Short but sweet. Makes you wonder what his “purpose” is or why “no one ever seems to be in his way.” This is what you want from your own writing. Tease the reader; make them want to turn the page.

You can also introduce characters through their surroundings, as in Croupier:

The art in character introductions is knowing when you have too much of a good thing. Look at this example from 15 Minutes:

The camera can see “Eddie is smoothly handsome, tough, smart and tired.” The camera cannot see “continually mentioned in New York columns and has been subject of several magazine articles.” You’re telling me something the camera can’t see. How can I know, visually, that Hawkins “has dealt with them all…”? You can cheat, yes, but there is a fine balance between implied description and telling. For my money, this example goes too far.

One last point on this subject: Object Lesson 7: A pro gets away with murder. You won’t.

It’s frustrating to go to Drew’s Script-O-Rama and read scripts that break every rule in the book. So how far can you push it, yet keep within the bounds of “acceptable” formatting? Let’s look at a character description from Light Sleeper:

The voice is Paul Schrader (Taxi Driver), one of the great screenwriters. His character description is poetry. Contrary to the “just tell me who’s in the shot and what’s happening” advocates, I will say there is a place for poetry in screenplays. If you’re writing like this the chances are good you will eventually separate from the crowd. Yet, look at the above example: Half of it, at least, cannot be seen by the camera. One could argue that passages like “drifting toward an unknown destination…” and “The destination is love” don’t belong. Camera can’t see ‘em, so out they come, right?

Descriptions like this are the art of screenwriting. This is what will separate you—knowing when and how to break the rules, and having the writing chops to break them like nobody else.

“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:

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:

Or,

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.

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.

SERIES OF SHOTS plays out over a short time frame.

The MONTAGE unfolds gentler, over a longer period of time:

Ah, English summer!

Try to give your screen direction “white space” (where the camera would naturally cut) wherever possible…

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:

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…

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:

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?

• You placed quarterfinals at the Southwest by Southeast Panhandle State Screenwriting Competition. They claimed industry pros would read your script but you haven’t heard back yet.
• You sent out query letters and got a response from producer Rod Blagogovitch. His GotaGuy Prodco is located somewhere in Encino. You sent out the script with a $100 “reading fee” but haven’t heard back.
• Your pitch for Stay Puff Marshmallow Man In Montana was well-received at Pitchfest. A junior agent at William Morris was interested enough to give you his card. You phone him, but the calls go unanswered. You follow up with emails, nothing. You don’t want to come across like a stalker so you wait for the agent to respond. It’s been three months…

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!