From Issue 7, November 2002:

Jenny Borgars On The Couch

by Nic Ransome

(Full Article)

In the first of a series of articles in which ScriptWriter puts an industry figure or organisation ‘on the couch’, Nic Ransome looks at the Film Council’s ‘development wishlist’.

[This 'wishlist' can be found in the interview with Jenny Borgars, Development Heaven?] 

Getting past the gatekeepers at the Film Council is now easier because Jenny Borgars – Queen of the Film Council Development Fund – and her team have shared with us twenty non-British films from the past twenty years they wish they’d developed (see interview in ScriptWriter Issue 6). So banish your ennui, stop pretending to have writer’s block and brush off that treatment for your mind-bogglingly original, cross-genre masterpiece. There’s no longer any excuse for whiling away valuable writing time in front of Today With Des And Mel.

So what do we have? Seven literary adaptations (a Shakespeare and an Austen, both contemporary US readings, an edgy Palahniuk, a superior King, a clever short story, a Japanese pulp horror and a children’s book), twelve original screenplays and the WGA nightmare that was Meet the Parents. There are three films written by brothers, one by his eminence William Goldman, nine written or co-written by the director and four penned by writers who also act.

Instantly you should be struck by the heavyweight narrative nature of these twenty films. It’s no surprise that seven of the twenty are adaptations as even a moderately well-written novel will provide the depth of characterisation and complexity of plot that most screenplays lack. The original scripts are all superbly-conceived and rigorously-executed examples of the screenwriter’s craft. Almost to a movie, they are intricately-plotted, beautifully-paced stories. They are also some of the best examples of what Hollywood often does so well (pace Mssrs Kassovitz, Takahashi and Moodysson): genre-bending but recognisable stories that achieve an almost impossible balance between emotional involvement, intellectual stimulation and escapist entertainment.

There are sixteen ‘up’ endings of which eleven feature the culmination of a romance, while the other five are thrillers with plots that resolve (Ring and The Matrix of necessity leave the door ajar). Of the remaining four, two are supreme examples of the ambiguous denouement: Fight Club’s holding-hands-while-empty-skyscrapers-explode (some may argue that this is, in fact, a romantic happy ending) and Memento’s amnesiac loop. Only Do The Right Thing and La Haine have full-on, downbeat conclusions although with the narrative concerns of each being what they are, happy endings would be fairly impractical.

In any genre other than contemporary social drama, films with dark endings are notable by their absence. (What about Mulholland Drive, Seven, or Andrew Kevin Walker’s original script for 8mm?) Is there a suggestion here that only gritty urban dramas can end badly? There is, however, a pleasing cross-gender mix with several strong female characters though only four films have a central female protagonist: Clueless, Save the Last Dance, Ring and The Hand that Rocks the Cradle (Rebecca De Mornay’s seminal female psycho in that film should probably count at least twice).

Elsewhere in this issue you’ll find Jürgen Wolff’s 10 Commandments. Scrutinise Commandments 9 and 10. Of the twenty titles above, none are slavish, by-the-numbers genre films. Many ripped the genre envelope (The Matrix), single-handedly revitalised a lacklustre genre (The Hand that Rocks the Cradle, There’s Something About Mary) or defined a genre for a generation (Slackers, When Harry Met Sally).

Others are clever genre-splices like Misery, The Sixth Sense and Strictly Ballroom. Three are so strikingly original that they are all but unclassifiable (Fight Club, Shrek, Memento). Even movies like Clueless, Ring and 10 Things I Hate About You are top-notch examples of their genres. La Haine and Do the Right Thing have the raw energy, the universal thematic resonance, the genre spin and the stylistic innovation that few post-80s British films have attained, although recently there has been a marked improvement (Trainspotting, South West Nine, Gas Attack, Dirty Pretty Things).

Look at all twenty films – irrespective of origin, genre and development history – and you’ll notice that most share a fundamental similarity: at their core are hypnotically-watchable embodiments of absorbing, intriguing protagonists. Conversely, a penchant for ensemble casts is one of the defining aspects of the British film industry’s current output. (Terry Ilott, interviewed on page 40, believes that this is a good thing when it comes to genre horror.) But look at some of our most successful exports – Rowan Atkinson’s Bean, Hugh Grant’s floppy-haired, procrastinating English bloke – and you’re looking at roles so strong that you can’t help but identify the character with the actor. Think of Malcolm McDowell’s Alex, Michael Caine’s Carter, Richard E Grant’s Withnail or Clive Owen’s croupier-come-novelist, Jack Manfred; the best British films have indelible central characters wedded to unforgettable performances.

So if you are going to focus on one key aspect of your script, make it the creation of a protagonist (or antagonist, think Hannibal Lecter or Tyler Durden) who is so extraordinarily memorable that as soon as a reader opens your script, they can’t help but immediately envisage a bona fide star (and no, I don’t mean Ricky Tomlinson or Kathy Burke) as your character. When the script eventually lands on the desk of the head of development, the same thing will happen. So too with the producer and director until you end up with Brad Pitt, Harvey Keitel, John Malkovich, Drew Barrymore or Susan Sarandon in your film. Create characters as original as those written by Tarantino or Paul Thomas Anderson and you can take your pick of the A-List.

There is, of course, a serious problem here. As with writers and directors, most actors decamp to Hollywood at the very first sign of an upwardly mobile career so there are few British actors who are able to fulfil this essential function. Instead we have the US import: Monica Potter in Martha, Meet Frank, Daniel and Laurence, Thora Birch in The Hole and Christina Ricci in The Gathering (who are not a patch on Meg Ryan in When Harry Met Sally, Rebecca De Mornay in The Hand that Rocks the Cradle and Naomi Watts in the Ehren Kruger scripted remake of Ring). Or Rhys Ifans in everything.

If writing a script from scratch sounds just too much like hard work, then the bookshop beckons. Let’s assume that you’ve happened upon an undiscovered literary masterpiece and scraped together enough money to purchase an option. What then? Well, you should update the story and ensure that you have a deeply-troubled, probably borderline, protagonist (The Narrator, Leonard Shelby, Shrek). Add a romance and endeavour to include some archetypal resonance, social commentary and Freudian psychology. Take your raging, individualist, central character and pit them against a malicious, sinisterly-bureaucratic, socially-fractured or just plain unfair (Tootsie) world (or, if you can honestly dream up an innovative angle, against reality itself).

You may prefer a plot-heavy, romantic comedy full of charming incident, verbal jousting and conflicted love played out against a richly-coloured milieu peopled with three-dimensional supporting characters. If you believe you can do this, you must stand a pretty good chance as in the last decade only Gary Sinyor (Solitaire for 2) has come anywhere close to Richard Curtis’ mastery of this exceedingly tricky genre. You could perhaps option one of those fluorescent-coloured, chick-lit clones (one of them must be half-decent) and set about ripping the guts out of it and turning it into a three-act script. Make sure you can attract a decent cast though as, unlike the horror, thriller, social-realist and sci-fi genres, romantic comedy really does stand or fall on the likeability of the protagonists.

If none of this works, then at the very least you need to invite your brother (or sister) to co-write the script and insist on directing it yourself (or failing that, have Rob Reiner attached).

So back to that screenwriting software; that puppy’s not going to write itself you know!