Writing Movies For Fun And Profit! (22 page)

2. You must have the same sense of humor.

3. You must be egoless (fight for something because it’s good, not because YOU wrote it).

4. Don’t be a dick.

Follow these rules and this strategy, and you will write twice as fast as you would without a partner. You’ll BOTH have carpal tunnel syndrome, but you’ll also both have Brazilian supermodels to massage your hands for you on your hovercraft.

SCREENWRITING TIP!

Hey you lil’ Akiva Goldsman, you!

Wanna speed up your screenwriting?

Then why not try this helpful, professional screenwriting tip?

SPELL IT WRONG ON PURPOSE!!!

Not sure how you can enter a funny spelling into FINAL DRAFT? For example, you’re trying to write the French word for a wonderful, fluffy desert:

soufflé

But it won’t give you an option for the accent aigu over the e? Stop tearing your hair out and do what the pros do: SPELL IT WRONG ON PURPOSE. Instead of typing: souffle …

Try typing:
souffleee

Then hit SPELL CHECK (“Command” on your keyboard), and it will give you a list of great options,
including the correct version, with the accent aigu
.

You can have fun with some other foreign spellings of words, just try it out! Type the version that’s ALMOST BUT NOT QUITE RIGHT—and see what those wonderful fellows at Final Draft have in store for you! You’ll be pleasantly surprised!

Like … what’s that great word for the front of a building:

façade

Try typing:

faacaaade

When all else fails: CUT AND PASTE STUFF OFF OF THE INTERNET.

And after that: WE’LL SEE YOU AT THE OSCARS!!!
*

Fixing a script that the studio HATES … but they’re making anyway.

This happens about 90 percent of the time
:
A studio buys a movie. Then, because of the script the writer turned in and/or because of the subsequent “development” job the studio did, they now absolutely HATE the script. And the writer. But—
they’re still gonna make the movie.
(See
Chapter 10
, “Why Does Almost Every Studio Movie
SUCK
Donkey Balls?”) So—they fire the writer and put the word out: we’re looking for another writer to fix the script.
*

Now, the studio has already spent some serious bread on the previous (shitty) drafts of the script. The fact that they’re hiring
another
writer means that they’re willing to spend
more
money—so SOMEBODY at the studio still thinks there’s an idea for a great movie in there somewhere.
^†

So they call the agents and managers of a few specific writers who they think will be able to fix this turkey. A lot of times these gigs go to writers who already have a relationship with the studio. Whom they trust.

OR
—they may give the gig to a new writer. That’s why it’s okay to have pitched a movie to a studio that they didn’t buy. (
Rule 4: If you don’t sell a pitch, that’s okay.
) They heard your pitch or read your spec—you
seemed professional and competent, and they liked your sensibility. They didn’t buy your pitch or spec, but they might give you a shot at a rewrite.

So—this is your CHANCE to get a gig at the studio. A LOT of writers first break into the system by delivering a great REWRITE; because not only are you going to deliver a good script,
you’re also going to SAVE the studio the money they spent on the previous drafts.
Until you came along, that was MONEY DOWN THE TUBES.

So the studio people called your agent to see if you’re interested in the rewrite—then what?

They ask your reps, “Is your client interested in doing a rewrite of a script?” (Let’s call it
The Banana Police
.) You say, “Let me read it.”

SOMETIMES:
They’ll send you the script. Sometimes they’ll want to talk to you first and tell you what they like about the script, what they
don’t
like, why they were originally excited about the movie, and why they don’t like it anymore.
Then
they send you the script.

SOMETIMES:
They won’t show you the script at all. Instead, they’ll tell you; “The script is so bad, we don’t even want you to read it.” (This happens A LOT.) Then they’ll pitch you what they think the movie
could
be.

You get the script delivered to your door (or some exec pitches you the movie). You read the script.

WARNING:
Even though they told you how bad the script is—
it’s going to be a million times worse than you thought it’d be
. It’s going to be so bad it makes you mad. You’re going to yell—at the script, at your spouse, at your roommate, at your cat—“Why the hell is this retarded writer selling scripts when my genius pitch didn’t sell?!? This guy can’t even spell ‘Bannana’ right!?!”

Take a breath. Then organize your thoughts:
What can you do to fix this script?
You need to:

• Read the script more than once, and take notes.

• Organize your thoughts. In less than a week, you need to go in for a meeting and pitch the studio the changes that you’re going to make to the script.

• Practice your pitch. (See
Chapter 3
, “How to Pitch Your Movie.”) Make it great. Sometimes pitching a rewrite is harder than pitching a new script. It’s more complicated. And the execs you’re pitching to need to be able to understand your big changes, and your little changes AND remember the old script in great detail. It takes great organization and communication skills.

• Make your pitch short, clear, and awesome. You need to RESELL them on the movie. You have to wipe the slate clean and convince them that they should forget the old version and that
YOUR version
is going to kick ass.

When we go in to pitch a rewrite, we ALWAYS start the meeting by saying something like “We hope we don’t offend anybody. Don’t take this personally—but we’re going to be 100 percent honest about this script.” Because we’re always BRUTALLY honest about the old script, while trying to be tactful about the writer. We don’t say, “This writer is a retard who has no idea how to write dialogue.” We say, “We’re going to totally redo all of the dialogue. It’s stiff, it doesn’t sound the way real people talk, and it needs to be totally thrown out and replaced.” You never know, one of the execs you’re pitching to in the room might have WRITTEN the dialogue. So be honest, but be careful.

Tell the studio all of the changes you’re going to make. Tell them what you’re going to take out and what you’re going to replace it with. You can be general: “Act II is way too long, I’m gonna shave off about ten pages.” Or very specific: “I’m gonna make the plumber on page 10 into a locksmith.” And keep your rewrite pitch short. Ten, fifteen minutes. They’ll have tons of questions afterward, so do your homework.

What happens when you and the studio disagree about something that you HATE and they love?

Remember: THE STUDIO IS ALWAYS RIGHT
. Just because the scene where the Banana Police teach a bunch of monkeys to do the “Cabbage Patch” is the worst scene you’ve ever read—
that doesn’t mean you can’t fix it
.

Ask the studio: “What is it about the ‘banana scene’ that you like? Do
you like that they teach monkeys
something
? Or that they teach
someone
a dance?” If they like it JUST THE WAY IT IS—great! Problem solved. Less work for you. Those pages you don’t have to touch. Remember, your name’s probably never gonna be on this turkey anyway.

But mostly, just convince the studio that you can see what
it
sees in the script—its
potential
.

Why Rewrites Are a Good Gig

1. If you’ve never worked at this studio before, it’s a great way for them to get to know your work. You can really prove you know how to write a screenplay.

2. If you pull off a good rewrite, you’re a superhero. You came in and saved the day, and people will be thrilled. Pulling off a script that
you
pitched … that’s expected of you. But fixing someone else’s script SAVED THE STUDIO MONEY.

3. The money you get paid to do rewrites is GREAT. You get paid by the week. A lot of times, it’s less work for more money than selling your own pitch, because the hard work is done. There’s already a script (not just 100 blank sheets of paper). You usually start off getting paid about $10,000 a week—and that’s just for your first rewrite. If you’re good, your rate will climb very quickly. You can get rich doing rewrites.
Take that, America’s school teachers!

Or, if you wanna make SERIOUS bank, get a gig doing:

Production rewrites happen when a film has been GREENLIT (meaning they’re going to shoot the movie
soon
) and the studio STILL hates the script.
This happens ALL THE TIME. Herbie: Fully Loaded
had twenty-four different writers AFTER our draft was greenlit and we were fired. (See
Chapter 14
:
“Herbie: Fully Loaded.”
)

Why does this happen?

Sometimes
someone pitches a movie that’s such a great idea that movie stars sign up to do it and the studio greenlights it before the script is even written. Then the script is turned in, and it sucks. Then, in “developing” the script, it gets worse.

Sometimes
a writer turns in a script, and about 90 percent of it is AWESOME. It gets greenlit. Then the studio sets to work “fixing” the other 10 percent. And the studio and director and sometimes the movie stars screw up the whole movie. It’s amazing how one botched pass of a script can create a domino effect—and the whole movie can fall apart like a house of cards.

Sometimes
even when everyone likes a script
, movie stars have their own writers come in and do a “little pass” of the script. Most directors do the same thing—and a lot of times that “little pass” totally screws up the script. Now, the studio can’t just GO BACK to the
good
draft. (Which would seem to be the logical thing to do, right?) No, that would step on the movie star’s or director’s toes.

No—they have to move FORWARD, never back. So—they hire a writer to “fix it.”

Again.

The studios usually hire pros for production rewrites—people they’ve worked with
a lot.
Whom they know they can count on, because honestly, the studio’s balls are in a clam. They NEED to fix the script FAST.

Production rewrites are VERY stressful. The clock is ticking. They needed a new script YESTERDAY. The studio is in a panic, the producers are in a panic, the director’s in a panic … and they’re usually all ARGUING with one another about what needs to be done with the script (which is why the script is a mess to begin with).

The director will want you to put something into the script that the studio HATES, or vice versa—and rather than just discussing it with each other, they’re BOTH calling you directly and telling you to
do it.

But when the new draft sucks and has stuff in it the studio hates—guess who gets fired? YOU!

Your job is to make the script GOOD
and
TRY to do what they
all
want. Sometimes you can’t do both.

We always try to make the script GOOD first, while doing what the
studio
wants. To us, the studio trumps the director. The studio is paying us, not the director. MOVIE STARS sometimes trump EVERYBODY. You have to put in their notes (then we show that draft to the studio and make THEM take out the movie star’s stuff). (See
Chapter 29
, “Martin Lawrence Has a Few Thoughts or How to Take Notes from a Movie Star.”)

Production rewrites are a TREMENDOUS amount of work. You’re writing one scene while they’re shooting another; then they’ll call you and tell you to rewrite the scene they’re shooting RIGHT NOW. We had to rewrite the first thirty pages of
Starsky & Hutch
three times in a week. We probably rewrote the entire movie ten times in less than a month. We’d write stuff, someone wouldn’t like it, we’d rewrite it—over and over.

Agreeing to do a production rewrite is signing your life away, 24/7, for as long as it takes to fix the script or until they fire you. They’ll call you at all hours. They’ll expect to see new pages every day. They’ll expect OPTIONAL versions of scenes. And every single person you’re dealing with is tearing his hair out and screaming at you.

Oh, and you’ll NEVER get screen credit. Never ever ever.

So why do it? The MONEY, for one thing. They really pay you a LOT of money. And if you get a reputation as a “closer”—someone who can make a script good in a pinch—they’ll hire you to do it again and again.

And they’ll probably think very seriously about buying your next pitch.

Punch-ups are production rewrites, but smaller and much more surgical. The studio has greenlit a comedy that’s not funny. So they want you to go in and add jokes.

Or they’ve cast someone very specific for a particular role, and that person wants you to rewrite the role in their voice. (“GREAT NEWS! We’ve cast the Jonas Brothers as the Banana Police! Could you add a little “Jonas Brothers magic” to those scenes?”) Ew. Just typing that made us feel icky.