setup of your screenplay will usually be stronger if you start with a desperate protagonist. Introduce us to someone who's already at the end of his rope—and then it starts fraying. Even if the protagonist isn't overtly miserable, he will be more intriguing to us if we see a small crack or perhaps larger void in his initial “ordinary world.” In some cases, this desperation can be very subtle, such as in L.A. Story in which the jovial weatherman (Steve Martin) from always-sunny Southern California tells us in a voiceover that he was so happy all the time that he didn't realize how unhappy he was. Or Ryan Bingham (George Clooney) in Up in the Air telling us how much he cherishes being a peripatetic frequent flyer who revels in superficial interactions; it's his raison d’être … but maybe there's something missing in his perpetual layover?

A desperate protagonist is primed to face a central conflict, inexorably leading to the midpoint of the screenplay (around page 55) where your protagonist is thrown for a loop by an external, unexpected plot complication. The midpoint is the middle of the central conflict, an event the protagonist doesn't see coming, and even better: something that more or less blindsides the audience. Being blindsided implies surprise and collision—force/counter-force—and this propels the plot from midpoint toward (explosive) climax.

Plot is revelation.

Ideally, as the plot unfolds, we're going to make vital discoveries about your characters, and some kind of hidden truth will come to light. If we know everything from the get-go, everything that follows is, by definition, anticlimactic. Make sure to deliberately dole out information and have your characters earn their discoveries. Audiences crave new information—so don't give it to them until you're good and ready. See also Chapter 17 on Central Mysteries .

Every scene needs to compel us forward because audiences are almost always more intrigued by what they don't know than by what they do know.

If you have a viable premise, acts one and two will pose a central question or mystery that demands an answer in act three. In other words, if the setup draws us in, and the unexpected complications keep us hooked, then the resolution will become tantalizing and inevitable.

In Up in the Air, Ryan (George Clooney) is as intrigued by the beautiful Alex (Vera Farmiga) as we are. But part of her allure is that she's almost too good to be true. As their relationship progresses and they develop a real connection at his sister's wedding, we want to get to know her better as well. But Alex remains elusive … until Ryan impulsively hops a flight and shows up on her doorstep—ready to declare his love. We feel his heartbreak and humiliation when he discovers she's (happily) married with kids because it mirrors our own shock and dismay at the revelation.

In Rachel Getting Married, we can see the effects of Kym's (Ann Hathaway) substance abuse and the tenuous challenges of rehab, but we don't fully grasp the depths of her inner turmoil until she deliberately crashes the family car into a tree. It turns out that Kym has a death wish; living with the pain of her past is more terrifying to her than dying. With her repressed Bohemian family walking on eggshells, trying not to set Kym off during her sister's wedding celebration, we wonder what happened in Kym's past that's so unspeakably shameful. This mystery is revealed in an emotionally raw, violent encounter with her mother (Debra Winger) when we discover that Kym is responsible for her little brother's accidental death; a horror that Kym can barely remember because she had been so high during babysitting duty. But this is the reality Kym must endure.

According to Aristotle, there are two kinds of plots: simple and complex. Both plots are viable modes for storytelling.

A simple plot is almost always “high concept” easily explained in a marketing tagline. An example of a simple plot is the blockbuster Speed (with Keanu Reeves and Sandra Bullock): there's a bomb on a bus and unless it gets dismantled, everyone dies but the bus can never travel less than 50 miles an hour. It's an adrenaline rush, a popcorn flick—fun for the whole family. I don't intend to suggest this pejoratively. There's a big difference between a “simple” plot and a “simplistic” one. In screenwriting, simple is a virtue. Probably the story advice I offer most to my students is: “Keep It Simple.” Simplistic, on the other hand, is not desirable and implies superficiality, predictability, and leads to a script that is uninspired, unfunny and unimaginative. Avoid at all costs. Simple plots work because they're like a ride. The audience straps itself in and understands the basic parameters. The twists and turns are usually about dangerous logistics and the conflict, at its most basic, is about good struggling to triumph over evil.

A complex plot is usually more layered, explores moral grey areas and encompasses greater character development. It's the difference between, say, Iron Man and The Hurt Locker . In the simple plot version of The Hurt Locker, Sergeant First Class William James (Jeremy Renner), would dismantle explosives and hunt down and kill one super terrorist. But the Academy Award-winning screenwriter, Mark Boal, and director, Kathryn Bigelow, present us with a complex war hero and the moral grey areas of battle. It's not simply good guys versus bad guys; it's about the inhumanity of war and the psychological toll it takes on myriad sides of the conflict. It offers no clean resolution. The characters face large challenges that could profoundly trans form them—or root them deeper into their patterns and core identities. Whether they change a little, a lot, or not at all, they're evolving as the story unfolds.

The next time you're struggling with plot acrobatics, remember that audiences are most concerned with the relationships between characters.

Characters that engender no emotional investment as the central conflict unfolds, whether they're wholly likeable or not, are really just strangers moving through time and space on the page—and are a waste of time for everyone. In addition to your main character, who else populates your movie and has the greatest positive and negative influence on your protagonist? It could either be the antagonist or the “pivotal character”—such as a love interest, mentor, or confidant. In many great movies, the central relationship triangulates and involves two equally significant characters.

In Juno, she has two central “love” stories: one with Paulie (Michael Cera) the teenaged biological father of the baby in her womb, the other with Mark (Jason Bateman) the intended grownup adoptive father. Mark is the pivotal central relationship that fundamentally propels Juno's rite of passage from sardonic, apathetic teen girl into a more mature young woman.

In Michael Clayton, the central relationship is between Michael (George Clooney) and Arthur Edens (Tom Wilkinson), the senior partner whose life is spiraling out of control. But even as Michael struggles to neutralize the presumably insane Arthur, he begins to see the truth behind Arthur's manic rants—and this information is instrumental in helping Michael expose a high-level corporate conspiracy.

In Rise of the Planet of the Apes, the central relationship is between protagonist, Caesar (the ape) and his unofficial foster dad, Will (James Franco). Will raises Caesar from infancy through adolescence, and it's inevitable that Caesar will rebel against his authority. Will's influence on Caesar is essential to the story. The Alzheimer drug that Will had been illicitly testing on Caesar allows him to surpass the limits of his biology. But it is their personal relationship and years of nurturing that helps Caesar evolve into an animal leader capable of transcending the laws of man.

Your screenplay's central conflict is the core of an effective logline.

Your “premise” is the basic concept or idea for your movie. At some point, a studio reader or development executive will be required to boil the premise down into a one-sentence “logline.” For a new screenplay to gain any traction in Hollywood, it needs to generate significant buzz and be handed up the food chain—from those who can merely recommend to those empowered to actually say “Yes.” However, if the premise of your screenplay is too convoluted to summarize into a cogent logline—which will ideally contain a big “but”—then you will most likely have a problem getting past the initial gatekeepers. For this reason, clarifying the central conflict of your premise has become my all-important question #1.

Without a clearly articulated central conflic...

Table of contents

• Front Cover
• Half Title
• Title Page
• Copyright
• Dedication
• CONTENTS
• Foreword
• Acknowledgments
• 1 What’s the Catch?
• 2 Why Are We Here?
• 3 Who Are We Rooting For?
• 4 What’s the Point (of View)?
• 5 What’s at Stake?
• 6 What’s the Kryptonite?
• 7 Who’s the Bad Guy?
• 8 What’s the Structural Blueprint?
• 9 What’s the Spark?
• 10 What’s the Trap?
• 11 What’s the Curveball?
• 12 What’s the “Aha” Moment?
• 13 What’s the Rush?
• 14 What’s the Worst Thing That Could Happen?
• 15 Where Are We Going with All This?
• 16 How Did We End Up Here?
• 17 What’s the Missing Piece?
• 18 What’s the Movie Really About?
• 19 Where Is the Heat?
• 20 What’s the Rush?
• 21 What’s Wrong with This Picture?
• About the Authors
• Index