Coach Notes – The Book Of Henry

So many films would be better films had they gotten coaching and feedback at the script stage. By helping you avoid pitfalls that trip up even the pros, our goal at PageCraft is to help writers craft watertight scripts that go on to be sought-after, fought-over properties in Hollywood. 

The Book of Henry:

I went into this film knowing little about it other than it had an impressive team behind it. I love Naomi Watts; that kid from Room is amazing; the story sounded charming, a potentially compelling blend of light and lethal. Sadly, as you can read in many reviews, the film did not live up to its hype or the talent involved. It was both twee and dark with oddly contrived situations and on-the-nose emotions. Could it have been fixed at the script stage? I will share some coach notes here, avoiding spoilers as best I can.

The official plot summary is:

Sometimes things are not always what they seem, especially in the small suburban town where the Carpenter family lives. Single suburban mother Susan Carpenter works as a waitress at a diner, alongside feisty family friend Sheila. Her younger son Peter is a playful 8-year-old. Taking care of everyone and everything in his own unique way is Susan’s older son Henry, age 11. Protector to his adoring younger brother and tireless supporter of his often self-doubting mother – and, through investments, of the family as a whole – Henry blazes through the days like a comet. Susan discovers that the family next door, which includes Henry’s kind classmate Christina, has a dangerous secret – and that Henry has devised a surprising plan to help. As his brainstormed rescue plan for Christina takes shape in thrilling ways, Susan finds herself at the center of it.


You can see from the summary that the story is trying to marshal a lot of elements. Unfortunately, this gives us an overlong and plodding script, which speaks to the perennial need to streamline. Many story details and moments don’t relate to character goal or move the story forward. For example, Henry is always building Rube Goldberg contraptions. Beyond showing that he’s creative and good at stuff, they don’t really do much for the plot. There are numerous moments of Mom tucking the kids in. Yes, these establish ritual and intimacy, but we don’t need so many to get it. Mom is not very good at her waitressing job. We get from her finance avoidance, consistent lateness picking up the kids, and her video game obsession that she’s bad at adulting; we really don’t need the world of her job too. These sorts of things could have been cut, and the story would have been tighter and more compelling.

Protagonist gives story structure:

Whose story is it? From IMDb, the film’s log line is, “With instructions from her genius son’s carefully crafted notebook, a single mother sets out to rescue a young girl from the hands of her abusive stepfather.”

The rule of a good log line is: describe the protagonist, the goal, and the obstacle. Often this set-up gives us the act one problem and the goal that takes us into act two. Based on this log line, it seems the producers feel the mother is the protagonist. However, she spends the first half of the film passive and inert, “an endearing mess,” while young Henry moves and shapes the world around him, creating said “carefully crafted notebook.” He seems to be the character most in pursuit of a goal at the start – one of the protagonist litmus tests.

Mom takes up the action well past the midpoint (in fact past the low point) when she finds Henry’s notebook. She has a sort of coming-of-age arc as she continues the ‘rescue Christina’ quest. In the end, her character changes the most in the story – the other protagonist litmus test. No wonder the script is overlong if the true action of the log line doesn’t start until an hour into the film! Because the log line essentially only refers to the third act, the film doesn’t fulfill the promise of its premise after we invest so much in Henry’s arc. As a result of this uncertainty, neither Henry nor Mom’s arcs are fully developed, and both leave the audience short-changed.

Without a clear protagonist driving the action through scenes anchored in their goals, any story will feel flaccid and plodding. While true masters can sometimes pull this off, switching protagonists mid-film almost never works. Psycho is the most famous example where it does work – but the lack of many other great examples shows you how difficult it is. (Of course this rule does not apply to ensemble stories like Short Cuts or Magnolia, but that’s another kettle of fish.)

Update your story:

The script had been written twenty years before production. This can be fine; many scripts take circuitous routes to the screen. But technology and social norms change. Unless you’re doing a period piece, your story has to change too. For a while I thought this was a period film until Henry uses a new Macbook Air. Characters speak of six hundred thousand dollars as though it’s enough to retire on and support a family of three. Maybe twenty years ago.

Henry needs to gather evidence against the evil stepfather next door. What would any person do in that situation now? Shoot a video with their phone, right? Henry makes no such attempt because twenty years ago that technology didn’t exist. If the audience can solve your problem more easily than your protagonist, you’ve got a major plot hole. If you want to keep that situation, you better find a strong, logical way why our solve wouldn’t work for your protagonist.

Speaking of plot holes, Christina lives with her not-so-great stepfather. We learn her mother is deceased. So why can’t she live with her father? This is another point of logic that could be addressed easily, but it never is. If your audience can ask logical questions the script doesn’t answer, we hold onto a sense that the story is built on shaky ground.

Get dimension into your characters:

Another way this script feels oddly dated are some of the character tropes: the impossibly handsome, single, successful surgeon with the heart of gold who naturally becomes interested in Naomi Watts’ overwhelmed single mom. Come on now. Don’t forget Mom’s wonderful spunky mess of a best friend who has hidden depths. Been there, done that. These things may have been fresh twenty years ago but now we’ve seen them so many times (or simply wished they actually existed) that they come off as flat, two-dimensional conveniences rather than fleshed-out characters. Frankly neither of them were necessary to the story at all. If a character doesn’t bring something of great value to your plot, cut them.

Likewise, the main characters were full of tropes and easy indications. Mom can’t understand finances and doesn’t want to. Instead she is obsessed with single-shooter video games. So childlike! She’s ripe for a coming of age! Henry is a flawless brainiac of a kid who is kind to his average and adorable younger brother in a way that feels storybook perfect. These aren’t real people. All of us have good points as well as flaws and foibles. Your characters should too. It will make us love them more.

Look for ways to push beyond the obvious when creating a character. Start with what your character wants, and what they are willing to do to get it. What’s at stake for them? In what way are they desperate? Then build personalities, habits, and quirks around their wants and needs, instead of using copy-and-paste character types. I often tell my clients: each character thinks they are the star of the show just like we think we are the stars of our own lives. That means for a successful, meaty script, you have to give just as much thought to the character development of the incidental best friend character as you to do your main character.

OTN dialog:

In addition to on-the-nose characters, the dialog in this film is first-draft quality much of the time. Characters say exactly what they mean with extra earnestness. In real life, we rarely talk about what we’re really talking about, so when we see it onscreen it rings false. Most writers put on-the-nose dialog in their first draft, but it’s important to submerge it into the subtext in the following drafts. This makes for richer scenes that are more relatable and human.


At the start of the screening I saw, the film’s director told us it had taken twenty years to get this script made. Sadly, it could have used more work. It can be frustrating when we struggle so hard to craft our own writing to see flawed work not only make it to the big screen, but also be championed by experts and artists we respect. All in all, if I had read The Book Of Henry script in competition, I would not have advanced it. I would have instead given it middling marks and many of the notes above. I hope they help you avoid the same pitfalls in your own work.

Have you seen a film that frustrated you and wondered exactly why it didn’t work? Let me know! I’d be happy to give it the Coach Notes treatment here.

Want to make sure your own script is watertight? Workshop with us in ITALY this summer or get one-on-one coaching HERE.

Italy Screenwriting Retreat

The 2017 PageCraft Italy Screenwriting Retreat takes place in storybook Orvieto, Italy, from Sunday, August 27 to Saturday September 9. The retreat is designed to move everyone’s project forward, offering analysis and discussion with our leader and collaboration with fellow writers. And this year we’re featuring a special, more affordable price! See our Registration page for details, or use the links below to learn more.

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The Value of Community

This weekend I spent a day ensconced in a fabulous Malibu ranch surrounded by fellow writers. Everyone pitched ideas and gave input on one others’ projects, whether they were fleshed-out series or feature scripts or just an inkling of a concept. I loved seeing the energy zing around the small group as insightful questions were posed and idea built on idea.

There is something so powerful about creative minds coming together. Writing can be such a solitary pursuit that building a community of writers is a tricky thing. Let’s face it, we writers can be prickly about getting feedback when this thing we’ve just poured our hearts into gets shredded by well-meaning opinions. Trust is fragile and so important to nurture when you find people whose input you value and respect.

As I sat there in the lazy Sunday sun, it dawned on me: this is part of what makes our Italy retreats so valuable. It’s a space of trust and good taste (at least where story is concerned!). It’s a space where questions get asked and we work together on the answers. It’s a space where writers can get the instruction they need to sharpen their skills, or the space they need to escape and create.

Everyone left the Sunday gathering with their projects bettered, and further along their creative paths than they had started. “Now imagine this level of forward movement, but for two weeks straight. And in Italy!” I couldn’t resist exclaiming. I’m hopeful one or two of my new Malibu friends may join us in Orvieto this year. Either way, I’m looking forward to that kind of space, both literal and creative, to move writing forward.

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She Persists

I’m so flattered and honored by this article from Rewire on my script coaching, video production, and how I got here.

Posted in film making, Michelangelo Screenwriting, PageCraft, PageCraft Writing, Screenwriting, Writing | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

Integrity Times Creativity: Simple Rules for Show Biz Success

I’ve talked previously about the importance of surrounding yourself with a solid team that you trust. Recently, this point was driven home to me like never before. Perhaps I’m a dork, but it seems self-evident to me that operating with integrity in this business is the way to go. It always shocks me when I’m reminded not everyone operates this way. I’d been working with a favorite film client on a concept that would shoot in a dry lake bed in the desert. I’d wanted to shoot something with dancers for a while and the client agreed it was right for this. The final concept featured one dancer backed up by one model. When our production date moved up by a month, I was able to cast a great model we’d worked with before but we found ourselves scrambling to cast our dancer. As the date drew closer, we got lucky: the DP had a friend! Our savior was from another desert town and she’d meet us there.

I brushed off the red flags of her not looking quite as pro-dancer as she had in her photos, and her shrugging answers when I’d asked her what choreography she’d prepped as she’d promised. We got to set around noon on an admittedly hot day. But we all knew what we were getting into when we signed on for a desert shoot. The crew set up a nice shelter and we had a leisurely lunch. Understanding we’d not shoot for several more hours until the light improved and the heat abated, we moved into doing camera blocking (which means we figure out camera placement, framing, moves, and actor placement for each shot we want). It can be boring. For everyone but the DP, it mostly involves standing around. The crew armed themselves with umbrellas, water, and spray bottles, ready to head onto the lake bed. But I couldn’t find our dancer.

I finally located her, whimpering in her car’s AC. She said she didn’t like this and didn’t want to do this. She suddenly claimed she was allergic to the sun and refused to get out of her car. I was gob-smacked. I wanted to argue that she was from an even hotter desert town and remind her she’d agreed to exactly this heat and exertion, not to mention sun. I wanted to scream that she was the star of the whole concept, that we’d already spent tons of money to get everyone out here, that we didn’t have a video without her, and how could she possibly be so completely lacking in integrity? I wanted to growl that, on shoot day, it’s not about what anyone wants but what we’ve promised to do. But I didn’t do any of those things. I gaped like a fish. Then I reminded her we didn’t plan to shoot her scenes until near sunset so the heat would not be nearly as bad. I assured her I didn’t want her to do anything that might hurt her body. I asked her to stay in her nice AC, drinking water and taking care of herself. I told her we’d do the camera blocking without her and could she please just consider waiting, cooling, and see how she felt in a few hours? ‘Before she sinks my whole production,’ I thought. She sulked and shut the door.

The confused crew and I headed out onto the lake bed and duly blocked the shots we needed. This was going to look great; by far our best visuals to date. I turned back to the camp and sort of choked.

– Guys, her car’s gone.

– Gone, gone?

– I don’t see it.

– She just left?

– Who does that?

– Maybe she went to get more gas for her AC?

– Did she text you at least?

– Nope, you?

– She just left!

– Ohmigod, what a…

And a string of expletives and disbelief followed from all. None of us could believe that a performer would just leave a whole production hanging like that. None of us could believe the lack of professionalism she’d displayed. We couldn’t believe it because none of us would have ever chosen to behave that way. We laughed over shoots we’d sucked it up for, injured, sick, or in over our heads. We looked at our little circle. We were the people who step up.

I turned to our model:

– So. Can you dance?

– Sure!

And just like that we rewrote the concept, redid the costuming, and pulled together as a team. The rest of the day was a blur as we ran for shots, pulled off costume and location changes, and captured some true magic.

In the end, the dancer did us a favor by removing herself from our equation. She may have had more training but she could never have pulled off the stunning transition our model did or the furious passion of her dance. Who knows how unpleasant she would have continued to be if she was unhappy. Who knows all the other ways she may have slowed down our production, even making us miss critical shots. As much as it may be gratifying to be mad at her, in the end I can only wish her well as she made our video much better by not being part of it. By abandoning us, she forced us to dig into our own creativity and the project was better for it.

Weeks later, the dancer finally reached out to the DP… not to apologize but to say his later post asking how to communicate with a friend who’d disappointed you (with no reference to her or the shoot) would hurt her career. No sweetie, having no integrity hurts your career. Be your word. Do what you say you’ll do when you say you’ll do it. If something changes, be in communication. If you’ve made a commitment, honor it or replace yourself. Your issues should not become the production’s problem. Live by these simple rules and this business will be much more rewarding for you and those who work with you.

I can’t wait to work with my crew again. I have objective evidence they are the best. And as always, I look forward to working with new artists and seeing where their talents take us. And next time one turns out to be a flake, I wouldn’t mind finding out some time before we’re about to roll cameras.

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Reading Is Sexy

I was very proud to be a returning judge for this year’s Slamdance Screenplay Competition, one of several prestigious competitions I judge for. If you don’t know, Slamdance was set up in response to what filmmakers saw as the over-commercialization and inaccessibility of Sundance. The festival itself happens concurrently with Sundance in Park City and has a more edgy, scrappy, fun vibe. However, their screenplay competition happens in the summer.

This year out of 3,600 submissions, I read over 300 scripts in competition. I’m very proud to say that of the thirty-two scripts that ten of us judges took into final deliberations, eight were scripts I had personally advanced and championed. Of those, one became the overall winner, two more won their categories, and three others placed in their categories’ top three. I am pretty proud of that track record.

Early on, one of my mentors told me “Read all the scripts you can. They’re a great education.” Ugh, I thought, the last thing I want to do is spend my time reading other idiots’ work when I could be working on my own stuff. So I didn’t. For a long time. But that mentor was right. I started reading. In all my consulting and judging, I’ve read around 500 scripts this year alone. Who knows how many more in the last ten years.

In all that reading, patterns emerged and my own style greatly shifted. This has made me a better writer. This year I have two different pilots making the rounds at MIPCOM and gaining attention from producers and outlets I never dreamed of working with.

This also has also made me a better reader. When you read a lot, you see the same mistakes over and over, you learn what frustrates you on the page, you see what a lean, muscular script really looks like, you develop a facility for spotting the truly unique, and you learn how the masters who break our hearts or make us cheer make it happen on the page. I can get to the heart of what working, what’s not working, and what could be working better in your script. I can communicate why and how to you in digestible language and help you with the roadmap for your next draft. All because I’ve finally read a lot.

Like my mentor, one of my most common recommendations for clients now is “read as many original scripts as you can get your hands on. Not shooting scripts as these will fill you with bad habits such as ‘we see’ and camera or edit directions like ‘the camera pans over’ or ‘cut to’. Many original scripts for your favorite shows and movies are easily findable online.” I stand by this recommendation: Read all you can. You never know just how it will benefit you and your writing but benefit you it will.

Want to enter next year’s Slamdance competition? Submissions start in February. Maybe have me give you feedback first so you submit the best version of your script that you can.

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Common Script Mistakes: The Lucky 13

I recently guest lectured a class for Slamdance and Roadmap Writers on pitch polishing. We talked about common format mistakes I see as a contest reader, and looked at how story structure and character motivations feed into a log line and therefore a pitch.

One student asked if poorly formatted slug lines would keep her script from advancing in a contest. I said, “As judges, I think we’re all looking for a good story most of all. But poor formatting can be a tie-breaker. For every script I choose to advance, I have to believe it could win the whole contest. I have to be willing to stand up and defend it to my fellow judges. If the only format issue is that the slugs are off here and there, I can do that. If there are a lot of format errors, I’m not going to stand up for you. I’m more likely to give that writer notes and hope they submit a cleaned-up script next time around.” So while a wonky slug* won’t kill your script in contests, a wonky slug on top of misused parentheticals, wrong use of VO vs. OS or OC, mis-formatted intercuts or montages will. All those add up to a writer who hasn’t bothered to learn the language of screenwriting.

“Why does this matter?” you may ask. “I’m a bad-ass who doesn’t play by the rules and I have a killer story so none of that should count.” Well, me too and bully for you. Screenwriting is a very particular writing discipline with very particular rules we all must follow. The script functions as a blueprint for building a movie and it must be executed in the language that all the builders recognize. Good luck getting your killer story read by a busy executive who doesn’t have time to figure out that when you write, “INT. JOE – LATER,” you don’t actually mean we should set up a camera inside Joe (ouch!) but that we’re with him in the scene that is actually in a bar.

So here are my top thirteen most common script mistakes I see with regard to format.

  1. (Did you guess?) The Slug Line!

The slug line exists to tell us where and when a scene takes place. That’s it. The rules specifically are that it should contain: a) INT. or EXT., b) a location (not an event like JAY’S PARTY but where you want a camera crew to set up), and then c) DAY or NIGHT. Such as:


Anything more specific like “The Next Day” or “Early Morning” can be in the action/description lines. We can tell if a scene is continuous from how one scene follows onto the next. So that doesn’t need to be in the slug line either. For example, if you show a bank being robbed and two robbers running for the door and the next scene is those robbers running down the bank steps, I can connect the dots. That’s obviously a continuous sequence so please don’t put CONTINUOUS in your slug line. When the script is shuffled into scheduling software, there won’t be any reference to what happens in the scene, so if all I can see is CONTINUOUS I have no idea when to schedule that scene. Keep the time designation to DAY or NIGHT. Also, if I’ve been interrupted while reading and come back to your script later, I’ll see ‘continuous’ and have to flip back several scenes to remember when that is. Annoying.

You don’t need a new slug line if you’re in that bar with Joe and we’re looking at several different points of action. For that you can give us a:


and then his riveting actions. When the story shifts to what’s going on elsewhere in the bar, you can say so with a:


or perhaps:


and then give us the actions over there. This also hold true for when you are in the same location but time has passed. You don’t need a whole new slug, just a:


and then the rest of the scene. This is also great for expediting scenes where you need us to know a lot of things have happened, such as a contract negotiation. We don’t need to see the whole negotiation as part of the plot, just the beginning and the outcome.

  1. Character Introductions

I’ve seen it all, from characters being introduced in a parenthetical, to never being introduced at all and just suddenly existing in the scene. Then there’s the “Woman’s Voice” who three pages later we find out is Angie. Your viewers can be surprised by that, but please just tell your readers it’s Angie from the get go. Additionally, in a script breakdown, Woman’s Voice and Angie will look like two different characters your casting director needs to find. What fun will ensue when you have to fire an actor you didn’t need hired in the first place!

When you first introduce a character, give us their name in all caps, even if they are minor. Then for more important characters give us their age or a range in parenthesis and a phrase of description. You get one chance to give us a taste of what makes this character tick. Use it! This is Hollywood, so go ahead and assume your actors will be beautiful. Why waste time with “TERRY (30s) attractive” when you can give me something like “TERRY (30s), every bar fight is a chance to work out his daddy issues?” That gives me such a fuller picture of who Terry is and what drives him as I read the script. I’m confident he’ll be easy on the eyes.

And those minor characters. How about making them visual and memorable? Instead of Kid #1 and Kid #2, how about Snotty Kid or Clumsy Kid or Shy Kid or Boisterous Kid? You’re a writer! Use your words! Tell me something more about this character that may be just background for the protagonist but has a world of his own. Besides, an actor would much rather play Star Trek Geek Kid than Kid #3.

  1. Cut To:

There is a deceptive guide on the internet that fosters many a bad habit in a screenwriter: the shooting script. As you do your research reading scripts in your genre (as you should), you are likely to find more shooting scripts available and Google-able than you are to find original scripts. This is an issue because we, my friends, are writing original scripts. Anything like CUT TO, CLOSE ON, DISSOLVE TO, FOLLOW, and PAN are camera or edit directions. These belong in shooting scripts. A director reading an original script will often consider such things too much direction from the page. After all, she’s the person shaping your creation. It’s up to her to put a dissolve or a pan or—more power to her—a crazy follow shot.

Besides, by virtue of the fact that there is a new slug line, we know there is a cut. And because we are crafty, we can imply things like CLOSE ON by how we choose to showcase a shot in our action lines. Something like:

Kelly’s hand stabs at the buttons on the remote.

That shot will clearly be a close up on her hand but I’ve avoided writing it in a way that steps on the director’s toes. Instead, I’ve sidled up to the director and given her a firm nudge and then she can say “a close up on Kelly’s hand would be great here, what a fab idea,” and I’ll say “Yes, I know, because as a writer, I am the wind beneath your wings.”

While I’m at it: Another edit decision to leave out of your script is where and when the title sequence goes. You do not need to point this out. It will be designed later.

  1. We See

Along those same lines of shooting script versus original script is the supremely irritating “we see” device. Nearly every contest judge I know has a special place of pet-peeve in their hearts for “we see.” I recommend you avoid this at all costs. We are not a “we.” Saying so tends to remind us that we are reading a story we are outside of rather than simply saying what we do see and taking us into the story that way. Think of the wasted line space!
“A camel trudges along a sand dune” is so much more visual and concise than “We see a camel trudging along a sand dune.”

  1. We’re gonna need a… Montage!

Montages or series of shots can be great ways to show time passing or things progressing in your story. One mistake I most often see with these is this: “A montage shows Heather and Dean walking on the beach and getting to know each other.” And that’s it. You are writing a blueprint for building a visual story, so give us those visuals. If you want a montage, it’s up to you to define exactly what you want the camera crew to capture for that. So:

— Heather and Dean stroll on the beach
— Dean hands Heather a pretty shell
— They build a sandcastle together
— Heather splashes Dean as they let a wave catch their toes
–a giant asteroid kills them both

What are the visuals that you feel will tell us that story? Don’t make me or your camera crew guess.

  1. VO OS OC

I see a lot of confusion on this one. Let me clear it up: VO means Voice Over, as in narration. You know, what you hire Morgan Freeman to do. You’re probably not going to have much VO in the average script, as it’s really hard to do well. (Voiceover is often a crutch rather than a necessary story telling tool.)

More likely, you’re going to use OC: Off Camera or OS: Off Screen for speakers we hear but don’t see. You’ll use these if we only see one side of a phone call but hear both sides, or if we hear someone in another room, etc. OC has roots in TV scripts while OS is more from film but they’ve become used interchangeably for the most part.


If you’re doing a phone scene and you do want us to see both sides, you’re going to use an intercut. To do this right, give us the first person’s slug line, establish them in the action lines and maybe give us their first line of dialog on the call. Then you’ll do an:


Then give us the second person’s slug line, a quick phrase of establishing visuals, and their dialog. This allows the editor to make those choices about when to be on which speaker for the greatest emotional impact in the scene and you don’t have to waste tons of lines going back and forth each time. Everybody wins! You can intercut simultaneous actions the same way. Easy peasy.


Jane stomps along, dials a number, yells into the phone:


What were you thinking?



Kyle sinks into the couch, phone to his ear.


I didn’t think you’d notice. It’s only a car.


I reported it stolen. I hope you go to jail.

We now see and hear both sides of that scene and the editor can choose what works best.

  1. Weird title pages or no title pages

This is a simple way to make your script look more professional: have a clean, simple title page. It should be center-justified and contain the script’s title, by, and your name. You can get away with a “Based on a true story” if that’s the case but not much else. If you like, you can add left-justified at the bottom of the page your contact info, your copyright, or your WGA registration. But those aren’t required.

What’s definitely not required are: visuals, log lines, descriptive paragraphs of why I’ll love this script. I should get all that from reading the script. All that stuff is great for a pitch package your script or pitch can be part of but it should not be on your title page.

Do include a title page, though. It always seems a bit weird when I see a script with no title page and instead the title and writer’s name above the FADE IN on page 1.Or worse: at the top of every page. A title page is like a Maître ‘D in a jacket. I’ll still trust him to seat me if he’s not wearing one, but he just seems so much more professional if he is. (Note: I cannot remember the last time I ate somewhere that had a Maître ‘D.)

  1. Caps

All caps are for character introductions and occasionally a key prop or key sound you need us to remember. They are not for emphasis like Joe RUNS along the BIG WALL. Or KATHY sits and KATHY stands and then KATHY runs away. We only need her name in all caps the first time we meet her. All caps are definitely not because  you got really excited AND THEN THE HELICOPTER EXPLODES ALL OVER THE PLACE WITH LOTS OF FLAMES!!!!! While we’re at it, cut it out with the exclamation points too. If I’m not excited by what I’m reading, throwing a bunch of bangs on the end of a sentence like a tween thrilled to see ZAYNE!!!!!! won’t change that.

  1. Specific Songs

Sorry, my fellow world-building control freaks, this is not a choice we get to make. Song syncs can cost from $5-$10,000 for an average song and closer to $50,000 for something super-famous like a Prince or Beatles song. Tying your budget to songs is a quick way to blow it. But because seasoned writers know this is a no-no, they don’t do it so when you do it just makes you look like a newbie. Definitely don’t waste page space writing out lyrics unless you are actually writing a musical.

A good fix is to put something like “An 80’s booty shaker like Prince’s 1999 thumps through the party.” That gives us the idea and trust me, if she can, your music supervisor will get 1999. If it’s out of your budget range, she’ll get some awesome band you may never have heard of but that will serve the emotion of the scene perfectly.

  1. Scene numbers or Scene notes

I see a lot of scripts with things left in them that are meant to be for your working reference only. Scene numbers are one of those things. Those are a tool for you. Those aren’t for me to see how many scenes you have. When you save your version of your script for contest entry, etc. make sure to turn off scene numbers. Again, they only make you look like a newbie.

Along the same lines, I’ll see phrases (or god help me, paragraphs) of actions that read like script notes to the writer, rather than fleshed out scenes. They might look like “Ash and Matt sit and have a great chat about where they should have dinner and they work out their differences.” OK, where’s that scene? Either write out the actions and dialog showing me that event or cut the action lines saying that, because it just makes it look like you and meant to come back to it later but instead forgot to write a scene. What happens exactly? What are the actors saying? What is the director shooting? You’re the writer – don’t ask someone else to write your scene.

  1. Mores and Cont’d

Look, I know this is a feature in some software programs for a reason but as a reader it’s super annoying. I recommend eliminating “Mores and Continueds.” In Final Draft it’s a simple setting you can turn off. We know from context that a scene or line continues. These extra designations clutter up your page and take away valuable line space. In this visual blue print that is the script, brevity is king. Or, as Shakespeare once said, brevity…is wit.**

  1. Typos

For the love of god, proofread your script. Or get a friend to do it for you. Or just freaking Autocorrect. In today’s advanced typing technology age there is literally no reason why there should be a single typo in your script. Wrong word choice I can understand; a ‘board’ instead of a ‘bored’ is going to slip by your spell-check, but it should not slip by your eyes because you a writer who knows how to use words.

Executives and their readers are notoriously finicky and will look for any reason to put a script down. Typos can be enough. Poor formatting will do the trick regardless of how amazing your story may be. Don’t give them a reason like that to stop reading.

Worse than that, such mistakes look like you didn’t care enough to get them right and if you didn’t care enough to spend your time learning your craft to the best of your ability, why should I spend my time reading your work? You’re a writer and typos make you look like you can’t write.

Taken by themselves, these things can either seem nit-picky or dogmatic but taken as a whole, they show your professionalism alongside your writing skill. When you get to Shane Black or Charlie Kaufman levels, sure, break the rules all you want. But until then, hone your skills in speaking the same visual blueprint language all the craftspeople in Hollywood speak.

Now get back to that script and fix all this stuff so I can enjoy your story without distraction and advance your script! You wrote it because you felt it was worth it. I just want to be on the same page.

* The Wonky Slugs are my new String Cheese Incident cover band.

**Yes, I know that’s actually a Simpson’s quote purposely bastardizing the Bard. I was just testing you.


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Common Script Mistakes: Parentheticals–Let’s Kill the Wrylies

As a contest judge and script coach, I see all kinds of poor formatting, strange style choices, and grammar errors galore. If I can help you to avoid some of these surprisingly common pitfalls, my judging job will be easier, your script will be better, and it might just move your career forward.

Almost every script I read is overwritten. Writers get caught up in creating a story moment in every detail and start directing from the page. Nothing marks you as an inexperienced writer faster. Overwritten scripts can feel akin to being told how to breathe or walk:
“Jerry puts one foot forward, and then the other. Now be brings the first foot forward again.”

Give your readers some credit for being able to figure out how things work. We’re humans here too.

It’s natural to want to direct from the page. You may actually be a director. At the very least you are creating a world, the people in that world, and the story within which they exist. You’re naturally going to have some control issues here. The beauty (and challenge) of screenwriting is that it’s a collaborative art. Leaving room for a director and actor to bring their interpretations to characters, emotions, and beats is where we get real alchemy on screen.

Parentheticals–Let’s Kill the Wrylies

One of the most common ways writers overwrite and direct from the page is via that enigmatic and oft-misunderstood element, the parenthetical. Nicknamed the Wryly, it seems innocuous enough. Yet its misuse can make your script look clunky and confusing at best, amateurish and not-worth-the-time to read at worst.

A parenthetical is an instruction or description in parentheses that shows up after a character element (someone’s name) and, rarely, mid-dialog. The point of a parenthetical is to clarify the tone or target of the subsequent dialog if it’s not already clear from the context of the scene. That’s it!


One good use of a parenthetical is when the target of a line isn’t clear. For example, if Kara has been speaking with Joe but now she throws an aside to Cindy, I may want to add one like so:

(to Cindy)
Thanks, I already ate.

However, I definitely don’t need to do this if it’s clear to whom she’s speaking as it would be with:

Cindy, I already ate.

or if, just before Kara’s line, Cindy had walked in and asked if Kara was hungry.  Obviously, Kara’s line is therefore directed at Cindy and you don’t need the parenthetical. Since scripts with a shorter page count automatically warm the heart of the judge faced with a stack of pages, you want to do everything you can to streamline yours as much as possible. Besides, a tight script is a hallmark of a strong writer who’d rather spend time and page space crafting great characters, scenes, and arcs. But sure, consider my feelings too.


This one’s trickier. You can also use a parenthetical if the tone isn’t clear from the context. For example, if everything in this scene up to now has been funny or angry or sad but suddenly Kara is turning sarcastic, it may help to throw in a:

Thanks, I already ate.

But if it’s been established that Kara is a sarcastic character, that’s going to already be clear from context and it’s likely an actor will chose to deliver that line in a sarcastic tone. This means you don’t have to over-direct from the page and tell them how to say it. Many writers don’t see that they’ve made the context clear and a parenthetical is therefore redundant and a waste of their line space.

Many writers don’t understand the need to leave room for the actor to bring their emotional work to the story. Do you think Meryl Streep needs to be told to say a line (yelling) or (with real emotion)? Of course not. In fact she may surprise you with a whisper that turns out to be far more moving than the shout you had imagined. As a writer, get used to giving up some of that control. The key to the parenthetical use to clarify tone is: we get much more than you think we get. If the scene seems at all clear without adding that parenthetical, leave it out!

No Nos

So this brings us to all the things you do not need to use a parenthetical for:

  • Telling an actor how to move his body.

Something like:

(grabbing the blanket off the chair as he goes to the door)
I said no.

belongs in an action line because it’s an action, make sense? Something like:

(tents his fingers in thought)
I said no.

is too much directing from the page again. If this is a scene about Joe being deep in thought, let the actors determine how to move their bodies to convey that. Those are the choices they get to make.

  • Telling an actor to use an accent repeatedly.

(with a Russian accent)
I said no.

But you have a coat.

(with a Russian accent)
I want blanket anyway.

Rather than waste many lines telling us this repeatedly, just give a bracket or note at the top of the scene saying [*Note: Joe speaks throughout with a Russian accent.] Then the actor can take that on board and make it happen for you.

  • Telling us why an actor says a line.

(to be funny)
Doc, it hurts when I do this.

Lordy, if the comedy isn’t clear from your scene, there are bigger problems.

  • Adverbs.

I said no.

Just no. Apparently, since the dawn of screenwriting we’ve all been obsessed with wry characters hence the Wryly nickname for parentheticals. But again, this is over-directing from the page. Many actors I know will go through a script and cross out all the Wrylies from the get-go so they can bring their own emotional work to the lines. You’ve already lost that control, writer, so just let it go! Besides, the best scripts are built with muscular, visual nouns and verbs since adverbs and adjectives tend to be more about telling rather than showing. This is a visual medium. Show me through your scene work that the dancer inspires the audience rather than telling me she’s inspiring. This is true with parentheticals too.

Resist the urge to put an adverb in that parenthetical at all costs, especially ‘wryly’. UNLESS the context isn’t clear from the scene. And even then, ask yourself: can you trust an actor or a director to understand what you’re going for and pull that out in the performance? If the answer is even slightly, possibly, maybe yes, leave off the parenthetical. I promise you directors, actors and script judges everywhere will silently, wryly, thank you for it.

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Stuck in your script? Have a breakdown – Tips from a script coach

We’ve all been there. You start off with an idea that you know has legs. There are captivating characters, fun twists, and maybe an original set piece (no one has driven a Lamborghini onto a helicopter yet!) or deep emotional moment or two. But something’s not working. You’ve hit a wall. Maybe you’ve even gotten notes from trusted readers and either you disagree with them or you can’t figure out how to integrate them successfully. Those idea legs have gotten shaky and tired. But that doesn’t necessarily mean that script has to sit out the next round of contests.

Last week, I worked with a client on a TV pilot she’s creating. It’s a procedural with a fun twist. The problem was the procedure itself was too flat and too easy. As viewers, we’ve become really sophisticated in solving TV crime and woe to the writer who doesn’t stay a step or two ahead of our inner Sherlock.

For a start, I asked, have you seen Elementary? She hadn’t so she watched a few episodes. Do a breakdown, I suggested. She’d gotten the basic idea, she said. No, I countered. Watching films and TV that really work on a script level is fun and enjoyable, sure. But solid entertainment is also a free education just sitting there at our fingertips. We can take advantage of that education with a more active watching approach; a story breakdown. That will take a long time, she sighed. Yes, yes it will. But creating an amazing script takes time. Why not invest a little in your ongoing education?

I’m not suggesting you write a synopsis for each scene: Joan walks into the kitchen and discovers Sherlock dumping honey down the drain. Then they visit the crime scene. I’m suggesting you reverse engineer the script as though you were writing the outline. So an entry for an individual scene might look like:

B story. Joan wants to get to the sink but she can’t because Sherlock is dumping honey down the drain. She confronts him on food waste and Sherlock reveals he’s fallen out with his father who won’t be visiting again. They get a call from Det. Bell with new case info and leave.

This was a scene about their personal relationships, thus it’s part of a B or C story, not the A story which in a procedural is always the crime. The writer’s goal in the scene was for Sherlock to communicate to Joan that he’d fallen out with his father. The honey was something they had for his father’s tea. Thus Sherlock’s action in dumping the honey made that internal goal external and active—it made it visual. Imagine how boring that scene would be if Joan simply walked in, said “why are you sad?” and Sherlock flatly stated “my dad and I fought” and Joan said “Oh. Hey, Bell has a new clue.” It transmits the same basic information – hits the points on the synopsis version – but we’re not interested.

The scene started with the character goals in opposition – something that’s key to a scene with energy and engagement. That Joan’s goal was blocked pushed her to take different action which naturally led her to confront Sherlock – a character-motivated action – you want those! The way the scene was executed shows the petulance of Sherlock’s character, and also reveals the subtext that he does care about his dad and he’s too proud to admit he’s hurting over their falling out. (Writing spec dialog for a character like Sherlock is a great writing exercise because he never talks about anything he truly feels, it’s all subtext.)

Finally in the overall structure, the scene launches us into the next scene on the A story line: a new clue in the investigation.

This breakdown training was enormously helpful to my client. Seeing when Elementary plots  reveal new clues, and how those clues and complications change the trajectory of the characters, helped her restructure her own work. It helped her see how much more substance and how many more turns her pilot’s investigation may need. It also gave her some great examples of subtle character development.

Breaking down a show or film can help reveal the overall shape of the story and it throws the execution choices the writer made into high relief so that we can learn and improve our own writing. We can see character goals and outcomes, A versus B versus C storylines, story structure and plot twists.

You can probably guess I recommend doing your own script outline this way too. For each scene I answer: what story line does the scene serve? What are the character(s) goals and how are they in opposition? What’s the obstacle to the protagonist’s goal? What’s the complication or reveal? What’s the outcome? Or more simply put, for each scene I write out:  “Character 1 (protagonist driving your action) wants X (goal) but Y (complication or obstacle), so…(outcome)”

Answering these questions about someone else’s script in a breakdown can help you gain facility in answering them for your own script. Being able to clearly articulate character goals, obstacles, and outcomes will strengthen your story structure and lead to more promising scripts. It’s the best way to ferret out those scenes that aren’t doing enough to move your story forward.

For a while, doing breakdowns may make your favorite viewing less fun but I promise such suffering for your art is worth it. It will gain you the ability to craft stronger structures and scenes. And get those story legs back up and running. It will also help you articulate why such a little scene is about so much more than just dumping honey down the drain.

To get your script ready for contests, let PageCraft help!

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Quality Problems

Like most people who self-select as Angelinos, I moved here to make movies. I went to film school, I wrote a lot, produced a feature that didn’t get far, I made a lot of connections. And then I did other stuff. I worked for a studio. I ran a non-profit. I did everything but make movies.

A few years ago I was tangled in a job that was sucking the life from me and I still wasn’t doing what I came here to do. Petrified but desperate, I took a leap of faith and jumped into one no-budget music video with no other job safety net.

A scant two years later, my production partner Erik and I have built Supposable Productions with all the creations you see on the other tabs here. The fact that within two weeks of making that leap we already had five paying projects lined up told me we were on the right path. The fact that in the time since then we’ve been working so consistently that we haven’t had time to create our own company website or business cards tells me we are on that path going full throttle. I love it.

When I first left LA after undergrad, my move was largely driven by a fear of “what if I try my hardest but ten years later have nothing to show for it?”  I couldn’t bear the thought of failing at my dream so I set it aside. Instead I worked dumb, “practical” jobs for ten years and ended up with nothing to show for it. So I finally did it; I leapt without looking and here we are. I love what I get to do every day. I love the creative artists I get to work with. I love seeing where each project takes us with new techniques, artistic challenges, and talented new team members.

I can say I wish I’d learned all this sooner and gotten the nerve to trust in my dream. But then I may not have appreciated all the detours and wrong turns it took to get here. Here’s hoping we get some time to build our business website in 2016. But if we don’t, it’s a quality problem I don’t mind having.

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Get It In Writing

We’ve all heard this and it’s a smart business practice we all know. But do we live by it? In the sometimes casual world of creativity it can be hard to see that line between friends playing in the creative sandbox together and a professional situation creating for pay. Working with friends could be the best or worst thing you ever do.

One of the biggest recent lessons for me (that I should have already known) is to get everything in writing. Having a clear set of expectations on both sides is key to getting good work done and preserving friendships.

We recently worked with a client and friend who had wonderfully grandiose ideas about a huge project with many different elements and aspects. This artist is ridiculously talented and endlessly creative. The project would stretch my partner and I creatively and that was exciting. It would be an epic undertaking and we were thrilled to be involved.

The first phase was an off-the-cuff “let’s see what we get” situation. Because we’re good at what we do, we got great footage, stunning visuals and some really special moments. Great, right? Well, yes. But now the client assumed that no prep was ever needed. Story boards and location scouting were superfluous expenses and we were being silly by adding them to our budgets.

Still, as this talented artist painted the picture of the larger project, we were infected by their enthusiasm and couldn’t wait to be involved. So we did all that prep off the books because we knew it was key to a great and client-pleasing outcome.

I also started researching agreements. This was beyond anything we’d done. With the help of a lawyer, I came up with a deal memo that clearly defined our scope of work, credits and pay schedule. The client just sort of never had time to look at it.

And that’s where my mistake was. We worked with them anyway. With no signed contract we had no safety net. When I casually mentioned how much I was enjoying directing the project, the client shut me down: “No, I’m the director, it was my idea.” I was actually dumbstruck but managed to stop myself from saying “that’s not how that works.” I finally did point out “we’re the ones who came up with the story from your idea, decided what visuals would best convey it, told the cameras what to capture and when to roll, told the actors what to do… that’s directing.” That didn’t matter.

As creative industries people hungry for opportunities, we want to say yes to any chance to do something interesting that will gain us credibility and credits. You have to hand it to our kind’s inherent willingness to jump in. But that can sometimes get us in trouble. In this case, some of our best work ended up un-credited and attributed to others. A painful lesson not only in getting it in writing, but also in standing your ground when you don’t.

So lesson learned. There will be clearly understood deal memos, agreed upon budgets, and signed contracts before any work in our future. Jumping in and sharing your creative spark is a good thing. So is protecting yourself and the integrity of your work.

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