THE REAL MCKEE
October 13th, 2003
by IAN PARKER
Lessons of a screenwriting guru.
(Here's a sampling from an excellent article on Robert McKee in today's The New Yorker)
Before the arrival of cinema, there were how-to guides for aspiring novelists and playwrights. Then, when movies appeared, so did books like How to Write Moving Picture Plays, by William Lewis Gordon (1913), and How to Write a Photoplay, by A. W. Thomas (1914). Thomas nodded to Aristotle (as most modern guides do), and used the kind of subheadingsModeling the Dramatic, Hiding the Climaxthat seem to call out for PowerPoint software. According to Gordon, in practically every story there should be an element of rivalry with one or more obstacles to overcome. He steered his readers away from children, animals, autobiographical stories, Westerns, expensive military plots, and slapstick. the scene action must be the explanation and tell the story, he wrote, exactly anticipating the spirit (and uppercase letters) of his modern successors.
Today, a fair-sized Barnes & Noble will carry about sixty books in a similar vein, including Aristotles Poetics for Screenwriters: Storytelling Secrets from the Greatest Mind in Western Civilization. Most are alert to the obvious booby trap in the how-to-write genre: the author has not written a hit screenplay, and so offers guidance only in general structural principlesa form, not a formula. All the same, many of these booksand their accompanying courses and software packagesfind it hard to resist dropping a number into the title, to hint that science will take charge of the slippery mess of words on a page: How Not to Write a Screenplay: 101 Common Mistakes Most Screenwriters Make; 500 Ways to Beat the Hollywood Script Reader: Writing the Screenplay the Reader Will Recommend; Power Screenwriting: The 12 Stages of Story Development. In How to Write a Movie in 21 Days, Viki King explains that by page 45, your hero has reacted to what happened on page 30. He is now different, and we begin to see that here, in a symbolic scene. Also, by page 45 we begin to see a resolution of the original desire your character had on page 10.
The first modern best-seller in the genre was Screenplay, by Syd Field. First published in 1979, the book still carries a special thanks to Werner and all the people in est, and half a million copies have been printed. Derived from a course that Field taught at Sherwood Oaks Experimental College, a private school in California that sought to use people active in the industry as instructors, including Dustin Hoffman and Paul Newman, Screenplay is a slim, friendly, upbeat book, with exclamation points and one-sentence paragraphs. Movies had always had beginnings, middles, and ends. Since Screenplay, they have had three acts: Act I is the setup; Act II is the confrontation; and Act III is the resolution. Plot points spin the story around, from act to act. (According to Field, who argues that he is teaching only form, not formula, the second act runs from page 30 to page 90.) Fields language burrowed deep into Hollywooda fact that some find maddening, including John Truby, a screenwriting instructor with a standing just below that of McKee and Field. Truby, who teaches seminars and markets a computer program called Trubys Blockbuster, recently said that he regarded Fields three-act idea to be the triumph of complete superficiality over any type of content.
McKee, who says he has no competition, presents himself in contrast to Field as a bold, angry intellectual. Story, in its first few pages, praises Ingmar Bergman and quotes from Yeats and Jean Anouilh; the book has only ever been available in a hardback edition, which has sold more than a hundred thousand copies in the United States. McKee chose Brian Cox to play him in Adaptation, after looking over a list of names that included Michael Caine, Terence Stamp, and Christopher Plummer; but one guesses that he would have been most pleased with Harold Bloom. Story is about eternal, universal forms, not formulas, McKee writes at the start of his book, but for him this construction becomes more than a disclaimer: it is his platform. McKee displays his own relative impotence, and soin a happy paradoxestablishes his intellectual force. Those born with talent will succeed, every one else will probably fail. Life is drudgery and disappointment; and death lurks around the corner. When I met McKee in London earlier this year, the day before a Story seminar, he told me, What I teach is the truth: youre in over your head, this is not a hobby, this is an art form and a profession, and your chances of success are very, very slim. And if youve got only one story, get the fuck out of here. Writers are people with stories to tell. I think I do a great service, by sending the dilettantes out of the door. The amazing thing is that, no matter how hard I try to drive them out of the art, the reputation Ive gained by being honest brings them to the course. They know Im not a phony, Im not selling them a dream.
read more
Lessons of a screenwriting guru.
(Here's a sampling from an excellent article on Robert McKee in today's The New Yorker)
Before the arrival of cinema, there were how-to guides for aspiring novelists and playwrights. Then, when movies appeared, so did books like How to Write Moving Picture Plays, by William Lewis Gordon (1913), and How to Write a Photoplay, by A. W. Thomas (1914). Thomas nodded to Aristotle (as most modern guides do), and used the kind of subheadingsModeling the Dramatic, Hiding the Climaxthat seem to call out for PowerPoint software. According to Gordon, in practically every story there should be an element of rivalry with one or more obstacles to overcome. He steered his readers away from children, animals, autobiographical stories, Westerns, expensive military plots, and slapstick. the scene action must be the explanation and tell the story, he wrote, exactly anticipating the spirit (and uppercase letters) of his modern successors.
Today, a fair-sized Barnes & Noble will carry about sixty books in a similar vein, including Aristotles Poetics for Screenwriters: Storytelling Secrets from the Greatest Mind in Western Civilization. Most are alert to the obvious booby trap in the how-to-write genre: the author has not written a hit screenplay, and so offers guidance only in general structural principlesa form, not a formula. All the same, many of these booksand their accompanying courses and software packagesfind it hard to resist dropping a number into the title, to hint that science will take charge of the slippery mess of words on a page: How Not to Write a Screenplay: 101 Common Mistakes Most Screenwriters Make; 500 Ways to Beat the Hollywood Script Reader: Writing the Screenplay the Reader Will Recommend; Power Screenwriting: The 12 Stages of Story Development. In How to Write a Movie in 21 Days, Viki King explains that by page 45, your hero has reacted to what happened on page 30. He is now different, and we begin to see that here, in a symbolic scene. Also, by page 45 we begin to see a resolution of the original desire your character had on page 10.
The first modern best-seller in the genre was Screenplay, by Syd Field. First published in 1979, the book still carries a special thanks to Werner and all the people in est, and half a million copies have been printed. Derived from a course that Field taught at Sherwood Oaks Experimental College, a private school in California that sought to use people active in the industry as instructors, including Dustin Hoffman and Paul Newman, Screenplay is a slim, friendly, upbeat book, with exclamation points and one-sentence paragraphs. Movies had always had beginnings, middles, and ends. Since Screenplay, they have had three acts: Act I is the setup; Act II is the confrontation; and Act III is the resolution. Plot points spin the story around, from act to act. (According to Field, who argues that he is teaching only form, not formula, the second act runs from page 30 to page 90.) Fields language burrowed deep into Hollywooda fact that some find maddening, including John Truby, a screenwriting instructor with a standing just below that of McKee and Field. Truby, who teaches seminars and markets a computer program called Trubys Blockbuster, recently said that he regarded Fields three-act idea to be the triumph of complete superficiality over any type of content.
McKee, who says he has no competition, presents himself in contrast to Field as a bold, angry intellectual. Story, in its first few pages, praises Ingmar Bergman and quotes from Yeats and Jean Anouilh; the book has only ever been available in a hardback edition, which has sold more than a hundred thousand copies in the United States. McKee chose Brian Cox to play him in Adaptation, after looking over a list of names that included Michael Caine, Terence Stamp, and Christopher Plummer; but one guesses that he would have been most pleased with Harold Bloom. Story is about eternal, universal forms, not formulas, McKee writes at the start of his book, but for him this construction becomes more than a disclaimer: it is his platform. McKee displays his own relative impotence, and soin a happy paradoxestablishes his intellectual force. Those born with talent will succeed, every one else will probably fail. Life is drudgery and disappointment; and death lurks around the corner. When I met McKee in London earlier this year, the day before a Story seminar, he told me, What I teach is the truth: youre in over your head, this is not a hobby, this is an art form and a profession, and your chances of success are very, very slim. And if youve got only one story, get the fuck out of here. Writers are people with stories to tell. I think I do a great service, by sending the dilettantes out of the door. The amazing thing is that, no matter how hard I try to drive them out of the art, the reputation Ive gained by being honest brings them to the course. They know Im not a phony, Im not selling them a dream.
read more
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