What do Christopher Keane, Blake
Snyder, and Peter Hanson all have in common? Each of these experienced
screenwriters published a book claiming to contain the secret to making it as a
writer in Hollywood. While there are definitely some common themes, or screenwriting
“laws to abide by”, Peter Hanson’s Tales from the Script proves to be
another distinct perspective worth hearing; or to put it correctly, many
distinct perspectives worth hearing. Tales from the Script pulls
together answers to the budding screenwriter’s biggest questions from fifty of
Hollywood’s most successful writers. These are the names that go unnoticed when
the credits roll, but are attached to some of the biggest cinematic hits of the
century.
While it’s frustrating to have to
look up an unfamiliar name three times per page, looking at the “business”
through several different lenses seems to me like a worthwhile use of my time. More
than anything, I think this book goes to show that there are millions of ways
to make it in Los Angeles. You have Ari B. Rubin, who used his father, Bruce
Joel Rubin (known for his his hit screenplay, Ghost). However, you also have people like Justin Zackham,
screenwriter for The Bucket List, who
failed out of college (twice) and managed to crack into the Hollywood scene
with sheer passion for film. These differences that only a book like Hanson’s
can portray gives writers hope.
Not that this is false hope, but the
comment that unites each and every one of these writers is their experience
with rejection. Tales from the Script seems to have a tangy, sweet and
sour taste to it. While there is hope, each of the voices contained in these
343 pages will say that YOU WILL FAIL. Even the greats, like Nora Ephron and
our friend John August (who I am glad to say that I didn’t have to look up),
will admit to producing failures. The odds of becoming a successful
screenwriter are slim to none.
With my recent experience as a
gambler (see my post “The Debt of a Novice”), I’ve realized that the only way
to beat the odds is by making more bets. While this might not be good advice to
give a gambling addict, it seems to be the one piece of wisdom that keeps
cropping up throughout Tales from the Script. Take risks. Write. Keep
writing, even after you fail. The only way to succeed is by failing so many
times, you can’t fail any longer. It may take months, years, or decades, but
every true writer must make it in the
business because they not only want to, but need to.
After reading the first few chapters
of his book, Hanson seemed to be telling me: Stop reading about writing. Stop
writing about writing. Just sit down, look Microsoft Word straight in the eye,
and write.
Don’t worry; I’m too attached to
this blog to abandon it now. However, I did
do what Hanson told me. I sat down, and wrote. Now in case you haven’t been
paying attention, I am up to 61 pages in my current novel. Even though I’m not
done, I began the process of renovating. Feeling like Jeff Lewis on Bravo TV’s Flipping Out, I refinished, remodeled,
and came up with the first scene of my adaptation on How to Leave a Pink
House.
HOW TO LEAVE
A PINK HOUSE SCRIPT
INT. HOUSE, PARMA, OHIO, JULY 1963 – DAY
JAX sits at the kitchen
table. He is small, squirrely, with the hood of his orange sweatshirt up. The
wind WHISTLES outside and he flicks a flashlight on and off. The lights
flicker, and he flicks it again.
HIS MOTHER comes down a
flight of stairs and enters the kitchen. Her hair looks like plastic, solid on
top of her head. She has fake nails and we see a bit of red lipstick on her
front tooth.
JAX
I
hate when the power goes out. The dark makes me claustrophobic.
His mother rolls her eyes,
and Jax switches the flashlight on again.
MOTHER
That’s
not possible, Jax. You’re either claustrophobic, or you’re not.
JAX
Maybe
I am then.
MOTHER
You
are not. Now go outside and play; you’re giving me a migraine.
Jax reluctantly gets up
from the table and leaves, slamming the screen door on his way out.
EXT. FRONT PORCH – DAY
Jax puts his head in his
hands and slumps, bored. ZOOM OUT: We see the Pepto Bismol pink house behind
him. Jax hits the flashlight against the railing leading up to the front door.
In this quaint, Midwestern
neighborhood, life seems pretty quiet. Jax looks around, but nobody’s around.
He squints, and sees THE MAILMAN in the distance, watching him get closer.
MAILMAN
Aren’t you a little hot there, son?
Jax looks down at his
sweatshirt, pulling at the strings.
JAX
(trailing off)
Every season’s flu season.
CUT TO:
INT. HOSPITAL ROOM – DAY
JAX P.O.V.: GRAMMY lies in
a hospital bed and a monitor BEEPS in the background. Her frail hand, attached
to an IV drip, lifts up and pulls at the red scarf Jax is wearing.
She tucks the end of the
scarf into his jacket; Jax smiles. His mother is nowhere to be seen.
GRAMMY
What do I always tell you?
Jax pulls at the scarf,
too tight around his neck.
JAX
(annoyed)
Every season’s flu season, Grammy.
CUT TO:
EXT. FRONT PORCH – DAY
Jax blinks, and the
mailman is gone. He flicks the flashlight on again and shines it on the front
step, then the railing, then the front door, then the house. He stops, clicks
it off. Jax SIGHS.
Behind him, A GROUP OF
BOYS approach the house, walking straight towards Jax. He turns around to find
them all staring at him.
ONE BOY runs up to his
mailbox and leans on it. He has a crooked smile and wears a plain white t-shirt
and jean shorts. This is BONER.
BONER
Wanna come play some baseball? We need one more.
JAX
(stuttering)
I don’t have a glove.
Boner CHUCKLES, pushing
away from the mailbox. Jax can’t believe how cool Boner is.
BONER
Then what’s that?
He points to a glove
sitting next to Jax; Jax doesn’t know how it got there. He picks it up and
stares at it.
BONER
You gonna put it on or make out with it?
Jax looks over his shoulder
and sees his mother, lowering the ironing board from the wall in the kitchen.
Jax’s mind seems to wander off...
CUT TO:
INT. HOUSE – NIGHT
JAX P.O.V.: Jax sits at
the kitchen table with sopping wet hair and clothes, about a year younger,
staring at his plate. He looks at the black grilled cheese with no intention of
eating it.
His mother HUMS with her
back to Jax; the iron SIZZLES and a cloud of steam rises to the ceiling. She
turns around with another, just as black, grilled cheese in her hand, and PLOPS
it onto Jax’s plate. Jax SNIFFLES.
MOTHER
Quit crying, Jax. They’re your favorite.
His mother sits down in
the chair next to him and waits for Jax to take a bite; he doesn’t. Grammy,
sitting at the other end of the table, tries to smile, but falters. Jax turns
to the fourth, empty chair at the table.
MOTHER
C’mon, eat. Eat the damn sandwich.
Mother refuses to look at
the empty chair. She DRUMS her fake finger nails on the table, and Jax squirms.
The drumming gets louder and louder and louder...
CUT TO:
EXT. FRONT PORCH – DAY
His mother is now looking
at him through the front window, TAPPING on the glass. Her eyebrows arch, and
she shoos him away. Jax stands up and walks down the steps.
BONER
You might need your mitt.
JAX
(muttering)
Right, right.
Jax goes back for his
leather glove and waves to the boys waiting in the cul-de-sac, down the street.
They see him, but don’t wave back.
Boner smiles at Jax, and
he nods, hurrying away from his pink house. Boner sprints off towards the other
boys, and Jax looks back one last time...
CUT TO:
INT. FRONT WINDOW – NIGHT
It’s RAINING, and Jax, a
year younger, looks out the window at A MAN in a black trench coat stepping
into a taxi. This is Jax’s father. Jax SCREAMS, but the man doesn’t turn
around.
The taxi pulls away, and
Jax runs from the house, SLAMMING the screen door. He races down the front
steps and turns to stare at the pink house. He’s soaked.
His mother stands on the
front porch under an umbrella.
MOTHER
What are you doing?
Jax sits on the sidewalk,
indian-style. He doesn’t look at his mother, but at the whole front of the
house.
MOTHER
(yelling)
Get inside, Jax!
Jax doesn’t budge, and his
mother throws the umbrella, then STOMPS back inside. Jax is silent; all we can
hear is the rain FALLING around him. ZOOM IN: on the pink house.
CUT TO:
EXT. FRONT LAWN – DAY
BONER
You coming?
Boner calls from the
cul-de-sac. After one last look, Jax turns his back on that pink house and
walks towards the cul-de-sac.
JAX
Yeah, I’m coming.
He breaks into a run,
without looking back.
FADE TO BLACK.
MOVIES WATCHED: 9
SCREENPLAY PAGES WRITTEN: 31
NOVEL PAGES WRITTEN: 65
PAGES LEFT IN MISS PEREGRINE’S HOME FOR
PECULIAR
CHILDREN: 170
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