Remember, for all the stylistic flourishes you throw in, screen direction is about functionality.

What is the camera seeing? For instance, from The Limey:

Plenty of style here. Also purpose: “The building approaching. The one he has his eye on. The target.” This is a walk-through for Wilson, a set-up for what is about to happen. The white space makes it an easy read, as opposed to, say, this passage from Mulholland Drive:

Damn! The eye rebels, does it not? Incredible paragraph, incredible movie. Why isn’t this broken up with white space? No idea, but wouldn’t it be easier to read it like this:

Lastly, don’t forget subtext. You want subtext in both dialogue and screen direction. How to do that?

Say it without saying it.

(More to come on this subject later…)

“Don’t feel bad. You had a good run…”

“To even get to the Quarterfinals of Nicholl is a victory! Think about how many people don’t get that far…”

“You wrote a great script. They blew it. Your script will find a sympathetic eye, just wait…”

And wait…

And wait…

A script of mine was just bounced at Nicholl. Made the Quarterfinals. I had high hopes. Alas…

Never knowing why your script got bounced, of course, is maddening. But that’s a constant. Unless you pay extra, you’ll never know why you didn’t make the grade. ‘Nor will you ever find out why you advanced. It’s a mystery. Perhaps you got a reader who loves romantic comedy while you wrote a “contained” thriller. Maybe before reading your script the reader got a parking ticket, or yawned their way through two other scripts that day before reaching for your magnum opus. Maybe they just didn’t “get” your withering, pithy POV. Doesn’t matter why, you’re out, so face up to it.

The real difficulty in getting bounced at Nicholl is the lost opportunity. With Nicholl, Quarterfinals are all right, but the real action happens at the SemiFinal round and beyond. The one time I made it that far I got 20+ emails and queries within the month. They came out of the woodwork, heavy people—-Benderspink, Jerry Bruckheimer, an agent from Endeavor, not to mention about 15 managers who were suddenly interested in my screenwriting career.

It’s wonderful exposure and why people pony up the entry fees for these screenwriting contests. Because without an agent, where the hell are you going to turn? How are you going to get some action on your script? One route are the contests. So, yeah, Quarterfinals are nice. But just nice, know what I mean? Talk about kissing your cousin…more like kissing your dog.  It’s something you can put on a resume and beats scratching your ass…but isn’t going get your script much action. If only, if only, IF ONLY you could have gotten to the next round!

Here’s one way to get bounced from Nicholl in style: Do NOT go to see #1 movie THE EXPENDABLES (is that not sad?)  Rather, kick back with some red wine, light a nice Cohiba, take out the Collector’s DVD of The Pope Of Greenwich Village. Watch Mickey Rourke and Eric Roberts in their prime, play small-time hustlers with all “the moves.” Marvel at Vincent Patrick’s dialogue and challenge yourself to try to come close. “Charley…they took my thumb!”

Realize that you can control only what you can control. Don’t agonize over rejection. Get by it, get over it. Move on.

I’ll leave you with a Charles Bukowski excerp about style, from the poem of the same name:

“Style is the answer to everything.
Fresh way to approach a dull or dangerous day.
To do a dull thing with style is preferable to doing a dangerous thing without style.
To do a dangerous thing with style, is what I call art.
Bullfighting can be an art.
Boxing can be an art.
Loving can be an art.
Opening a can of sardines can be an art.
Not many have style.
Not many can keep style.
I have seen dogs with more style than men.
Although not many dogs have style.
Cats have it with abundance.

When Hemingway put his brains to the wall with a shotgun, that was style.
For sometimes people give you style.
Joan of Arc had style.
John the Baptist.
Jesus.
Socrates.
Caesar.
Garcia Lorca.
I have met men in jail with style.
I have met more men in jail with style than men out of jail.
Style is a difference, a way of doing, a way of being done.
Six herons standing quietly in a pool of water, or you, walking
out of the bathroom without seeing me.”

Once you’re writing with POV, don’t forget to avoid the booby-traps. For instance, directing the script. From Nueromancer:

Hey, some great writing here. Look at that description of Chiba City above. Problem is the BOOM DOWN stuff, the SMASH CUT TO, etc. For a spec screenplay, you want to avoid these. Please don’t write it like From Russia With Love:

Do this, and it won’t matter how you tell your story. They won’t read past page 1, let alone the full script.

Another booby-trap is forgetting to tell the story in the cut. Look at this student example:

What needs work here?

• The camera can’t see “she realizes.”
• We follow her downstairs without a cut? Scorsese does this in Goodfellas (outside club, through kitchen, to front of house table waiting and Franky Valli) or Raging Bull (DeNiro emerges from training room, through crowd, into the ring). Epic filmmaking, but here? To do laundry? Gus Van Sant does it in Elephant for the sake of claustrophobia, for POV. If I need her in the laundry room for story purposes, fine, if not, cut it. Tell the story in the cut.
• “A few minutes later the door bell rings.” Are you saying we haven’t cut yet? What is the camera seeing for “a few minutes”? Sorry, I’m not paying $10+ to watch her dirty laundry spin.

This is two separate scenes, maybe three, depending on need. Do I need to see her putting clothes in the machine? How does that advance character or plot? Please ask these questions before you do the same with your writing.

Let’s try another student example. Examine this paragraph:

So, what needs work?

• Don’t direct the screenplay.  “The shot flashes…“ “The scene cuts to” “The wide shot reveals…” Never give camera directions, never speak of camera location or angle.
• No screen direction more than five lines. Assuming every word is needed (it is not) move to a second paragraph. Give white space. Three paragraphs here, not one.
• “…as they talk and he explains to her…” If it’s dialogue, write it as dialogue, not in screen direction.
• “They were in the middle of a drive by…” Never use past tense. The movie (and script) is unfolding now, present tense.
• Nothing in the head can be seen by the camera. Generally keep screen direction to what we can see or hear.

How would I rewrite this? Maybe something like this:

Check your pages, make sure you don’t fall into any of these traps.

Good Readers…

En route to the Philippines, I leave you with some thoughts about the business of screenwriting from some Hollywood writers who have paid dues much longer than I. I don’t claim to have but a glimmer of first-hand experience here, but I will add this profound, cosmococcic statement:

The biz kinda…sucks.

You will be eaten alive if you don’t concern yourself with the biz. The journey from idea to finished spec script, lengthy and hellish as it may be, is 1/10^th the journey. The rest is the gentle art of making it. The biz, Good Reader—neglect it at your peril.

Talk to you all soon, from the other side of the world.

PP

“I never had an original idea in Hollywood. Well, I did, but no one ever liked them. . . . To make myself feel better, I repeated my mantra over and over, The check is good. The check is good. It’s the mantra of all L.A. screenwriters — once they find out that after years of hard pitching, writing, rewriting, and silly story meetings, there is no movie, no audience, no satisfaction — or that there is a movie but it has little in common with the script they wrote.”

– William Missouri Downs

“How deeply do I let business considerations affect choices that might otherwise be more or less esthetic? . . . Do I choose the upbeat rather than the downer ending because I know it will score better at the preview? Can the idea be sold in a single sentence? Can it compete with space aliens and tornadoes and missions impossible?”– Edward Zwick

“Sometimes I hear that some studio is interested in me. Then they discover that this is the guy who works with no script, that there is no casting discussion, no interference, that I have the final cut, and that does it.”– Mike Leigh

“You have more and more people coming into the tent with the creative guys. You have marketing and concept testers, advertising people. What you find gets the high numbers is easily appealing subjects: a baby, a big broad joke, a high concept. Everything is tested. The effect is to lessen the gamble, but in fact you destroy a writer’s confidence and creativity once so many people are invited into the tent.”– James L. Brooks

“ . . the movie business flattens everything in its wake like an ancient dead tree falling from an immense height into a particularly soft spot of moist, dumb green grass. . . . I suppose the only things that have ever seemed to hold my interest in life are the stories we tell one another, the things overheard and unsaid, the choices people make, their desires and fears and dreams. But it’s very difficult to pursue that interest in the movies of today, perhaps to pursue that interest in the America of today. Because in the America of today, the sole arbiter of nearly every kind of art (or even entertainment) is not what it provides but only what it makes.”– John Malkovich

“[My  screenplays are not dark. Dark is a code word in Hollywood for uncommercial. I've always been interested in people, perfectly intelligent people, who seem to have some sort of grasp on life but go around acting in a self-defeating way because they are expressing some neurosis -- either sexual or spiritual. The guy who saves a President's plane from terrorists isn't terribly interesting to an artist. . . . The goal of any artist -- somebody else said this, but I'll take credit for it -- is to attempt to sell out but fail. By that yardstick, I've done pretty well. Though at some point the product becomes unworth your time and effort. [Martin] Scorsese and I went through this with BRINGING OUT THE DEAD. At the last minute, we received notes from the producer trying to simplify the main character’s struggle to more of a problem-solution situation. But life tends to give us dilemmas, which are never really solved. Marty and I wrote the producer back, saying that, true or not, you see character as an instrument of elucidation, whereas we see character as an instrument of mystery.”– Paul Schrader

“Being a good filmmaker does not mean you know how to sell your idea. But to succeed, that’s exactly what you’re going to have to do, over and over.”–Joe Pichirallo

“The usual wages of screenwriting in Hollywood are money and oblivion .”–Aljean Harmetz

“Nobody goes to Hollywood to sell their soul. The truth is, people give it up for free.”–Emma-Kate Croghan

Screen Direction and Dialogue. Less the slugline, that is all there is to a screenplay. While it might be argued that dialogue is far more important, the ability to write clean, crisp screen direction is essential.

What is the best way to go about it? Recall the earlier definition: Screen direction is what the camera sees—with attitude. There are two parts to this, let’s examine them both:

What the camera sees … The easier part, one would think, is to write in a clean and basic style only what the audience sees. Sadly, there is nothing easy about this.

How much do you describe? What if you leave something important out?  You read so many scripts that include massive detail, including camera direction. If there’s no one correct model, how the hell do you write it so your script stands out?

Make the script a good read.

What’s that mean? It means you want the reader to read it relentlessly. You want the reader to read it fast, to be a page turner; a teaser, a heartbreaker, or a laugh a minute.  It means—for screen direction—you want the script to read vertically, to give white space, to not have more than five lines in any paragraph. You want to pick strong, active verbs; ditch all weak adverbs and adjectives (Walks slowly? Anyone can write that!) You want to avoid all unnecessary detail. You want to never write character thoughts or write “in the head.” You want to get in late, get out early. Accomplish what the scene needs to accomplish, and get out.

But will that be enough to make you stand out? No.

You need to take it further. And here’s where the “with attitude” part enters.

With screen direction, the key is POV.

You need to inject your personality, your voice, your POV, into screen direction.  How do you do that with the strict “show only what the camera sees” rule? The answer is: You don’t.

Tell the story straight-forward where you can; give us poetry and POV when you have to. Do it when you want to blow the reader away, in key moments and scenes. I don’t need devastating description when the protagonist walks into a Starbucks for a latte.  I might need it, though, when the protagonist’s mother dies.

Not sure what I mean by POV? Let’s look at some examples. The first, from Backdraft:

Beautiful. We are put, literally, into the character’s mind. “I never forget a face, kid…” is the character talking to the fire in screen direction. This is exactly what you want for your script—screen direction as extension of dialogue. “Something flesh-colored. Shit. It’s a body.” Right into Brian’s head. Exactly.

The best example of POV I’ve ever seen comes from—can you believe it?—a Rom Com. My Best Friend’s Wedding. A stylistic tour-de-force that, from page 1, puts you into a scary place–right into Julia Roberts character’s head:

Two levels at work here. Sure, we get the basics. Who’s in the shot and what’s happening. She’s forging a letter, praying she doesn’t get caught. But look at how we’re getting the information. Pure POV. The reader experiences every second—in screen direction—through her eyes.

This is writing no longer concerned about just craft. This is beyond craft.

This is where the art in screenwriting is found.

“I don’t write screenplay character biographies beforehand. I usually go in knowing some sequences: this is where I want to start, this is where I want to end.”– John Sayles

“Character arcs always seem to be a big issue with film studio executives . . . so the inevitable questions were posed: What was her emotional journey? How does she change? Is she a rich little snob who learns to embrace the less fortunate when she becomes penniless or is she a racist who becomes more liberal when she . . . yawn yawn.”–Elizabeth Chandler

One of the highest compliments any writer can hear is: “Your movie brought back memories of my brother.  He died last year….” Or, “Your movie meant so much to me. My mother was the same way…”

Strike a chord with people. Write something that resonates. Synthesize the personal into something that resonates as universal. Do this and you have found—as the Bard once said—the crux of the biscuit.

But how do you write characters that resonate, that will mean something to the audience?

Consider this: In all moviedom, there are only three types of character models:

1)    Characters that exist in the real world.

2)   Characters that are wholly invented.

3)   Characters that are a combination of 1 or 2.

As the writer, you are God.

You decide every breath every character in your movie will take. Characters based strictly on people you know in the real world can sometimes turn sentimental, can lose perspective. Then again, if you base them entirely on fiction, they may be stiff, lack real-life passion, dialogue, or humor.

My choice is Column 3. The Frankenstein monster of part creation, part real.

Often times what happens in real life cannot be believed, let alone invented. Ever see anyone eat baby back ribs like Uncle Rocky? How about your pal Mickey who works graveyard shift at the porno bookstore and feeds you dialogue no human being has ever uttered before.

Grab a pen, write down every word Mickey says because…

It’s Life: Use it all.

Sunday afternoon on line at Target. 2 A.M. Saturday on the Chicago Transit Authority Blue Line. You hear someone say something and it’s good. Grab a pen, get it down on paper. Assuming it’s not a passage from a published novel, if you hear it and get it down, you just wrote it.

Someone at the Post Office looks exactly like the antagonist you imagined in your story? Grab a pen; write down every detail of his look; the way he moves, even what he says. Stranger than fiction, you usually cannot beat what the real world offers.

“Film to me, in its essence, in its ultimate nature, is silent. Music and dialogue are there to fill what is lacking in the image. But you should be able to tell the story with moving pictures alone.”–Takeshi Kitano

“. . . it is true that language and forward movement in the cinema are jolly hard to reconcile. It’s a very, very, difficult thing to do. . . . There is still a place in the cinema for movies that are driven by the human face, and not by explosions and cars and guns and action sequences . . . there’s such a thing as action and speed within thought rather than within a ceaseless milkshake of images.”–David Hare

Find a scene you’ve written with 10 lines of dialogue. Try to write it in 5 lines. If you have 5 lines, try to say what you need to say in 2 lines. If you have 2, say what you must without dialogue.

As a script analyst, one of the first questions I ask, on every page, is purpose of scene. What is the writer trying to accomplish? What is the essence?

Develop the cut instinct.

Go into every scene looking to cut, to clarify. The old adage applies: Less is more. If the scene doesn’t advance plot or character, dump it. If the dialogue runs on and accomplishes little, dump it.

INT. STARBUCKS- DAY.  You’ve written three pages of dialogue for your Starbucks scene and like what you’ve got so far. Only problem is: You don’t realize how long three minutes of screen time is, especially with your characters just sitting at a table talking. Every word is essential though, you’re sure of that. So, for the hell of it, let’s time it out right now. Read every word.

I’ll wait…

Does it read long? Do you need every interchange? Or is there fat to trim? Please don’t forget, actors fill in emotional gaps visually; you don’t have to speak out all meaning and intention. Silence is ok. Actors can play silence. Norma Desmond, Sunset Boulevard…

“We didn’t need dialogue…we had faces.”

A large part of writing dialogue for movies is the realization that you don’t need to write dialogue. Leave it unspoken. Leave it said in a glance, or a non-glance. Tease the Reader. Withhold information. Make them want to turn the page.

But when dialogue is called for, how do you make it special? How do you get your script by that dreaded demigod, the Hollywood Reader?

Good dialogue makes a sound: Use your ears.

Want to write better dialogue? Use your ears. Painful as it is, you’re going to have to listen to people talk. Real human conversations. Christ! Torture! What you will hear is the glorious mendacity of the human tongue. If you listen, really listen, you will hear:

• Imperfections
• Stops & starts
• Interruption
• Half-sentences
• Forgotten thoughts
• Silences
• Different rhythms
• Different tones
• Stuttering
• Cursing
• Street lingo
• Cultural and social differences
• Foreign languages
• Malapropism
• Repetition

These and many more belong in your dialogue.

What doesn’t belong?

• Perfectly punctuated sentences.
• Thesaurus torture, using words no human has ever uttered.
• Epic monologues
• Bland table conversations that go on, and on, and…

The said and unsaid. Dialogue and subtext. Symbiotic. Train rails, side by side. The nature of every scene is what is said, and what is really said. Meaning: The essence of the scene, the subtext. What are the actors playing? Have you spoken out every intention and emotion with exposition? Have you left them enough to work with? Let’s look at what to do, and what not to do. First, an example of exposition, the killer of subtext: