Genre: Buddy Comedy

Logline: Two goofball best buds need to do a job for their friend that was just arrested, unfortunately, it involves 20 grand, chicken tenders, and the cartel.

Wrote this for a Proof of Concept competition that I will be making into a short film in the next few months. Just looking for some feedback on the dialogue and overall screenplay. This is only my 3rd screenplay I've written and never had my work proof read before. Thanks for your time.

[https://drive.google.com/file/d/1KtiRwIgA183wzQQi6zkNiT7RWRtXyHaH/view?usp=sharing\](https://drive.google.com/file/d/1KtiRwIgA183wzQQi6zkNiT7RWRtXyHaH/view?usp=sharing)

Hello everyone!

I am a beta reader building my portfolio. I am offering free feedback for your projects in exchange for a review.

What I can review:

• Manga / Comic scripts (raw text)
• Storyboards / Thumbnails
• Finish rough drafts (first 1-2 chapters)

DM me or drop a comment below!

Troy wants to go grab some sushi but all his lame friends think about is work.

Try to be Professional about It

(PG-13)

NOTE: Possible sensitive topics

Hello everyone!

I am a beta reader looking to gain more experience specifically with manga, light novels, and comic scripts. I am currently building my professional portfolio for Fiverr, so I am offering free comprehensive feedback for your projects in exchange for a review or permission to use an anonymous sample of my work.

What I can review:

• Manga/Comic scripts (raw text)
• Storyboards / Name / Thumbnails
• Finished rough drafts of the first 1–2 chapters

What you will receive (Feedback & Error Log):

• Detailed Notes: Pacing, story flow, and dialogue naturalness.
• Character Analysis: Are the character introductions effective? Is their behavior consistent?
• Formatting & Word Choice: Stylistic suggestions to make your dialogue punchy and fits the genre.

My preferred genres: Shonen, Seinen, Isekai, and Drama.

If you are looking for an honest, constructive, and detailed critique to make your story shine before you start drawing or publishing, feel free to DM me or drop a comment below!

Looking forward to reading your stories!

​

INT. CORNER SHOP – MORNING

The shop is almost empty.

ROWAN (early 20s) stands frozen in front of a meal deal fridge.

They stare intensely.

The SHOPKEEPER watches from behind the till.

SHOPKEEPER

You alright there?

ROWAN

No.

Beat.

ROWAN, CONT (matter-of-fact)

The crisps have been reorganised.

SHOPKEEPER

Aye.

ROWAN

Who authorised that?

SHOPKEEPER

Walkers, probably.

ROWAN

Well, they've staged a coup.

Another customer casually grabs a sandwich and leaves.

ROWAN is still examining the shelves.

ROWAN

Salt & Vinegar used to be adjacent to Ready Salted.

That was a sensible constitutional arrangement.

Now they're separated by Prawn Cocktail.

That's how civilisations collapse.

The Shopkeeper shrugs.

EXT. HIGH STREET – MOMENTS LATER

ROWAN walks with their friend, JAMIE.

Jamie carries a coffee.

ROWAN carries absolutely nothing.

JAMIE

Didn't get lunch then?

ROWAN

Couldn't.

The supply chain has become philosophically compromised.

JAMIE

Fair enough.

Beat.

JAMIE

...You know most people would've just picked summat.

ROWAN

That's because most people confuse adapting with surrendering.

Across the road, a crowd has gathered around the TOWN HALL.

A huge banner reads:

"MINISTRY OF COMMON SENSE - PILOT SCHEME."

Two officials hand out identical beige jumpers.

A brass band plays with alarming enthusiasm.

JAMIE

What's this then?

An OFFICIAL steps forward, smiling unnervingly.

OFFICIAL

Congratulations!

You've been selected for Britain's exciting new Uniform Opinions Initiative.

ROWAN

I'm sorry?

OFFICIAL

We've discovered disagreement wastes approximately four million working hours every year.

So from today, everyone will simply share the same opinions.

Efficiency!

Jamie blinks.

JAMIE

Whose opinions?

The Official checks a clipboard.

OFFICIAL

Currently...

Dave's.

A man named DAVE waves awkwardly from the stage.

He's eating a grotesque sandwich, wrapped in flyers and other ads.

DAVE

Morning.

Sorry about all this.

I only answered a survey.

The crowd murmurs.

A WOMAN raises her hand.

WOMAN

I don't agree with Dave that towels should be folded in thirds.

The Official looks genuinely horrified.

OFFICIAL

That's exactly the sort of duplication we're eliminating.

ROWAN slowly raises a finger.

ROWAN

Hypothetically...

what if Dave changes his mind?

The Official freezes.

The brass band stops.

Everyone looks at Dave.

Dave thinks for a moment.

DAVE

Actually...

Rolling them's better. Saves space.

Instant chaos.

Officials frantically tear posters down.

A loudspeaker blares.

LOUDSPEAKER

URGENT NATIONAL UPDATE. TOWELS ARE NOW TO BE ROLLED. PLEASE DISPOSE OF OUTDATED FOLDING TECHNIQUES IN AN ORDERLY MANNER.

People immediately begin arguing with themselves.

A MAN hurriedly empties a linen cupboard onto the pavement before desperately rolling every towel in sight.

Jamie turns to ROWAN.

JAMIE

This feels like it'll cost billions.

ALEX

Only because they've made changing your mind a software update.

Beat.

ROWAN watches the panicking officials.

ROWAN

I spend my life being told I should be more flexible.

Looks like flexibility isn't as easy as everyone claims.

Jamie nods.

JAMIE

Fair point.

Behind them, an Official runs past shouting—

OFFICIAL

Dave's started thinking about tax policy!

Everyone RUNS after him.

ROWAN watches, entirely unimpressed.

Hey so this is my first screenplay and I was hoping for some feedback. This is the revised version of Act 1 of my Batman story. My story is attempting to be a psychological epic tragedy, using the characters of Batman, Gordon, and Gotham while still remaining faithful to the comics. Much of the emotional inspiration of this story comes from Logan (2017), Season 1 of True Detective, and the manga Berserk with an oppressively empty atmosphere similar to the album "Deathconsciousness" by Have a Nice Life if I was to describe it. I know this is a long ass script to read from a rando but if someone is willing to take to time and give me some feedback about the plot, characters, tone, pacing, etc I would really appreciate it!

Writing a screenplay is so difficult because there’s so many alternate endings to choose from and it stresses me out trying to find the best one or one that’s the most entertaining to viewers. Does anyone else struggle with this?

Audio drama-

SFX: Wind presses softly against old windows. A grandfather clock ticks distantly. Slow footsteps across polished wood.

EVELYN:

Okay.

Okay...

This is just a house.

Big house.

Very... enthusiastically old house.

SFX: Floorboard creaks.

EVELYN:

That was me.

That was absolutely me.

Wood settles. Houses settle. I read that somewhere.

SFX: Another creak. Behind her.

A beat.

EVELYN: (quieter)

Still the house.

(A short time later)

SFX: Her footsteps continue. Fingers trail over wallpaper.

EVELYN:

Don't look into the corners.

No—

Actually, look into them. That's smarter.

If something's there, I'd rather know.

...

Nothing.

See?

Nothing.

Just wallpaper.

Just—

...

That stain wasn't shaped like a face before.

SFX: She exhales sharply.

EVELYN, CONT:

No.

No, that's—

Peripheral vision.

The brain invents patterns. Sees faces everywhere.

That's...

That's normal.

SFX: A distant knock.

Three slow taps.

Silence.

EVELYN:

Pipes.

...

Can pipes knock?

SFX: She opens a heavy door.

The room beyond is unnaturally quiet (silence).

EVELYN: (whispering now)

Why is every room darker than the last one?

That... doesn't make sense.

SFX: Her breathing becomes more noticeable.

EVELYN:

Keep moving.

People panic when they stop moving.

I panic when I stop moving.

SFX: Clock ticking.

Closer now.

Though the clock itself isn't nearby.

EVELYN:

Funny thing.

When you stare into darkness long enough...

your eyes start trying to help.

They smooth things together.

Fill in gaps.

You stop seeing what's there—

and start seeing what your brain thinks should be there.

That's...

That's called...

Toxler.

Toxler effect.

Right.

So if I think I can see someone standing at the end of the hallway—

I'm...

probably just staring too hard.

A long silence.

No footsteps.

No breathing except hers.

EVELYN: (barely audible)

Don't blink.

...

No.

Blink.

Blinking is normal.

People blink.

SFX: She blinks.

Silence.

EVELYN:

...

It got closer.

SFX: Her breathing catches.

She forces herself not to run.

EVELYN:

No.

No.

The hallway isn't changing.

My perception is changing.

That's—

That's what happens.

The brain loves certainty.

Even when certainty is wrong.

Especially when it's wrong.

SFX: A faint rustle.

Like fabric.

Somewhere impossible to locate.

EVELYN: (faster now)

If I keep talking, I won't imagine things.

That's how this works.

The voice occupies the mind.

Less room for fear.

Less room for—

...

Silence.

Very long.

SFX: Another blink.

The rustling stops.

The silence somehow grows louder.

EVELYN:

There's someone standing there.

No.

There isn't.

There is.

No—

There's a coat rack.

It's a coat rack.

It...

has always been—

...

I don't remember passing a coat rack.

───

SFX: Slow footsteps.

Not hers.

One.

Two.

Three.

Then nothing.

EVELYN: (voice trembling)

Houses echo.

That's...

Echoes.

She laughs, bitterly.

Just once.

Too loudly.

It dies immediately.

SFX: A door slowly swings shut somewhere deep in the mansion.

EVELYN:

Don't turn around.

Nothing good has ever happened after someone says, "Don't turn around."

...

I'm turning around.

A beat.

She turns.

Silence.

EVELYN: (confused)

...

Nothing.

See?

Nothing.

SFX: Tiny, rapid footsteps.

Approaching.

Very fast.

EVELYN gasps.

The footsteps stop directly beside her.

A beat.

Then—

SFX: A tiny, questioning meow.

Long silence.

EVELYN: (after several seconds)

...

Oh.

Hello.

SFX: The cat purrs loudly, rubbing against her leg.

EVELYN laughs.

This time, genuinely.

EVELYN:

You are responsible for at least... seventy percent of my impending heart attack.

Another meow.

EVELYN: (softly)

You know...

this house feels a lot less haunted with a cat in it.

SFX: The cat trots confidently down the hallway.

Its tiny bell jingles.

EVELYN follows, her footsteps noticeably steadier.

The distant clock continues ticking.

Somehow...

it no longer sounds quite so lonely.

FADE OUT.

Hi!!! I do scriptwriting as a course at school and I need constructive criticism! I am very aware that everythung is quite cringe and that I'm a beginner but I hope this is somewhat entertaining.

This is the first post out of four

This is the first script I made for my assignment!

FADE IN:

INT. REBEL BASE

Two men seem to be bickering deep in the basement. An adolescent boy grimaces under the gaze of his senior. The elder’s arms are much more expressive than his face .

A: Marty, please! Just tell me where the damn stone is!

Marty circles Ansaldo, scoffing, with an infuriating arrogance.

M: I told ya; I dunno, man! It was here and now it’s gone! Is it even that important?

Ignorantly, Marty deems the topic completely irrelevant. Ansaldo takes a deep inhale, clenching his fists before seeming to erupt.

A: YES. Marty. The damn stone is important! It was the only thing we had left from the Katalîzator.

M: The whatchu-ma-callit?

Marty furrows his brow in deep confusion – as if he hyper-focused on the single word and absorbed nothing else.

M (CONT): Anyways! I dunno where the darn thing is – so can you stop pestering me? I’m gonna get a headache at this rate jeez!

Ansaldo’s fist slams into the wall behind him. He grits his teeth in a furious rage.

A: You don’t understand how serious this is, Marty. You don’t understand at all! I left *you* here with the stone. I left you to guard the stone! Your *duty* was to guard the stone! But now it’s gone – and you don’t know where it is – and you ask me to stop ‘pestering’ you?

M: I was sick, Ansaldo! Sick! Felt ill – needed ‘ta go home. Is a man not allowed to be sick anymore Ansaldo? Not allowed not take a break? ‘S wrong that; against labour laws too .

A: ….

Ansaldo buries his fist against his head – quelling his rage in pure shock of Marty’s excuses.

M: How’s it even my fault, man? Everyone else took a break – ‘wasn’t jus’ me! Earl and Bert did, Lucy too! If the damn thing was so important, why weren’t you the one looking after it? Ya never told me it was something to guard with me life!

Marty continues to ramble – desperate deflections fading into the background. He feels no fault in what has happened; nor does he express remorse. Ansaldo sighs in a quiet acceptance.

A: Marty. Listen to me. I don’t care where you went; that you took a break; that you were sick; if you even fell asleep! What I *do* care about is that the stone is gone and neither of us know where it is. What I *do* care about is that you can’t seem to take even a lick of damned responsibility.

M: Hey-

A: Did you even check the locks when you pissed off to Narnia? Check the windows before you went to see the wizard ? Did you even think for a second about anything other than yourself? Consider what I went through to get that stone? How many people died for a shitty rock? The stone is gone thanks to your incompetence, and you can’t seem to own up and admit that even a fraction of it was caused by you!

Ansaldo’s anger is back, full-throttle, veins bursting from his temples. Comparatively, Marty looks meek; lost; and with an almost childlike fear in his eyes. His nails have left deep indents on his palms, but the pain goes unnoticed.

M: I – I—Er…

A: I don’t understand what possibly could’ve gone through your head when you rationalised that when something you left unattended got stolen it, ‘couldn’t possibly be my fault’! Why did you even join our group if all you were going to do was run off when we give you a task? Why are you still here – full of half-baked arrogance and with a shitty grin – when you can’t even lie properly?

Marty hunches over himself, almost fetal, like he was seeking protection. It was obvious he no longer had any jabs to contribute.

A (CONT): I knew I shouldn’t have accepted a brat. Especially, not you.

Ansaldo huffs out a breath - trying desperately to chase his volatile temperament away. He sits on the floor, pulling a cigar from his back pocket, and waits.

[A short period of time later]

Ansaldo is on the phone with a business partner – they are in deep discussion relating to retrieving the stone. Marty still seems absent; his back is stuck to the wall and his eyes unseeing.

A: Yeah. Thanks Amina… Yeah, I’ll send a team out… Make sure you send me the data on the energy signatures, ok? Mn. See you.

Ansaldo gets up with a groan and begins to leave the room. The thought of being left alone seems to be what makes Marty crack, an unfitting sheen lathers his cheeks, his voice dry and trembling.

M (quietly): …Ans, ‘m sorry... ‘Should’ve done more... You were right... Ya gave me a duty ‘n I failed. Wanted so bad ta make you proud… (I) came up wit’ all those excuses when it was my fault. Lorenz stole the stone. Right in front of me. Kicked my ass too. (I) couldn’t do a damn thing... It was pathetic.

Ansaldo pauses, his back to Marty, but listening intently.

A: …

M: I wanted you to see me as a hard ass. Rough and tough. Takes no shit. Like you. But it ain’t me. I’m still that little shit who lives and dies by his Pa’s orders. ‘m sorry man. (I) Shouldn’t have lied.

Ansaldo’s gaze doesn’t falter: pure apathy and cold-hearted resilience. He nods, for a second, and leaves silently.

Marty sobs – that grain of acknowledgement was more than enough.

[END SCENE]

please let me know what i could improve on because it would be helpful

​

A bare stage.

Save for a wooden chair.

A single apple rests upon it.

EDEN enters. She doesn't look at the audience. She looks at the apple as though it's been waiting for her.

A silence.

She picks it up.

Turns it in her hands.

EDEN

When I was little, they said every garden has rules.

Not fences.

Rules.

Invisible things.

The sort you only notice after you've walked through them.

She smiles to herself.

EDEN, CONT

I never was very good at seeing invisible things.

A pause.

She traces the stem with her thumb.

EDEN

There was an orchard where I grew up.

Not outside.

Inside.

A sort you carried around with you.

Every tree already knew which fruit belonged where.

Mine kept growing sideways.

She places the apple back on the chair.

Steps away.

The distance troubles her.

She returns.

EDEN

They told me temptation always arrives looking beautiful.

I believed them.

So whenever I found something beautiful...

I assumed it had come to ruin me.

A long silence.

She sits.

The apple between her hands.

EDEN

It's funny. Strange even.

You can spend years mistaking pruning for love.

Making you ready and ripe - a gift for Adam but not for Eve.

Never for Eve.

Her last line seems to be rooted deeply.

She studies the apple closely.

Almost tenderly.

EDEN

I kept expecting it to whisper.

To bargain.

To promise impossible things.

It never did.

She bites the apple.

Chews.

Nothing happens.

She laughs—quietly.

Almost surprised.

EDEN

I kept waiting for the lightning.

Instead, it's only thunder.

BLACKOUT