It’s the biggest movie story of the summer, and it’s not the scandal of Da Vinci or the return of Superman. No, it’s the high-concept actioneer Snakes on a Plane, a movie by two untested writers who nonetheless secured the participation of a star — Samuel L. Jackson — and aroused the interest of studio financiers and internet fans alike, thanks to a dastardly simple seven-word sales pitch — “The movie’s called Snakes on a Plane!”
As far as great Hollywood pitches go, it’s up there with Jaws (“Shark attack!”) and Alien (“Jaws in space!”). And it perfectly illustrates, says the script guru Judy Counihan, just how pivotal the movie pitch has become. “You can spend weeks, months, years even, writing your precious script. But when it comes to the pitch you have to know exactly what you’re doing. Because mostly, you’ll only get one shot.”
Counihan, the co-producer of the acclaimed Bosnian war drama No Man’s Land and the romantic Britflick Me Without You, has teamed up with the American producer and pitch doctor Eileen Quinn to write the definitive guide to selling screenplays, entitled, obviously enough, The Pitch.
The book demystifies the process of pitching while rescuing it from the type of high-concept Hollywood clichés parodied in Robert Altman’s The Player (“It’s Ghost meets The Manchurian Candidate!”).
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“That rehearsed Hollywood patter doesn’t work over here,” says Quinn. “A clear and informal pitch is better. It’s just answering basic questions — what’s your title? When’s it set? Who’s your hero? All the things that people forget in the heat of the moment.”
“The book is about giving you an insight into how a producer might hear what you are trying to sell,” adds Counihan. “They don’t have hours to sit there and listen to you wittering on about the middle act while they lose the will to live.”
Counihan and Quinn, who are poised to become the Trinny and Susannah of the British film industry, thanks to a pitch-me-your-movie reality TV show currently in the works, are an intimidating pair, mercilessly attuned to their métier. They give script-doctoring sessions, often live on stage, and can spot a fake or a gem a mile off.
With this in mind, I decide topitch them my own screenplay. It’s a genius idea, about a film writer guy, dead handsome, who starts going blind, right in the middle of a screening. His ex-girlfriend, completely gorgeous, comes back into his life, but with a Colombian drug cartel on her tail. As the film progresses we discover that our hero is actually substituting a fantasy life of action and adventure for a real life of loneliness and drudgery. He ends up starving to death in a catatonic stupor on the floor of his squalid flat. As I say, genius.
I start the pitch. “We open up on a New York street,” I say, confidently, “with a man lying in a pool of his own blood. We go . . .”
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“Hang on,” says Counihan. “Time frame? Where am I? New York when? Set the scene! I need you to set the scene!” I restart. “We open up . . .”
“And a title would be good,” says Quinn.
I nod guiltily, and shift about on my seat.
“You do have a title?” gasps Counihan.
“Er, yes,” I lie. “It’s called, um, er, Flashback.”
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“Good,” says Quinn. “Go on.”
“We open up on a . . .”
“And it might be interesting if you give us the genre,” adds Counihan, who is already beginning to look slightly bored with it all.
“OK, so it’s a psychological thriller,” I say, throat drying slightly, cheeks flushing. “And it’s set in the present day and we open up on a man lying in . . ”
“Stop right there,” says Quinn. “Is this man the protagonist?”
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“Yes.” I say, slightly punch drunk. “We move in close to our protagonist who, we discover, is actually a film critic, and not just any crit . . .”
Loud snoring sounds from Counihan. “You’re feeling awkward now, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“You’re stressed right now?”
“Yes.”
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“Well, congratulations,” says Counihan, beaming. “You have done exactly what we’re trying to help people not to do. You came in unprepared.”
We try some more of the pitch, but it’s hopeless. Counihan and Quinn tell me to go home, read their book, and prepare my pitch properly. “The book isn’t a miracle worker,” says Quinn. “But if you do what we say, and prepare yourself, then the fear will evaporate.” Obviously, I don’t doubt it.
The Pitch is published by Faber and Faber
AND HERE’S THE ZINGER: SIX STORY PITCHES WE WANT TO SEE ONSCREEN
Taliban in a Toyota
A family road trip across Afghanistan turns unexpectedly sour.
Bonkers
An upscale British dinner party goes terribly, terribly wrong.
Manhattan Jack and the Lady
He’s a New York Cop, she’s a Bengal tiger. And a serial killer stands between them and the crime of the century.
Gladiator 2: Fright Fight
Maximus is back from the dead, and this time he wants blood.
See you in the Locker Room
It’s Brokeback Mountain meets Hoop Dreams.
Dinosaurs on the GE2
It’s like Snakes on a Plane but with velociraptors! On an ocean liner! Which then gets hit by a tidal wave!