IAR: It was a little under twenty-three years ago that Dead Poets Society was first released, when was the last time you sat down to watch it from beginning to end?

Tom Schulman: Probably twenty years ago. To paraphrase the narrator at the end of The Road Warrior, “It lives for me now, only in my memory.” Part of the journey of the writer means that your work, if you’re any good, will likely evolve over the years.

I read that you wrote the script about your own experience at an academy, so have any of your feelings, thoughts or impressions changed toward the film’s story since 1989 and does it still resonate for you?

Schulman: Well, the movie really captures something about youth and being young at heart but also that precariousness that comes with being young and impressionable. I think it would still resonate for me. I’m still as bullish as ever on the notions that ideas can change the world, and that we should try to live as boldly and creatively as possible.

Out of all the characters in Dead Poets Society, which one do you identify with the most?

Schulman: Todd (Ethan Hawke). In high school and through much of my twenties, I was the shy kid, terrified of public speaking. I’ve heard a lot of cliché writing advice in the past. “Write what you know” or “Don’t write unless you would rather die than do anything else.” The funny thing is, both of those statements are very true!

What’s the best advice anyone ever gave you, cliché or not cliché?

Schulman: How about this for a cliché, “Tell a great story.” If the people who you tell your story to or who read it don’t go, “Wow,” then it might be a good enough story for a dinner party, but it probably won’t make a good movie.

Are there themes in your own life and work that you’re conscious of, or do you try to keep your own paradigm separate from the script and the characters in it?

Schulman: Often when I start writing a story, I’m not aware of how it directly relates to my own life. But as I continue to write, I almost always come to realize that through the writing - through my choices of theme, characters, etc. – I’m working out a problem or issue I’m struggling with in my own life. I think that often the inner journey of the main character in the script and the inner journey of the writer dovetail.

You initially wanted to be a director, and then ended up writing as a result of trying to land directorial gigs. Did directing change your view of screenwriting? Did you like it more, and did you find yourself changing the way you were writing?

Schulman: When I write a script, I have what I think of as a completed version of the movie in my head, and I try to get that onto the page with a maximum of economy. I don’t think of this as megalomania, it’s simply what is necessary both to fully engage a reader and guide the director, actors and crew. My approach to writing didn’t change after I started directing, but directing did change my view of directing however. Directing is much harder in all respects - physically, mentally, and emotionally - than I ever imagined.

I read that you like to outline in full your scripts before you draft them, how detailed are we talking?

Schulman: As I recall, Dead Poets had a 130+ page outline. But on average, I think a thirty to fifty page outline is optimal: long enough to know exactly where you’re going, short enough to allow for surprises and happy accidents along the way.

Since 1989, how has the atmosphere of the entertainment industry, and the studio system changed for screenwriters?

Schulman: Because movies cost such a huge amount of money just to market, and because even successful movies can hold onto their screens for only a short time, every movie has to have a blockbuster opening simply to recoup the releasing costs. Blockbusters, with their dependence on special effects and action are astronomically expensive to produce, so studios today, much more than in 1989, feel they must risk only on projects with a built in audience. That’s why they make so many so-called franchise movies: sequels, remakes, adaptations of popular books, and theme park rides. So if you write action movies and/or adaptations, Hollywood smiles on you, if you write originals, not so much. All movies are financial (and artistic) risks, but mega-budgets mandate minimizing risks, so if you’re an established writer (or director) with a winning track record over the last few years, Hollywood welcomes you. If you’re inexperienced or unknown, the studios are disinclined to take a risk. Breaking in today is harder than it was in 1989 and staying in is harder, but it’s always been hard.

Lastly, you were once quoted as saying that writing and selling a screenplay is like raising a child and then turning it over to known child molesters. It’s a memorable quote because it is true that part of the hazard of collaboration is handing over the vision of the project. Was there ever a moment when you felt, as a screenwriter, that maybe you just really shouldn’t have handed it over? Or do you think that all serious screenwriters have to go through that, to learn how to navigate Hollywood better, and simply to be a better writer?

Schulman: I was quoting the great television writer, William Link. If you get enough scripts made, bad things are bound to happen. The casting doesn’t come together properly, or marketing concerns force changes or compromises that sink the movie, or - and this NEVER happens - the script wasn’t as good as everybody thought. As a writer you hope that good or great writing can somehow protect against disaster, but in the final analysis, what is or isn’t good writing is always a matter of taste, and sometimes the sensibilities of the material and the collaborative team simply don’t gel. Good movies are like beating the casino; great movies are like winning the lottery.