What's all this talk about High Concept?

(Please welcome guest blogger Diana Peterfreund)

"High concept" is a somewhat confusing term. Snooty film critics give it a derogative connotation – “a high concept with no soul” – but Hollywood producers won’t hear a pitch without it (“in movies, the high concept is king”). I think part of the reason we writers have such a difficult time grappling with the phrase is that there are two distinct ways to use it: high concept the noun and high concept the adjective.

The noun version is what editors and agents clamor for in pitch sessions: “Give us the high concept!” What they really want is the “main concept” or “high concept pitch,” the short, ten-words-or-less encapsulation of your novel. It’s the sentence you use to tell your friend what kind of movie you went to see last night, or what kind of book you prefer. Think strong, genre buzzwords. It does not have to take the form of “X meets Y.” If your book truly is X meets Y (and X and Y are both movies/books/etc. so iconic that there is no chance that the agents or editors will mistake you), then by all means, craft your pitch that way. But I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard practice pitchers, convinced that the “X meets Y” equation is the only way to get someone interested in their work, say, “My book is Millennium Hall meets The Swimming Pool” or some such nonsense. If you’ve never heard of either of those, you haven’t a clue what the author is talking about.

But it’s not all about boiling your story down to the essence. Though you may be able to present a wonderfully phrased “high concept pitch” of your story, it doesn’t necessarily mean that your story will be “high concept.” The truth is that the reasons the editors and agents are asking for the “high concept” rather than the “main concept” is that they are hoping with every cell in their body that the story you pitch to them will be a high concept story. See that? How it was an adjective?

A high concept story has the following qualities: easily understood from a few words, and promising tremendous public appeal. When you describe a high-concept story, you can see the whole story – its premise, promise and execution – in a few words. A high concept story also “has legs” – in other words, it doesn’t need a name to sell it. It doesn’t need to be written by Stephen King or have Reese Witherspoon attached to star (though neither of those hurt, and you’ll notice that these two most often produce incredibly high-concept products).

Though there have always been stories like this, the term “high concept” came into common use in the 70s in connection with the new, up-and-coming filmmakers like Stephen Spielberg and George Lucas. Spielberg makes incredibly high concept movies. “A giant shark prowls the waters of a peaceful seaside tourist village.” I’m scared already! You can see the whole movie.

I bet you can guess the identity of these high-concept stories:

* Romeo and Juliet with vampires and werewolves.
* Clueless goes to Harvard Law.
* An angel helps a suicidal man by showing him what life in his small town would be like if he were never born.
* An unstoppable robot travels back in time from a war-torn future to kill the mother of mankind’s last hope.
* What if Peter Pan grew up?

Now, not all these movies were successful (though personally, I was kind of into Hook), but as soon as you heard the short description, you got a picture of the film – the tone, the genre, the conflicts, the characters.

“High concept” comes under attack from film critics who say that it creates plot-driven, rather than character-driven, stories. But I think something like Legally Blonde is both high concept and character-driven. It’s Elle’s California-girl character that makes the story interesting and funny. (“Low concept stories” are almost always character-driven – movies like Stepmom, On Golden Pond, and Now, Voyager – great stories, but all about the tiny nuances of a character rather than an overarching premise.) And, just because you have a high concept story doesn’t mean there isn’t room for fascinating, nuanced character development. It’s a Wonderful Life has brilliantly-developed, complex characters. The Terminator is one of my favorite love stories.

A few examples of high concepts that the Knight Agency represents:

* A spoiled rich girl is forced to work as a maid to pay her hotel bill after her family cuts her off. (Room Service, by Beverly Brandt, currently available from St. Martins Press – and optioned as a movie starring Jessica Simpson!)
* “Buffy the Vampire Slayer meets Alien Nation” (from a recent review of Awaken Me Darkly, by Gena Showalter, currently available from Downtown Press)
* A snarky, Ivy League co-ed joins one of the most notorious secret societies in the world. (the (Secret) Society Girl series, by Diana Peterfreund, Bantam Dell, summer ‘06).

High concept stories are in demand in today’s market. You can definitely sell books without it, but it might be that extra little something that defines the “breakout book.”

Is your book high-concept? Ask yourself:
1) Is it very accessible – i.e., the consumer knows instantly whether or not this is something they want to see?
2) Is it extremely commercial – i.e., a lot of people are interested in this topic? (Think about trends (kick-ass women, paranormal), or perennial favorites (lifestyles of the rich and famous.))

And then ask yourself if you have pulled it off. In Hollywood, concept is king because producers hire a team of screenwriters and script doctors and test audiences to make sure that the story has been executed in a way that does justice to that high concept. In publishing, there’s only the writer. You’re not selling an idea for someone else to develop – you’re selling the whole package, and even the highest concept in the world has to be more than a concept before it can be a book.