The Long and Short of It

 

Stories are stories. Period. Long ones. Short ones. Middle-sized ones. Good ones all have the same basic ingredients. A hero we care about. Fighting for something they want. Obstacles standing in the way of them achieving their goal that force them to grow. And ultimately a resolution, often positive, but not always, of them getting, or not getting, what they want. Not so hard, right? Feature screenwriters have this preached and prodded into their brains from day one. But what about short filmmakers? For some reason, some of them don’t feel they have to tow this line. Where did they go off the rails? “Short films don’t have to have a beginning, middle and end,” I’ve heard them say. Instead, they can just be “moments” or “windows” or “slices of life” of a story. You know what they call those kind of films? Bad. Sometimes boring. Or one note. Some short filmmakers claim they don’t have time to tell a three act story. I call bullshit. Even :30 second commercials for Coca-Cola or AT&T will have you reaching for a Kleenex by the end. You know why? Because they pull you in, roll you round, drop you down, then lift you up. All in the time it takes you to wash a dish. Story structure is there for your protection. It’s not a contrivance. It’s not a formula. It’s storytelling. Sure, you can take the three act model and turn it on its ear. Just ask Quentin Tarantino. You can take the three act model and slice it into seven acts. Just ask James Cameron. But all in all, you want an introduction, a complication and a resolution. You pull that off, you’re well on your way to a sound story. If you don’t, you’re screwed. Of course, it helps if you know where your story is going. Where your hero is headed. Then you can plot the twists and turns to them getting there with relative ease. It’s those that dive into those uncharted waters with reckless abandon longing for the unknown that end up drowning in the murky abyss of the middle. Like taking a road trip, map out your route before you get in the car. Know your turns. Know your stops. Know your end! I promise having these elements in mind won’t rob you of the creative process. On the contrary, they will help you. And like any road trip, there will still be plenty of surprises along the way.

2016 Atlanta Film Festival Screenplay Competition

The Call for Entries for the 2016 Atlanta Film Festival Screenplay Competition is now open! We're looking for innovative and compelling storytelling, for characters that surprise and challenge, for words that explode off the page, and for narratives that twist and turn like a good, ol' country back road. 

This year is particularly exciting for us here at ALTFF: we've started accepting both feature scripts and pilot scripts as part of our competition. You're more than welcome to submit in both categories (multiple times!). The three winners of our Feature Script Competition will be invited to participate in our annual Writer's Retreat. Over the course of this three day retreat, writers will work with industry mentors in an effort to improve their scripts, hash out ideas, and talk about next steps. The retreat culminates with a public staged reading of an excerpt of their winning script. Winner of the Television Script Competition will be treated to a one-on-one dinner with an industry professional to discuss their project. 
 
Michael Lucker has been a great friend to ATLFF; he's a mentor and leader on our screenplay retreats, he's full of experience and advice; and most notably, he's a fantastic writer and teacher.  Which is why we're offering 20% off to any of Michael's former, current or future students!  When submitting your script to ATLFF on Film Freeway just type in discount code: LUCKER
 
https://filmfreeway.com/festival/ATLFFscreenplaycompetition
 
If you have any questions at all, just e-mail the Screenplay Programmer, Ali, at ali@atlantafilmfestival.com.
 
Much thanks!

Why are there bad movies?

You can’t please all the people all the time. Everyone knows that. But it’s easy to forget when you go to the movies. “That movie was awful! That movie was boring! That movie was stupid!” Well, maybe that movie wasn’t meant for you. Where are my movies, you ask? If you’re not a white American male between the ages of 16-24 with some degree of discretionary income, chances are there will be fewer movies for you to choose from. Why? Because that’s who movie studios see as going to the movies. Sure, girls go. So do older folks. African-Americans. But it’s the white teen/post-teen boys that the studios can count on at the box office. That’s why we see Avengers and X-Men and Matrix and Hunger Games and Spider Man and Fast & Furious. Over and over. If they made more movies for other people, maybe they would go too, you say! Guess what. They have. And they don’t. It’s that simple. Movies are expensive to make. And cost just as much to market. Studio heads can’t take a chance on investing stockholders’ money on concepts that won’t deliver. They get fired. So more often than not, they make big bets on sure things. Or as sure as sure can be. Some times even the biggest writers, directors, producers, actors and studio executives in Hollywood can’t make those movies well. How come? Because all those powerful people have a voice, an opinion, an ego. So do all the people working for them. As a result, what you get is an idea, for better or for worse, that is pulled apart at the seams, one thread at a time with everyone trying to get their way. Getting three people to agree on where to eat for dinner can be a chore. Imagine trying to get 33 people to agree on a movie to make. That is why highly successful filmmakers often continue to make highly successful films. Because the top echelon of decision makers defer to them. Spielberg, Lucas, Howard, Reiner, Cameron, Bruckheimer, Davis. Do you have to write for the 16-24 market? No. Just know that’s your best shot at it getting made. Can I keep my story from being pulled apart? No. But you can’t make a movie if you don’t try. Just make sure you have learned your craft, done your work, and written the best screenplay you possibly can. Because that is where it all starts. And where most movies go wrong in the first place.

What's the Point?

What is a plot point?  Every writer talks about them.  Most use them. Many abuse them.  Some plain lose them.  But what are they really? Where do they go?  And what do they do? 

All great screenplays are broken into three acts.  The Introduction.  The Complication.  The Resolution.  Plot points are the major twists that propel the hero from one act to the next.  In the good movies, they come as a surprise to the hero and the audience.  In the bad movies, the hero and/or the audience see them coming from a mile away.  Ideally, they are significant twists that drop the hero into a new equilibrium from which they cannot return.  If a hero loses his keys, no big deal, he goes back and finds them.  Bad plot point.  If a hero loses his job, or his leg, or his virginity, tougher to fix.  Good plot point.  As the story progresses, these unforeseen turns should complicate matters for the hero, raise the stakes and push the character into deeper and deeper kimchi.  

Do you have to have them?  Yeah, you kinda do.  Plato, Shakespeare, Hitchcock, Spielberg, Tarantino all have plot points in their work.  Because they work.  Because we’re wanting something to happen.  We’re wanting progress.   You know what they call movies without them?  Boring.  Trust me, if you’re sitting in a movie theater and nothing significant happens in the first third of the movie, you’re going for Milk Duds and not coming back.  

Where do they go?  If you’re writing a 120 minute movie it equates to about 120 pages of script.  A three act structure breaks down like this:  Plot Point 1 lands between pages 25-30.  Plot Point 2 lands between pages 85-90.  But that leaves a dark and murky sea between them of almost 60 pages.  In the old days, early filmmakers could get away with that.  But not these days.  We’re used to getting too much too quick and need a Midpoint Plot Point around page 60 to bridge the gap.  And maybe more.  James Cameron says he writes in seven acts.  Joel Silver wants major wham-o’s every ten pages.  Something that turns your hero’s life upside down with the turn of a key, the draw of a gun or the blue of a pregnancy stick.  

The good news is these building blocks help make climbing your mountain of a screenplay more manageable.  Instead of looking up at Kilimanjaro from 19,000 feet below wondering how the hell you’re going to get to the top… you break it down.  Knowing you just have to make it to each tier.  One step at a time.  

Happy climbing.  

What's the Big Idea?

The beginning of the year! Time to brush off the dust of yesterday and tackle ye ol’ New Year’s resolution. What’s that, you say? You want to write a screenplay? Well, what the hell is stopping you? It doesn't take money. You don’t need a crew. You can do it anytime you want. There are no tools, equipment, weaponry needed. Except for the little box you’re reading this on. So let’s get started, shall we?

But what are you going to write about? Ahh. Well, there’s a stopper.

Sure, everyone has an idea for a movie. But is it one everyone wants to see? The movie business is, after all, a business. And no studio, network or independent financier worth their salt is going to drop a dime on a movie no one wants to see but your grandmother. So make sure it has broad appeal.

Write what you know. That’s what the writing scholars say. No one is going to know better than you what it’s like to be a single parent, a cancer survivor, a blue-collar cop or priest in training. Writing what is in your world allows you to write with authenticity, which wins over even the most critical of critics. But be sure also to write what you want to know. You’re going to be spending the next three weeks, three months, three years laboring over this baby. Might as well delve into waters you’ve longed to swim. Maybe you are fascinated by the afterlife, aspire to be a brain surgeon or yearn for a romantic adventure on the French Riviera. Now’s your chance to live vicariously through your characters. Bringing them to life will inevitably breathe oxygen into your life as well.

Most of all, write something that will be fun to write. We’re not coal mining here. We’re writing movies. They’re supposed to be fun, exciting, a break from the everyday. And your joy, your passion, your enthusiasm will show up on the page. Every time. And trust me… if it’s not fun for you to write, it won’t be fun for anybody to read. Or watch. Including your grandmother.