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37 pages 1 hour read

Blake Snyder

Save the Cat: The Last Book on Screenwriting You'll Ever Need

Nonfiction | Reference/Text Book | Adult | Published in 2005

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Themes

Likability of the Hero

From the title of the book and the Introduction, the author puts the hero, or protagonist, front and center in his concept of what constitutes a good movie. He asserts that “liking the person we go on a journey with is the single most important element in drawing us into the story” (xv). The hero is the vicarious stand-in for the viewer; it is through the hero’s evolution over the course of the film that the viewer experiences the journey. Though the hero does not have to be similar to the viewers at all—they don’t even have to be human—they do need to possess understandable motivations or reactions to the events that follow in the story in order for the audience to care about what happens to them.

To illustrate his point, Snyder gives the example of Lara Croft 2, which tanked at the box office. Snyder found the title character to be “cold and humorless” (xiv), which left him less than excited to see the movie. He felt that the filmmakers focused on making her “cool” and sexy, with a “new latex body suit” (xv), instead of on revealing relatable emotions. A movie that does follow the rule of “Save the Cat” (i.e., one that shows the good or likeable side of the hero early on) is Quentin Tarantino’s Pulp Fiction, wherein two hitmen are central characters in the story. By making the two characters funny and a bit “naïve” and “childlike” (121), the film lightens the tone, even in the scenes where they kill people. Snyder states, “Instead of risking the audience’s good will by making them [the characters] existential hard asses without a soul, screenwriter Tarantino, in his own way, makes them sorta huggable” (121). In addition, Tarantino follows another of Snyder’s Immutable Laws of Screenplay Physics in the same movie when he makes the hitmen’s boss sound even worse and more violent than they are.

Films about real-life people who may have bad sides or that feature an anti-hero still need to follow the Save the Cat law. Snyder cites figures who had some troubling sides to their stories who nonetheless starred in successful movies—the centuries-old character of Aladdin in Disney’s Aladdin, Alfred Kinsey in the movie Kinsey, and John Nash in A Beautiful Mind. The movies cleaned up some of the messiness of the real people’s lives in order to make them heroes. In the case of Aladdin, for example, there is a “Save the Cat” scene early on where Aladdin, a thief, steals bread but then gives it to a pair of starving children. In Snyder’s view, this scene is an example of how the “hero has to do something when we meet him so that we like him and want him to win” (123).

While “Save the Cat” is not the first of the Immutable Laws or the central concept of the book, it is the law that Snyder feels is most controversial due to the pushback he has received for it. Critics of the rule feel it might mean making the hero always good, which might make the story “cloying and dull” (123). However, Snyder is clear that heroes should not be perfect. Rather, heroes need “tics and flaws,” what he terms “Six Things That Need Fixing” (75), because it is the hero’s growth and emotional evolution that hooks the viewers into the story.

Making It Primal

What makes an engrossing film, according to Snyder, is the hero having stakes or motivations that resonate with viewers on a primal level. Films that are primal contain stories that “‘[y]ou can pitch to a caveman.’ It’s not about being dumb” (26). The distinction Snyder makes here is important; the goal is not to dumb down the story but to write a story that revolves around a core urge shared by humans worldwide. Survival and sex top the list of primal motivations, but how they appear in film can be more nuanced. Snyder states:

What does X want? Well, if it’s a promotion at work, it better damn well be related to winning the hand of X’s beloved or saving up enough money to get X’s daughter an operation. And if it’s a match-up with an enemy, it better well lead to a life-or-death showdown, not just a friendly spitball fight (54).

When the stakes are not primal, movies may come across as flat, confusing, or insipid because the audience is not in synch with the protagonist or able to grasp why the protagonist is doing what they are doing.

The term “primal” first appears in the chapter about types of stories. This early appearance of the term is not coincidental, as Snyder’s categories of stories are largely based on ancient story archetypes, such as that of the Minotaur (Monster in the House) or Jason and the Argonauts (The Golden Fleece), or on commonly shared human experiences, such as those found in Rites of Passage. These archetypes have been around for millennia in some cases because, at their core, they are easily understandable and translatable. Filling out the cast of characters around the hero with the hero’s loved ones, familial or romantic, is also “an immediate attention-getter because we have a primal reaction to those people” (55). Snyder recommends that screenwriters “ground [their] characters in the most deep-seated imagery [they] can” (56) in order to make the story—no matter how surprising or innovative—also resonant and impactful.

The term appears again in the chapter on fixing problems in a screenplay, and it closes off the instructional portion of the book with a reminder about the importance of using basic urges and desires as the foundation of the story: “By making what drives your characters more primal, you’ll not only ground everything that happens in principles that connect in a visceral way, you also make it easier to sell your story all over the world” (158). In essence, movies with a primal urge at their heart, whether to protect one’s home or family or take revenge, do not require lengthy explanation or background knowledge, thus potentially enlarging the size of the prospective viewership.

Box Office Success Versus Art

In the Introduction, Snyder makes his purpose for the book clear: financial success in Hollywood. He states that “while I love the Indie world, I want to hit it out of the park in the world of the major studios. That’s why this book is primarily for those who want to master the mainstream film market” (xvi). Elements of his instruction, such as the story categories and even the three-act structure, could well apply to indie or “arty” films; other pieces of advice, however, may necessitate distinguishing between more artistic endeavors and the type of films Snyder is addressing.

The target consumers for the screenplays with which Snyder is concerned are studio executives and paying moviegoers. To that end, Snyder argues that screenplays must reach a wide audience, or at least the largest moviegoing demographic, and be readily understandable from their logline, title, and poster. He uses the terms “four-quadrant pictures” and “block comedy” (8) to describe two such style of movies. Four-quadrant movies cast actors in their twenties in lead roles with older stars also featured to “attract the broadest possible audience” (8). Block comedies can be attractive to studios because they don’t involve moving the crew to a distant location or creating expensive special effects.

However, this focus on what sells to the most people can add to an existing problem in Hollywood and elsewhere: ageism. In the chapter about choosing the hero, Snyder exhorts the reader to make their heroes “demographically pleasing” (52). He confesses that the types of heroes he is drawn to tend to be in their forties, but before he creates a screenplay around actors of that age, he remembers that he is in “youth-obsessed Hollywood,” and “the audience that’s going to show up for that movie is… well, A.W.O.L. to be honest” (53). The tone of this section is resigned, with phrases like “give up on trying to change things” and “Why fight City Hall?” (53). This tone echoes the sentiment in the Introduction about “people and ideas that should not be encouraged” (xiii).

Perhaps the most obvious example of art versus box office success is Snyder’s take on the movie Memento: “Existential dilemmas are what close on Saturday night, as the low-performing art house gem Memento proves” (91). Though Memento attracted great acclaim, Snyder asks the reader, “[G]uess how much it made?” (96). He doesn’t answer the question. Though film earnings are often hard to determine due to how the box office is reported, estimates put Memento at $40 million worldwide on a budget of $9 million, whereas Snyder’s movie Blank Check garnered $39 million on a budget of $13 million. Both are considered successes, but neither is a “blockbuster.”

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