Save the Cat!: The Last Book on Screenwriting You'll Ever Need

by Blake Snyder

Like many of the beats on the BS2, the opening image has a matching beat: the final image.

These are bookends. And because a good screenplay is about change, these two scenes are a way to make clear how that change takes place in your movie.

Often actors will only read the first and last 10 pages of a script to see if that drastic change is in there,

Somewhere in the first five minutes of a well-structured screenplay, someone (usually not the main character) will pose a question or make a statement (usually to the main character) that is the theme of the movie. “Be careful what you wish for,” this person will say or “Pride goeth before a fall” or “Family is more important than money.”

It won’t be this obvious, it will be conversational, an offhand remark that the main character doesn’t quite get at the moment

Who is greater in the overall scheme of things — the individual or the group? And the rest of the screenplay is the argument laid out, either proving or disproving this statement, and looking at it, pro and con, from every angle.

But make sure it’s there. It’s your opening bid. Declare: I can prove it. Then set out to do so.

The first 10 pages is also where we start to plant every character tic, exhibit every behavior that needs to be addressed later on, and show how and why the hero will need to change in order to win.

And when there’s something that our hero wants or is lacking, this is the place to stick the Six Things That Need Fixing. This is my phrase, six is an arbitrary number, that stands for the laundry list you must show — repeat SHOW

these Six Things That Need Fixing, these character tics and flaws, will be exploded later in the script, turned on their heads and cured. They will become running gags and call-backs.

Look at Big and its primary set-up: “You have to be this tall to go on this ride.” On the list of Six Things That Need Fixing there are other needs besides a height requirement. The kid in Big can’t get the girl, have any privacy, etc. But ...

The package that arrives in Romancing the Stone which will send Joan Wilder (Kathleen Turner) to South America; the telephone call that informs Tom Cruise his father has died in Rain Man; the dinner at which Reese Witherspoon’s fiancé announces he’s dumping her in Legally Blonde — these are the catalyst moments: telegrams, getting fired, catching the wife in bed with another man, news that you have three days to live, the knock at the door, the messenger. In the set-up you, the screenwriter, have told us what the world is like and now in the catalyst moment you knock it all down. Boom!

the catalyst is not what it seems. It’s the opposite of good news, and yet, by the time the adventure is over, it’s what leads the hero to happiness.

This is crazy. And we need him or her to realize that. Should I go? Dare I go? Sure, it’s dangerous out there, but what’s my choice? Stay here?

This is our chance to show how daunting a feat this is going to be.

Your moment of truth may not be so clear-cut, but it’s important to remember that the debate section must ask a question of some kind. In Legally Blonde the catalyst of the fiancé dumping Elle Woods quickly segues to her solution: Go to Harvard Law. “But can she get in?” That is the question posed in the debate section of that movie. The debate section thus becomes showing how Elle answers that question. And when she manages to zoom her LSATs, create a lascivious admissions video, and get accepted, the answer to the question is clear: Yes!

As discussed above, the act break is the moment where we leave the old world, the thesis statement, behind and proceed into a world that is the upside down version of that, its antithesis.

But because these two worlds are so distinct, the act of actually stepping into Act Two must be definite.

The hero cannot be lured, tricked, or drift into Act Two. The hero must make the decision himself. That’s what makes him a hero anyway — being proactive.

Luke Skywalker on his journey is his parents being killed, but the decision to “go on the road” is his. Luke cannot wake up on Han Solo’s starship wondering how he got there, he has to choose to go.

The B story begins on page 30. And the B story of most screenplays is “the love story.” It is also the story that carries the theme of the movie. I also think that the start of the B story, what takes place around page 30, is a little booster rocket that helps smooth over the shockingly obvious A story act break. Think about it. You’ve set up the A story, you’ve put it into motion, now we’ve had this abrupt jump into Act Two and

you’ve landed in a whole new world. The B story says: “Enough already, how about talking about something else!” Which is why the cutaway is usually in line with the A story… but new in scope.

Thus, the manicurist. And yes, while it is not a traditional boy-girl love story, it is in fact “the love story.” It’s where Elle will be nurtured. It is also the place where Elle confides what she is learning in the School of Hard Knocks she’s experiencing at Harvard Law — and the place from which she’ll draw the strength she needs for the final push into Act Three and ultimate victory.

We have not always met the B story players in the first 10 pages of the screenplay. We did not even know they existed. But since Act Two is the antithesis, they are the upside down versions of those characters who inhabit the world of Act One.

Again, the B story ally in Legally Blonde is a perfect example. Isn’t Jennifer Coolidge, the wonderful actress who portrays manicurist Paulette Bonafonté, the funhouse mirror version of the girls from Elle’s sorority house back at UCLA? This is why the character is so successful.

It is where most of the trailer moments of a movie are found. And it’s where we aren’t as concerned with the forward progress of the story — the stakes won’t be raised until the midpoint — as we are concerned with having “fun.”

Stop or My Mom Will Shoot!

Spider-Man. It’s also where the buddies in all buddy movies do their most clashing. Get it? Fun and games. Learn it, love it, live it.

We answered that question, after a lot of painful think time, by going back to the basics. The evil girls naturally re-group. We even wrote a very funny scene where we see them do that. Then internal dissent among our heroes begins. Popularity starts to go to their heads, each begins to take credit for their victory, and the question of who is the most popular divides them. By All Is Lost, it’s the reverse of the way it is at midpoint — the evil girls resume their “rightful” place, and our heroes depart the field in shame. All is really lost.

The forces that are aligned against the hero, internal and external, tighten their grip. Evil is not giving up, and there is nowhere for the hero to go for help. He is on his own and must endure. He is headed for a huge fall, and that brings us to…

We know it is the opposite of the midpoint in terms of an “up” or a “down.” It’s also the point of the script most often labeled “false defeat,” for even though all looks black, it’s just temporary. But it seems like a total defeat. All aspects of the hero’s life are in shambles. Wreckage abounds. No hope.

But here’s my little trade secret that I put into every All Is Lost moment just for added spice, and it’s something that many hit movies have. I call it the whiff of death. I started to notice how many great movies use the All Is Lost point to kill someone. Obi Wan in Star Wars is the best example — what will Luke do now?? All Is Lost is the place where mentors go to die, presumably so their students can discover “they had it in them all along.” The mentor’s death clears the way to prove that.

What if death isn’t anywhere near your story? Doesn’t matter. At the All Is Lost moment, stick in something, anything that involves a death.

All Is Lost beat is the “Christ on the cross” moment. It’s where the old world, the old character, the old way of thinking dies. And it clears the way for the fusion of thesis — what was — and antithesis — the upside down version of what was — to become synthesis, that being a new world, a new life.

In the comedy hit Elf, starring Will Ferrell, the filmmakers stick exactly to the BS2 and there is even a moment where the whiff of death is clearly seen.

So now you’re in the middle of a death moment at the All Is Lost point, but how does your character experiencing this moment feel about it? This question is answered in a section of the screenplay I call Dark Night of the Soul.

It can last five seconds or five minutes. But it’s in there. And it’s vital. It’s the point, as the name suggests, that is the darkness right before the dawn. It is the point just before the hero reaches way, deep down and pulls out that last, best idea that will save himself and everyone around him.

I don’t know why we have to see this moment, but we do. It’s the “Oh Lord, why hast thou forsaken me?” beat. I think it works because, once again, it’s primal.

We must be beaten and know it to get the lesson.

And in a good, well-structured screenplay, it’s in there between pages 75 and 85.

Thanks to the characters found in the B story (the love story), thanks to all the conversations discussing theme in the B story, and thanks to the hero’s last best effort to discover a solution to beat the bad guys who’ve been closing in and winning in the A story, lo! the answer

is found!!

Both in the external story (the A story) and the internal story (the B story), which...

The classic fusion of A and B is the hero getting the clue from “the girl” that makes him realize how to solve both — beating the bad guys and winning the heart of his beloved.

The finale entails the dispatching of all the bad guys, in ascending order.

Lieutenants and henchman die first, then the boss.

The movie will explore the subject of femininity. It is an essay on the pros and cons of being tough and a woman. Can you be both? That’s what this movie is about.

Have a great piece of dialogue? Write it on a card and stick it on The Board where you think it might go.

done, you’ll have 40 of these — count ’em, 40 — and no more. But for now, in this rough stage, we’ll hang loose. Use as many as you want. And if you run out, you get to go back to Staples and waste more time — so go for it! What goes on your final 40 is very simple. Each card stands for a scene, so where does the scene take place? Is it an INTERIOR or an EXTERIOR? Is it a sequence of scenes like a chase that covers several locations? If you can see it, write it with a magic marker: INT. JOE’S APARTMENT – DAY.

Each card should also include the basic action of the scene told in simple declarative sentences. “Mary tells Joe she wants a divorce.”