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Aimed at screenwriters, producers, development executives and educators interested in the crime genre, this book provides an invaluable basis for crafting a film story that considers both audience and market expectations without compromising originality. A brief historical overview of the crime genre is presented for context along with an analysis of various crime sub-genres and their key conventions, including: police, detective, film noir, gangster, heist, prison and serial killer. Karen Lee Street focuses on the creative use of these conventions and offers strategies for focusing theme and improving characterisation, story design, structure and dialogue. Paradigms, story patterns and writing exercises are provided to assist the script development process and strategies for revision are discussed along with key questions to consider before approaching creative or financial partners.
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Aimed at screenwriters, producers, development executives and educators interested in the crime genre, this book provides an invaluable basis for crafting a film story that considers both audience and market expectations without compromising originality. A brief historical overview of the crime genre is presented for context along with an analysis of various crime sub-genres and their key conventions, including: police, detective, film noir, gangster, heist, prison and serial killer. Karen Lee Street focuses on the creative use of these conventions and offers strategies for focusing theme and improving characterisation, story design, structure and dialogue. Paradigms, story patterns and writing exercises are provided to assist the script development process and strategies for revision are discussed along with key questions to consider before approaching creative or financial partners.
KAREN LEE STREET has over twenty years international experience as a script development executive and workshop leader. She was instrumental in setting up the European Script Fund (now MEDIA Programme, development), the co-developer of numerous award-winning films from eighteen countries. As Head of Development, she evaluated hundreds of scripts each year and helped develop all ‘ESF’ supported projects from concept to production. Karen currently lectures at City University.
Special thanks to Hannah Patterson, Anne Hudson, the Kamera Books team, Peter Carlton, Keith Potter, Vicki Madden, Jackie Malton, Sally Griffiths, Philip Palmer, Jon Gilbert, Sam Johnston, Mike Fear, Craig Batty and Darren Hill.
THE MOTIVE
THE MODUS OPERANDI: AN APPROACH TO GENRE FOR SCREENWRITERS
JUDGE AND JURY: GENRE, PUBLIC TASTE AND CENSORSHIP
THE CRIME CONTINUUM
WHODUNIT (OR WHOSE STORY IS IT?)
THE CRIME CONTINUUM AND THE PROTAGONIST'S JOURNEY
BASIC CRIME GENRE PROTOCOL
THE MASTER OF DEDUCTION: THE DETECTIVE SUB-GENRE
TO PROTECT AND TO SERVE: THE POLICE STORY SUB-GENRE
WISE GUYS AND TOMMY GUNS: THE GANGSTER SUB-GENRE
THE SHADOWY ART OF DECEPTION: FILM NOIR
DESIGNING THE CRIME: HEISTS AND CRIME CAPERS
OTHER CRIMES AND MISDEMEANOURS: POP ART, COMIC BOOK CRIME, THE AUTEUR'S VOICE
LOCK 'EM UP AND THROW AWAY THE KEY: PRISON STORIES
SERIAL KILLER STORIES: MEETING THE MONSTER
AN INSIDE JOB: THOUGHTS AND EXPERIENCES OF INDUSTRY PROFESSIONALS WORKING IN THE CRIME GENRE
AFTER ALL THE PLANNING AND PREPARATION
COPYRIGHT
This is not a book on film genre theory. Its aim is not to debate the difference between a film style, mode, technique and genre or to attempt to establish rules that define crime sub-genres. It has a very simple goal: to present a user-friendly approach to writing and developing crime genre screenplays that address audience expectations without sacrificing originality.
My own fascination with the crime genre started fairly early as my grandfather was a pulp fiction writer whose stories were published in Dime Mystery Magazine, Black Mask and Street & Smith’s Detective Story Magazine. He gave me impromptu lessons on how to write crime fiction as he sat behind his Smith Corona, haloed in smoke from his ever-present ‘writing cigar’. I have also written crime genre novels, but it’s primarily my two decades of script development experience as a development executive, freelance script editor, and script evaluator for major film funding bodies in Europe and North America that prompted my interest in finding a useful way to approach ‘writing the crime’ in screenplay form. This work has entailed reading thousands of scripts, some very good, some very bad, most in need of further development.
It’s one thing to critique a script and write a report about why that draft isn’t working; quite different skills are required to actually figure out how to improve that script. The most practical experience I gained in ‘script doctoring’ was during my time as Head of Development at the European Script Fund and European Media Development Agency, where my role was to facilitate the development of all funded projects from selection to production. ‘ESF’ was the largest feature film development agency in Europe and is now the development funding arm of the MEDIA Programme, European Commission. We co-developed film and television projects from 18 countries by most of the key players in the European film industry, including Oscar-nominated and winning films such as Farinelli, Daens, Children of Nature, All Things Fair, Poussières de Vie, Journey of Hope, A Chef in Love and acclaimed features including Breaking the Waves, Orlando, Elizabeth, Rob Roy, Naked, Carla’s Song, Toto le Héros, Hilary and Jackie, The Cement Garden and Live Flesh. I joined the company at its inception in January 1989 and set up the script submission evaluation system. It quickly became clear that common script weaknesses prevented projects from attracting initial development funding. It also became clear that many funded companies did not spend enough time on script development and either the project failed to secure production finance or went into production before the script was ready. I discovered that screenwriters are too frequently given script notes that are difficult to follow or that focus on minor problems rather than the bigger issues. This is exacerbated if the writer is receiving notes – often contradictory – from several people. To help counter this confusing process, I created the first pan-European script analysis service so that every funded writer and producer received detailed written feedback on their submitted script in a consistent, coherent format. These very detailed script analysis reports had a simple but effective structure designed to help the writer address the bigger issues first rather than getting muddled up in less important detail.
The script analysis service was hugely popular and helped to emphasise the importance of script development in the European film industry. And as we funded and analysed more scripts – over a thousand projects during my tenure – the most fundamental and ‘fatal’ script problems became apparent:
• An unclear concept (what is this story really about?)
• A promising idea overcome by cliché
• A writer and producer with different visions for the project, resulting in a weakened story
• Genre confusion
Looking more specifically at genre, script readers often labelled a project’s genre as ‘drama’ on the report form, even if the screenwriter claimed it was a thriller, love story or mystery. Why? Because the reader couldn’t identify the genre. Conversely, the genre might have been clear to the reader, but the script was considered derivative and therefore boring. So how does a screenwriter write a crime genre film with a recognisable identity without descending into cliché? That was the key question that prompted the research behind this book.
One of the first problems a writer faces when setting out to write a crime screenplay is defining the nature of the beast. If you list five crime films and then do a search to see how they are categorised on various websites, most are assigned to several genres. For example, Scarface is defined as: crime, gangster and film noir (Howard Hawks’s version) or action-adventure (Brian de Palma’s version).
• Double Indemnity: crime, film noir, thriller
• LA Confidential: crime, mystery, film noir, police drama
• Ocean’s Eleven: crime, thriller, heist film
• The Shawshank Redemption: crime, prison drama, buddy movie
If there is so much disagreement about how to categorise a produced feature film, how easy is it to define the genre, and indeed sub-genre, at script stage? And yet, this is what is often demanded by producers and funders who state they are looking for a gangster, heist or detective film, a prison or police drama, film noir, neo-noir, or a serial killer story. A starting point is to understand the conventions an audience (and therefore a producer) expects from a sub-genre. The next stage is to decide which conventions to adhere to and which might be subverted to bring something fresh to the genre. Very basically, if the crime genre is ‘cake’ and its sub-genres are types of cake, how many ingredients can you alter before you end up with bread or pie or dumplings? The goal is to write a script that is recognisable as a crime genre piece, but with new elements that make it exciting to read.
The crime sub-genres that will be considered in this book are: detective, police, film noir, gangster, heist, prison and serial killer. A brief historical overview of the sub-genre’s development will be presented, as will its key conventions. These should provoke a light-bulb moment of recognition when considering classic crime genre films we know and love and may prompt the reader to think of other conventions. Examples will be provided that show how the creative use of genre conventions resulted in exciting rather than derivative cinema. (And there will be spoilers if you haven’t seen some of the films. Repeat: there will be spoilers.)
A number of writing exercises will be included to help generate ideas, familiarise the writer with key crime genre story patterns, sharpen skills, and kick-start script revision. It’s worth sticking to a strict time limit when undertaking a writing exercise, as writing at speed can stop self-censoring, help shift writer’s block, and (from my experience of running writers’ workshops) result in some great story ideas. Many of these exercises also work well as team writing endeavours that writers and filmmakers of every level seem to find enjoyable and thought-provoking.
In the final chapters, I’ll sum up key points to consider before sending a crime film script (or any script!) to producers, co-producers or funders. Included in that section are the script pet peeves and some helpful advice from film industry readers, the ‘threshold guardians’ who first read your project. Following that are some short interviews with industry insiders – produced writers, script editors, crime film consultants, producers and heads of production funds – who share their thoughts on crime films, the types of projects they like, and why.
This book is an introduction to the crime genre that should help a screenwriter understand various crime sub-genre conventions and get them thinking about how to use them creatively. There are other sub-genres not covered in this book that often deal with crimes, such as legal dramas, thrillers, social issue and espionage films, but these have their own distinct tropes. To paraphrase SS Van Dine’s nineteenth rule from ‘Twenty Rules for Writing Detective Stories’ (September 1928, American Magazine), the motives for all crimes in detective stories should be personal. International plottings and war politics belong to a different genre such as war story or espionage thriller. The crime genre should feature personal crimes that reflect the audience’s everyday experiences and give them a certain outlet for their own repressed desires and emotions. In other words, the audience gains pleasure from being as clever as the sleuth, as rebellious as the gangster, or as daring as the prisoner planning an escape, and there is, perhaps, more than a touch of wish fulfilment when the viewer participates in a really cracking crime movie.
Writers are as willing as anyone to debate a genre’s defining tropes, but can crime sub-genres be so easily defined and, more importantly, so easily written by simply ticking all the boxes? Must modern gangster films adhere to the same conventions established by their earliest predecessors or have gangster films evolved?
Filmmaking is a modern art compared to literature or theatre, and the complexity, scope and ways of communicating film stories are linked to the evolution of the technology needed to make films – and costs to produce them. The earliest films were simple experiments with the moving image and records of real events such as the Lumière Brothers’ 1895 film of workers leaving their factory. La Fée aux Choux, probably the first narrative short film, was made in 1896 by Alice Guy-Blaché and, until 1913, all films were ‘one-reelers’ – a reel held 1,000 feet of film and played for 11–17 minutes, depending on projection speed. They were typically shot in one take with no editing; the stories were correspondingly simple. Experimentation with trick photography and editing encouraged more creativity in storytelling. The production of longer narratives such as Giovanni Patrone’s Cabiria (1914) and, later that year, DW Griffith’s 61-minute Judith of Bethulia allowed for more complex stories. DW Griffith went on to help establish techniques such as the use of close-ups, cross-cutting, the flashback, and fade-in/fade-out to enhance storytelling.
As advances in technology and technique inspired more complex ways of presenting a narrative, there was a ready-made supply of stories to adapt to the screen from literary and theatrical sources, including tales of highwaymen, murders, mysteries, and early detective stories. Publishers of periodicals had been publishing stories by ‘type’ for years. For example, Street & Smith Publications in New York City, founded in 1855, was one of the largest publishers of pulp fiction, dime novels and comic books in America, their low cost making them accessible to a wide audience. Street & Smith targeted fans of specific genres with periodicals such as Sea Stories Magazine, Do and Dare Weekly, Mystery Story Magazine, All-Sports Library, Love Story Magazine, True Western Stories and Bowery Boy Weekly. They changed their titles frequently to satisfy the tastes of their readership.
The successful writing and selling of genre stories through periodicals and paperback novels paved the way for the film genre stories and influenced the evolution of genre conventions. This is a key point. Genres evolve and continue to evolve – they are not static structures that stifle a writer’s creativity as some ‘anti-genre’ writers seem to think. A useful approach to genre for screenwriters is outlined in Louis Giannetti’s Understanding Movies, which focuses on the evolution of genre through four stages: primitive, classical, revisionist and parody; these genre progressions are inevitably linked to filmmakers’ endeavours to use conventions creatively and to address changes in society and audience expectations.
Once a genre is established and progresses to the classical stage, it does not revert back to the primitive stage, but classical stage genre films are made concurrently with revisionist or parody films. A revisionist genre film may subvert certain conventions to surprise the viewer, but the genre recipe is not radically altered or there is risk of audience disappointment. New sub-genres sometimes arise from the revisionist stage of a genre, progressing from their own primitive to classical stage when specific conventions are established. A genre is ripe for parody as soon as its conventions are well known to an audience and playful manipulation of genre tropes makes the viewer feel clever for recognising these ‘in-jokes’.
FIGURE 1: THE FOUR STAGES OF GENRE
The Primitive Stage:
The origins of a genre, when its key conventions are introduced and developed.
The Classical Stage:
A genre’s conventions are recognisable to an audience and considered well-established; the genre is at the height of its popularity.
The Revisionist Stage:
Classical stage conventions are examined critically, re-evaluated, and revised, often due to societal changes.
The Parody Stage:
Key characteristics of the genre are satirised; parodies focus on genre tropes that are most recognisable to an audience.
Ultimately, this four-stage approach emphasises that genres evolve through the creativity of filmmakers and a genre’s popularity with audiences. Genre tropes provide a useful framework for telling a particular type of story, but should not straitjacket a screenwriter into scripting overly derivative, clichéd screenplays.
Themotion pictures, which are the most popular of modern arts for the masses, have their moral quality from the intention of the minds which produce them and from their effects on the moral lives and reactions of their audiences. This gives them a most important morality.
(The Motion Picture Production Code of 1930)
Why do we think of Hollywood when we talk about genre films? European filmmakers have made movies that deal with crime and criminals since the inception of cinema, but the sheer output of Hollywood studios was fundamental to the creation of genre pictures. When a studio had a commercial hit, it tended to produce numerous variations of the same story, hoping to replicate that success. In other words, public taste was key in establishing many genre conventions and film story paradigms. For example, boy might meet girl, lose girl, and win girl back because the audience wanted a happy ending to their romances, but what of the crime story? Crime is not meant to pay, so can stories about breaking the law end well for the criminal or show the bad guy in a sympathetic light? A brief overview of how the crime genre developed, particularly in Hollywood, should give some insight into how specific crime sub-genre conventions evolved from their primitive to classical, revisionist and parody stages.
Some of the first films made were crime films, which is hardly surprising given that the battle between the ‘good guy’ and the ‘bad guy’ has appealed to audiences since the earliest stories were told, written down, and performed. European directors, whether working in Europe or Hollywood, contributed significantly to the evolution of the crime genre, most particularly with short film serials, many of which were based on popular ‘pulp fiction’ of the day. At the forefront of the explosion in European pulp fiction at the beginning of the twentieth century was German publisher Eichler. Adolf Eichler first bought translation rights to Street & Smith’s Buffalo Bill stories; when these proved to be best-sellers in Germany, he bought the rights to their Nick Carter character in 1906 and began publishing weekly crime stories. The Nick Carter detective stories were even more popular than the Westerns. Other publishers jumped on the pulp bandwagon, releasing Maurice Leblanc’s tales of gentleman thief Arsène Lupin; Léon Sazie’s master criminal Zigomar; and Fantômas, the ‘Genius of Crime’, by Marcel Allain and Pierre Souvestre. The public revelled in the adventures of these wily and seductive criminals and, due to their popularity, all became the protagonists of short film serials, beginning with Zigomar in 1908. These serials helped establish the symbiotic relationship between popular literature and film that continues to influence the development of genre films.
In the US, a number of early one-reelers focused on a simple crime being committed and the subsequent pursuit of the perpetrator. As early filmmakers experimented with the moving image and narrative, the chase sequence was an audience-pleasing way of combining activity and the ‘cause and effect’ of a simple narrative. Wallace McCutcheon and Edwin S Porter made quite a few short silent films, both separately and collaboratively, that focused on the activity surrounding a crime. One of McCutcheon’s earliest films for American Mutoscope & Biograph was How They Rob Men in Chicago (1900), and Porter made the popular and commercially successful The Great Train Robbery (1903), with its innovative editing and chase scene, for the Edison Manufacturing Company. Early Hollywood crime features set in the criminal underworld or telling the tale of an innocent coerced to the ‘dark side’ quickly gained popularity with audiences. Lights of New York (1928), Warner Brothers’ first all-talking feature, had it all: innocent country lad conned into fronting an illegal New York City speakeasy, murderous gangster, chorus-girl with heart of gold. It cost only $23,000 to produce and grossed over one million dollars. The studios were keen to repeat their successes and why reinvent the wheel if a particular type of story is a crowd pleaser?
As film storytelling evolved and more crime films were produced, more specific sub-genre conventions were established. While early European gangster serials allowed the criminal to outwit the law and go on to commit another tantalising crime, in the majority of Hollywood primitive-stage crime films good prevailed over evil, the law was upheld, and the villain was conquered. A more realistic picture of the criminal world evolved along with Hollywood genre cinema. Writers and directors weren’t as content as many studio executives to churn out the same film over and over. Theatre plays dealing with controversial social issues, containing profanity and featuring scantily clad actors, were performed in New York theatres; these shows contributed to the rise of so-called vice pictures and social-issue or ‘preachment yarns’. The golden age of pulp fiction crime writing was a huge influence on the classical stage of Hollywood crime films; hard-boiled detective novels by influential crime writers Dashiell Hammett, James M Cain and Raymond Chandler were adapted for the screen and pulp fiction writers such as Ben Hecht, WR Burnett, and Jonathan Latimer turned screenwriter. When Prohibition, the Great Depression, and the actions of corrupt politicians and bankers helped make folk heroes out of gangsters who seemed to grab back what was stolen away from ordinary folk, Hollywood studios started making gangster films, producing 35 of them in the 1930–31 production season alone. Key conventions of the sub-genre were established during this classical stage when gangster films were at their most popular. But there was a backlash. This flurry of crime films resulted in an escalation of complaints from civic and religious organisations. They claimed that crime, vice and social-issue movies glamorised criminals; the film studios countered that movies were deterrents rather than incentives to criminal behaviour. The argument echoed the nineteenth-century debate about so-called ‘Newgate novels’ written by Charles Dickens and his contemporaries. These works were accused of valorising criminals and famously prompted murderer François Benjamin Courvoisier to claim that reading a Newgate novel ‘made him do it’. Initially it was determined locally whether movies might be screened or banned and there was little that could be done to counter these regional decisions as the United States Supreme Court had ruled in 1915 that freedom of speech did not extend to motion pictures. The major studios wanted to get around this as banned films hurt their profits, but they also wanted to avoid direct government intervention; a code of standards for filmmakers seemed the best solution as the studios could potentially exercise more control through self-regulation.
William H Hays was appointed president of the Motion Picture Producers and Distributors of America in 1922 to improve Hollywood’s image after a number of studio scandals. He first introduced ‘The Formula’ in 1924, which was a set of guidelines for movie content. Five years later, a Jesuit priest and a Catholic layman who were concerned about the negative influence sound films purportedly had on children drew up a code of standards that Hays embraced. After some negotiated revisions, the studio heads agreed the document and the Motion Picture Production Code of 1930 was established to ‘govern the Making of Talking, Synchronized and Silent Motion Pictures’. It was adopted by the Association of Motion Picture Producers and the Motion Picture Producers and Distributors of America, with the responsibility for supervising its enforcement going to the Studio Relations Committee. ‘The Hays Code’, as it became known, was not rigorously enforced initially, not least because the Studio Relations Committee team had to review about 500 films a year and did not have the power to insist on the alteration of film content. Crime and vice stories were winners at the box office and studios made no real attempt to adhere to the Code during the hard times of the Great Depression. One small concession was to preface a crime film with a disclaimer, a tactic that had been established with social-issue films critiquing the immoral activities and white- collar crimes of politicians, bankers, lawyers and businessmen. For example, gangster film The Public Enemy (1931) began with the text: ‘It is the intention of the authors of The Public Enemy to honestly depict an environment that exists today in certain strata of American life, rather than to glorify the hoodlum or the criminal.’
The studios came up against the Catholic church again in early 1934 when Cardinal Thomas Dougherty found a Philadelphia billboard advertisement for a film so offensive he helped facilitate a boycott of motion pictures, which resulted in a much more stringent enforcement of the Motion Picture Production Code. An indication of the influence of the Code on content can be gleaned from its preamble, which states that, while motion pictures are primarily for entertainment rather than propaganda or education, they ‘may be directly responsible for spiritual or moral progress, for higher types of social life, and for much correct thinking’ and therefore the objective of the Code was ‘to bring the motion picture to a still higher level of wholesome entertainment for all the people’. The Motion Picture Production Code’s general principles exhorted that ‘no picture shall be produced that will lower the moral standards of those who see it’; ‘the sympathy of the audience should never be thrown to the side of crime, wrongdoing, evil or sin’; and ‘law, natural or human, shall not be ridiculed, nor shall sympathy be created for its violation’. There was great concern that the apparent realism of cinema when compared with plays or books might more easily sway the ‘lower classes’ and young people towards a criminal lifestyle, as might their enthusiasm for film actors and actresses. Many of these debates continue. It was specifically forbidden to teach methods of crime, inspire imitation, and make criminals seem heroic or justified. A character could only be shown taking revenge if the film was set in ‘lands and ages of less developed civilisation and moral principles’. Drug trafficking and the excessive use of liquor were not permitted. Brutal killings could not be presented in detail, and ‘the technique of murder must be presented in a way that will not inspire imitation’. The specifics of theft, robbery, safe-cracking, arson, and the dynamiting of various locations were also not allowed.
Many of the crime shows on television today would have been inconceivable during the enforcement of the Hays Code due to the graphic nature of the violence; their purported potential to influence budding criminals; and specifics about detective work, processing crime scenes, and criminal law that might assist a perpetrator in avoiding arrest or imprisonment. Equally, many now classic 1970s Hollywood films that were nominated for, or won, Academy Awards, such as The French Connection (1971), The Godfather (1972), Serpico (1973), Papillon (1973), The Godfather, Part II (1974), Chinatown (1974), Dog Day Afternoon (1975), Taxi Driver (1976) and Midnight Express (1978), could not have been made in their produced form under the Hays Code, whether due to their extreme violence, depictions of drug smuggling, empathetic portrayals of criminals, unsympathetic representations of law-enforcement agents, or overly specific enactments of the crime itself. It’s worth having a look at the full Motion Picture Production Code online to see what filmmakers were up against from 1934 to 1968, and to get an idea of the impact such strictures had on Hollywood cinema. It also gives a sense of how master filmmakers such as Alfred Hitchcock used these strictures creatively while working in Hollywood.
In Rear Window (1954), for example, Hitchcock seems to be poking fun at some of the Hays Code rules. Grace Kelly’s single girl Lisa Fremont invites herself to stay overnight in the (only) bed of LB Jeffries, played by Jimmy Stewart. This does not go unnoticed by Detective Lieutenant Doyle who sees the ‘lightly packed’ negligee that she later models rather provocatively; it’s clear that pre-marital sex is on the cards. But first Fremont will play sleuth as Jeffries is convinced that probable dog-killer Lars Thorwald (Raymond Burr) has also murdered his wife. Jeffries’ nurse Stella (Thelma Ritter) hypothesises that Thorwald chopped Mrs Thorwald into little pieces and planted her amongst the zinnias. Today we might see both the sex scene and the grisly murder, but Hitchcock merely suggests both events, which of course is much more in keeping with the film’s themes, highly effective, and manages to stay the right side of the Code.
Parody relies on audience recognition of a particular creative work, a style, a character or character type, or specific story conventions. Some of the earliest film comedies poked fun at inept agents of the law or criminals. Between 1912 and 1917, audiences laughed at the pratfalls of the Keystone Cops, a gang of bumbling policemen, in Mack Sennett’s popular silent short films. The incompetent coppers were revived as secondary characters in later feature films and the phrase ‘Keystone Cop’ has become synonymous with ‘headless chicken’ physical ineptitude. In 1922, Buster Keaton parodied the melodramatic Westerns of William S Hart in his film The Frozen North, satirising the protagonist’s typical redemptive arc of bad guy to good guy, his costume, and other key props. Audiences were quick to pick up on the parody and the film was a success. Many other parodies of Westerns have followed as so many conventions of the genre are well known to audiences.
But what about crime films? Detective films were ripe for parody as the very basic story structure was well established: a crime is committed, the detective gathers evidence and interviews suspects, the crime is solved due to the detective’s superior ratiocination skills. Fast-talking, hard-drinking, quick-thinking, tough guy detectives as first established in pulp fiction and then immortalised on screen by actors such as Humphrey Bogart became such iconic characters they have inspired a multitude of comic imitators. Police procedurals also provide fertile material for parody, with a similar story pattern to detective films and the opportunity to mock agents of the law as pioneered in the Keystone Cops. The gangster genre has not been parodied as much as detective or police films, but gangsters have been extensively spoofed as secondary characters in films. Inept attempts at prison escapes and bumbling crooks trying to pull off a heist have proved popular internationally. Even serial killer films have been spoofed, primarily in anarchic or absurdist black comedies that often poke fun at the ‘trigger’ for the killer’s first murder. While stupid criminals have been used for comic effect in many movies, it seems that even the most gruesome crimes are ripe for parody in the right filmmaker’s hands. Successful genre parodies work on a nudge-nudge, wink-wink level; they play to an audience’s familiarity with genre conventions, turning them into crowd-pleasing in-jokes.
It should be clear from the overview of the four stages of genre that your potential audience cannot be ignored when writing a crime genre film. Hollywood studios have tried to second-guess public taste for decades in hopes of producing profitable films and this contributes to the large number of adaptations of popular literature, film sequels, and remakes of successful films. This approach can be frustrating for screenwriters trying to get a foot in the door with a great original script, but it’s not easy to argue against the success of the Bond or Harry Potter franchises.
Too many screenwriters ‘auto-complain’ that any remake of a film or sequel is rubbish compared to the original. This may be true, but a screenwriter should be able to cogently articulate why the remake or sequel is rubbish. Just as a script reader must be able to justify his or her opinions about a script in a reader’s report, filmmakers must also be able to pinpoint where a script isn’t working and have good ideas about how to improve it in order to have a fruitful script development meeting. ‘I don’t like this character’ or ‘this scene is boring’ are not helpful comments for a writer unless backed up by concrete ways to improve the character or scene. How might the film have been better? Was the problem in the components of the script, the casting, or the direction? It’s part of a writer’s job to be able to figure this out, for those are the skills that are needed if commissioned to do a script rewrite.
WRITING EXERCISE: RE-SPINNING THE YARN
Part A
Think of a crime film that has been remade. For example: Scarface or The Postman Always Rings Twice. Make a list of pros and cons for the original and the remake(s), focusing on the script rather than the allure of the actors. Consider all aspects of the protagonist, antagonist, the plot, structure, setting, dialogue, and so on. Is the remake a revisionist remake or a more faithful, classical stage remake? Or is it even a parody?
Part B
Think of a fairytale or folktale that contains a crime. Revise it into a (more) modern crime story or scene.
Example
Consider the ‘execution scene’ from the fairytale Snow White (Brothers Grimm version). The huntsman is ordered by the evil Queen to murder Snow White in the forest and cut out her heart as proof that she’s dead, but he cannot do the deed as Snow White is so enchanting and good. He relents and lets Snow White escape into the forest, with the promise that she will never return to the kingdom. He delivers a boar’s heart to the Queen, who consumes it believing it to be Snow White’s.
The Coen Brothers’ Miller’s Crossing (1990) has a very similar scene. Tom Regan (Gabriel Byrne) is ordered by Mafia boss Johnny Caspar to execute Bernie Bernbaum, his lover Verna’s brother. He relents and allows Bernie to run away, on the promise that he leaves town. Regan’s nemesis ‘the Dane’ drops Regan in it as no proof was delivered of Bernie’s execution. Johnny Caspar demands that Regan retrieve Bernie’s body from Miller’s Crossing, and Regan is certain he is facing a bullet in the head from the two thugs accompanying him. However, in a twist, they find a dead man in the woods, with his face mutilated. Regan is off the hook but, in a second twist, Bernie turns up at his apartment and tries to blackmail him.
This ‘revisionist’ version of a classic fairytale scene gives the huntsman’s dilemma to the main character of Miller’s Crossing and makes the intended victim of the ‘evil leader’ a secondary character. In Disney’s animated Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1937), the Huntsman is ordered to murder Snow White and bring her heart to the Evil Queen as proof of her death, but, as in the fairytale, he cannot do the deed, so overwhelmed is he by Snow White’s magical goodness. Instead he takes the Evil Queen a pig’s heart. In Snow White and the Huntsman (2012), the Huntsman is willing to murder Snow White because the Queen promises to bring his wife back from the dead. Snow White proves herself to be a far more capable character by escaping the castle and surviving in the forest. The Huntsman does not spare Snow White because of her saintly charm, but primarily because he discovers that the Evil Queen’s promise is a lie; the situation is revised to reflect modern sensibilities.