Outlining Tip: Don't Use Dialogue

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This isn't a hard "rule", more like an observation. If you're outlining your story, and using dialogue quotes to capture the essence of nearly every scene, you may not actually have a proper understanding of the scenes. 

Now, if you're just trying to record that perfect line of dialogue in the moment, sure, put it in your outline so you don't forget it. But if you're writing dialogue in your outline that reduces down to bland statements of exposition, then lookout: Your scenes may lack conflict, and you should revisit them.

If the essence of your scene in the outline is introducing two characters, Marvin and Gepetto, where one of them congratulates the other, "Gepetto! It's Marvin! From the Institute! Congratulations on the success of your anti-matter time travel machine!", then you're focused on the wrong things. The point of the scene is not to make the reader aware of the names of Marvin and Gepetto, nor is it to make the reader aware of anti-matter time travel, nor of Marvin's employer, the Institute.

The purpose of the scene is to communicate wants and conflicts. What do Marvin and Gepetto want? Do they want opposing things? The same thing? Is this a negotiation? Or are they each preparing the battlefield for inevitable conflict? Is this in fact a first strike? 

The essence of the scene above should be a demonstration of how Marvin wants, say, to get in good with Gepetto, in hopes of getting a job working on anti-matter time travel, while Gepetto pretends not to remember Marvin, as a way of getting back at Marvin for not getting Gepetto a job interview last year at the Institute. Communicate the same exposition through what really matters: The conflicts.

Also, why are you naming a character "Gepetto"? Terrible name!

Where The Man From U.N.C.L.E. Lost Me

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The Man From U.N.C.L.E. will not be getting a sequel, earning only $100 million dollars worldwide on a $75 million dollar budget. Guy Ritchie is a great director. What happened?

I only know what happened for me when I tried to watch it yesterday. It had a solid opening action sequence. Henry Cavill fit right in. Alice Vikander stood out. Armie Hammer was doing a Russian accent, which probably SOUNDED fine but was coming out of the mouth of a frat boy.

Note to Armie: Your hair is KILLING your range. That being said, his accent was a distraction, but not a deal breaker. There have been worse accents in movies that are amaze-balls. Armie's in fine company.

So, solid act one. And then, we get the movie killer:

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This is the scene where Armie and Alice have checked into a hotel posing as a couple, with the intent of infiltrating some evil cabal. It's a pretty cool big-want for the characters. Pretty big stakes. Screams "movie". So they're in the hotel room together, and what do they do to launch into their big-want?

Armie plays chess. Alice gets drunk and lures Armie to dance with her.

First of all, let's question the wisdom of the proposition that this spy movie was missing a Big Chill impromptu dance number.



But the real shame here is that this scene puts the movie I came to see on hold. These characters aren't pursuing their wants. They're at a dead stop, twiddling their thumbs, and chewing the splashy hotel room scenery. Was this decision made by the set decorator?

I stopped watching after this scene. Don't do this scene.

Why Do Protagonists Stare at Photographs?

Remember in Romancing the Stone how Michael Douglas's character carried around a picture of a sailboat in order to demonstrate his big-want to own a sailboat? Apparently, he really wants to visit the island Jamie Fox's character dreams about in Collateral.

Every time I see this photo-trope, I groan a little. I'm taken out of the movie as I ponder whether or not they could have come up with a better way to visualize the protagonist's big-want.

So why do I write this trope so much? I'm doing it in the script I'm writing right now!

The reason why this happens so much is because too often it's sadly the best alternative.

Would you rather stall the movie with wistful dialogue about that big-want that's just so big and the protagonist sure sounds wistful about it, doesn't he? No, film is a visual medium. It's full of talismans (yup, plural of "talisman" is "talismans", not "talisman". I looked it up). We'd rather see it than hear it. It's faster. We remember it better.

Would you rather write a dream sequence (sometimes not a bad idea, actually, but potentially overkill)?

Would you rather orchestrate Your protagonist walking past a boat store, or an island store? It's your movie, you can invent stores that don't exist.

Yeah, maybe you can pull off something more inventive on the page. But I imagine that once a film goes into production, and they're looking for ways to save time and money, they see that scene, and think, "Can't he just look at a picture in his wallet so we can cut the new location?"

Sigh. 

I say, always strive to not do this trope, even though, yeah, you're going to do it. Because what we don't fight grows, until that tiny wallet photo becomes...

the Crazy Wall.

Another Scriptshadow Logline Review

Over on Scriptshadow is a review of an amateur script called Made in China, with the logline below:

"Two estranged sisters from New York travel to rural China to receive an inheritance from the father they never knew. Once there, they find themselves on a wild journey of self discovery as they race the clock to pass physical and psychological tests set forth in their father’s will that will earn them his mysterious legacy."

The writer of this script welcomes critique so that she can figure out why this logline got so many read requests (yay!), but no considers or recommends (wah). I will do my best to help!

First, let me make clear that I'm not reading the actual script, though I did read the Scriptshadow review, and know the main story beats. The script may be a great page turner. I'm only focusing on the logline, and how it SUGGESTS potential issues in the story's structure.

As I've said in previous posts, I believe the logline helps the writer as well as the reader understand the story being told. You can review my logline manifesto here.

So, I see red flags in this logline. Yes, I know it's a successful logline that got multiple requests for a script. In THAT sense, the logline is great. But it gives me concerns that the writer doesn't have a firm handle on her story--concerns which are substantiated by the story summary.

For example, it turns out that the "mysterious legacy" goal isn't really mysterious throughout so much as it contains an act three surprise. Throughout act two, it's just money, which is a perfectly fine goal. But if money is the goal, then say so. I worry many readers went into this script suspecting some mysterious, supernatural, or even horror-tinged goal which never materialized.

Next, let's look at the vague stakes for the dual protagonists. Basically, they're two mice thrown into a maze at the start of act two, looking for cheese. The logline only SAYS there's a ticking clock rather than making the ticking clock clear by stating stakes for failure. What will happen if these two sisters fail the maze? Are they competing? Does the loser get nothing? When I don't see clear stakes for failure, I worry that a protagonist is going to be a puppet rather than driven by her own desires. And, again, the summary bears out my fear. One sister has a clear want for money, but the other's big-want is to make the journey to China to close a deal and win a promotion. She doesn't care about the inheritance. She's just accommodating her sister. If you're going to give your protagonist a big-want of a promotion, then you have to respect it. This sister CAN'T go into the maze UNLESS going into the maze helps her achieve her promotion. Otherwise, you're telling the reader, "Never mind". Your protagonist is a puppet driven by the writer's plot needs rather than her own wants. 

Scriptshadow brings up a great template for this writer to study: Rain Man. There are many similarities: Estranged siblings, an inheritance, a road trip. So let's look at my version of the Rain Man logline:

"After discovering an autistic older brother he didn't know he had at his estranged father's will reading, a self-centered hotshot on the verge of financial ruin must wrest control of his father's estate from the brother's care facility by kidnapping the brother and winning his confidence during a California road trip to settle the hotshot's debts."

Notice how the protagonist's goal aligns with going on a road trip with his sibling? In Made In China, one sibling has no such alignment, an issue I feared from the logline.

So how do you fix this? I can't be certain without reading the script, but I can guess. Maybe the workaholic sister needs something from the cash-strapped sister rather than wanting a client-deal unrelated to the story's core journey. Maybe the workaholic wrote a tell-all and needs her sister to sign away life rights. Maybe the workaholic needs a kidney. Or maybe the workaholic needs money too! In fact, that might be the best answer, as perhaps the workaholic needs the ENTIRE inheritance, putting the sisters in eventual conflict. It presents opportunities for sister sabotage. It makes clear stakes. How about something like this:

"After an eccentric father they never knew passes away, two estranged and debt-ridden sisters must travel to rural China to claim their inheritance, only to find a catch: Their father has designed a gauntlet of tests for them to pass which threaten to break their already meager family-bond."

Here's another possibility: Maybe this doesn't want to be a dual protagonist story. Maybe one sister is an antagonist or magical helper.

Or maybe the actual story works, and the logline just isn't capturing it. I'd have to read the script to know. Let's not forget, I'm just brainstorming about loglines, hoping that the process shakes out the right answer for the writer. 

Writer, if you read this, let me know if this helps! 

Best Stick to ONE Prologue

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I just watched The Sorcerer's Apprentice for research purposes. I know, many of you might scoff: How does watching a "bad" film help you write a good one? Why not watch a "great" film, like Excalibur?

First of all, I have watched Excalibur. A lot. "Enahl Nah Trach. Oos Vas Vethude. Donyel Dienve" is my ringtone.

Second of all, calling The Sorcerer's Apprentice a bad film is like calling Elliot Williams the worst player in the NBA. All it would take is one devastating earthquake at the ESPYS and Elliot Williams is the greatest basketball player in the world. You can learn A LOT from a player, and a movie, that ran the gauntlet all the way to the big show. The writer(s) wrote a script that got a green light, as well as attachments from actors you would KILL to have attach to your script. There is much to mine here.

Okay, so now that I've defended The Sorcerer's Apprentice, let me focus on my problem with its opening.

(SPOILERS!) The film begins with a prologue explaining the world of Sorcerers; Nicholas Cage and Alfred Molina are two apprentices of Merlin, until Molina joins with the evil Morgana and sets off a prophecy where Cage must find a special child who is "the one" to kill Morgana once and for all. 

Okay, many stories do these prologues, and then reboot into the actual story with the main protagonist, usually meeting a prologue character for the first time. In fact, Excalibur does the same thing, starting its story with King Arthur's father falling in battle as a price for the dark magic he uses to seduce King Arthur's mom. The father's final act is burying his magical sword, Excalibur, into stone such that only his newborn son can remove it when he grows up, thereby claiming his birthright to the throne.

But there's a danger in prologues. They muddy the inciting incident. I see a lot of writers bury their actual inciting incident under multiple prologues. Case in point: The Sorcerer's Apprentice!

After the film's prologue, we meet the main protagonist as a 10 year old boy. He stumbles onto meeting Nicholas Cage, who recognizes the boy as "the one". The inciting incident is upon us! Except then Alfred Molina arrives to scuttle the meeting with magic that winds up trapping him and Nicholas Cage in an enchanted vase. The boy grows up to think this magical moment was all in his head, delaying the true inciting incident until the grown up boy, played by Jay Baruchel, meets Nicholas Cage for the second time 10 years later.

How does this sort of muddiness happen in a major studio film? I have suspicions. Maybe the story was originally written with a 10 year old protagonist, but the studio feared putting the film's opening on the back of a no-name boy. Just look at Pan to see their fears justified. There are ZERO 10 year olds that can open a film. The more the marketing tried to focus us on Hugh Jackman's Blackbeard, the more audiences wondered why the film was called Pan, and stayed away. So maybe the studio asked to age up the protagonist to get Jay Baruchel attached. 

Or maybe the script originally presented the Merlin era in flashback rather than front loaded as prologue, but had to Frankenstein the prologue after shooting finished, due to audience reactions.

Whatever the reason, it's just not optimal. Learn from The Sorcerer's Apprentice's stumble. Look at your own story, and count the prologues. Unless your story truly has multiple protagonists, or a panicked studio is paying you a ton of money to force you to break this rule, you get ONE prologue.

The WORST Part in The Martian

Seen The Martian? The WORST, right? Not the whole movie, of course. The movie is FANTASTIC. But that one scene, you know the scene I'm talking about, right?

No, not Kristen Wiig, whom it's not fair to criticize, but she's just so funny that I could not get it out of my head that she was going to Garth and Kat every scene.


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No, I' referring to the Donald-Glover-explains-with-a-STAPLER scene, which is now an awful-movie-cliche that they keep doing over and over because the knuckle-dragger segment of the population needs to be carried over the goal line of clarity, I suppose?



Why does this scene keep happening when the complexity of the exposition doesn't require it?

Yes, we all loved Doc Brown explaining his plan to direct 1.21 gigawatts of lightning power into the Delorean. But that plan had detail and novelty. Here, let's write out the steps:

Run an electrical cable from the clock tower to the street.
Connect the flux capacitor to a giant hook that can transfer power from the electrical cable into the car.
Drive the car at 88 miles per hour, and time the acceleration precisely so that the hook meets the electrical cable at the exact moment of the lightning striking the clock tower.

Now let's write out the steps of the Rich Purnell Maneuver:

The Hermes slighshots around the Earth, picking up supplies on its way back to Mars.

I know that the scene is trying to have fun with Purnell's Aspergers. I know that Donald Glover is awesome. I know that there are younger viewers unfamiliar with the slingshot concept in Apollo 13 and Star Trek 4.

But it just comes off to me like trying to buy genius points on the cheap. This plan wears the clothing of genius, so it must BE genius.

And yet, some day, if I'm lucky, I'll sell my action script with a cool act three crescendo, and I will get a note about how parents don't want to have to explain the logic to their kids, so I will add an act three break down in miniature using grapes, a hamster wheel and a trampoline. I will hate the scene all the way to the bank: These thousand dollar bills barely absorb my tears, have pity!


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Don't Reboot Your Story Unless You're Quentin Tarantino

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Who loves From Dusk Till Dawn?

I loved it back in the day, but it was polarizing: Tons of people HATED how the movie rebooted from a crime film to a vampire film, and they have a point. I loved that film because I knew it was a vampire film that was hiding in a crime film. I thought, "What's not to like? Crime films, good! Vampire films, good!"



But what if I wasn't expecting the switcheroo? Without the film's marketing campaign making the reboot contained in the movie explicit, I might have been repulsed. Expectations are everything: Don't dress your audience for the pool and take them skiing.

And yet, so many writers lose their way and reboot their stories in the chase for 100 pages. They convince themselves that it's not a reboot, but an enlargement of the same story.

So how can you tell the difference between a reboot and an enlargement? I think you have to look at the protagonist's BIG-WANT. If the big-want changes, you're rebooting, and without a marketing campaign to prepare them, your audience is going to hate it.

Look at From Dusk Till Dawn (SPOILER, and how have you not seen this yet!): At the start of the film, the main protagonist, Seth (Clooney) big-wants to save his brother, Richard (Tarantino). That means if Richard dies in the middle of the movie, this story becomes a reboot (again, SPOILER: He does).

That makes me wonder: Could this film have worked without the marketing campaign if Richard didn't die, at least until late in act three? Could preserving Seth's big-want throughout the whole picture have made crime and vampires work for a larger audience? I guess I'll leave that for discussion in the comments. But for now, let us at least see the lesson of preserving the big-want throughout the story in order to avoid a reboot.

If your protagonist big-wants to win the karate world championships in act one, don't have her skip her victory party late in act two in order to go pursue another big-want like rescuing hostages. This seems so obvious, doesn't it? But we're writers: Our own creativity can convince us of anything. I've been guilty. I've heard and made all the arguments below.

You may argue the hostage complication is an enlargement because she's gonna defeat the hostage-takers with karate. You see, she only THOUGHT she was training to win the championship, but then fate gave her a higher calling. Sorry, that's a reboot. If you wanted to tell us a karate-hostage-savior movie, you put that higher calling in act one.

Maybe then you argue the hostage complication is an enlargement by moving it to act three on the eve of the championships, giving the protagonist a choice between winning the championships or saving the hostages. In other words, if she rescues the hostages, she'll LOSE the championship. Okay, MAYBE that can work. It's a good idea actually to give your protagonist a choice to give up their big-want for a big-need, and in making that choice, becoming worthy of the big-want. But if you can't figure out how to organically get your protagonist back to the championship after rescuing the hostages, then sorry, that's a reboot.

Maybe then you argue that her big-want was never to win the karate world championships. She was just trying to make a boy notice her. The boy is her big-want. And the boy is a hostage. Okay, MAYBE that can work--until the second you have her freeing the little old lady first, and then asking the boy to join her in freeing the kindergarten class on the second floor. Yes, that makes her noble, but it reboots the story, because she's not putting the boy first anymore.

So what if she does put the boy first, and tries to rescue only him--but he won't let her do that without first going to rescue the little old lady and the kindergarteners? She has to be noble to keep his approval. Again, MAYBE that can work. It will probably still feel too jarring to have spent all this time training for a karate championship and then switching to a hostage rescue, but at least with a consistent big-want, you have a chance.

So always remember the big-want. Make it clear. Make it the biggest want in the movie. Never trump it unless your name is Quentin Tarantino. Hi Quentin! Loved From Dusk Till Dawn!

Big-Want Corollary: Movies so often escalate to protagonists saving the world because whatever big-wants they start with, they usually can't have them if the entire world ends. You can almost always argue that your story is enlarged and not rebooted by the need to save the world.


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