Not too long ago, I got into a discussion with a producer friend, long retired from “the business,” and asked, “Why do people with no filmmaking experience get paid to tell filmmakers how to write screenplays?”
Over the course of many emails, these were his observations:
The industry has inverted the power structure; that is, the modern film industry isn’t artist-first. It’s risk-averse, market-driven, and bureaucratically top-heavy. Gatekeepers (readers, junior execs, assistants, contest judges) aren’t there to guide art; they’re there to filter volume.
As we all know, most production companies receive hundreds, sometimes thousands, of screenplays a year. They’ve built a system to protect themselves from wasting time. That system puts the initial judgment in the hands of assistants, interns, and freelance readers, many of whom haven’t created anything themselves. They’re often taught to look for 1) commercial, 2) viability, 3) clear genre, 4) familiar structure, 5) snappy dialogue, and 6) market comps.
Artistry, vision, and restraint are no longer on their checklist. He contributed all this to Hollywood’s outsourcing “taste” to “coverage.”
When he was producing, many years ago, the producer read a script and felt something. Now, they read a one-page coverage report prepared by someone else. If the report says “Pass,” they don’t read the script. Even great screenplays die at the gate, unread by the people who might actually respond to them.
This shift means people without vision, authority, or skin in the game are making the first (and often final) decision on your work.
Nowadays, because the system favors scalability over artistry, Hollywood works like a venture capital fund. It bets on franchises, IP, recognizable tropes (I hate that word), and international marketability.
If your script is a thoughtful, original, character or period drama, it doesn’t “scale” in that model. It could be better written, more emotionally intelligent, and more cinematically honest, but it’s seen as too “risky” or “niche.” That doesn’t make it wrong. It does make it out of alignment with current market machinery.
Add to that that many of today’s readers were trained in screenwriting programs or industry assistantships where they learned formulas and beat sheets instead of learning how to “feel.” They’ve been taught that Act I must end by page 25, page 10 must “hook” them, and every script should be a series of cause-and-effect plot points at specific pages.
When a script, no matter how well written, comes forward, if it doesn’t obey the formulas—"PASS." Just because it breathes and unfolds with elegance, they label it as “uneven” or “slow.” They’re not reacting to poor storytelling. They’re reacting to unfamiliar territory.
And here’s the more profound irony: all of this exists because audiences still love real stories, but the system doesn’t trust them.
He said they’ve created an industry where executives trust algorithms and coverage; the readers trust format and formula; and no one trusts the audience.
Therefore, many screenwriters today are stuck in the gap between mature, truthful storytelling and an industry that’s afraid of it.
So. . . what’s the answer?
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(personal) ANSWER: The return of the studio system. Not exactly as those of the past but one that's run like a miniature kingdom of yesteryear but with today's standards. This allows for more risks being taken on small to mid-level budget projects that are artist driven while covered by the larger more "traditional" tent pole attractions. Within this system is also a tiered merit-based vertical system, where people who start at the bottom can work their way to higher positions, on a payroll system, based on their earned trust and developed skill at the studio, all fronted by a one studio head and a number of producers under him. Within this system is also an apprenticeship program for all entry levels. This is how one fosters talent, taste, and skill; by having them boots-on-the-ground, "in the trenches" of production. That is how one learns best. Anyone can be taught how to use a camera in a day but it takes years of honing taste from experience and exposure. That is how you keep continuity as the new guard replaces the old.
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I don't know what the answer is, but I do know my audience is out there waiting for me so I'm holding true to my vision even if it makes it harder for me to break in.
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Blah blah blah blah blah..... at the end of the day, you don't need to be a filmmaker to know what type of movie you enjoy.
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The answer to everything is to lower the ticket price to 5 bucks.
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It has become a formula; an algo's decision -the script is put into a computer program, or read by someone who thinks like one, and if it is not the same as all the others in the database, or it's too 'quirky', it gets trashed by some reader just out of school. One reader said that they could not tell where my act 2 ended. Another said no scene should be more than one minute 45 seconds. Another said too much black on page. Another said too much talking.
No one would fund and accept THE PRODUCERS today. Too risky, too quirky, not politically correct, not diverse enough, too much talking.
I watch Net...fl..and much of it seems like rehashed same-same formulas, with curse words every sentence. Sometimes MANY in each sentence. As the series starts, often one can predict the casting of the leads and secondary characters-how they will behave, how they will interact, sex and ethnicity.
Aren't there union rules now that explain the makeup of those tropes? Even extending into crew, writers, etc.?
This is just my opinion. I do not see the same formulas in operation as much, with some foreign films.
There is a lovely Indian film about a young pool player mentored by a master, with wonderful family dynamics and based on a true story.
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This is a brilliant and painfully accurate diagnosis of the current system. Your friend's analysis of the "gatekeeper" problem is spot-on. However, I'd like to offer a slightly different perspective on where the core issue lies.
I believe everyone ultimately trusts the audience; they are, after all, the ones who pay. And I think executives do trust original stories and mature narratives when they see them. So, where is the disconnect?
I believe the problem is simpler and more fundamental: Hollywood is, first and foremost, a business. Therefore, the potential return on investment (ROI) will always be the primary driver for any production company considering a script.
We writers tend to believe our script is the best ever written. It often takes the harsh hammer of criticism and rejection for us to see otherwise. Two days ago, a friend asked me to read her script. It had a long, elaborate assassination scene—chases, gunfire, explosions—all leading to the target's death. I asked her, "What's the point of this incredibly expensive sequence? Is there a deeper perspective behind it?" Her answer wasn't convincing. My advice was simple: kill him with a knife in a single, inexpensive scene, because the core idea was just the assassination itself.
What I mean is, we often write without considering the long chain of procedures, jobs, and financial studies that follow our words. Yes, there's a lot of rejection, but I believe it’s often not due to a lack of literary quality, but because the script doesn't demonstrate a clear path to profitability.
Therefore, before a writer even types FADE IN, a part of them must be a producer, and another part a director. They must master the art of conveying a multi-million-dollar idea with the elegance and efficiency of a thousand-dollar budget. Otherwise, the gate will, and perhaps should, remain closed.
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well, that's pretty sad...
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I would rather be known for writing one screenplay that won a prestigious fellowship or contest based on its artistic merit, and thereby be immortalized by people revisiting it forever, than write 50 or more scripts that were sold and produced but forgotten about as a legacy of my accomplishments. I write to make the medium the message in my art. I can say that now since I am 60 years old and retired and no longer worried about job security . Most of the gatekeepers have algorithmic binary and formuliac standards that seem to lack human qualia that past artists as gatekeepers possesed. They do not make films anymore like Stanley Kubrick's where one would revisit it over an over again and learn something new each time. These are the differences in getting overall category commercial scores of 8s on the Black List by less sophisticated readers than placing on the Nicholl Fellowship by more sophisticated readers. The question is which one would you prefer at this stage of your life?
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If you sell some scripts and they are made into movies, you have funds (possibly) or connections to make a passion project. Big respect for Vahe's post. But if nothing is ever filmed, it is hard to keep up with writing more scripts. Just MHO. I recently tried a video game script, to see if there was some way there.
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Husin, philosophically, I agree with your statement. However, in reality, ". . . long, elaborate assassination scene[s]—chases, gunfire, explosions—all leading to the target's death" are what the audiences want. Another fact is that today's movies are aimed at an audience that ranges in age from 18 to 34. That's Hollywood's demographic.
As I've said elsewhere on this site, they are ignoring a larger segment of the overall audience by choice.
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Great topic and great points in your post and the comments, Jay Gladwell. I think the answer is changing the way Hollywood operates, but I doubt that'll happen and if it does, it'll be a slow change. I think writers should focus on writing incredible scripts that people can't ignore, networking to get past the gatekeepers (or like Jason Mirch and others on Stage 32 said [paraphrased], "Build relationships with the gatekeepers"), pitching, and learning the industry. And/or writers should make their own scripts.
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Michael, I agree that personal taste matters. My post isn’t about what kind of movies someone likes; it’s about the structural challenges that prevent certain types of films from being made or seen. Even if we all know what we enjoy, the system often filters out scripts that don’t fit the commercial mold, no matter how compelling they are.
I’m curious. Have any of your mature, well-written scripts struggled to find an audience because of this industry filtering?”
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Another approach to circumvent the less sophisticated gatekeeper applying algorithmic, formulaic, and binary standards is to hold accomplished screenwriters in your demographics accountable for what they have been lamenting as missing in today's American cinema. For example, Steven Zaillian (Academy Award-winning writer, director, and producer) has publicly lamented the lack of Armenian-themed stories in American cinema in trade publications. As a Marine Veteran of Armenian heritage, an immigrant of the Armenian Diaspora, I intend to hold him accountable by developing scripts that address his lament publicly. If you belong to a particular demographic, whether you are neurodivergent, a veteran, or possess other diverse qualities, I see them more as strengths rather than barriers.
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Jay, this resonates deeply. I’m relatively new to the space, but I’ve been observing the patterns—and trying to move differently within them.
So I’m trying to build outside the system, and I want to connect with a global audience through a local lens. I value resonance over replication—with some deliberate tweaks.
I’ve started leaning into visuals before words, letting architecture and rhythm carry the story before dialogue even arrives. Myth is still our first language, and I believe it remains one of the most powerful tools we have.
I look for authenticity by dissecting cliché—not to destroy it, but to understand what it once meant before it was flattened. I examine stories through different kinds of mirrors—concave, convex, flat, wavy—trying to see how they echo in the senses and the mind.
I know the formulas. I’ve studied the beat sheets, the logline templates, the pitch slots. It’s almost absurd how many ways we’re asked to compress something alive into something sortable.
But mechanizing our creative lives is the biggest mistake of our minds. Ratio and math are tools—they’re not meant to control us, only to serve us.
So I’m experimenting with strategic subversion. I let the story breathe where others tighten. I let silence speak where others explain.
And somewhere in that space—between what the system expects and what the soul demands—I’ve started shaping Myth Arch Studio. Not as a brand, but as a kind of refuge. A place to explore stories that still dare to unfold.
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Jay Gladwell I don't write mature, well-written scripts; I write movies I want to see. But this isn't about me. In the world's greatest capitalist economy, if what you are saying is true, an investor would have come forth in the past 100 years of cinema and made a killing in "the geezer market." The fact is that disposable income aside, older audiences do not invest in watching movies the way younger audiences do.
If you don't believe me, witness the box office of On Golden Pond and Steel Magnolias and compare to the opening weekend alone of Superman (2025).
And there's the rub; the reason we have the oft-insulted "gate keepers". It seems the only people who despise these "gate keepers" are people who can't get their movie sold. That says it all. The gate keepers aren't the problem. The problem is that most people don't want to see certain genres. And the gate keepers keep their jobs when they bet on financial successes and lose their jobs when they don't.
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In a culture where speed eclipses meaning, stories are no longer lived—they’re skimmed. The storyteller becomes a supplier. The audience, conditioned by saturation, demands: I have no time to feel. Just give me the best.
But “the best” is now defined by virality, not vitality. Metrics replace meaning. The shallow becomes the norm.
Even the avant-garde, once a frontier of risk, now often settles into banality—provocation without depth, novelty without nourishment.
Gatekeepers, once curators of cultural evolution, now serve algorithms. Yet their responsibility remains: to protect the slow fire of significance, to recognize resonance beyond trend.
Gatekeepers must know the human being as deeply as the creators do. They are not merely interpreters of data—they are stewards of resonance. Their burden is not just commercial—it is cultural.
Postmodernity flattened critique. Automation outsourced taste. And with AI, the terrain grows more complex.
We must not reject the machine—but we must not become it.
We need stories with contradiction, soul, and human touch. We must use AI not to mimic the old human, but to forge a new one—one who still dreams, still wrestles with meaning.
The old creators were always responsible. Dostoyevski gave us the abyss. Kafka gave us the machine. Tennessee Williams gave us the ache beneath civility. Charlie Kaufman gave us the surrealism of being.
And the lineage continues. True Detective Season 1 drew millions with its mythic dread and philosophical weight. Mr. Robot dissected identity and control with psychological precision. Devs offered meditative sci-fi on determinism and consciousness. Prometheus reimagined creation myths through cinematic awe. The Matrix reshaped reality itself—and still echoes in cultural discourse.
Even Friends, in its simplicity, offered emotional rhythm, character intimacy, and a shared cultural heartbeat.
These weren’t just watched. They were lived, revisited, reinterpreted.
They prove that when gatekeepers embrace risk and depth, they don’t just produce content—they expand cinema itself.
We do not have to live inside a glorified mediocracy.
We do not have to choose to live inside a sanctified vulgarity.
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One of the reasons why Cinema is losing to other directions - games, or even YouTube. P.S. I think I even know who you were talking to - I had exactly the same conversation recently :)
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I think that explains why I hear so many people complain there are not many good movies around like back in the day.
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I think the trick is to not wait for a eat at a table that is skewed and unreachable, but to build your own table. The independent film industry is thriving. Make something small, get attention that way, and build from there. Quality will always find its way to an audience, I firmly believe that.
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Michael, we all write movies we'd like to see. That's the point. I appreciate your candor, and I don’t disagree with everything you've said. But if I may, let me offer a slightly different perspective.
You’re absolutely right that younger audiences are more visible at the box office. But visibility doesn't always equate to value. Older audiences consume content differently. They are less likely to flood opening weekends and more likely to wait for word-of-mouth, critical acclaim, or home viewing options. And yet, when they are served something more than comic book and bubble gum movies, they show up! Consider the success of Downton Abbey, The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, Mrs. Harris Goes to Paris, and yes, On Golden Pond, which, by the way, outgrossed Raiders of the Lost Ark for several weeks in 1981 and earned three Oscars. That is still possible today.
So while Superman (2025) may have dazzled on opening weekend, it’s playing to a saturated market. The underserved 40+ audience is still waiting for content made with them in mind. It may not be a volume play, but it would be a smart, targeted one.
As for gatekeepers, I don't hate them. It’s not just about taste. It’s about perspective. When so many pass on well-written stories simply because they don't resemble the last Marvel release, it has stopped being a matter of preference; it reflects the lack of depth and breadth of what qualifies as good storytelling. There's a whole world of story possibilities outside of the "echo chamber." You just have to understand and acknowledge it exists. To totally ignore over half of your audience isn’t smart business; it’s slow suicide.
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Jay Gladwell My friend, I believe we’re having a rich discussion, and everyone is engaging with real enthusiasm. I’d like to add another perspective:
When we talk about an “original script,” we’re really talking about absolute quality, not quantity. The moment an original script reaches the gatekeepers, it’s inevitably compared to earlier examples of the same kind. If you write a classic story about family and organized crime, The Godfather will instantly come to mind, and the comparison is unavoidable.
That’s why marketing an original script can feel almost impossible—it isn’t enough for it to be good; it has to surpass its peers to stand out.
To clarify the point further, think of the car market: every company has a line of very special models that embody the highest standards of precision, elegance, safety, and advanced technology. When such a car is released, it will inevitably be compared to its rivals, and unless it surpasses them, it won’t be launched at all. At the same time, companies also release plenty of commercial models where sales are the main concern.
The film industry works in much the same way. At its core, it’s a commercial market not unlike any other. So it would be unfair to claim that gatekeepers “don’t want original scripts.” In truth, they do—but what they want is the script that outshines its competitors, so they can confidently present it to the real decision-makers.
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I always thought THE GODFATHER was a "niche" film about the Sicilian Diaspora experience in the U.S., and that SCARFACE was another "niche" Cuban Diaspora story, regarding immigration. Another Jewish Diaspora experience that was successful but "niche" is ONCE UPON A TIME IN AMERICA. However, when I write an Armenian American immigrant story, the unsophisticated gatekeepers struggle to grasp its marketability using the pejorative "niche" as grounds. I believe that when AI democratizes access and reduces costs for production companies, more stories will be told, thereby circumventing the unsophisticated Gatekeepers. However, AI can never replace writers because it will never have consciousness or human qualia. Consciousness exists purely in the Quantum realm and in the microtubules of human brain cells. Our brains operate through Quantum Entanglement. See Penrose-Hameroff theory. Frankly, I wish Stanley Kubrick were still alive to make the types of films that will never be made in today's reality, where bean counters are the Gatekeepers of artistic tastes.
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Husin, I appreciate your metaphor, and you’ve made a thoughtful case. But let me offer three questions that keep coming back to me:
Do today’s 18-35-year-olds still watch Saturday morning cartoons? If not, then why do the studios keep churning out films modeled after the ones that entertained them when they were ten? That’s not evolution, that’s regression.
When did we stop believing that audiences could handle variety? Once upon a time, cinema offered a balanced cinematic diet, romances, historical epics, science fiction, thrillers, domestic dramas, moral dilemmas, and even comedies with wit. Now it’s mostly soft reboots, hardened heroes, and brand extensions.
And lastly, how would Robert Bolt’s screenplays, Lawrence of Arabia, Doctor Zhivago, and A Man for All Seasons, be received today? Would they even get past a junior exec’s coverage notes?
We’re talking about an art form that was rich and varied, and once dared to provoke thought and stir emotion, not just sell merchandise and sequels.
This narrowing of scope isn’t merely a creative shift; it’s a corporate decision. Studios aren’t chasing stories anymore; they’re chasing algorithms. And in doing so, they’ve ignored a vast, willing audience that still craves character, consequence, and craftsmanship.
We don’t need every film to be “prestige,” but surely we could do better than treating meaningful storytelling like leprosy, something to be avoided at all costs.
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Vahe, well said. As you mentioned, AI lacks the most foundational tool of all storytelling—a soul.
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Jay Gladwell Everything you mentioned—you are 100% right about it. I don’t object to any of it; it exists, and it’s real. There is indeed great suffering—at least for me. I have two sons, aged 18 and 17, a daughter who is 14, and another daughter who is 4 years old. Well, I see all of them following what the 4-year-old watches and engaging with it, and I truly feel frustrated. There must be high-quality content offered to a young generation.
But I go back and say: Hollywood is not just Hollywood. The entire content industry worldwide is made up of business institutions whose priority is profit first and content second. That is the bitter truth we, as writers, must come to terms with.
There is an overwhelming majority—more than 99% of writers—who only care about the number on the check and don’t even discuss the content.
So what can be done? Simply put, nothing—except to start with yourself. Work hard to deliver excellent content with solid commercial logic. In the end, you are only responsible for yourself.
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Husin, I deleted my first reply because I wasn't sure I fully understood you. (I have been known to drop the ball a time or two.)
I went back and reread your closing comment, where you say, “work hard to deliver excellent content with solid commercial logic.” If I understand you correctly, you're offering a way forward, rather than laying down a rule. However, I'm still wrestling with the question of whether commercial logic should be the ultimate determining factor, but I absolutely agree that excellence must be our starting point.
Director Stanley Kubrick was asked how he decided what films to make. He replied, [edit: here is the actual reply] "I make films about things that interest me. If a story fascinates me, I pursue it. I’m not interested in making movies simply because they might be popular or profitable.” That's similar in sentiment to a post Michael David shared above.
The audience is, I believe, at the heart of the matter. Please the audience, and the commercial values (money) will fall into place. So, at the risk of being redundant and tiresome, ignoring over half of your potential audience does not make good economic sense to me. By doing so, we're leaving an awful lot—beaucoup— of money on the table!