A few years back, Guinness Draft beer ran a popular ad campaign featuring two scientists talking about their discoveries and inventions. One scientist will say something like, “Maybe we shouldn’t drink six beers at the same time,” and the other guy will say, “Not drink six beers at the same time? Brilliant!” Being in college at the time, I saw these commercials regularly, and “brilliant!” became something of a short-lived catchphrase.
Now, as I read and study screenplays, I find myself repeating these conversations in my head rather often. I’ll be examining a concept, like 3:10 to Yuma (a failing rancher guards a fast-talking villain on his all-important trip to prison), and wonder how a seemingly mediocre or barren concept can be turned into a satisfying, original full-length film. In this case, it was director James Mangold’s unique approach that made the film work so well: “Presenting an old-west showdown story as a buddy drama instead? Brilliant!”
This isn’t just a gimmicky nod; it’s an entire method. As a writer, I’m always looking for how to keep my ideas fresh and smart without alienating the audience. I’ve found the best thing to do is to have a conversation with myself: one side of me represents the filmmaker, creating this movie in my head and committing it to paper so others can share the same vision, and the other side represents myself as an audience member, hoping to be enthralled, entertained, impressed, or simply drawn in. The first side (the scientist who’s always on the left) says something like, “Instead of having the cop follow the killer in a linear story, we’ll have the cop go forwards in time and the serial killer go backwards, so that when the cop figures it all out, the killer is back at his origin point as well.” The audience member side of me (on the right) replies, “The cop goes forwards while the killer goes backwards, and their stories resolve at the same time? Brilliant!” Then, I know I have something. If the audience member can’t wrap his head around it enough to say it out loud, or it sounds like he’s describing an existing movie I’m already familiar with, it probably still needs some work.
The Dark Knight is a textbook example of this practice at work. The film runs at 152 minutes, but Christopher Nolan’s rapid, jump-through-time style packs this film full of characters, locations, and varying situations, always running the risk of feeling rehashed or cliched. To avoid this problem, every single scene or story arc has an extra twist to it that makes it totally unique to the film it’s in. (WARNING: Minor spoilers ahead.) “The bank robbery has each man betraying a teammate one by one until the Joker betrays them all? Brilliant!” “Batman flips an 18-wheeler vertically in downtown Gotham? Brilliant!” “The climax of the film hinges not on a fight scene, but on the drama of a moral question set to everyday people? Brilliant!” That’s just scratching the surface. Nolan’s body of work is a masterclass in taking a concept and adding a twist that makes the entire experience completely original, but The Dark Knight takes the cake.
One of my main goals is to apply this concept to all of my work. The best way to write is to write something that no one else can; being idiosyncratic is the ticket to Hollywood success. I want people to know that the only way to get an Adam Thede script is to get it from Adam Thede. And to be glad they did.
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