Category: Animation

March 10th, 2010

Didja get that thing? Searching for your MacGuffin

My sister, Spenser, and I go on the same highly anticipated adventure every time we’re together. We drive from our parents’ home in Connecticut into Manhattan for a quick, food hit-and-run on Original Ray’s on 9th between 23rd and 22nd and then on to Billy’s Bakery, half a block away between 22nd and 21st. It’s my favorite two blocks in Manhattan, next to Zabars and H&H. Mmm. Delicious! The drive usually takes us one hour and forty five minutes roundtrip to complete and then there’s forty five more minutes of scarfing pizza and cupcakes while we giggle. We are on a mission, specific solely unto us, which can only be satisfactorily concluded with that first bite of pizza and end with the last moist bite of a chocolate cupcake with vanilla frosting.

Like Peewee and his bike, Citizen Kane and his Rosebud, Lt. Aldo Raine and his Nazi scalps, Spenser and I wanted something so much that it prompted us to act just to get it. That slice and cupcake, in the movie of our cross-state adventure, is our MacGuffin: the “thing” we seek.

A MacGuffin, plainly and simply is everything and nothing at the same time. It is the object of your character’s desire; it’s the thing that drives him and forces him to act. It is the carrot at the end of your plot’s stick. It is an excellent character motivator and every movie has one, regardless of genre. Some movies have a tangible thing, like Harold and Kumar’s White Castle, while others can be intangible, like Dorothy wanting to “go home.” While she’s not yearning for a “thing,” she’s yearning for “something” and that’s enough to motivate her to act.

The term MacGuffin was coined by Alfred Hitchcock while working on Notorious. The spies were originally going to be hunting diamonds, but then Hitchcock decided Uranium would work better. The thing about MacGuffins is that even though there’s a huge difference between diamonds and Uranium, there’s really no difference at all. Hitchcock recognized that all that needed to remain constant was the characters’ desire to obtain the “thing” not what the “thing” is. The “thing” itself is really just a random thing. Sam Spade had his Maltese Falcon, The Terminator has John Connor, Neo has his whatever The Matrix is about. Everyone wants something different. What they want doesn’t matter, just that they want something does.  It’s really a spectacular revelation when you think about it.

Hitchcock dubbed this concept a “MacGuffin” after a joke: Two Scotts are on a train. One points to the other’s case. “What’s in the case?” “It’s a MacGuffin. It’s an apparatus used to trap lions on the Scottish Highlands.” “But there are no lions on the Scottish Highlands.” “Well, then sir, that is no MacGuffin.” And that’s it. A MacGuffin was born.

According to Hitchcock, a MacGuffin can really be as varied as the character. My cupcake, is one spy’s papers is another thief’s diamond necklace. But what that “thing” is, isn’t important. What is important is the character’s desire to possess that “thing.” Because it is desire that drives us as people, and it is desire that makes for relatable and accessible characters.

It is this desire that will prompt a cross-state adventure to satisfy a food craving, but it is also this desire that puts your character on their journey to self discovery. The MacGuffin gives your character something to focus on, to strive for, to be pushed to the limit to have. It is through this process that your character will develop and ultimately grow as a result of participation. The MacGuffin is such an integral piece of all writing, fiction and non, because it is a comment on the human condition. Everyone wants something… that “thing” that they want, isn’t important. Their hunger for it is everything.

Just because your character is on a quest for some “thing,” it is really how he gets it and if he gets it that is important. So while it might be of the highest importance to eat that slice and cupcake, it’s the getting there, and the trip with Spenser that makes the movie exciting. It is the minutia of what happens to us in the car ride that makes the movie special.

Whereas the object of your character’s desire can be as varied as the landscape in which you create it, the one thing that will always remain constant is that the MacGuffin is the most important thing to your character. It is this unabashed love of something that drives your character to act, to journey, to grow. So no matter if it’s a waffle or a sports car, whatever the “thing” your character wants, should inform their choices to obtain it.

The MacGuffin also allows you to show a little bit of character in a fun and clever way. The Dude’s attachment to a small throw rug in his living room is odd. It was weirdly sized, awkwardly placed and grungy. It was something of little consequence to basically everyone in the world; everyone in the world but The Dude.

You see, if The Dude hadn’t so seriously wanted his rug back, he might never have met The Big Lebowski, nor been sucked into the caper of The Missing Bunny Lebowski. It was his desire for his rug’s safe return that lead him to Maude, it was the rug that led him to the Nihilists. If Jackie Treehorn’s porno-actor thug hadn’t micturated upon the rug “that really tied the room together,” The Dude might not have realized how important this item was to him. He might have done his bowling Thai Chi over it for 10 more years as it gathered dust, unnoticed below him. But it was the loss of this rug, the ever present desire to reclaim it that forced him to realize how important it really was to him. That this rug didn’t just “really tie the room together,” it really made him whole, it defined him.

So, when you’re crafting your character think about what they want. By giving them a MacGuffin, you’re giving them something that explains something about their personality while also giving them a built in goal. The item itself is immaterial, as it can be anything. But what makes it so exciting and so mysterious, is that while it’s so important, it’s really of little consequence. Ascribe them something strange and different, make the object a poignant character point rather than some throw away. Use your MacGuffin to center your journey around, and let it inform your character’s choices.

I believe that when you employ an interesting MacGuffin, you’ll find the same satisfaction I find in my slice and cupcake, as your character will find in their adventurous expedition to get the “thing” they’re after. It is in the hunting for that “thing,” the lusting for that “thing,” the obtaining of that “thing” that your character will find their happiness. It is in the adventure to get the “thing,” their MacGuffin that will actually force your character to grow.

January 25th, 2010

TV on the Web: An Evil Plot to Destory the World?

When I was 8, my step-mother, concerned that the 10 hours a day of television I was consuming was probably too many, made a declaration: only 8 hours a day. That meant that I had to choose what to watch, not just watch everything that was on! Well, Godbless her for trying, but it didn’t work. I grew up to be a TV writing TV junkie.

Yes folks, I write television and I watch television and that’s how it should be. Writers should know what is out there, what works, what shows are thriving and why. Also, I haven’t ever had a pitch meeting that didn’t start with “What are you watching, Xandy?” I’m never at a loss for an answer and it always works as an easy ice breaker. When you watch or know something about everything on TV, chances are, you’re watching one show the development exec is watching.

An Evil Plot

I didn’t watch TV as much as I consumed it, like every book I read (1000’s), and from every episode of Love Boat I watched, I learned a little something about story structure and character development. It’s surprising but true. Think of it as an apprenticeship; TV taught me to write. But, TV was totally in charge; telling me what to watch and when to watch it. Then I discovered that my beloved Tivo was in cahoots with TV; pushing me around telling me stuff was being deleted and that I had to hurry up and watch. I had become a slave to my truest love, and I was growing to resent it.

I, the ambassador to TV Junkie Town, decided I was fed up with how television was treating me…  So I started an experiment; can a TV Junkie not actually watch a television and still view all of their favorite and new shows on the internet? And to begin this 2 month journey I took an unthinkable step. I canceled cable.

How is life without TV during Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Years? Strangely adequate. Granted, I didn’t get my local programming, or Thanksgiving Day parade, but it turns out, the internet rocks! Who knew?! Everything I ever wanted to see and more from official youtube channels to network websites, is up, available and ready for my compulsive viewing pleasure.

How does this saucy writer fill her internet TV Days? Here’s what I’m watching:

Peep Show

No, it’s not dirty, it’s the best British comedy you’re likely not watching. It’s an “Odd Couple” show with quirky POV camera work and Voice Over. Mark and Jeremy are best mates from college who are still sharing a London flat well into their 30’s and while Mark is stiff, uptight and generally a rule follower, Jeremy is the total opposite: a rock god in his own mind. This comedy is dark, hilarious and altogether the best show you’re probably not watching. Peep Show “I fucking love you!”

Hell’s Kitchen

I love Hell’s Kitchen. Gordo is so totally my boyfriend. He’s only got about 60 shows currently on all over the world so, so between Fox and BBC, they’ve got me covered on all the streaming screaming from his hot kitchens and it’s so wonderful. I have also been able to catch some Kitchen Nightmares, The F Word and some hour-long Cookalong Live deal. Oh Gordo, I just can’t get enough of your furrowed brow, and thanks to the internet, I can order you up for delivery. Ahh,  instant gratification tastes so good.

South Park

Okay, I have a lot of boyfriends. I love Trey Parker too. I told you I’m a junkie; I get around. Truthfully, South Park is simply just excellent TV. Trey Parker knocks out those scripts in a week, then they have like three minutes before it has to air to animate it. I am impressed with what they have accomplished and I revere him as a screenwriter. His episodes are not only topical and timely but also brilliantly well written. At South Park Studios, you can watch all of the new episodes as well as any from the prior 14 seasons. There’s nothing better than going down to South Park, to have myself a time. And now I can do it from anywhere. It’s awesome.

Garth Marenghi’s Darkplace

The series’ fictional premise: in the 1980s, best-selling horror author Garth Marenghi and his publisher/publicist, Dean Learner, made their own low-budget television series. It was bad, really bad. If you like incredibly quirky and meta shows, check it, Dark Place “from your bean bag chair, if that’s how you choose to live your life,” and watch “the greatest televisual event since Quantum Leap” and I don’t say that lightly.

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December 15th, 2009

Getting Started in Screenwriting with Xandy Sussan

Recently, I was interviewed on getting started screenwriting in Hollywood at All Freelance Writing.com. Here is a link to the article where I candidly share how I got my start and helpful tips on how to get started yourself. I sincerely hope you enjoy and find this interview resourceful and a fun read.

September 16th, 2009

Xandy and the Screenwriting Squad

It’s 1975 and I’m standing in a room filled with high-level creative executives, pitching what I think is an excellent television series. It’s got something for everybody: music, adventure, comedy, action and it’s high concept! Here’s my pitch: It’s an animated comedy / action / adventure series (with an emphasis on comedy) for kids 8-11, about a group of amateur, teenaged detectives who solve crimes, while traveling in a band, on tour, in the future, under water, and their sidekick is a talking shark that sounds like Curly from The Three Stooges. I pause for a moment and let it all sink in. My genius never more apparent to these awestruck executives.

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Guess what? It’s a sale! A total greenlight. And since it’s got a little bit of everything, my 22-minute underwater hijinks, mystery and music romp appeals to even the finickiest 8-11 year old demographic. Indeed, fun will be had as they eat their Saturday morning bowl of Lucky Charms.

Would you believe that such an idea would speak to modern audiences and generations to come with its busy, eclectic and broad comedic plots? It did. In fact it was not me pitching this little golden nugget, but rather it was Ruby and Spears for Hannah-Barbera’s Jabberjaw; my favorite “Kitchen Sink Show,” nuk nuk nuk.

Everyone knows the phrase “everything, but the kitchen sink.” Well, in television there are programs that are everything and the kitchen sink. A “Kitchen Sink Show” is a series concept that is so broad that it encompasses every plot and any idea the creators can think of to fill the allotted time.

Take your most basic of plots, (teenagers solving crime), tack on a suspiciously large laundry list of unnecessary, yet bizarrely colorful elements (in space, in a hot air balloon, in a band, speaks like Don Knotts, on unicycles that talk) and add one more for good measure, (the teenagers are all coconuts) and you’ve got yourself a “Kitchen Sink Show.”

As the sole story analyst for Warner Bros. Animation, I read hundreds of scripts. In the true spirit of the original Hannah-Barbera cartoons, almost every submission I read was a “Kitchen Sink Show.” Somehow, it seemed, each writer was merely lazily throwing in every element, character, and quirky ingredient they could think of in a haphazard manner. I soon came to realize, it wasn’t really laziness, but a loving yet misguided homage to the “Kitchen Sink Show” of yesteryear.

The “Kitchen Sink Show” emerged to satisfy two basic market needs: 1) Staying current with modern children’s interests. And; and, 2) Consistently churning out properties, on the cheap, with the least amount of effort.

Regardless of generation, children’s interests generally remain the same and it is this consistency that helps broadcasters choose their programming. They want it to appeal to the greatest number of eyeballs, so, they take an amalgam of “everything kid” and turn it into a show. Kids are into silly comedy. They enjoy action and potential romance, so we have those three elements. Kids also want to see teenagers fighting crime, because it’s aspirational. So, now the characters are detectives. They’re into music, so the show’s heroes are in a band. And then, you add in a funny fourth thing, something quirky to wrap it all up in a seemingly shiny new, if not oddly familiar bow. Et, voilà, you have a “Kitchen Sink Show.”

During the 60’s and 70’s Hannah-Barbera was responsible for an awesome percentage of the on-air children’s Saturday morning programming. They had to think outside of the box and frugally, to get programs to air. Like environmentalists before their time, they knew they must reuse and recycle… character design, concept and premise if they were going to be able to churn out property after property, and the most cost-effective way, is to cannibalize your own properties. They knew, if you paint the kitchen sink, you wind up with a brand new “Kitchen Sink Show!” You go Hannah and Barbera, for being just that clever! It’s a little bit of genius really. They reinvented their properties over and over again, twisting minor details, changing locations, shrewdly disguising that it really was just the same “Kitchen Sink Show,” swaddled in new clothing. And they made a fortune doing it.

Speed Buggy was a show about a group of teenaged detectives, who look alarmingly and suspiciously, exactly like a certain gang from Scooby Doo. They drive around in a busted car, fighting evil forces, solving crime, and the Jalopy transforms into a magical talking race car that can help the kids accomplish their crime solving goals. It’s basically Scooby Doo only sub a talking car for a talking dog, and Hannah-Barbera didn’t even bother to really adjust the character design. They just added a few extra elements to freshen it up.

Today, if you gather a room full of old time animators, they’ll tell you about the grand old days of animation. It was a golden era, where the cartoons were classic. Understand me, I am not advocating that you, as a writer, go and write a “Kitchen Sink Show” and try to pitch it. “Kitchen Sink Shows” are mostly terrible. But they are also a significant piece of television history and are revered for their nostalgic charm. While today, a series like Captain Caveman probably would be incarnated as a poorly dubbed Japanese import, its charm, its personality and the peaceful simplistic story telling would be lost to flashing lights, obnoxious dialogue and bad design.

Where it used to simply take moxie to break into animation, now it requires a team of assassin-like agents, a library to rival Shakespeare’s, a high-concept premise, and Carl Lewis’ track record just to get a meeting. And the saddest part is, that for sentimentality, the “Kitchen Sink Show” is no more.

But it’s funny, after listing what it takes to break into animation writing, I realized I just created my own “Kitchen Sink Show.” It’s called Xandy and the Screenwriting Squad. It’s a futuristic romp, where a modern screenwriter goes back in time to the animation heyday. Armed with my library rivaling Shakespeare’s, my team of assassin-like agents, my moxie, my all-girl rock band (made up of said agents), plus my ability to run track like a god. We write cartoons and solve minor yet eccentrically complex crimes, while running super fast, and then celebrate with a song and a shared chuckle as the episode ends. What do you think? Greenlight? Nuk, nuk, nuk.

With contributions by Merrel Davis (www.merreldavis.com)