Tales from the Script: Writes and Wrongs in Hollywood

You’ve heard of Tales from the Crypt. Now here comes the equally scary Tales from the Script, a 2009 documentary about Hollywood’s most maligned above-the-line professional, the screenwriter. Twice yearly I teach the art of screenwriting to wonderfully eager and hardworking advanced students in UCLA Extension’s world-renowned Writers’ Program They dream of moving into the big leagues, and of course I try to help them make their dreams come true .But the working professionals seen in this film provide evidence that a screenwriter’s lot is not always a happy one.

Tales from the Script also enjoys a companion volume that quotes from conversations with some 50 of the industry’s finest. The documentary combines talking-head interviews with artfully chosen movie clips (from such films as The Way We Were and Barton Fink) that illustrate how screenwriters are regarded in Hollywood. One of my favorite clips is the scene from Get Shorty in which a self-confident Delroy Lindo assures a wide-eyed John Travolta that writing a screenplay is a cinch. Not so, of course. First of all, there’s the craft of writing. The job is simply more complicated when you’re trying to fit a lot of material into a two-hour framework. Jane Anderson, whose credits include TV’s acclaimed Olive Kittridge, explains it this way:  “Films are architecture, and you’ve got to get your blueprint down.” 

Then there’s the basic difficulty in getting in over the threshold, which may well entail lying about connections you don’t really have. Even if your screenplay is sold, you’ll probably be removed from your material as much as possible. And a work that’s optioned isn’t necessarily produced, so your chances of seeing your own movie on screen—whether or not it’s in a recognizable form-- are slim. Shane Black, who’s enjoyed massive hits like Lethal Weapon, also sees the downside of success: there’s the danger of believing your own hype. My colleague Dennis Palumbo, who turned from screenwriting (My Favorite Year) to psychotherapy, characterizes screenwriters as “egomaniacs with low self-esteem.” Ouch!

If you’re a screenwriter, you’re doomed to take endess meetings with mid-level execs who “can’t relate to anything they haven’t seen before.”  And changing tastes make small, sensitive movies hard to peddle. Screenwriter Naomi Foner (Running on Empty) notes that “Ordinary People wouldn’t get made today. That would be a Lifetime television movie.” In Tales from the Script, writers talk frankly about navigating sit-downs with producer types. My old friend John Brancato long ago used to crank out Roger Corman sci-fi flicks with his writing partner Mike Ferris. They’ve since graduated to big paydays like Terminator 3, but John still knows his place in the Hollywood pecking order. His advice: “Let the producer take the big chair. Always sit on the couch.”

The writers in Tales from the Script freely admit there are times when a director can lift their work to a higher level, and when an skilled actor can show them that many of their words are just not necessary. And sometimes a writer gets very lucky, as when newcomer Justin Zackham got the perfect director and cast for his first feature, 2007’s The Bucket List. But that’s not often the case. Usually screenwriters, even the most successful, find themselves struggling with both their craft and their industry. Said one, as you move through your career, “the rules don’t actually change. You just get lied to by a higher caliber of person.” Still, screenwriters keep at it, sometimes turning out upwards of 46 drafts (for Amadeus) in hopes of striking cinematic gold – or at least writing that one really good sentence. 

“Cut to the Chase": The Wit and Wisdom of UCLA Extension Screenwriters

Despite what you might have heard, most screenwriters don’t lead glamorous lives. In Hollywood they’re a lot like Rodney Dangerfield: they get no respect. Even when a writer is lucky enough to sell a screenplay, it often gets rewritten to the point of being unrecognizable. That’s because everybody – the producer, the director, the star, the producer’s girlfriend – wants to have a hand in shaping the final draft. Especially these days, the original ending may wind up being scrapped if it doesn’t test well with a preview audience. And all too many movies bear the stamp of being designed by committee.

Many’s the writer who finds himself (or herself) barred from the set. That was the case with Diane Lake, who wrote the original draft of the Oscar-nominated Frida, the Frida Kahlo biopic (starring Selma Hayek) that won two Oscars and was nominated for four more. Lake also had to survive a messy arbitration process involving her writing credit on the film, along with competing claims from several others who contributed to the shooting script.

Still, creative people continue wanting to write movies. And UCLA Extension’s world-famous Writers’ Program is there to help make it happen. I’ve been fortunate to teach in the Writers’ Program since 1995. That’s where I first met Diane Lake, along with a host of talented screenwriters who are also gifted teachers. We teach in classrooms on the UCLA campus; we teach at satellite campuses spread across the L.A. area. And, more and more, we teach online, educating students all over the world about the art and the craft of screenwriting.

Now the ever-enterprising Linda Venis, director of UCLA Extension’s Department of the Arts, has compiled a new handbook tailor-made for aspiring screenwriters. Its full title is Cut to the Chase: Writing Feature Films with the Pros at UCLA Extension’s Writers’ Program. A number of prize-winning instructors have contributed chapters that nicely demystify the screenwriting process. I read the book with great pleasure, enjoying practical tips on such matters as how to get started, how to use note cards to structure a story, how to shape scenes, and how to know when your work is finally finished. There are plenty of vivid examples, many of them culled from recent films. (The King’s Speech is a particular favorite.) And several chapters offer exercises I wish I’d thought of myself.  Philip Eisner’s contribution, “’Show, Don’t Tell’: Visual Screenwriting,” includes an exercise borrowed from the novelist John Gardner. Eisner habitually asks his students to “write a brief character sketch, using objects, landscape, weather, etc., to intensify the reader’s sense of the character. . . . The students must limit their descriptions to external, objective reality—the kinds of things a camera can film.” Here, says Eisner, is one student’s brief but powerful submission: “She rides in the passenger seat of a dark sedan, her hands tightly clutching the perfectly folded American flag.”

I’m reluctant to single out favorite chapters, but I truly enjoyed my buddy Karl Iglesias’s savvy suggestions about writing great dialogue. (As he notes, you should never underestimate the power of silence.) And Deborah Dean Davis’s blunt and funny essay on how to launch and sustain a screenwriting career is a hoot. (She gives clothing advice, marital advice, and suggestions about how the power of chutzpah can help you navigate the winding byways of Tinseltown.)

Will all this good advice change your life? Hard to say – but screenwriters from Earl W. Wallace (Witness) to Kevin Williamson (Scream) to Melissa Rosenberg (Twilight) have the UCLA Extension Writers’ Program to thank for jumpstarting their stellar Hollywood careers.

Aspiring writers might enjoy my talk at the San Fernando Valley branch of the California Writers Club this coming Saturday, November 2. Here’s the complete info.

UCLA Writers’ Program: Far Beyond Kindergarten

My colleague, Ernie Contreras, got off a good one the other day. We were at an instructors’ retreat sponsored by the Writers’ Program, UCLA Extension’s widely acclaimed program for those wanting to study (either in the classroom or over the Internet) the art and craft of writing. All of us who teach screenwriting through the Writers’ Program can share with our students our own hard-earned experience in film and television. And we take our responsibilities seriously. That’s why we’d gathered on a Saturday morning to discuss ways to enhance our teaching skills.

In a session designed to focus on “How to Solve Problems Before They Start,” we moved onto the thorny topic of giving feedback to novice writers. Sometimes, we agreed, the problem was with a hypersensitive student unwilling to hear even the most constructive advice. But there also were students who used the chance to critique their peers as an opportunity for rampant nastiness. I mentioned to the group an example from early in my teaching career. Though I had made it a point at the opening class to discuss the need for courtesy and a positive approach, a young man who’d missed the first session was later discovered to be scrawling all over his classmates’ submissions helpful comments like these: “Boring!” “I nearly fell asleep here!” and the ever-popular “This sucks!” Ironically, I noted to my colleagues, this very opinionated young man showed no particular talent in his own written work. That’s when Ernie quipped, “Sounds like this guy has a great future as a studio executive!”

A knowledge of the industry is one thing that binds us instructors together. Another is a genuine desire to help fledgling writers get their foot in the door. We all have our success stories, of working with student writers who’ve ended up signing with major agencies, joining the staff of established TV shows, or winning prestigious writing contests. (A few of us can boast of having had the ubiquitous James Franco in our classes, which has got to be a victory of some sort.)

One of the issues that arose at our retreat was whether to tell a student writer that his or her screenplay-in-progress lacks commercial appeal. Pragmatic as we are, we feel the need to make clear the basic parameters of what Hollywood is looking for. After all, our students expect practical advise from people who have been there and done that. On the other hand, the last thing we want to do is stifle someone’s creative impulses. And it’s also true that, as screenwriter William Goldman famously said, in Hollywood “nobody knows anything.” Times change, approaches vary, and you never know where that next great movie hit will be coming from.

It so happens that at the gym yesterday, while huffing and puffing on the elliptical trainer, I found myself watching my former governor’s 1990 hit, Kindergarten Cop. This thriller about a cop who goes undercover as a kindergarten teacher in order to track down a drug-dealer has it all: an appealing hero (Ahnold at his best); a pair of scary, complex, picturesque villains; some sparkling featured players; plus kiddie humor, a cute little boy in jeopardy, a tightly-plotted climax, and a classroom pet who helps out when least expected. I’d be proud if any of my students ended up writing a movie on that level. On the other hand, whether their goal is a top-notch commercial flick, a deeply-felt personal story, or a funky experiment, I’m there to help them move from Fade-In to Fade-Out.

Read more about the UCLA Writers’ Program here.