Armchair Commentary

Walking Dead Showrunner Glen Mazzara on Midseason Finales, Pushing Limits and the Appeal of Daryl

Showrunner Glen Mazzara is merciful — OK, maybe not to the characters on The Walking Dead, but to fans. His belief is that midseason finales should be managed with care, not leaving too much hanging for too long. “Sometimes I worry about cliffhangers, that they can be frustrating to the audience,” he said in an exclusive interview with Amazon Studios.

Which isn’t to say that Mazzara won’t put beloved characters in peril — he’s done it plenty this season, the show’s third, and delivered monster ratings in the process (the midseason finale attracted 15.2 million viewers in December).

We talked with Mazzara shortly before news broke that this season, which resumes in February, will be his last as showrunner and executive producer for The Walking Dead. Be warned, spoilers abound in this interview. Don’t listen or read further until you’re caught up.

Some highlights, including Mazzara's take on finales, humanity in a zombified world, the freedom the setting provides, and how far he'll push characters:

On midseason finales vs. season finales:

We come together as writers and producers and the studio, network executives and we design with that midseason finale in mind. We really want to make sure that we’re paying off some of the arcs that we established, and really setting up the back half of the season. So last year, we had an arc to pay off about “Where’s Sophia?,” and that really could have played as a season finale. …

This year, I really wanted to concentrate on setting up the back part of the season. So what we did in these eight episodes was introduce a lot of new characters. We introduced Michonne, re-introduced Merle, the Governor, Milton, these two worlds. We needed eight episodes to bring everyone together in a plausible, believable way. Now that everything’s crashed together, everything’s all set up for the back half of the season. There was a lot of plotting required to get it done, and what was interesting about this midseason finale is that we do have this cliffhanger.

Sometimes I worry about cliffhangers, that they can be frustrating to the audience. I would not want to do a major cliffhanger like this at the end of the season because on cable sometimes you’re off for six months to a year, and I do feel that would be frustrating.

On what makes the zombie apocalypse such an effective tool for revealing humanity:

The world is so incredibly high-stake. Every decision you make is the decision you make is between life and death, and our show now is a show about making decisions. It’s not necessarily a show about discussing philosophy. All the pressure is on. There are zombies over there, there are zombies over here, there’s no food, there’s no water, there’s no ammo. We now have the Governor and his group out there, what are we going to do. I think the audience watches that and they feel the pressure, they buy into the reality of the show … and they in a sense play along at home by making decisions as well: What would they do? How would they get out of this? Who would they be willing to sacrifice?… In any drama, you reveal character through the choices they make, so I think people really believe in this world and believe in the characters.

On the appeal of Daryl:

Daryl’s just the everyman. Norman [Reedus] does a great job of playing that character just as cool as possible, just understated. Norman’s just a wonderful actor, and his biceps look great when he’s running around holding a crossbow. He’s also just a guy who doesn’t get rattled. He’s the guy you want by your side in this zombie apocalypse. He has a heart, he’s smart, he’s a survivalist. He’s the perfect person to have by your side. People just trust him and are rooting for him. …

He could lead this group. Now here comes his brother, who’s going to complicate his life and possibly undo everything he’s worked so hard for. It’s a very, very good challenge for him.

More from Mazzara at the Amazon Studios Hollywonk blog.

Writer/Director Callie Khouri on Creating "Nashville," and the Role Music Plays in the Show

Oscar-winner Callie Khouri (Thelma & Louise) this year made the jump from feature films to series, creating Nashville for ABC. Not surprisingly, music is at the heart of the show, but it’s about much more, operating at the crossroads of art, business, technology, and politics, in a world where many of the old rules no longer seem to apply. There are a lot of players in this game, but the two at the core are singers at opposite ends of their careers: Connie Britton as Rayna James, the established star working to remain relevant, and Hayden Panettiere as Juliette Barnes, the hot newcomer reaching for respect — and grabbing hold of Rayna’s guitarist and former lover, Deacon Claybourne (Charles Esten).

Khouri took some time out from production to talk about the story, the setting, and the biggest differences between working in feature films vs. series. “It’s kind of like riding a horse,” she says. “You get on, they shoot a dart into its ass and you’re just heading out into the great unknown and it’s running as fast as it can. You’re learning to ride, and the whole thing is ‘just don’t fall off.’”

Some highlights:

What made you want to tell this particular story about these particular people?

It kills a lot of birds for me. Starting with the obvious, it talks about a time in our business where all the models are changing, the business has just gone through this drastic shift, and I think everybody is struggling to find their place and figure it out. It feels like there’s a changing of the guard in a way, and the old business models, to quote myself, “are no longer relevant.” That was a line I wrote in the pilot. It’s just a challenging time for people in all kinds of businesses obviously, but certainly this one, where the way it’s been working for however many years has suddenly become extinct almost. People aren’t making a living the way they used to.

There’s a few cities where stories about business changes could be told ... why Nashville?

Well, one, Nashville is a place that I love and adore, so anytime I can find a reason to be here, I do it. But two, it’s a town that is so full of incredibly talented people, just amazing music everywhere you go — almost too much not to have a lot of pain and heartbreak attached to it. Not just the music, and the songs can be about that, but with so much talent here, and such a narrow conduit to get it out in the world, there’s a lot of people here who probably should have made it and didn’t and great, great songs that you’ll never hear. … It’s a town that really loves and respects its traditions and history, for good and bad, so it’s just a really fertile ground for me for storytelling. And I have family here, and I just have a deep attachment to the place.

How does the music affect the storytelling process?

The first thing is that I’m constantly looking for the song that I feel is the right song for the character, whether it’s something they’ve written … how does the song fit into the narrative of the story? Unlike a lot of the other shows [featuring musical performances], we get to show the inception of a song, and the birth of a song, and the trajectory of a song … because here we’re at ground zero, where the song is being written or the event happens in somebody’s life that gives them the idea to write the song that they go on to write. … To me, that’s just a great device for revealing character.

I’m now in a world that’s so different from what I’ve been doing most of my life, which is feature films, where you’re telling a story with a beginning, middle and end. This is an ongoing thing, I hope — I hope it’s ongoing for a long time. And it’s a new way of storytelling for me. It’s kind of like you’re writing a novel and you just have to let everybody read it as you go along. There’s a lot of risk involved in that. And because it’s not just a singular endeavor.  There are 11 writers, and we’re doing it at at breakneak speed. And it’s an incredibly demanding show.

Basically, if you were just doing a show that had five songs, and that was the show, nothing but five songs, nothing in between, it would still be kinda hard. And we’re doing both of those things. And it’s moving way more quickly than anything I’ve ever done. There’s very little time for reflection. … It’s a whole new way of thinking for me. And it’s really exciting, and really fun, and really embarrassing and really terrifying. Everything that making art is supposed to be, I guess.

Read more interviews and exclusives on the Amazon Studios Hollywonk blog.

Surviving The New Fall TV Season: An Insider's Perspective

Noah Hawley is a novelist (The Good Father) and screenwriter (Lies and Alibis) who created and ran two TV shows for ABC (The Unusuals and My Generation). In this exclusive post, Hawley offers an insider’s perspective on what the fall TV premiere season is like for the people who create the shows:

Eight days. That’s how long the ride lasted. On Thursday, September 23, 2010, at 8 p.m., my second show, My Generation, premiered on ABC. It was cancelled eight days later, on Friday, October 1st. The show, which ABC had spent millions to make and millions more to promote, aired twice. This despite the fact that the network had deemed us their flagship show of the fall season, by which I mean the new show to which they gave first dollar priority in sales and marketing.

Which is why, if you were in LA or New York that summer, you couldn’t escape the billboards and subway ads. If you went to see a summer blockbuster movie that July, chances are you saw a two minute trailer the network and studio had paid to make for us. A month later, Rolling Stone Magazine threw us a party on the roof of a Sunset Boulevard hotel. The night of the premiere, Warren Littlefield and I rented a bungalow at the Chateau Marmont and threw a premiere party. Over a hundred people came to watch the show and celebrate. Heading up to the launch, the folks at ABC marketing had designed the first interactive iPad app for a television show, and people had their iPads out as they watched. ...

And then the ratings came in. I don’t remember the precise number, but it was in the high ones for the critical demographic, which is a low number (a hit these days gets anything over a 3.5.) But the brass at ABC told us not to worry. They’d expected a number like this, they said, and they were prepared to ride it out and let us build an audience. Seven days later episode two aired, to an even lower number. And the next day we were cancelled.

That’s the TV business. Most shows fail. And as we move from Premiere Week 2012 to Week Two, I’m sure there are a lot of nervous showrunners. It’s almost impossible to launch a hit show these days in our crowded TV landscape, with network audiences shrinking consistently every year. And so, as a showrunner, you try to do the math. How patient is my network? What do they have to replace me with? ...

Making things harder, there is a true bloodlust in the Hollywood press and the blogosphere this time of year. It’s like a Roman Circus. Who will be the first show to drop? Animal Hospital? Mob Doctor? In 2010 it was My Generation and Lone Star. Both show aired exactly twice and were cancelled in that second week. And just like that the bloodlust broke, and people moved on. Two shows had been sacrificed and the crowd was satisfied. And after that, every other new show, no matter their ratings, aired at least four more times before the next round of cancellations, giving busy audiences a chance to at least sample them.

As a showrunner with a struggling new show, you try to hold on long enough to see the first round of DVR numbers (live plus 3), which are becoming increasingly meaningful. See? you tell the networks, if the DVR numbers show a substantial ratings increase. People want to watch this show.

Read more on the Amazon Studios blog, Hollywonk.

Guest Post: “Seed” Author Ania Ahlborn on Horror Movies That Inspire

“Muses come in different shapes and sizes, mine just happens to look
like a blood-drenched Sissy Spacek.”

— Ania Ahlborn, author of the chilling new horror novel, Seed

Classic horror: there’s something magical about it; something raw and unforgiving that taps into our deepest, most primal fears. As an author, people ask me what inspires me. I’m expected to throw out complicated answers: Shakespeare’s soliloquies; Hemingway’s drunken banter; unpublished Russian manuscripts — the more underground the better. When I reply with “movies,” eyebrows arch above surprised expressions. But it’s undeniable — I have a love affair with moving pictures, especially the ones that make my skin crawl.

 As a lover of horror, I can appreciate almost any attempt at the genre. Granted, I don’t have much of a stomach for stuff like Saw and Hostel, but I understand why it makes the audience react the way it does. And yet, after a barrage of found footage flicks, I find myself pining for the days of old.

I spent my youth watching horror movies when the adults weren’t around, terrorizing myself with classic B-grades like Troll and Dolls—the latter of which gave me a childhood phobia of sleeping in rooms with those creepy, glass-eyed, porcelain faces. But the movie I remember watching most vividly is The Exorcist; sitting on the couch in a pitch black room, clinging a decorative pillow to my chest, my eyes wide as saucers while Reagan MacNeil thrashed in her bed. I was horrified, but it was the type of terror that refused to let me look away. I’m not exaggerating when I say that I didn’t get a proper night’s sleep for at least six months after that viewing. The horror of that movie dug deep into my soul. It infected me like a disease. No movie has affected me like that since.

That isn’t to say I’ll let a television sit on snow in a dark room for longer than a second. No way. There are people in the TV, Poltergeist told me so; just like The Omen taught me that being born bad can really happen and The Texas Chainsaw Massacre convinced me that the worst people live in the most remote places. And then there was The Shining, offering up the terrifying notion that a trusted family member can turn into a monster. These are the concepts that seeped into my subconscious, the very things that turned my thoughts weird and dark. Reagan MacNeil and Damien Thorn were the wicked little muses that scratched the inside of my skull for years, insisting that I had a tiny monster of my own to unleash upon the world. Jack Torrance assured me that there’s a switch in us all, and once it’s flipped, even a family man can turn into an axe murderer. Leatherface sparked my adoration for towns so rural they make the blood run cold.

Readers flatter me. They’ve compared Seed to the likes of classic Stephen King. Whether that’s accurate or not isn’t my call, but the comparison definitely gives me a thrill; and it’s not because my name and King’s are being brought up in the same sentence (though let me tell you, that blows my mind every time), but because my writing is being compared to the horror of old, the horror that was genuinely scary. That’s the horror I grew up on. It’s the stuff that twisted my mind and made my poor mother wonder how she’d raised such an odd, dark-minded girl. Muses come in different shapes and sizes, mine just happens to look like a blood-drenched Sissy Spacek.

When people ask me where I got my inspiration for Seed, I tell them that I’ve always been haunted by the concept of demonic possession. But my thanks will forever rest with the directors, actors, and cinematographers of classic horror fare. Because those are the people who put darkness in my head, those are the people who filled my brain with terrible concepts yet simultaneously entertained me. That’s why, when I see a preview for a movie that looks genuinely scary, I cover my mouth and laugh… because it’s like seeing an old friend. That’s why, when I write a book, I try to write it the way a movie would play out on screen. It’s what I love. It’s what twists me into a monster when presented with a blank page.

And I am a monster. We all are. It just takes a flip of a switch. A series of scenes. Or the flip of the page.

— Ania Ahlborn

Learn more about Ania Ahlborn. Amazon Studios is giving filmmakers a chance to create the official book trailer for her book, Seed, and win $3,000.

Clive Barker Exclusive: “Why Do You Choose Any Story to Tell? Because It Excites You”

Clive Barker — writer, artist, and master of the horror genre — speaks exclusively with Amazon Studios about the true nature of fear, finding the right arena for his stories and his Neverland dreams.

What separates great horror from the things that go spatter in the night?

Clive Barker: Metaphysical despair. That the world is meaningless and we’re just bouncing around on it and when we’re finished we die and that’s the end of it. That’s scary. That’s existential. When Sartre put the idea of existentialism in front of us at the beginning of the 20^th century, the idea of human hope was possibly at its lowest ebb. The bombs were going off. Europe was trashed. Economies were in ruins. And worst of all, we’d learned new ways of killing each other. Existentialism arose from the ashes of Auschwitz and Hiroshima and we had to address that very seriously.

There are horrific moments in movies (and not necessarily horror movies either) when something is evoked that has an awe-inspiring emptiness. When we are imbued with the sense that the cosmos is huge … and empty.

Pascal says, “We may enlarge our conceptions beyond all imaginable space; we only produce atoms in comparison with the reality of things. It is an infinite sphere, the center of which is everywhere, the circumference nowhere.

What that phrase evokes is the sense of a limitless empty meaningless space we as human beings have no control over and a total inability to impress meaning upon.

We think we have the power to impress ourselves upon the world in some fashion — through having a family, through feeling love, through our associations with political parties or to a church — and when we feel those connections we feel momentarily safe. And that’s horror; it is only momentary. It’s about reducing our sense of importance. Most horror says, “You think you’re fine and fancy, don’t you. Well you’re not. You’re meat.”  That I can be so easily erased.  In my estimation, all of that is as far from a simple ‘boo’ as it gets.

You tell stories in so many different arenas (books, movies, comics, video games) … how do you decide which is the right one for a particular idea?

Barker: I don’t. They choose it for me. I’ll start something with the intention of being a novel for example, and through one circumstance or another, it will end up a comic book. Or a movie. I’ve found that the story will end up being the format it wants most to. I just try not to get in the way of that.

If you could create a mashup with one of your worlds with one of someone else’s, which would you choose?

Barker: Neverland and my very real, very personal world. As a child it was always Neverland that caught my imagination. I didn’t read Narnia till quite a lot later by which time some of its charm had waned. I was rather too old for it.  I was a very shy kid. A very solitary kid. I couldn’t play games in the play yard. I wasn’t the kind of guy that played war. You have to remember this was twelve years after the second world war. It’s all everyone still talked about. And the cleanup is going on all around us. And we still had ration cards. It’s bizarre to think this, but that’s what was going on. So there was me feeling like a solitary little kid and when the wind came along, I was just carried away. I’ve always loved the sound of the wind. The sound of the wind to me is about the far away.  And there was just something about Neverland that I adored. As a child I used to see myself as Peter Pan and still do to some extent, I suppose.

What has been the hardest story for you to tell?

Barker: My life story. It’s an ongoing story, and I don’t know what happens at the end yet.

Read more from Barker, and learn more about Barker's work with Amazon Studios.

Guest Post: Now Leaving "Eureka" (A View from the Inside)

Amy Berg, Eureka co-executive producer, bids a fond farewell to the funny, smart and inventive Syfy series, which brought joy (and science) to fans for five seasons. The final episode airs tonight at 9/8C, and also will be available via Amazon Instant Video.

"Although I only joined the show at the start of season four, I’ve been a fan since its premiere," Berg told Amazon Studios' Hollywonk blog. "There has always been something magical about Eureka. Not just what you see on screen, but behind the scenes as well. The show brought together an amazing collection of humans, from our writing staff to our production assistants and every member of the cast and crew."

 

Eureka stars, from left to right,
Salli Richardson-Whitfield as Dr. Allison Blake, 
Niall Matter as Zane Donovan, 
Joe Morton as Dr. Henry Deacon, 
Erica Cerra as Jo Lupo, 
Neil Grayston as Dr. Douglas Fargo
and Colin Ferguson as Sheriff Jack Carter,
a regular guy who succeeds with
common sense when genius runs amok.

 

Now Leaving Eureka

by Amy Berg

“First my PDA has a camera, and now black holes are everywhere? People need to know these things!”

Oh, Sheriff Carter. I’m going to miss you.

I’m going to miss your endearing naïveté. The way you see the world and the people who inhabit it. The love you have for your family, the respect you have for your friends, and the lengths you’re willing to go to protect people you don’t even know. Most of all, I’m going to miss your charm. So. Much. Charm.  

You’re more than just a role model for young women, Allison. You are proof positive that genius is color blind. You’re strong and confident but never cold. You’re guided by your mind and your heart in equal measure, and that’s something we all can envy.

The smartest man in the smartest city also has the gentlest soul. You wear your heart on
your sleeve, Henry, and sometimes it bites back. You have all the answers, except when it comes to your own life. But despite everything you’ve been through, you’ve never sacrificed your ideals and you’ve never let down your friends. 

You don’t just save lives, you enrich them. You’re tough as nails, but not invulnerable. So what if you’re not an intellectual, you’re okay with that. You’re not intimidated by anyone, be it politicians, five-star generals, or Eureka’s resident smartypants. You may not always know what you want, but you always know what others need. I want to be you when I grow up, Jo.

Damn, you’re sexy. But you’re also quite handy with a keyboard. That wall you put up was tough to crack at first, but eventually you stopped trying to patch it. Now we know the real you, Zane. You’re a honorable guy with a good heart. So suck it up.

No one has come farther than you, Fargo. You went from bungling button-pusher to the head of Global Dynamics, and it’s been a treat watching you grow. Your inner workings and outer spaciness are a hoot and a half. We’ve enjoyed getting a peek into that inquisitive mind of yours… and occasionally, if not intentionally, your pants.

From uber-smart offspring Zoe and Kevin to overly accommodating Deputy Andy, I’m going to miss everyone who has visited Eureka over the past six years. Beloved town crier, Vincent. Long-suffering Larry. Charming thorns Nathan Stark, Trevor Grant, and Isaac Parrish. Hell, I’m even going to miss that crazy bitch Beverly Barlowe. 

Oops. Forgot one. I’m going to miss you too, Holly. I was just, uh, saving the best for last. Not that I like you more than the others, I just mean… crap.

Now it’s awkward.

“Anti-intellectualism has been a constant thread winding its way through our political and cultural life, nurtured by the false notion that democracy means that my ignorance is just as good as your knowledge.” – Isaac Asimov

Eureka isn’t just a town, it’s an idea.

A place where intellectual aptitude is celebrated, not ridiculed. Not only is it okay to be smart, geeky, or obsessive… it’s required. Don’t let all the explosions, AI takeovers, and space-time disturbances fool you. Eureka is a damn fine place to live.

"Walking Dead" Producer Talks about the Future of Zombies and the Impact of Fans

The zombies are on the march again, and Gale Anne Hurd is in her element. “I love creating new worlds that we hadn’t seen before,” Hurd says during a break from the Atlanta production of the third season of The Walking Dead, AMC’s hit series about people trying to hold on to their humanity in a post-apocalyptic world.

And as producer of that hit series, as well ground-breaking movies like The Terminator, T2, Aliens, Armageddon and The Incredible Hulk, Hurd has been creating worlds for more than 25 years — with a deep commitment to the story, to storytellers, and to fans.

With The Walking Dead, she says, “we’ve been entrusted with a franchise that people feel passionately about but also introduced it to people who weren’t aware of the comic book” created by Robert Kirkman. And they’ve been able to turn that franchise into a TV hit — a show that rivals its acclaimed AMC brethren, Breaking Bad and Mad Men, creatively and outperforms both in the ratings. More than 10 million people watched the finale of season two, which averaged nearly 7 million viewers per episode.  

Expectations are high for season three, after an intense and tantalizingly brief first season (just six episodes) and a second season that began with the dramatic departure of showrunner Frank Darabont and ended with raves for the onscreen drama. Survivors led by sheriff Rick Grimes searched for a missing member of their group, fought to protect a safe haven and suffered new kinds of hell.

“The first season was about setting up the world, coming to terms with Rick rejoining his family and finding out that his best friend and his wife — thinking that he was dead — formed a bond. Gradually, he found out just how strong a bond they’d formed,” Hurd said. With deadly consequences. “And now,” Hurd added, “we’re continuing in the tradition inspired by the comic book.”

Which sounds like things are going to get even more brutal. When the new season begins in October, viewers know that there’s a different world waiting — one that will include fearsome female warrior Michonne (played by Danai Gurira from Treme), and (spoiler alert) the Governor (David Morrissey), a dark figure well known to fans of the comic books for inflicting all manner of cruelty on those who cross him. Fans of the comics know them well, but as with, say, the character of Shane, should expect to experience them differently in the television series.

What are the benefits and challenges of creating a show based on such well-realized (and beloved) source material?
The comic is fantastic: terrific, character-driving storytelling. And not every fan will appreciate variation from the panels. Some would prefer that we bring every panel to life. But that’s not what Rob Kirkman wanted to do. He’s the first to say that [comics and television] are two different media. … You can’t include everybody that was in the comic. But you can make sure the characters you have integrate into the world. … And some of the new characters have become fan favorites, like Daryl and Merle [the Dixon brothers, whose abusive upbringing turned them into hardcore survivors].

What is the appeal of shows like The Walking Dead?
It’s not about the zombies, really. People far wiser than we are … talk about a primal fear that we have as human beings — being dead but not dead, with no control, shuffling around with no awareness. And then you become a cannibal and eat your family.

Are you worried that people will tire of zombie stories?
No. I think what people get tired of is ripoffs that don’t deliver. I can’t imagine World War Z won’t deliver.

You tend to be involved with projects that generate a great deal of interest and enthusiasm. And over time, fans have developed more and more ways to connect not just with each other, but with people like you. Has that changed your approach to your work?
There’s not enough hours in the day to do everything you need to do to produce a show, and to read everything people have posted. But I’ve been reading the boards since Ain’t It Cool News began, or Superhero Hype. You can sense a vibe and I think that’s important, but at the same time you truly have to stick to the original vision that everyone signed on for.

Find Hurd's thoughts on Prometheus, Aliens and more at the Amazon Studios Hollywonk blog.

Exclusive: "Road to Perdition" Writer on Going From Book to Screen, and Back Again

Max Allan Collins writes movies, graphic novels (Road to Perdition) and mysteries (Lady, Go Die, released last month). In this exclusive guest post, Collins talks about the challenges of writing for the screen vs. novels (and graphic novels), and how lessons of independent filmmaking help him make the transition.

I’m a storyteller.

That’s how I think of myself, and describe myself. Everything else is a compartment: mystery writer; screenwriter; comics writer; non-fiction writer; songwriter; and so on … almost always with “writer” part of the description, but “storyteller” at the heart of the beast.

Those various compartments grow out of two things: enthusiasm and necessity. Enthusiasm is what drives me — I get an idea for a story, and I want to pursue it. Necessity is the need to keep the writing projects flowing, because this is my profession and I need to make a living. You know, to keep the lights on in the joint.

That means I need to be flexible and versatile. Starting out, I thought of myself as a mystery writer, and writing mystery novels was the goal. But I was always a big fan of movies and comics, so when I’ve been given the chance to work in those fields, I’ve grabbed it.

On the other hand, a lot of writers can’t make the transition into another form. The list of novelists who are miserable screenwriters is a long one; and the list of screenwriters who become successful novelists is a short one.

The ability to write both novels and screenplays well requires developing an appreciation and an understanding of each form. The novelist who wanders blithely into screenwriting will inevitably write scenes that would work fine in a novel but are inappropriate for a film. A novelist will typically write a dialogue scene that is either too long, too short, or not necessary. Novelists have no budgetary restrictions in fashioning a novel, a freedom that is death on a screenplay, where every dollar — like every second — counts.

Having directed independent films, I know things most novelists don’t — like the need to minimize the number of actors and locations. These kind of basic technical concerns are a must in screenwriting.

But the most important factor is understanding that novels are interior and films are exterior. A novel is told from inside a character or characters, and a film is told from the outside of the characters, reporting their actions and reactions.

Read more at Hollywonk, the official blog of Amazon Studios.

"Animal House" Exclusive Interview: New Book, New Stories and Visions of Broadway

Animal House, one of the most-loved movie comedies of all time, is hotter than ever. There’s a Broadway show in the works and a new, behind-the-scenes book called Fat, Drunk, & Stupid by producer Matty Simmons, who talks to us about what Hollywood first thought of the script (hated it!), what got cut, and why there was never a sequel.

Some highlights from the interview:

On getting the green light: My junior partner at the time was Ivan Reitman [who went on to make comedy classics including Ghostbusters] and we went into [Univeral Studios chief Ned] Tanen’s office and he said, “I hate this movie. Everyone’s drunk or having sex or getting beat up. Do you think you could make it for less than $3 million?" Now I had never made a movie. Ivan had made a couple of movies in Canada for about $8. I said, “Absolutely.” And I didn’t know what I was talking about. We made it for $2.8 million, and overall, everything in to date, it’s grossed about $600 million.

On the audience response: We screened that movie in Denver … and at the end of that movie, the audience was standing on chairs and screaming and applauding and yelling. No one had seen anything like it. And then when they brought it back to Hollywood, they did a test screening and it got the highest rating in the then-history of the ratings system.

On getting Animal House to Broadway, with music by Barenaked Ladies: I had the idea about four or five years ago and it took me that long to convince Universal to do it, because they own the rights. They said, “Well, if you bring in the right team.” So I brought in a top Broadway producer, who many years ago was my publicity man and has since won about six Tonys (Jeff Richards), and the director of the Book of Mormon, the hottest show on Broadway (Casey Nicholaw).

Read more on the Amazon Studios Hollywonk blog.

Exclusive: True Tales of Unmade Movies and "Development Hell"

David Hughes mines Hollywood's depths for the untold stories behind the unmade movies (Sandman, where art thou?) and the unmade versions of movies that actually did reach the screen (like the fourth Indiana Jones film, written by Frank Darabont and meant to include Sean Connery).

In this exclusive guest post, Hughes answers the question at the heart of his acclaimed and — newly updated — book, Tales From Development Hell: The Greatest Movies Never Made:

We often hear this phrase, ‘Development Hell’, thrown about. But what does it mean? (I should know: I wrote the book on it.)

In an ideal world, a screenwriter would write a script, and assuming it's brilliant, attract (a) a director, (b) actors, (c) finance, and (d) members of the opposite sex. In practice, these things seldom happen — especially (d). Of all the scripts that get written (fewer than 1% of those that get started), fewer than 1% get anywhere near anyone with the power to get them made; of that 1%, only 1% will actually be made. In other words, every film you see is like Rocky’s whole life — a million to one shot. Many of the rest wind up circling the drain in a place called Development Hell.

Development is what happens when everyone with an interest in an unproduced script tries to help it get to a place where it’s ready to be turned into a movie. This will tend to involve studio executives, producers, actors, and multiple screenwriters — some brought on board because they have a particular ‘voice’, others because they had a hit the previous weekend. When all of these people pull in the same direction, working together to create the best possible version of a particular story — or, in most cases, one that’s achievable for the money — development can go smoothly. When some or all of the collaborators are pulling in different directions, and this process continues indefinitely, that’s Development Hell.

So how can budding screenwriters avoid this special form of damnation? One way is to refuse to sell anything you’ve written, leaving your perfect script as words on paper, like the blueprint for a wonderful building that will never be constructed. Another way is to be so amazingly rich, you can finance your own films. Another If, however, you want to see your masterpiece on the big screen, and you don’t have the necessary millions to make it yourself, there’s a pretty good chance you will end up in the special place reserved for screenplays that started out so perfect, they just had to be rewritten. And rewritten… And rewritten… The name of this particular circle of Hell? Why, Limbo of course.

The above article has since been optioned by a major Hollywood studio, and now features a talking dog, a car chase and a more “relatable” protagonist. A new writer is being drafted in to ‘punch up’ the second paragraph, and by the time they’ve finished, everyone will forget why they liked it in the first place.

Find more Hollywood stories and exclusive guest posts at the Amazon Studios Hollywonk blog.