by Anita Larsen
Green Screenwriter is open to accepted wisdom.
S/he will pick up “Write a brilliant script” with the wonder and curiosity of a child picking up a pretty rock. Childlike, s/he will handle this rock, perhaps even swish it in water—oh, look! A starflake of mica!
But soon, especially if Green has had any experience with this kind of rock (for example, publishing’s “good read” rock), s/he may just sort of, you know, toss this brilliant-script rock away. After all, how many rocks can you carry around? If you need a rock, take a hike, rocks all over the place.
But then one day Green pushes aside the pile of wrecked paper s/he fondly imagines to be a script. It’s the blueprint of “Leapin’ Lizard, Chuck and the Archetypal Taco,” now in its nineteenth revision. S/he stands, waits for circulation to return to his/her nether regions (revisions take an anatomical toll), and exits to wander in the wilderness, where s/he idly snags up another rock. Truth: Rocks are a comfort in a chancy world.
Being mythologically inclined, Green claims this rock by naming it.
And the name of this rock is The Rock of the Brilliant Script, Its Role in High-Sixes-Against-Seven Deals.
Green vows to smash the secret out of this rock, and indeed it does shatter under his/her sledge hammer, and in the wreckage (A miracle! A miracle! A sign and a portent in the middle of the rock!) is a tiny papyrus scroll.
On the scroll are small, fastidious letters in an ancient but somehow readable script, and the title of the scroll is “Secrets of Brilliant Deals You GOTTA Know!! Anyone Can Write a Script, Anyone Can Film It, But How You Gonna SELL It? That’s DISTRIBUTION! Free Concluding Summation Free. Seven Secrets Seven.”
Well, it’s a long title, and it’s sort of off the point in that it presupposes a lot of steps, but that’s the way with a lot of these rocks, and Green’s never thought twice about distribution so this is new information, plus s/he has nowhere to go except back to the Taco thing and guess what—who needs it?
S/he pulls from a pocket the magnifying glass s/he keeps handy in case of unexpected encounters with small print and...
Step one is easy. Green’s got this one taped. Distributors want a unique storyline. In Green’s opinion “Leapin’ Lizard, Chuck and the Archetypal Taco” is both unique and universal, eminently commercial, with an instantly graspable conceptual twist. It’s the story of a hungry Stone Age teenaged boy who tricks the archetypal taco recipe that can give him fame, fortune, the awesome chick in his Sabre Tooth Tiger-Hunting seminar, and sustenance forever or as long as he needs it from a magic lizard in a spectacular never-before-seen-but-possible opening action sequence that takes place way high up on a really big rock.
The next step, genre, could have been a toughie, but Green’s life experience has taught him/her that there is indeed a time in the tide or whatever, and so has never for an instant believed that trends don’t mean squat. True, culinary histography isn’t a hot genre, but neither was mockumentary, and look at “Blair Witch”! Green senses an approaching groundswell of interest in the new genre of culinary histography.
So far, so good.
Next—bankable stars. Hmm. Well, yeah, but... guess that makes sense in a bean-counting way.... But should the occasion arise in which the Taco thing requires casting, who’s bankable and where? What if some big-buzz actor trots off to foreign markets and makes so many commercials in the interests of acquiring, like, really OBSCENE bucks, and all of Europe, Asia, Australia, and Africa are so sick of him they could spit and he gets cast in Taco? Actors! Who needs ’em?
Next, director/cinematographer track record. Beans, beans. Frankly, Green is beginning to think the only person taking a risk here is him/her! But s/he reads on. Might as well.
The next secret is name tie-in—best-selling novel, popular licensed character, etc. Gosh.
Yes, Green is looking green. But then s/he reads the next step, which is special audience segment, and this is as warming to him/her as a steaming mug of coffee on a tree-crack-cold winter day in the Upper Midwest. Green thanks the Universe for the free national population and movie-audience demographics s/he found online and used to stiffen Taco’s spine.
Now Green reads the final step—attached money. Dismay escalates to outrage. Money isn’t his/her job! S/he’s a writer! What’s the deal? S/he should go ask Chock Full O’ Wheetabix, Taco and Extruded Snacks Division for a corporate handout?
All Green can say is that the Free Concluding Summation Free better be better than the rest of this accepted wisdom. S/he reads on...
... and embraces another accepted real-life wisdom—it ain’t easy being Green.
CONCLUDING SUMMATION:
Best to count the beans before you start to cook.