They just don't get it,” I remarked to my husband. For the third time in as many weeks, I found myself dealing with a screenplay client who insisted that the 10-page partial she had paid me to review was only the tip of a substantive iceberg. “Things really get cooking by page 45,” she insisted, imploring me to let her send the rest of the script so she could prove it.

I recommended she save the money that a full critique would cost and put it toward fixing the project's most glaring detriment: its first 10 pages. My husband is familiar enough with the industry to know the
“10 pages=10 minutes” rule. Specifically, if you haven't grabbed a reader (or audience) by then, the chance of holding their attention for the duration is pretty slim.

“Sort of like speed-dating,” he facetiously pointed out.

Obviously it was a correlation I'd never considered that, when held up to scrutiny, reveals an uncanny amount of similarity. The accelerated pace of today's singles scene is alien to me, having happily grown up and dated in an era when couples used to actually invest quality time in getting to know each other. The approach I used in some of my early attempts at writing, in fact, followed that same leisurely, onion-layer-peeling strategy. Fortunately for my career, an editor tactfully explained that it's alright for art to imitate life—just as long as the art version happens a lot faster.

Such is the playing field of agents and producers in search of new material. The demands on their time dictate that if it takes more than 10 pages to warm up to a plot, the relationship probably isn't going to go anywhere. Just like singles bars, they know there are enough other available prospects wandering around that it would be inefficient to linger on the ones that don't arouse any enthusiasm insofar as the delivery of immediate or long-term gratification.

So how can you make your script a desirable “catch” in such a warp-speed market? By applying what you know about the rules of attraction and making your first 10 pages an invitation they won't be able to walk away from.

Don't Let Your Teaser be the Best Part of the Show

Will the initial chemistry that ignited over Jamaican music and exotic drinks with little paper umbrellas be sustained after you learn that your paramour's golden tan is fake, that he lives with his mother in a mobile home park and that he's a compulsive gambler? Probably not. Likewise, a come-hither script which makes bold promises at the outset that it can't live up to is going to be discovered and discarded fairly quickly. This is especially true of writers who front-load their scripts with gadgets, gimmickry and jokes to get someone's attention—and then have no material left beneath the surface to parse out over the duration. As a girlfriend of mine was wont to remark about various men she'd been set up with on dates, “Flashy suit, empty head.”

Imitation May Be Flattery, But it Won't Sell Your Script

Have you noticed that most of the singer wannabees in karaoke bars try to mimic the voice and mannerisms of whoever made the chosen songs popular? Unfortunately, we as the audience are not only cognizant of who they're trying to impersonate, but also can't help making comparisons (usually negative). Aspiring screenwriters who have yet to discover their own “voice” tend to do the same thing in patterning their storylines after films which were either box office hits or are part of a transitory “clone movement” to milk the public's mood-du-jour for action, patriotism or slapstick silliness. While it's hard to find a song or pen a theme that's never been done, there's nevertheless plenty of room for alternative versions. Let them see from the opening notes that you know how to put an original spin on whatever rendition preceded you in the spotlight.

What You See Should be What You Get

A dear friend from the South ascribes to the philosophy that, “Whatever it takes to get a man (or a woman) is what you have to keep doing in order to hang on to them.” If money was the bait, you need to keep spending. If power was the attraction, you need to keep doing powerful things. If steamy sex was the lure—well, you get the picture. The same theory applies to the habit of novice screenwriters to genre-hop once the story is underway, primarily because they haven't really defined what their film's genre is to begin with. If your opening pages promise comedy, your audience will expect it to remain a comedy throughout. That's what they came for, isn't it? Compare this to a relationship that starts out with a set of ground rules regarding commitment expectations (i.e., “I'm looking for someone to bear my children”) but then devolves into something else (i.e., “I'd rather just be friends”). What if that individual returns at a later date and wants to pick up where he left off? Are you likely to trust him—or a scripted sequel—if the first time left you feeling unfulfilled and cheated?

The Foreplay of Foreshadowing

For a movie to be successful, it must effectively seduce at all levels, stirring the viewers' senses and anticipation to the point that they just can't wait to get to the good stuff. Like flirtation, however, film foreplay can't be rushed or come on too strong. It is instead an artfully crafted path of foreshadowing that spritzes just enough perfume and shows just enough skin to turn the pursued into the pursuer—without the former even realizing that the roles have been reversed. Operating within our respective frames of reference, we attempt to guess what these seductive signals mean and, accordingly, keep turning the pages to (hopefully) affirm how smart we are.
Clues that may not be obvious at the start take on new significance as the relationship—and the story—advances, allowing the quarry to appreciate the clever manner in which they became inextricably hooked. If your opening pages don't contain a visual or a line that not only flirts with your reader's imagination and ego but will concurrently have profound meaning to your protagonist later on, go back and put one in. You won't regret it.

Probably More Than We Wanted to Know

Have you ever met someone new who felt compelled to tell you his or her whole life story on the very first date? Makes your head hurt, doesn't it? Not to mention that there's an implied expectation you'll actually be expected to remember all these details later on. Authors make this same error in feeling the need to explain how their characters arrived at the circumstances around which the film will revolve and—even worse—expecting us to memorize its alleged importance. Unfortunately, the inclusion of too much back-story (whether told sequentially or in flashback) impedes any forward momentum of the current plot. Take, for example, a past client who wanted to capitalize on the anniversary of the Lewis and Clark expedition by penning a movie about the forbidden attraction between Sacajawea and William Clark. While the premise itself was intriguing, he spent the first half hour on Sacajawea's childhood, culminating in her abduction by another tribe as she played in a stream with her siblings. Considering that such an opening left him with 90 minutes to have her become a teenager, marry a French trapper, have a baby, go on an expedition that lasted several years and return to St. Louis, I had my doubts about when, exactly, he planned to develop any romance angle. Bottom line: start your plot at the point of conflict and move briskly forward.

Are You as Turned On as I Am?

Consider how many people pass through our lives each day without registering a single blip on the emotional radar screen. Customers in line at the bank. Passengers riding mass transit. Pedestrians in the crosswalk at lunchtime. Unless there is something striking about their appearance or actions—or unless they personally engage us with a smile, eye contact or an offhand remark—we have no particular reason to remember them. Likewise with scripts. Unless they reach out and evoke some kind of emotional or physical response, they are only innocuous words on a piece of paper. Don't trust your own silent reading as a barometer of connectivity. As the author, you're already involved and committed. Instead, put those first 10 pages to the speed-dating test of an objective review by people who don't know your story. If you've been successful at compelling each of your readers to ask for more, your script has accomplished the first critical step toward success: distinguishing itself from the competition and inviting a longer look than just 10 minutes. MM

Former actress and director Christina Hamlett is a writer and script coverage consultant in Pasadena, California. Her publishing credits to date include 17 books, 100 plays and musicals and several hundred magazine articles that appear regularly throughout the US, UK, Canada, Australia and New Zealand. For further information, visit her Website at www.absolutewrite.com/site/christina.htm.