MERC - hmmm
Andrew Bozalis , Derek Mether

When a disgraced former soldier finds success by working for a private security company, the illegal tactics the company employs challenges his worldview.


"Challenge this!"

The presented story through-line – “a man's worldview is challenged,” yawn! – scuttles a promising logline.  What a shame.  Can we pump in some air to float it again?

“When a disgraced former soldier, now thriving in private security, decides his boss's illegal tactics must not go unpunished, he becomes a priority target for six elite mercenaries – his former friends.”

MANCHESTER-BY-THE-SEA - nope
Kenneth Lonergan

An uncle is forced to take care of his teenage nephew after the boy's father dies.



Inciting incident, new situation... and the door slams shut.  Now consider how Hemingway presents an inciting incident, a new situation... and lets the door swing wide open.  All in just six words:

FOR SALE: BABY SHOES.  NEVER WORN.

The last two words cause us to speculate endlessly.  We are compelled to compose sad imaginary scenarios to explain how this came to be.  There's no compulsion to speculate embedded in Kenneth's logline.  It's a newspaper-ish statement of fact, devoid of color, bereft of emotion save for the uncle's unhappiness with his predicament.  It may very well be an accurate logline.  It may be an efficient logline.  But in my opinion it is not a good logline.

GIFTED - hmmm
Tom Flynn
 
A thirty year old man attempts to continue raising his deceased sister's seven year old daughter, a kid-genius, while battling his own mother for custody.



This works just as well, or better, and is six words lighter:

“A man raising his dead sister's seven-year-old daughter, a kid-genius, fights his mother's attempt to gain custody.”

The logline feels perfunctory and humdrum.  If you've followed this long Black List topic then you know I like to spice things up, do a little creative cooking in the kitchen.

“Kid-genius” encompasses “seven-year-old” just fine, so let's accept that gratis word reduction.  “Deceased” is a respectful word we need use only in polite company.  In our present impolite company, “dead” will do.  A spade is a spade and a syllable is saved.  First revision:

“A homeless man raising his dead sister's seven-year-old daughter, a kid-genius, fights his mother's attempt to gain custody.”

“Man” turned into “homeless man.”  That one extra word got your attention, I bet.  Time to buckle up, kiddo.  We're gonna fetch us that horizon.

“A homeless man raising his dead sister's kid-genius daughter goes to law school when his workaholic CEO mother and her shark of a lawyer sue for custody.

If that feels too much like a breathless, rocket-propelled race to the finish, go ahead and drop a comma in there to shift gears in silky-smooth fashion.

“While raising his dead sister's kid-genius daughter, a homeless man goes to law school after his workaholic CEO mother and her shark of a lawyer sue for custody.

Despite all that extra plot detail, we still scooched in under 30 words.  I give you two – yes, two antagonists: mother and her lawyer.  Homeless man going to law school – of course that's been done.  A son or daughter battling their own mother or father for custody of a grandchild – that's been done.  Have the two been done together?  A few times, I expect.  It's a delicious mix, particularly that bit about the workaholic, high-achieving mother ending up with a homeless son.  That's a relationship ripe with conflict.

Okay, using my revisions, let's put the two loglines side by side, see which screenplay you want to pick up and read first:

“A man raising his dead sister's seven-year-old daughter, a kid-genius, fights his mother's attempt to gain custody.”

“A homeless man raising his dead sister's kid-genius daughter goes to law school after his workaholic CEO mother and her shark of a lawyer sue for custody.

EVERYBODY WANTS EVERYTHING - nope
Abraham Higginbotham
 
As his life reaches its neurosis-inducing midpoint, a married man asks himself an eternal question with no real answer -- "Am I living the life I want to be living, or do I need to start over before its too late?" Torn between two lives, he's forced to do the one thing he doesn't want to do -- make a choice.



Nooope, nopety nope no nope.  I choose to skip ahead without comment.  Next...

ERIN'S VOICE - hmmm
Greg Sullivan

A deaf computer genius' world is thrown into turmoil when he meets a troubled coffee shop waitress whose voice turns out to be the only thing he can miraculously hear.



“World is thrown into turmoil.” I'm no fan of this kind of vacuous puffery.  Thrown into turmoil how?  If you can afford a five-word proxy phrase then you may as well replace it with the real thing.

“When a deaf computer genius meets a troubled coffee shop waitress whose voice he can miraculously hear, they must...”

“Troubled” is another adjective I really don't like to see.  Find a suitable adjective that defines her troubles.  She's “an impulsive coffee shop waitress” or “a bipolar waitress” or “a self-destructive waitress” or “a god-fearing waitress” and so on.

“When a deaf computer genius meets a god-fearing coffee shop waitress whose voice he can miraculously hear, he's got a month to discover why it happened before she joins a convent and takes her vow of silence.”

A monstrosity of a logline in at least two ways!  Let's deal with the first issue: too long.

“After a deaf computer genius meets a god-fearing waitress whose voice he can miraculously hear, they race the clock to learn why before she must join a convent and take her vow of silence.”

Phew.  Down to 35 words.  On the bulky side, but acceptable.  Only five extra words compared to the original, but look at the extra story we crammed in there.  Religious waitress.  Ticking-clock stakes.  Dramatic irony with him meeting the one person he can hear and she's about to take a holy vow of silence.  Will she break that vow for him?  Will he refuse to let her break the vow?   And the computer thing: presumably his analysis will be heavily digital and programmatic.  Maybe he figures out an algorithm to cure certain types of deafness, starting with his own.

The second issue my monstrous revision has created is how eye-rollingly "on the nose" that whole deafness-vow-of-silence business is.  But it illustrates my point: if you want your logline to ignite, first gather enough dry and flammable material to catch the spark of your idea.

BOSTON STRANGLER - hmmm
Chuck MacLean

In the 1960s, a determined detective puts his life and career on the line to solve the case of the Boston Strangler.



The logline grudgingly gives up its 20-ish words while it greets you with that dead-eyed stare and shakes your hand with that limp, clammy grip.  There's nothing remarkable about this logline.  You notice it for a second or two, then your attention moves on and you forget the meeting happened. 

And yet we've got just enough elements to make the down-payment on an entertaining story – never mind how overly familiar the story is.  There's subject matter recognition.  There's the tenacious cop and his high stakes.  The formidable Boston strangler in the other corner.  And a simple overarching story question: will the detective solve the case?   When you know your logline is joyless but economical, lifeless but satisfactory, when you know the shine has rubbed off your material, get creative.

“In the 1960s, an LSD-addled detective risks everything to solve the case of the Boston Strangler.”

BLINK - good
Hernany Perla
 
Years after being fully paralyzed during an infamous bank robbery, a man is taken hostage for the secrets in his head. His only form of communicating with the outside world - and outsmarting his captors - is his ability to blink.



Very Hitchcockian.  Is this an example of an extreme contained thriller?  I must read this script to see how Hernany pulled off such a brassy, demanding concept.  It's a good premise, albeit a windy one at 39 words.  But is it a satisfying logline?

“Years after being fully paralyzed during an infamous bank robbery...” We're free to conclude the man was on the side of the criminals: one of the bank robbers, or perhaps the sole perp.  Equally, we might decide he was the victim.  Maybe he worked at the bank.  Maybe he was an unlucky customer in the wrong place at the wrong time.  In this case, I don't think the ambiguity harms the logline.  How he became paralyzed isn't crucial to our understanding.

How about:

"Years after narrowly surviving an infamous bank robbery, a fully paralyzed man who can only blink must outsmart kidnappers who want the secrets in his head."

From 39 to 26 words.  Now it wields the speed and force of a roundhouse punch.  We lose the nice showmanship of concluding with "the only thing that can save him is his ability to blink," but sacrificing that for brevity and agility is acceptable to me.  We still get very little sense of story, but the strength of the premise outshines all concerns. 

Looking forward to reading this one.  Thank you, Hernany.

THE TAKEAWAY - hmmm
Julia Cox
 
A young, play-it-safe, art restorer is swept up in a whirlwind romance with her charming boss, who turns out to be a world-class thief.



Lively elements.  Familiar but different (hopefully).  Also: not a logline, or at least not a satisfying one.  “He turns out to be a world-class thief.”  Uh-huh.  And she marries him on the spot?  Why would we assume it causes her any grief?  They had a wonderful romance by all accounts!

“When a cautious young art restorer's charming boss romances her then admits he's a world-class thief (a boastful lie), she blackmails him into a plan to rob her despised rich step-father, with her as accomplice in training.”

Feels like I didn't stick the landing, with the clumsy language of "with her as..." but it'll do for now, and I've got miles and miles of loglines to go.

At just under 40 words, that revision is far too wordy, but good lord does it suck you in, because now we've scattered enough plot points to start the reader thinking about where all this might lead.  Our gal thinks she's getting a master thief and a shot at her evil step-father's fortune.  The “boss” is just doing whatever it takes to keep his secrets secret.  If it means he must make good on his boast of being a master thief, so be it.  How far does this go before she finds out?  That's your overarching story question.  The rest is a bumbling blind-leading-the-blind comedy.  Definitely not the story Julia conceived, but a fun bit of logline acrobatics nonetheless.

THE BRINGING - hmmm
Brandon Murphy, Philip Murphy
 
A private investigator investigates a mysterious murder at a downtown Los Angeles hotel and uncovers its dark supernatural history. Based on true events.



An okay logline delivered with zero enthusiasm.  Not uncommonly, the logline serves as a placeholder for a better logline, if only the author would give it the serious attention it deserves.

An investigator investigates.  A cook cooks.  A driver drives.  Tell us something we don't know.  To avoid this awkward sentence construction we can turn the sentence around.

“A mysterious murder leads a private investigator to expose a downtown L.A. hotel's dark supernatural history.”

Good.  Now we can feel a pulse – weak, but it's there.  We could punch up “leads” to elevate its heart rate.

“A mysterious murder compels a private investigator to expose a downtown L.A. hotel's dark supernatural history.”

Why must he expose it?  What are his stakes?  Where's the urgency? 

Like I said elsewhere in this topic, “based on true events” adds no value to the logline.   Toss it.  The logline fascinates or it does not.  If not, “based on a true story” will do nothing to reverse opinions.

SHADOW RUN - aces
Joe Gazzam

A viral attack puts lives in danger, forcing a CIA agent to initiate a secret prisoner exchange of Russia's most notorious spy for the American scientist who can create a cure.


Virus turns Manhattan into a monkey madhouse.
Agent Bananas is on the case.

The story spine is all there, elegantly and efficiently mapped out in about 30 words.  And what a team those words make.  I would only touch up that introductory clause.  At first I revised it this way:

“A deadly viral attack forces the CIA to initiate a secret prisoner exchange: Russia's most notorious spy for the American scientist who can create the cure.”

Then I realized: “forcing,” “CIA agent,” and “secret exchange” all lead us to conclude the agent has gone rogue.  He's doing this not because his superiors sanctioned it; he's doing this because it has to be done and he's got to risk it.  If that's the story, my first revision is wrong; we need to retain the rogue agent as the focal point.  Let's do that now.

“A deadly viral attack forces a CIA agent to secretly initiate a forbidden prisoner exchange: Russia's most notorious spy for the American scientist who can create the cure.”

Hella yeah.  Now we have the added overt conflict of the agent disobeying his superiors.  At 28 words it's about as long as the original, but I think this zings a little more.

Outstanding job on the logline, Joe.