10PTT: 23 Minutes by Trevor Mayes

[scriptwrecked]

1. "SCREECH" -- yup. Used again halfway down the page: "The TRUCK SCREECHES through the intersection."  Nothing wrong with the repetition, but that doesn't stop me wanting to color it slightly differently in those two places: A + B = C instead of A + A = C.

"On a collision course with the family car." In this moment we're seeing the approaching runaway truck -- presumably a Voldeck Oil company truck, but it doesn't say so on the page -- through Steve's young eyes.  So for me, stepping back into third-person narrator viewpoint detracts marginally from the tension. "Headed right at them" -- something short and alarming as Steve's high-speed brain calculates the horrifying, inevitable slow-motion trajectories.

An interesting stylistic question arises in this scene: how to visually convey the out-of-control speed of the truck when we're limited to slow-motion shots. Will that be a problem?  Probably not.  Consider the ultra-slow-motion credit sequence that opens Zombieland. Most of those shots capture a tiny slice of frantic, violent motion. In some, maybe not even a full second of realtime.  And those shots have a palpable sense of speed and action nonetheless. Zombieland's Phantom-camera shots are overcranked way more than the slow-mo Trevor invites in his film.  If Trevor's movie gets made the way he intends and it's a hit, you just know the next guy will follow Hollywood golden rule #27 ("more is more") and do the same film BUT WITH SLOWER SLOW-MO.

2. "METAL CRUNCHES, as the car tumbles down an embankment." A small personal style choice for commas: When punching out action sequences containing short sentences, often you can easily do away with commas to accelerate the read and keep the pace fast. That's my preference.  Only leave the essential commas that must remain for clarity.

Mwahaha. Yikes, the trophy's awful and darkly ironic purpose: literally adding insult to injury.  Folks, what we have here is a writer determined to pack his protag's baggage so full of guilt, jeez, that zipper's not closing easy.

1. Yup, you're right on this one. I HATE repetition. Actually, I probably would have used SCREECH for the first one, and SQUEALS for the second one. Only because a faint squeal could be something other than a car/truck.

Your point about shifting perspectives is bang on! Great observation.

2. Yeah, the commas. Another stylistic point that I labor over. I think you're right. It reads smoother and takes up less space than with the comma. But in a script like this, I'm deliberately trying to slow down the read in ways that don't feel contrived. So I'm still torn.

Glad you liked the trophy hit. That's one of those things that's works really well in the way you describe, but I can't honestly say I made that connection consciously. I just needed something big to whack the dad on the head. But that'll be our little secret.

[scriptwrecked]

1. "stuck" -- not sure why, but "stuck" doesn't fit perfectly here. Maybe because you can attach hope to "stuck."  "Aunty May got her thumb stuck in the ice-cube maker again, LOL."  But Steve's mother isn't just stuck, is she?  No.  Steve's mother is DOOMED.  That's what Steve's witnessing, and he knows it.  "Trapped" implies an urgency "stuck" leaves out.

"Some gift."  A bitter, satisfying scene button and transition that Trevor immediately builds on with the glass-breaker keychain tool.  Holy shit, what a cool protag token, and it kills me not to know that token's narrative payoff later in the story.  I love the way Trevor handles this transition between boyhood Steve and teenage Steve: the window, the keychain tool.  The transition moves us forward narratively and emotionally. Expertly done.

1. Stuck! Ugh! Trapped is SO MUCH BETTER! Nice one.

I love how you immediately knew the glass-breaker keychain would have some greater significance later in the movie. Kudos.

[scriptwrecked]

1. "with a key in his hand, staring daggers..." = "key in hand, staring daggers..." right?  We don't save line space in doing so, but when there's nothing else to justify it there's always the rule of thumb: say it with fewer words if you can.  On the other hand, sometimes the character or situation requires that you be wordy.

2. Skip this if you hate listening to me debate stupid petty things that make no measurable difference overall. Sigh.  I do fight it, believe me.  I'm nothing if not consistently pedantic.  "Thrusts" is a great visual word, but I'm not fond of it here. Thrust invites the notion of acceleration. I'm imagining "the Behemoth" halting his pursuit every few steps to grab a pedestrian by their belt and collar and hurl them violently off to one side.  It's an amusing image, but wrong.  How about "shoulders people out of the way...", "shoves" or the more frenetic "slams".  Those imply disturbance as a consequence of the guy charging through the throng.

1. Normally I'd agree with you on this one, but I think it works because it helps the reader complete the thought from the earlier page. Hmmm. I may change my mind about this tomorrow.

2. You may be right about "thrusts." Plus thrusts is a "fast" word. Shoulders, or shoves is better I think.

[scriptwrecked]

And we've come full circle: back to adult Steve Derring from the first scene. Another seamless transition, this time using motion continuity. Trevor's not just telling this story, he's telling it visually.

1. "the guy we got to know from the opening scene" -- I know what Trevor means, but that statement isn't accurate.  The only things we learn about Steve in that opening scene are a) he doesn't want to die, and b) Steve is supposed to have some sort of "gift." In later scenes we learn about younger Steve's fatalism and self-destructive streak, and that contrasts with older Steve's terror at the prospect of his death in the opening scene.  Clearly older Steve WANTS TO LIVE compared with younger Steve's indifference. And in later scenes we learn about "the gift."  To be accurate, that quoted line should read innocuously: "the guy from the opening scene".

In answer to your question: yes, I can. I can most definitely feel Trevor glaring daggers at me right now while he ponders my mental fitness to drive a keyboard.  I often stand beside myself and wonder the same thing. And another self stands beside that second self and wonders... and so on.  It's crowded in here.

So. We get another interesting story-world rule: preternatural reflexers ('PRs' -- my designation) age faster than regular folks.  Stands to reason.  Is the aging only accelerated when Steve's actively exercising his abilities, or is it a slow continuous thing?

Your brain should be throttling up as you consider that, forming new questions about this slightly left-of-center story world.  Is Steve the only one with "the gift"?  What would it look like to have two PRs battle each other?

I confess, I've not fully thought through the handling of slow-mo and Steve's place within it.  Trevor will need to be our authority.  But I think it works this way: Steve is in sync with the rest of the slow-mo visuals (that is, in sync with his story world clock) except for the moments when he displays his PR gift -- snatching the flies from the air, for example. At those moments he switches to something more akin to audience realtime. And then, with the PR action complete, it's back to regular slow-mo for him.  That way, the only time he looks unusual to those inside his story world is during those moments of PR activity.

If I've got that wrong then it means Steve is CONSTANTLY immersed in his PR hypertime, and we're watching the story play out through Steve's perception of his own world: the world is running at real time but Steve's perception renders it slow-mo.  I'm going to stop wondering and wait for Trevor to clear up how it's supposed to work on screen. Then I won't be chasing my tail.

You see what I mean, right, about this idea being either unworkably batshit crazy or a chance to do something really fascinating, moreso than the familiar slow-mo techniques used in THE MATRIX, WANTED and such?

1. WRONG! I am most certainly not glaring daggers at you. It's too bad you're not a sexy woman, cuz I'd be more like a cartoon character with those little heart bubbles popping up at you.

These little details are sooo important. Anything that gives the reader pause should be eliminated at all costs. You're absolutely right, the line should just read, "the guy from the opening scene."

So here's the deal on the slow-mo. It's your second idea that was the correct one. Steve is constantly immersed in his PR hypertime. To the other people in Steve's world, they don't see him move any faster than they do. The only difference is that he's able to react a whole lot faster, and therefore anticipate things in a way that no one else can.

There are basically 3 different slow motion speeds in this movie, and they shift between them in a way that could be very cool stylistically.

One: Super Slow-Mo, for things like bullet shots.

Two: Regular Slow-Mo, for every day interactions, movements.

Three: Pseudo Slow-Mo (or slight slow-motion), for things like dialogue.

More on pseudo slow-mo later...

[scriptwrecked]

One last stupid, reckless risk and the universe screams "Steve! Dude, seriously. ENOUGH!"

An invisible pulse ripples through spacetime.  The planets shift their orbits. And the universe delivers unto Steve: LAURA.  Cheesy hyperbole aside, this is quite the meet-cute.  "A scorching silhouette" -- she literally comes to him out of the sun.  "Any man would see this woman for the first time in slow motion" -- and any grumpy Shane-Black-weary script reader would smile at that slyly effective sentence.

"She had one big flaw... a boyfriend." BAM. And there we have it. Page 7, our antagonist, our love interest, and now the real conflict can begin.  Does your script put all the elements in play inside your first 10?

Booyah! Very well put. Glad you're diggin' it!

[scriptwrecked]

1. Another interesting thing to ponder: in the next few pages we'll get a feel for how Trevor handles direct character dialogue.  I'll skip ahead and reiterate Trevor's script note:

"READER'S NOTE: Since EVERY SCENE in this movie is in slow motion, we'll never hold on actors' faces as conversations play out.  Only glimpses, if necessary, then the shot would quickly change to key objects or actions in the scene."

Let's chat about this for a second. Everyone who's read the script really enjoys it. But for about half the people, they just can't get their heads wrapped around the slow-motion, and what they're supposed to be seeing in the scenes.

This mostly stems from the reader's note I think. In scripts, you really need to tell readers what they're seeing. So to say to them, "Well, you'll sorta see them talking for a bit, then it'll flash to other key elements of the scene... just go ahead and use your imagination" -- that doesn't quite cut it.

So here's what I'm thinking. I'd like to change the reader's note to:

READER'S NOTE: For visual variety, different levels of slow motion will be utilized in this movie -- from super slow-mo, to near real-time. Scenes where characters speak to each other will be shot in near real-time, or using a slow motion lip-syncing/dubbing technique that's common to music videos. (e.g. Coldplay's video, "Yellow")

What do you think?

[scriptwrecked]

1. "Their attraction to each other is palpable."  Trevor knows why that sentence gets the walk of shame.  It's one of those things we slip into our scripts just to keep moving forward when we can't be much bothered, all the while knowing tomorrow that sentence will bust the writer's ass wide open like yesterday's chili tacos, but to hell with it, today I'm taking easy street.  (At my urging, the previous sentence voluntarily agrees to join Miss Palpable's walk of shame.)

Haha! Yeah, you got me.

[scriptwrecked]

1. When you're falling from a slackine hundred of feet from the ground you might leisurely "reach" for it as you tumble past... or you might holyFUCK-grab-GRAB-IT-GRAB-IT!!  Depends who you are and your state of mind. As written, Steve comes off as still not giving a fuck about himself.  Granted, he knows he's golden because the safety line's in place to do its job.  Nothing to worry about.  So the scene plays out fine with Steve being his usual arrogant, devil-may-care self, still doing his best to impress everyone.

But... if now Steve's in the early stages of losing his grand sense of infallibility because now Laura's on his mind and he's starting to wonder if maybe he should go easy on the death-defying antics on account of how dead people have lousy love lives... then if he feels himself falling he's going to panic -- probably the first time in his adult life -- and he's going to LUNGE FOR THE SLACKLINE, miss it, drop for a despairing heartbeat til the safety line catches him... and he's going to swing there feeling like an idiot for panicking when there was never any real danger, hoping she didn't see him lose his cool when he momentarily forgot about the safety line.  Forgot because of that brief, sudden, unexpected need to live at all costs. Not live for himself. Live for someone else.

Circling back to the first interpretation of the scene, how exactly does a fellow with preternatural reflexes miss grabbing for the slackline?  One explanation is he's too damn cocky and trusts his safety line won't fail.  Another explanation is he misses deliberately.  More grand-standing for Laura.  Another is precisely the one Steve gives voice to: "There aren't any tells that you're in trouble until it's too late" -- something about balancing on a rope thwarts even his preternatural instincts.  Is that like his kryptonite maybe?  His special power's weakness?  I don't want to overly frame "the gift" in superhero terms, because it's not by any stretch a super power.

In any case, Laura's actions appear to save his life.  No safety rope + missed grab = splat.  (Would he have acted differently if no safety rope?)  I say "appear" because there remains a slim possibility Steve orchestrated the fall to test and strenghen his relationship with Laura.  I don't think that's the intended reading, but I can't rule it out because I feel there's no plausible explanation offered for why Steve's preternatural reflexes are entirely ineffective on a balance rope.

The reading of this scene hinges on a couple of words. This nicely illustrates how crucial it is to choose the right words and remove ambiguity from the page. You might think you wrote a scene that matches the schematics in your head. The true test is for others to read the scene and offer conflicting interpretations where they arise.

"Reaches" supports a reading where Steve is unperturbed by the fall.  He's the same guy he was before he met Laura.  "Lunges" supports one where Steve has begun his arc from carefree to caring, from selfish to selfless.  Being his old self has begun to itch uncomfortably for reasons he doesn't understand yet.

"Smiles at Laura." -- "Smiles" adds nothing to our reading. It's too neutral in this context. Is Steve smiling bashfully?  Smugly?  Genuinely amused?  Any of these colorings would tip the scales to one of the two suggested scene readings.

Perhaps a full reading of the script yields clues about how to interpret this early scene.  But I would argue each scene should be unambigious except where ambiguity forms part of the narrative.  When filmed this scene will take on nuances in performance and action that will likely remove any ambiguity about what's going on between them.  The faces will tell the story -- even in slow motion.

Oh wow, have I ever prattled on.  Back to business.

2. Some minor trimming with the simple purpose of eliminating unnecessary parts to quicken the read.  Let the context do some of the lifting.

3. Plain edit to trim fat and squish a word group down to a single word.  Forgot to excise a comma. The edit should read: "Fischer and the guys laugh, hoot and holler from across the gorge."  I wonder if that fits on one line now.  Arguably there could be an additional comma after "hoot", but that would be British listing.  When in doubt leave the comma out -- if there's no ambiguity.

One more note.  In other 10PTTs I've argued the importance of anchoring your reader in time and space at the beginning of sentences.  It lets your brain construct a more concrete mental picture.  If your time/space references trail at the end, your brain may have to erase the picture it was building while parsing the front of the sentence and start a new one based on the new geospatial/temporal information.

So we could switch this sentence around and write: "Across the gorge Fischer and the guys laugh, hoot and holler."  There's no discernable difference between the two, but where you place your time/space references CAN have a subtle but important effect on the framing and sequence of shots that flow logically from the page.  Head back to the other 10PTTs for more discussion about this.  Pretty sure previously I've flogged the issue to death, to life, then back to death.

4. Drinking game: throw back a shot each time you see an edit like this and moan "Come on!" or "You shitting me?" or "Pitchpatch?  More like... mmm--Bitch Patch, amiright?  More like... sh--Shit Patch, yeah?  More like shhh... muthaf--back off, people, it's go time in barf town..."

We finish this page with Steve's initiation into Fischer's environmentalist group.  Last scene on the page draws a line back to the opening scene. Now we have an inkling about the story throughline: Steve's day is approaching when he gets to face off with those corporate bad boys.  Assuming it was a Voldeck oil truck that cleaned up his family (oh, that phrasing is just not right), there'll be hell to pay.

And what of the Fischer-Steve-Laura dynamic? Will it sour quickly?  Will it come full circle?  Will Fischer eventually concede dominion over Laura and return to participate in the group's final fight against Big Oil, or will he be the principle antagonist opposing Steve's arc?  Anything can happen from here.  Trevor did a bang-up job laying the foundation in his first 10 pages.  I know I've enjoyed a first 10 when part of me wants to read no further. Whoa, wait -- that reaction applies equally to the scripts I hate!  Rephrase: I know I've enjoyed a first 10 when part of me wants to read no further BECAUSE I dread the author letting me down.  I want to camp at the page 10 threshold and bask in the possibilities ahead and dream the author beats every one of my best story projections. If I read no further I'm pleasantly, perfectly, perpetually balanced on an fulcrum hovering between anticipation and satisfaction.

But that's a Happy Place you can only visit.  They kick you out at 11 AM.  So one day, probably soon, I'll email Trevor and ask for his full script. "Oh yeah," he'll say, and I'll listen to the crackle of stressed plastic when his fist curls tighter around his phone. "I remember you," he'll say. "The fuckin' ten-page-torture guy.  Yeah.  The guy.  You know, you never did tell me where you live.  Give me you address, friendo."

I'm in the Happy Place, Trev.  Thanks for booking me in.


My name's Bitch-- oh there we go.  So that's in my head now.  Fuck.  My name's Pitchpatch, okay?  It's Pitchpatch.  And this was a 10PTT for 24 SECONDS written by Trevor Mayes.  You've been a great audience, especially the search engines who always come back.

1. Yup, you're right -- "lunges" is better than "reaches." Though I think smiles is fine. I think putting too many qualifiers in that regard leaves less room for the actor to insert their nuanced take. He's smiling, he's digging her and the moment. Beyond that it's for the actor to infuse. Unless there's something very specific that could have a payoff later (like on the previous page, Laura has a "wry, tight-lipped smile" that we we'll call back to later...).

2. Trimming = good.

3. More trimming = very good.

4. If I were playing your drinking game, I'm not sure I would even have had the first sip! Loved all of your input and niggling. It's the type of stuff I do in my scripts (and that I wish everyone did in their scripts), so I really respect it and appreciate it.

Dare I say, I think it's time to venture out of your happy place and into a *happier* place when you've read the complete script. It's one of my favorite scripts (and the ones my pro-screenwriter friends get all giggly over), so I think you'll really enjoy it.

For everyone else, after I tweak some things I've learned from this "torture" test, I'm going to post my script on Scriptwrecked.com. In fact, I'm going to post a bunch of my best scripts. Time to put my money where my mouth is, or something like that.

This is the year that I finally pursue getting represented and making some waves outside of the blogosphere. I've sorta been in stealth mode for the last couple of years while writing some kick-ass specs. Stay tuned...

Pitchpatch. Thanks again for taking the time to do this. It was very helpful for me. You've got a great eye for detail. Don't ever let anyone tell you that being a grammar nazi is a bad thing!

Cheers,

Trevor

[Pitchpatch]

Oh my.  Great feedback, Trevor.  Thorough.  Scary and thorough.  You know the sickening SNICK! of the pressure trigger arming when your boot thuds the dirt over a landmine?  Neither do I.  I imagine it's close to the sound in my head just now when I realized you'd critiqued all of my critiques.  All of them.  My gut says run but that would be certain death. Any chance of survival, gotta keep my foot planted.  Hey, I can do this.  I survived Jawbreaker, and that guy's super scary.  You critique that guy, you'd better bring your dictionary, a lawyer, a physicist, and a priest. 

1. I don't quite understand the comment on this one. Could you please clarify?

In this scene, the slug (EXT. VOLDECK OFFICES) is the only thing telling us these offices belong to Voldeck.  That slug must be translated into exposition.  In pre-production the director, DOP and production designer will sit down and figure out how to tell the audience this scene takes place at Voldeck.  Maybe a freeze frame on Steve's frantic face accompanied by a title: "4:27 PM, VOLDECK OIL HEADQUARTERS"  Or early in the tracking shot with Steve maybe he falls past the VOLDECK OIL sign mounted high up on the building exterior.  Some kind of visual exposition.  Or maybe the director asks you, the writer, to slot it into the Steve's opening monologue: "Holy shit. This can't be happening. Not at Voldeck Oil's head office. Not to me. I'm supposed to be the guy with the gift."  On the nose, but I'm just saying: somehow we need to know this is the Voldeck Oil building.

If we don't know it's happening at Voldeck we won't connect the opening scene to the Voldeck references used during the flashback.

I know we can assume the talented artists making the film will do the brainwork and legwork to convert sluglines into meaningful exposition, but aren't you curious how you might do it?

[Pitchpatch]

1. Releases was used, as opposed to pitch, to focus on that one component of the pitch -- to help keep the reader dialed in to the slow motion.

"back on the ground..." -- yeah, I labored back and forth over that one. I ended up using it for clarity's sake. Adding that clause makes sure the reader knows I'm not referring to the ball or the mitt.

I realized too late I read much of the pages in 'normal' mode, mentally correcting for the slow-mo grammar devices you inserted deliberately, and thereby undoing the moments of slow-mo written into the description.  Am I a typical reader among your readers for this script?  If I'm not, if other readers dialled in to the slow-mo visuals effortlessly and continuously, no problem. If I'm not alone in finding the slow-mo easy to lose grasp of, perhaps there needs to be a stronger device to keep the reader in mental slow-mo mode.  I can think of two things: (1) put a seamless, overt visual reminder on every page, worked into the narrative, to keep the reader locked into visualizing in slow-mo at all times; (2) slip in a page-one preface describing the slow-mo style in greater detail, similar to how you clarified it in your comments here.

"back on the ground..." -- you are right.  Leading into that sentence, our most recent mental picture was the mitt. So with that image lingering, logically the sentence could be read as: "Lands [it, the ball] with a huge grin."  As written keeps that ambiguity at bay.

[Pitchpatch]

But in a script like this, I'm deliberately trying to slow down the read in ways that don't feel contrived.

Interesting point about wanting to slow down the read and the reader.  Perhaps using some punctuation other than a comma, which has a fairly rigid set of rules and context.

Ellipses are... too halting.

Maybe ---- something as nutty ---- as a double em-dash?  A single em -- seems too short to do -- the job effectively.  I'm just cruising with my stupid wheels on here.  No internal censor.  You're pitching a crazy stylistic gimmick with the 24/7 slow-mo, so why not invent a crazy grammar device to complement it?

Or just --

space it the hell --

out on the page.

Okay, boring round wheels swapped in for the trapezoid-shaped ones.  Conformity field activated, all level nominal. Stupid wheels are stupid, but when I passed the lady out walking her dog the look on her face was ---- priceless!

[Pitchpatch]

Scenes where characters speak to each other will be shot in near real-time, or using a slow motion lip-syncing/dubbing technique that's common to music videos. (e.g. Coldplay's video, "Yellow")

Whatnow?  First time I've seen you point this out... and can I say HELLSYESPLEASE.  The record-faster-playback-slower device is super freaky but seems very apropos to this movie!  It needs testing -- we watch music videos differently to theatrical films. But it could sweep away that potential lack of audience engagement I talked about earlier (re not lingering on faces).

Gah!  TEST FOOTAGE NOW PLEASE.  I need to see how all this hangs together -- music, dialogue, sound, picture.  Kickstarter this sucker and I'll throw you $10 and do my bit.

[Pitchpatch]

This is the year that I finally pursue getting represented and making some waves outside of the blogosphere. I've sorta been in stealth mode for the last couple of years while writing some kick-ass specs. Stay tuned...

I need to correct something.  Folks reading this 10PTT might get the impression we're having some kind of back-slapping, mutual-admiration love fest.

Folks, you are so wrong.

Because I hate you, Trevor.

I hate how much fun you have writing.

I hate that you made me post barely edited pages.

And especially I hate that right now if I had to lay down a hundred bucks on who sells first between us... it has to be you.  I'm so happy for you and there's not an empty bourbon bottle big enough to catch my tears of joy.  Maybe if I stack 'em into a pyramid.  And then smash it down.  With my high school English Literature trophy.  Bash that pyramid until it's a thin, ragged sea of slashy, glassy pebbles.  I will walk barefoot across that sea, and when my feet are bloody red ribbons I will crawl, and when my knees are red ribbons I will roll, and when I am ribbons I will rest and gaze in wonder at the ceiling and wait for the paramedics, and when they arrive I will ask them: "Did Trevor sell?" And when they shrug to each other, turn to me and nod, I will sigh my last sigh and whisper: "Good.  He owes me two Benjamins."

[scriptwrecked]

You crack me up, man!!!

I'm looking forward to seeing some of your stuff. I'm willing to bet it's quite good. Given your punctilious nature, however, it's also entirely possible that you have some of the best half-written scripts the world will ever see.

But I will not take your bet, sir! You have poised-for-success written all over this site. And I hope it's a photo finish to a couple of spec sales.

Love your idea of coming up with some creative formatting to keep users firmly grounded in the slow motion deliciousness. I'm officially clicking "Save As..." and will give it a shot. I think that's the final missing piece of the puzzle, shrouded in a mystery, wrapped in a dumpling. Or something. Will keep you posted.

Glad you like my new Reader's Note! That will definitely make the next draft. I'm enthused by your enthusiasm (and hatred)! Hopefully the check will be in the mail soon.

Cheers!

[Pitchpatch]

Given your punctilious nature, however, it's also entirely possible that you have some of the best half-written scripts the world will ever see.

Painfully true.

From the 10PTT intro to my own early script OBLIVION:

My first real screenplay, way way back in the day.  I wrote 150 pages and realized I was only halfway through the story.  Whoopsie on the outlining.

Man, those were the days.  ScriptThing for DOS, writing through the nights, then smacking against the realization you weren't writing a feature but a mini-series.