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Jaws in Space

Powerful Pitching for Film and TV Scriptwriters

Oldcastle Books

THE ART OF THE PITCH

Where does pitching come from? People have been pitching to each other for thousands of years – well before the first Stone Age artists talked their friends into helping out with the latest cave painting. Humans have long used spoken language to convince, persuade and avoid nasty consequences.

Literary agent Julian Friedmann believes film pitching as it now exists developed around the mid twentieth century. At that time, the Writers Guild of America was so powerful in Hollywood that no screenwriter would write a proposal for a studio without being paid. So, to save money, a producer might wander down to where the writers were working and ask them to 'tell' him a story on the spot. Over time, both writers and producers became skilled at telling and listening to shortened versions of future scripts.

However pitching came about, beware of another myth. This is the scene in the movies where a writer pitches his new script to a studio exec. He describes the opening, in glowing terms. Draws the executive into his world. Widens his hands as he moves into the main story, holds the man spellbound for ten or fifteen minutes as the strands interweave ...

This is not the reality.

The good – and bad – news is that nobody has ten or fifteen minutes to weave their pitch. The most important part of your pitch is the first sentence – the first two at the most. It's what's known in the business world as the 'elevator pitch' – for when you meet your target in a lift and have to pitch in the time available before he steps out at the next floor. In the industry, it's also known as your log line or premise.

This is good news in that you don't have to perform at length, but bad news in that you have to be able to express the essence of your script in just a very few words. If this makes your heart sink, let me reassure you. You are not alone. We've all been there, many times. However, as we'll see, creating that one- or two-sentence pitch need not be as complicated as you think. There are very practical and effective techniques you can use to find the very heart of your story.

Having said that, it does take commitment and a desire to settle for only the very best you can produce.

Why just one or two sentences? Isn't that an unfair restriction on us creative artists? Would Shakespeare have been expected to describe Hamlet in the Elizabethan equivalent of a lift? Well, possibly, yes. He, too, worked in a competitive and somewhat cut-throat business where those with power had little time for waffle.

The one-sentence pitch exists for a very good reason. Despite the fortunes spent on advertising, PR, star actors, awards and social media, the truth is that there is only one thing that reliably gets people to queue up at the cinema or download the latest must watch series, and that's word of mouth. Most viewing decisions are based on a recommendation by a trusted friend.

And when a friend tells you about a good film or TV programme, they don't have ten to fifteen minutes to describe every detail from opening fade up to closing fade to black. They have a sentence or two, while you message each other, chat at the coffee machine or wait for a bus.

Furthermore, today's market is tougher than it has ever been. Audiences have more and more demands on their time and many alternative ways of entertaining themselves, from YouTube videos, streaming music and the whole spectrum of social media, to online and offline games, books (printed and electronic), live theatre plays, concerts, sports events or simply chilling out at the local bar or restaurant.

Your film, single drama or series has to be so compelling that it can compete with all those and more.

When you pitch to a producer, financier or agent, they are – consciously or unconsciously – imagining these competitors, those conversations. They're asking themselves whether your idea is strong enough for one friend to convince another that it's worth buying a ticket or spending money on the box set – or whatever it takes for your project to be a success.

That is the starting point of everything. Call it a pitch, log line or premise, it all grows from that word of mouth.

How do you get to do that? Well, that's what most of the rest of this book is about. But first, a word of warning. There is a certain magic in creativity. There are matters that can't be forced into existence. Artists give this magic different names – the Muse, inspiration, luck, genius ... Part of becoming adept at any art, whether writing or directing, or indeed producing, is learning when to stand back and watch the magic happen.

When I started in the industry, I pitched non-stop and sold nothing. Clearly, the film industry wasn't ready to appreciate my genius.

Then, one day, I pitched an idea to a producer and something different occurred. I saw it first in his eyes. I'd struck a nerve. I had stumbled on what screenwriting guru Linda Aronson calls the spark. The spark is the very essence of a good pitch – it's that special something that catches fire in the listener. It can't be legislated for or created by rote. It's part of the magic. And you find it, more often than not, through sheer good luck. Once I'd seen the spark in that producer's eyes, I never wanted to pitch an idea without it again.

You can't demand that the spark appears, but you can entice it in. You do it through sheer hard work and application, using every skill you can draw on, polishing the diamond of your pitch and trying it on people until – sometimes when you least expect it – someone's eyes light up. The processes in this book will help you find the magic. No techniques can force inspiration to come, but they can lay down the groundwork. As Kevin Costner's character says in Field of Dreams – 'If you build it, he will come.' Or as golfer Gary Player put it, 'I've been very lucky in my life – and the harder I worked, the luckier I got.'

Some would-be artists worry about techniques and exercises. They become anxious that they will somehow stifle their creativity. However, the reverse is the case. I suggest you think of the techniques as recipes. Recipes aren't straitjackets; they are processes through which you can express your very special, individual work. The same recipe for, say, lasagne or chocolate cake can be used to make something very ordinary or something exquisite. The difference is the flair and personality you bring to it and the quality and freshness of the ingredients you choose.

As you go through your career, you'll find yourself pitching to all kinds of people – from producers, development executives and financiers to interns and office juniors, not to mention actors, directors, friends, fellow writers and of course agents. You'll pitch to them all in more or less the same way. Agents won't buy your script, but want to know it can be pitched to someone who will. So they will be listening for the same things that any production executive would. The major difference is that an agent is not just interested in whether you have one good idea, but whether you will continue to have good ideas and write good scripts for years to come. They are taking the long view.

For ease of reading, therefore, I'm mostly going to refer to the person being pitched to as a producer or exec, although in most cases what you read will apply equally to agents, script editors, distributors, financiers, co-writers, actors, crew members – in fact just about anyone you can get to listen to your pitch.

Similarly, as the person pitching, you may be a writer or director. Or you may be a producer, pitching to a co-producer, distributor or financier. Or you may be an agent yourself. For most purposes, the issues and techniques are very similar, so most of the time I'm going to refer to the pitcher as a writer.

Finally, this is an equal opportunities book. Sometimes I'll refer to the person being pitched to as she and sometimes as he. And occasionally as they. For variety.

TO SUM UP ...

• The most important part of your pitch is the first sentence.

• Most audience decisions come down to word of mouth.

• To pitch is to imagine a conversation between possible viewers.

• Work hard and the magic will come.

THE PITCH RELATIONSHIP: YOU

There are two sides to any pitch – you and them – the pitcher and the pitched to. Both have needs and will need to have them fulfilled if the relationship is going to be a productive and happy one.

In this chapter, we're going to look at you – the pitcher. What is your role in the proceedings?

The first step is to realise that pitching is not about asking for favours. Without you – or someone like you – producers have nothing to produce. You aren't coming to them to beg for help – you are offering them a chance to collaborate with you on a venture that could be good for both of you. Of course, you need them, but as we'll see in the next chapter, they need you too.

This doesn't mean you should put on airs. It means you may need to change your mindset. You may be an artist but you have invested your own time and money in this script. You've paid the bills, fed and clothed yourself. You're as much a business person as the producer you're pitching to.

However, many beginners go into a pitch with only the vaguest idea of what kind of business relationship they want to get into. They know having a producer is an important part of getting their film or programme made, but haven't thought through what they really want.

But if you don't know what you want, how do you know whether the person you are pitching to is able to give it to you? How do you even know if they are the right person – and how do you know what questions to ask?

In the next chapter, we're going to talk about what the producer wants to hear. Here, we talk about the importance of knowing what you want.

YOUR NEEDS AND VALUES

EXERCISE

Take a moment to write down what you want from this project. Goals such as getting it made, a screen credit, fame, exposing corruption, experience, making a difference, making people laugh, making money ... Don't use my words, choose your own – and keep each item short, a bullet point of one, two or three words. Spend some time on this – you'll discover some important insights into what really drives your work.

When you've done that, look over your list and number your values in order of priority from one (the highest priority) downwards.

There is no right or wrong answer to this question – your priorities are your own concern. Only you can decide what your values are – but you'll need to know what they are.

This exercise is important because different producers will be right for different goals. You may, for example, find that one producer has the track record to get your script onto the screen, but won't pay you upfront. Another might pay well, but has a weaker track record. A third, on the other hand, may pay well, have the power to get the film made, but suggest changes that distort your original ideas out of shape.

Initially, you'll probably want to pitch to anyone and everyone and be delighted if anyone even listens, let alone takes you seriously. However, even at this stage you should go into meetings with your eyes open. Research the producer, company or agent. Check their credits and what they've said on the record, and find out what they like to make and how they like to make it. Knowing your highest priorities will help guide you. (There's more on researching your targets in 'The Pitch Relationship: Them'.)

And when you get to pitch to them, your priorities will also help you know what to ask for, where to stick and where to be flexible.

Of course, your priorities will change over time. A first-time writer will probably accept a less than perfect deal in order to get a foothold in the business. Later, with a track record under your belt, you might want to hold out for terms that are closer to your vision.

WHEN TO PITCH?

Time for another reality check. Unless you have a track record, you will not sell a fiction idea purely on the basis of one meeting. However great your pitch, a producer will always want to read the script.

You might be great at pitching and lousy at writing. You might be great at writing, but this particular idea simply doesn't work when you try to write it. There may be hidden plot holes, waiting like landmines to explode once you expand the idea to its full length. Many a great pitch has given birth to a dire damp squib of a screenplay.

Dan O'Bannon and Ronald Shusett had already written 85 per cent of the script for Alien when they delivered their three-word pitch, 'Jaws in Space'. Furthermore, O'Bannon had already made a successful low-budget sci-fi movie with John Carpenter, Dark Star.

So, in fact, your goal in pitching is not to sell the script on the spot. Your goal is for the producer to say one of two simple phrases:

Tell me more.

Or, better still:

Send me the script.

This leads to one of the most important rules of pitching:

Never pitch a fiction script to a buyer before it's finished.

Because, if you hook a producer or agent with a great pitch, he'll want to read it now. Not in a month's time. Certainly not in six months or a year. If he has to wait, he'll start to cool down. By the time you deliver the script, he may well have moved on to a new project, allocated those funds to a different film or possibly even changed jobs. Even if he is still in the market for scripts such as yours, the story you pitched to him all those months ago will now sound so last year!

I once worked with a producer who'd developed a great pitch for a movie. She flew to Cannes, raised strong interest and came to a provisional agreement with two financiers. But she didn't have a script to show them. So she returned home and commissioned a writer, who wrote two drafts. The second draft still needed work, so she brought me on for two further drafts. By now, a year had passed. When she went back to her financiers with a polished screenplay, one had given up waiting and put all his money into a different film. The other had left the film business altogether. She'd lost two golden opportunities, all because she pitched without a script.

You only get one chance with each person you pitch to. Which means you have to make it your best shot. So the script shouldn't only be finished; it should be as good as possible. That means you absolutely must get at least one professional script report from a reader or company you trust, and allow time to put their recommendations into action.

Personally, I commission at least two full reports on all my screenplays – using different readers. Because telling stories on screen is a collaborative art and nobody, however good, can see all the possible angles or elephant traps in any given script.

So, if you hear the golden words send me the script you should be in a position to comply fast. At best, you can probably squeeze out a delay of a week or two by saying you are just putting in some final touches. But it had better not be longer than that.

WHEN TO PITCH (2)?

Actually, I'm going to qualify that immediately. There are times when you absolutely must pitch scripts you haven't yet written! You will learn enormously from crafting a pitch at the very start and getting a response (or lack of it). It will save you enormous trouble and avoid wasting time on work that will never get produced.

But how do you do this, without blowing your chances of a future sale?

The trick, at this early stage, is to avoid pitching to anyone you actually want to sell the screenplay to. Particularly useful people to try out your early pitches on would be:

• Producers who work in different genres.

• Distributors – they sell finished movies and TV programmes to the cinemas and TV channels in different parts of the world.

• Sales agents – not to be confused with writers' agents, sales agents represent producers and sell the finished films and programmes to the distributors. They generally cover the whole world and often get involved with helping raise finance in advance of production.

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Excerpted from Jaws in Space by Charles Harris. Copyright © 2016 Charles Harris. Excerpted by permission of Oldcastle Books.
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