Save the Cat Goes to the Movies Read online

  “GENRE” AND “STRUCTURE”

  In doing all of my research for STC!2 — and learning more than I ever expected — I was reminded again what makes for a good movie, whether it’s a quirky indie or a big-budget blockbuster. And while many studios greenlight a script based on a point system of star, director, and the last hit like it, in fact the success of any film is based on two far more important factors:

  A story that surpasses our expectations for the familiar genre of movie it is. And …

  The most crucial element: structure.

  Genre and structure. These are the two requirements for creating a winning screenplay — and the basis of this book.

  Unlike the authors of other how-to’s on screenwriting, my job day-in and day-out is writing and selling scripts. I am a screenwriter first and foremost and my daily struggle is figuring out what it takes to turn my ideas into movies that everyone — agents, producers, studio executives, and audience members — will love! And the odd thing is: To have a true hit movie, to please one, is to please all.

  This simple mandate, which I want to instill in others, makes up the raison d’etre of the STC! oeuvre: Hollywood is not the problem, story is — and I want my story, and yours, to be the very best it can be.

  In years of trying to get a better grip on what our stories entail, my screenwriting buddies and I have come up with 10 types that have proven to be the ones moviemakers find most popular with audiences. Within these 10 you will see comedy, drama, and action, but that’s not what each is about. Tone is not the issue. Neither is subject. It’s about story. Only by lumping together movies that are alike as story types have we discovered that others know these tricks, too. They must! Otherwise there wouldn’t be so many similarities shared by the movies in each category.

  Look hard at the films found in the genre I refer to as “Monster in the House” and see how Jaws, Alien, Tremors, and most “ghost stories” are alike.

  And need to be!

  Take a peek at what I call “Superhero,” and you’ll be amazed at how Gladiator and The Lion King use exactly the same kinds of story dynamics. Both pit a “special being” against us Lilliputians who are jealous of his amazing gifts and want to stop him. These match, identically, stories from the comic-book universe and those of Frankenstein, Dracula, and the Wolfman!

  Why? Because it’s the same tale.

  Told in extremely different and creative ways.

  And while they are set miles apart in time, location, and style, these stories keep being told — because audiences across generations always want to hear them.

  I have given catchy names to my 10 genres to make them easier to remember and also to deconstruct your ideas about how movies should be categorized. Monster in the House, Golden Fleece, Out of the Bottle, Dude with a Problem, Rites of Passage, Buddy Love, Whydunit, Fool Triumphant, Institutionalized, and Superhero are, to me, so much more indicative of what story you’re trying to tell. So when I ask: “What are you writing?” you no longer have to say “It’s a western” or “It’s a cop drama” — because these responses tell me nothing. I want to know what story you’re working on, and what these 10 genres provide are indications of story type we all can understand.

  Okay, so these categories tell me how movies are different. But how are they the same? Well, after some soul-searching — and years of hard knocks in and around every production office west of Azusa — I figured out a way to codify the similarities too, and that is how movies are structured.

  What I wanted to create, in addition to “type” of movie, is a never-fail template that I can lay on top of any story as a way to test whether or not it will be satisfying.

  Think about that for a minute.

  A universal key to unlock every successful movie ever made.

  Pretty good if you can do it — and I think I have!

  My structure education came slowly. I started my career as a young and eager screenwriter, ill-equipped to pitch to the studio genii who’d deigned to see me. I usually had “an idea” and maybe a few “cool” scenes, but early on that was pretty much all I had. These meetings were short. For despite the fact that I had washed my face and brushed my teeth and applied my sparkling personality at every opportunity, sadly … I had no plot. And it didn’t take long for both the exec and me to figure that out.

  I heard rumors about this Syd Field guy. Once, an equally charming executrix asked me what my “Break into Two” was and hinted that the mysterious Syd could explain it to me. That’s how I discovered Field’s seminal work, Screenplay, and soon I, too, was pointing at movie screens at about Minute 25 of the film, turning knowledgeably to my date and whispering:

  “See! Act Break!”

  But as cute as this was, it did not solve my problem. I could identify three acts, thanks to Mr. Field. But in actually trying to write my scripts, there was a lot of empty space in between. So I started filling in the rest myself.

  After watching hundreds of movies, I soon discovered the “Midpoint” and was amazed at how at page 55 the “stakes are raised” and many a time clock appears. Thanks to other books, like Viki King’s How to Write a Screenplay in 21 Days, I was impressed by the importance of the “All Is Lost” point on page 75 — and saw that something must “die” there. I also made up terminology of my own. One, of which I am unduly proud, is the part of the script that occurs after page 25 that I dubbed “Fun and Games.” Soon, I created the “Blake Snyder Beat Sheet” (the BS2), a handy device with the suggested page count indicated in parentheses of each “beat.”

  It looks like this:

  THE BLAKE SNYDER BEAT SHEET

  PROJECT TITLE:

  GENRE:

  DATE:

  Opening Image (1):

  Theme Stated (5):

  Set-Up (1–10):

  Catalyst (12):

  Debate (12–25):

  Break into Two (25)

  B Story (30):

  Fun and Games (30–55):

  Midpoint (55):

  Bad Guys Close In (55–75):

  All Is Lost (75):

  Dark Night of the Soul (75–85):

  Break into Three (85):

  Finale (85–110):

  Final Image (110):

  What are each of these so-called “beats” about?

  Opening Image — This is fairly self-explanatory; it’s the scene in the movie that sets up the tone, type, and initial salvo of a film, a “before” snapshot — and the opposite of the Final Image.

  Theme Stated — Also easy. Usually spoken to the main character, often without knowing what is said will be vital to his surviving this tale. It’s what your movie is “about.”

  Set-Up — The first 10 pages of a script must not only grab our interest — and a studio reader’s — but introduce or hint at introducing every character in the A story.

  Catalyst — The telegram, the knock at the door, the act of catching your wife in bed with another — something that is done to the hero to shake him. It’s the movie’s first “whammy.”

  Debate — The section of the script, be it a scene or a series of scenes, when the hero doubts the journey he must take.

  Break into Two — Act Two, that is; it is where we leave the “Thesis” world behind and enter the upside-down “Anti-thesis” world of Act Two. The hero makes a choice — and his journey begins.

  B Story — The “love” story, traditionally, but actually where the discussion about the theme of a good movie is found.

  Fun and Games — Here we forget plot and enjoy “set pieces” and “trailer moments” and revel in the “promise of the premise.”

  Midpoint — The dividing line between the two halves of a movie; it’s back to the story as “stakes are raised,” “time clocks” appear, and we start putting the squeeze on our hero(es).

  Bad Guys Close In — Both internally (problems inside the hero’s team) and externally (as actual bad guys tighten their grip), real pressure is applied.

  All Is Lost — The �
�false defeat” and the place where we find “the whiff of death” — because something must die here.

  Dark Night of the Soul — Why hast thou forsaken me, Lord? That part of the script where the hero has lost all hope …

  Break into Three …but not for long! Thanks to a fresh idea, new inspiration, or last-minute action or advice from the love interest in the B story, the hero chooses to fight.

  Finale — The “Synthesis” of two worlds: From what was, and that which has been learned, the hero forges a third way.

  Final Image — The opposite of the Opening Image, proving a change has occurred. And since we know All Stories Are About Transformation, that change had better be dramatic!

  These two sets of organizing principles — “genre” and “structure” — give us everything we need to write our movie and make the idea we’re working on more likely to succeed.

  I’ll say it again.

  If you want to sell your script and create a story that pleases most audiences most of the time, the odds increase if you reference these two checklists to write it.

  Genre and structure are what buyers and moviegoers want.

  This is because one of the other things I discovered in selling many scripts to Hollywood — a couple in the million-dollar range — is that executives know this, too. The savvy ones follow the same rules writers do. They want to know the type of story they signed on for, and whether it’s structured in a way that satisfies everyone. It’s what they’re looking for.

  Why not give it to them?

  And while many of you rebel from “structure” or referencing other films for clues as to how to create and write your story, it has been my experience that mastering these templates is the only way to know if what you have is actually new — or if you are inventing a wheel that has already rolled out of the factory and down the road without you.

  What I’ve done is fully expand on genre by showing the range and breadth of each. And since we learn from all movies, this isn’t about the 50 “best,” but the ones we can gain the most insight from. Along the way, I’ll also point out some of the tricks the directors and writers used. And for those of you who haven’t seen these films yet … WARNING: SPOILERS AHEAD!

  SOME FINAL WORDS

  In this book you will also see terms and phrases you might not be familiar with. If you haven’t read the first Save the Cat! there is no need for you to feel left out:

  Save the Cat! — Not only the title of this series, but a great principle of storytelling. When we meet the hero, he must do something that makes us like him. Save a cat and we will!

  Stasis = Death — We know what Death means. Stasis = Things Staying the Same. It is the moment before the journey begins where we know the hero will “die” if his life doesn’t change.

  Stakes are Raised — Also known as the “midpoint bump.” Those events found at the middle of a movie that supply sudden pressure, new problems, or “bad news” for the hero(es).

  The Pope in the Pool — A distracting way to bury exposition, so called for a scene in a script I know where the pope swims in the Vatican pool while boring plot details are told to us.

  Booster Rocket — A character that appears for the first time toward the end of a movie and lifts it to its final push, e.g., John Candy in Home Alone or Will Ferrell in Wedding Crashers.

  A Limp and an Eyepatch — When characters lack character, that thing which gives them a unique identifying quirk or habit.

  Primal — My favorite word and a guiding force in good stories. To test if your story is so, ask: Would a caveman understand?

  These terms and others will be used throughout our discussion. As in the first book, if there’s anything that you want to comment on, or need clarification for, email me. My direct email address is the same as it was in the first book: [email protected]. You can also check my website at www.blakesnyder.com, and contact me at blake@ blakesnyder.com.

  Please do. I really like to hear from you!

  So if you’re ready, let’s imagine a movie theater. In my mind, whenever I think of the perfect place to see a film, I picture the Arlington on State Street in Santa Barbara, California, where I grew up. With a Spanish motif, like the rest of the town, the interior of that great old movie palace copies that of a classic hacienda: chalky adobe walls with purple shadows painted on them, topped by a rim of red-tile roofing as though you were in the middle of an open-air plaza. Overhead, the cavernous ceiling of the theater is covered by hundreds of pinlights that mimic stars. And like you and everyone who loves the adventure of storytelling, as the stars dim and the plush velvet curtains part, I scrunch down in my seat, and think:

  This is gonna be good …

  In space no one can hear you meow! Sigourney Weaver “saves the cat” in the “Monster in the House” classic, Alien.

  Welcome to the wonderful world of genre! What is genre? It’s a grouping of stories that share similar patterns and characters. And “Monster in the House” is one of the oldest … and most primal.

  It is also the first story type I ever discovered — or at least had pointed out to me. Like many of the insights in this book, the term came from a fellow scribe, in this case my friend and writing partner, Jim Haggin.

  We were working on a script and taking a break, standing around the parking lot outside my Dad’s office in Santa Barbara when Jim, smoking a Lucky Strike, idly said: “Did you know that Alien and Jaws are the same movie?”

  This was amazing news. And like so much of what Jim knew about film, this little nugget made me stop and think. Jaws is the story of a killer shark, Alien is set on a starship somewhere in space. I didn’t see the connection.

  The illustrious Mr. Haggin went on. He said that both movies have a powerful creature intent on eating the cast, an enclosed community into which the beast is let loose to ply his trade, and a third element: sin. It is the sin of greed that lets the shark roam the shores of Amity, greed too that is at the bottom of why The Nostromo picks up its titular hitchhiker. In fact, Jim said, sin is what really makes all true “monster” movies work. It’s one thing to get eaten, but to be lunch because of something we did adds guilt to horror — and the guilt makes it much more juicy.

  Wow.

  My adventure into finding story patterns had begun.

  What I discovered with this genre, one Jim and I started calling “Monster in the House,” was that filmmakers weren’t just ripping off Jaws, but in fact had been stealing from a story type that went all the way back to the Minotaur and the maze, and the dragonslayer myths of the Middle Ages! We’ve been letting the monster in the house, or going to where the monster lives and invading his abode for centuries.

  And yet there is always a way to tell a new version.

  So how does this help you? You’ve got a great “monster” movie idea. Or maybe you’ve got a serial killer whose power comes from insanity, or an evil spirit haunting some kind of dwelling.

  Are these Monster-in-the-House tales?

  That’s why we’re here: to fit your ideas into established story forms and, by doing so, better see just what they are. To discover if yours is a true MITH, we should begin with the basics. As hinted at above, movies in the MITH genre have three main components: (1) a “monster,” (2) a “house,” and (3) a “sin.”

  Let’s dig deeper into these.

  When it comes to the “monster” found in every MITH tale, the common denominator is: supernatural power. Whether a “Pure Monster” like the supercharged beasts in Jaws and Jurassic Park, a “Domestic Monster” like the human kind found in The Hand That Rocks the Cradle and Pacific Heights, or a “Serial Monster” such as the knife-wielding baddies of many a “slasher” flick, supernatural power is a monster must-have. Look at Jaws. That shark isn’t just a shark; it’s a super-shark with an agenda beyond feeding. It’s come for the one person, Chief Brody (Roy Scheider), who is afraid not only of sharks but of water. Thus, the Great White also represents what all good monsters must be … “evil.”

>   There is a sense in many a MITH that what’s at stake is not one’s life but one’s soul. This is why The Exorcist and films it begat, such as Poltergeist and The Ring, are so deeply frightening. At the heart of what I call “Supra-Natural Monster” movies — those starring a monster that represents forces beyond our three dimensions — is the sense that something more than daylight will be lost if we don’t survive. This is also why lesser monsters, like the tiny spiders in Arachnophobia, or the ones that can be dispatched with a baseball bat in Signs or die of the sniffles in War of the Worlds, are so unsatisfying.

  Lesser Monsters = Lesser Movies.

  So what about the “house” we find these monsters in — why is that so important? Well, think about the myth of the Minotaur for a moment and realize that while facing a half-man/half-bull is frightening, more frightening is being trapped with one inside a dark maze. And whether it’s an actual house, like the creepy hotel in The Shining, a deep-sea diving bell in The Abyss, or the basement prison Cary Elwes wakes up in Saw, the more cramped the space — the more isolated our heroes — the better.

  In Fatal Attraction, the family unit is the “house” within which Michael Douglas is trapped. And considering the “monster” he created by his actions, this will be the perfect place to confront it. In films like Scream, where a serial monster stalks a whole town, it is the city limits that enclose the horror, and the community that locks its doors at night and becomes the “house” through which the monster roams. Still, isolated enclosures like the spaceship in Alien remind us that if there’s a choice, lock ’em in. It’s scarier knowing you’re trapped and have nowhere to go!