In the world of glitzy headlines and even more scintillating sound bites, the question of the day is whether our beloved screenwriters are overrated, underrated, or exactly where they should be in the hierarchy of Hollywood legends. It’s the kind of debate that could tear families apart—well, maybe families that spend way too much time comparing director’s cuts. But fear not, dear reader, for this exploration is conducted with a bemused smile and a sharp wit, like a bad B-movie with a surprisingly clever twist.

Now, to tackle the elephant in the room, the matter of Aaron Sorkin is at the forefront. Known for his snappy dialogue and engaging courtroom dramas, Sorkin’s pen has penned quite the list of hits. But our commentator is quick to assert that perhaps Sorkin isn’t the towering genius leftists would love him to be. Yes, he’s talented—as talented as a master chef with only half the ingredients. He stirs up a stormy pot with phrases like “you can’t handle the truth” but seems too shallow, some say, to truly plumb the depths of his subjects. [Correction: The famous line “you can’t handle the truth” was actually an ad-lib by Jack Nicholson, not written by Aaron Sorkin, who originally wrote “You already had the truth.”] He leads with charm but walks a tightrope between entertainment and enlightenment.

William Goldman, however, is placed upon the pedestal of cinematic greatness. The man behind Butch Cassidy and notable others is revered not just for screenplays but for doctoring scripts into something Oscar-worthy. His versatility is envied and his narratives, rarely needing the emotional crutches of relentless CGI, speak for themselves. When he writes, it’s not just art, it’s an experience—a bucket list for any self-respecting movie buff.

Then comes the prodigious Quentin Tarantino. Now here’s a man whose peculiar dialogue and extreme style could be called an acquired taste. Much like a three-hour lecture on the existentialism of spaghetti westerns, Tarantino’s scripts kick down the doors of conventional storytelling and demand attention. Sure, Pulp Fiction might have been hailed prematurely, but his knack for dialogue is undeniable. In fact, it’s so engaging that audiences might not even notice there’s more chatter than actual story.

Switching gears, there’s Woody Allen. While not universally beloved, there’s no denying the indelible mark he left on American cinema. Allen crafted an oddly captivating persona, much like the iconic mimes of yesteryear or avocados at brunch—possibly misunderstood, but impossible to ignore. His films paint a peculiar New York liberal elite that many argue he doesn’t quite transcend, merely caricatures.

Lastly, the wily screenwriters duo Joel and Ethan Coen are, predictably, praised as film gods. With masterpieces like Fargo and No Country for Old Men under their belts, these two chuckle-inducing geniuses never fail to deliver a heavy dose of black humor with a side of existential dread. Their scripts are intricate puzzles inviting viewers aboard for a wildly bumpy ride through the moral ambiguities of life.

So, dear readers, much like a good Helix mattress—firm enough to support your views but soft enough for a chuckle—this rally of rhetorical criticism showcases that while the director often steals the limelight, the heart of the script beats ever insistently beneath it all. Remember, true greatness lies in the eye of the beholder, as do opinions on which screenwriter stands where. So, as you mull over your own film favorites, do it with both a critical eye and a grain of humor.