© Copyright 1991, 1999 Blake Harris. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Chapter Six
Giving Your Screenplays Power
The Magic Of Surprise
Your cleverness as a plot-builder lies, in
part, in your ability to devise plot-threads that look
quite simple, that are easy to follow, and then to give
a sudden, unexpected twist.
You get the audience thinking in a certain
direction, you get them expecting something to happen a
certain way. Then something else happens. You "fool"
the audience, yet do not make fools of them--an
important distinction.
Surprises come from the unexpected, though
logical, introduction of some point that could be
foreseen by the clever guesser, but not by the mass
audience.
A surprise only works well when, once
revealed, it is completely logical that the story takes
this turn. There must be good reasons for the
surprise, reasons which the viewer already knows before
the surprise is introduced.
You can't have a surprise which the audience
will considered thrown in simply to surprise them.
New Twists
A story must seem fresh and new to the
audience. So freshness of idea is a necessary
ingredient of a saleable script.
"To sell a story you must have either a new
plot or a new use of an old idea," was advice given to
screenwriters back in 1916 by Epes Withrop Sargent.
"Since the new idea scarcely seems to exist, you must
learn to make old ideas look so new that spectators are
convinced that they are new. You must take part of one
story and part of another, put a new thought with two
old factors and get something that will not look like
either of your sources."
If that advice had some validity back in the
early dawn of the motion picture industry, it certainly
is something to think a hundred thousand feature films
down the line.
True, there are no "new" basic plots. A chap
named Georges Polti worked out 36 dramatic situations,
various facets of which he said formed the basis of all
human drama. He actually said there might be a few
more, but other efforts to add to his list of 36 so far
have been pretty lame.
But if you think about it, films show the
same kinds of situations over and over again. Someone
is kidnapped. Someone sacrifices himself for an ideal.
One sees crimes of passion. One sees adultery. Or two
lovers overcome an obstacle to their love.
The basic dramatic situations have been dealt
with time and again down through the ages.
To make a screenplay seem fresh and original,
one needs a novel combination of situations, a slightly
different slant or viewpoint, a clever re-shaping of
the garments which cover the ancient skeletons of plot.
The moment a new treatment of the basic
dramatic situations is screened, then it has been done.
Familiarity with a lot of films, the more recent ones
first, can help one to know what is fresh and original.
But when a writer is starting out, anything which comes
to mind easily probably has been done before. Don't be
too hasty to proclaim an idea as "new" or "original"
until you have given it a pretty thorough study, looked
at it from all angles, sought out every weakness, and
tracked down all possible twists in the development of
the story.
This is not to say that one should simply
search for one's ideas in the films that have already
been done. There is more than enough of this in
Hollywood already.
The new idea can come from innumerable
sources.
But also remember that a new slant is just a
starting point. A film works, not because of a new
twist, but rather through the skillful execution of
that idea.
Atmosphere And Setting
Atmosphere is usually defined as "any
surrounding or pervading influence or condition." In
real life, such influences or conditions in one's
environment frequently have a very definite affect.
In a successful film, there often is a
pervading atmosphere. This must aid the creation of a
cohesive whole without obtruding itself unduly into the
story.
Another way of describing atmosphere is "the
characterization of inanimate things." However,
atmosphere is not always confined to the inanimate.
Really it can include people, activities, animals,
setting, props--the entire background against which a
film story is played out.
Atmosphere cannot be built into a story all
in one scene at the beginning. It is a thing which
must be put in with a deft hand--a touch here and
there. For it can easily be overdone to a point where
it overshadows the picture. But as other elements are
necessary in a story, so must atmosphere have its place
if the film is to have that feeling of reality that is
so necessary to give it life.
The film Bladerunner is an example of how
atmosphere can be used to heighten the reality of a
film. In this case, a very different world was made
completely credible.
The employment of atmosphere must be followed
up as the story progresses. A writer should not forget
the fact that each thing he employs should aid in
reflecting the characters of his main people or theme
that he is dealing with.
In a script, then, atmosphere helps in three
distinct ways:
1) By making scenes more convincing and interesting.
2) By better characterizing the people in the story.
3) By helping to unify the various scenes into a
cohesive whole.
In scene descriptions in a script, elaborate
detail is unnecessary and unwanted. But through a few
carefully chosen words, the screenwriter should strive
to give a clear picture of the scene, the action and
the pervading atmosphere.
Robert Bolt's Doctor Zhivago is a film that
very effectively uses atmosphere to create a rich film
that covers many years, and yet is a beautifully
unified tapestry of setting, action and character
development. That richness is first found in the stage
directions. For example:
EXT. GROMEKO STREET (POOR QUARTER) -- DAY -- WINTER --
SNOW
Lara is walking toward us through the poor district, a
near slum. She is familiar with the section and its
people: the old and uncared-for, the grim-looking young
adults, the dirty, cheerful children. A factory siren
is blowing at the end of the street toward which she is
walking and factory hands are beginning to emerge.
They are dirty and exhausted, poorly clad, heavy
footed; they do not talk.
Or:
INT. CATTLE CAR -- NIGHT
The red-hot stove in the cattle car sheds a cheerful
glow on the filthy straw which is trampled and sticky,
strewn with garbage. In the straw lie sleeping
figures, fully clothed under ragged blankets and coats;
hairy faces, mouths agape; men, women and children
mixed promiscuously. The scene gives the illusion of a
sort of basic comfort; we feel at any rate the
passengers must be warm enough. Filthy cooking
utensils swing and slop in the movement of the train.
[(c) Copyright 1965 Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, Inc., New
York, New York]
The screenwriter's aim in writing good stage
directions is, in a very few words, to help the reader
(producer, director, actors etc.) "see" and so then
create on film the images he has in his mind.
The pervading atmosphere in a film is
actually part of the style of a script.
Irwin R. Blacker in his excellent book The
Elements Of Screenwriting (recommended reading by the
way) says: "The writer's style and vision, be it mythic
or realistic, or Hollywood romantic, is a large part of
the unity of a film. The moment that unity is broken,
the audience is lost...
"The way a writer approaches his material is
his style: the vision he has of the story. Almost any
story might have more than one vision, but when one has
been selected, it must be consistent throughout."
Before you start actually writing the script,
you must work out what the pervading atmosphere or
style of the film is going to be. Then you have to
stick with this all the way through.
Choosing Your Genres
Films fall into a number of different genres.
By genre is meant "a category of film
distinguished by a definite style, form or content."
In telling any story, a writer should pick
his genre carefully.
The genre emphasizes certain aspects of a
story. In an action-adventure, for instance, there may
also be plenty of mystery, romance or comedy. But the
action and adventure aspects of the story receive the
most attention.
And as well as content, genre also partly
determines the style of the film.
Understanding the differences between genres
gives you a framework of past similar films upon which
to draw.
There are trends in each genre which a writer
should be aware of. These can be worked out by
watching recent hits and observing the general approach
in these films.
For instance, the Western has gone through a
number of transformations through the years, after
being pronounced dead on several occasions. Hollywood
had all but given up Westerns, only to see Young Guns
followed a few years later with Dances With Wolves and
Unforgiven, box office hits that also earned much
critical acclaim.
However, Dances With Wolves and Unforgiven
have a very different feel and style than Shane or The
Magnificent Seven.
The
Importance Of Establishment
Eastablishment of characters, settings, time
and relationships is something often not given enough
attention by the novice screenwriter.
This does not mean that it is necessary to
use the clumsy expedient of a succession of non-
essential scenes to establish these things.
But you cannot have mysterious characters
prowling through your plot to strip off crepe whiskers
at the last moment and proclaim their identities. The
viewer stops following the plot to some degree whenever
a character is not sufficiently established. Plot and
interest in the plot are sacrificed to curiosity or
confusion over who the person is.
It is always better to establish a character
when he enters the story--or a soon after that as
possible.
Establishment is not a lengthy process and
does not mean revealing the full depth and breadth of
the character. But it is giving the audience enough so
they know what they need to know about the character in
relation to other characters and in relation to the
plot so far developed. And giving it to them when they
need to know it.
There are many, many ways to rapidly
establish a character--through clothes, through the
setting, through how others treat the character,
through what the character is doing, even the old sign
on the door will sometimes do the trick.
The same thing actually applies to filming a
scene. Unless there is a very specific dramatic reason
to do otherwise, you need to establish the characters
in a scene before you concentrate the shot on one of
them. Imagine, for instance, a scene where two friends
are talking in a cafe--except that we have only seen
one of the two friends. He talks on for a couple of
minutes. We don't know who he is talking to. We never
see the other friend during all this time. The
audience is going to start to wonder who he is talking
to. And as a result, they are going to be less
involved in the actual conversation.
A screenwriter usually is not concerned about
choice of shots that would establish a scene. But he
is concerned about effectively establishing the
elements of his story.
Characters must be established. So must time
and place, as well as the basic nature of the conflict-
-always as rapidly as possible. In an indirect way,
the theme of the film must also be established in the
opening.
Establishment through what is shown is always
preferable to verbal establishment as it has more
impact. If the hero, for instance, is seen with a
younger woman, let the action show the relationship. A
wife, a sister or a sweetheart generally have different
attitudes, and it is simple to invent some little bit
of business what will show the precise relationship.
If members of the audience don't know who the
characters are, their relationship, where and when the
action is taking place, they will become confused and
won't follow the story.
Once a character is established, the audience
can then continue to learn more about the person as the
plot unfolds. First establish, then develop.
Plausibility And Illusion
Of Reality
A screenwriter is generally obligated to make
his story seem real to the audience. People like
stories that are both real and have some purpose--a
theme.
This is absolute in everything but animation.
There is no exception--no qualifying condition.
A film must convince the audience of its
reality or it cannot succeed.
Arthur Sullivant Hoffman, many years ago,
said of writing: "By creating the illusion, I mean
making the reader forget the world he really lives in
and carrying him into the world of the story, either
identifying himself with one of the characters or
looking on and listening entirely absorbed in what he
sees and hears. The illusion is wholly successful,
fully effective, only if the reader is made to live
altogether in the story world. He must forget that he
is a reader; that he holds a book or magazine in his
hand; that the story is merely a story instead of
actually happening. He must forget the method and
manner of telling in the telling itself. He must live
the story."
This applies to a film as much as it does to
the novel.
If your characterization is clear, if your
characters don't violate the story reality that you are
creating, and if they are driven by genuine human
motives, then it is fairly certain that you will create
a convincing illusion of reality.
On the other hand, if your characters are
mere puppets made to do things for the convenience of
plot, they will not seem very real to the audience and
the whole illusion of reality begins to crumble.
In building a film's reality, it is not
sufficient to give an accurate and exact report of
actual occurrences in real life. The old saying is
quite true when it comes to film: "Truth is stranger
than fiction."
Frequently truth is so much stranger than
fiction that, presented in a film, the audience doesn't
buy it.
In a screenplay, the characters, their
motives and actions must be so convincing to a mixed
audience that people accept the story as plausible
without a moment's hesitation.
The dictionary defines plausible as
"seemingly or apparently valid, likely or acceptable."
Something is not plausible when the audience
rejects it as unbelievable. Whether it is possible or
not is irrelevant. The audience will accept fantasy
and will sometimes reject the absolute truth.
To some degree, the audience has been trained
to accept certain things in film as plausible even
though they have little truth in reality. The audience
probably doesn't really believe anyone like Indiana
Jones could ride outside a submarine for hundreds of
miles in the ocean. But they accepted it in Raiders Of
The Lost Ark. It was within the reality established in
the film. It was consistent with the fantastic
character they had already accepted as credible.
One key to making a story plausible lies in
motivating the characters and their actions. The
viewer has to understand and accept why your characters
do what they do as the story develops. If they can buy
that, then they will accept some pretty wild and
unbelievable occurrences.
Convention
To a large extent audiences have been trained
into certain film conventions, most of which are based
on general usage. A convention is simply a way things
are done, the way action is shown and handled in films.
For instance, it is now a convention that one
can have a sound track with someone singing a song and
yet not show the person singing. The person singing
does not even have to be in the film. Pretty Woman and
Top Gun had such soundtracks.
Forty years ago, this was not the convention.
Then you had instrumental background soundtracks, but
whenever someone sang a song, you saw the person
singing. It was part of the action of a musical.
Once upon a time, asides were acceptable in
some films. Today they are generally not accepted.
One becomes aware of the conventions simply
by watching recent films. You will tend to stick with
them almost without thinking about it. However, it is
good idea to keep in the back of your mind that going
against convention in an effort to be original means
going up against what audiences will and will not
easily accept in a film.
Focusing Attention
In criticism of Greek drama, Aristotle placed
considerable emphasis on the unities of time, place and
action. As originally formulated these required that a
play should be represented as occurring in one place,
within one day and with nothing irrelevant to the plot.
Obviously, a modern film rarely takes place
in one day or in one place.
But a film has it's own time. In the course
of two or three hours we can see the passage of days,
weeks, even years. The audience must feel that they
are watching something which progresses naturally in
its own time frame. In addition, there must be a
certain urgency created by this passing time.
As soon as you show a time lapse which your
audience notices, you are to a certain extent stopping
and starting your story again. Any noticeable time
lapse, especially if it occurs over long periods of
time, interrupts the flow and urgency of your story.
Wherever possible, long time lapses should be avoided
and the time span of the story should be condensed down
to the shortest time possible. The novel Six Days Of
The Condor was condensed to Three Days Of The Condor
when turned into a film, for instance.
Similarly, your story involves characters in
certain settings. Too many radical changes of setting
can be distracting for an audience, particularly if
these do not further the plot development.
Unity of action or theme is very important in
a film. This means essentially that you must tell one
story and one story only from beginning to end.
There must be no aimless action not
contributing to the central line of interest. This
central line of interest or suspense originates in the
basic conflict. It must be maintained unbroken if
unity of action is to be preserved.
Screen Time
"Screen time is a most mysterious thing: The same
scene must be written differently depending upon
where it comes in the narrative, beginning, middle or
end. Because the more information an audience has,
the less additional information it requires. And the
ladling out of when and where something is necessary
is one of the requisite components to skillful story
telling." -- William Goldman
Coincidence And Preparation
Life is filled with seeming coincidences.
But in a film, to maintain the illusion of
reality, to work logically from cause to effect and to
keep the whole script plausible and probable, the
element of coincidence must be adroitly handled so that
it will be convincing and natural to the audience.
It is practically impossible to avoid
coincidences in building a plot. To make them
probable, there must be logical preparation. Natural
and probable incidents and happenings must precede and
lead up to the coincidence in such a way that it will
seem reasonable to the audience.
For instance, say a plot has one of the
antagonists suffer a heart attack just as he is about
to shoot our hero. If, out of the blue, at the final
moment, the villain has a heart attack, the audience
just won't buy it. It is too convenient.
Yet, if this was properly set up well in
advance throughout the script, the very same audience
will buy the heart attack hook, line and sinker. This
is what is meant by preparation.
If in earlier scenes
we have seen:
1) The villain is taking medicine for his heart.
2) Has actually suffered a very mild heart attack
previously in the story.
3) We see that strenuous exercise or tension places an
undue strain on his heart.
Then the heart attack at the critical moment
could be fully accepted by the audience. And more than
this, viewers will even feel clever because they
suspected his heart might give out on him.
Story Strength
Fifty years ago, screenwriters talked about
giving their scripts punch.
Punch is the idea back of the story. It is
what makes a story interesting through idea. In this
it differs from motivation, which makes for interest
through making known the reasons for action.
Nevertheless, punch proved an illusive term,
often misdefined, and it eventually fell out of use.
But it is worth resurrecting.
Punch is really "the idea which greatly
increases the dramatic or comedy value of the overall
plot."
What this boils down to is telling a story
worth telling, one which will interest the audience
above and beyond the dramatic techniques employed to
make the storytelling effective.
In reading a lot of novice scripts, one
rapidly gets a very clear idea about what these old
screenwriters were talking about when they said a
script lacked punch. Quite apart from technical errors
which weaken the novice's script, one is often left
with the thought, "Who is going to be interested in
this story anyway? Who would want to pay to see this
story?"
On the other hand, a script with punch, even
if technically deficient, will sometimes be bought on
the "strength of the story."
In formulating your screen story, you have to
ask yourself why anyone is going to be interested in
watching this film. Is this a story worth telling? If
you are not sure, then it might not be.
Drama must possess a strong and gripping
appeal through idea. Action, no matter how strenuous,
cannot replace idea, for action without idea is purely
mechanical.
If your script seems to lack strength, you
cannot add a few explosions or a wild, violent car
chase and expect this to handle the problem. Drama
derives its strength from the idea and not from the
action in which the idea is exposed.
Action is important only when it gives the
most complete exposition to the idea. There must be
some striking thought or there must be created in the
mind of the viewer a desire to see a certain outcome of
the struggle. This is purely mental.
Any situation so powerful in its relation to
the basic story idea, and so strong in dramatic content
that it will make the audience sit breathlessly, bend
forward eagerly or furtively attempt to conceal a
little teardrop, may be considered to have punch.
Love Interest
In drama, we are depicting human emotions in
order that we may stir the emotions of the audience.
Love is, without doubt, one of the most
sought after commodities in the world.
Love interest in a script caters to this
longing. It doesn't have to be there, but when it is
possible, it helps.
Comedy
It has been said that people around the globe
weep in the same language, but laugh in different
languages.
A Frenchman will laugh at something which
will leave a Norwegian cold. An American will laugh
hilariously at a joke which has no humorous appeal to
an Englishman.
Yet Charlie Chaplin stirred laughter the
world over.
His comedy was tensely human--so human that
it was almost universal.
Humor has been defined in various ways: The
enjoyment of the fantastic; the grotesque; the
incongruous; the frank enjoyment of the imperfect.
In the introduction to his Mission Earth
science fiction-satire series, L. Ron Hubbard gave one
of the most profound explanations about what makes
people laugh: "Comedy actually relies on the audience
seeing a misplaced or unjustified emotion. The
laughter produced in comedy is actually a rejection, a
relief of emotion at recognizing the incongruous
attitude.
"For example, imagine a scene where a person
is eating at an elegant table. Everything is perfect--
the setting is the finest china, silver and crystal, a
magnificent center display, candle.
"There is only one thing wrong. What he is
eating, what is on his plate, is an old shoe. He cuts
a piece with knife and fork and takes a bite. He
chews, lifts his napkin from his lap to delicately
touch the corner of his mouth and smiles cordially to a
fellow guest before taking another bite.
"If it were played and timed well by a fine
comedian like Charlie Chaplin, it would be funny. But
what is funny is not the shoe. It is the diner. But
more specifically, it is his emotion or attitude.
While there is no "proper" way to eat a shoe, his
demeanor in doing it with impeccable manners makes it
even more incongruous. Hence the humor."