It was the late 1980s in New York. I was a graduate of USC, having studied screenwriting in the film school and been told to pursue writing as I had a knack for creating innovative ideas. The producer across from me was studying my treatment for a children’s fantasy and looked slyly up from his papers. “Before you start sending this out, realize that 90% of the people you will meet are unqualified to make decisions about your work,” he said. I couldn’t believe it. How could 90% of the people be unqualified? If only I knew then what I know now.

Based on a completely original concept with original characters and scenarios, Candyland was my third script written on spec, back in the days before I started writing and producing my own projects. It was the early 1990s and the spec script boom had hit all around Hollywood with tales of million-dollar sales and the like. Much more concerned with quality than dollars, I kept pushing forward, circulating my work to a hefty round of agents, managers, and producers, hoping for that elusive break.

The basic idea of the screenplay is that a group of latchkey kids – pairs of siblings from both sides of the tracks – go out trick-or-treating on Halloween and enter the otherworldly realm of Candyland, a candy-themed fantasy world populated by a horde of surreal characters. They endeavor to help and hinder the kids on their journey to the Candymaster’s Castle, ostensibly leading OUT of Candyland. The rumor is, if they don’t get out of Candyland by midnight, they’re going to be stuck there forever. Inherent in the story is the theme of self-reliance as the fantasy characters stand in as adult archetypes, essentially useless to the kids’ predicament. The overall idea lies somewhere between The Wizard of Oz and Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, two of my favorite film fantasies of all time.

Of note, the script was written for kids and about kids, and in actuality, was written by a kid – it’s on a good day that I would call myself a full-fledged adult, even at 36. In one section in the script, the group of kids first converge as they meet at the front of an abandoned old house:

All of the youngsters arrive at the front porch at the same time. Behind them, other groups of kids are scurrying off, not paying mind to the strange old house. They each stare in silence at the place, somewhat frightened and unwilling to ring the bell.

CHRISTOPHER
Doesn't look like anyone's home.

STEPHANIE
Don't know until you try.

ANGELA
I wonder who lives here.

MICHAEL
More like "lived."

Abruptly, Timmy bursts out of Stephanie's hands, leash and all, and pushes his way into the front door which easily blasts open. He shoots into the house, disappearing before the others can react.

MICHAEL
(sarcastically)
Trick or treat.

STEPHANIE
Timmy!

No one is willing to enter the place.

CHRISTOPHER
Great; now we're all gonna get
in trouble. I bet the cops will
come.
(to Stephanie)
Can't you even control your own
little brother?

STEPHANIE
(snotty)
He's not my brother.

MICHAEL
(into the house)
Timmy! The cops are coming!

ANGELA
I don't think the cops would
come here.

STEPHANIE
Terrific. Well, I've got to go
find him now. Any volunteers
to help me?

ANGELA
I'll help you.

CHRISTOPHER
No, you won't.

STEPHANIE
Let her speak for herself.

CHRISTOPHER
We have to go. Solve your own
problems.

ANGELA
Christopher, we have to help her.
If something bad happens, it would
be your fault for not helping.

CHRISTOPHER
My fault? I didn't even do anything.

STEPHANIE
What's the matter, "Christopher,"
can't even control your little
sister?

MICHAEL
You guys! Shut up. Listen.

The faint sounds of Timmy giggling can be heard from within the house. Michael eases a foot in the door.

MICHAEL
Timmy! Timmy, come back!

Later, the kids enter the world of Candyland and meet an array of characters, one of the first of whom is a character called the Cookie Cutter:

INT. THE COOKIE BARN

The interior of the barn is a Rube-Goldbergian array of cookie-making machinery. From above, a system of tubes spews forth cookie dough onto a conveyor belt. From off the floor, a striking character, THE COOKIE CUTTER, peels himself into a standing position. He is a aluminum creation with human facial features, and a semblance of hands and feet attached to his "star" shape.

COOKIE CUTTER
(looking at the kids)
You want cookies, you're gonna have
to wait. I'm way behind.

CHRISTOPHER
We don't want -

At that, the Cookie Cutter makes a "karate chop" noise and does a belly flop onto the conveyor belt, mashing into some cookie dough. He gets up, groaning a bit, but he has "morphed" into the shape of a Christmas tree. The cookie passing by is a perfect star.

COOKIE CUTTER
Oh, yeah. That was a good one.
So, what can I do for you?

CHRISTOPHER
We were just wondering how-

COOKIE CUTTER
(interrupting)
Look out!

He falls forward onto the conveyor belt again, making another "chop" sound. This time, he rises in a diamond shape.

COOKIE CUTTER
That was a close call. Almost
got away from me. Now, what
kind of cookies did you want?

CHRISTOPHER
We don't want cookies! What is
going on here, anyway? Who are
you?

COOKIE CUTTER
Don't want cookies? Don't want
cookies? Then why are you in
a cookie barn, tell me? And what
does it look like I am? I'm The
Cookie Cutter for crumb's sake!

He "morphs" into the shape of a lightning bolt, arms folded.

CHRISTOPHER
I didn't mean to upset you; we're
just trying to find out how we
can get out of here.

COOKIE CUTTER
Oh, is that all? You come in
here, wasting my time, and then
all you want is to leave?

STEPHANIE
Sorry, mister. We're kind of-

COOKIE CUTTER
(pointing)
You want to leave, leave. There's
the door. I've got lots of work
to do.

CHRISTOPHER
Okay, we're leaving.

COOKIE CUTTER
Good. Come back when you want
some cookies. Until then, don't
bother me.

He "morphs" once more into a sun shape, then does another fall. The children leave through an exit door.

“Too scary,” said one production company. “It’s too dark and you’ve written it for too old an audience.” Another gave me their coverage notes: “too young. You’ve written this for an audience from 3 to 8.” Still another said, “I love the script, but I don’t know who to take it to – who makes movies like this anymore?” With this contradictory information in hand, I shelved the Candyland idea for a few years, moving on to other projects.

It was now the late 1990s in Los Angeles. I had made somewhat of a name for myself, writing and publishing several articles and stories in a myriad of magazines and newspapers. I had also produced several documentaries, demo reels and video projects that were picked up by different studios, including Fox and Warner Bros. It was time to dust off Candyland. In a rewrite, one of the establishments that the kids encounter is the Chocolate Bar:

Next to the split paths, Christopher spots a garish flashing neon sign which sits atop a rectangular establishment labeled :

CHOCOLATE BAR
Over 21 Not Admitted

CHRISTOPHER
Let's go.

He leads the group into the place.

CUT TO:

INT. CHOCOLATE BAR

The setting is exactly that of a liquor bar, with counter, stools, rear shelves, etc., save the bottles of alcohol, which have been replaced with countless wrapped bars of chocolate.

The bar is empty except for one 20-SOMETHING MAN in shrunken clothes who is slumped down over a plate full of chocolate.

Christopher approaches the counter and taps a hand-bell. From the behind the bar, a LIFE-SIZE BAR OF CHOCOLATE leaning back against the shelves begins to unwrap from the top without assistance. This continues until it is a quarter unwrapped, then facial features emerge from the center of the chocolate bar itself. Its eyes fixate on Christopher.

The script made the rounds. Receiving some good feedback around town, I had developed a method of producing and directing Candyland myself. It could be done with computer-graphics effects, but by this time, I had directed several projects using special makeup effects and mechanical character effects. We could do some elaborate sequences with the aid of CGI, but I saw the project as an ode to the early 1970s, when H.R. Pufenstuf ruled the airwaves and children’s entertainment was simpler and more character-driven.

“We love it, but do you have the rights?” said BIG STUDIO #1. “Well, I own the story, the characters, the entire scenario. It’s my intellectual property,” was the logical response. “That’s fine and well, but when you own the NAME, get back to us.” Of course, the name was connected to the board game owned by Hasbro in Massachusetts, and needed to be secured. “Can’t you negotiate to get those rights?” I asked. The answers I received from a variety of folks ranged from “yes, but you need to clear our legal department,” to “no, you have to have the rights – we can’t approach them.” All of which seemed rather silly to me – we had a good project that people want to make, we had an original set of characters, settings, and themes, and we simply needed to secure a name and make a deal with a third party.

So there stands Candyland. While tied up in legal, I have moved forward, creating conceptual illustrations for characters such as the Chocolate Bartender and the Pudding Pirates, and preliminarily casting some of the parts, like several of the youngest “human” characters. We have put these kids on videotape, and the results have been convincing.

What might be most telling of all is that I’ve personally tested the script with kids themselves, having them read it (of course, the average kid takes about as long as the averages studio executive in getting back to me). Thus far, the kids seem to like the script even more than the people around town. “This would make a really good movie,” said one youngster. I just hope he fits into that other 10% of the moviegoing population.

Freelance author Scott Essman is the sole screenwriter of Candyland, whose screenplay can be read at www.candylandmovie.com.