Article - Die Hard Dud (The disaster that was Die Hard 2)

 Last week, we looked at one of the greatest action movies ever made, a little indie flick called “Die Hard,” and discussed the numerous solid screenwriting choices that made it great. Today, we’re doing…well…the opposite. We’re discussing Die Hard 2, one of the worst (at least as far as the 90s were concerned) action movies out there, and the screenwriting choices that made it so bad. So here are ten ingredients you should never add to your own scripts, as they’ll most certainly taint the quality of the dish.

NO CONFLICT FOR JOHN MCCLANE
One of the most shocking choices in Die Hard 2 is that the main character has no unresolved personal conflict in the story. There’s no conflict John McClane has to emotionally resolve, either within himself or outside of himself. Remember all that emotion you felt in the first film? How you so badly wanted McClane to save his wife? That was born out of the unresolved conflict in their marriage. We wanted to see them reconcile. Here, there’s no unresolved conflict with McClane whatsoever, making this a purely surface-level endeavor. And boy does it feel that way. There isn’t an ounce of emotion in Die Hard 2’s entire running time. Take a look at how Star Wars tackled this. Han Solo’s conflict in the first movie was his selfishness (an inner conflict). He always chose himself above others. That conflict was resolved when he came back and saved Luke. In the second film, Han needed something new to battle. So the writers shifted the conflict over to Han’s unresolved relationship with Leia. Are they or aren’t they going to get together? As a result, Han’s character was just as compelling. Needless to say, the reason Han was so forgettable in Return Of The Jedi was because there was no unresolved conflict left. Ditto for Die Hard 2.

NO MORE UNDERDOG
Staying with McClane’s character, remember one of the main things that made him so compelling in the first film? He was the underdog. As I always say on this blog, EVERYBODY LOVES AN UNDERDOG. In Die Hard 2, McClane is a celebrity. He’s actually the opposite of an underdog. As a result, we’re not rooting for him nearly as much. We actually expect him to prevail, which is boring.

TOO MUCH PLOT
Part of the beauty of Die Hard is its simplicity. We understand the rules. We understand the players. Everything is clearly laid out. In contrast, Die Hard 2 goes plot-fucking-crazy with its story. There are way too many factions to keep track of (McClane, Airport security, Tower Control, the bad guys, the foreign military leader, the army, Dweeblezorp the Basement Guy) and way too many motivations within each of those factions to keep track of. Not only does this require a full 40 minutes of screenplay time to set up, but it prevents us from getting to know the key characters better so we can care about them. This is one of the principal fallouts of overplotting, is that it takes time away from character development. If we don’t develop our characters, nobody’s going to care about them. That little problem I had with McClane not having any unresolved conflict? I wonder if that’s because they didn’t think they had enough “time.” Of course, had they not overplotted their movie, they would’ve had plenty of time to explore the character.

DE-CONTAINING THE CONTAINER
One of the great things about contained thrillers is that your character is stuck. Him being stuck is a key piece that makes the drama work because it generates an exciting dramatic question: Will he make it out? In Die Hard 2, that element has been discarded and our main character has free reign to go anywhere he wants. Obviously, not every action movie has to be contained, but when we realize McClane can go anywhere (and he does go anywhere – at one point he’s driving around on a snowmobile for God’s sakes) it feels like a cheat and it confuses us. I think if they would’ve set this up as an uncontained film, we may have been more accepting of the decision. But the movie sneakily tries to play both sides of the fence, acting as if it’s a contained thriller, yet allowing characters to go wherever they want. So when you’re writing your own movie, make sure this is clear.

MOVIE LOGIC
While Die Hard 2 tries desperately to make its far-flung terrorist plot believable, the reality is, it doesn’t make sense. Everything hinges on you believing that these planes will just continue to circle until they run out of fuel, made somewhat plausible by the fact that the fake controllers keep telling them they’ll be able to land soon. But the truth is, this isn’t realistic. There are dozens of airports within the Dulles area that the planes can land on with less than 20 minutes of fuel. And if a plane is nearing that critical level of low fuel, they’re going to find another runway. But even if you say, “Carson, who cares about that shit? It’s a fun action movie. Just go with it.” The problem with this extremely complicated plot is that the screenplay has to spend pages upon pages explaining and filling in all these logic holes so that you believe it. Had the plot been simpler and more believable, that time could’ve been spent on…oh I don’t know…character development!

TAKE ADVANTAGE OF TIME
When movie-goers come out of a movie reciting that old adage, “I could write something better than that,” they’ve usually just walked out of a Hollywood sequel. The reason sequels tend to be bad is because the writing period is rushed. It’s hard to write a fully fleshed out compelling story with original twists and turns in a matter of months. The Matrix had over 40 drafts. The Sixth Sense was in the mid-twenties. Look at what happened to those same screenwriters when they had half that time. Or – shudder – a fourth of that time (Ahem, Lady In The Water). The movies were more confusing, less interesting, and less original. That’s not coincidence. So take advantage of that one commodity you have that the big timers don’t – time – to craft the richest, most detailed, most cleverly plotted, most unique screenplay possible.

THE VILLAIN IS BORING AS HELL
From the very first moment the villain in Die Hard 2 appears on screen, I knew the movie was screwed. Naked doing tai-chi in a hotel room?? Give me a break. These gimmicky introductions are usually an attempt to mask a lame thinly constructed villain. The only exception is if their actions teach us something about their character. This moment doesn’t teach us anything. It’s just a cheap setup for him using karate against McClane later on the plane’s wing. Readers see through gimmicks. They know when you’re compensating for a weakness. Do the extra homework and figure out who your villain is (what he wants, what he fears, what his weaknesses are, what pushed him to this point) and push yourself until each one of those choices is unique – not standard bad guy staples. You do that and you won’t need your villain doing naked thai-chi at the beginning of your movie.

SO HOW DO YOU MAKE US HATE YOUR VILLAIN?
There’s usually a moment in every action film where the villain will do something to make you hate him, to ensure that you’ll want to see him go down. Let’s compare that moment in the two Die Hards. In the first, Hans coldly kills Takagi, a man we’ve spent a little time with and have begun to like. As a result, his murder hits us on a personal level. Contrast that with Die Hard 2, where the villain (I still don’t remember Mr. Boring’s name) kills an entire plane full of passengers. Now to the inexperienced writer, this might seem like the better choice. More people dead = bad guy badder. But they would be wrong. Cause we didn’t know a single passenger on that plane. They were faceless nobodies and meant nothing to us. The much more personal killing of a single man hit us harder because we cared. Remember that for you next “bad guy moment.”

CLEARLY LAID OUT ACTION SCENES
Every action scene should be a mini-story. There should be a setup, some conflict, and a resolution. Key here is the setup. You want the reader to understand the geography, the motivations, what’s at stake, and each character’s goal. Die Hard handles this masterfully, in part because its locations are always contained and therefore easy to understand. When McClane is up on the roof with all the hostages and realizes it’s about to blow up with an FBI helicopter sniper shooting at him because they thinks he’s a bad guy, it’s an exciting scene because we understand all the variables involved. We can participate in the problem as well as the solution (problem: people standing on huge bomb. Solution: get them out of there without getting killed yourself). In Die Hard 2, almost every time the good guys and bad guys meet, it’s an open area with no rules or clearly laid out motivations. The scenes quickly dissolve into a bunch of people shooting at each other as much as possible, which is why nearly all of the action scenes in Die Hard 2 are boring.

MAIN CHARACTER ISN’T NEEDED
Probably the single biggest failure of this screenplay is that John McClane isn’t needed. The great thing about the first Die Hard is that they had no choice but to deal with McClane. That was the beauty of it. They were stuck with this two-bit wild card New York cop who they felt was doing more harm than good. But they couldn’t stop him because he was inside the building. Here, they don’t need McClane at all, yet he still finds his way into every major meeting and conversation. It’s totally convoluted, feels false, and defies all believability. Granted he does have a strong goal (save his wife), but nobody on the ground has any reason or motivation to deal with him. So if you’re going to write your hero into a scenario, make sure it makes sense!

Obviously you can’t make the same movie twice. And I respect them for trying something different and bigger with Die Hard 2. But bigger means more complicated. And unless you have the time to figure out and hone those additional complex story threads, you’re shooting yourself in the foot. Or, more appropriately, running around a glass filled room without shoes on. Die Hard 2 is the perfect reminder that bigger and better rarely go hand in hand. And if you’re going to aim for the moon, make sure you’ve done enough research so that when launch day comes, you don’t blow yourself up.

The Guard

Genre: Cop-Drama
Premise: An unorthodox Irish policeman with a confrontational personality is teamed up with an uptight FBI agent to investigate an international drug-smuggling ring.
About: The Guard was written and directed by John Michael McDonagh. This is his first directing effort. McDonagh’s one other credit is for writing 2003’s “Ned Kelly.” The Guard stars Don Cheadle and Brendan Gleeson and was purchased at Sundance this year by Sony Pictures Classics. John Michael is the brother of Martin McDonagh, whose film “In Bruges” became an instant cult classic. The two started their career together, with John writing and Martin directing a short film called “Six Shooter” that starred none other than…Brendan Gleeson.
Writer: John Michael McDonagh
Details: 109 pages – shooting draft (This is an early draft of the script. The situations, characters, and plot may change significantly by the time the film is released. This is not a definitive statement about the project, but rather an analysis of this unique draft as it pertains to the craft of screenwriting).

Since I put the word out that I was reviewing this script, I’ve been surprised at the nearly one dozen e-mails I’ve received celebrating it. The consensus seems to be that this is really good. Either this isn’t my choice of paint or I'm at the wrong house because while The Guard certainly has its moments, I felt that the story gets lost in too many places and, when it’s all said and done, has too bland of a plot.

Location: The west coast of Ireland.

Where we meet: Gerry Boyle

You wouldn’t call Boyle a corrupt cop. But if he spots a bag of coke in the pocket of a murdered civilian, he’ll stuff it in his own pocket and save it for a rainy day. That pretty much sums up Boyle. He has no problem mixing business with pleasure. Boyle is the heart and soul of The Guard, the blood pumping through its veins. When he’s doing his thing (which consists mainly of giving his unfiltered opinion of you) we’re dancing at the most exclusive party. When he’s not, the script is deader than a body once rigor mortis sets in.

Since Boyle’s way of doing his job is so, um, “specific,” he’s none too pleased to be set up with a new partner, city boy Aiden McBride. McBride’s greener than an Irish postcard and his dogged idealism bugs the hell out of Boyle. It sure is a buzzkill when your partner won’t let you get trashed before the day’s rounds begin.

But the partnership doesn’t last long. After looking into a possible serial killer murder, poor McBride is gunned down by some nasty Irish criminals during a routine traffic stop. Boyle’s later visited by McBride’s wife, who’s concerned that he never came home, and now instead of just having to worry about this murder, he’s got to worry about finding his annoying partner (who he doesn’t know is dead).

During this time, a drug task force blows into town led by FBI agent Wendell Everett, an African American. Apparently there’s a boat with half a billion dollars worth of cocaine on it that’s going to land somewhere along the coast of Ireland in the next few days. They need all local cops to keep a look out

This is pretty much the breaking point for Boyle. For a man who’d prefer to build a bed under his desk, a la George Costanza in Seinfeld, and sleep all day, this is turning out to be quite the heavy workload.

Eventually, Boyle and McBride’s wife start to hang out and he finds out that McBride was gay and the marriage was for a green card, which leaves the door open for a little romantic soiree. But McBride is devoid of emotion and uninterested in human contact, preferring to fuck hookers a la Charlie Sheen over, you know, opening up about his feelings n stuff.

It only gets more frustrating when Boyle’s forced to deal with Everett and his obsession with this coke boat. He takes it out on Everett with his racially charged observations, assuming that since Everett is black he grew up in the hood and probably danced with a gang or four.

But it turns out Everett grew up privileged, receiving an Ivy-League education and making his way up the ranks cause he’s damn good at his job. The two butt heads in their approach (Everett’s by the book, Boyle blows the book up) but need to work together to take down these drug dealers, a job that gets harder by the day considering how much corruption dominates the small Irish town.

The Guard, for me, didn’t do enough differently with the genre, had too un-compelling of a central case, and didn’t maximize the conflict between its leads enough. Combined with a host of other questionable choices, the script didn’t click for me.

It starts with McBride, Boyle’s initial partner. I have no idea why this character is in the script. He shows up for five minutes, dies, and then we’re supposed to be interested in the search for him even though a) we never knew him, b) he was a boring character c) our main character has no interest in finding out what happened to him, and d) it has absolutely nothing to do with the main plot.

The truth is, we didn’t need this character. He has nothing to do with the story. The first character to show up should’ve been Everett and we should’ve dived right into the drug-plot. We already had another death (the supposed serial killer murder) to look into in order to keep the plot complex. McBride, then, only serves to take up precious screenplay real estate.

I’m assuming his death was a device to introduce his wife into Boyle’s life, so we have a romantic interest. Not only were there other options for doing this, but the wife doesn’t really affect Boyle’s life anyway. Their interactions are short and devoid of conflict, so to go through all that trouble just to get this girl in the story who’s barely involved anyway and has little to offer in Boyle’s character transformation…I just didn’t see the point of it.

Next, I didn’t like the wishy-washy relationship with Everett. There’s nothing really forcing these two to interact with one another. They’re part of two different factions investigating two different things. This forces the script to have to come up with situations where the two would talk, but they never pop off the page because we know they’ll be free and clear of each other within ten minutes. These movies tend to work best when the people involved are forced to work together so in my opinion, the solution to this is simple. Drop McBride and have Everett come in and be Boyle's partner from the get-go. It’s so obvious it’s painful.

The thing that really works for The Guard is the character of Boyle. He’s got two major things going for him as a fictional character. First, he says and does what’s on his mind. He has no filter. Those characters are always fun to watch. Also, he’s borderline corrupt. He abuses his power, and the irony of someone who’s supposed to be protecting us, taking advantage of us, is a compelling one and a dynamic we’re inherently drawn to (check out The Shield as an example).

My problem with these kinds of characters is that they work for awhile because they’re fun to watch, but at a certain point, they’re going to be called on to “save the day” and unless you’ve built a carefully nuanced transformation into the character over the course of the story, then them all of a sudden wanting to “do the right thing,” will feel artificial, and that’s exactly what happens here.

(Spoilers) Boyle finds out where the boat is landing and decides to go down by himself, a la Die Hard Bruce Willis, and single-handedly take out the entire group of bad guys.

Why? I don’t know.

He hasn’t given a shit for 100 pages. Why does he all of a sudden give a shit now? Yeah they killed his partner but he didn’t even know his partner. He has no reason to do this other than that it’s the climax of the movie and you need your hero to be involved in the climax somehow.

Needless to say, I wasn’t a fan of the script. I thought Boyle was a good character and that was about it. Motivations needed to be stronger. Needless plot points needed to be stripped. Relationships needed to be solidified. It’ll be interesting to see what Gleeson does with this character. No doubt he’ll have some fun and make this film watchable, but I can’t recommend the screenplay.

[ ] What the hell did I just read?
[x] wasn’t for me
[ ] worth the read
[ ] impressive
[ ] genius

What I learned: Use action to create a history between two people, not conversation. One of the problems I had with The Guard was that all of Boyle’s and Everett’s scenes together were them sitting around talking about their pasts. It was boring. Therefore, when they’re forced to team up in the end, you didn’t have any sense of history between the two. It was like I barely knew who these two were in relation to each other. So instead of trying to create history via dialogue, put your characters in situations that require action. Look at Heat. Remember the famous bank robbery scene where they’re out in the middle of downtown L.A. firing AK-47s at police officers? You really got the sense that those guys WENT THROUGH SOMETHING TOGETHER, so that later on, you felt the history between them. I didn’t see that here so the final pairing between Boyle and Everett lacked depth. It was almost like they were meeting for the first time. In short, SHOW don’t TELL. The Guard could’ve benefited from this.

Lost For Words - Filmwonk Review

As frequent readers of the site know, one of the more insightful commenters on Scriptshadow is Filmwonk (now Bohdicat). I don’t always have time to read through every comment, but he’s one commenter I always check in on, as he often points out stuff that I either didn’t have the time to get into or didn’t even think of altogether. So today Filmwonk is getting the full red carpet treatment and not just giving us a comment, but writing an entire review. Make sure to make him feel welcome.

Genre: Romantic Comedy

Premise: A hugely popular American movie star living in London meets an alluring Chinese actress but can only communicate with her via her flirtatious, equally attractive British translator.

About: Writer James Curtis is the younger brother of Richard Curtis, who also had a hand in this script. Tom Cruise and Hugh Jackman have been mentioned as candidates for the male lead. Chinese actress and über-cutie Ziyi Zhang ("Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon") was at one time reported to have signed on as the female lead.

Writer: James Curtis, with Richard Curtis as "script editor"

Details: 114 pages. Dated November 2, 2006. (This is an early draft of the script. The situations, characters, and plot may change significantly by the time the film is released. This is not a definitive statement about the project, but rather an analysis of this unique draft as it pertains to the craft of screenwriting).

Hello everyone, Bohdicat here. When Carson asked me to step in with a guest review, I jumped at the chance to review "Lost for Words," a romantic comedy set in contemporary London. While the script is credited to James Curtis, it was the second credit on the title page - "Script Editor - Richard Curtis" - that immediately caught my eye.

As most of you probably know, Richard Curtis is a major player in the world of British film and television. He was one of the principal writers on the "Black Adder" TV series and is a co-creator of the iconic Mr. Bean. On the cinema side, he wrote the successful "Four Weddings and a Funeral" and "Notting Hill," each of which reportedly became the most successful British films ever produced (although that honor has since been eclipsed by, of all things, the Abba musical "Mama Mia"). Curtis followed those up with an even bigger hit, "Love Actually," which he also directed. Curtis also founded Comic Relief, a charity that has raised millions to help the world's poor.

However, this isn't the work of Richard Curtis, but rather his younger brother James (better known as Jamie). Jamie's credits aren't nearly as extensive as his brother's, but it seems he's been quietly working to establish a writing career of his own. While IMDB lists his only writing credit as "additional writing" on the 1997 stinker "Spice World," the fact that older brother Richard had a hand in this script was enough to interest me.

The story concerns Charlie Cooper, a phenomenally successful American film star living in London. He's the kind of guy who can't go anywhere without being stalked by paparazzi. Picture an unmarried Johnny Depp or Brad Pitt, or Tom Cruise at the height of his popularity (before the couch-jumping episode and the fake wife). Yet, for all his success, Charlie is one lonely guy. Without an entourage of friends, he lives a fairly empty and dissolute life when he's not off making blockbuster movies. He lives in a posh hotel suite, dresses like a slob, and basically does whatever he wants, even if that means closing down the enormous Tate Modern Museum so he can take in a Mark Rothko exhibit without being molested by adoring fans. And while intimacy is not something he understands completely, he's not above bedding the occasional female admirer - and there seems to be no shortage of those.

To his credit, Charlie is a pretty good egg. For one thing, he has no illusions about the quality of his films. He knows they're big on flash and short on sophistication, and he's more or less okay with that - especially as he doesn't consider himself a particularly good actor. In fact, while serving as a presenter at an independent film awards ceremony, he good-naturedly pokes fun at his own image.

It's at the party following this awards ceremony that Charlie meets Chinese actress Lin Zhen. Zhen is a huge star in her own country of over a billion inhabitants, but much less well-known in the western world. The first thing Charlie notices about her is her remarkable beauty. The second thing he notices is that she speaks no English. The third thing he notices is Zhen's ever-present interpreter, Helen. In sharp contrast to Zhen, Helen is blonde, British, and very attractive in her own right. Charlie quickly falls into the rhythm of conversing with Zhen through Helen, and while their initial conversation is little more than idle chit-chat, he manages, perhaps inadvertently, to charm both women.

Later, as he prepares to leave the party, he sees Helen, now off-duty, on her way out. This leads to drinks at an exclusive club, which in turn leads to flirting, which in turn leads to the inevitable squeaking of the bedsprings back at Charlie's hotel suite. (Feel free to supply your own sound effects here.) The next day it's back to business as usual for both of them. For Charlie, this means doing promotional interviews for his latest big-budget film, "The Crown Jewels."

It's a big surprise, then, when he gets a call from Zhen's agent asking if he can meet her that evening to discuss appearing in a film she's planning to direct. Naturally Helen is there, and once again any conversation between Charlie and Zhen must pass through her. Surprisingly, Zhen confesses that the real reason she called Charlie was that she wants to go out with him - on a date - before returning to China at the end of the week. If this arouses any jealousy in Helen, she conceals it well. Zhen and Charlie do one of those "have your people call my people" things, and the evening ends with Charlie back at Helen's apartment, with more of the aforementioned squeaking of bedsprings.

Charlie soon finds himself serving as a tour guide to Zhen, who has asked to be shown some of London's famous sights. Of course, Helen is along as interpreter, although she obviously has said nothing to Zhen about having slept with Charlie. This is Charlie's first real opportunity to get to know Zhen and he comes away from the experience with an entirely new opinion of her. Zhen is smart, perceptive, opinionated, even funny... not at all what he expected. He may even be developing feelings for her, which makes the fact that he's been shagging her interpreter something of a problem.

A dinner is scheduled for the following evening, and both Zhen and Helen arrive dressed to kill. Over the course of a long dinner Zhen and Charlie discuss everything from family values to Charlie's checkered past, and as a result they start to establish a bond. Helen, for all her attempts to woo Charlie - and despite all the skin she's showing - senses correctly that she's being pushed out of the picture by her more glamorous movie-star employer. At the same time, Helen continues to be indispensable, as Zhen and Charlie have no way of communicating without her. Ironic, ain't it?

The following day, with his feelings for Zhen blossoming into something more than mere attraction, Charlie arranges to meet with her again. This time he insists she bring a different interpreter. He gets his wish, in the form of a large, bald Chinese gentleman with whom Charlie most assuredly will not be having sex. Charlie and Zhen spend a romantic afternoon in Hyde Park, culminating finally with a tender kiss - but sadly no squeaking bedsprings as Zhen must leave to attend an important dinner function. The upshot is that Charlie is now completely smitten with Zhen, and she with him... which leaves Helen out in the cold.

When Charlie is next able to see Zhen, it's on the eve of her departure for China. Helen, unavoidably, is on hand as interpreter, but Charlie decides to press on and profess his feelings to Zhen anyway. Here's where things get a bit tricky. When Charlie tells Zhen that he wants to find a way to continue seeing her, Helen tells her just the opposite, saying it would be "pointless" for them to see each other again. Out of spite, Helen uses her position as translator to effectively engineer a break-up between Charlie and Zhen that neither of them wants. Both Charlie and Zhen are led to believe that the other wants to end their relationship, and as a result both come away feeling devastated.

That night, Charlie dulls his pain by returning to his old ways and getting drunk. The following day brings a meeting regarding a new project, an animated film in which he'll voice the part of an evil sperm - yes, you heard that right - opposite Adam Sandler's "good" sperm. Charlie knows full well that it's a piece of crap, but it'll probably make a fortune.

In the meantime, Helen, seeing Zhen in emotional pain and having suffered a fit of conscience, confesses all to her - the shaggings AND her deliberate sabotage of her final conversation with Charlie. With Zhen packed and ready to fly back to China, she and Helen descend on the photo studio where is Charlie is posing for publicity photographs for (presumably) a last-ditch effort at reconciliation.

Normally this is where things would wrap up neatly, with Charlie confessing his undying love, Zhen forgiving Charlie's indiscretions, and Helen bowing gracefully out of the picture. But, as it happens, the photo shoot involves Charlie posing with a bevy of bikini-clad models. This may be unremarkable for a movie star of Charlie's stature, but to Zhen it's a glimpse of the sort of man she fears Charlie really is - shallow, self-absorbed, incapable of making a commitment. Charlie begs Zhen to stay, but she leaves anyway, heading directly for the airport.

Months pass. Charlie expands from summer blockbusters to more sophisticated independent films, but finds he's more miserable than ever. It seems like his brief experience with Zhen - which didn't even include getting laid - has left him a changed man.

Finally, he decides to take matters into his own hands. With a goofy waiter from a local Chinese take-out restaurant along as his interpreter, he flies to Beijing. He seeks out Zhen, who at the moment is both directing and appearing in a new film. Zhen is initially cool to the idea of reconciling, but with some tender persistence she begins to warm to it. With the help of a clever computer program that translates between English and Chinese, they begin a new dialogue - one that doesn't require bringing a third person into the mix. The film ends with Charlie carrying Zhen over the threshold of his big London house – a house he owns but has never lived in, because until now, it never felt like "home."

On Scriptshadow we've seen a number or scripts where the premise was strong but the execution fell short. Here we have just the opposite: a script where the execution is top-notch, but which is built around a premise that, in my view, leaves something to be desired. "Lost for Words" is a worthwhile read, but it falls short of being really good by the narrowest of margins.

Before I go any further I should mention that I am a great admirer of Richard Curtis. In particular, I think "Notting Hill" is one of the finest romantic comedies ever written; it literally changed my ideas about the genre and made me a Curtis fan for life. Believe me, it's not easy to criticize the work of someone whom you consider a master - or his baby brother, for that matter.

Considering how much I like "Notting Hill," it's odd to note how strikingly similar "Lost for Words" is to it, both in its premise and execution. It absolutely "feels" like a product of the Richard Curtis school of screenwriting, regardless of who wrote it. Unfortunately it also suffers greatly by comparison.

Now, romantic comedies are a different animal, and you can't judge them the same way you judge other genres. The central question is almost always something along the lines of "will he get the girl?" Instead of the fate of the free world or evisceration by zombies, there is usually no more than the happiness of the protagonists at stake... and that's okay.

That being said, a rom-com calls for a likeable protagonist. He may - and frequently does - have character flaws (what would "Annie Hall" be without Alvy's neuroses?) In fact, a protagonist may be downright annoying (think Jack Nicholson in "As Good As It Gets"). But on some elemental level we must still like him enough to want to see him succeed. So here's my first beef with "Lost for Words:" Charlie is hard to like.

Mind you, Charlie is hardly awful - he doesn't steal candy from babies or mistreat animals - but as a romantic protagonist he has a big strike against him, ironically, in that he has way too much going for him. He's handsome, famous, ridiculously rich, and women basically throw themselves at him on sight (the last woman who threw herself at me had hairy knuckles and an Adam's apple). It's hard to understand why I should care about someone who enjoys a life far beyond what I ever expect to achieve. In fact, as I read this, I kept thinking to myself "gee, I wish I had HIS problems."

I feel that Charlie needs something to balance out my perception of him as a person who has acquired much with very little effort but who gives nothing back in return. Imagine, for example, how different Charlie would seem if he supported a half-dozen orphanages in Africa, but did so anonymously. It would add a whole new dimension to his character.

Compounding this problem is the fact that the eventual object of Charlie's affection - once poor Helen has been discarded like yesterday's London Times - is also a person of great stature, a star known to a billion Chinese. Now, I realize that this criticism goes to the basic premise of the film, but hear me out. When I first read this, I was fairly certain that Helen - the British interpreter - would be the one to end up with Charlie, for the precise reason that she WASN'T rich or famous.

The pairing of a rich and powerful person with someone of lesser circumstances seems to be recurring theme in the Curtis universe but not here - consider Julia Roberts' movie star with Hugh Grant's bookshop owner in "Notting Hill," for example, or Hugh Grant's Prime Minister with Martine McCutcheon's tea-tray-toting Natalie. Right or wrong, I think audiences enjoy seeing someone move beyond their station, romantically speaking, whether that person is Cinderella or a workaday London interpreter. On the other hand, the idea that one famous actor would knock boots with another requires no stretch of the imagination whatsoever - it happens all the time.

 Rachel McAdams for Helen?

So, my second major issue with the script is that Charlie goes for the wrong girl - or at least a strong argument could be made to that effect. To address this the writers could give Helen some negative quality - a quality not immediately apparent, of course, but one that would come to the surface in due time - that makes her clearly the poorer choice. The trick would be to do this without making her into Cruella De Vil, for to do so would change the essential nature of the story too much. My suggestion would be to make her a bit of a bigot under the skin. Yes, she looks great and says all the right things in mixed company, but in private it turns out that she doesn't really care for the Chinese, or Black people, or gays, for that matter. It would be an interesting turn given the interracial nature of Charlie's romance with Zhen.

Finally, there's issue number three, which ties in directly with issue number two. Charlie's an American bloke. Zhen is Chinese. Neither speaks the other's language. How plausible is it that these two would fall in love - honest-to-gosh LOVE - if they couldn't even communicate without the aid of an interpreter? Even though I realize this story takes place in the rom-com universe and not the real world, I have a hard time accepting this. Note that in romantic comedies there's almost always some obstacle that separates the two principals and which must be overcome. Here it's the language difference (and to a lesser extent the cultural gap) that separates Charlie from Zhen. As a device this is less than ideal - first because it doesn't literally separate them (both are free to travel and spend time with each other, so in the most basic sense it doesn't separate them at all), and second, because there is an obvious solution (one or both of them could learn the other's language) but it's laborious and, well, just not very romantic. If this story took place in the 1950's, with Zhen under the thumb of that era's repressive Communist regime, one could imagine the real obstacles that would face our star-crossed lovers. Instead we have today's happy-thank-you-shop-at-Walmart Communists. It's enough to make you pine for the bad old days.

I have a few other quibbles. First, I think the fact that for almost the entire movie our romantic leads converse via an on-screen interpreter might make for a tiresome experience. (Or maybe this will play better than I am imagining it.)

Second, there's a small scene where one of Charlie's old friends from the U.S. shows up and begs him to commit to a movie he's trying to get financed. I'm not sure what purpose this scene is intended to serve, but it does nothing to illuminate Charlie's character or to move the plot along, so I don't know what it's doing there. Perhaps someone could enlighten me.

Third, the scene where Charlie visits with his parents, who have come to London to attend a convention, is neither fish nor fowl. Yes, Charlie has issues with his parents, but they're not serious enough to warrant deeper exploration or light-hearted enough to make for good comedy. Charlie seems to feel underappreciated simply because his parents acknowledge the achievements of his brother back in the States - whom Charlie points out "earns a hundredth of what I do." How petty is that statement? I think it's a fair bet that Charlie's parents do appreciate his achievements - he is one of the top actors in the world, after all. And if they don't... fuck 'em. When you make twelve million a picture, you can buy new parents.

Fourth, Charlie does something near the end of the script that seems so unwarranted that it stopped me dead in my tracks. He fires his trusted personal assistant, Karen, for no other reason than he feels annoyed by her honest response to a question. That, in my opinion, was a shitty thing to do, and for me it seriously compromised whatever good will Charlie had built up over the previous 98 pages.

Finally (and this is more of a general observation), the fact that Charlie seems to have no friends is something of a bummer. Again, using "Notting Hill" for comparison, consider how much Hugh Grant's friends contributed to that film. There's a memorable scene where Grant's character brings movie star Anna (played by Julia Roberts) to a homey dinner party given by his friends - and their reactions were priceless. And let's not forget Grant's odd Welsh roommate, who got some of the film's biggest laughs. There is no such constellation of friends in "Lost for Words," with the net effect being that it's simply not as funny as it should be.

So why do I give this a "worth the read" instead of a "wasn't for me?" Honestly, I was torn. I initially intended to give this the poorer grade, but after reading it through a second time - I had a review to write, after all - I started to see a lot of subtle touches that I appreciated as being the work of a fine writer - or maybe two. In the end, while "Lost for Words" failed to engage me emotionally (as I feel a romantic comedy should), it is a well-crafted script with much to recommend in it. To use a clumsy metaphor, it's like a Ferrari with an engine that doesn't fire on all twelve cylinders. It's not working now, but if someone with the right tools and the right know-how would just get under the hood and fix it, the result could be something wonderful.

[ ] What the hell did I just read?

[ ] wasn’t for me

[x] worth the read

[ ] impressive

[ ] genius

What I learned: It's not enough to have good writing skills if your premise is shaky. Make sure your premise is bulletproof before wasting months writing your script. Take the time to create multidimensional characters and make sure their actions are motivated by character and not arbitrary. And if you're writing a romantic comedy, please make your protagonist someone your audience will really root for.

10 Things You Can Learn From The Greatest Contained Action Thriller Of All Time

Die Hard. Some people say Jaws changed the way movies were made. Others say Star Wars. But an argument can be made that Die Hard had just as much of an influence on movies as both of those films, maybe not so much culturally, but definitely in how studios approached the tent pole film. The irony, of course, is that those same studios used Die Hard as their action template without realizing what made it great. Yeah, it has splosions. Yeah, Bruce Willis was perfect casting. Yeah, the action scenes were great. But the reason Die Hard is so awesome is because of its script.

So I decided to go back to the granddaddy of contained (action) thrillers and see if I couldn’t learn a few things from it. It didn’t take long. Die Hard is chock full of screenwriting tips if you pay attention, and I’m happy to highlight ten of them for you here.

BE CREATIVE WITH YOUR TICKING TIME BOMB
Every action movie should have a ticking time bomb. But that doesn’t mean incorporating one of those cheap digital timers with a big flashing “120 minutes” on it. Instead – just like every element in your screenplay – you should look for a fresh alternative. Here, the ticking time bomb is the seven locks to the safe the computer expert is hacking. It’s a clever countdown device we’ve never quite seen before (or since) and that’s why it works so well.

SMART INCORPORATION OF EXPOSITION
Most action writers think that the blood-soaked testosterone-fueled action genre gives them license to unload exposition onto the page like a garbage truck does garbage. “The audience won’t care,” they argue. “They just want to see explosions.” Errrr…wrong! Bad exposition eliminates suspension of disbelief, which in turn makes all those “explosion” scenes less exciting. So don’t fall into this trap. Be smooth in the way you unveil exposition. Take the scene in Die Hard where McClane is in the limo. We have to get some key exposition out about John’s on-the-rocks marriage before we get to the building. A lazy writer might’ve had an unprovoked McClane start rambling on about his broken marriage. Instead, the Die Hard writers make McClane resistant, practically “forced” into giving up details to his overly nosey limo driver. In fact, the limo driver is revealing (with his guesses) almost as much about McClane’s marriage as McClane is. “You mean you thought she wouldn't make it out here and she'd come crawling on back, so why bother to pack?.” “Like I said Argyle, you’re fast.” It’s little details like this that elevate an action script.

ONE-LINERS
Ahhh, the snappy action one-liner. An 80s film staple. But no film has ever approached Die Hard in this category. In fact, 95% of one-liners you hear in action movies these days are groan-worthy. So how does Die Hard still hold up? Simple. McClane’s one-liners stem from his situation, NOT from a writer wanting to add a funny line. When you watch Die Hard and hear McClane say, “Yippee-ki-yay, motherfucker,” you genuinely get the sense that he’s trying to add levity to the situation. He’s using humor to deflect the seriousness of his predicament. In other words, he’s not a mouthpiece for a clever line thought up by a writer, which is what every single one of these one-liners has been since Die Hard came out (please see The Expendables for numerous examples).

THE BAD GUY IS A WORTHY ADVERSERY
Hans is one of the greatest bad guys of all time. How can we learn from him to make our own bad guys memorable? The key to Hans working is that he’s a worthy adversary to John McClane. He isn’t some paint-by-the-numbers thug. Die Hard is one of the few action films I can remember where they made the villain as smart as the hero. Not just on paper. But you actually SEE IT. We see the FBI cutting the last lock to the safe, the only lock Hans didn’t have access to – all part of his plan. We see Hans pretending to be a hostage when he runs into McClane. By doing this, the audience has real doubts about whether our hero can outsmart this guy, which in turn pulls us in even more.

SOMETIMES THE STORY DICTATES WE DO THINGS WE DON’T WANT TO DO
Ideally, especially in an action movie, you’d want to introduce your main character with some sort of action scene that gives us insight into who they are. Unfortunately, the direction of the story may not afford you this opportunity. In Die Hard, a lot of the key things we learn about McClane early on are through dialogue. On the plane with the other passenger, in the limo with Argyle, on his conversation with his wife when he gets there. Sure, it would have been nicer if we could’ve *shown* these things instead of been *told* about them. But the situation is what it is. You need to get your main character to the building and you need the audience to know some things before he gets there. If a similar setup is required in your movie, embrace it and do the best you can with the situation. Forced to tell something through dialogue? Make it as seamless and interesting as you possibly can and move on.

DON’T FORGET TO SHOW WHAT YOUR HERO IS FIGHTING FOR
In 110 pages of story, it’s easy to forget what your hero is fighting for. In this case, McClane is trying to save his wife. If, then, we don’t see his wife for sixty minutes, we start to forget what his ultimate motivation is. In Die Hard, around the mid-point, Holly goes to Hans and asks him if she can get a couch for her pregnant friend and bathroom breaks for the rest of the hostages. It’s a small and seemingly insignificant scene, but it reminds us and reignites our passion for why John McClane must succeed.

ONE OF THE BEST SCENES YOU CAN WRITE
One might argue that the most memorable scene in Die Hard is when Hans pretends to be a hostage. Part of the reason we love this scene so much is because it’s such a clever move by our villain. But this is actually a setup for a scene that works almost every time you use it in a screenplay: We the audience know something that our main character doesn’t - that he’s in danger - and there’s nothing we can do to help him. The tension this creates in a scene – the helplessness we feel - works on an audience almost every time, so if you have the opportunity to use it, do so. Just make sure we like your hero. Obviously, if we don’t, we won’t be too worried when he’s seconds away from getting a bullet in the chest.

CHARACTER GOALS UP THE WAZOO
There are numerous character goals in Die Hard driving the story. That’s why, even though this is just a contained action film, it feels a lot more complicated and elaborate. McClane is trying to save his wife. McClane is trying to contact the police. Hans is trying to open the safe. Hans is trying to kill McClane. Hans is trying to find the detonators. The reporter’s trying to get the story. The FBI is trying to stop the terrorists. Al is trying to help McClane get out alive. Everybody’s got something to do in this movie and whenever they achieve what they’re trying to do, the writers give them something new to do. If too many characters run out of pressing things to do in an action script, put a fork in your screenplay, cause it’s done.

THINGS GET WORSE FOR OUR HERO AS THE SCRIPT GOES ON
In every action script, you want it to get tougher on your hero the closer he gets to the finish line. McClane’s feet are heavily cut, making it difficult for him to walk. Hans figures out that Holly is John’s wife and takes her hostage, making it more difficult to save her. In the final confrontation, McClane’s only got two bullets left, making his escape unlikely. Keep stacking the odds against your hero as he gets closer to achieving his goal.

DON’T PUSH YOUR LUCK
I’ve been slurping the Die Hard kool-aid all article. In parting, I have to take one shot at the film. There’s a famous line in a Kenny Rogers song that goes, “Know when to fold’em.” At a certain point, you’ve gotten everything you’ve needed out of your screenplay. When that happens, it’s time to say “The End.” In Die Hard, there’s a really cheesy forced moment in the final scene where Terrorist #1 bursts out of the building and Sergeant Al shoots him. It was one beat too many and almost ruined an extremely satisfying ending. You always want to leave your audience wanting more. Resist that “one last unnecessary moment” and type “The End” instead.

And that’s that. Now before I leave, I want to pose a question to you guys, cause the truth is, I’m not sure what the answer is. Die Hard has one of the most cliché moments in all of action films in its finale. Bruce Willis points a gun at our villain who’s pointing a gun at our damsel in distress. Could you ask for a more obvious final scenario? And yet, I was riveted. I was terrified for Holly and I was scared that Willis wouldn’t be able to save her. Outside of the obvious, “We liked the characters,” can you explain why this moment, despite being the very definition of cliché, still worked?

And tune in next Thursday where I break down Die Hard 2 and give you 10 examples of what NOT to do in an action film.

Get Back

Genre: Comedy/Sci-Fi
Premise: A pair of Beatles fans stumble upon a time machine and seize the opportunity to go back in time and prevent Yoko Ono from meeting John Lennon.
About: Chris McCoy hasn’t broken into the “produced credit” category just yet, but he’s been pretty busy since he debuted on the 2007 Black List with this screenplay, doing lots of assignment work and having a bucket of projects in development. Get Back has garnered some heat lately with Mark Waters (Mean Girls, The Spiderwick Chronicles) attaching himself as director and setting a tentative start date of June, 2011.
Writer: Chris McCoy
Details: 115 pages – the Black List 2007 draft (This is an early draft of the script. The situations, characters, and plot may change significantly by the time the film is released. This is not a definitive statement about the project, but rather an analysis of this unique draft as it pertains to the craft of screenwriting).

I took note of Get Back a couple of years ago when I read the premise. Could it be? Let it be? A time travel comedy that actually sounded worthy of taking on Back To The Future? My hopes were quickly dashed though when I saw the writer. McCoy had written one of my least favorite scripts of that year, Good Looking. Although an original concept, the execution made me feel like the walrus. From what I’d read of his, I just didn’t see him being able to explore this concept in an original way.

But I decided to take a chance on Get Back anyway and boy am I glad I did. It looks like this is the same situation we were discussing last week. The difference in quality between a spec script (Get Back) and assignment work (Good Looking) is night and day. You can see the passion on the page here that you just didn’t see in that script.

20-something Ted Archer works in a record store. He’s a bit of a hipster, but not in an annoying way. He just loves the way music used to be made and the way people used to listen to it. Even if he won the lottery tomorrow, he wouldn’t change a thing about his life. He’d still be in here every day, listening to the great songs of yesteryear and selling albums, itunes be damned.

Peruvian Piero Chacon, Ted’s best friend, isn’t much different, but to add insult to injury, he’s so stuck in the world of yesteryear that women won’t even look at him. They don’t understand the clothes he wears, the words he uses, the things he likes. This man belongs in a first class cabin on Pan Am airlines in 1969, smoking a cigarette and not having a care in the world – not in Snooki-dominated 2010.

To demonstrate just how weird these two are, they’ve spent the last couple of years looking for a rumored spaceship prop from some 1970’s funk band who ditched it after a concert. It’s said to be in a nearby forest, and Piero and Tim are going to cover every square foot of that forest until they find it.

Imagine their shock when they finally come upon it! And imagine their additional shock when they find a strange dashboard on the inside with destination years on it. Holy shit, Ted and Piero have just found a time machine!

The two debate the ramifications of this find, and pontificate on the most valid uses for it. After agreeing that “killing baby Hitler” would be too difficult, they both agree that the single most horrible thing that happened in history is Yoko Ono meeting John Lennon and breaking up the Beatles. So Tim’s journey is set. He’s going to go back to London in 1966 and prevent John Lennon from meeting Yoko Ono!

So back they go, but get there too late, and must watch as the most fateful meeting in history occurs right in front of their eyes. What can they possibly do now? It doesn’t take Ted long to figure it out. In order to prevent this relationship from proceeding, he will need to get Yoko Ono to fall in love with him. Ted uses every trick in the book (i.e. telling her he’s predicting something called “the internet,” which fascinates Yoko) and soon the competition is on.

Unfortunately John Lennon gets so bummed out by Yoko’s interest in Ted that he decides to quit the Beatles.  The guys, via browsing through Piero’s ipod, realize that this destroys half the Beatles' catalogue and nearly destroys the entire future of music.

As a last ditch effort, Ted has to find a way to have Yoko fall out of love with him and back in love with John, all by the time a young James Brown plays his first funk concert, which is the only fuel that can send the spaceship back to the future. Complicating all this is that Ted actually starts to like Yoko himself!

Okay, truth?

This is a shameless copy of Back To The Future.

But dammit if it isn't a blast.

If I could only use one word to describe “Get Back” it would be “fun.” The script is fun. It doesn’t do anything exceptional and every choice made only helps you realize just how genius Back To The Future was, but this is just different enough from that film to get you your Back To The Future fix and still feel like you’re experiencing something new.

First, I was surprised at how clever the script was. When I first considered the idea, I didn’t know if it had legs. I figured Ted and Piero would get to London and go through a bunch of pratfall-like hijinx to push John and Yoko apart and then…that would be it. So I loved that John and Yoko got together right away and that Ted’s only choice of stopping them was to win Yoko over – the one person he hated more than anyone. *And* that he had to go against John Lennon – the one person he loved more than anyone.

I actually thought McCoy could’ve done more with this. Yoko’s really weird. And Ted’s present day annoying girlfriend was really conservative. If we could’ve stressed that Ted needed to find someone as “out there” and unconventional as himself, and Yoko could’ve filled that role, and he really genuinely fell in love with her, that could’ve made things really interesting in the end, when he has to go home. The way it stands, he only sorta falls for Yoko, keeping the stakes low and making their break-up at the end way too easy on him.

Actually, the entire ending is pretty clumsy and makes you appreciate just how perfectly constructed Back To The Future is. For example, instead of the lightning bolt scene, the spaceship is fueled by “funk.” This is pretty well set up and McCoy does as much as he can with it, but it still feels awfully clunky when he has to go to this James Brown concert with a spaceship propped on the stage and wait for enough of this mythical funk to fuel the ship so he can jump back to the present day.

Piero also gets short shrift here. I loved that we had a Peruvian lead in a script (don’t think I’ve seen that before) but he’s basically relegated to giving the movie something to cut to while we set up the next beat in Ted’s storyline. His romantic storyline also develops way too late, although I did like how it ended.

Trying to walk in the shadow of one of the best constructed screenplays of all time is not easy. I’ve read a lot of really bad time travel comedies hoping to find the next BTTF. Hot Tub Time Machine, for example, was nothing short of embarrassing. This is a thousand times better than that. It just needs some tuning up on the details, particularly the ending. And Ted could use some beefing up too. What we liked about Marty was that he was a dreamer. He wanted it all. And we wanted to see him get it. Ted’s a little more subdued, his dreams more down to earth, and as a result, he lacks a lot of the energy that made Marty so fun. Then again, you don’t want to make the exact same movie so maybe it’s better this way. This is a really fun little script that has a ton of potential – potential it may have fulfilled in the three years since McCoy wrote the original draft. Let’s hope so cause this definitely needs to become a movie.

[ ] What the hell did I just read?
[ ] wasn’t for me
[x] worth the read
[ ] impressive
[ ] genius

What I learned: Does your title only sound clever once people read your script? Or does your title stand on its own? “Get Back” is a boring title if we know nothing about the concept. I would never pick this script up off a pile. Here’s the thing though. When you read the script, you realize the title’s actually quite clever. The problem is, *you have to read the script to realize that*. I’m okay with a writer doing this as long as they’re aware of it. But if you want to give your script a better chance of getting read, make sure the title is exciting on its own, not dependent on the read.

Also, check out my breakdown for the Back To The Future 2 script that never was here.  

Extremely Loud And Incredibly Close

Genre: Drama
Premise: A young boy goes on a journey through New York City to find the truth about how his father, who disappeared in 9/11, died.
About: Based on the book by Jonathan Safran Foer, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close was adapted by Eric Roth, who won the Oscar for Best Adapted Screenplay for Forrest Gump in 1994. He also co-wrote the screenplays for The Insider (1999), Munich (2005), and The Curious Case of Benjamin Button (2008), all of which were nominated for Oscars. Roth was born in New York to a studio executive and a film producer. He got his masters from UCLA Film School. In a side note about Roth, he is one of the unfortunate group of investors in the Madoff Ponzi scheme, and has admitted to losing all of his retirement money in the scam. Tom Hanks and Sandra Bullock star in “Extremely Loud.” 12 year old Thomas Horn, who won Jeopardy Kids Week in 2010, will be playing Oskar.
Writer: Eric Roth (based on the novel by Jonathan Safran Foer)
Details: 137 pages – March 17, 2010 draft (This is an early draft of the script. The situations, characters, and plot may change significantly by the time the film is released. This is not a definitive statement about the project, but rather an analysis of this unique draft as it pertains to the craft of screenwriting).

 Eric Roth

Eric Roth is very much an anomaly in screenwriting circles. He more or less does things his own way and doesn't subscribe to fancy-schmancy screenwriting theory. He simply sits down and writes what comes to mind. Once asked what a writer should do if they hit writer’s block, Roth unassumingly offered, “Change the weather in the scene. That’s what I do.”

Not exactly shocking. Roth’s adaptation of Forrest Gump bucks numerous screenwriting trends, and you’d be hard pressed to find much structure in Benjamin Button. This makes him a hero to some and a hack to others. The “do it yourselfers” love that they can point to a successful screenwriter who ignores convention. The “structuralists” argue that that’s the reason why his stories are all over the place.

I’ll never forget listening to an interview with Roth where he was asked why we hadn’t seen any spec screenplays from him. Roth was genuinely confused by the term. “Spec?” The interviewer actually had to explain what a spec screenplay was to Roth. He had no idea. After being told what it was, he explained that he had been paid to write a script right out of UCLA and has been working ever since. Eric Roth has never worked on an idea of his own. Make of that what you will.

Oskar Schell is a 10 year old boy who wishes his anus could talk. In other words, Oskar’s weird. He’s the kid who gets picked on at school, the guy snorting up jello through a straw. He’s a loner through and through.

Oskar’s best friend was actually his father. “Was” because his father was one of those unfortunate souls who died in the twin towers on 9/11. Now Oskar, his mother, and his grandmother (who lives in the adjacent building and who Oskar communicates with via walkie-talkie) are taking it one day at time, trying to make sense of how and why this happened.

Oskar, in particular, is devastated by his father’s absence, to the point where he combs international websites with videos of people jumping out of the towers, hoping he can break through the blurry pixelated dots to locate his father. Oskar needs to know how his father died that day so he can stop inventing his death. He needs closure.

One day, Oskar finds an old vase in his mother’s closet and accidentally breaks it, only to find a key inside accompanied by a letter to someone named “Black.” Believing that this key will open something that sheds light on that fateful day, Oskar plans to visit all 500 Blacks in New York City, to find out which one this envelope belongs to. If he can get a couple visits in every week, it should only take a few years.

During this time, Oskar meets his grandmother’s mystery tenant, an old man who can no longer speak. Oskar’s put off by his weirdness, but it’s not like he’s breaking any Facebook friend records, so he asks him to join him on his journey, and “The Renter” (as we come to know him) accepts the invitation.

In the meantime, Oskar has to come up with clever ways to escape his house without his mom finding out that he’s running around New York. The relationship between the two is strained at best. They always got along, but the death of Oskar’s father exposed that the link between them was bridged by him, and that without that bridge, they have nothing to talk about.

Oskar meets tons of characters along the way, including a guard who works at the Statue Of Liberty and lets him come up and look out at the city. But most of his search is met with shrugged shoulders and apologetic smiles. Despite Oskar looking for some grand answer to it all, he may have to accept that the answer may never come.

It’s rare that I just get to talk about how a script affected me b/c it’s rare that a writer is so good that they can make me forget I’m reading a story. But this script did it. In a lot of ways it reminded me of when I read The Social Network, where I just forgot about form and structure and character and got transported into another universe via Roth’s wizardry.

Roth has a strange way of writing that I can’t quite put my finger on, but it’s its singular and unique and when you’re reading him, you go with it. Maybe it’s because he ignores convention. I don’t know. But there’s some really heavy stuff here that Roth has to sell and you never once question it.

Now make no mistake, there are some key things in place to make this story work. First and foremost is the character goal driving the action. Oskar is trying to find out what this key opens, and the connection he has with his father, shown through flashbacks and voice over, makes that goal extremely strong. I mean, I don’t know if I’ve felt this much love between two characters in a screenplay before.

Also, Oskar is the ultimate underdog. He’s a 10 year old kid with no friends who lost the most important person in his life. I mean who’s not going to root for this guy? (Note that Roth’s other most popular character, Forrest Gump, was also one of the biggest underdogs in cinema history).

But it’s the details and the crushing scenes in this screenplay that will leave you thinking about “Extremely Loud” long after you’ve finished it. (Spoilers) First and foremost the final answering machine message scene. I mean, I can’t remember the last time I felt so devastated reading something. The explanation of what happened on that last call? Grab your Kleenex girls AND boys, as you’re going to need it.

And rewinding his father’s “possible” jump from the towers so that he’s going back up into the building instead of falling down? I mean wow. I needed to wipe away some man-tears after that one.

On a lighter note, one of the nice touches here is being able to see what Oskar imagines. The trailer on this movie is going to be phenomenal. We’re going to have helicopters carrying the world’s biggest blanket, dropping it on the twin towers. We’re going to have thousands of coffins with rockets attached to them shooting up into the sky. We’re going to have a half-man/half-robot waiting to talk to Oskar. We’re going to have the “Sixth Borough” out on its own island next to Manhattan. The imagination in this story is incredible, and you really feel like you’re being taken into another world with every page.

This is easily the best thing about 9/11 that I’ve ever read. Probably the best decision Roth (or Foer) made was installing as much humor as there is here – and there’s a lot. Cause the truth is, people are tired of how emotionally draining 9/11 is. They see it and they just want to escape. But Oskar’s view of the world is so funny that this devastating tale is bearable - even enjoyable. And somehow – I’m still not sure how Roth does it – it never feels false. Everyone says “Don’t do voice over. Don’t do voice over.” But man, for writers who know what they’re doing, it can be the most powerful part of a screenplay – as some of Oskar’s musings in this story are.

So was it perfect? No, and I think that’s because this is an early draft. This is 137 pages long and it feels like it. I think Roth gets a little carried away with giving us the father’s backstory.  I mean, there are some great moments in there.  There's just too much of it. I liked how we’d get a flashback scene with them every 20 pages or so to remind us what Oskar was fighting for. But right now there are like 20 scenes with the dad, and I think that can easily be cut in half. For this reason, the middle act drags until The Renter shows up.

Also, the mom storyline needs to be fleshed out and better defined. We know these two don’t get along, but we’re not exactly sure why. So their eventual reconciliation doesn’t have nearly the punch that it should have.

There were a few other things that bothered me. Roth can get a little long-winded at times. But the key here is that this script made me feel something. It’s hard to finish this screenplay and not feel affected in some way. Reading through so many average scripts, I sometimes forget how hard that is to do. Someone else told me that this script makes Extremely Loud a front-runner for an Oscar in 2012. I don’t know if I’d go that far but it certainly has the seeds to grow into something great.

[ ] What the hell did I just read?
[ ] wasn’t for me
[xx] worth the read
[ ] impressive
[ ] genius

What I learned: When comparing three of Roth’s most high-profile scripts, something sticks out. The combination of a heavy underdog and a voice over is a powerful one if you have the skills to pull it off. The underdog thing is obvious. Everyone roots for an underdog. But the additional voice over takes that connection between us to a new level. Because the main character is talking to us, we feel like we know him, and you’re always more likely to root for people you know. This approach was used to perfection in both this script and Forrest Gump. Contrast that with Benjamin Button, which was a good but not great film. It had neither. Benjamin was sort of an underdog, but not really, as he basically grew into a handsome young man. Also (if my memory serves me correctly) it was Cate Blanchett who did the voice over, not our hero. Are these the reasons Button is not as memorable as these two stories? I don’t know. But it’s certainly worth noting.