Review of Ashland
"Ashland" is a carefully planned character study that doesn't oversell its premise.
Still, I think there are two central problems. I should note that since the ratings are high and from a large sample, and since this has been a Featured Submission, I'm going to be in the minority, so please use whatever sized grain of salt you find helpful in considering these suggestions.
What first struck me was the beautiful writing in the action descriptions: concise but evocative prose with individualized, active action verbs. A strong, clear writer's voice and a consistent tone. But then I noticed a major problem with the characterization, and I believe that these well-written paragraphs are one of the sources of the problem.
For me, all your characters lack the semblance of autonomy--they serve to move the story forward, but they have no inner life. Grace is an alcoholic mother, not Keith's mother. Keith himself has a mysterious backstory, but it's not at odds with anything. At the end of Act 1, when--according to convention--the protagonist chooses to commit to action, Keith does in fact decide to fill out the application, but while he's shown as procrastinating on that decision, there was never any real tension. Grace did oppose Keith becoming a fireman, but he wouldn't do what she says anyway. Later, when Madeline appears and is described as Paul's sister and married, the audience knows that soon she and Keith will hook up. And when Jason has to be removed quickly, he's providentially killed in a car accident.
I think that instead of investing power in your characters, you retain it for yourself in those action paragraphs. You may get some feedback that you frequently use unfilmables. For me, the problem isn't that you insert statements that can't be shown visually, it's that these authorial comments serve to communicate meaning ("to tell"), when the actions of the characters should do so ("to show"). There are often several "tells" per page. Here are a few for examples:
He tries the radio again -- nothing he wants to listen to, only country music. So, he punches the console. (p. 1)
The silence between them is tense and too familiar. (p.1)
Her glare promises a long ride back home. (p.3)
...his eyes widen at the amount of product needed to keep Grace’s hair in place (p.3)
Thomas just feels awkward. (p.4)
Technically, the glare and eye-widening are visual actions, but it's necessary to then tell the audience what they mean. These passages would be fine in a third-person novel, where the author presents the thoughts of the character. But film doesn't do so, except with voice-overs--and ideally few of those. If you forced yourself to avoid narrating the inner world of the characters, and instead conveyed the same information with dialog and action (preferably action), you'd give your characters the complexity and autonomy that they need to draw the audience into the story.
The second major problem for me is action-as-structure (in addition to the action-as-character problem described above). Specifically, you have a second act--half your story--without any driving goal on Keith's part. He joins the fire department, and lots of conflicts ensue, but these don't prevent him from serving. They're spats, not stumbling blocks.
Of course I'm describing the traditional Hollywood formula. A low-concept character study might SEEM different. But if you look at something like The Station Agent, you'll notice that while the protag's goal might seem insubstantial or weak, the subtlety results from an inactive character, in fact the character is deeply committed to a goal, but the goal is simply more personal (not more trivial) than what we expect in a Batman film. This would not be such a problem with a novel--it's not unusual for the drive of the narrator to do the job of the character. But in film, it's all on screen.
The intelligence and subtlety of your approach are great strengths. Focusing more explicitly on the goal / intention of the protagonist won'd dumb down the story. Instead, it will capitalize on the strengths of your presentation and offer the audience a story that's fresh as well as familiar.
Other Reviews by AlCielo
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"Unseen" is based on a strong premise--a young man hounded by guilt for his brother's kidnapping seeks revenge. Having such a clear, important concept is critical--if the basis for the story is unaffecting, then it doesn't matter how well written the screenplay is.
My goal here is to help you develop the strengths of your premise. To do that, I'm going to focus on weaknesses...
"Unseen" is based on a strong premise--a young man hounded by guilt for his brother's kidnapping seeks revenge. Having such a clear, important concept is critical--if the basis for the story is unaffecting, then it doesn't matter how well written the screenplay is.
My goal here is to help you develop the strengths of your premise. To do that, I'm going to focus on weaknesses in structure, character, and dialogue, but please don't let the negatives distract you from my great appreciation of the core of your story. Instead, think of these suggestions as a kind of workshop. Try out any that seem helpful in developing your script into what it can be, and ignore the rest.
Structure, character, and dialogue are all interrelated, but I'm starting with structure because it's the most physical (like a schematic drawing). Structure draws the audience in without announcing itself (except in rare cases like Memento). Structural weaknesses allow the audience's attention to wander. A strong structure keeps readers / viewers on track.
The kind of structure a story has is often dependent on the genre. Your story is essentially a revenge plot. Someone does something bad to the protagonist, who then seeks out the wrongdoer and attempts to punish him. However, the revenge angle doesn't kick in until well after the midpoint (p. 56), when Derek learns his brother is dead. Before that, you have a rescue story, punctuated by stretches (up to 5 years) where Derek gives up. Your premise and genre are fairly conventional, so an unclear structure is likely to weaken their involvement / identification with Derek. There are (at least) 2 better alternatives: (1) make the story / genre a rescue tale, with Derek learning of his brother's death only at the end (and then deciding what to do to Mike), or emphasize the revenge angle by letting Derek know (by the end of Act 1) that someone has killed his brother. This means condensing the set-up so that Mike kills Evan by p. 22 or so, or using a flashforward / flashback structure, which is tricky at best, so that Derek learns early on, but after that, the story flashes back to the events leading up to the discovery.
Restructuring means rethinking characterization as well. For this genre, the protagonist and antagonist should have clear, plot-driven goals. Can you imagine a 5-year (or even a 5-minute) pause in Liam Neeson's quest in Taken? There must have been times when the character went to the bathroom, but the movie's not going to show them. Derek's goals for much of the story are fuzzy at best (fuzzy to the audience, not necessarily to Derek or you). What is Derek's core? If you factored out his revenge goal and the death of his brother and parents, what motivates him? Of course, you can't factor out these tragic events, but he should do something more than react passively (in real life people often react passively to catastrophic events, but their lives don't make good movies)--he should acquire a goal and whatever the core of his being is will determine how he attempts to achieve that goal. The antagonist's situation is a little different. In most cases with a psychopathic opponent, the antagonist's motives may be explained in a single sentence (e.g. Buffalo Bill in The Silence of the Lambs), or the antagonist may be a cipher--all the more menacing because we don't know what drives him. However, he should be driven and he should be powerful. The antagonist is what keeps the protagonist from achieving unity with himself; if the antagonist is half-hearted or ineffective, the protag's quest will be flaccid. I'm never really clear what Mike's central motivation is--he seems to be a composite of movie psychos rather than a unique and hyperfocused individual. If an antagonist messes up (as Mike does on p. 45-46), the error should motivate him to become even stronger / smarter, or the error should occur (or become evident) only at the climax, after the protagonist has fought the good fight. In many cases, the protagonist is the shadow side of the protagonist, and can be defined as a kind of inverse of the strengths of the hero. By defeating the antag, the protag overcomes his own inner demons and becomes whole again.
The key to good characterization is to let the characters drive the story, not vice versa. When the story tells the characters what to do, it often tells them what to say, and the dialogue suffers. The more important an interchange is, the more indirect or oblique people tend to be in their discussion. The old public speaking advice "Tell your audience what you're going to say, say it, and then tell them what you said" is the wrong formula for movie dialogue. The discussion between Kevin's mom and dad (who should have names, by the way) about dad's drinking is driven by the story and sounds expositional. They should be talking about practically anything but drinking. And in stressful situations, people rarely make long speeches. The problem with long speeches (esp. the ones over 4 lines) in this script is that they lack tension and movement; everything stops while the character talks. Now it's possible for a lengthy monologue to move the story (and the audience), e.g. the "I coulda been a contender" speech in On the Waterfront, but it should arise from the character's drive to do something, not the author's. Take the sheriff's 21-line explanation on p. 74. The solution is not to break the speech up into 4-line blocks with interruptions like "The sheriff stops to scratch his nose"; the trick is to remove anything that doesn't absolutely HAVE to be there, and at the same time not lose sight of the subtext / agenda of the speaker (which in this case is to persuade Derek not to act hastily. I'm not rewriting your dialogue for you--this is just an example of how to streamline the passage:
SHERIFF
But, nothing. I checked with the owner. He's been renting it out, says the tenants are fine people, always pay their rent on time.
DEREK
Tenants? More than one?
SHERIFF
Old guy--retired military he thinks--and his grandkid.
DEREK
What's the grandkid like? Is he black?
SHERIFF
Nothing odd about that. Lots of mixed marriages these days.
DEREK
What the hell? Don't you see.....
etc.
Overall, I'd recommend you consider your revision in that order: structure, character, and finally dialogue. As you improve the structure, you'll change what the characters do, and as you develop the characters, you'll fine tune their speaking.
You have an excellent start--not just the premise / concept, but the characters and the vivid, visual actions. You are a strong writer and a perceptive one. The scene where Derek and Evan face each other but don't see each other (p. 46) is a brilliant moment, and I think more of these will fall into place as you polish your story and your storytelling.
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Combining Dante and Leone is a gutsy choice, but not necessarily a futile one (filming the Inferno would be another matter). The Inferno is first and foremost a quest / journey (un cammin) and the spaghetti western protagonists normally undertake a quest. Both Dante and Leone present a larger-than-life world (but one that depicts our own with accuracy and restraint).
In this...
Combining Dante and Leone is a gutsy choice, but not necessarily a futile one (filming the Inferno would be another matter). The Inferno is first and foremost a quest / journey (un cammin) and the spaghetti western protagonists normally undertake a quest. Both Dante and Leone present a larger-than-life world (but one that depicts our own with accuracy and restraint).
In this draft, however, the Dante background doesn't illuminate the spaghetti storyline, (and vice versa, for that matter). I'm dividing this dual critique (Dante/Leone) into Structure and Character.
STRUCTURE
The Inferno starts with a simple enough structure (9 concentric circles and an antechamber) but then shreds the simplicity to show the illogic / disorderliness that sin wreaks on an orderly universe. One circle (Limbo) isn't for sin at all (you reflect this in the famous cowboy bar). The remaining 8 circles depict 7 sins divided into two categories--Incontinence and Malice (again you follow this with Fort Dis for lower hell). You tend to reflect the messiness of the Inferno, but without its clear analysis of the seven deadly sins (the movie Se7en did a better job)--I had a difficult time deciding who everyone except Lust, Gluttony and Avarice were, though I think the Indian was Wrath.
Leone's categories tend to be somewhat simpler (though they get more complex in his later films)--Good vs. Bad, or Good-Bad-Ugly. There was no psychological advantage for the 7 categories of villains, other than providing each with a different personality. The Magnificent Seven / Seven Samurai, on the other hand, use individuation to present different facets of heroism (not sin of course).
Structurally, this draft seems to me a hodgepodge. If you have to choose between simple and complex, simple is almost always the better choice for a film story. I'd recommend one goal (for Virgil to get Dante to Beatrice, as in the Inferno) and seven opponents (like the repeated antagonists in Scott Pilgrim vs. the World), without, if possible, the numerous flashbacks (flashbacks are valid if they're hooked into theme, but here you use them simply for exposition).
CHARACTER
The Divine Comedy depicts perhaps the ultimate character arc--not only does the protagonist go from lost to saved (and reunited with his love, who represents this beatitude), but he learns so much that he writes a 100-canto poem about his experience. Even Virgil has an arc--he becomes more aware of his own insufficiency (which reflects the poet's contention that reason alone is necessary but insufficient as a guide to revelation).
Arcs are more common in later Leone, but they're never a bad idea as long as they're organic. Unfortunately there's no arc, no inner story in your script. Yes, James Bond does not arc, but Dante the character (both your protag and the "hero" of the Divine Comedy) is NOT James Bond. Dante starts off as a fallible everyman--that's how both audiences connect with him. But even though you symbolically dispense with Virgil at the end of your story (reflecting Virgil's disappearance at the end of the Purgatorio), he pretty much calls the shots (except for Dante's piloting the train (Geryon--not Greyon), which is not a psychological development but a symbolic substitute. If you look at how Dante the protag of the Inferno reacts to sinners as they interact, you'll see a most definite change. The one exception seems to be Virgil's sliding down the hill with Dante (which you echo on p. 106). But the symbolism here is that Virgil--normally Reason--must act instinctively after he's been deceived by the rational-seeming devils. In your script, there's no resonance with character growth (of either Virgil or Dante), just a parallel action.
In short, I'd recommend making your script as simple and archetypal as possible on the plot level but as detailed and analytical as possible on the character level (the old saying "Simple stories, complex characters" is even more important for film stories than for literary allegories. Think like Dante but write like Kurosawa.
Two negatives: The grammatical errors are very distracting and sometimes unintentionally humorous--not a good thing in a cerebral script. The action descriptions are often more detailed than what anyone but a set director would need, and frequently there's no payoff for the details (e.g. the forest on p. 103 is a reflection of the Wood of Suicides in the Inferno, but there's no connection to Dante's attempted suicide at the beginning of the script--the forest in the script simply provides some atmosphere that's unconnected to action or theme). Many of the action paragraphs could be trimmed by 50% or more.
Some positives: I like Virgil's Clint Eastwood dialog--you've nailed the cadence and sarcasm. The ending was positive in a Hollywood way but faithful to the theme (if not the symbolism) of the Divine Comedy. Those action paragraphs I mentioned earlier represent visual thinking, an asset for any writer.
Any work is a journey, and a draft is but one step of that pilgrimage, but you've started well and with persistence and diligence you can end your journey at the paradise of your choosing. Best wishes for the trip.
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"Rebel Interrogator" takes on a difficult genre mix: comedy-drama. An imbalance in either direction can cause problems--too serious to be a comedy or too flippant to be a drama. But getting the mix to work can provide audiences with a fresh and memorable story that stands out from the remakes and imitations.
For me, the two genres aren't blended but kept apart. Act 1 is a...
"Rebel Interrogator" takes on a difficult genre mix: comedy-drama. An imbalance in either direction can cause problems--too serious to be a comedy or too flippant to be a drama. But getting the mix to work can provide audiences with a fresh and memorable story that stands out from the remakes and imitations.
For me, the two genres aren't blended but kept apart. Act 1 is a comedy in the vein of "Dumb and Dumber"; Act 3 focuses on serious political intrigue a la "V for Vendetta"; and Act 2 is a long and not entirely smooth transition. Act 2 is normally where you develop your characters, but in this case, the two protagonists are at their flattest in the long act.
I have two suggestions. (In my opinion, it's best to deal with these issues before doing anything else.)
1. Move the discovery of uninterviewed prisoners to the end of Act 1 (by shortening previous scenes). This is a small change, but it may help focus your energies on the challenge of Act 2.
2. What do most second acts do for reader involvement? Typically they heighten involvement by increasing the stakes and risks the protagonist faces. Like comedy, stakes are most effective when they're not imposed from the outside but when they evolve from the inner life of the characters. Until Act 3, the stakes are relatively low. The protags live in a totalitarian state. Sure, their bumbling increases the likelihood of punishment, but in such a state, they'd probably get punished unfairly for some minor infraction anyway.
Stakes / involvement should grow from the inner needs, changes, development of the protagonist. It's as important for the inner story to proceed seamlessly as it is for the external one to do so. As the protagonist grows, so do the stakes, and so do the obstacles until the story reaches a climax so tense that the story must resolve or break (at least in traditional narratives, which yours is).
If you look at Die Hard 1, 2, and 4, or MI 3, or Lethal Weapon 4, you'll notice that the stakes are amped up not by increasing the firepower but by putting the protag's family in jeopardy. This is a natural progression, because the protag's arc is normally tied to growth in his relationships (see Dara Marks' The Inside Story). Now you do this to an extent in Rebel Interrogator, by making the protags care about Turbot, and through the romantic entanglements with Tanyetta and Elisa, all of whom are threatened by Tighthand. However, these three relationships aren't interconnected, nor are they integral to most of Act 2 (where relationships are normally incubated). The romance in particular comes in as more of an afterthought in Act 3.
I'm not telling how you must revise your story, but here's an example: If you move the discovery of the hidden prisoners back to the end of Act 1, then you can use Act 2 to develop the romances (starting as soon as possible). Turbot could be either a block or a helper in developing these relationships. As the romances grow during Act 2, so do the threats from Tighthand--not toward Rufus and Darnell so much as toward Tanyetta and Elisa. (Remember, an antagonist is not necessarily a villain and vice versa. Tighthand should probably be both, but in Act 2, he has little impact on the protag's goals. Try making him more of an adversary earlier. Be sure to make Rufus' seeming capitulation to Tighthand more an outgrowh of his needs / desires as well--it seems artificial here.) Then Act 3 (pretty much as it is) will be a natural outgrowth from the arc and conflicts you've set up in Act 2.
You have many strengths to build on as you develop your characters and their arcs. Dialog works well. Rufus' family provides a nice model for how people accommodate under totalitarianism. And you've provided very different personalities for your two protags. Tie together the inner and outer worlds of your story, and you'll increase audience involvement tenfold. Best wishes with the development of an interesting and fresh idea.
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