Save the Cat! (12 page)

Who is greater in the overall scheme of things — the individual or the group? And the rest of the screenplay is the argument laid out, either proving or disproving this statement, and looking at it, pro and con, from every angle. Whether you're writing a comedy, a drama, or a sci-fi monster picture, a good movie has to be "about something." And the place to stick what your movie is about is right up front. Say it! Out loud. Right there.

If you don't have a movie that's about something, you're in trouble. Strive to figure out what it is you're trying to say. Maybe you won't know until your first draft is done. But once you do know, be certain that the subject is raised right up front — page 5 is where I always put it.

But make sure it's there. It's your opening bid. Declare: I can prove it. Then set out to do so.

SET UP (1-10)

The first 10 pages
of
the script, or first dozen pages at most, is called the "set-up." If you're like me, and like most readers in Hollywood, this is the make-or-break section where you have to grab me or risk losing my interest. Think of all the good set-ups you've seen in
the first reel
— the first ten minutes — which "sets up" the hero, the stakes, and goal of the story... and does so with vigor!

The set-up is also the place where, if you're me the writer, I make sure I've introduced or hinted at introducing every character in the A story. Watch any good movie and see. Within the first
IO
minutes you meet or reference them all. Make sure by your page
IO
you have done the same.

The first
IO
pages is also where we start to plant every character tic, exhibit every behavior that needs to be addressed later on, and show how and why the hero will need to change in order to win. She's an isolated writer who lives in a make-believe world
(Romancing the Stone);
he's a hip, slick, and savvy foreign-car importer who's as glib as he is cold
(Rain Man);
she's a ditzy airhead who doesn't appear to have much substance
(Legally Blonde).

And when there's something that our hero wants or is lacking, this is the place to stick the
Six Things That Need Fixing.
This is my phrase, six is an arbitrary number, that stands for the laundry list you must show — repeat SHOW — the audience of what is missing in the hero's life. Like little time bombs, these Six Things That Need Fixing, these character tics and flaws, will be exploded later in the script, turned on their heads and cured. They will become
running gags
and
call-backs.
We, the audience, must know why they're being called back! Look at
Big
and its primary set-up: "You have to be
this
tall to go on this ride." On the list of Six Things That Need Fixing there are other needs besides a height requirement. The kid in
Big
can't get the girl, have any privacy, etc. But in Act Two he gets all those things when he

magically turns
Big.
And those call-backs only work because we have seen them in the set-up.

Jeez, but that's a lot of stuff to do in the first
IO
pages! But there it is. If you want to play with the
Big
boys, these are the tasks you must accomplish.

One last word on the set-up as it relates to Act One. I like to think of movies as divided into three separate worlds. Most people call these three acts, I call em
thesis, antithesis,
and
synthesis.
The first
IO
pages and the rest of Act One is the movie's thesis; it's where we see the world as it is before the adventure starts. It is a full-fledged documentation of the hero's world labeled "before." There is a calm before the storm in this world, and especially in the set-up. If events that follow did not occur, it would pretty much stay this way. But there is a sense in the set-up that a storm's about to hit, because for things to stay as they are... is death. Things
must
change.

CATALYST (12)

The package that arrives in
Romancing the Stone
which will send Joan Wilder (Kathleen Turner) to South America; the telephone call that informs Tom Cruise his father has died in
Rain Man
; the dinner at which Reese Witherspoon's fiance announces he's dumping her in
Legally Blonde
— these are the catalyst moments: telegrams, getting fired, catching the wife in bed with another man, news that you have three days to live, the knock at the door, the messenger. In the set-up you, the screenwriter, have told us what the world is like and now in the catalyst moment you knock it all down. Boom!

I frankly love the catalyst moment, and I really miss it when I don't see it done, or done well.
Have
to have it. Like my pet peeve — the lack of decent Save the Cat scenes in hip, slick movies — this is another one that bugs me when it's not there. I like the catalyst

moment because — it's life. Those moments happen to all of us. And life-changing events often come disguised as bad news. Like many of the beats in the BS2, the catalyst is not what it seems. It's the opposite of good news, and yet, by the time the adventure is over, it's what leads the hero to happiness.

When I'm writing a screenplay, my catalyst moment will float around for the first couple of drafts. The set-up will be too long, the story is clogged with details, and that page 12 catalyst beat is somehow, mysteriously, on page 20. Well, cut it down and put it where it belongs: page 12- And when you start trimming all your darlings away, you'll suddenly realize that's why we have these little structure maps — all that boring detail was redundant or you weren't very good about showing it economically. The catalyst point is the first moment when something happens! Thank God! And if it's not there, the reader will get antsy. Your coverage will read: "No Plot" because you'll have lost the reader's attention. Page 12 — Catalyst. Do it.

DEBATE (12-25)

This is a section of the script, between pages 12 and 25, that used to really baffle me. When the telegram comes on page 12 informing me that my sister is being held by pirates, I know what I have to do! So why do I, the writer, have to vamp to the Act Break until my hero does what he's supposed to?

The debate section is just that — a debate. It's the last chance for the hero to say: This is crazy. And we need him or her to realize that. Should I go? Dare I go? Sure, it's dangerous out there, but what's my choice? Stay
here?

My writing partner Sheldon Bull and I have been working on our Golden Fleece movie. In Act One, a kid is kicked out of military school and sent home to find... his parents have moved. Well, the
kid's stuck. He can't go back to military school and he can't stay where he is. He knows where his parents moved to, so now it's a decision: Should he go on the road to find them? This is our chance to show how daunting a feat this is going to be. Can you imagine? But since it's a comedy, we've also made it funny. Our kid hero is taken to the edge of town at the end of Act One by a friendly cabbie. The kid looks ahead to a spooky-looking road down which he knows he must travel if he is to find his folks.
Gulp!
But his fear is quickly made light of when he's heckled by a driver passing by. And so, on a fun note, and making a firm decision, off he goes.

Your moment of truth may not be so clear-cut, but it's important to remember that
the debate section must ask a question of some kind.
In
Legally Blonde
the catalyst of the fiance dumping Elle Woods quickly segues to her solution: Go to Harvard Law. "But can she get in?" That is the question posed in the debate section of that movie. The debate section thus becomes showing how Elle answers that question. And when she manages to zoom her LSATs, create a lascivious admissions video, and get accepted, the answer to the question is clear: Yes! And like the kid hero in our "
Home Alone
on the road" movie, Elle can happily march into Act Two. She has answered the debate question and can now proceed.

BREAK INTO TWO (25)

It happens on page 25-1 have been in many arguments. Why not page 28? What's wrong with 30? Don't. Please.

In a
IIO
page screenplay, it happens no later than 25.

Page 25 is the place where I always go to first in a screenplay someone has handed me (we all have our reading quirks) to see "what happens on 25." I want to know 1) if anything happens and 2) if

this screenwriter knows that something
should
happen. And I mean something big.

Because that's what is supposed to happen... on 25-

As discussed above, the act break is the moment where we leave the old world, the thesis statement, behind and proceed into a world that is the upside down version of that, its antithesis. But because these two worlds are so distinct, the act of actually stepping into Act Two must be definite.

Very often when I am writing a screenplay, my act break will start off vaguely. I'll find that events will draw the hero into Act Two. This is incorrect. The hero cannot be lured, tricked, or drift into Act Two. The hero must make the decision himself. That's what makes him a hero anyway — being proactive. Take
Star Wars.
The event that prompts Luke Skywalker on his journey is his parents being killed, but the decision to "go on the road" is his. Luke cannot wake up on Han Solo's starship wondering how he got there, he has to choose to go. Make sure your hero does likewise.

B STORY (30)

The B story begins on page
30.
And the B story of most screenplays is "the love story." It is also the story that carries the theme of the movie. I also think that the start of the B story, what takes place around page 30, is a little
booster rocket
that helps smooth over the shockingly obvious A story act break. Think about it. You've set up the A story, you've put it into motion, now we've had this abrupt jump into Act Two and you've landed in a whole new world. The B story says: "Enough already, how about talking about something else!" Which is why the cutaway is usually in line with the A story... but new in scope.

The B story gives us a breather.

Let's take
Legally Blonde,
for instance. The B story is Elle's relationship with the manicurist she meets in Boston. And it is a much needed break from the A story. We've met Elle. She's been dumped. She's decided to go to Law School. She gets there. And school is tough. Well, enough already, let's have a little time-out! Let's go slightly off theme here and meet someone new. Thus, the manicurist. And yes, while it is not a traditional boy-girl love story, it is in fact "the love story." It's where Elle will be nurtured. It is also the place where Elle confides what she is learning in the School of Hard Knocks she's experiencing at Harvard Law — and the place from which she'll draw the strength she needs for the final push into Act Three and ultimate victory.

The B story is also very often a brand new bunch of characters. We have not always met the B story players in the first IO pages of the screenplay. We did not even know they existed. But since Act Two is the antithesis, they are the upside down versions of those characters who inhabit the world of Act One. Again, the B story ally in
Legally Blonde
is a perfect example. Isn't Jennifer Goolidge, the wonderful actress who portrays manicurist Paulette Bonafonte, the funhouse mirror version of the girls from Elle's sorority house back at UCLA? This is why the character is so successful. She is a classic anti-thesis creature.

The B story then does a lot. And you must have one. It provides not only the love story and a place to openly discuss the theme of your movie, but gives the writer the vital "cutaways" from the A story. And it starts on 3O.