Save the Cat! (11 page)

FADE OUT.

SUMMARY

Finding the hero of your story is the second most important part of coming up with a winning movie concept — winning meaning "one that will sell." Cast and concept is, in fact, the starting point of getting any movie made. "What's it about?" and "Who's in it?" are the first two questions any moviegoer asks, and that goes for everyone else as well, from agent and producer to studio executive. It's how the "who" and the "what is it?" come together in an intriguing combination that makes us want to see this story unfold.

The perfect hero is the one who offers the most conflict in the situation, has the longest emotional journey, and has a primal goal we can all root for. Survival, hunger, sex, protection of loved ones, and fear of death grab us. It is usually someone we can identify with primally, too, and that's why mothers and daughters, fathers and sons, brothers and sisters, husbands and wives make better characters than mere strangers facing the same situations and storylines.

When committing these discoveries to your logline, you must have an adjective to describe the hero, an adjective to describe the bad guy, and a definite and primal goal or setting.

EXERCISES

1. Review your list of movies in the genre you are trying to execute and write out the logline for each. Give attention — and great adjectives — to the type of hero, the type of bad guy, and the hero's primal goal.

2. What actor archetypes can you identify from the list of movies in your genre? What type of character is the lead portraying and what actors from the past could play those parts as well as the modern-day star?

3. Name an ensemble movie and identify its hero. Does every movie have to have a hero? Name other movies where the story required no main hero.

4. Finally, if you feel really daring, try writing a logline for this idea: A guy gets a talking car. Knowing what you know about how to amp up the hero, the bad guy, and the primal goal, write a logline for that idea. And make sure you use adjectives that grab us.

Itching to start writing your screenplay? Of course you are!

Will I let you start writing your screenplay? Keep itching!

But you certainly are getting closer. And think about all that you've accomplished so far. You've polished your one-line and pitched enough "civilians" to know you've got a good one. You've screened a dozen movies that are in the category of story you're trying to tell. You've come up with the perfect hero and antagonist, and amped up both the hero's primal goal and the conflict in the way of his achieving it. And now it's time to take all that great info you've gleaned about your script and figure out how to write the sucker.

There is no greater thrill when I am working on a newly born movie idea than the battle cry:
"Let's beat it out!"

It means it's time to put all those great scenes and ideas and characters "up on The Board" and see what goes where,

which character does what, and whether you need every scene you've imagined... or have to invent all new ones.

It's time to do the measure-twice/cut-once calculation that will save you time, allow you to pitch "beat for beat" and build the foundation and ironwork of your screenplay.

It's time to talk about
structure.

STRUCTURE. STRUCTURE, STRUCTURE...

After coming up with the idea, and identifying the "who" in your movie — and who it's for — the structure is the single most important element in writing and selling a screenplay. Good structure is ironclad. And when you sell your script, having a well-structured screenplay will show that you have really done the work in making a blueprint that is solid and sound. The
credit jumpers
can change the order of your scenes; they can erase your dialogue; they can add new characters and take others away — and they will! — but if you've done the work on structure, and know how and why your story works, no matter how they tinker, your screenplay will remain strong.

It will remain yours.

Not to get too self-protective, but a strong structure guarantees your writing credit. More than any other element, the bones of a screenplay, as constructed in the story beats of your script, will be proof to those who decide who gets credit at the Writers Guild of America (WGA) that the work is primarily yours. Talk to any writer whose credit has been arbitrated and they'll tell you. For a spec screenwriter, your guarantee that you stay in the picture, and that the fabulous cash and prizes called
residuals
— which come in lovely lime green envelopes at the most unexpected (and welcome) times —will be yours.

The craftsmanship it takes, the patient work, the magic of storytelling on film, all come together in how yon execute and realize structure. It is a skill you
must
know.

I came to structure slowly and late. And mostly I came to it out of desperation. How many meetings did I go to early on where I pitched my movie idea by giving the exec the concept, a few "cool" scenes, and then simply stopped and smiled... because I had nowhere else to go? Gad! I remember the first time I was hired to write a screenplay and the executive asked me about my "Act Break." I had exactly
zero
idea of what this nice person was talking about. This was before I'd even
heard
about Syd Field (whom I consider to be the father of the modern movie template), and when I finally read and digested Field's opus
Screenplay,
I knew I had found something truly career-saving.

Oh!
Three
acts! Imagine that?

And yet, it was not enough. Like a swimmer in a vast ocean, there was a lot of open water in between those two Act Breaks. And a lot of empty script space in which to get lost, panic, and drown. I needed more islands, shorter swims.

Viki King filled in a lot more of that open water for me in a book with the unlikely "Get Rich Quick" title of
How to Write a Movie in 21
Days. And yet, even with midpoints and B stories, there was still way too much room to screw up.

So I developed my own.

From what I'd seen in movies, read about in screenplay books, and found myself relying on, I developed the Blake Snyder Beat Sheet. I wrote out 15 beats and managed to squeeze them all in on a one-page document on which the fifteen islands would fit — flush left.

It looks like this:

THE BLAKE SNYDER BEAT SHEET

PROJECT TITLE:

GENRE:

DATE:

1. Opening Image (1): 2. Theme Stated (5):

3. Set-up (1-10):

4. Catalyst (12):

5. Debate (12-25):

6. Break into Two (25) 7. B Story (30):

8. Fun and Games (30-55):

9. Midpoint (55):

10. Bad Guys Close In (55-75):

11. All Is Lost (75):

12. Dark Night of the Soul (75-85):

13. Break into Three (85):

14. Finale (85-110):

15. Final Image (no):

Isn't this pure? And easy?

I use this simple one-page blank form whenever I have a pitch meeting. I won't let myself go into that meeting until I've filled in every space — and there aren't that many spaces. You can only write one, maybe two sentences explaining what each beat is, and that's perfect. Like the one-line description of the movie as a whole, I learned that if I can't fill in the blank in one or two sentences — I don't have the beat yet! I am just guessing. I am treading water, about to drown. Yet it isn't until I work on the form, and try to fill in those blank spaces, that I even know I have a problem!

The numbers in parentheses are the page numbers where the beats take place. A script in terms of page count should be about as long as a good jockey weighs: 110. Though some dramas run longer, the
proportions
are the same. I want my act breaks, midpoints, and All Is Lost moments to hit their marks. And I insist they do. Take a look at
Blank Check
where, five minutes into the movie, roughly page 5 of the script, the theme is stated loud and clear. Look at where the midpoint, the All Is Lost, and break into three hit. They're perfect, and stayed that way from script to screen because Colby and I worked our butts off to make it so from the first draft of that script to the last. It worked because our structure was sound and we had tried it from every angle to make sure it was sound; it defied those who wanted to overwrite us, because we had nailed the structure.

Some of these terms may be unfamiliar to you. What, you may ask, is "fun and games"? Well that's my name for it. And not to worry, it's found in both dramas and comedies. What is the "Dark Night of the Soul"? Again, another "Eureka!" But a beat you've seen about a million times.

The codifying of these beats is now available to you anytime. The Blake Snyder Beat Sheet (The BS2) is here to help. But before you go off half-baked, or all-baked for that matter, let me explain and give examples of what I mean by each section of the screenplay as outlined in this form.

Do you have a choice in this matter?

No, you do not!

OPENING IMAGE (1)

The very first impression of what a movie is — its tone, its mood, the type and scope of the film — are all found in the opening image. I can think of many great ones: the reckless motorcycle ride through the English countryside leading to the death of
Lawrence of Arabia;
the gated, looming castle behind which lurks the mysterious
Citizen Kane;
and even silly ones like the opening image of
Animal House
— who could forget the motto of Faber College:
"Knowledge is good"
beneath the statue of the Faber College founder? Don't we know what we're in for with all three of these examples? Don't each of these opening images set the tone, type, style, and stakes of the movie as a whole?

The opening image is also an opportunity to give us the starting point of the hero. It gives us a moment to see a "before" snapshot of the guy or gal or group of people we are about to follow on this adventure we're all going to take. Presumably, if the screenwriter has done his job, there will also be an "after" snapshot to show how things have changed. Like many of the beats on the BS2, the opening image has a matching beat: the final image. These are bookends. And because a good screenplay is about change, these two scenes are a way to make clear how that change takes place in your movie. The opening and final images should be opposites, a

plus and a minus, showing change so dramatic it documents the emotional upheaval that the movie represents. Often actors will only read the first and last
IO
pages of a script to see if that drastic change is in there, and see if it's intriguing. If you don't show that change, the script is often tossed across the room into the "Reject" pile.

So the opening image does a lot. It sets the tone, mood, and style of the movie, and very often introduces the main character and shows us a "before" snapshot of him or her. But mostly what it does is get us to scrunch down in our seats in the movie theater and say: "This is gonna be good!" And since you've just screened a dozen movies like the one you're about to write, you can think of at least six that have standout opening images. All good movies have them.

THEME STATED (5)

Somewhere in the first five minutes of a well-structured screenplay , someone (usually not the main character) will pose a question or make a statement (usually to the main character) that is the theme of the movie. "Be careful what you wish for," this person will say or "Pride
goe
th before a fall" or "Family is more important than money." It won't be this obvious, it will be conversational, an offhand remark that the main character doesn't quite get at the moment — but which will have far-reaching and meaningful impact later.

This statement is the movie's
thematic premise.

In many ways a good screenplay is an argument posed by the screenwriter, the pros and cons of living a particular kind of life, or pursuing a particular goal. Is a behavior, dream, or goal worth it? Or is it false? What is more important, wealth or happiness?