How to get the toys over the mountain

William Goldman's follow-up to "Adventures in the Screen Trade", the honest memoir that torpedoed his successful screenwriting career for many years, follows much the same form as that book. It's intended for an audience of prospective Hollywood screenwriters, but can be equally enjoyed by those interested in frank Hollywood gossip and tales from an insider. Goldman is a perfect tour guide across this terrain, for he loves to teach from his experiences, and is an entertaining and economical writer. Most of this book feels like a private chat with a friendly old uncle who's lead an exciting and adventure filled life.

Goldman starts by revisiting a successful section from his earlier memoir: anecdotes from his experiences writing his most recent work. Tales of adapting his own "The Princess Bride", his love for the material and for Andre the Giant; the good intentioned but eventual failures of "The Year of the Comet" and "The Ghost and the Darkness" (the latter is a good example of how the material can get away from the writer once an egotistical star is on board, in this case Michael Douglas); and how he went about adapting "Misery" and "Absolute Power". This last example was my favourite, for even though the book it's based on was pulp, and movie barely registered, Goldman uses it as a fine example on the problems of adapting, and how you need to be ruthless just to make the thing work. He takes you through his process step-by-step, and the parts where he's racking his brain on how to make the sucker work are tangible in their frustration. Also, there were some nifty Clint Eastwood moments that make you respect the Man with No Name even more.

The second section takes a look at several of Goldman's favourite film scenes (from a screenwriter's point of view), and proposes to analyze why they worked. While his passion for these moments is palpable, Goldman skimps on the analysis. Why was the zipper scene in "There's Something About Mary" so effective? Why does the chess scene in "The Seventh Seal" resonant still? He does a fine job, though, finding the importance of the cliff scene from "Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid". But then he should know that one inside out, because he wrote it (Warning: if you have never seen or do not at all appreciate "Butch and Sundance", I'd stay away from this book; Goldman has enthusiastic affection for his first big hit, and returns to it often for examples; I myself love the movie and was glad to read more about it). The best part of this section is his attempt to wrestle credit for the crop-duster scene in "North by Northwest" from Alfred Hitchcock, and give it to the screenwriter, Ernest Lehman. I was convinced.

The third section offers the reader a chance to be screenwriter. Goldman presents several newspaper clippings as examples of possible source material for an original screenplay. He then takes us through the process of molding and shaping the materiel to the demands of the screen. It's pedantic Goldman at his best.

In the final section, Goldman presents an original screenplay he’s written to various professional screenwriters, to show the function of a "script doctor" (Goldman’s latest and most notorious Hollywood incarnation). The screenplay he's written, a tired detective adventure called "The Big A", is still in process, and it's a treat reading Goldman thinking out loud. He doesn't know where to go with the story at some points, and presents the reader with various possibilities. He's unsure about a scene he's just written, and admits to its inadequacies. He's having problems with character, and admits to that too.

But Goldman is not nearly as hard on himself as those he's solicited for help are. This was my favourite section of the book. On the one hand, the submissions he's received are biting, witty, and malicious in the most entertaining of ways. On the other hand, they full of a variety of great ideas, all of which would turn "The Big A" into a bona fide movie. Tony Gilroy (who wrote "The Devil's Advocate") is particularly effective on both of these fronts; his writing is lovable curmudgeonry at its best.

If Goldman ever decides to finish off this trilogy, I'll be right there waiting. Whether in narrative prose or memoir form, his writing is easily digestible, fun, and most importantly, informative. He wears his passions on his sleeve, and invites the reader to do the same. I was right there with him the whole time, lapping up his nuggets of wisdom. I guess the best praise I have is that everytime I finish a Goldman book, I get the itch to go write a screenplay myself. And feel perfectly equipped to do so.