We all have our favourite scripts and writers but I just had to bring attention to what I consider to be superlative writing. In a word: kinetic.
So descriptive with such few words. And even more than that, it's engrossing, palpable, adrenalised. This is the level that I aspire to. It's inspiring and ego-thumping at the same time. It's not flowery yet it's vivid beyond even my best attempts. That much of it is achieved with simple words - "squawking", "meteors", "blurring along" - is staggering. A lesson in judicious word selection if ever there was one.
IMO, this is the real deal. This is what makes producers turn pages at 3 in the morning after a 20 hour day. We can talk about 8s and 9s on the Black List all day long but how many of us are writing to this level? Not many, I wager. And best of all, it cuts through all the 30 page posts and back and forth and distills "all that matters" into one page of a script. Now that's brevity! That's class!
This isn't the only sequence, the script is full of many like it, but it perfectly encapsulates the heart-pumping, reader-immersing qualities that I'm on about. Many will poo-poo the writer but for me, for dragging you off your arse and yanking you into the story, he's up there with the Wachowskis.
So descriptive with such few words. And even more than that, it's engrossing, palpable, adrenalised. This is the level that I aspire to. It's inspiring and ego-thumping at the same time. It's not flowery yet it's vivid beyond even my best attempts. That much of it is achieved with simple words - "squawking", "meteors", "blurring along" - is staggering. A lesson in judicious word selection if ever there was one.
IMO, this is the real deal. This is what makes producers turn pages at 3 in the morning after a 20 hour day. We can talk about 8s and 9s on the Black List all day long but how many of us are writing to this level? Not many, I wager. And best of all, it cuts through all the 30 page posts and back and forth and distills "all that matters" into one page of a script. Now that's brevity! That's class!
This isn't the only sequence, the script is full of many like it, but it perfectly encapsulates the heart-pumping, reader-immersing qualities that I'm on about. Many will poo-poo the writer but for me, for dragging you off your arse and yanking you into the story, he's up there with the Wachowskis.
Code:
INT/EXT. NEIGHBOURHOOD - FOOTCHASE SEQUENCE It becomes a blur. Pure kinetic energy. Two meteors rocketing through a low-rent suburb. And God help anyone who gets in the way. Reagan crosses a cluttered backyard. Broken field run through toys, swing set, stacks of god- knows-what. He runs through a Mr. Turtle Pool in an explosion of spray. Crashes through a hedge. Through the narrow gap between houses. Utah powers into the tight space behind him. Blurring along between stucco walls. They emerge into the front yard. A WOMAN watering her lawn is so surprised she yelps and falls down. Reagan and Utah both hurdle her. AHEAD, KIDS ON BIKES, racing along the sidewalk. Reagan dodges the first, Utah slams into the next two. He crashes, rolling, tangled up in bikes and squawking teenagers. He comes out of a pile-up somehow still in high gear. Reagan flashes across the sunlit street. Dodges in front of a GARBAGE TRUCK which locks up the brakes. It stops so fast, one of the guys falls off the back. The GUY is getting up as Utah whips around the back of the truck. Knocks him sprawling. Utah doesn't stop. Doesn't look back. Like he doesn't see anything in the real world but the figure running ahead of him. Like it's some kind of hyperkinetic video game. Everything is a blur. Suburbia smeared into staccato impressions. The house across the street is blocked by fence on both sides. A MAN is picking up his mail. Reagan pounds past him. Right through the front door of the house. Utah follows. Panting as he sprints down a dark hallway. A WOMAN with a basket of washing SCREAMS as Reagan blasts past her, knocking her flying. Utah leaps over her sprawled legs. Cats blur underfoot. Utah crunches down on a tail. A CAT EXPLOSION. Screeching merges with the woman's shrill shouts as Utah slams the back screen door off its hinges. Across the back yard. Fence. Over it. Running on. REAGAN looks back. Sees Utah still behind him like in a bad dream. He enters the next house. Sliding glass door. Utah sees Reagan pull it closed. Locking it. Without breaking stride Johnny grabs a potted plant off a patio wall. Heaves it ahead of him. The glass BURST INTO A WALL OF DIAMONDS. Utah blasts through a microsecond later. Topples the kitchen table. Furniture and crockery crashing everywhere. He sprints down a hallway after Reagan. A FIERCE WOMAN in a housecoat shouting at them as they pass, holding a vacuum cleaner like it's shot-gun.
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