I don't know one person that didn't thoroughly enjoy The (original) Hangover. I'm sure there are some individuals that didn't, but I don't know them.
I do know people that didn't enjoy The Hangover Part II.
And to them, I say... Wtf?!
Let's be honest. The Hangover was never meant to have a sequel. It was a stand-alone R-rated comedy. It wasn't Back To The Future. It wasn't set up for a continuation. But neither was Meet The Parents or Ghostbusters or even Toy Story, for that matter.
It's arguable that pretty much every-fucking-single comedy sequel is not as great as its original. It's almost a given. Unless the original was just terrible. In which case, there would be no sequel.
So if we're talking about whether or not The Hangover Part II is as great as The Hangover, then you probably already knew the answer when they announced they were going to make a sequel.
No, Part II is not as great as its predecessor. But it's still worth seeing. Why? Because nothing else is coming close to the comedic value inherent in The Hangover's premise. And by association, in The Hangover Part II's premise.
We knew going in that the premise is the same. The characters are the same. We've gone from Vegas to Bangkok and from Doug's impending wedding to Stu's impending wedding. There's not a lot that's different about this sequel. But it doesn't need to be different. They've taken the template that worked so well for the original and planted new jokes, new situations, and new laugh-your-fat-fucking-ass-off jokes into the mix.
And ya know what?
It works.
Is it the best R-rated comedy of the decade?
No. Of course not. How could it be? The Hangover is. It set the bar for R-rated comedies. Its sequel was never going to push that bar higher. But it comes closer than other comedies in recent memory.
The only comedy that came close was Bridesmaids. And honestly? The Hangover Part II is better than Bridesmaids. Many will disagree with me, but from my perspective, it's simple.
Bridesmaids has no momentum. It's a row boat paddling around in circles.
The Hangover Part II is a speed boat barreling full-speed toward the shores of Thailand.
Bridesmaids has no goal to keep us involved in the story. It's unfocused. There are great characters, yes. But there's nothing for them to do. They're just running around in circles complaining about their lives.
Hangover II gives us 3 characters we already love, puts them in a similar-but-different situation, and makes those characters fight their desperate, tired, overwhelmed asses off to get out of it.
Sure, there are some moments in Hangover II when you're thinking "been there, done that" but there are more moments that surprise you, delight you, and laugh-till-you-cry entertain you.
If you wanna see both Bridesmaids and Hangover II, go ahead. They're both worth seeing.
But if you're only spending your money on one comedy this summer, invest in The Hangover Part II. It'll repay you with the laughs that got you weak the first time around. Because if a great joke is truly great, it can be reused. Hangover Part II proves that.
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Get Hangovered!... Again!!
It's that time of the year, ladies and gents! The Hangover: Part II is finally here!
Get down to your local theater and enjoy an afternoon with the 3 most irresponsible film characters to hit the silver screen in years. Your smile will thank you :D
Get down to your local theater and enjoy an afternoon with the 3 most irresponsible film characters to hit the silver screen in years. Your smile will thank you :D
The Rising Gates of Hollywood
So you know I won a small contest a couple of years ago. And you know that contest did nothing to advance my screenwriting career. You also know I placed in the Quarters of the Nicholl Fellowships and that simply placing got me many reads.
What you don't know is that it got me hooked up with a small-time indy producer. He loved the script and we really hit it off. Great guy, great spirit. We agreed on what's called a Shopping Agreement. He's allowed to shop the script around for a period of time in hopes of setting the project up at a studio. In the meantime, I can still pitch the project and query producers on my own. It's not a bad deal, but it's not great either.
No money came from it. But that's typical for an unknown writer. It's illogical to expect a producer to take a shot in the dark on a writer that's essentially unproven.
Anyway, the producer and I have talked regularly for about a year now and we've come close to sealing a deal with a couple of companies that I won't name here. In fact, the script is being read at a major studio right now. But to be honest, I'm not getting my hopes up.
Getting read is just that. They'll read it. And most likely, they'll pass on it. Especially in today's Hollywood climate, you're looking at a greater uphill battle than ever before. The gates of Hollywood are steadily rising and it's getting damn hard to continuously try to climb over them. Even with a producer who has an "in," it's still lottery odds against you hitting that jackpot.
So what else can I do but write? Once you've completed that spec, even if it's out in the world gaining momentum, you've got to just... let it go. Your job is to write. Not to haggle with studios. Or to wait by the phone in hopes that you'll get that life-changing call. That'll get you nowhere fast. You're a writer. Leave that last spec behind you and move on to the next. Before you know it, you'll have two more specs under your belt that are even better than that contest-winning script. Then you'll brew a cup of coffee, maybe sit back to enjoy the view from your balcony, maybe take a rewarding walk with your dog. And then one afternoon when you least expect it, you'll get that call.
"We liked your script..."
"But we didn't love it."
Oh well.
Just keep writing.
What you don't know is that it got me hooked up with a small-time indy producer. He loved the script and we really hit it off. Great guy, great spirit. We agreed on what's called a Shopping Agreement. He's allowed to shop the script around for a period of time in hopes of setting the project up at a studio. In the meantime, I can still pitch the project and query producers on my own. It's not a bad deal, but it's not great either.
No money came from it. But that's typical for an unknown writer. It's illogical to expect a producer to take a shot in the dark on a writer that's essentially unproven.
Anyway, the producer and I have talked regularly for about a year now and we've come close to sealing a deal with a couple of companies that I won't name here. In fact, the script is being read at a major studio right now. But to be honest, I'm not getting my hopes up.
Getting read is just that. They'll read it. And most likely, they'll pass on it. Especially in today's Hollywood climate, you're looking at a greater uphill battle than ever before. The gates of Hollywood are steadily rising and it's getting damn hard to continuously try to climb over them. Even with a producer who has an "in," it's still lottery odds against you hitting that jackpot.
So what else can I do but write? Once you've completed that spec, even if it's out in the world gaining momentum, you've got to just... let it go. Your job is to write. Not to haggle with studios. Or to wait by the phone in hopes that you'll get that life-changing call. That'll get you nowhere fast. You're a writer. Leave that last spec behind you and move on to the next. Before you know it, you'll have two more specs under your belt that are even better than that contest-winning script. Then you'll brew a cup of coffee, maybe sit back to enjoy the view from your balcony, maybe take a rewarding walk with your dog. And then one afternoon when you least expect it, you'll get that call.
"We liked your script..."
"But we didn't love it."
Oh well.
Just keep writing.
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Goals for 2011
Yeah, we're almost halfway through 2011, but I never did get around to making a list of goals... Maybe because I'm afraid of not achieving them, maybe because I've been unbelievably successful at procrastinating, or maybe because the thought of writing down goals is just so... cliche.
Whatever the reason, I've decided to post my goals here for all to see so that maybe, juuust mayyyybe, I'll feel the pressure of knowing anyone can see them and that might light a fire under my ass.
Without further ado...
MY 5 GOALS FOR 2011:
1.) Come up with 10 great loglines.
2.) Choose just 3 and create full outlines for each.
3.) Finish 1 draft, polish, and rewrite.
4.) Start the novel I wish I'd already finished.
5.) Query anyone and everyone with my newly finished, hotter than fire spec.
And there you have it. As each goal is checked off, I'll update the many followers I will hopefully have by then.
P.S. I reserve the right to alter those goals as I see fit :P
Whatever the reason, I've decided to post my goals here for all to see so that maybe, juuust mayyyybe, I'll feel the pressure of knowing anyone can see them and that might light a fire under my ass.
Without further ado...
MY 5 GOALS FOR 2011:
1.) Come up with 10 great loglines.
2.) Choose just 3 and create full outlines for each.
3.) Finish 1 draft, polish, and rewrite.
4.) Start the novel I wish I'd already finished.
5.) Query anyone and everyone with my newly finished, hotter than fire spec.
And there you have it. As each goal is checked off, I'll update the many followers I will hopefully have by then.
P.S. I reserve the right to alter those goals as I see fit :P
Saturday, May 21, 2011
Why Bridesmaids in Not the New Hangover
We've all seen it. The Hangover. The very definition of "instant classic."
If you haven't seen it, stop reading and find your local video kiosk right now.
Done watching?
Okay. Now we've all seen it.
Instant classic, right?
Told you so.
So we've seen it and we love it. It's the comedy we all aspire to write. Even if your forte is writing thrillers or horrors or can't-hold-back-the-tears dramas, you know you'd be proud to be the co-writer of The Hangover... and so would your bank account.
But why does The Hangover work?
Primarily because of one thing: a simple goal.
What is that goal? Find Doug (the groom-to-be).
The mystery of Doug's location is what keeps us invested in the story. And the laugh-your-ass-off moments are what make us enjoy the ride.
So we know why The Hangover is great. Simple goal, right. But the reason for today's post is this:
Last week, I'm watching re-runs of The Office on TBS and during a commercial break I see the trailer for "Bridesmaids," the new Judd Apatow comedy. Somewhere in that trailer, I hear the voiceover dude say something like this: "Critics are saying it's the new Hangover! It's better than The Hangover!"
Wait, what was that?
It's better than The Hangover?!?!
Yeahhh, that's gonna come back to bite you. Just from the trailer, you can get a sense for why this film isn't even gonna step in the ring with The Hangover.
What was that thing we glossed over earlier? The reason for The Hangover's success??
A simple goal.
If you're gonna stand toe-to-toe with The Hangover, you gotta have an equally strong goal.
And Bridesmaids just doesn't.
If you've seen the film, you know this already. If you haven't, just google "Bridesmaids trailer" and you'll get a sense of the story.
What is the goal in Bridesmaids? Go ahead, tell me... No, I'll wait, go ahead, think about it... Really, I'm waiting, think it over... Had enough time? Okay, lay it on me...
Aaaaand there's the problem. There is no goal.
There may be many small, temporary, fleeting goals, but there is no all-encompassing, give-it-to-me-straight, simple-as-pie goal.
Bridesmaids is just a clusterfuck of vagina jokes with a wedding at the end. It's a copy-and-paste story set apart only by Judd Apatow's gross-out dialogue and situational comedy.
It's a serviceable comedy masquerading as a classic comedy. It's not 40 Year Old Virgin or Superbad or even Forgetting Sarah Marshall. And it's definitely not The Hangover.
All of those films have one thing in common: a simple goal.
Lose your virginity, finally!
Somehow get booze for the party-of-the-year.
Use your Hawaii vacation to forget your ex (yes, this sounds like a passive goal, but the protag is primarily proactive in his attempt to forget Sarah Marshall).
And of course, find Doug!
Simple, simple, simple.
What is the protagonist's goal in Bridesmaids?
Plan your best friend's wedding? Maybe. But she doesn't really try very hard to do that.
Get rid of your shitty fuckbuddy and date the nice cop who pulled you over? Again, she doesn't try very hard at that either.
Defeat your best friend's new evil friend and prove your worth? Not really. She gives up pretty easily.
Maybe it's: Restart your failed cake shop and do what you love. But she shows no real desire to pursue this until the very end.
If I had to really pinpoint the overarching goal in Bridesmaids, I'd have to say it's this: Find direction in your life.
And honestly, I think that's the real goal. But there's a major problem with this. It's an inner goal. It's not an outer goal.
Every great story should ideally have a protagonist with two goals: one they actively seek to achieve and one that is hidden inside them that they have yet to identify.
In "The Hangover", the protagonist is probably Stu Price... the guy with the bitch-zilla for a fiance. He's the only protagonist that makes a major change in the film. He goes from getting walked all over like a a tweaker factory welcome mat to actually standing up to his fiance and leaving her. Obviously, that's not the goal of the story though. His story goal is, again, to find Doug. That's his outer goal. His inner goal, the goal he's yet to identify, is to be a man and stand up to his fiance.
By giving Stu a simple outer goal, the writers of The Hangover give the audience something to really grasp on to, something to distract us into believing we're watching a movie about 3 guys trying to find their friend. But it's really just a film about a guy standing up for himself.
What is Bridesmaids about? It's about a girl changing her life. But there's no outer goal for us to grasp onto to distract us into believing we're watching a movie about anything else.
It's a fatal flaw. It's the reason most people will walk out of the theater wondering why they liked the movie, but didn't love it. It's why it will fade from memory like every other summer comedy.
And it's why Bridesmaids is not the new Hangover.
You wanna see the next Hangover, just wait for sequel.
If you haven't seen it, stop reading and find your local video kiosk right now.
Done watching?
Okay. Now we've all seen it.
Instant classic, right?
Told you so.
So we've seen it and we love it. It's the comedy we all aspire to write. Even if your forte is writing thrillers or horrors or can't-hold-back-the-tears dramas, you know you'd be proud to be the co-writer of The Hangover... and so would your bank account.
But why does The Hangover work?
Primarily because of one thing: a simple goal.
What is that goal? Find Doug (the groom-to-be).
The mystery of Doug's location is what keeps us invested in the story. And the laugh-your-ass-off moments are what make us enjoy the ride.
So we know why The Hangover is great. Simple goal, right. But the reason for today's post is this:
Last week, I'm watching re-runs of The Office on TBS and during a commercial break I see the trailer for "Bridesmaids," the new Judd Apatow comedy. Somewhere in that trailer, I hear the voiceover dude say something like this: "Critics are saying it's the new Hangover! It's better than The Hangover!"
Wait, what was that?
It's better than The Hangover?!?!
Yeahhh, that's gonna come back to bite you. Just from the trailer, you can get a sense for why this film isn't even gonna step in the ring with The Hangover.
What was that thing we glossed over earlier? The reason for The Hangover's success??
A simple goal.
If you're gonna stand toe-to-toe with The Hangover, you gotta have an equally strong goal.
And Bridesmaids just doesn't.
If you've seen the film, you know this already. If you haven't, just google "Bridesmaids trailer" and you'll get a sense of the story.
What is the goal in Bridesmaids? Go ahead, tell me... No, I'll wait, go ahead, think about it... Really, I'm waiting, think it over... Had enough time? Okay, lay it on me...
Aaaaand there's the problem. There is no goal.
There may be many small, temporary, fleeting goals, but there is no all-encompassing, give-it-to-me-straight, simple-as-pie goal.
Bridesmaids is just a clusterfuck of vagina jokes with a wedding at the end. It's a copy-and-paste story set apart only by Judd Apatow's gross-out dialogue and situational comedy.
It's a serviceable comedy masquerading as a classic comedy. It's not 40 Year Old Virgin or Superbad or even Forgetting Sarah Marshall. And it's definitely not The Hangover.
All of those films have one thing in common: a simple goal.
Lose your virginity, finally!
Somehow get booze for the party-of-the-year.
Use your Hawaii vacation to forget your ex (yes, this sounds like a passive goal, but the protag is primarily proactive in his attempt to forget Sarah Marshall).
And of course, find Doug!
Simple, simple, simple.
What is the protagonist's goal in Bridesmaids?
Plan your best friend's wedding? Maybe. But she doesn't really try very hard to do that.
Get rid of your shitty fuckbuddy and date the nice cop who pulled you over? Again, she doesn't try very hard at that either.
Defeat your best friend's new evil friend and prove your worth? Not really. She gives up pretty easily.
Maybe it's: Restart your failed cake shop and do what you love. But she shows no real desire to pursue this until the very end.
If I had to really pinpoint the overarching goal in Bridesmaids, I'd have to say it's this: Find direction in your life.
And honestly, I think that's the real goal. But there's a major problem with this. It's an inner goal. It's not an outer goal.
Every great story should ideally have a protagonist with two goals: one they actively seek to achieve and one that is hidden inside them that they have yet to identify.
In "The Hangover", the protagonist is probably Stu Price... the guy with the bitch-zilla for a fiance. He's the only protagonist that makes a major change in the film. He goes from getting walked all over like a a tweaker factory welcome mat to actually standing up to his fiance and leaving her. Obviously, that's not the goal of the story though. His story goal is, again, to find Doug. That's his outer goal. His inner goal, the goal he's yet to identify, is to be a man and stand up to his fiance.
By giving Stu a simple outer goal, the writers of The Hangover give the audience something to really grasp on to, something to distract us into believing we're watching a movie about 3 guys trying to find their friend. But it's really just a film about a guy standing up for himself.
What is Bridesmaids about? It's about a girl changing her life. But there's no outer goal for us to grasp onto to distract us into believing we're watching a movie about anything else.
It's a fatal flaw. It's the reason most people will walk out of the theater wondering why they liked the movie, but didn't love it. It's why it will fade from memory like every other summer comedy.
And it's why Bridesmaids is not the new Hangover.
You wanna see the next Hangover, just wait for sequel.
Monday, May 16, 2011
To Nicholl or Not To Nicholl?
Since this is predominantly a screenwriting blog, or a screenwriterly blog, or a blog that is predominantly for screenwriters, I thought I would post a lil' 'bout this contest we all know as The Nicholl. Sure, the deadline has passed but hey... many of you have entered annually, and many of you would probably like to know if you should enter next year. So let's get to it...
It's actually called "The Nicholl Fellowships in Screenwriting" but you'll understand if I don't increase my chances of getting arthritis by repeatedly using the formal name. So from now on I'll use the term NFS, for short.
NFS is run by the Academy of Motion Pictures and Sciences which also runs that thing you know as the Oscars, which for some reason is not what they say when you've won an Oscar, they just say "Academy Award Winner Whatshisname" or "Academy Award Nominee Whatshername" or "Ten Time Academy Award Nominee Whomeveritmaybe," which is really just a great way of saying "Professional Bridesmaid of the Oscars" and a nice way of knowing they'll win that trophy on their next nomination cause the Academy is (or so it is said) very political and likes to award those saps who've gotten used to losing.
Anyway, the self-proclaimed Academy hands out trophies for two all-encompassing categories: Those Who Have Made Mad Mad Money in Movies aaaaaaand Those Who Have Only Watched Movies And Hope To Someday Be Involved In Them Even Though They Have No Business Even Trying.... (I kid, I kid!). Like many or even all of you, I too happen to fall into the bounds of the latter category.
So I think it's safe to assume we're all in the same boat, here. You know, that boat that feels like it's sinking more-n-more as we scramble over one another to try to type the greatest piece of visual storytelling that anyone has ever wiped their ass with. You know that boat, right? 'Course you do. 'Cause we're paddling that fucker around in circles right now. You-n-me-n-all of them. Your competition. Those writers you like to look at and loathe for doing what you're so scared of doing: succeeding.
Now, when I say "succeeding" I don't mean that you're competing with writers who are out there selling specs and hustling for assignments. No. Those guys and gals are in their own league. They're AAA ball players in the farm system for the Yanks or the Sawx or even the Cubbies. We're those Single-A ballers who are scared shitless they're never gonna get their at-bat in the bigs. We're the outfielders for the Single-A Whothefuckcares of North Dakota who wake up every morning in their scotch-reeking one-bedrooms praying to Whoeverthefuckisupthere that they'll still have a job when they go down swinging in the 9th at the local ballpark that might not even be there next season.
We're what the fans call "lifers." We're what the screenwriting contest runners call "customers." We're their paychecks and their mortgages and their too-tinted-2012-special-edition-eco-friendly-but-not-really-too-cheap-to-install-real-brakes-Toyota insurance payments. We're who they count on to enter their cleverly named contest year after heartbreaking year even though we may have never even crossed that threshold into Semifinals-land.
"We're sorry. There were just so many good scripts this year. We hope you enter again next year," they tell us.
"We thoroughly enjoyed the wide range of talent we were privileged enough to read, but unfortunately we could only advance so many into the finals," they'll explain ever-so-gently.
"We hope to read your work next year."
"We'd love for you to enter again."
"Only 200 days til our gates open again next season."
"You didn't advance but could you please pay us $250 so we can offer you our misguided assessment of your script we used as cheap poop paper?"
Or, "Can't wait to read your talented work the next time you enter!"
Of course you can't wait. You're struggling to pay your bills... Like the rest of us. But we don't go hustling over the internet to make ends meet. We apply for real jobs. We might dig ditches. We might write code. We might design websites or marketing strategies or floorplans for the buildings in which you run your scam of a successful company. We might drive you to work in that Yellow Cab you hailed this morning. Or that limo you rented for $450 for your spoiled son whose education we're probably paying for. We might pilot that red-eye you took to Hong Kong last September cause you... yes, even you... are still trying to sell that script you co-wrote in the May of '95 about a homecoming queen who just can't find her way home ("Why oh why can't anyone see the hook!?).
Point is, we do a lot of things. We're people who write stories about other people. We write stories and hope that someone will see the beauty in it and have faith enough to make the magic happen. We all need someone or something to believe in. What we don't need is people promising to make that happen for $55 and a 3-month grace period while you attempt to find a "winner" in that trash heap you'll be burning next week. We don't need upstarts promising things they can't deliver.
What we do need are contests that can deliver what they promise... even if they don't promise a lot. Contests like NFS.
NFS takes in approximately 6,500 entries annually and dwindles that number down to about 300-400 Quarterfinalists, 100-or-so Semifinalists, about 10 Finalists, and just 5 Fellows (or winners).
They'll send out a mass email to pretty much the entire industry with the title and genre of any script that made the Quarterfinals cut along with your name and contact information (as long as you're amenable).
Even for the lowly Quarterfinalists, this technique can generate inquiries by email or phone, subsequent script reads, possible representation, options, or even sales. For those who make the Semifinals or further, they'll have an even higher possibility of garnering interest. They can stamp that placement on a query letter or a query email and know with certainty that whomever they're querying will at least bat an eye at the mention of NFS. That's something you just can't do with other contests. Sure, there are some contests that are better than others, but they're just not NFS.
If you're looking to jump into the water next contest season, don't worry about scouring the interwebs for your best bet at winning. Winning a small contest will do you hardly any good. You might get a small cash prize, but you can't query a production company with "I won this contest you've never heard of."
I know this from experience.
I won a small contest a couple years back. Never got me anywhere. I paid some bills with the prize money, took my girlfriend to dinner, got to actually say "drinks are on me" for once. But it got me nowhere with producers or managers.
But I did place in the Quarterfinals of NFS that same year. And you know what? That got me reads. I had producers emailing me about this little script I wrote in college. This script that they would have never heard of had it not been for NFS.
Ultimately, the script wasn't ready and I didn't secure representation or option the property. But I did make some contacts. And I learned a lot about the contest scene.
If you have just $100 or less to spend on contests next season, slip two 20s to NFS and take your significant other out for a burger and a beer, 'cause ain't no one gonna do what NFS does.
So when you're debating on whether to enter that local competition that promises feedback or that contest that sounds like a coin, remember:
"What can Nicholl do for you?"
The answer is: a whole helluvalot.
It's actually called "The Nicholl Fellowships in Screenwriting" but you'll understand if I don't increase my chances of getting arthritis by repeatedly using the formal name. So from now on I'll use the term NFS, for short.
NFS is run by the Academy of Motion Pictures and Sciences which also runs that thing you know as the Oscars, which for some reason is not what they say when you've won an Oscar, they just say "Academy Award Winner Whatshisname" or "Academy Award Nominee Whatshername" or "Ten Time Academy Award Nominee Whomeveritmaybe," which is really just a great way of saying "Professional Bridesmaid of the Oscars" and a nice way of knowing they'll win that trophy on their next nomination cause the Academy is (or so it is said) very political and likes to award those saps who've gotten used to losing.
Anyway, the self-proclaimed Academy hands out trophies for two all-encompassing categories: Those Who Have Made Mad Mad Money in Movies aaaaaaand Those Who Have Only Watched Movies And Hope To Someday Be Involved In Them Even Though They Have No Business Even Trying.... (I kid, I kid!). Like many or even all of you, I too happen to fall into the bounds of the latter category.
So I think it's safe to assume we're all in the same boat, here. You know, that boat that feels like it's sinking more-n-more as we scramble over one another to try to type the greatest piece of visual storytelling that anyone has ever wiped their ass with. You know that boat, right? 'Course you do. 'Cause we're paddling that fucker around in circles right now. You-n-me-n-all of them. Your competition. Those writers you like to look at and loathe for doing what you're so scared of doing: succeeding.
Now, when I say "succeeding" I don't mean that you're competing with writers who are out there selling specs and hustling for assignments. No. Those guys and gals are in their own league. They're AAA ball players in the farm system for the Yanks or the Sawx or even the Cubbies. We're those Single-A ballers who are scared shitless they're never gonna get their at-bat in the bigs. We're the outfielders for the Single-A Whothefuckcares of North Dakota who wake up every morning in their scotch-reeking one-bedrooms praying to Whoeverthefuckisupthere that they'll still have a job when they go down swinging in the 9th at the local ballpark that might not even be there next season.
We're what the fans call "lifers." We're what the screenwriting contest runners call "customers." We're their paychecks and their mortgages and their too-tinted-2012-special-edition-eco-friendly-but-not-really-too-cheap-to-install-real-brakes-Toyota insurance payments. We're who they count on to enter their cleverly named contest year after heartbreaking year even though we may have never even crossed that threshold into Semifinals-land.
"We're sorry. There were just so many good scripts this year. We hope you enter again next year," they tell us.
"We thoroughly enjoyed the wide range of talent we were privileged enough to read, but unfortunately we could only advance so many into the finals," they'll explain ever-so-gently.
"We hope to read your work next year."
"We'd love for you to enter again."
"Only 200 days til our gates open again next season."
"You didn't advance but could you please pay us $250 so we can offer you our misguided assessment of your script we used as cheap poop paper?"
Or, "Can't wait to read your talented work the next time you enter!"
Of course you can't wait. You're struggling to pay your bills... Like the rest of us. But we don't go hustling over the internet to make ends meet. We apply for real jobs. We might dig ditches. We might write code. We might design websites or marketing strategies or floorplans for the buildings in which you run your scam of a successful company. We might drive you to work in that Yellow Cab you hailed this morning. Or that limo you rented for $450 for your spoiled son whose education we're probably paying for. We might pilot that red-eye you took to Hong Kong last September cause you... yes, even you... are still trying to sell that script you co-wrote in the May of '95 about a homecoming queen who just can't find her way home ("Why oh why can't anyone see the hook!?).
Point is, we do a lot of things. We're people who write stories about other people. We write stories and hope that someone will see the beauty in it and have faith enough to make the magic happen. We all need someone or something to believe in. What we don't need is people promising to make that happen for $55 and a 3-month grace period while you attempt to find a "winner" in that trash heap you'll be burning next week. We don't need upstarts promising things they can't deliver.
What we do need are contests that can deliver what they promise... even if they don't promise a lot. Contests like NFS.
NFS takes in approximately 6,500 entries annually and dwindles that number down to about 300-400 Quarterfinalists, 100-or-so Semifinalists, about 10 Finalists, and just 5 Fellows (or winners).
They'll send out a mass email to pretty much the entire industry with the title and genre of any script that made the Quarterfinals cut along with your name and contact information (as long as you're amenable).
Even for the lowly Quarterfinalists, this technique can generate inquiries by email or phone, subsequent script reads, possible representation, options, or even sales. For those who make the Semifinals or further, they'll have an even higher possibility of garnering interest. They can stamp that placement on a query letter or a query email and know with certainty that whomever they're querying will at least bat an eye at the mention of NFS. That's something you just can't do with other contests. Sure, there are some contests that are better than others, but they're just not NFS.
If you're looking to jump into the water next contest season, don't worry about scouring the interwebs for your best bet at winning. Winning a small contest will do you hardly any good. You might get a small cash prize, but you can't query a production company with "I won this contest you've never heard of."
I know this from experience.
I won a small contest a couple years back. Never got me anywhere. I paid some bills with the prize money, took my girlfriend to dinner, got to actually say "drinks are on me" for once. But it got me nowhere with producers or managers.
But I did place in the Quarterfinals of NFS that same year. And you know what? That got me reads. I had producers emailing me about this little script I wrote in college. This script that they would have never heard of had it not been for NFS.
Ultimately, the script wasn't ready and I didn't secure representation or option the property. But I did make some contacts. And I learned a lot about the contest scene.
If you have just $100 or less to spend on contests next season, slip two 20s to NFS and take your significant other out for a burger and a beer, 'cause ain't no one gonna do what NFS does.
So when you're debating on whether to enter that local competition that promises feedback or that contest that sounds like a coin, remember:
"What can Nicholl do for you?"
The answer is: a whole helluvalot.
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