Screenplays and the female orgasm: finding the happy median is key to both.

First, let’s talk about too little. Let’s talk about Avatar (it was inevitable, kids). I recently saw Avatar in two dimensions. I know. CRAZY INSANE INEXPLICABLE WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU DUMBASS. You know what? Fuck you. Fuck you and your apologist Nazi fanboy bullshit. Let’s forget the fact that in terms of story and conveying an engaging and cogent plot with characters I actually give a shit about, if I need to go to an IMAX theater, you’ve failed. If I need to put on special glasses, you’ve failed. I did not make the choice to see Avatar in 2-D strictly to piss off the fanatical message board Gestapo, although that would have been reason enough.

Here’s the thing. I knew the visuals would be stunning. I had no doubt he would make an amazing, immersive visual experience. I’m not arguing against or about any of that here. I’m only talking about the writing. What I didn’t know is whether or not Cameron had *written* a good movie. I’m a screenwriter. I am interested in things like that.

And you know what else? I was right.

The script for Avatar sucks. It doesn’t totally suck, but it more than kinda sucks (it’s a very scientific scale). You can argue that doesn’t matter, you can argue Cameron did it intentionally, but none of it changes the fact that the script for Avatar is on par with Lucas’ best prequel efforts, writing-wise. And even if Cameron has completely reinvented the way stories in motion pictures are told, and even if no traditional concept of what a movie is can be applied to Avatar, he still wrote a shitty, under-developed screenplay with ass dialogue. There is no way around that.

(Incidentally, you can now check out an unspecified draft of said screenplay. It’s hosted by 20th Century Fox, but I recommend going through SimplyScripts.com just because it’s an awesome site that also features examples of my own stunning work)

There are far less controversial examples of an underwritten, underdeveloped screenplay than Avatar, but I like it as an example precisely because it does challenge you to ask how important a screenplay is to a movie. Now, if you’re a movie fan you don’t have to care about that (and probably don’t). However, if you’re a screenwriter with any serious ambition you fucking well better care, because you, my friend, are not going to make Avatar. Try walking into a producer or studio exec’s office with an under-developed, numbingly simple script and say, “But it’s okay, because this is a *visual* story.”

I don’t believe in much, but I believe you can’t make a good movie without a good screenplay. Actually, that’s not fair or true. You can’t tell a good story via film without a good screenplay. You can manufacture a great experience. You can immerse your audience in a very cool digitally crafted environment, but to tell a great sustainable story, between people floating out of stasis pods, characters still have to do and say things. If I don’t understand what their motivation is for doing those things, don’t give a shit about what those things are, and the words coming out of their mouths makes me cringe, it doesn’t matter how many mountains are floating above my head.

Besides which, you have to remember that at one point and for a very long time in this process, there is NOTHING BUT THE SCREENPLAY. That’s it. That’s all anyone has to go on. They will not be reading your shit in 3-D. Cameron may have “changed the way movies are made forever” because he’s Jesus in a motion capture suit, but he hasn’t done fuck all for screenwriting.

Even as a screenwriter you may patently disagree with me now. Talk to me about how awesome the story is when you see Avatar on DVD.

But hey, my bias runs deep. I love my words. Anyone who has tried to produce and/or direct one of my scripts will attest to that fact. I do not, however, love them so much that I am willing to sacrifice the rest of my screenplay for their sake. Which brings us to the subject of too much.

I recently rented Inglorious Basterds, which I didn’t catch during its theatrical run because you people have ruined movie theaters for me. Now, I want you to watch this trailer.



Then I want you to watch the movie. What you’ll notice is they’re not the same film.

If you watch the trailers and see the movie, you’ll also notice a lot of the footage you see of the Basterds isn’t in the movie itself. The reason for it isn’t pacing, it’s that there was no time for them. There are amazingly few scenes in Basterds. Because every scene is two or three times longer than it needs to be. At least one scene didn’t need to be there at all and was in effect cancelled out by the scene that immediately followed it. We meet eight Basterds, and later another is added. We never find out what happens to five of them. Before the third act, after exactly two scenes, they disappear.

You named the movie after the Basterds. You sold it to me with a trailer about the Basterds. Then you showed me two scenes about the Basterds and chopped half of them out of the story with no explanation.

A big problem with the script is that Tarantino tried to do with alternating narratives what he did in Pulp Fiction, only, and please take note of this, the structure of this movie is completely different than in Pulp Fiction. So all of those threads never had the chance to overlap or come together like they needed to for the overall flick to be successful.

But an even bigger problem is that Tarantino loves conversation. That’s what takes up the bulk of this film. Conversations about nothing related to the plot or the characters or to anything else even remotely interesting to anyone except Tarantino, who apparently really loves guessing games and strudel. The man simply cannot stop writing, and among other horrible choices, it ruined this flick for me. He overwrote the ever-lovin’ shit out of nearly every single scene in the movie, which is why the original cut was so long and why so much of what I believe was probably vital material in terms of making a focused movie had to be cut out in the end.

A novel structure is great, but a movie is not a novel. You still have to make careful choices. You can’t expound on every single exchange because of the time crunch. In a screenplay you need to say what needs to be said with as few words as possible, then embellish it as needed. Ask yourself why that scene is there and how it relates to every other scene you’ve written. Don’t indulge your characters and don’t indulge yourself. You are not that interesting.

Now, you may ask yourselves: Why wouldn’t I want to be James Cameron or Tarantino. They’re wealthy, successful, influential filmmakers. The answer is simple: You aren’t Cameron or Tarantino and you can’t fucking get away with it. You are welcome to try it and prove me wrong.

There’s nothing wrong with emulation. We all emulate the writers we have loved in some way. But if you’re a screenwriter trying to break into a market that buys increasingly fewer projects each year, emulating the work of creators who have (through hard work and immense talent, admittedly) achieved the carte blanche to write an underwritten or overwritten script and still be assured the freedom and financing to make their movie will leave your ass out in the cold.

Be hungrier. Be better. Find the happy median.