Since I'm an aspiring screenwriter, and currently in the process of writing my own book for other folks in the same position, I read a lot of screenwriting books. And, yes, many of them do cover the same territory over and over. But I've also discovered that almost all the most enduring screenwriting books, and almost all the authors who become famous for writing them, have at least one small unique spin on the material that makes them worth reading.
Also, even though I'm long past the introductory stage myself, beginning screenwriters do often ask me which of the well-known books and or screenwriting teacher/gurus are most worth their attention. So I do feel compelled to keep up with the genre, and every now and then I pick up a very introductory text, either because it's brand new and I want to find out what a new author's unique take is, or simply because the book is already well known and I just never got around to reading it before. This book falls into the latter category.
For years, I've had friends and acquaintences either read Hague's book or take one of his workshops - more on them at his Screenplay Mastery site - and then, for weeks afterword, all I hear is, "Do you agree with what Hague says about...?" or "Hague says you should always..." So something about this guy's advice really does tend to stick with people.
In general, however, Hague's book impressed me a lot less than many other introductory screenwriting texts. As expected, he provides the obligatory basics of three-act structure, the kinds of story concepts that do and don't sell, and other key elements of screenwriting (plot, theme, foreshadowing, etc.). But these sections don't go into as much depth or seem as sharply observed as they are in other books. Hauge also introduces a system for setting up archetypal characters and tracking their actions through the story, but this process seems quite cumbersome to me, and even though I'm a very detail-oriented writer, I don't think I'd be able to wrap my head around it during the writing process. And, finally, the example films Hague uses to illustrate his points - most prominently The Karate Kid - feel a bit long in the tooth (the book has been reprinted many times since its original 1988 publication, but a peek at a current table of contents on Amazon.com shows the main story analysis chapter has not been updated with either newer or more truly classic film examples).
But now, having said all that, I will also say that, as with almost all other well-known screenwriting authors, there is one thing Hague does very, very, very well in this book, and which alone makes it worth buying and reading. And that's his explanation of how to motivate characters, boot them into action, and make their actions ring true within the confines of the story. In my work, I can read hundreds of scripts a year, and one of the most common problems with those that just don't work is a protagonist who isn't active, doesn't drive the story as a true hero should...or whose actions seem forced by the hand of the screenwriter and don't feel like things a real person could or would do in the same situation.
But Hague goes into great depth in describing how to create both inner motivations (wants and needs) and outer motivations (external circumstances that press the character into action), which are absolutely critical...and too often overlooked in screenwriting. And he does it better than any other screenwriting author I've read. So if you read this book, that's definitely what you should read it for. Other authors may do a better job of explaining basic structure and other facets of character construction, but nobody I've read yet, among scores of similar books, does a better job of so simply and thoroughly explaining how to create convincing character motivations. That's the gem that's buried here...and it's well worth digging out.
Someone on a mailing list I subscribe to noted yesterday that people in majority groups (and I would extend that to say not just majority groups, but groups holding a majority of power, whatever their numbers) tend to see people in minority groups as lacking in whatever quality defines the majority group...not as people who are fully possessed of their own special, but "other," quality. Thus, for example, white people tend to see black folks as lacking whiteness, extroverts see introverts as lacking in extroversion, tall people see short people as lacking in height, males tend to see females as lacking in testosterone (or whatever defines masculinity these days), rich people tend to see poor people as lacking in financial resources, etc. To see just how true this is, try to imagine black people viewing white folks as lacking in blackness, introverts seeing extroverts as people who just weren't born with enough introversion, short people feeling sorry for those who lack enough shortness, females viewing males as lacking estrogen (or whatever quality defines femininity these days), and poor people wishing they could pat rich folks on the heads to make them feel better about their lack of modest income. Not our usual perspective. But, actually, the more I think about it, the more I think that if we could get everyone to think exactly like this for a few days, the world would probably be a much better place.
What I finished reading today:
Bab: A Sub-Deb by Mary Roberts Rinehart
I picked this up at an estate sale a couple of years ago (reading old books is often fun just for the tactile experience - old covers, old pages, the weight of a comfortably worn hardcover in your hands - as well as for the interesting historical perspectives they can provide). The copyright dates are 1916 and 1917, and my copy has a handwritten inscription inside the front cover: "In remembrance of the happy graduation days of summer, 1917....Paul E. Neuselaufer." (Someone later pasted a label over this, identifying the volume as the property of "The Orsatti Agency, 9121 Sunset Boulevard, Hollywood, California, Oxford 1008" -- book archaeology, wondering about all the hands a volume has passed through, is fun, too.)
Anyway, although author Rinehart (1876-1958) was best known for mysteries and crime fiction, this story is a very light-hearted visit with a high-spirited 16-year-old girl, from a rather wealthy family, who chafes at always being overshadowed by her already "out" debutante older sister, is convinced her parents just don't understand her, and whose frequent flights of fancy and resulting elaborate schemes always backfire and get her into major trouble...before finally working out even better than they could have in her wildest dreams. It's generally a lot of fun, and an interesting read today for a couple of reasons.
First, the book is written in diary style, with more than enough intentional grammatical and typographical errors to convince us that main character Bab just doesn't have time to worry about such things. And it definitely contains echoes of more modern attempts at the same kind of thing, such as Bridget Jones' Diary. Of course, this book is squeaky clean in comparison (no sex or profanity), but it has the same breathless, ultimately hopeful yearning of the "Bridget" books, and the two heroines are definitely kindred spirits, separated only by about 80 years or so.
The second interesting thing about the book, for me, was that it revealed just how deeply modern teenage culture was already embedded in America, even in the days immediately preceding World War I. Bab yearns for her own car (and blows a year's allowance buying one and then hiding it from her father), assumes it's useless to try to express her inner feelings to her parents, and develops crushes on a variety of boys and men while remaining quite blind to the one boy - whom she assumes is in love with her sister - who's falling in love with her. But the most surprising note is that the term "slacker," used to mean exactly what it means today, appears frequently in the narrative.