Breakfast with Sharks Read online

  The initial moments of the meeting are about gaining rapport and common interest. Do you know some of the same people? Do you see eye-to-eye on movies? Interestingly, the conversation will appear to be very casual and superficial but in fact it is full of subtext. To wit:

  Exec

  Sorry, I’m a little beat. Last night was the advance of

  MTF [Mother Teresa: The Fury].

  You

  How was it?

  The exec waves his hand dismissively.

  Exec

  Let’s put it this way, it won’t be the Thelma and Louise tour

  de force Universal expected.

  [Notice that while the tone is gossip-laden, no actual names of

  people who could come back and chew the exec’s butt later

  are used.]

  You

  Didn’t they have like a dozen writers doing drafts?

  Exec

  (waves hand dismissively)

  Two words, “final cut.” That film is fat easily fifteen minutes.

  “Final cut” refers to the director’s contractual right to make the final version of the movie. That means that no producer, movie star, or studio executive may step in to recut or rework the movie, no matter how disastrous the end result once the director has made his “final cut.” Notice also that this exec doesn’t see any problem in having a dozen versions of a movie created by a dozen different writers. At other times the same exec, trying to make a different point, will indicate that a dozen drafts by different writers was the death knell of a project. In any case, right now, your exec is establishing that his primary agenda is to run a tight ship. To that end, he doesn’t put up with any artistic pretensions. Further, by passing along the above “insider info,” the exec is indicating both that he’s plugged in and that he’s “a straight shooter.” In reality, most execs dance to many tunes and shoot straight only when they can afford it.

  Also apparent is the Schadenfreude. From an exec’s point of view, 95 percent of the meetings they take are informational, as opposed to opportunities for dealmaking. Schmooze and gossip are big parts of an exec’s day, akin to the amount of time we creatives spend trolling the Internet doing “research.” In their case, the technical term for schmoozing is “tracking,” which consists of dialing around to various friends in the industry for insider info, which can be a major means of furthering one’s career. For this reason, information has platinum value. Hollywood info is fluid by nature and will eventually be known by all. Thus, terms for Mike Ovitz’s firing at Disney and the golden parachute sum or production deal he was paid to go away quickly is known by everyone in town. In more practical terms, no exec wants to be caught plunking down hundreds of thousands or even millions of dollars on a project upon which the other studios have already passed.

  In the Trenches

  An exec told me about the sequel to a successful film that had become part of his development slate. I mentioned the name of a colleague of mine whose movie was about to come out, as a possible writer-for-hire for the assignment. “At least five different hands were all over that script during pre [pre production] and principal [photography],” the exec answered sharply. “God only knows who did what.” Because last-gasp, ninth-inning script tampering can be a sign of an embattled project, a given studio is naturally inclined to muzzle such info. Postmortem: The movie opened two weeks later to mostly poor reviews and lukewarm grosses (audience attendance). The studio responded by pulling money from the expensive television ad budget, and three days after its release in theaters, the film had already been given a Viking burial.

  During his days at Disney, industry chieftain Jeffrey Katzenberg was considered an ace “golden retriever” for his ability to track down such information about industry players, impending deals, and hot new scripts. So be prepared to indulge your exec a bit in this pastime. However, be wary of passing along such tidbits yourself, as it is an acquired art. Should you pass along a confidential secondhand tale of Jim Cameron clutching a Tickle Me Elmo doll and frothing at the mouth during your friend’s pitch meeting, the exec will feign skeptical indifference, then phone 100 people with the story as soon as you leave. As stated above, be sure not to name any names that can come back to haunt you.

  One thing to remember: If the meeting is truly for exploratory purposes only, you should also anticipate the obligatory naming of your favorite films. This topic comes up so that the gatekeeper can get a fix on your taste. Note that some execs pride themselves on thinking outside of the box, so you should also prepare for the curve-ball corollary to the above, which is “Tell me some movies you hate.” What’s important here is not to name a film made by the exec or production company where you’re conducting your meeting. Remember that you are always skating well when you name movies that broke out (modest budgets but handsome earners) as favorites. Big budgets that went bust are always a no-brainer on a worst-of-the-year list. What you’re doing is mirroring the exec’s primary agenda (tight budgets) and concerns (green-lighting box-office bombs that claim careers when they detonate). That’s why you should never blurt out, “Call me crazy, but I truly believe Showgirls was a misunderstood masterpiece, and I only hope that God grants me the integrity to create similar brilliance for you! ”

  USING MEETINGS TO LAND ASSIGNMENTS

  Pitch meetings are more substantial than meet-and-greets, since there exists the potential to walk out with a job on a project that the production company or studio already owns. Usually they are looking for a new writer to take a pass through (further develop the material). And usually it is your agent or manager who has set up the meeting based on information they have regarding said open assignment. Note that dozens of writers will be auditioned until the gatekeeper hears a take (an idea of the new direction the story may now take) that inspires his confidence. The gatekeeper’s agenda is surprisingly simple. Throughout your meeting, he—or, less often, she—will be asking mainly three questions regarding your spec: “Can I sell this to my superiors?” “Is it castable [actor bait]?” and “Is it cheap to produce?” Keep in mind that the exec will be also considering whether he or she might enjoy working with you for the period of time that a project may entail. If the answer is yes, then the gatekeeper may be thinking about in-house projects that require the “fresh take” or angle of a new writer for which you may be a good candidate. If a meeting is going well but you sense that the purchase of your project may not be the end result, you can shift gears and come right out and ask for a shot on anything the production company already owns: “You mentioned that final decision on my spec is up to the senior VP, and that’s cool. In the meantime, if you have anything you want someone to crack, I’d love a shot.” Note that I recently said this to a senior producer who promptly told me about three different projects he was struggling with. I chose one that I felt especially suited for, and over the next two weeks I pitched him various scenarios. We never quite found the right solution (remember, these producers may hear dozens or hundreds of takes on a piece of material); however, I benefited greatly from developing my relationship with the producer.

  On the day of your meeting, you will feel “locked and loaded for bear” after spending days living, breathing, and researching every conceivable way you can rework the story. But before you release the geyser clamp on your brain like a Las Vegas fountain, stop and take time to listen. Generally, the tone of pitch meetings for assignments makes for an odd game of poker. For starters, the studio is playing with a natural royal flush of superior knowledge about the project, while you are trying to bluff with four of your five cards showing. Your hand can usually be summarized as, “Writer is desperate for work . . . needs money to mend holes in socks.” Luckily, a good exec understands that you aren’t yet up to speed on his agenda. Instead, he or she is looking to see if you can get up to speed, given your raw skills and experience. Thus there’s no point in unleashing a monsoon of ideas upon the hapless exec until after he’s tendered your contract. Listen for clues, and o
ffer just enough to keep things moving.

  In the Trenches

  “I know why you called me in here. That script is a piece of crap, but I know how to fix it.” Turns out that the P of C in question was written by the producer’s brother-in-law. Whoops. Shutting your mouth until you’re under contract, or at least until you know the parameters of the problem, would seem to be fundamental in such a situation. However, the director who actually uttered the above death phrase had previously helmed three features.

  The moral is that in the rush to suit up for battle, remember that the most important aspect of film making is its collaborative nature. In other words, pick your spots carefully when you decide to voice the grocery list of your own ego and personal agenda.

  Brevity is crucial in a pitch meeting. Its main function is to avoid boring the listener. Unfortunately, most pitches go on and on because they are filled with unnecessary minutiae of the story. So keep your pitch short and painless. That doesn’t mean you are off the hook; you still need to have the story worked out in case some junior exec comes out of left field with a question. In fact, adding ideas to your pitch is a sign that the exec is enthusiastic and beginning to invest his own energies into the development of the project. So you should be enthusiastic, too. Go with the flow, no matter how skeptical you are. You can discuss creative differences after the contracts are signed.

  Meeting the producer or development executive who is responsible for many of the movies you respect most and who has the power to bring you into such a coveted pantheon can be an unnerving experience. However, if you remember why you were brought in (interest in your work) and stay focused on your objective (communicating that you are a writer worth hiring), you will gradually relax and come to enjoy this part of the storytelling process. I’ve noticed that when writers are nervous or uncomfortable, they tend to show it by hyperactivity—feet that won’t keep still, or hands rubbing the arms of their chairs. Other writers will be completely rigid. One trick I’ve developed is to plant my feet solidly on the floor as soon as I sit down, and just as I’m about to pitch or discuss my work, I lean forward a bit, as if I intend to impart some valuable confidential information. I believe such a posture implies earnestness, confidence, and a bit of familiarity, while cutting down the space between myself and the gatekeeper. Sometimes the exec will “mirror” this posture, and a good meeting will only get better. Keep in mind that many producers are simply looking for “partners” to join them on their moviemaking adventures. You can show them in word and deed that you are that suitable match.

  20

  SECTION 509: SCREENWRITING COMPETITIONS

  What Are Screenwriting Competitions?

  What You Need to Know to Do Well in Screenwriting Competitions

  EXTRA CREDIT READING:

  Writing Treatments That Sell by Kenneth Atchity and Chi-Li Wong

  A man’s reach should exceed his grasp, or else what’s Heaven for?

  —ROBERT BROWNING

  WHAT ARE SCREENWRITING COMPETITIONS?

  A plethora of short film, indy feature, and screenplay contests and competitions have sprung up in the last few years, generating notoriety, providing springboards to careers, and doling out upwards of a million bucks a year in cash and prizes. Many production companies, studios, and talent agencies are plugged into these events, so a strong showing can grant instant cachet. Meanwhile, competitions that are tied to festivals create incredible opportunities to meet colleagues and create synergy. I have been a judge on three screenplay competitions to date. My fellow judges have been producers, directors, agents, veteran actors, and studio executives. Industry experience is the common background for each. My own qualifications for a judge spot have been my credits and status as a working writer of fourteen screenplays and co-producer of one feature film, an instructor at UCLA and Santa Barbara City College, and a columnist who for several years has written about the business and craft of writing. I have also read at least 500 scripts, which is as important as any other experience. For the 2003 Screenwriting Expo Screenplay Competition (SESC), I ultimately read some 160 screenplays.

  Some of those scripts were among the very best examples of our craft. On the other hand, I also survived a dozen or so postmodern “reworkings” of Pulp Fiction—the scripts that start “FADE IN: CHARACTER A steps from a bus and immediately has his lips blown off. Cut To: The Yukon.”

  WHAT YOU NEED TO KNOW TO DO WELL IN SCREENWRITING COMPETITIONS

  It was during one long night of reading when I had a small epiphany about how a writer could go to the top 10 percent of the script competition class simply by adhering to the following rules:

  1. USE SHORT, CATCHY TITLES

  Short, catchy titles work best. Often a reader confronted with a stack of a dozen scripts will sift through the pile and extract the best titles. Scripts with great titles will elicit his or her freshest read. The others will be left until last. You, the writer, should imagine someone stepping up to the multiplex ticket counter on a Friday night. Certain titles like Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom just sound more conducive to the Friday-night movie going experience. Contrast that with someone stepping forth to utter, “Two tickets for The Worst Time of My Life, please.”

  2. APPLY EARLY

  Apply early, and don’t wait for the last-gasp deadline. We received approximately 400 entries in the months leading up to the recent SESC deadline. Note that festival competitions have a much shorter lead time for judging entries than do stand-alone contests that can change their announcement dates to suit circumstances. In practical terms, this means that the festival readers or judges must consider the projects as quickly as they come in. In regard to the above-mentioned competition, many of the original 400 scripts were already through a second round of consideration when, in the final ten days of the competition, a biblical pestilence descended on the Creative Screenwriting offices in the form of nearly 700 more screenplays. It fell to the existing reading staff to throw itself into the new onslaught. A potential first casualty in such a situation is the subtle and slow-starting screenplay, the work chockablock with nuance that unfolds gradually or tells a small story simply. Personally, fifty reads into the process, I had little patience for storytelling missteps or over-used conventions. You may think it’s the height of getting things started with a literal bang by opening a script with some anonymous person getting rubbed out in graphic fashion and excruciating detail during the first twenty seconds of your crime thriller, but after examining ten such setups, it just feels gratuitous and hollow to the reader. (I recently spoke with an agent who claimed he could tell whether a script had any potential based on the first page. Enough said.)

  3. CONFORM TO INDUSTRY STANDARDS AND PRACTICES

  The average, professionally written Hollywood script is 110–120 pages. That means a good judge can tell you, just by riffling the pages of your ninety-seven-page World War II epic, that it’s a safe bet you don’t have fleshed-out subplots or a true second act. Said reader will then begin reading with these shortcomings already in mind.

  Cosmetically, your script should look “clean” on the page, with formatting that appears professional (e.g., no color graphics.) Books showcasing proper format for screenplays are abundant. Writing the Picture by Russin & Downs is my personal favorite. You should follow the industry standard of plain card stock cover, three-hole punched with one-inch, solid brass brads over solid brass washers. Artwork in the form of pictures of yourself, stick-figure drawings of a love scene or fight sequence will only out you as a rank amateur. Note that cheap brads feel like tin and are prone to curling and/or bending. When too long, such brads turn predatory in a stack of scripts—cannibalizing and mangling their own cover and then latching on to other screenplays. The result is a script that looks like a mess by the time someone gets around to reading it. Short brads often fall out (especially when multiple readers turn pages during successive rounds), and pages may get lost. Several promising entries I considered in the second round were mi
ssing pages; most of these scripts had short brads. In the end, I made the command decision that such scripts weren’t strong enough overall to stop the process and seek out the missing pages. Washers are cheap and keep a script from coming unbound. It’s a small detail that makes a big difference.

  Three of the four competition finalists for the 2002 Expo Competition—and, I believe all of the twenty or so semifinalists—were completely professional in appearance. The lone exception garnered a special New Visions Award in 2002. This script looked as ragged and grizzled as the Unabomber, Ted Kaczynski, and indeed it broke many structural conventions. Printed with a smudgy nine-pin printer, the work was loaded with typos and punctuation errors from the fade-in to the fade-out. Indeed, it was a miracle that the script was discovered. The only thing that was clear was the writer’s voice and talent. The moral is, if you break the rules, you’d better be brilliant on the page right from the get go.

  4. FULL-READ YOUR MATERIAL BEFORE SUBMITTING

  If you take the time and money to write a screenplay and submit it to a contest, please, please, PLEASE take a couple more hours to have it read back to you out loud in the form of a full read. That passive voice and alliteration that sounds so soothing inside your head will drag down your story to Titanic depths when uttered out loud, as will all the extra stage directions you have overwritten into your “fast paced” romantic comedy. More significantly, you’ll quickly chafe under repeated lashes of expositional dialogue until your epiphanic realization that it isn’t even necessary in the plot. That’s why I full-read out loud every draft of my work. Most scripts change 25 to 30 percent during this process. Better still, get someone to read your script back to you. An entire read of a full-length screenplay can be completed in about three hours. Also remember that descriptions in your screenplay should create images and meaning in the reader’s mind. Avoid “directing” the movie by calling for camera angles or instructions for how an actor should act in a scene.