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April 28, 2013

They Want Me To Do Script Coverage - Part 2: I Am Your Audience

Ever wonder what happens when you or some other screenwriter sends a script to a production company, brimming with cherished hopes and dreams of seeing it turned into a movie? It gets sent to a schmuck like me, that's what.

Then I, who have no personal investment in your story whatsoever, sit, scrutinize, and set it on fire before making the god-like decision regarding whether it is "to be or not to be" considered for production.

And if that scares you, you can imagine how I feel about my future as a screenwriter!

So much so that, after soundly rejecting three scripts in a row, I called my literary agency's top banana to ask one simple question: "Am I an a**hole?" 

Please understand, the very last thing I want to be is an a**hole. I've spent my whole personal and vocational life trying hard to be decent and kind to people. Greeting them warmly at the front desk, listening to their struggles, comforting them in their afflictions, empowering them as teams on projects. I don't want to trample on people's hard work and urge them to keep their day job. Yet these particular scripts ranged from bad to atrocious, and it was my job to be as clear and specific as possible regarding why. Or how about this: maybe they were neither bad nor atrocious, and I'm just a big fat jerk with impossibly-high standards? (You think these things at two in the morning when you're approaching the midpoint of Soon-To-Be-Rejected-Screenplay #3 and run out of coffee.)

"Fair question," the top banana responds. "I've definitely observed that your analyses tend to be..."

He pauses. I lean in. Here it is, affirmation that I'm too harsh in my criticism, way off the mark in my evaluation criteria, generally unfit for further assignments. I mean, who did I think I was in the first place to sit in judgment on someone else's script? Dammit, I knew I should have worn the blue tie!

"Very thorough and direct," he continues.

"Too thorough?" I inquire. "Too direct?"

"Well, I'd say they're more thorough and direct than others," he says. "But I like that. Let's me know right away whether a story's worth my time. Keep it up!"

Thank God. Because truth be told, I actually love ripping on a bad script! Yeah, I know I just said I hate messing with people's labours of love, which is still true, so let me clarify. Every writer deserves a fair shot, a proper read, and the benefit of the doubt. As human beings trying to do something meaningful with their lives, it is my opinion that they deserve respect simply for putting pen to paper. Whether they'll keep my respect once I get into their pages is entirely up to them.

Because at the end of the day, my job as a story analyst is not primarily to mitigate a writer's insecurities but, as the title suggests, to analyze stories. To determine whether they make sense, are properly constructed, have characters people will care about and follow right to the end, and most importantly, are likely to draw a substantial audience. If they do and if they are, no one is happier than me (well, except maybe for the writer) to shout it from the rooftops and print "recommend" in the top right corner of my review. But if they don't and if they are not, I'm going to be honest and pass that on. That's my job. In the words of Michael Corleone, it's not personal, it's strictly business.

Well, that's not entirely true. Sometimes it is personal. Here's where I come full circle and explain why I love ripping on bad scripts. I'm talking the real stinkers, by the way. Of which, sadly, there are many.

I'm doing this gig for free. That's right, gratis, pro bono, unpaid, on an internship basis. Why, because I'm some starving writer they enlisted off of Craigslist who's that desperate for "experience"? Yes. And also because that's just the way the industry works. There are simply too many of us gosh-darn-grateful types trying to get a foot in the door for agencies and production companies to have to pay us. So when I get your script, the hours I spend poring over it are on my dime.

We're talking 3-6 hours for an average hundred-page script, depending on the condition the story is in. That's time I could have spent with my wife, my kids, going for a run, having a nap, or writing my own script. So if your script wastes my time, I'm going to let you know about it. And you can bet that if it really wastes my time, I'm going to enjoy letting you know about it.

Now, if it seems unprofessional for a reader to get emotional and take a bad script personally, remember this: I represent your (potential) audience. At this very early stage in the script development process, I am the person you're asking to "buy a ticket" to your movie. So you want an emotional response from me! Sure, you want an unimpassioned analysis based on theme, plot, structure, character arcs, marketability, and so forth, and you'll get that. But I promise that you're also going to hear how your story made me feel. And if it left me feeling confused, cheated, or sans payoff, I'm going to make that loud and clear. Which, by the way, is exactly what your audience will do. Except they won't be as constructive and they won't tell you. They'll tell their friends, family members, co-workers, and that guy on the bus who was thinking of checking out your film, but won't now. So forgive me for passing on your script and making clear why. I'm just trying to do you (and everyone else) a favour.

Having said that, it's important for writers to know that "SUCKS" and "AMAZING" are not a professional reader's only choices. Yes, if a script is solid, engaging, and highly marketable, I "recommend" it for development. Conversely, if it is poorly-constructed, confusing, or unlikely to appeal to audiences, I urge the powers-that-be to give it a "pass" and move on. (This is where the vast majority of scripts end up, by the way, not because readers are unconscionable hard-asses but because the world is chock full of unskilled, wannabe-writers. Which should be good news since it means the strong stories will shine forth like stars in the blackness of space!)

There is, however, a third category, and that's the one we call "consider". This is for scripts that have real promise and just need a bit of work before being produced. I want to emphasize that the "consider" category is not intended as a literary safe zone for lazy and passive-aggressive readers to simply dump scripts they can't be bothered to analyze properly. Nor does "consider" necessarily equal "en route to production". However, when applied properly, consideration of a script allows good story ideas to germinate and bloom while giving writers an opportunity to improve their skills and execution.

For the record, I open every script hoping it's going to be great and believing the writer will wow me. Innocent till proven guilty is my motto, even though experience has taught me to be wary. I don't need it to be amazing, wonderful as that would be. I just want it to hook me, surprise me, make sense to me, identify with me, and move me. And, of course, convince me that a lot of other people would pay good money to see it.

By jove, that's it! What studios and production companies are looking for! Stories that:
  • Hook (with a strong opening scene, clear and compelling problem for hero to solve)
  • Surprise (with twists, turns, suspense)
  • Make sense (with a well-constructed, cause-and-effect sequence of events and snappy dialogue) 
  • Identify (with sympathetic and believable characters, real-world problems and situations)
  • Move (the audience's emotions along the hero's embattled journey towards self-discovery)
  • Draw (a large audience) 
When a script does this, it's very likely to be "considered". Which means it's that much closer to getting made. And believe me, producers are looking for scripts worth considering. So do that! Write a script that will surprise, engage and satisfy your reader since he or she is the audience you're hoping will flock to see your work. And for God's sake, polish your script into a second draft, at the very least. If you're not sure how to get it there, take a class, get some feedback, or read a book. John Truby's "The Anatomy of Story" or William Akers' "Your Screenplay Sucks" are great places to start.

Better yet, go become a story analyst. Nothing humbles, focuses and improves your writing faster. God help me if you get hold of one of my scripts some day!

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