Happy New Year!

There’s a great excerpt in the Sweet Smell of Success Criterion from the director, Alexander MacKendrick. After MacKendrick left Hollywood, he went into teaching and wrote a book called On Filmmaking. The part that interested me, however, was his description on how Clifford Odets, who came in after the original writer fell ill, worked on revising the script.

In the first story conference between Odets, myself, and the producer, Jim Hill, I presented some of the ideas I had already been working on with Ernest Lehman. I had the idea of beginning the film with a sequence I felt would set the general tone of the film: the frantic activity that surrounds the moment when the first edition of a big city newspaper hits the streets (it was finally used as background for the titles). I explained how I could use posters on the side of the delivery trucks and the masthead of the column itself to set in motion the sequence of scenes that would build slowly to the introduction of the figure of the columnist. I suggested this would be a better start than the [proposed] ambiguous scene of the suicide that introduced voice-over narration and flashback. (Privately, I have a distaste for these two things, both of which are often a sign of the failure to create scenes in which the exposition is presented in terms of present dramatic action.) I had no need to argue the point, for Odets had already been feeling much the same way. Encouraged, I also made the suggestion that we could establish the profession of Sidney (Tony Curtis’s character) visually if we could play a scene not in his home, rather in an office where the set design and incidental activity could show just how a press agent lives. Perhaps, I said, Sidney could actually have a bedroom attached to his office, something that would indicate his association with the newspaper column and the degree to which he was dependent on his job.

Odets again seized on this. Pursuing the same line, he said he had been thinking about the roles of Sidney’s mother and the brother. In Lehman’s early draft, these two characters appeared in the early scenes but were substantially absent thereafter. Useful, of course, as supporting roles to reveal the background of the protagonist, but without much connection with the rest of the action. Possibly, he thought, there were other, more interesting ways to make the same points using characters already established in the script. For example, instead of the character of the mother, Odets proposed that the character of the theatrical agent could be a relative of Sidney’s, his mother’s brother (such a person would have the right to scold Sidney in much the same fashion as the brother and the mother). [In Odets’s script, this is the character of Frank D’Angelo, who represents Steve Dallas.] The idea of the bedroom/office also prompted Odets to suggest that Sidney has a secretary, Sally, who also sleeps with him on occasion, a sad and slightly squalid relationship that was not only rich in its implications of character but that meant scenes now devoted to character exploration could be more explicitly relevant to the plot. (The early scene in Odets’s draft with Sidney and Sally in his office, where he gives a self-justifying speech, is not only an early statement of the story’s theme, thus anticipating situations in the climax of the story, it also gives a depth to Sidney’s character, as it shows us his attitude to his secretary, who he treats with such little respect. Thus the character, theme, and plot are all functioning at once in the scene.)

Clifford promised to work on these ideas. Then he began to focus on the scene he felt needed the most work: the introduction, in the 21 Club, of the figure central to the whole subject, J. J. Hunsecker. Lehman’s original version contained three characters sitting at the newspaper columnist’s table, but very little use was made of them. They were merely extras to the scene, while in Odets’s version, each of the five ­characters is continuously in play throughout. For purposes of exposition, Odets had considerably expanded their parts, making them foil figures and effectively providing a compact subplot for them. Like Odets, I felt the scene was not really as powerful as it ought to be, but having no positive suggestions, I had made no complaint. Odets proceeded to give us a demonstration of the way a practiced dramaturge, a man with long experience of such difficulties, explores for ideas to solve them.

“I don’t understand!” he declared with force. “This man Hunsecker is a newspaper columnist. I know what that means. What I don’t understand is why everybody seems so terrified of him. Why?” Jim Hill protested to Odets, “Oh, come on, Clifford, he’s not just any columnist. Everybody knows how he behaves.” “No, they don’t,” said Clifford. “Some people might know. Maybe you and I know, but most people have no idea. This is a man who treats one of his associates as if he were dirt. But Sidney just sits there and takes it. Why does he need it? Why doesn’t he just get up and walk away?” Jim protested again: “He can’t walk away. It’s his living.” “How?” asked Clifford. “How? Because a press agent has to get his clients’ names into the paper. That’s what they pay him for. And besides that . . .” Jim, in some exasperation, went on to elaborate on the relationship between Sidney and Hunsecker. While he was doing so, Odets scribbled notes on his memo pad, then switched his attack. “But why is everybody else so much in awe of this creature? He insults everybody, but nobody talks back to him. I just don’t believe in this man.” Once more Hill insisted, “Don’t you understand? This guy Hunsecker is a man who can tell presidents what to do!” Scribbling again, Clifford said more quietly, “Oh, sure. But where does it say that? And even if somebody says it, I don’t believe it. You’ve got to show me.”

During all of this, I made no comment, as I saw Odets’s point clearly. But what had begun to worry me was that, if he was correct (and I felt he was), then there would need to be a lot more expository talk, a lot more of the kind of verbiage I felt was already bogging down the momentum of the story. More exposition, I felt, was bound to weaken the scenes rather than strengthen them. What Clifford had been scribbling down as he talked were Jim Hill’s answers that were later worked into the dialogue of the script. Clifford was actually using Jim as a foil, or rather was playing the role of foil himself so that Jim was provoked into improvising the answers to the questions that had not been properly addressed in the first draft script. As for myself, I was indeed correct in my fear that the 21 Club scene would have to be longer and more elaborate. But Clifford’s skill meant that, as it was transformed from primarily a two-hander into a five-cornered exchange of considerable complexity, the scene became brilliantly tense.

Though I personally was often uneasy about Odets’s dialogue, I had nothing but admiration for his skill in scene construction. His adeptness in this kind of dramatic carpentry was quite extraordinary and is something we can all learn from. As I examined Clifford’s version of the scene, I realized that its strength was in the ensemble structure he had constructed. It is hardly an exaggeration to say that at any given moment each of the five characters present is involved in some way with every one of the other four. There are, in a sense, twenty-five separate interactions.

The whole excerpt is pretty fantastic and I’m definitely going to be picking up his book.

I’m leading off with that bit because it’s the start of the new year(!) and that means staffing season. As such, we’re beating the crap out of our scripts and MacKendrick’s advice came at just the right time for me. We’ve still got a couple of months before staffing season officially begins, but since since this’ll be our first time throwing ourselves into it, it’s called for some research. We’ve asked around for what kind of stuff are people looking for right now, and it sounds like it’s originals over specs. One agent got back to us and said, “”They should have more than one solid piece of material… I say an original pilot is a must — (if they don’t come from a playwrighting background, etc). And also a spec if there is one they can write well.”

We also need an agent, which we’re working on.

Who’s up for some links, eh? John Williams, humblest man in Hollywood, gave a great interview to the WSJ.

Final Draft is on sale this month.

If any of you reading this has ever met us, I think it’s fair to say that Nick and I can get pretty enthusiastic. Personally I think genuine enthusiasm is one of our greatest assets, as it can not only have a great influence on the work you do, but also on the people you do it with. That’s why I love this TED talk from Mike Jutan about the power of enthusiasm.

When he wasn’t making movies or spending way too much time on Twitter (which is awesome), Duncan Jones took some time to chat with some young filmmakers over in Melbourne about his process. I especially found it interesting reading Duncan talk about his Draft Zero.

Apart from lists and notes with ideas, his only short document prior to embarking on a full draft is a 20 – 25 page treatment. He works very hard on this treatment – making sure that it determines pacing, structure, plot and tone of the film – and uses it to get feedback from a trusted few before embarking on Draft Zero. For a scifi story, this treatment document also contains a detailed explanation of the available technology and how this technology influences the world the characters inhabit.

From this treatment, it is Draft Zero time. He calls it Draft Zero because, when writing it, he keeps to the treatment even when he identifies problems or things he would like to change. Takes note of them but keeps on writing. Sticking to the treatment. Pinch you nose tightly and type one-handed. Only on the next draft can changes be made. It is that next draft that becomes Draft 1, one that fully expresses his initial concept in a way he is (at the time) satisfied with. It is only at this point that he puts it out for feedback and notes from a trusted few.

I said it in the last post, but I love Film Crit Hulk. A lot. In what is perhaps the best thing to happen yet this year, he’s put out not one, but two Hulk-sized articles on screenwriting. I haven’t gotten the chance to read them yet, but Nick has and he was nodding his head the entire time.

And because the man gives great interviews, I’ll close with some Fincher business.

“There are a lot of people, who don’t understand what staging is. It’s the most important thing directors do, and not a lot of people realize that. Not a lot of people know why they like Steven Spielberg. They don’t know the difference between having their eye directed, and having coverage edited for them. But the truth is,” Fincher continues, “film is too expensive to teach. You can’t teach how to make Hollywood movies. What you can do is make people look at the language of cinema. Why do we need a close-up? I got a master, I got an over, I got close-up – what’s the best, what’s the most effective way to move people who are watching it, who don’t know what this person is or don’t know what the circumstances are; how do I engage them? And you can do that anywhere. You don’t have to go to London, you don’t have to go to Pinewood, you don’t have to go to SC. Creativity happens on the fringe. It does. It’s too bad. But you can get there. Start in the fringe, meet those people, write your scripts.

I always wanted to give a lecture at filmschools. You go in and you see all these fresh faces, and you say: ‘You! Stand up, tell me your story. Tell me what your film is going to be about.’ And they start, and you go: ‘Shut up and sit the fuck down!’ And if they do, you go: ‘You’re not ready.’ Because the film business is filled with shut-up and sit-the-fuck-down. You got to be able to tell your story in spite of sit-down and shut-the-fuck-up. If you are going to let something like that derail you, what hope do you have against transportation department? What hope do you have against development executives?”

I think I can definitively say now that the hardest part of writing our first screenplay is knowing when the script is done. Throughout the whole process, I knew that I didn’t want to be that writer, who has his/her one script that is always in a state of needing just a bit more work. After taking in all the writerly advice from interviews, podcasts, and books, I decided that I’d revise as much as I could and would call it quits when nothing glaring jumped out at me from readthroughs.

This took probably five or six more drafts than I expected, but the moment did come where I put my foot down and told myself that it’s as good as it will ever be and I’d be better served moving on to something else.

Fast forward to us submitting one of our scripts to a development exec. About a month passes before we hear back and while they like the script, it’s not the type of movie they produce. We expected that, but they also sent notes. Good notes.

A conundrum arises. Do we reopen the script again and revise it, even though it’ll probably still be a hard sell anyways? Or should we move on to our other probably-will-sell-better ideas?

In the end we decided to go back and revise the script, which we’ll send out again and hope for the best. The script’s got a shelf life in our brains and as long as we’re still interested in it, I’ve got not problem returning to it.

Let’s clean out some links shall we? Charlie Kaufman did a great, albeit too brief, interview with the Guardian last month.

Storytelling is inherently dangerous. Consider a traumatic event in your life. Think about how you experienced it. Now think about how you told it to someone a year later. Now think about how you told it for the hundredth time. It’s not the same thing. Most people think perspective is a good thing: you can figure out characters arcs, you can apply a moral, you can tell it with understanding and context. But this perspective is a misrepresentation: it’s a reconstruction with meaning, and as such bears little resemblance to the event.

The other thing that happens is adjustment. You find out which part of the story works, which part to embellish, which to jettison. You fashion it. Your goal is to be entertaining. This is true for a story told at a dinner party, and it’s true for stories told through movies. Don’t let anyone tell you what a story is, what it needs to include. As an experiment, write a non-story. It will have a chance of being different.

William Monahan, whom I’ve professed my love for many times, did not one but TWO interviews with Collider. I’ll put in my two favorite bits here.

What I learned on Kingdom of Heaven, because it was cut, is that people who have not read a script, look at a finished film and assume that what they are looking at is the realized script. In The Departed this was true, and I was glad of it, but it was not true in the case of the theatrical Kingdom of Heaven, and it has not been true on any produced film except The Departed. You learn to be a professional and not a precious author rather quickly. You learn to take your lumps, and appreciate what’s on the screen, not what isn’t, for whatever reason. It’s not losing a child. It’s business.  You can have great victories or lesser victories but nothing’s a loss. Someone very wise said to me recently “I’ve got final cut, mate, but if I don’t make changes they don’t put in the P&A.”

and this

Collider: I like your honesty. It’s refreshing.

Monahan: Refreshing honesty has been getting me in trouble since I was five, but it’s probably had some positive effects—like not being a liar.

John August wrote a great post about his writing routine and recorded a podcast on the WGA and copyrights.

How amazing is it that I can say that my favorite film theorist to read is Hulk. Seriously, go read his essay on the Twilight series. One of the best things I’ve read this year.

During the last Animfx we worked at, we had the pleasure of meeting John Stevenson who, while showering you with his brilliance, cusses like a sailor. He talked at DICE earlier this year and gave some really great advice, which I’ve only now found out about. You can watch the video here, but I really responded to this bit:

Show it when it’s shittty. You have an idea, make something quickly, and as you do, it starts to become concrete. Then you show it to someone, and they tell you how to make it better. And that lets you take the next step.

I had this fear when I was outlining my new script of finishing and starting the actual writing. I’d find some new hole in the outline that would need patching and would spend the rest of the day agonizing over it because I didn’t want to look at the first blank page of the script. Eventually I just jumped in, and even though there’s placeholder dialogue and descriptions everywhere, I’m making good progress. I know Stevenson’s talking about showing your work to other people but I think it can apply to yourself just the same.

Last thing. Yesterday I was on the phone with my dad and going over my super secret strategies™ for selling my scripts. One of them is based on Seth Lochhead’s strategy of sending out 400 emails to agents, producers, managers, and executives. The email itself was one sentence: A girl is trained to be an assassin; would you like to read my script.

After a year of emailing, he got two responses. One thing lead to another and he got his script, Hanna, sold.

My dad, after hearing all of this, told me that I should call this guy up and talk to him about how he did it.

I promised to look into it, and while I didn’t find his phone number (thank god), I did find his tumblr and basically recounted what I just said. Imagine my surprise when he got back right away.

Hello Max,

Thank you for the coffee invite. I’m headed back to Canada very soon so I will have to decline. But I am happy to answer any/all of your questions (as long as you don’t ask me what I’m wearing and if I like to be tickled…).

First, do you have a fully written, complete, and awesome screenplay sitting on your computer/desktop/kitchen table? Second, if you do, are you proud of it? Is it the best you can do at this point in your life? Third, if you’re proud of it, if it’s the best you could possibly do at this point in your life, this is what you do…

First, you think about the people and the companies who might like your script. Maybe they make similar projects, maybe they rep similar talent, etc.

Second, find email addresses or other contact info. Sure you could email the head of Warner Bros. but it might be nice to target an assistant or even an assistant of an assistant. Basically, look for people who are hungry and want to do big things.

Third, write them a short, succinct, evocative query – “This is the story of FILL IN BLANK. Would you like to read my script?” Unfortunately, if it ain’t succinct… what rhymes with succinct?… it’s gonna stink… yeah? Yeah.

Fourth, and if you start up an internet relationship with this assistant, you might offer to take him/her/it out for a coffee and ask him/her/it about how hard his/her/its freakin’ job is. Really hard and these people are usually single and need someone to listen to them… and ask them what they’re wearing… and if they’re ticklish… don’t ask them that, it doesn’t end well.

This is a slow boil business and we’re the frogs. But making friends with passionate up and comers is a nice way to fill the time… and also to distract you from writing your next project (to be a writer one must always have an excuse not to write).

And that is to say… it all starts with the script. No matter how good the query, it’s all for not if your script sucks!

Get to work:)

Best,

Seth

Back to work!

I’m going to load this post with so much content it’s going to make you forget that I haven’t updated this thing in two months.

First, I want to reaffirm what everybody else calls to do and say that if you write with a partner, sign a contract before anything is written. Take it from me, things can get way more complicated when people start investing themselves in it. It can be an enormous pain in the ass, and once you’ve signed the contract and have finished your script, copyright it. Do not register it with the WGA.

After that, while you wait for your door to be knocked down from all the offers on your script, start working on your next project. I’ve definitely gone straight to writing in the past without any sort of outline, but I’m finding now that not only do I prefer outlining, I greatly enjoy it. As I was finishing my last script, I liked having a couple different outlines for other projects that I could play around with when I got stuck.

Right now I’ve been splitting my time between outlining and researching, as doing one for too long burns me out easily. I’ve also been finding that I’m getting more in depth with my outlines, which the ridiculous Raiders story conference shows us can be a good thing.

Here’s my current process: First I make a general list of the story beats so I have something I can take a quick glance at. Below that I split my acts up, if the story allows it, and go more in depth there. This is anything from detailed action to bits of dialogue. I go as specific as I need to. After that I have a section of various notes and ideas that I’ve had that haven’t found a place yet in the script but I want to keep in mind (such as the time period, logic holes and character ideas). My current script takes place on Mount Everest so I’ve got a bit with pertinent info on the mountain like when it was climbed, what the political situation was like, how did one get to it, etc. The last section I have is any notes I have from my research, which in my case could be exciting climbing stories/accidents, vivid descriptions of scenery, and excerpts to show how people talked.

It’s a better method than what I had on my first script, and throughout this whole process I’ve also got my producer’s hat on. Scott Myers writes:

Studios think in terms of genres, story concepts, and target demos, which means they reduce your stories to that.

Does it ever occur to you to think of your story in those terms?

When you sort through story concepts to write, do you ever consider its genre? Target demo? How a studio might market a movie based on the concept?

I know the default answer to the question about what you should write is, “Something you’re passionate about.”

Yes. You should have some emotional connection to the material you choose to write. But it also pays to be smart about it. With every story concept you consider, you should make a list: On one side are the positives in terms of its marketability. On the other side the challenges.

That should not necessarily determine if you choose to write a spec script based on the concept or not, but that process can help you filter out weak ideas from strong ones. And if you decide to write a script based on a concept that has more challenges than positives, at least you will know what you are up against.

The script I’m writing is outside of my genre comfort zone and has its own set of unique challenges that I haven’t dealt with before but I’m excited at having the chance to stretch creative muscles that I haven’t used yet. The target demographic, marketability, and the concept itself are all being considered in this process but I won’t be seriously worrying about them until the first draft is done. Even though I know the ending, the script can change if it wants to go somewhere else.

In other news…

Having just had the double whammy of seeing Contagion along with Soderbergh in person at Cinefamily, I’ve been on a big Soderbergh kick lately. Bigger than usual, that is, and I’d like to put in some choice quotes from this great interview he recently did.

On having rules when making a movie:

I like having restrictions. I like having rules of things that you can’t do, and I see a lot of movies in which somebody has never had that conversation with themselves. I look at them and I’m like “None of this is unified. You’re just doing shit that doesn’t even make sense on its own terms. You’re going from this lens to that lens, the camera is moving, it’s not moving, it’s a point of view, but then it’s not…” I just go, “This is just incoherent aesthetically. And it drives me insane because I feel this is stuff you can learn in an hour. I’ve given lectures about directing in which, in an hour, I lay all of this out for you if you need to know it.” So it drives me nuts. This has become like the best entry-level job in show business, directing a movie. It’s crazy.

On how many takes he needs:

If the text is right and you have cast properly, unless there’s some technical issue – it’s a move that requires a certain amount of synchronicity of elements – if you are going more than three or four takes then… I don’t know, I get bored… You tend to know who those people are and you can usually tell by talking to them to find out who they are. But, yeah, there are certain people that have their reputation of wanting to really chew it over a lot and who really want a lot of takes, and, yeah, I tend to steer clear of them. Like I say, it’s not because I don’t care; it’s just because I feel like “If the scene is right and you are right, then I don’t know why this is taking so long.” There’s one shot on [CONTAGION], I can’t remember which one it was, that we got up into the twenties. There was a lot going on that had to be sort of coordinated – and you know how you do it, and you stay there until you get it. But that’s rare for me.

Comparing his method to more methodical directors like Kubrick and Fincher:

They are obviously looking for something or see something that I’m not looking for and can’t see. It’s all about your metabolism, and that’s just not my metabolism. I don’t get good results by taking more time; I get worse results. I learned that over the course of my first four films that I get better results when I treat it like a sport, where I have to react and make decisions quickly and move on and I’m very cut and dried about that. I make choices on the set and stick with them, and if they are wrong then I try and figure out how to fix them later. But I believe that you should make choices, so… I don’t know. Those guys are termites.

The guy is a machine. Even though hearing him talk about anything is interesting enough, I heartily recommend checking out the commentary he does with Tony Gilroy(!) on the Criterion of The Third Man.

And let’s close out with some links.

John August has started his own podcast. I’ve listened to only one so far and it was just as helpful as his posts.

I’ve spoken about my love of the Creative Screenwriting/Q&A with Jeff Goldsmith podcasts before (even if I hate Jeff Goldsmith), but I’ve found something better. The Nerdist Writers Panel meets maybe twice a month in the backroom of Meltdown Comics on Sunset. It’s conducted by Ben Blacker, of the amazing Thrilling Adventure Hour, and usually has three to four guests at a time. You get your usual ‘breaking in’ stories but the group dynamic also allows for some great discussions about working in the business and, unlike Goldsmith, Blacker knows when to let the people talk. It’s almost exclusively a television writers panel, but Blacker’s said that he wants to have more varied guests like actors and directors. The recordings are coming up on iTunes now so give it a listen.

And if you want to have your mind blown, check out Cinemetrics.

What’s been turning into once a month posts has lapsed beyond that! Truth be told, we’ve been in crunch mode on trying to finish two scripts and it wouldn’t really be worth it to update and say, “Yep, still writing.” And since I’d rather post other people’s more useful writing advice than try and blurt something out on my own, there’s really nothing to say right now. I will, however, link some worthwhile stuff that I’ve been stockpiling for the last month or so.

Pixar story artist Emma Coats has been giving out some ’story basics’ gems which I’ll re-post here. I recommend following her on twitter as she pumps out tons of useful stuff each week, which I then collect in my big word doc of tips.

#1: You admire a character for trying more than for their successes.

#2: You gotta keep in mind what’s interesting to you as an audience, not what’s fun to do as a writer. They can be v. different.

#3: Trying for theme is important, but you won’t see what the story is actually about til you’re at the end of it. Now rewrite.

#4: Once upon a time there was ___. Every day, ___. One day ___. Because of that, ___. Because of that, ___. Until finally ___.

#5: Simplify. Focus. Combine characters. Hop over detours. You’ll feel like you’re losing valuable stuff but it sets you free.

#6: What is your character good at, comfortable with? Throw the polar opposite at them. Challenge them. How do they deal?

#7: Come up with your ending before you figure out your middle. Seriously. Endings are hard, get yours working up front.

#8: Finish your story, let go even if it’s not perfect. In an ideal world you have both, but move on. Do better next time.

#9: When you’re stuck, make a list of what WOULDN’T happen next. Lots of times the material to get you unstuck will show up.

#10: Pull apart the stories you like. What you like in them is a part of you; you’ve got to recognize it before you can use it.

#11: Putting it on paper lets you start fixing it. If it stays in your head, a perfect idea, you’ll never share it with anyone.

#12: Discount the 1st thing that comes to mind. And the 2nd, 3rd, 4th, 5th – get the obvious out of the way. Surprise yourself.

#13: Give your characters opinions. Passive/malleable might seem likable to you as you write, but it’s poison to the audience.

#14: Why must you tell THIS story? What’s the belief burning within you that your story feeds off of? That’s the heart of it.

#15: If you were your character, in this situation, how would you feel? Honesty lends credibility to unbelievable situations.

#16: What are the stakes? Give us reason to root for the character. What happens if they don’t succeed? Stack the odds against.

#17: No work is ever wasted. If it’s not working, let go and move on – it’ll come back around to be useful later.

#18: You have to know yourself: the difference between doing your best & fussing. Story is testing, not refining.

#19: Coincidences to get characters into trouble are great; coincidences to get them out of it are cheating.

#20: Exercise: take the building blocks of a movie you dislike. How d’you rearrange them into what you DO like?

#21: You gotta identify with your situation/characters, can’t just write ‘cool’. What would make YOU act that way?

#22: What’s the essence of your story? Most economical telling of it? If you know that, you can build out from there.

As an addition to my last post about kickstarter, this site gives way more info than you’d probably need on starting your own campaign and attracting investors.

Any interest in sound design? SoundWorks was made for you.

The Hammer Museum has posted a conversation between J.J. Abrams and Michael Giacchino. As someone with a huge interest in film composers, you rarely get to hear about directors and composers talk about their working relationship in any real depth so this is a treat.

The latest guest on Kevin Pollak’s chat show is one Damon Lindelof. I’m not a fan of how LOST ended but I am a big fan of Lindelof. He gives a frank, and lengthy, talk about working in the business, his history (which I’ve tried to find with little success), and gives the best definition of what a movie prequel should be. Also, it’s available in both video and audio podcast format, which I appreciate immensely.

Lastly, for the writers, there’s a nice wiki of common surnames sorted by country.

John August, in continuing his stellar record of helpful posts, has published some great facts and tips on using the crowdsourcing site Kickstarter.

——————————–

Last week, Matt went to a special Sundance session in which Kickstarter co-founder Yancey Strickler spoke about how indie filmmakers can best use the site.

Here’s his report.

Kickstarter has a 45% success rate for funding projects. Of those that fail, 40% of never get a single dollar. Across all categories, more than 7,000 projects (of all types) have been funded.

In terms of film, some rough numbers:

-1,700 successfully funded projects.

-$15 million in pledges so far.

-3,000 live projects on the site as of this posting.

-12 films have raised more than $100k.

-Six other films raised $100K. Four of those were docs.

How can I succeed in fundraising on Kickstarter?

Of the projects that are funded:

1) Most have a great video.

For a good example, check out I Am I. If you can’t manage that level of entertainment, keep it short — 60% of people stop watching videos after 20 seconds.

2) Rewards/Incentives are priced according to expectations.

For example, if you’re offering a DVD, ask for an amount close to what a DVD costs. No $125 tote bags. Aim to foster emotional connections to your project by offering personalized art or experiences associated with the film. Screenings, posters, credits, background roles, etc…

3) Filmmakers have strong communities.

The bulk of support will come from those who know and love you. That support will spur on those that follow you online and the size and reach of that support will determine how many stumblers you get. In most cases, there is very little support from strangers to strangers on Kickstarter. Count on people you know or sorta know.

4) They reach out in the right ways.

Direct email (and definitely not mass email) is by far the most effective way to secure backing. Facebook comes in distant second with Twitter barely registering. It’s too noisy. Tone matters! You’re not asking for a favor, you’re asking for support for your work and you’re offering participation in the process of making it — and in many cases something tangible, too.

5) Keep the fundraising time window short.

Thirty days is the sweet spot. Longer does not mean more. Longer means procrastination. Urgency leads to action.

How much should I ask for?

Be realistic based on the size of the community you have access to and what you’re able to offer them in return for their participation. Make your goal the floor of what you need to get your project up and running. Most projects that get funded get 125% of the ask.

The average pledge is $75. The most common pledge is $25. Factor in costs of incentives into your budget and make sure you fulfill the experience by producing everything you promise.

What if I don’t reach my goal?

You don’t get any of the pledged money. BUT! If you think you’re not going to make it you can ask people to raise their pledges and/or add new rewards to try to entice more or bigger participation.

You can always try again.

What about taxes?

Kickstarter doesn’t advise individuals on how to handle their tax responsibilities and doesn’t report financial information to the IRS of the backers or the askers.

This is pretty much the extent of Matt’s notes from the meeting. If you have further questions about Kickstarter and indies, ask. We’ll try to get answers for you.

———————————-

(It should have been mentioned above that 10% of what’s raised through Kickstarter gets taken out at the end. 5% for Kickstarter and 5% for Amazon, so one should plan a buffer when budgeting.)

Since we’re slowly gearing up to start production on another short, the odds are high that we’re going to be using crowdsourcing like Kickstarter or IndieGoGo to help with funding our budget (BUDGET!). Last year Nick and I attended a producer’s conference and heard a talk by Stu Pollard on raising money for features. Kickstarter was brought up and a lot of the tips he had are the same as what August posted. Maintaining an accessible relationship with investors where you under-promise and over-deliver was heavily stressed by Stu.

I’ll quote one of his more succinct tips here:

Never, Ever:

-Wing your budget.
-Sell a role in your film.
-Take money from a scoundrel.
-Publicly promote a private offering.
-Get too excited by letters of intent.
-Give away anything you don’t have to (ex-points).
-Be in too much of a hurry to start shooting.
-Skip the fine print with Guilds and/or Unions.
-Pay yourself inappropriately upfront.
-Treat any investor better than your first.
-Forget there are exceptions to every rule.

Finally, Nick and I worked on an indy pilot shoot earlier this year for our buddy Todd Sklar. Unfortunately, they don’t have enough funds to finish post and they need YOUR help!

I’d feel deeply ashamed in posting this but the incentives are so worth it.

Los Angeles is a mecca for many things, movie theaters being one of them. The sheer number of cinemas out here along with the fact that it’s freaking Hollywood makes each month very exciting in terms of what’s showing. I thought I’d name my personal top three fave theaters out here.

1. New Beverly Cinema

It’s a revival house owned by Tarantino that runs 35mm double features for seven dollars.

Let me say that last part again.

You can see two movies for seven dollars.

That alone is reason enough BUT WAIT THERE’S MORE. It’s a cozy one-screen theater but they do such a good job of curating that you don’t need or want more screens. Billings typically run for two days, usually two shows a day per film and sometimes a special midnight screening. We first went to a Marilyn Monroe double feature and since then we’ve seen stuff like a midnight screening of Scott Pilgrim with cast/crew, Charles Bronson double feature with producer/actors, and a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles midnight show with co-creator in attendance. They’ll also have guests curate the schedule as Edgar Wright did January and Tarantino is doing this month at the moment. Films are also preceded by vintage trailers and advertisements which always warms my heart.

2. Cinefamily at the Silent Movie Theater.

As they describe themselves: The Cinefamily is an organization of movie lovers devoted to finding and presenting interesting and unusual programs of exceptional, distinctive, weird and wonderful films. The Cinefamily’s goal is to foster a spirit of community and a sense of discovery, while reinvigorating the movie-going experience. Like campfires, sporting events and church services, we believe that movies work best as social experiences.

Basically, they’re like the New Bev but they’ll often show crazier movies and do more elaborate events. We’ve gone to a wake for Party Down that they hosted where we watched both seasons back to back and in between the cast and crew came out to talk about the show and do a Q&A. This month they’re doing a John Cassavetes retrospective and last night we went to a screening of Ben Gazzara films that was opened with a Q&A of Gazzara conducted by Gary Oldman. Crazy, crazy, awesome stuff.

The only reason that they’re not at the top is because the tickets are a bit more expensive (they do offer memberships) and most of the seating in the theater are these folding chairs with a cushion on them that is HELL for tall people like me. There are some awesome couches near the front but good luck getting them if you’re not a member.

3. The American Cinematheque at the Aero and Egyptian.

Ok, technically these are two theaters but they’re part of the same organization. They do a mix of current and old, often with special guests and whatnot. They do really stress that you become a member, which you’ll probably want to do because some of their events sell out crazy fast. Definitely the nicest theaters on this list, and they run some great events, but I feel like you don’t get the joyous intimacy of the previous two. New Bev and Cinefamily feel like the ragtag group that always lives on the edge while the AC is a bit more highbrow (especially if you look at those membership levels). Still, we went to a double feature of Pierce Brosnan movies with him in attendance (handsome man), and also went to a screening of Memento where Nolan was interviewed by Guillermo Del Toro.

Can’t really do that anywhere else.

Because it’s kinda appropriate for our situation right now, I’m going to post another excerpt from Chris McQuarrie’s interview on the Creative Screenwriting Podcast.

That was sort of my journey for seven years, writing scripts that everybody wanted to read but nobody wanted to make. Everybody wants to make Deliverance. Nobody wants to play Ned Beatty.

And people would call and say “Hey, I really want to read your Booth script, I heard great things about it.” I’d say “GREAT,” and send it to them and they’d take three months and they’d send it back and go  “Yeah, we’re really not interested in doing the Civil War right now.” Oh, I see, so you didn’t know that it was set during the Civil War until you read the screenplay?  So now, when people call and they say, “I’d really like to read Booth,” I’d say, “Great. Now go back to your boss, whoever that is, and when your boss says ‘I want to make Booth,’ I’ll let you read it, because you’re going to pass for reasons that have nothing to do with the quality of the script. I can speak for the quality of the script; it’s a good script, it’s good enough, it’s a good story. I didn’t have to make anything up. You’re not going to make the movie.“

Screenplays don’t get movies made… Your job, my job, and by the way, it doesn’t matter what level you get, you can dismiss everything I say and say that the experiences that I’ve had, etc, etc. I can’t get a script to anybody. I can’t do it. Scripts don’t get movies made. Screenplays are the afterthought to the decision to make a movie. A director decides he wants to make a film about… Chinese ice-skaters. All of a sudden, we need a Chinese ice-skater guy to write the script to go with the director’s vision. An actress decides that she wants to make a movie about World War II test pilots, female test pilots, because she likes the clothes. I’ve had that meeting.

The script is an afterthought to that process. So when you have people that come to you and say they want to read that, as they’re reading your script they’re gauging the interest of the universe, trying to find a person who will make that movie a go-movie, and then attach your afterthought to their vision. So in that month that you think they’re reading your script, they’re actually gauging the interest of the six or seven directors that get those movies made. It’s directors who get movies made. You’ll say it’s actors who get movies made and you’re correct except the first question the actor will ask when you send the script is “Who’s directing this movie?” And it really comes down to a very small group of people, and my seven-year saga had been learning this process because no one explains it to you. And it was my learning this process through trial and error, of writing scripts that people liked, and trying to get actors to read it, and actors wouldn’t read it because studios wouldn’t finance it. So I’d go to the studios and say “Hey, why don’t you finance this movie and then I’d give it to an actor?” The studios didn’t want to finance it. Nobody wants to be the first one to jump in the pool.

I would like to make the distinction that we don’t put ourselves anywhere near the level of McQuarrie. Speaking of ourselves, we’ve been fortunate enough to meet some people in the industry who are interested in reading/seeing our work in a business sense. We’re still new enough to this that this is a major victory for us. That said, and without going into specifics, we’ve already been involved in situations similar to what McQuarrie talked about, where projects have been given the go-ahead not for creative reasons but simply because someone else is interested and we need to beat them. We aren’t, and shouldn’t be, surprised by this but it still makes your head spin a bit when it happens.

After a brief holiday in NZ we’re back and ready for the work. Still grappling with what we’re going to do with this blog but one of the ideas I’d had a while back was to start a book club which is just code for us reviewing film-related books as we read them.

If there is one thing I’m weakest at right now, it’s dealing (working) with actors. With very few exceptions, almost all of our stuff has been acted by either our friends or friends of friends. I am pretty terrified of the future inevitability of setting up auditions. With that said, I wanted to find a book that would help me ease into their world. Like most film books, I think it’s important to read first-hand accounts instead of books written by academics or basically anybody who’s not actively involved with the industry. The first one that caught my eye in this regard was Caine’s long-titled book, Acting in Film: An Actor’s Take on Movie Making.

The best summary I can think of for this book is that Caine’s book is to acting what Lumet’s book is to filmmaking. They’re both quick reads but they’re so well written that they’re able to get their points across using the simplest and most practical language. They are both staightforward and any anecdotes that are told are relevant to the lesson they’re teaching. It’s very meat-and-potatoes and craft-based which may rub some people the wrong way if they’re more into the psychological aspect of acting. Caine certainly acknowledges it, but it’s not what he focuses on within the book.

Simply put, read this book y’all.

Even though it was nothing like today, I’d say that, growing up, Nick and I had a fair amount of tools at our disposal in terms of learning about filmmaking. Handheld video cameras were HUGE and after fooling around with that stuff and deciding that this was what we wanted to do, we had DVDs and the Internet to tide us over. I remember being vividly fascinated by behind the scenes docs and seeing what actually happened behind the camera. Not to discredit books, but there is something to be said about seeing what happens as opposed to reading about it, nevermind the fact that a lot of the early DVD/Laserdisc stuff was EPK garbage.

That said, I can’t even begin to comprehend how much my knowledge would have changed if we’d had Vimeo and their new Video School. Even with their huge growth over the past year, Vimeo still maintains and fosters what Youtube doesn’t; a community. It helps that a lot of indy filmmakers put their stuff up on the site, but the staff do a great job of curating and posting challenges to the community. Their newest addition aims to both help the newbie filmmaker as well as the experienced auteur. In addition to creating their own videos to help people out, they’ve gone into the community and selected over a thousand tutorial videos that were already there and added them into the film school.

It’s a great resource and I’m so ready to become insanely jealous at what comes out of it from some young punks.

EDIT: In an awesome coincidence, Vimeo decided to announce today that they’re upping their individual file size limit to five gigs which means FEATURE-LENGTH MOVIES ON VIMEO!

Right, so Collider has been on a hot streak with the interviews they’ve been landing. As with the Monahan interview I plugged before, they’re not prone to asking the same banal EPK questions you read in most interviews. There was a great one with the head of remastering for IMAX and  they just keeping pumping them out, with the latest being a nice snappy dialogue with David Fincher.

Fincher’s famous for the amount of takes he does and I loved his response to a question about them.

Fincher: Well, I’ll go you one further which is… “What the fuck are you doing?” If you’re flying out actors from all over the fucking place, because they’re the right person to read that text, and you’re spending weeks with them in rehearsal, and then you get there and you’re going, “OK, trained monkey, do that thing.” How unbelievably disrespectful is it to everybody’s time? I look at it this way. There are a lot of directors who like having a Technocrane on the truck. So if they decide they want to do a crane shot, Technocrane’s there. OK, well, Technocrane’s fucking $3,000 a day. Well, $3,000 dollars is a meal penalty.  So, if you don’t have that, you can go another 15 or 20 minutes right before lunch in order to allow for that person to do something better. So I look at it as, I’ll always trade helicopter shots, steadicams, and that stuff in order to have the time to let somebody fail upward. To let somebody… they know what they’re doing, they’ve figured out who their character is. They’re coming from a solid place of contributing, and now you want to get them to a point where they are no longer thinking about, “Which hand is it? I didn’t pick up the thing…” It’s like, you do something 16 times, you can do it in your fucking sleep. Now, once you can do it in your sleep, now let’s get the words to come out of your mouth like it’s the first time you said it and you always talk like this. That’s what we were doing. So you sit there and you go, “Couldn’t the Winklevosses’ attorneys’ conference room be more marble, more carved wood?” Yea, it can be a much more elaborate thing. Does it need to be? No. Would I rather have eight days in there to shoot that stuff than six days? So if I take some of the elaborateness out and I don’t relight as much, and if I take some of the green screen stuff that I wanted to see out the windows of San Francisco and I take that out of my budget. I go, “OK, the windows can be blown out and just be a glow outside because that’s often what it looks like when you try to balance exposure for the real world to the real outside world.” Am I OK with that? Does it get me two more days with Andrew Garfield? Yea. OK, well, I’d rather have two more days with Andrew Garfield. I’d rather give him nine more bites at the apple on every setup.

Go read it.

Not a lot to report on our front. We’re spending some time with the family for the holidays and then we’ll be heading back to LA to get cracking on projects, some old, some new.