“Keep your screen direction tight!” “Don’t overwrite!”
It’s all well and good to tell you this, but how much screen direction is too much? How many lines? What are the rules?
Here’s my own rule of thumb: When your screen direction can’t be covered by a block of Velveeta cheese, it’s too long.
Examine every word, every line. Is it necessary? If you dropped it, would the scene still make sense? If you’re answer is yes, then drop it.
Generally, five lines or less is a good break point. Cut on natural camera breaks; if we see a new character, or the camera would naturally move, add white space, go to the next line and start a new paragraph. This will make your script cleaner. Here’s a nice article from Charles Deemer on White Space:
http://www.ibiblio.org/cdeemer/cfs0403.htm
As usual, there are exceptions. Look at this passage from Gangs Of New York:
EXT. STREET DAY (WINTER) WINTER WIND blows across a scene as strange and bleak as an alien planet. VALLON, carrying his cross high, steps through the doorway. The OTHERS slowly follow VALLON out of the building, which is three stories high and maybe a block long. A dilapidated sign identifies it as the 5 Paints Brewery. It is the tallest structure in the midst of low, squalid SHACKS, winding ALLEYS as narrow as a snakes back, and DIRT STREETS filled with ruts, mud and filthy snow. A few PIGS wander forlornly about, rooting for garbage.WASH hangs stiff, in the middle of the square, from a peculiar monument erected to some forgotten war hero. The Brewery occupies one side of a SQUARE surrounded by some storefronts and a couple of collapsed wooden sidewalks. If this place resembles anything at all, it’s a horrible hybrid of London’s Limehouse and a pioneer town in the American West whose best days have long passed--or never came at all. VALLON stands still, staring across the square past the monument. His battalion of irregulars waits for his signal. Now... very, very slowly...from around both sides of the monument comes ANOTHER GANG, in size the same as VALLON’s, men and women both, armed like Visigoths with HOMEMADE WEAPONS: knives, pitchforks, building blocks and bricks, boards with sharp nails protruding from the ends. Every member of this second group is dressed in a long DUSTER which reaches to the ankles. Several MEN in front of the group sport dusters made of leather.
EXT. STREET DAY (WINTER)
WINTER WIND blows across a scene as strange and bleak as an alien planet. VALLON, carrying his cross high, steps through the doorway. The OTHERS slowly follow VALLON out of the building, which is three stories high and maybe a block long. A dilapidated sign identifies it as the 5 Paints Brewery.
It is the tallest structure in the midst of low, squalid SHACKS, winding ALLEYS as narrow as a snakes back, and DIRT STREETS filled with ruts, mud and filthy snow. A few PIGS wander forlornly about, rooting for garbage.WASH hangs stiff, in the middle of the square, from a peculiar monument erected to some forgotten war hero. The Brewery occupies one side of a SQUARE surrounded by some storefronts and a couple of collapsed wooden sidewalks. If this place resembles anything at all, it’s a horrible hybrid of London’s Limehouse and a pioneer town in the American West whose best days have long passed--or never came at all.
VALLON stands still, staring across the square past the monument. His battalion of irregulars waits for his signal. Now... very, very slowly...from around both sides of the monument comes ANOTHER GANG, in size the same as VALLON’s, men and women both, armed like Visigoths with HOMEMADE WEAPONS: knives, pitchforks, building blocks and bricks, boards with sharp nails protruding from the ends. Every member of this second group is dressed in a long DUSTER which reaches to the ankles. Several MEN in front of the group sport dusters made of leather.
Whoa! They broke the Velveeta Cheese rule! You said to give white space! You said keep the screen description to essentials!
Yes, I did. I also told you there is no one single way to write a script. There will always be exceptions to the general rule.
Maybe Martin Scorsese asked the writers to put in maximum detail (if Marty tells you he wants the script written long hand in green Sharpie, will you inform him that it’s improper format?) Maybe the producers wanted it that way. You, the Unknown Screenwriter, don’t have Scorsese; you don’t have producers. You’re looking for a way in, so as a general rule: Don’t make your screen direction into a giant block of Velveeta Cheese. Give white space.
If it’s a critical scene, sure, go Dylan Thomas on their asses, lay out the 3 dollar verbs. But if a character walks into Starbucks, please don’t tell me about the fake burnt orange flame logs in the fireplace, or the vermilion stitchery of the loungers, or how many single-pump caramel frappuccino drinkers are working screenplays on their Macs! Not unless it impacts story.
There are a couple ways to go to go with Montage format:
INT. PLAZA HOTEL- NEW YORK CITY- NIGHT (MONTAGE)
--Freddy Mac and Fanny Mae sip Maine lobster bisque with Merrill Lynch bigwigs.
--They munch Free Range Organic Chicken with Bank of American honchos.
--They slurp Nutella crepes with Citibank VP’s.
END MONTAGE
Or,
MONTAGE--FREDDY MAC AND FANNY MAE PARTY IN THE BIG APPLE
--They slurp Nutella dessert crepes with Citibank VP’s.
Here’s another basic example, from American Werewolf in London:
PARIS MONTAGE: - AT A BRASSERIE: Andy is about to escort Serafine into the trendy eatery, but she stops him at the door and points to the menu or more specifically the prices. He makes a horrified face, and they move on. -IN A BOULANGERIE: Serafine buys cheese, Andy buys meats - the counterman shows Andy how big a slice off the pate loaf he's about to cut. Andy nods "yes". The counterman cuts it and offers the slice. Andy shakes his head "no" and points to the much larger remainder of the loaf. -AT AN OUTDOOR MARKET: Detective Marcel, wearing a lame" disguise" (new wave sunglasses ala "Diva"), watches Andy and Serafine shop from a distance. - IN A PATISSERIE: Andy points to a large baguette, says something suggestive and winks boastfully at Serafine. She gives him a "yeah, right" look and points at a small breadstick. - IN A WINE STORE: Andy looks at each bottle closely, then "tests" it by shaking vigorously. Serafine's amused. The owner's baffled. - ON THE RIGHT BANK: Arms full of groceries, Andy and Serafine pass the row of outdoor pet stores near the river. Andy looks longingly at the live ducks in their cages. Serafine pulls him along. MUSIC fades out.
PARIS MONTAGE:
- AT A BRASSERIE: Andy is about to escort Serafine
into the trendy eatery, but she stops him at the door
and points to the menu or more specifically the prices.
He makes a horrified face, and they move on.
-IN A BOULANGERIE: Serafine buys cheese, Andy buys
meats - the counterman shows Andy how big a slice off
the pate loaf he's about to cut. Andy nods "yes".
The counterman cuts it and offers the slice. Andy
shakes his head "no" and points to the much larger
remainder of the loaf.
-AT AN OUTDOOR MARKET: Detective Marcel, wearing
a lame" disguise" (new wave sunglasses ala "Diva"),
watches Andy and Serafine shop from a distance.
- IN A PATISSERIE: Andy points to a large baguette,
says something suggestive and winks boastfully at
Serafine. She gives him a "yeah, right" look and
points at a small breadstick.
- IN A WINE STORE: Andy looks at each bottle closely,
then "tests" it by shaking vigorously. Serafine's
amused. The owner's baffled.
- ON THE RIGHT BANK: Arms full of groceries, Andy
and Serafine pass the row of outdoor pet stores
near the river. Andy looks longingly at the live
ducks in their cages. Serafine pulls him along.
MUSIC fades out.
Montage is used to condense time for story purposes, to advance story without a single line of expository dialogue. Show, don’t tell is advice given to the point of cliché, but if followed, will remind you to always seek the visual solution.
MONTAGE OR SERIES OF SHOTS?
When do you use one vs. the other? This is another stylistic choice. If the passage of time is short, for me, SERIES OF SHOTS works best.
INT. COLUMBIA COLLEGE- DAY As Professor Pauly teaches, he looks out the window. His car is being towed! PAULY Sonofa...! SERIES OF SHOTS --Pauly at the elevator. Nada! --Pauly sprints down the stairs. --Pauly out the front door, hits the street flying. --Pauly to his car, just in time to find it jacked, rolling off on a flatbed tow-truck with Daley’s best.
INT. COLUMBIA COLLEGE- DAY
As Professor Pauly teaches, he looks out the window. His car is being towed!
PAULY
Sonofa...!
SERIES OF SHOTS
--Pauly at the elevator. Nada!
--Pauly sprints down the stairs.
--Pauly out the front door, hits the street flying.
--Pauly to his car, just in time to find it jacked, rolling off on a flatbed tow-truck with Daley’s best.
SERIES OF SHOTS plays out over a short time frame.
The MONTAGE unfolds gentler, over a longer period of time:
MONTAGE--PAULY AND KEIRA KNIGHTLY PASS ENGLISH SUMMER AS ONE --Pauly in the English wheat, hand in hand with his beloved Keira. --Pauly and Keira at the swimming hole in period piece bathing suits, lovely weather! ---Pauly and Keira lie in soft rippling English wheat and gaze longingly in each other’s eyes. --Pauly below Keira’s window as she douses her candle on another hot, wet August night. END MONTAGE
MONTAGE--PAULY AND KEIRA KNIGHTLY PASS ENGLISH SUMMER AS ONE
--Pauly in the English wheat, hand in hand with his beloved Keira.
--Pauly and Keira at the swimming hole in period piece bathing suits, lovely weather!
---Pauly and Keira lie in soft rippling English wheat and gaze longingly in each other’s eyes.
--Pauly below Keira’s window as she douses her candle on another hot, wet August night.
Ah, English summer!
Try to give your screen direction “white space” (where the camera would naturally cut) wherever possible…
I/E. SUV – AFTERNOON A blue SUV speeds down a road surrounded by trees. In the back seat, WILLIAM, 12, doodles in his note book, squashed between his brother J.J., 16, and sister COURTNEY, 14, with headphones, texting on her yellow Jonas Brothers cell phone. Mother MARY (50) drives in a J Crew pea coat, all attention on the road. The back of the van jammed to the brim with Thanksgiving food, including a grocery store guacamole mix. As J.J. eyes the guacamole.... William watches JJ in disbelief. J.J. dips into the guacamole with one finger, scoops and slurps it up.
I/E. SUV – AFTERNOON
A blue SUV speeds down a road surrounded by trees.
In the back seat, WILLIAM, 12, doodles in his note book, squashed between his brother J.J., 16, and sister COURTNEY, 14, with headphones, texting on her yellow Jonas Brothers cell phone.
Mother MARY (50) drives in a J Crew pea coat, all attention on the road.
The back of the van jammed to the brim with Thanksgiving food, including a grocery store guacamole mix. As J.J. eyes the guacamole....
William watches JJ in disbelief.
J.J. dips into the guacamole with one finger, scoops and slurps it up.
This reads well, the eye moves vertically down the page. Natural cutaways from character to character make good points to put in white space.
While you’re at it, dump the passive voice. No “are running,” “is playing,” “are laughing.” Runs, plays, laughs. Active verbs. Sounds simple, but if you practice it, your writing will improve dramatically.
Also, try not to repeat yourself:
INT. DUKE’S HOUSE- NIGHT Duke enters the house.
INT. DUKE’S HOUSE- NIGHT
Duke enters the house.
You told me we’re in the house in the scene heading. Don’t give the reader a reason to dial out. While you’re at it, maybe you can explain why I need to see Duke enter the house at all?
Object Lesson 6: Get in late, get out early.
That one isn’t mine, but you can use it all day long. Know the purpose of the scene, get into the scene as late as possible, execute the purpose, and get out. Think about the speed of shows like LA LAW, or CSI WHATEVER…
INT. PRECINCT HALLWAY- DAY Ice-T stalks the corridor... ICE T Just got off the phone with Holloway. Dead guys are Frick and Frack. Frack’s got a tattoo of Colonel Sanders on his ass. Hanging up the phone... MUNCH Dead guy ain’t Frack. Cleo at the 51st just ran a check. Says Frack died three years ago. Got beaned with an A-Rod foul ball at Yankee Stadium. Already out the door, joined by Benson... BENSON We’re on it. EXT. CRIME SCENE- LATER Stabler and Benson, bent over a body. STABLER There’s the tattoo. BENSON Looks more like...Liberace.
INT. PRECINCT HALLWAY- DAY
Ice-T stalks the corridor...
ICE T
Just got off the phone with Holloway. Dead guys are Frick and Frack. Frack’s got a tattoo of Colonel Sanders on his ass.
Hanging up the phone...
MUNCH
Dead guy ain’t Frack. Cleo at the 51st just ran a check. Says Frack died three years ago. Got beaned with an A-Rod foul ball at Yankee Stadium.
Already out the door, joined by Benson...
BENSON
We’re on it.
EXT. CRIME SCENE- LATER
Stabler and Benson, bent over a body.
STABLER
There’s the tattoo.
Looks more like...Liberace.
No niceties, no intros, “Officer Blah?” “Yes.” “I’m Officer BlahBlah, this is Officer Blahblahblah.” “Very nice to meet you, heard a lot about you…” None of that. Get right to the action. Know the purpose of the scene, execute the purpose, and get out.
An excellent article on this topic can be found at the terrific www.wordplayer.com. This is the website of Terry Rossio & Ted Elliot (yep, T & T of Pirates of the Caribbean). Here’s the article:
http://www.wordplayer.com/columns/wp40.Off-Screen.Movie.html
The part that resonates most with me is just common sense:
“…you want to get to the heart of a scene quickly; you simply can’t afford to draw filler. Go ahead and cut driving, parking, opening and closing doors, walking up and ringing the doorbell, shaking hands, saying hello, getting invited inside, sitting down… you get the idea.”
Dump the lead-ins and outs, endless introductions, the waiter-speak…all the non-essential stuff that happens in the scene. Sounds like small stuff, but if you do it, it will put you apart far from the maddening spec screenplay crowd. It will make your script a better reading experience and thus, increase your chances of it getting read or made.
Let’s start with a no-no: Backstory in screen direction:
EXT. PARADE ROUTE- BRIGHT DAY Jillian watches as the pageant parade passes, seeming to remember the day she was crowned Miss Southeast Panhandle State 1956. There was a goldenrod sun that day too, and as she drove along waving from the festooned Wheaties Breakfast of Champions float, all manner of soon-to-be Mickey Mantles followed, hoping she would throw them a souvenir Wheaties box. It was a glorious, glorious day! All the sadder that Jillian now peels an orange, watching the new beauty queen pass, thinking how unfair life is, wondering if there is indeed a God at all. Good Reader, don’t do this! The camera can’t see Jillian’s beauty queen past. It can’t see her ponderings on Life and Eternity. How would you change this screen direction? Ask yourself: What is the purpose of the scene? What do you need to happen? What are you trying to say? The whole passage, really, could be boiled down to… INT. PARADE ROUTE- DAY Jillian watches the beauty queen pass, her nails grinding the orange she holds into pulp. The essence of the scene is Jillian’s attempt to cope with mortality, and her failure, as the parade rolls by. Find the action, the physical equivalent, some business the actor can play, rather than hitting us with backstory (everything that happened before the movie began) that the camera can’t see. Also avoid unnecessary detail, like this: INT. CASINO- NIGHT Pauly Vegas walks in, placing left foot in front of right, making his way to a craps table. He checks the table limit, a 25 dollar game, shakes his head and sighs, on the move again. Pauly reaches into his pocket, finds some lint, a winter-fresh breath mint, the pink dry cleaning ticket from his Colombian laundry joint that never has his clothes ready on time, and a single dollar chip. Motioning with his left hand to the waitress for a gin and tonic refill, he smirks as he sees a blue-haired Bayonne lady squeal and scoop up her video poker winnings. Pauly bobs his head, all smiles as he finally spies, yes! A table! This is not just unnecessary detail, but the wrong detail. The purpose of the scene is…what? Do you really believe the actor will care that on page 66, midway down the page, the writer wants him to shake his head and sigh before motioning with his left hand for a gin and tonic? Never going to happen. Waste of space, and a drag on the reader’s eye. Don’t do it. Don’t do the production designer’s job either. If you want to tell me about the cat passing the fauve 19th Century Ming vase, that vase better be needed to tell the story. The damn cat too. A general rule: If in doubt, take it out. Cut everything you can. Does the scene still make sense? If you cut Pauly shaking his head and smiling, does the scene fall apart? No. Then it stays out. Develop a cut instinct. Readers have only so much “eye.” If you kill them with screen direction, you feed the tendency to skip screen description altogether and read only the dialogue. Keep your screen direction lean and mean. Pro screenwriters find a way to get their voices into screen direction. How do they do that? They cheat. Like this: INT. ROGER’S ROOM- DAY Roger drags himself out of bed. He looks for his shirt, finds it and throws it on, finds his socks too, but...where are his pants? ROGER Honey, have you seen-- WIFE (O.S.) What? As Roger looks under the bed, something catches his eye. He pulls out, brilliant and fluorescent green, a man’s cuff link. What the...? Never, in his life, has he owned a cuff link, let alone freakin’ fluorescent green. The part about never owning a cuff link can’t be seen. What can be seen is Roger’s face, his confusion. This comes from finding another man’s cuff link. This can be seen, thus is ok for screen direction. The worry that Roger’s wife might be cheating comes across without a word of dialogue. Rather than tell us: Roger is upset because seven years ago his wife had an affair that he still has nightmares over. He goes to a shrink to this day over it. The shrink’s name is Stanley Gladhands and he lives on… Get it? Finesse screen direction, cheat it, but save the cheating for a key moment or scene. Don’t overuse the device, don’t get cute. Here’s an example from Backdraft: INT. ELEVATED TRAIN – MORNING A pissed-off Chicago, hauling itself off to work in the morning snap, passes by Brian’s window. Tough Midwestern brick. Tough Midwesterners. Heads-down in their 150 year war with a wind committed to pushing the whole damn thing into Lake Michigan. What a marvel this little paragraph is! Anyone living in Chicago–especially those of us who take the EL every day—can attest to the truth in that passage. If you were just following the KISS (keep it simple, stupid) approach, you would write something like: Brian rides a grimy subway car. There is nothing wrong with this. Describes what the camera sees. Problem is, anyone can write Brian rides a grimy subway car. Now look at the above example. Look how the writer puts you into the head of the protagonist. This is POV. It is advanced screenwriting. It’s what separates the pro from everyone else. Do you think the fact that you can’t see “their 150 year war with wind” is going to be penalized by the reader at that prodco/screenplay contest/agency? Hell no. Those eyes are starved for originality. The pro gives it to them with POV, with attitude. Thus, the true definition of screen direction: What the camera sees—with attitude.
EXT. PARADE ROUTE- BRIGHT DAY
Jillian watches as the pageant parade passes, seeming to remember the day she was crowned Miss Southeast Panhandle State 1956. There was a goldenrod sun that day too, and as she drove along waving from the festooned Wheaties Breakfast of Champions float, all manner of soon-to-be Mickey Mantles followed, hoping she would throw them a souvenir Wheaties box. It was a glorious, glorious day!
All the sadder that Jillian now peels an orange, watching the new beauty queen pass, thinking how unfair life is, wondering if there is indeed a God at all.
Good Reader, don’t do this! The camera can’t see Jillian’s beauty queen past. It can’t see her ponderings on Life and Eternity.
How would you change this screen direction?
Ask yourself: What is the purpose of the scene? What do you need to happen? What are you trying to say? The whole passage, really, could be boiled down to…
INT. PARADE ROUTE- DAY Jillian watches the beauty queen pass, her nails grinding the orange she holds into pulp. The essence of the scene is Jillian’s attempt to cope with mortality, and her failure, as the parade rolls by. Find the action, the physical equivalent, some business the actor can play, rather than hitting us with backstory (everything that happened before the movie began) that the camera can’t see. Also avoid unnecessary detail, like this: INT. CASINO- NIGHT Pauly Vegas walks in, placing left foot in front of right, making his way to a craps table. He checks the table limit, a 25 dollar game, shakes his head and sighs, on the move again. Pauly reaches into his pocket, finds some lint, a winter-fresh breath mint, the pink dry cleaning ticket from his Colombian laundry joint that never has his clothes ready on time, and a single dollar chip. Motioning with his left hand to the waitress for a gin and tonic refill, he smirks as he sees a blue-haired Bayonne lady squeal and scoop up her video poker winnings. Pauly bobs his head, all smiles as he finally spies, yes! A table! This is not just unnecessary detail, but the wrong detail. The purpose of the scene is…what? Do you really believe the actor will care that on page 66, midway down the page, the writer wants him to shake his head and sigh before motioning with his left hand for a gin and tonic? Never going to happen. Waste of space, and a drag on the reader’s eye. Don’t do it. Don’t do the production designer’s job either. If you want to tell me about the cat passing the fauve 19th Century Ming vase, that vase better be needed to tell the story. The damn cat too. A general rule: If in doubt, take it out. Cut everything you can. Does the scene still make sense? If you cut Pauly shaking his head and smiling, does the scene fall apart? No. Then it stays out. Develop a cut instinct. Readers have only so much “eye.” If you kill them with screen direction, you feed the tendency to skip screen description altogether and read only the dialogue. Keep your screen direction lean and mean. Pro screenwriters find a way to get their voices into screen direction. How do they do that? They cheat. Like this: INT. ROGER’S ROOM- DAY Roger drags himself out of bed. He looks for his shirt, finds it and throws it on, finds his socks too, but...where are his pants? ROGER Honey, have you seen-- WIFE (O.S.) What? As Roger looks under the bed, something catches his eye. He pulls out, brilliant and fluorescent green, a man’s cuff link. What the...? Never, in his life, has he owned a cuff link, let alone freakin’ fluorescent green. The part about never owning a cuff link can’t be seen. What can be seen is Roger’s face, his confusion. This comes from finding another man’s cuff link. This can be seen, thus is ok for screen direction. The worry that Roger’s wife might be cheating comes across without a word of dialogue. Rather than tell us: Roger is upset because seven years ago his wife had an affair that he still has nightmares over. He goes to a shrink to this day over it. The shrink’s name is Stanley Gladhands and he lives on… Get it? Finesse screen direction, cheat it, but save the cheating for a key moment or scene. Don’t overuse the device, don’t get cute. Here’s an example from Backdraft: INT. ELEVATED TRAIN – MORNING A pissed-off Chicago, hauling itself off to work in the morning snap, passes by Brian’s window. Tough Midwestern brick. Tough Midwesterners. Heads-down in their 150 year war with a wind committed to pushing the whole damn thing into Lake Michigan. What a marvel this little paragraph is! Anyone living in Chicago–especially those of us who take the EL every day—can attest to the truth in that passage. If you were just following the KISS (keep it simple, stupid) approach, you would write something like: Brian rides a grimy subway car. There is nothing wrong with this. Describes what the camera sees. Problem is, anyone can write Brian rides a grimy subway car. Now look at the above example. Look how the writer puts you into the head of the protagonist. This is POV. It is advanced screenwriting. It’s what separates the pro from everyone else. Do you think the fact that you can’t see “their 150 year war with wind” is going to be penalized by the reader at that prodco/screenplay contest/agency? Hell no. Those eyes are starved for originality. The pro gives it to them with POV, with attitude. Thus, the true definition of screen direction: What the camera sees—with attitude.
INT. PARADE ROUTE- DAY
Jillian watches the beauty queen pass, her nails grinding the orange she holds into pulp.
The essence of the scene is Jillian’s attempt to cope with mortality, and her failure, as the parade rolls by.
Find the action, the physical equivalent, some business the actor can play, rather than hitting us with backstory (everything that happened before the movie began) that the camera can’t see.
Also avoid unnecessary detail, like this:
INT. CASINO- NIGHT
Pauly Vegas walks in, placing left foot in front of right, making his way to a craps table. He checks the table limit, a 25 dollar game, shakes his head and sighs, on the move again.
Pauly reaches into his pocket, finds some lint, a winter-fresh breath mint, the pink dry cleaning ticket from his Colombian laundry joint that never has his clothes ready on time, and a single dollar chip. Motioning with his left hand to the waitress for a gin and tonic refill, he smirks as he sees a blue-haired Bayonne lady squeal and scoop up her video poker winnings. Pauly bobs his head, all smiles as he finally spies, yes! A table!
This is not just unnecessary detail, but the wrong detail. The purpose of the scene is…what? Do you really believe the actor will care that on page 66, midway down the page, the writer wants him to shake his head and sigh before motioning with his left hand for a gin and tonic? Never going to happen. Waste of space, and a drag on the reader’s eye. Don’t do it.
Don’t do the production designer’s job either. If you want to tell me about the cat passing the fauve 19th Century Ming vase, that vase better be needed to tell the story. The damn cat too. A general rule: If in doubt, take it out. Cut everything you can. Does the scene still make sense? If you cut Pauly shaking his head and smiling, does the scene fall apart? No. Then it stays out.
Develop a cut instinct. Readers have only so much “eye.” If you kill them with screen direction, you feed the tendency to skip screen description altogether and read only the dialogue. Keep your screen direction lean and mean.
Pro screenwriters find a way to get their voices into screen direction. How do they do that?
They cheat. Like this:
INT. ROGER’S ROOM- DAY
Roger drags himself out of bed. He looks for his shirt, finds it and throws it on, finds his socks too, but...where are his pants?
ROGER
Honey, have you seen--
WIFE (O.S.)
What?
As Roger looks under the bed, something catches his eye. He pulls out, brilliant and fluorescent green, a man’s cuff link. What the...? Never, in his life, has he owned a cuff link, let alone freakin’ fluorescent green.
The part about never owning a cuff link can’t be seen. What can be seen is Roger’s face, his confusion. This comes from finding another man’s cuff link. This can be seen, thus is ok for screen direction. The worry that Roger’s wife might be cheating comes across without a word of dialogue. Rather than tell us: Roger is upset because seven years ago his wife had an affair that he still has nightmares over. He goes to a shrink to this day over it. The shrink’s name is Stanley Gladhands and he lives on…
Get it? Finesse screen direction, cheat it, but save the cheating for a key moment or scene. Don’t overuse the device, don’t get cute.
Here’s an example from Backdraft:
INT. ELEVATED TRAIN – MORNING A pissed-off Chicago, hauling itself off to work in the morning snap, passes by Brian’s window. Tough Midwestern brick. Tough Midwesterners. Heads-down in their 150 year war with a wind committed to pushing the whole damn thing into Lake Michigan.
INT. ELEVATED TRAIN – MORNING
A pissed-off Chicago, hauling itself off to work in the morning snap, passes by Brian’s window. Tough Midwestern brick. Tough Midwesterners. Heads-down in their 150 year war with a wind committed to pushing the whole damn thing into Lake Michigan.
What a marvel this little paragraph is! Anyone living in Chicago–especially those of us who take the EL every day—can attest to the truth in that passage. If you were just following the KISS (keep it simple, stupid) approach, you would write something like: Brian rides a grimy subway car. There is nothing wrong with this. Describes what the camera sees. Problem is, anyone can write Brian rides a grimy subway car. Now look at the above example. Look how the writer puts you into the head of the protagonist. This is POV. It is advanced screenwriting. It’s what separates the pro from everyone else. Do you think the fact that you can’t see “their 150 year war with wind” is going to be penalized by the reader at that prodco/screenplay contest/agency? Hell no. Those eyes are starved for originality. The pro gives it to them with POV, with attitude. Thus, the true definition of screen direction: What the camera sees—with attitude.
Format isn’t sexy.
I’d recommend you study it only under special circumstances: Like, you want to sell your script.
Object Lesson 4: Learn the rules. Then learn how to break the rules.
Use professional software. Final Draft and Movie Magic are best. Free programs exist: www.celtx.com is the Columbia Film & Video School broke-ass student program of choice. Generally fine, it has a glitch or two (dialogue can drop off at page end, short pages, etc.) Please don’t use Word.
Read screenplays. There are thousands available online. Start with www.script-o-rama.com or www.simplyscripts.com Fan of Alien 3? (Ok, nobody’s a fan of Alien 3, but if you were…I’m just sayin’…) You could go to Drew’s and find the William Gibson draft, two revised drafts, and a pair of “unused drafts.” Grab the Director’s cut DVD, curl up with some Orville Redenbacher’s Kettle Korn and check out what 17 drafts have wrought.
When studying scripts, you’ll notice something: There are as many styles as writers. A Woody Allen script looks different than a Charlie Kaufman script. Star Wars looks nothing like Sin City, which bears small resemblance to Dark Knight. Being a student of screenwriting craft means reading screenplays. Want to hone your own style? Read screenplays.
Here are some general guidelines:
SCENE HEADINGS: Every scene opens with a scene heading. Is the scene indoors? Use INT. Outdoors is EXT. Follow this with location. INT. ROOM, EXT. STREET. Be as specific as possible with your locations. Next comes time of day. I mostly keep to these five: DAY, NIGHT, CONTINUOUS, LATER, and SAME. I am not a fan of EARLY AFTERNOON, TWILIGHT, or DAWN. The only reason you’d say INT. ROOM- 7:01AM, is if it’s necessary to plot, otherwise keep it simple: DAY, NIGHT, LATER, SAME, CONTINUOUS.
SCENE HEADING USES:
Use a scene heading when you change time or location.
Use a scene heading when you indicate a flashback, montage, time frame, or a dream sequence.
INT. JIM’S HOUSE- DAY (1962)
INT. JIM’S JOINT- NIGHT (FLASHBACK)
INT. JIM’S PLACE- DAY (DREAM SEQUENCE)
SECONDARY SCENE HEADINGS: Use these if you cut to multiple areas within a single location. Like this…
INT. CLEAVER HOME -- DAY
Mom makes breakfast at the kitchen stove.
MOM
Beaver!
BEAVER (O.S)
Coming!
BATHROOM
Beaver’s right arm works furiously, closing the jar of zit cream.
BEAVER
Why can’t I get five minutes alone! Wally gets five minutes!
MOM (O.S.)
Get down here now, mister!
KITCHEN
Mom slams a stack of pancakes on the table.
I know what you’re doing up there, young man!
Beaver tucks up his well-thumbed Playboy and stalks out.
Using secondary scene headings you can cut between different groups within the same room…
INT. PARTY HOUSE- NIGHT
Vanessa holds court over her crew, Appletini in hand.
VANESSA
Oh my God, look what the cat puked up.
DOOR WAY
Janine enters, with Vanessa’s Ex-Beau in tow. Looking across the room...
EX-BEAU
Uh-oh.
Both stare at Vanessa...
Maybe we should go.
JANINE
No, no...
(cuddles with Ex-Beau)
I want her to see what she’s missing.
JESSICA
Slams her appletini down in a gulp...
The little slut dies tonight.
SCREEN DIRECTION: BASICS
In Forrest Gump-ese: Some people call them action lines. Some people call it body copy. Others call it narrative description.
Here, we’ll call it screen direction.
When you think about it, aside from the scene headings, there are only two parts to a screenplay: Screen Direction and Dialogue.
What is screen direction? At its most basic level, screen direction is what the camera sees. Let me start with what is not screen direction…
The non-visual is not screen direction. “Sandy realizes….” “Wally thinks…” How can the camera see someone thinking? If a giant light bulb appears over his head, write it in. If he’s sitting on the dock of the bay thinking, all the camera can see is him sitting on the dock of the bay. In general, just describe the visual, what the camera sees.
Notice I said “in general.” There is another component to writing good screen direction which we’ll get to shortly. This leads us to the legal department’s favorite saying:
Object Lesson 5: There is no one single way to write a screenplay.
Pros cheat. We’ll go over ways they break the rules, but first let’s learn the rules. Ok?
Script Gods Must Die?
Good Reader, let me tell you what you’ll find here, and who the hell I, your Humble Narrator, am.
Script Gods Must Die will be a place of teaching.
I will never bullshit you. If I try such heresy, I expect you to call me on it, toot-freakin’-sweet.
What can be said about screenwriting that hasn’t been said already? Why add to the compost heap of ten-thousand blogs and websites already out there?
No doubt you can, and should, learn about moviemaking from the likes of Peter Jackson or Christopher Nolan. It’s always best to study from the best. But you can also learn from the Alan Smithees of the world—the terrifying object lessons of what not to do!
Thus we come to me, your very own Alan Smithee, and my contribution to the world of cinema.
Object Lesson 1: Don’t screw up your first movie. You may never get another chance.
Yeah, I’m that guy. Drove my Chevy to the Levee but the Levee was dry.
I wrote and directed Jane Doe. Six months after its release, Calista Flockhart became Ally McBeal. The film was submitted to only one festival (and won it) but never got a theatrical release, nor a single review. Yet here, as if by divine will, it was popping up on Inside Edition and Entertainment Tonight. When the DVD came out, it was four across at every Blockbuster and Hollywood video in the country.
With this “heat” came possibilities. William Morris, meetings. Scripts pitched and optioned to major producers and development people. Horseshoes and hand grenades.
For a multitude of reasons, even though Jane Doe went on to gross well over a million dollars, it wasn’t the breakthrough movie a first-time writer/director dreams about; some of that might be due to the fact I had, incredibly,never stepped on a movie set. I was clueless about the process—the machinations of what it takes to actually make a movie.
Thus is born this blog. And the simple thought that maybe I can help some people.
Since Jane Doe (which was a pretty good play) there have been optioned screenplays, Nicholl Fellowship and Slamdance semifinal scripts, published plays, a book, multiple short films and webisodes. The last several years I’ve been a script consultant and screenwriting instructor at Columbia College and Chicago Filmmakers. That’s some of who I am.
Truth be told, I’m more interested in you.
How would you describe yourself as a writer?
Maybe you’re like many of my Chicago students: You have an idea. You’ve never written a screenplay. You thought you might take a stab at writing a movie. But how? You’ve got no clue what it looks like, or what to do.
You go online, punch in “screenwriting,” and damn! 10,222 cookie-cutter sites, so damnnnn preeety! All that bland information, the Same Old Shit from gurus and self-appointed Script Gods. “Write compelling characters!” “Tell personal stories that matter!” You spend an hour surfing and come away with a migraine. Write compelling characters?! Great—how the hell do you go about doing that?!
Oh, of course…
Buy the guru’s book.
Sign up for the guru’s online class.
Sign up for his traveling one-day $300 comprehensive seminar, coming soon to a city near you!
Send the script in and pay $400 for the guru’s “comprehensive evaluation.”
Industries upon industries built on you, Good Reader, and your desire to tell a story. They prey upon you, your desire to get into the game. Truth is: Almost none of the gurus are in the game themselves. Look up their credits on Google or IMDB to find the reality.
Writing for film is equal parts art and craft. The craft—format, structure, character development—can be taught. For you “beginners,” Scripts Gods Must Die will take a stab at each of these, and help answer some questions you have on basics.
For the “advanced” writers—what exactly does that mean?
You’ve written a script (or 10) and sent it (them) out to varying degrees of success. No breakthroughs, but there’s been “movement.”
Or maybe you’ve had zero movement, and you’re pissed off. It’s ok to admit that!
Any of the following scenarios sound familiar?
Can I tell you: The agent did respond.
Hollywood rejection sounds like this:
…………………………………………………………………
Silent. Economical. Perfect.
You keep waiting for news, hoping something will break. What the hell else are you gonna do? And this is the $64,000 question: What can you do about it?
How about controlling what you can control?
How about being proactive?
How about not waiting for the phone to ring?
How about making something happen.
But how? You’ve read all the books and blogs; you took classes and seminars; you went to the cattle-calls at Pitchfest, even shelled out $300 for Screenwriting Expo 5…
Consider today’s thought from the sales department:
A customer will do what they do, until the pain of doing it becomes unbearable.
Or this thought, from The Sage:
Lessons are taught until they are learned.
There is an angle, something you haven’t thought about yet. There is a way. When they told you at Pitchfest nobody is looking to buy your character-driven, deeply heartfelt and personal drama inspired from your very own grandpa and his days as a catfish noodler, what did you do? Did you crumble? Did you even finish the script? Welcome to Darwinism, Hollywood-style.
The Pitchfest finochio goes back to his gig at Smores, Buttcheek and Jones… and you? You toss in. You give up. Maybe it wasn’t meant to be. Writing is a pain in the ass. Not to mention the chances of your script turning into Slumdog Millionaire, Juno, Little Miss Sunshine are about as likely as you winning the Illinois Powerball Jackpot.
Object Lesson 2: If I can get my movie made, you can make yours.
That is my message to you, Good Reader.
You might be the genius in the crowd. You might not. Let’s say we find out. Read Script Gods Must Die, see if there’s learning here.
Vamos!
