Perfect Pitch
I’d been having trouble in my pitching class for the past couple of weeks because, frankly, the type of screenplay we are taught to value and aspire to write are not conducive to pitching. When you write a character-driven story, it’s usually difficult to describe it in terms of plot (which is, overall, what you do in a pitch), because the plot is usually pretty hackneyed (which is okay, because the characters are supposed to make your run-of-the-mill story interesting). And if you don’t have a retread of a storyline, you have a plot that’s so complicated or unusual that it’s impossible to make any sense of it without a long description of the characters, which is a pitching no-no.
When you pitch, you’re trying to sell a script to an executive who wants something exciting, or bold, or original, but most of all, you’re selling them something that will make money. And they get very, very afraid when you tell them you have a story about this really great character. Unless you’re Mike Myers. But he doesn’t have to pitch.
Anyway…
So I had this story. Or, rather, I had no story. I had these characters, and I put them into a story that I know will play, but to hear somebody describe it, it’s boring. Really, really, incredibly dull. Because the story is all, “This guy goes to the store and runs into blah-blah-blah…” There’s no, “And when the car flips over and crashes into the Korean grocery store, you realize the owner of that shop was really the rogue spy they’d been looking for all along.”
For three weeks in a row, when I pitched my lack-of-story, I got a sort of glazed, mildly irritated look from the prof, who I’m not a huge fan of. This was my lame attempt at rebellion. I’ve been saying, “I really need to kiss her ass so I can do well in this class,” but at the same time, I’ve been rebelling against the way she teaches the class. Not that she’s doing a particularly awful job (she’s doing much better than she did teaching SW1) — she’s just not teaching the class that was described to me.
I’m not sure why this is such a huge deal, though, since absolutely none of the classes are even remotely what were described to me. It’s the bait-and-switch semester for me, but I’ve been able to deal with it in the other classes. I just felt the need for slight rebellion, so I’ve been trying to force the class to be what it’s supposed to be, instead of accepting what it is.
And I talked to other people, saying roughly this: “Aren’t we supposed to be spending time developing fully realized stories that we will then pitch? Why have we been pitching since week two? I can’t come up with an entire, feature-length story in a week!” And the responses, from faculty and friends, has been, “You’re totally right — you’re supposed to be developing your ideas before you pitch them.” So I’ve been trying to stick it to her, telling her each week, “Hey, I don’t have a story. Know why? Because I haven’t been given enough time to develop it.”
Each week, she’d tell me to e-mail her, and she would help me flesh out the idea. Her tone, and the look in her eyes, indicated to me that she thinks I’m a big fuck-up because everybody else seems to be doing just fine. But I know why everyone else is doing fine — they didn’t come up with brand-spanking-new ideas to develop. They’re just pitching their SW2 screenplays.
On Sunday night, sometime between realizing I had no interest in writing a treatment that has no interesting story and realizing that I also am being graded on my terrible pitch in two weeks, I said, “Fuck it — I’ll just pitch my SW2 feature.” My script has a great deal of problems, and it’s nowhere near ready for anybody who isn’t a teacher to look at, but it has one key thing that my new idea was missing: a plot. More important, it’s a high-concept plot, which can be described in two sentences but leaves enough of the minor details out to intrigue the listener.
In short, my SW2 feature is exactly the opposite of everything I’ve ever been taught about writing, but it’s also exactly what a producer wants to hear about. That was actually one of the comments I got from a professor, whose input I value highly, who read my screenplay, deemed it crap, and then told me that my SW2 professor (who gave me an A and said it was the best script in the class) “should not be grading on whether or not the script will sell.” Which meant that, even though she hated it from a writing standpoint, I could sell it tomorrow. It was a moment of Bullets Over Broadway illogic — “I don’t write hits. My plays are art. They’re written specifically to go unproduced.” Uh-huh.
Okay, enough ego stroking. Back to the pitching class.
So I went in, still dreading the pitch, wondering if I’d totally fuck it up. I’ve always had two things going for me in the pitch sessions: I’m really fucking loud, and I’m really fucking energetic. Which is counterproductive when you’re pitching a Bergman-y depressing drama. But it’s vital when you’re pitching a comedy for the ADD generation! Unless you happen to forget the entire story, as I feared I would (I haven’t looked at the script since I finished writing it, which was several months ago; and, yeah, my memory is that bad).
Then, when we got into class, the prof opened by saying, “I noticed after listening to your pitches last week that maybe you need some help developing your stories. They seem a little thin.” Oh, thank God. We’d break up into groups, workshop our treatments, and try to fill out our gaunt little stories. It’d be almost like a real writing class. Plus, I’d maybe be able to pad out my original idea and make it interesting enough to ramble about for five minutes.
She continued, “So we’re gonna pitch them —”
Fuck!
“— and then I’ll give specific comments and open up the floor to the class to see how you can improve it.”
Okay, it’s almost like a workshop, except with pitching. Which meant, obviously, that I’d have to go back to my plan of pitching my SW2 feature.
Since we, strangely enough, left off with my unbelievably terrible pitch last week (which meant we only got through half the class), I ended up pitching last again (as I suppose I will from now on, since everything’s all mucked up). I got up there, nervous as all get-out. I’d been trying to remember every important detail of the story and organizing it in my mind, so I could vomit it all out properly during the pitch. And I sat down across from the prof, introduced myself, and then launched into it.
<ego>
I’m telling you, I was in the fucking zone. I’m generally extremely nervous at the thought of speaking in front of people, but when I actually do it, I’m fine. This was no exception. But this was beyond any effort in the history of my existence. I was articulate (no stammering!), witty (in the same tone of the script), and unbelievably succinct. I hit plot point after plot point, and when I was done, my prof just stared at me. The look in her eyes was something I’ve never seen before. It was something like lust, greed, and shock, all rolled into one.
</ego>
This, of course, meant only one thing: I won. Even if she remembers me from SW1 — I don’t think she does — any inkling she may have had at me while I was shouting at her about incompetence has now been dashed away, and I’ve been accepted in the Inner Circle (whatchoo gonna do?). In fact, I was so on, she invited — no, she insisted that I come to a lecture given by one of her friends that evening, all about the industry and pitching and so on.
I didn’t really want to go, and it was kind of a waste of time (the speaker was good, but he didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know, and he was really anti-pitching, so he didn’t give any decent pointers or anecdotes), but as part of the kiss-ass mentality, I felt I needed to, and I think it benefited me in very positive ways.
Hopefully.
Posted by Stan on March 11, 2004 8:55 PM | Permalink | School Rants | Digg It
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