Do You Want a Franchise with That? (Games, Comics, and Movies from a Hollywood Perspective)

Reprinted with permission from GamesFirst! (www.gamesfirst.com)

In the darkened theater of my mind, I see all of my favorite games and comics coming to life in brilliant precision, the plots I love coming to fruition with my favorite actors, great locations, and sharp editing. While it may not be precisely as I’ve imagined it myself, it is still a great mirror image to its original work, and I end up thankful that it’s metamorphosed into another medium.

When the lights come up, I’m faced with the truth of the situation. In Hollywood today, you have a fifty-fifty chance of seeing a decent movie that’s been adapted from a game or a comic. Some would even argue that the percentages of seeing a good one are even more dismal. Many of us have railed against “those bastards in Hollywood” for ruining one of our favorite titles. But many of us in our lucid moments also realize that every once in a while, Hollywood gets it just right. After working a little more closely with this industry, I have a pretty good notion of what it takes to make it work. There are basically two modes of thought or business models in Hollywood which lead to the great and not-so-great comic or videogame movie (or conversely, a great movie begetting a great videogame or comic).

Let’s start with the bad news first. Much of Hollywood works on the same principles as the stock market. By low, sell high. This often means that big companies with lots of dollars to spend end up buying up the rights to all sorts of little properties in hopes that one of them hits big in it’s particular medium. They are then rewarded by having a great asset, which technically can become even better if they get a stock split—ie; a franchise. For instance, say I picked up the rights to a comic when it was just at issue #5, and by the time it reached #45, it was the biggest thing since sliced bread. I can then make a movie, sell a book written off the screenplay, repackage and sell the comic, and have a videogame made from the property. We won’t even mention the obscene amount of money that can be made off of action figures, lunch boxes, etc.

The problem then becomes that the rights are not available for some properties because they have already been bought by someone else. That may mean that they are slated for production, but more often than not, they are merely being sat on so no one else can have them. These companies are like the bullies of the playground—they hoard all the toys for themselves. And if you want to buy a specific property from them to make a film, then of course you’ll have to make it worth their while. The number of movies which actually get made are exceedingly small compared to the amount of fodder that is available. Some might argue that this is because the studios take a big monetary risk making films and they need to be very selective with what they bet on. The only problem is that many of the executives which run these bastions of creativity are not themselves creative, nor are they educated about the mediums from which they are pulling from which they base their films. They are business people, and therefore are looking at totally different issues.

Let me give you an example. Earlier this year I wandered into the office of a V.P. of Production and spotted a great game title sitting in his In-Box. When I commented on that fact, he shrugged and said he had gotten it as a gift for his nephew and had only taken the advice of the guy at the store when making his purchase. His phone rang at that point, so I amused myself by looking at his bookshelf. I was again impressed by the fact that he had some phenomenal graphic novels, comics, and fantasy books. When he got off the phone, I once more expressed my glee and seeing so much fabulous fodder for future movies sitting on his shelf. He shrugged again and said he had actually inherited all the things on the bookshelf from his predecessor. He had no idea what the titles were and couldn’t have told the difference between Gaiman and Goldilocks. What I found out next was a definite eye opener. Part of this man’s job was to negotiate the rights acquisition on various media that he thought would make a great movie. The games his company was looking at were cheap, the rights were available, and were ones that were like movies that already had a proven track record of making money. The games themselves had almost no originality or depth, but that was just fine. The game was being purchased to automatically ensure a franchise. And plot was something the screenwriter could give it.

One of my screenwriter friends argues that if the game/comic has a “high concept,” that it doesn’t matter what the actual game or comic is like. As a writer, you just take the great overall concept and roll from there. The movie is an artifact all of its own and shouldn’t have to match up with the originating item. He would even go so far as to say that because movies are a whole different animal, that it’s even better if they don’t even attempt to stay true. My problem with this is when you have a wonderful title that you’re given that does have originality, depth, and a thriving life of its own. There is a reason that people love the game or comic and that is because the creators of said item have imbued it with the magic of their art. They have invested their creative genius in it. There is a reason that it has become so popular. And it may only be partially due to its high concept.

Now let’s assume for a moment that a title is given to a screenwriter. The writer in question may be great at other genres of film, but may have no understanding of comics or games and what makes the specific title a great property. They will be writing a script based on fulfilling demands of the studio execs, rather than staying true to the original source material. Or perhaps they will be writing with a broader demographic in mind that the material had been focused toward. This is how some of our favorite graphic novels get to be PG-13 films. The studios don’t want to miss out on the market of those 13 year olds with all that discretionary income. Some studios are making films on the assumption that R rated films don’t do well, but I think there are enough recent examples to show that if you do it right, the films will make money. It’s just when you mis-target your material to a demographic it was never intended for in the first place you can’t hope to succeed. It’s the old adage that if you try to make everyone happy, no one will be.
I was told once by an teacher of mine that the people who translate poetry from a foreign language have to themselves be poets for the work to have the same magic it had in it’s original language.

The same is true for screenwriters who are adapting other works. Sometimes properties are given to great writers who actually understand and love the videogame and comic industry as well as being masters of their own art of screenwriting. They are thrilled to be given the ability to sink their teeth into a world they’ve loved since they were young. They write a phenomenal script, which captures both the magic of the comic/game world and that of cinema. I urge anyone who’s ever griped about a movie that ruined one of their favorite properties to actually go read the original script. What you will find is that half of the time, the script was beautiful and brilliant. So what happened to it along the way?

I often think of Kevin Smith’s attempt at a Superman script when this question comes up. He humorously recounts how, in meetings with executives, they thought it would be really wonderful if Superman would encounter and fight polar bears in the Fortress of Solitude. And as a writer, you either have to decide if you want your job (and thus will accept all of the “polar bears” that uneducated executives request you add to your script) or if you want your dignity as a writer and no paycheck at all. As a writer who finds herself poor more often than not, polar bears become mighty attractive when you have nothing left in your refrigerator and your landlord wants rent.

Your script, besides needing to glean the approval of production executives also has to run the gauntlet through directors and actors. If the company is trying to attract a specific director, they will do whatever they feel is necessary to your script to achieve that. Also, I’ve heard horror stories of scripts who were given to the director’s uncle’s sister’s cousin for a “re-write” which came back wholly unrecognizable. And there are always the stories of prima-dona actors who find it necessary for their characters to do all sorts of things that any self-respecting writer would never have put on the page.

Unfortunately, writers are some of the least respected people in Hollywood, regardless of the fact that without them, no one would have projects to work on. And this applies not only to the screenwriters who are creating the film versions but even more so to the original creators of the games and comics.
Before we get too carried away with hanging the whole of Hollywood, let me put something out there. None of these people want to make a bad movie. It’s not like the people who made Catwoman wanted to add a Razzie to their list of credits. All people who are involved with making your favorite property into a film want it to succeed. Even if you think that the top exec who wants the film to make money to support his coke habit deserves a flop, think of the massive amount of people who work on a film, from the gaffers and caterers to the lowly janitors. If a type of film flops, then no more films get made, and tons of people are out of a job.

Part of the problem with large studios making films is that the bigger the budget of the picture, the more the film has to succeed. The risk/reward ratio has to be there. It has to be a “good bet.” And the pressure for that to happen makes everyone crazy, and thus more likely to bend themselves and everyone else into silly-putty pretzels in order to try to make the movie succeed. This often backfires, and the finished project is so far from the original source material as to be almost unrecognizable. I worked on a movie at one point where there were so many cooks in the kitchen that if it weren’t for an absolutely brilliant editor, the film would have been like a watercolor picture that someone had spilled their diet soda on.

Because the business model that supports these sorts of films is focused first and foremost on the financial and risk/reward ratio, the decisions that are made are made by people who know more about the business end of things than the creative end. Choices are made not on what will serve the original source material or what will make great art, but what will serve the business model and it’s interests.
Let’s look at the other side of the Hollywood dime. There are people who want to acquire specific projects because they love the source material. They are people who desire to add another dimension to something they already love. And what I have seen is that these people really respect the artists who have created the material. They understand that there is creative genius in all the people who come together to make a game or a comic/graphic novel. I often think of Robert Rodriguez and his willingness to give up some of the things that half of Hollywood thinks is necessary for position/clout in order to make a film which was true to it’s original source material and honored the genius of it’s creator.

I think that the films which succeed require screenwriters and directors which, like poets themselves, are able to understand and translate their source material. They must be well-versed in both the world of film and in the world of games/comics. If they are only committed to games or comics, they will be missing out on the unique and necessary elements which make a film a distinct medium and will therefore fall short. Also, if they have no true understanding of their source material, they are likely to make films which are lifeless and resort to special effects ploys or rest solely on their “brand name actors” to pull an audience.
I think that some of the films based off of comics and graphic novels have faired better if only for the simple reason that we have had many years to get used to adapting screenplays from books and other written materials. Writers may have yet to perfect the transitions from videogames. This may be because of their often branching plotlines, reliance on individual gameplaying experiences, and highly visual and interactive natures. It is a tougher medium to capture in a linear model. But the gaming world is so compelling and marvelous for many of us, and so many great games are being made, that we very much would like to see their successful transition to film. It is the new wave. If you don’t believe me, take a look at all the new movies being made from comics and games. In the negative sense, this is because the sharks of Hollywood have smelled blood in the water. They know that comic and videogame movies can make money. This means that more films are on the way, which also means companies will be more likely to bankroll good films as well.

Lest we forget the two-way nature of a franchise, I want to focus finally on films affect on videogames. I have a great deal of empathy for videogame scriptwriters and designers whose job it is to make a game based off of a movie. They are often on some hideous deadline to get the game out on schedule with the film, have to make concessions to stay true to the film (and not reveal any spoilers if the game is to be released before the film), and are under the same pressures to conform and re-imagine (what, you thought videogame makers didn’t have their own set of polar bears?) as filmmakers are. This need for a franchise often makes games that are not up to the potential that they could have been had they been allowed to have some of their own life and been given time to add the depth and detail to make a good and stand-alone gaming experience. How often have you rushed out to pick up the videogame from a favorite film and been stuck with something that was obviously rushed, was exactly like the movie with no surprises, or just seemed like a game you had already played that had merely had new characters slapped on an old engine.
Or conversely, I was recently struck while playing a videogame made from a movie that I really wish the scriptwriters from the game had been put in charge of writing the film script. It was smart and cool, and heads above the screenplay in quality.

Finally, the best way for translation of a comic or game to film to work is where everyone involved is focused on the highest service to the creative life of the original source material. And not only that, but a franchise is made, not because a company wants to make a fast buck off the gullible masses who are riding the wave of the fad, but because when you really, truly love something, you just can’t get enough of it.

Terminator Salvation

The original Termintor film is seminal to me. It was the reason my first job in Hollywood was working for Gale Anne Hurd. I've watched all the films through the years and was thrilled to see the acquisition and resurrection of the franchise by the Halcyon Company (in conjunction with the Bartleby Company for Sarah Connor Chronicles). I watched the television series, and although it had it's ups and downs, I was interested to see how the writers would make the world their own and to see it all through fresh eyes. While I may, at a later date, come back to comment on the series, this particular post is all about the latest film installation, Terminator Salvation.

Let's rewind almost a year. I was in the audience at Comic-Con when McG and crew screened the trailer and talked about the filming of Salvation. I was thrilled because in the trailer, I saw a solid and compelling John Connor leading the film. I was also impressed with the fact that McG had attempted to use more practical FX to channel the gritty feeling of the first film. I was also impressed the McG had met with James Cameron to work out his jitters of filling such big shoes and to check in with him concerning his vision for the film. So I was primed for a tour de force when a year rolled around and the movie opened.

Let me say straight up that I was not disappointed by the direction. McG gave me just what I was looking for visually and the editing was stellar. The effects, practical and otherwise, were solid. And the film itself was ok. It was not a stinker. But I began to ponder what it was missing to raise this film to what I would consider seminal for the next generation. This is my take on things... it's all about choices.

First of all, the movie was not about John Connor. Not really. If you look at three key issues, you'll see that Marcus is actually the main protagonist of the movie.
1. The opening sequence features Marcus.
2. More screen time is spent with Marcus than John Connor.
3. Marcus as a character has an arc. He changes (or is supposed to change). John Connor is always John Connor. Even when he is thumbing his nose at authority, he's still very much John Connor.

You might ask why this is important. Why can't we have a film about someone else besides John Connor? The answer is, you could, but there is a reason that John is a better option. As a character, he has a much larger Mission to accomplish and a greater price if he fails. His journey is automatically epic. So if not John, who else automatically qualifies as an epic character? Kyle Reese. Father of John (the savior of the human race). This could have been his story. The choice to bring in a new, third party whose job it is to keep both our boys alive is an unlikely choice.

Now I am not privy to the inner circle of the boys at Halycon and Bartleby, and perhaps this entre of the main cyborg character fits in with a longer range plan for robot-kind and the evolution of their story. I have seen that in the TV show. Fine. This is a choice. Marcus is our main character. So why doesn't he work as a compelling main character? Let's start at the beginning.

Marcus is in jail being blamed (perhaps rightly) for an event which lead to the death of his brother. He is then sentenced to death. We see him given the offer that will eventually make him a cyborg. From the beginning, we are let in on the fact he is a robot. It's a choice, and I can only assume the writers thought this would increase the dramatic tension in the audience's mind ("when will he snap and kill everyone?"). However, I never found this to be particularly tension-causing. I believe it would have been a better choice to start with the scene where Marcus screws up enough to get his brother killed and to be nabbed by the police. An action starter immediately gives context for his emotional state and guilt.

Or maybe better yet, begin the film in the future, where we might actually mistake him for a time traveler when he asks Reese, "What day is this? What year?" Then the fact that Marcus doesn't eat would be more subtle and we would actually get freaked out when the mine hits his leg. And we would be even more shocked when we see what he sees for the first time when he's strung up and he looks down to discover he is a robot. That would be a Reveal, boys and girls! And him getting shot by his captives might have pulled our heartstrings like (for those of us who can remember this) Robocop getting pumped full of lead.

But ok, fine. That's a choice. So let's dig deeper into why Marcus as the hero isn't working.

First, although we know he's responsible for his brother's death, we never really see that back up on him. There is no real reason why he feels so compelled to save Kyle, it just is that way and the audience has to do the work of figuring out why.

The same goes for his love interest, Blair. She says she believes he is a good man. Marcus gets his "Save the Cat" moment when he saves her from the post-apocalyptic rapists. But we never see him open up to her. There is never a moment when he tries to connect with her on a truly emotional level. He never becomes vulnerable. This quiet time between them after the save might have been better spent in conversation where we find out her backstory and he starts to share his pain with her. That way by the time she risks everything to set him free (remember, she knows she's risking everyone's life, including her own), we understand what it is in him that warrants her belief in his humanity in the face of his obvious cyborg nature. Maybe it used to be enough to save a girl's life to automatically make him a love interest, but today's woman wants something even more dangerous to a man--she wants to see a piece of his soul that no one has ever seen before.

Finally, I think that we don't get to see the shift from a man who doesn't really value his life in the beginning to a man who loves life enough that it is a HUGE SACRIFICE for him to give up his life for John Connor. Maybe because he's a robot means that he won't really have died, but that also brings us back to the point that his sacrifice would be no big deal if that's the case. It's limp. And since John is not really the hero of the story, we don't really have the emotional investiture if he ends up dying. Marcus gives up his heart for John, and this should be a hugely metaphorical and "heart-wrenching" moment. But it's not, because we haven't been able to get close enough to either one of these characters to really care.

If this is a Redemption Story, and I believe it means itself to be, then we need to see the emotional struggle of Marcus to be a better man, and we need to see that the sacrifice he makes in the end is sufficient enough to wipe away his past sins.

It's possible the writers got a little too cerebral. It's possible they were setting up gambits on the chess board looking six moves ahead to a future film I don't know about. But the fact is, you have to write one film at a time. You can't use our screen time setting up for a next installment by sacrificing what you have in this film, in the now. And you have to earn our emotional empathy, you can't just put up cardboard "moments" and expect us to do the emotional work for you.

This film, like the exoskeleton of a terminator, looks impressive. If someone had pitched this film to me, I would have jumped at the chance to make it. A redemption story. The man who's the first cyborg making up for past sins by throwing in his lot with the rag-tag band of surviving humans. It could have been really stellar.

Unfortunately, it's the emotional beats along the way and ultimately, the heart of this film that fails. The script was penned mostly by the same gentlemen who brought us Rise of the Machines. It's obvious from the difference between this film and that what having a great director and cast/crew can do for you. I think all of the choices in casting were brilliant. And I have to say I'm getting very fond of McG as he evolves. But none of the afformentioned people can save a film if the script doesn't stand up. Unless, of course, the fight sequences, explosions, sex and set pieces are so stunning and adrenalizing that we forget what we're missing. But folks, modern audiences now have a pretty high tolerance built up, which sets a high "adrenaline bar" to cross.

This film was solid in many ways, but lacked the strength of script that would have pushed it to sublime and seminal. Will I keep watching the franchise? Most certainly. But as much as I enjoyed all of the other parts, this film doesn't have the heart to find a permanent place in mine.

However, there is always hope for the future...