10 Great Screenplays: #3 Citizen Kane (1941)

What is there left to be said about Citizen Kane, Orson Welle's classic masterpiece? It's impressionistic, it's filmmaking at its artistic best, and it's cinematography and directing is simply fantastic. There's a reason it belongs at the top of virtually every "best films" list. Orson Welles had control of the project from beginning to end and the result was marvelous. However, the story of an immoral newspaper magnate seemed to many an attack on one of the most powerful men in America, especially in Hollywood, at the time of the film's release, William Randolph Hearst. As a result, Welles was black-balled and never able to surpass his debut film.

Don't you love megalomania?

Now, onto the writing. After compiling a massive amount of notes on figures like William Randolph Hurst, Welles commissioned Herman Mankiewicz to write the first draft of the screenplay under the working title American. Meanwhile, Welles worked on his own version of American. Both wanted to capture the idea of a man's life being remembered by those who knew him and the image of the man changes with each telling. Welles compared his work to Mankiewicz's, merged them, and they reworked the entire thing over and over until Welles was satisfied. 

The story centers on the recently deceased Charles Foster Kane, a newspaper magnate who at one point held the power to send himself to the White House. His last word, "Rosebud," baffles everyone. A reporter, Thompson, is sent out to uncover it's meaning and perhaps find a new angle on Kane's life that the other media sources were missing. 

He first goes to meet Kane's second wife, a singer in a lowly dive, but she is unable to give the reporter anything. Then, he requests to see the memoirs of Kane's banker and long-time legal guardian, Walter Parks Thatcher. Although they are very informative on a number of things regarding Kane's childhood, Thompson can't discover anything mentioning "Rosebud." 

It's a shame the newspapermen didn't have a window into Kane's thoughts like the audience did.

After that, Thompson interviews Bernstein, a friend of Kane's who was there when he started building his journalistic empire. More interesting information is revealed, but not the information Thompson was looking for. Also, Jedediah Leland, once Kane's best friend, can't fill him in on Rosebud. No one can.

At its essence, this is the story of a futile search for a secret. The kind of secret perhaps only one person knows, the individual, the one who takes it to the grave with him. On top of that, it's a tale of perspective. The first of its kind, typical of the visionary work Orson Welles has become identified with (see his War of the Worlds radio broadcast as further proof). This part of what makes the screenplay for Citizen Kane so special. It's focus is definitely not on plot, it's focused on character and idea. Difficult to pull off, but as you can guess, the results are absolutely splendid. 

The screenplay was the only thing connected with Citizen Kane that William Randolph Hearst couldn't stop from receiving an Oscar, though I'm sure he tried. 

10 Great Screenplays: #4 Sunset Boulevard (1950)

It's difficult to pin Billy Wilder's 1950 classic, Sunset Boulevard, under just one genre. Much of the film plays out as very serious and in the mold of a film noir, as the main character manages to dig a whole that continually gets deeper until it traps him. Also, there are many lighter moments, where laughter is illicited. Last but certainly not least, there's the satirical elements that cannot be ignored. So what appears to a drama about a doomed man has multiple layers to it, thanks to the guidance of Billy Wilder's talent as a storyteller.

Wilder steps out from behind the camera for a picture.

Now, onto the writing. The screenplay was written by D.M Marshman, Jr., Charles Brackett, and Billy Wilder. Clearly they knew a thing or two about Hollywood, it's silent past and how the game worked in the studios. All of those elements figure into the story of Joe Gillis, a two-bit writer who can't sell any of his screenplays. He's a hard-luck loser, and that's obvious from page one. Why? Because he's dead.

Here is where the screenplay differs from the finished film. Yes, you know that Gillis is dead, but it doesn't open with his body floating face-down in a pool. He's in the morgue talking to other guys who have recently made the journey into the afterlife. Each of them explain how they got there and then it's Gillis's turn. Thus begins the tale of the screenwriter whose only talent appears to be attracting all sorts of bad fortune.

Who knew the wealthy district near UCLA was so menacing?

His stories don't sell, his agent cares more about golfing than actually finding a job for his struggling client, and his car is wanted by the repo men. After his failed attempt at a pitch (a nosy reader said the story was flat), he bumps into the repo men on Sunset Boulevard. They chase him and a tire pops forcing him to turn into the nearest driveway, which the repo men luckily do not see.

The place is abandoned looking, hasn't been truly cared for in years. Then Gillis sees two people, a wealthy old lady and her butler. They mistake him for an undertaker who's supposed to have a custom made coffin for the lady's recently deceased monkey. Eventually, he explains that he's a writer, not a very successful one, but a writer nonetheless.

At this point, Gillis recognizes the old lady as Norma Desmond, a silent movie star. She lives under the illusion that her fans have never forgiven her for "deserting them." This illusion also appears to be carried by Max, the mysterious butler. Gillis takes all of this in with the cheap sarcasm becoming of the hack writer he appears to be, especially the ridiculous script Desmond has apparently spent years working on. It's long, it's silent, and it's purely amateurish, but it's his escape route from the repo boys. He can lay low and at least pretend to work on the script while setting up shop in the Ms. Desmond's swanky yet slightly run-down mansion.

During a visit to town, Gillis runs into Betty Schaefer, the nosy reader who ruined his pitch earlier and her fiancee, his old friend, Artie Green. Schaefer wants to make the jump from reader to screenwriter and feels like working with Gillis is the way to go. He initially turns her down, but after a few run-ins, he decides to work with her. Unbeknownst to ol' Ms. Desmon, who's become very possessive of the writer, he sneaks out to write a few pages every night.

With all of the suspense building, it is my cue to leave the summary and talk about what makes the writing so special. For one thing, perhaps no two writers know how make a screenplay skip along with witty and natural dialogue than Charles Brackett and Billy Wilder. Now throw in the black comedy and the satire on Hollywood. You have the makings of something very unique. The characters are colorful, bringing life to the stark, vampiristic settings in which the story takes place.

How's that for a closing shot?

In other words, the story is simply dripping with irony, a tool that is very powerful when placed in the right hands. No wonder the screenplay for Sunset Boulevard was the easy choice for Best Original Screenplay at the 23rd Academy Awards.

10 Great Screenplays: #5 The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance (1962)

When the name of director John Ford is mentioned, very seldomly does his 1962 work of art The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance come up. It, for whatever reason, is left to wander in the roads of relative obscurity. That's not saying the film wasn't a smashing success, but it is saying that the film does not receive the proper respect and notoriety it deserves. It might be cast off as just another western movie from the Hollywood assembly line with John Wayne in the lead, an assumption containing zero foundation.

John Wayne teaching James Stewart how to take the law into his own hands.

Maybe the greatest crime of all concerning this film is the lack of credit given to the writers, James Warner Bellah and Willis Goldbeck, who adapted a short story by Dorothy Johnson into a sparkling screenplay. They grabbed all the cliches that dominate the western scene, reworked them, ironed them out, and created something very unique. Sadly, the pair received no recognition from the Academy for their work.

Anyway, onto the story. U.S Senator Ransom Stoddard and his wife, Hallie, return home to the town of Shinbone for a funeral of an old friend, Tom Doniphon. This baffles the local newspapermen, who have no knowledge of Mr. Doniphon. The editor of the Shinbone Star demands a story from Stoddard, who obliges.

In flashback, he tells the story of how he happened to come to Shinbone and his initial encounter with the ruthless and vile Liberty Valance. Stoddard is robbed and whipped severely, but Doniphon comes to the rescue, bringing him to town for treatment. Here, Stoddard meets Hallie for the first time, though he believes her to be Doniphon's girl like everyone else does. 

Left to right: Valence, Stoddard, and Doniphon.

Stoddard is given room and board at the restaurant where Hallie works in exchange for washing dishes. He also makes an effort to educate the illiterate townsfolk, including Hallie. Meanwhile, the vote for statehood is nearing and everyone knows the ranchers, who oppose statehood, have hired Liberty Valance to scare people from voting the "wrong" way. Although Stoddard received a taste of Liberty's medicine, he is determined to fight him.

At this point, Doniphon steps in and gives him a lesson about western law and order. It's being a better shot than the other guy. Stoddard hates this, but feels forced into a showdown with his enemy.

I'll leave the summary here to elaborate on the elements that make the writing so special. The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance may be the best singular showcase of the Western genre ever recorded on film. Everything about the popular genre, from law and order to changing times to the introduction of education, is on display and the result is wonderful.

Another point worth mentioning is the character of Tom Doniphon, who appears to be a supporting character, and how he is the true lead in the film. Every scene centers on him and he makes the story tick. Also, he provides a perfect analysis on the western hero. He's masculine, strong, and capable of making quick decisions, but he's not a stock or cliched character by any means. It's his sacrifice, not Stoddard's, that adds multiple layers to the story.

Who shot Liberty Valance?

Lastly, there's the famous line, "When the legend becomes fact, print the legend." This is the central theme of the story and it's holds a very singular place in the western sphere. Not only can it be applied to almost every tale in the western mythology, but also it's a new cliche. Something that the western had never quite covered before. 

10 Great Screenplays: #6 Butch Cassidy and The Sundance Kid (1969)

When I picture bank robbers and criminals, the last guys that come to mind are Robert Redford and Paul Newman. Those guys, by virtue of their popular image, were supposed to be the essence of cool. They have to look good, even at the expense of a solid acting performance. Then I saw Butch Cassidy and The Sundance Kid, and now I can't see the pair as anything else but a couple of bickering bandits.

Think ya used enough dynamite there, Butch?

Anyway, onto the screenplay. William Goldman, the imaginative author of The Princess Bride, delved into the pages of history with Butch Cassidy and The Sundance Kid. Butch and Sundance were the last of the great Western-style bandits, gunslingers who accomplished their deeds on horseback. Also, as Goldman portrays them, they were prone to light-hearted bickering and the occasional unnecessarily long frolicking escapade on a bike. 

The playful duo pull a couple of bank robberies and then danger comes, the kind of danger that says flee instead of stand and fight--a super posse. An angry railroad baron calls for their heads and assembles an unrivaled gang of lawmen and trackers to make sure they don't get away. Every time Butch and Sundance think they're free, the posse shows up, foiling any feelings of relief.

Who are those guys?

After a daring escape that involves a leap of faith, Butch and Sundance go to the only friend they've got, Etta Place. She's also Sundance's girl. At Butch's behest, they head south to Bolivia and find a very impoverished situation. Of course, they remedy this by robbing banks and pissing off the government. 

At the end of the day, Goldman's masterful screenplay is all about dialogue and every writer's friend, the monomyth. The dialogue, on top of completing it's primary purpose of moving the story forward, is simply dripping with wit. There are seemingly more moments that illicit laughter than there are moments of intense drama. In short, it's fun, it's got action, and it's got drama, and that's rare for a screenplay. Also, by virtue of being a Western, the Hero's journey or monomyth is on full display. Yes, every story contains the monomyth in some fashion, but here it is more prevalent. All the boxes are checked very clearly. Does that make it formulaic and unoriginal? 

Not in the slightest.

10 Great Screenplays: #7 The Best Years of Our Lives (1946)

In some people's books, including my own, William Wyler's post-WWII masterpiece The Best Years of Our Lives may possibly be the finest film ever made. From beginning to end, the movie is simply splendid. The acting is wonderful, the direction is borderline perfect, and the writing is strictly top of the pile stuff. I could gush and awe over all of these aspects (a very special shout-out to Harold Russell, a guy who lost his hands in the war, for a beautiful performance), but, as my focus lies in the screenplay, I will stick to the writing.

Two well deserved Oscars.

Robert Sherwood, a Pulitzer Prize winning playwright, was called in to write the screenplay based on famed novelist MacKinlay Kantor's (author of Andersonville) massively long treatment that Kantor turned into a novel titled Glory for Me. He took the material and crafted one of the most unique screenplays ever written (I'll get to that in a bit). It centers around a very simple premise--three guys returning home from the war.

As you may surmise, the story is all about character. In fact, interestingly enough, there is no clear-cut antagonist in this film. Each of the soldiers are returning to an entirely changed America, one that will try to "rehabilitate" them at every opportunity.

The first man to return home is Homer Parrish, a Navy man. He lost his hands in the war and his family takes it very hard, especially his mother. His fiancee Wilma, however, is just glad her man is safely home. Still, Homer has difficulty adjusting to his new circumstances and how everyone looks upon him with pity (except Wilma). He is irritable, driving almost everyone away from him, and his confidence is shot.

The next guy to walk through his own front door is Army man, Al Stephenson, who appears to be returning home to the most pleasant conditions. His wife loves him, his children adore him, and he has immediately been promoted to Vice President and given a raise at the bank in which he works. Even so, he wants to make a difference in the lives of the numerous military men while they re-adjust to civilian life. His ideas are met with skepticism by the bank president and others who work with him, but Al maintains he will continue approving loans for servicemen where "sufficient collateral" isn't shown. 

Then there's Fred Derry, who spent the war as a bombardier in the Army Air Force. He's coming home to a wife he knew for only a short time before getting sent overseas and virtually no prospect of a good job. After some struggle in locating his wife, he finds that she has gotten a job as a night club dancer. They are reunited and they spend his severance pay very lavishly. His wife, Marie, is very materialistic and shows no understanding for his PTSD. 

A faithful wife?

On the other hand, Al's daughter, Peggy shows a great deal of patience and kindness towards Fred. Although reluctant to admit at first, she has fallen in love with the married pilot and can't shake herself out of those feelings. 

All of these elements bring about a wonderful amount of conflict and allows the audience to delve deeply into the emotions of the characters involved. Relationships are strained, new ones are formed, and struggles are very much prevalent. Two tent poles around which Hollywood has been pitched since Edison got kicked out of the business; relationships and conflict.

A wonderful showcase of deep focus cinematography.

Okay, here's where I get back to the uniqueness of Robert Sherwood's screenplay. For one thing, there is no physical antagonist. It's different for each character and it connects with the idea of rehabilitating oneself to a world that has changed and moved on. No great mercy is bestowed upon the men who fought to preserve the nation from the tyrannical Adolf Hitler and Hiro Hito. 

This is one of the central themes, and it plays into the meaning of the title, which is taken from one of Marie Derry's lines. The best years of these servicemen's lives were spent overseas fighting the war. They can't get them back and they have to do the best they can in the tough years ahead.

10 Great Screenplays: #8 Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb

I will begin by saying that the screenplay for Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb is classic Stanley Kubrick, who co-wrote it with satirical novelist and screenwriter, Terry Southern. For one thing, the draft available for reading runs to an astoundingly low number of 55 pages. The accepted standard in the film industry is one page for every minute of screen time, yet the screenplay for Dr. Strangelove is about half the length of a usual feature film script. It's about as long as a pilot for a TV Drama, yet the final produced film runs for 103 minutes or 1 hour and 43 minutes. Kubrick was never one to follow the Hollywood norms.

Yee-haw! Hollywood!

Now onto the story...er...rather the situation. A general, Jack Ripper (whose middle name I like to think is "the"), decides to go rogue and activate a "fail-safe" command to order a nuclear attack on the Soviets. He takes every precaution against possible reversal, shutting down all forms of communication and tells his men to shoot anyone who tries to enter, as the enemy might be masquerading in American uniforms. Naturally, this would cause quite an uproar in the chain of command.President Merkin Muffley calls in every high ranking military officer, including Buck Turgidson (at an inopportune time) and the highly mysterious ex-Nazi, Dr. Strangelove.

Do you really need me in the War Room? 

They discuss possible ways of stopping the attack, but Turgidson constantly says it can't be done. Ripper is the only one who knows the code and he has excommunicated himself from the outside world. Eventually, Muffley orders a base commander to do whatever he can to get into Ripper's base. 

Also, while the men are trying to contact the Soviet Premier Kissov over the phone, Muffley announces that a Soviet Ambassador will be allowed into the War Room. This angers General Turgidson, who engages in fisticuffs with the perceived intruder upon seeing him. Apparently, such behavior is forbidden in the peaceful confines of the War Room. 

Need I say anyrhing?

After letting the Premier know what is about to go down, the ambassador announces that the "doomsday machine" will be activated if a nuclear bomb reaches Soviet soil. Panic has set in. Shifting between the plane (led by Major Kong) nearing its target, Ripper's office, and the War Room, events unfold which lead to only one thing--massive annihilation.

In the end, Dr. Strangelove explains a plan that will see the survival the human race (This differs from the movie, it happens much earlier on).

Why the short summary? Once again, the screenplay was very short and there's really not a whole lot to the general outlay of the plot. What makes it so special is the dialogue and the wonderful use of satire. Irony, a necessary component of satire, is all over the place and makes for laughs amidst the seemingly serious action. Not many writers and filmmakers are capable of doing such a beautiful job. It's like I said, Kubrick never was one to follow the Hollywood norms.

P.S Terry Southern definitely deserves some love for his work on the screenplay. Kubrick hired him after reading The Magic Christian, Southern's satirical novel. 

P.P.S Dr. Strangelove is based on the novel, Red Alert, by Peter George.

10 Great Screenplays: #9 Good Will Hunting (1997)

Good Will Hunting, a screenplay by Matt Damon and Ben Affleck. Wait...what? These two actors, who get more notoriety for their looks than their acting chops, actually wrote themselves one heck of a screenplay. And to think it all started as an idea Damon got in a Harvard English class, where he wrote a 40-page "treatment" (detailed summary, scenes and dialogue optional). Affleck, Damon's childhood friend, helped with the idea and even dropped out of college when a creative writing professor ridiculed the idea. Then, after getting a part in an unsuccessful movie, Damon moved in with Affleck in Los Angeles. He was only semester shy of getting his Harvard degree.

In short, Good Will Hunting was a passion project for them. They believed in it strongly enough and had a surplus of guts to see their idea through. Not many would drop out of school because a professor didn't like their story and even less would leave Harvard with only one semester to go, but they did. I'm pretty sure they don't regret doing so.

Hey professor! Look who's ridiculous now!

Anyway, onto the screenplay.

This story is all about character and it is all about the journey to self-enlightenment. Will Hunting, the titular protagonist, is an out-and-out genius. He has what appears to be a photographic memory and snaps off complicated combinatorics (complex mathematics) that a Fields Medal winner of an M.I.T Professor even stumbles on. Life's good, right? Wrong. Will has attachment issues, the byproduct of being abused by multiple foster parents, and he is afraid of caring, afraid of rejection.

Professor Lambeau brings Will to a psychologist friend of his, Sean McGuire, after other therapists refuse to work with Will. McGuire, a man grieving over the loss of his beloved wife, takes on the challenge that is Mr. Hunting. He finds himself opening up to Will and they slowly become good friends, but Will insists on holding back. 

Enter Skylar, the soon-to-be Med student who captures Will's heart. She's fun, intelligent, and can tell a mean joke. She falls for Will and wants nothing more than to give a long-term relationship a chance. He, however, still has problems with committing. The scars of his childhood persist in bothering him.

He has a few trusted friends, especially Chuckie, a blue-collar construction worker with a definitely blue-collar vocabulary. They are his comfort zone.

Can Will overcome his problems? Can Sean move on from his state of grief? Can Sean break Will's defenses? And can Skylar convince him to follow through with their budding relationship?

All of these questions result in beautifully organic situations of conflict. A battle of wills (:P) between Will and Sean, which forces the two of them to dig deep and find out who they really are and what they really want. This is what Good Will Hunting is all about--discovering what truly matters in life and having the courage to pursue it. 

Simply put, the story is character, conflict, and a little thing called heart. Well done Ben and Matt (sorry Ben and Jerry).

10 Great Screenplays: #10 On the Waterfront (1954)

The first film I will be showcasing as a part of my "10 Great Screenplays" series is 1954's On the Waterfront. It is probably more well-known for containing an outstanding performance from Mr. Godfather himself, Marlon Brando. In a famous scene with Rod Steiger, who plays his character's brother, Brando complains, saying he "coulda had class" (Schulberg--On the Waterfront). Don't fear, Marlon, you certainly had class in that performance as ex-boxer turned longshoreman, Terry Malloy.

Why don't you believe me? Ya got class, Brando. Don't make me fire this gun.

With the little tribute to great acting out of the way, let's get on to the important stuff--great writing. In writing On the Waterfront, Budd Schulberg pulled a wonderfully moving story out of his Hollywood brat hat and earned himself an Academy Award to boot. The dialogue is sharp and crisp, crackling off the page. Yes, I said page, because I'm addressing the screenplay, not the actual finished film.

Anyway, thanks to that, the characters' unique qualities stand out and there is absolutely no difficulty in differentiating their voices. Each of them has something important to say, at least in their eyes. "Johnny Friendly" thinks he has to stomp on everyone and everything in order to keep his corrupt organization under his heavy-handed control. He built it up from the ground and isn't about to let it go. Everyone who is affected by him, hates him, and he's completely okay with that as long as they listen to him.

One of his closest associates, Terry Malloy, a second cousin of Johnny's and an ex-boxer, is unwittingly made an accomplice to the murder of Joey Doyle, who was about to spill all he knew about the "Friendly" gang in court. His boxing days have made him a tad slow in the head, but he feels wronged and perhaps for the first time in his life, Terry's conscience is starting to nag him. Then, through various circumstances, he meets Joey's sister, Edie, who is back from college. He is immediately attracted to her and perhaps feels as though he can finally be "somebody" with her support.

The lovely Eva Marie Saint as Edie Doyle.

She is confused by Terry. She knows he is in with "Mr. Friendly," his older brother, Charley (a snappy dresser with an air of confidence) is Friendly's right hand man. As a result, Edie drives at him, hoping he will give any kind of information leading to the apprehension of her brother's killers. Also, she hopes it isn't him, that he has nothing to do with it. She's fallen in love with the rough longshoreman and wants to build a life with him. 

Of course, any character summary of On the Waterfront would be massively incomplete without Father Barry. He is a charismatic go-getter of an Irish Catholic priest. At first, he tries to help in the traditional means, offering his church as a safe haven to the longshoreman afflicted by the "Friendly" disease. That's when Edie lashes out at him with some harsh words and when his church is attacked by the bad guys. He sees the light. He'll do whatever it takes, even do things not normally characteristic of priests, to nail the oppressors of the waterfront. It is his heavenly duty.

All of these elements beautifully come in conflict throughout the story and make for one powerfully written film. 

Interestingly enough, Budd Schulberg based his screenplay on a series of articles written in 1949 for the New York Sun by Malcolm Johnson called Crime on the Waterfront, which won a Pulitzer Prize for Local Reporting. Also, he decided to head off to the waterfront location where the events reported took place and talk to some of the people involved. Anthony DiVincenzo, who Terry Malloy is partially based on, decided to sue Columbia Pictures later on for what he felt was a worthwhile compensation. If Marlon Brando played a character resembling myself, then I'd want some money, too.

In conclusion, it's safe to say that after reading the screenplay (in this case, the only thing available was the shooting script) for On the Waterfront, I learned a few things about top-quality screenwriting. Solid, distinguishable characters are required who possess equally distinguishable dramatic needs. They want something and are willing to pursue it all the way. On top of that, change and growth are necessary components for creating a memorable protagonist; an arc. And last but not least, there must be conflict. Where there's a need, there needs to be an obstacle. It can be a character, a thing, or even an internal idea as long as it makes life tough for the characters. Most importantly, the conflict has to be real, organic. Schulberg gave the conflict in On the Waterfront meaning and power. It was not conflict for the sake of conflict.

The difficult part here, especially for myself, is to sort out these elements and make them work in my own writing. 

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the post, though it may have gotten convoluted at times. Feel free to like, share, and comment.

The Great American Screenplay

Does "The Great American Screenplay" exist?

One of the most under-appreciated elements of film-making is good writing. While this is slowly changing, screenwriters have had very little clout in the past. Unlike any other form of writing, such as fiction and drama, the author of a screenplay (in almost every case) doesn't retain any rights to the work once a studio buys it. Only if the studio gives consent, is the writer able to follow through with the work to production. In many cases, the screenplay is handed to another writer, who will rewrite it and, though they are paid, will likely receive no credit. Other times, the director will make changes wherever he deems fit.

In Billy Wilder's 1950 classic, Sunset Boulevard, the main character, Joe Gillis (excellently played by William Holden), mentions a script he wrote. He says, "The last one I wrote was about Okies in the Dust Bowl. You'd never know because when it reached the screen, the whole thing played on a torpedo boat" (Wilder, Brackett, Marshman Jr.--Sunset Boulevard). While this is intentionally pushed to the extreme, it is entirely possible for the final "shooting draft" to be massively different than the original writer intended.

I wanted Okies, but, no, they wanted seamen. Thanks a lot.

As you can guess, writers may sometimes feel like Joe here, drowning in Hollywood's producer driven system. Other avenues like playwriting or good old fashioned prose fiction seem much more attractive. There, the writer is in control...at least of their creations.

The by-product? There is no mention of the "Great American Screenplay," the one that will enlighten us beyond our wildest dreams and save us from doom. The idea of film writing being a category of literature is completely foreign. No one studies them outside of film school. Screenwriting is viewed as the illegitimate child of classic dramatic writing--a tradition dating back to ancient Greece.

That being said, screenwriters have to study many of the same things that playwrights do. Chief among these is Aristotle's Poetics, the ancient philospher's rules of drama. The little pamphlet that governed the stage for centuries and now governs what happens on the screen. Of course, many self-respecting writers wish to break these rules, as Shakespeare did, but they are acutely aware of the game. They bite the bullet until finally their clout allows them to step outside the rigidly defined box. The same problem playwrights face.

Also, the quality of writing in Hollywood is not non-existent. Yes, like every other medium, there are mountains upon mountains of poor material, but there are those few pieces of brilliance every writer would be proud of.

One example is the aforementioned Sunset Boulevard. The story simply sings with its sharp, witty dialogue, its satirical viewpoint, and even its film noirish elements. Under the skilled hand of Billy Wilder, who helped write the screenplay, the characters are wonderfully brought to life. Nothing in the writers' collective vision is mangled or destroyed.

Other great screenplays include: Citizen Kane, Casablanca, and Chinatown. Those are the classics. The works that provide an excellent showcase for the craft. For those of you who want more modern examples, you need not look any further than Good Will Hunting, The Social Network, and Argo. 

This brings me to my original question: Does "The Great American Screenplay" exist? Is screenwriting merely the illegitimate offspring of dramatic writing? Ladies and Gentlemen, I leave that up to you.

As for myself, I will be presenting, one at a time, a top ten list of the films I believe to be expertly written. 

Harper Lee Killed a Mockingbird

In her masterpiece of a novel, To Kill a Mockingbird, Harper Lee made it quite clear that killing a mockingbird is a sin. It's the central motif/theme of the story and, as you can quite easily guess, is the reason for her title.

Further explanations not necessary.

Mockingbirds are just innocent creatures who simply mind their own business. Anyone who would kill one gets joy out of stripping innocence away from the few that possess it. In the context of To Kill A Mockingbird, Robert E. Lee (I guess that's a good indication of character) Ewell is the vile soul capable of committing such a crime. He forces his daughter to lie, so that Tom Robinson, a helpful man who had the misfortune (in deeply racist Maycomb) to be born black. This sadly results in Tom's death. Also, later on, when Ewell is dissatisfied with how people treat him, he goes after Scout and Jem, as he sees their father, Atticus, as the one responsible. Scout goes unharmed, but Jem's arm is broken and Boo Radley is forced away from his seclusion to see that Ewell no longer poses a threat to anybody. In short, Ewell is one evil son of the stars and bars.

Only by remote association do I place Harper Lee in the same category. She may not be the dirty underhanded coyote Ewell is, but she did (symbolically, of course) commit the same crime. Yes, Harper Lee has killed herself a mockingbird. By which I mean, she decided to reach into the far past after declaring she would not publish another book and pull out Go Set a Watchman--essentially a rough draft of To Kill a Mockingbird.

While I suppose that's a whole lot better than having her laundry list published, which was a very slight possibility in the afterglow of her novel's fantastic success, it holds a massive disregard for her earlier work and those involved in making it "our national novel" (Oprah Winfrey). Chief mockingbird sinned against is Tay Hohoff, the editor who took Harper Lee under her wing and helped transform her original manuscript (Watchman) into an unquestionable work of art (Mockingbird). This could be construed as an insult to her editor, and possibly says that she didn't need any "interference" in her work.

How am I supposed to tell them I killed a mockingbird?

Mockingbird number two is a little more obvious--Atticus Finch. From the safe confines of To Kill a Mockingbird, Atticus has done nothing but provide a wonderful example to the people fortunate enough to read the book. He showed that integrity and honesty exist even in the worst of places, the highly racist "Deep South" of the 1930s. Not many men would be capable of putting forth a genuine effort to defend a black man in court against a white man under such conditions. As a result, "parents named their children after Atticus [and] people went to law school and became lawyers because of [him]" (Kakutani, NY Times). I have to think that if Mr. Finch were known to spout some negative and potentially racist commentary (as he does in Watchman), then there would be quite a few less guys carrying the name of Atticus around. 

For one thing, Watchman is a tale of disillusionment, and those are a dime a dozen, Unless you happen to be one of them lucky mockingbirds, you will be disillusioned at some point in your life. That doesn't mean the story should be published. 

Lastly, another mockingbird who fell victim to the new novel's release is Ms. Lee herself. She went back on her declarations of not publishing anything and sold out. One has to think a greedy agent convinced her it was a good idea. The name, Harper Lee, would guarantee sales (and sold it has). 

The question needs to be asked. Was it worth it?

                               

Rory McIlroy PGA Tour?

What, no Tiger?

To pull out an old joke: What do you call three hundred white men chasing one black man? Answer: the PGA Tour. The man being referred to is none other than Tiger Woods. As I'm sure everyone knows, he used to dominate the links like no one ever had before. He was athletic and he could hit the ball further than most of the competition. In short, he made the game of golf about as exciting as it was going to get. 

Oh, how the mighty have fallen. Although he is still the first name most people think of should the subject of golf arise, Tiger Woods hasn't been a dominant figure in years (from a traditional standpoint, that is). He seems to withdraw from more tournaments due to injury than the number of cuts he makes. Sure, his number of major tournament victories is still impressive and has him ranked among the best of all-time. That being said, it is disappointing to many just how quickly and how far the man tipped to overtake Jack Nicklaus in number of majors has dropped.

Now, EA Sports has seen fit to strip him of one highly lucrative asset--Tiger Woods PGA Tour. They haven't stopped making a PGA Tour game, they just decided to replace him with a younger and recently more successful golfer, Rory McIlroy.

Well it would seem there is something to the whole Karma bit, or reaping the seeds one sews. Tiger figured himself above the realm of morality because he was rich and cheap girls were chasing him, and since then, he has never been the same. Call it coincidence if you want, but it's one heck of a coincidence. 

The Curious Case of Paul Newman and The Holy Grail

Imagine yourself in late 1950s America or perhaps even the early 1960s, the era glamorized by AMC's Mad Men. If you like, Kennedy is still alive and kicking, and Jackie looks as close to a movie star as the First Lady is ever likely to get. Elsewhere, the natives are restless. Martin Luther King Jr. is leading his troops towards the promise of a much better tomorrow. In short, the Camelot era is approaching its height. Now, you've been invited to a house party by none other than Paul Newman, one of the major stars from classic Hollywood. You dress up in the best clothes you have, you may even buy a new tuxedo or a brand new evening gown to shame the competition. Then, the moment you enter Mr. Newman's presumably not-so-humble abode, you've been given your quota of pots, wooden spoons, and whistles.

He clearly sees himself as quite the roast-master.

That's not a mistake. Paul Newman or maybe Joanne Woodward go around issuing what will be the ammunition to ridicule his introductory film, The Silver Chalice. Is this a challenge? Does he think so highly of his acting abilities to the point where he believes no one will have a chance to use the pots and pans? Not at all. You see, in Newman's eyes, The Silver Chalice was "the worst motion picture produced in the 1950s."

After watching a few scenes, you suddenly see why. Even Paul Newman, the illustrious star who gave the world excellent performances in Cat On a Hot Tin Roof and The Hustler, is very dead. He is Basil, a Greek pagan whose purpose is to see the face of Jesus and eventually convert to the fledgling Christian faith. I'm sure no one in the room finds his portrayal of religiosity as truthful. He was by no means a religious man and has said that he does not believe there is an afterlife (He was, however, a minister with the Universal Life Church and very charitable with his Newman's Own organization). With this information, the question might be asked, "Paul, why did you take this role?" 

The answer to the question may be a mystery, as he was a successful stage actor with credits such as Picnic and The Desperate Hours under his belt. Maybe he saw a chance to make the jump to Hollywood and took it, no questions asked. When examining the movie's cartoonish feel (I'm convinced that Jack Palance, the bad guy Simon the Magician, took his character to a heavy extreme because the whole thing played out as a ridiculous mess) and Paul Newman's later success, this would appear likely. 

After all, how bad could an adaptation of a massively successful novel, a hero's quest at that, be? Just picture the novelist turning over in his grave while you furiously slam pots and pans with the rest of Hollywood upper crust.

High Concept: Vague Wording at it's Best

All the buzz in Hollywood seems to be focused around two words, "High" and "Concept." By this, I mean the big studios are high on "high concept" movies. Gone are the days of the mid-budget crime pics, full of intricate details and snappy dialogue, and no longer do the romantic comedy-dramas stock the cinemactic multiplexes during the not-so-busy months. Producers are unwilling to take a chance on a film like the 1944 classic Laura, a simplistic idea that sparkles thanks to an excellent cast, great writing, and a top-notch director.

Wouldn't you fall in love with this picture, too?

Why won't they take a chance on such a movie? Easy, it isn't a "high concept" idea. There's not enough action or high-octane, testosterone fueled stunts to tease the audience with. In short, the story is too cerebral. It relies on carefully developed characters and tight plotting to keep the audience guessing. There's no room to turn it into a cheesy rom-com or a Michael Bay-esque romp filled with explosions and gratuitous shots of a supermodel's "goodies." Thank God for that.

Okay, I think it's time we moved on to actually discussing what "high concept" actually means. Other than a term thrown around by wannabe film experts to sound smart, it's "officially" defined as something that can be described in three sentences or less, preferably just one. The focus is largely on plot and action to give it mass appeal.

Although he didn't know it at the time he wrote Screenplay: The Foundations of Screenwriting, Syd Field may have given us the best description of what high concept is--"To create an idea, then...'pour' your characters into the action" (Field, 87-88). Idea, action, and then character in that order. No wonder Marvel and super-robots make a killing at the box office.
                                                    
If any of you see anything problematic or perhaps enlightening, go ahead and let me know. Also, a more technical explanation can be found at the Writer's Store.com article, "High Concept Defined Once and For All."