There is a specific moment, usually somewhere around the fourth or fifth pass, when your screenplay stops being a story and becomes a surface. You know every line before you reach it. Your eye slides across the page. You can no longer tell whether the opening is slow or whether you are simply bored of it.
Writers tend to treat this as a personal failing, or as a sign the draft is bad. It is neither. It is a predictable consequence of how reading works.
What is actually happening
Reading comprehension depends heavily on prediction. Your brain is constantly guessing what comes next and only paying real attention where the guess fails. That is efficient, and it is why you can read a novel quickly.
It also means that once you know a text, you stop reading it. You recognise it. The words become landmarks rather than sentences, and you skim past exactly the places that need attention, because those are the places you have already resolved in your head.
The consequence is uncomfortable: the passages you are least able to see are the ones you have rewritten most. Your problem scenes are camouflaged by familiarity.
Why "take a break" is only half the advice
The standard remedy is distance. Put it in a drawer for six weeks. This works, genuinely, and if you have six weeks you should take them.
But distance restores only one thing: your ability to experience the script sequentially, as a reader would. It does not give you the other thing a good reader provides, which is memory across the whole document at once.
A first-time reader notices that your protagonist mentions her brother in scene four and never again. Not because they are clever, but because both facts are equally fresh to them. To you, scene four is three months old and scene fifty-one is from Tuesday. They are not in the same place in your head, and no amount of rest changes that.
The two different failures
It is worth separating them, because they need different fixes.
Legibility failure is losing the reader's experience: pacing, tension, where attention sags. This is what distance fixes, and what a trusted reader fixes faster.
Consistency failure is losing the document: a character who knows something before she is told, a timeline that cannot physically work, a voice that drifts forty pages in and never drifts back. This is not about freshness. It is about holding a hundred and ten pages simultaneously, which nobody does.
Most writing advice addresses the first and is quietly useless for the second.
What to do without a room full of readers
If you have trusted readers, use them, and do not waste them on continuity. Ask them what they felt and where they drifted. That is the thing only a human first encounter can give you, and it does not survive a second reading.
For the document-level work, the honest answer is that you need something that can hold the whole script at once and point at specific lines. A printed copy and a highlighter does this. So does a spreadsheet of who knows what, when, if you have the discipline. Both are slow, and both go stale the moment you rewrite.
What you should not do is confuse the two problems, or assume that failing at the second means you have lost your judgment. You have not. You have written enough of the thing that you can no longer be surprised by it, which is precisely what you were trying to achieve.
Where Maisolle sits in this
Maisolle is built for the second failure, not the first. It reads the draft you have actually written and tells you what is in it: where a voice moved, where a fact contradicts an earlier one, where tension flattens across a run of scenes. Every observation points at the line it came from, so you can look and disagree.
It will not tell you whether your script is good. That judgment is yours, and it requires exactly the taste that made you write it in the first place.