Why This is Good

Like shots, many writers feel the transitions are a vital part of telling their story accurately. The new practice is to eliminate even CUT TO:’s from your script, though they used to punctuate each scene. A cut to is considered implied now, and most writers only use it a few times for emphasis.

But just like overzealous film majors obsessed with wide angles and close ups, a lot of writers are much too enamored of jump cuts, smash cuts, and fading in and out and to black and white. A few scene transitions may be necessary and add impact to your story. If you really feel you must indicate a change of time or a dream sequence with a dissolve, go ahead (although that is more than a little clichéd). But really, we’re talking about 2 or 3 maximum in the entire script. Do not use them for every single transition. And of course you still need FADE IN and FADE OUT or FADE TO BLACK.

Even if you do ignore me and put in a bunch of transitions, most likely, if your film is produced, an editor will be hired who will completely change everything anyway. You’re the writer, and for now, you’re expected to write the story. That includes what the characters do and say, no more, no less. Creating a film is a collaborative process, and if you must have complete creative control, you’re going to need to become a lot richer and more famous in order to be granted this much power over your story. Even still, doing a feature all on your own would be impossible. Maybe you should write a novel instead (of course you’d have to self-publish to avoid working with an editor…). If the idea of someone changing your beloved smash cut to a plain old cut breaks your heart, buy a camera, some editing software, and make your own film-start with a short-from start to finish. This is possible and it is certainly one of many ways to get your foot in Hollywood’s door.

When writing a film, most of us envision every detail. Not just what the characters will do and say, but how they say will each line, how the scene will be framed, what type of cuts will be used and when, how the credits will look, the background music, and which celebrity will play each part.

It is great to know this much about your film and to see it play out in your head in this much detail. And in the first draft, go ahead and put in all that information if you must. Get it out of your system if you must. But when you revise your script, you need to eliminate all of these elements, because they are not your job. Not only will including them insult the would-be director and actor who will eventually change everything you wrote anyway, having these indications in a spec scripts marks you as an amateur.

The next few posts will examine what not to do, and alternative ways to get your vision across without stepping on anyone’s toes.

Don’t do the Director’s job-First time writers love putting in camera directions. Some feel they will eventually direct. Others have read so many shooting scripts that they feel this is the way screenplays should be written. And others are so excited by their film classes that they want to put their new knowledge into play in their script.  It is hard for some writers to get their point across as precisely as they envision it without telling the reader when it’s a close up, a pan, or a wide angle shot. But don’t do it. Cut out all camera directions and figure out how to put focus on the things you want by the way you describe the scene, not by indicating specific camera directions. For example, if you feel a close up is important because we need to really emphasize the bad guy reaching for a hidden gun in his jacket, you can write something like: “His hand finds the gun in his pocket.” This indicates that we are focusing on the hand and the gun, whereas: “The man reaches into his coat and pulls out a gun” could be at any angle, and indicates a normal medium range.

When describing a scene, if you envision a wide angle or a pan, you can explain in your description a wide range of things that we can see which will imply a wide shot without you writing in that direction. “The vast, empty field stretches out all around her” indicates a wider angle than “She stands in a field.”

Another way to draw attention to an object or person is to put them on their own line, as a kind of slug line.

Instead of:

INT. SHOP-DAY

Rebbecca opens the door and sees a dead man lying motionless on the floor.

Write:

INT. SHOP-DAY

Rebbecca opens the door

A DEAD MAN

motionless on the floor.

The language of screenwriting is different than other forms of writing. We already know that screenwriting utilizes visual images, terse writing style, and short, declarative sentences. It is important to avoid overly flowery language but still use enough of the most precise adjectives to convey a vivid image of both person and place. This is done best by using details and visual clues that capture the essence of what things look and feel like without having to go into too much detail.

Every writer must find their own style, even within the generally accepted guidelines of screenwriting prose. This can become especially difficult if English is not your native language. Colloquialisms, slang, and current trends in language are important to incorporate into your writing, but if you’re not used to writing in English, this becomes a challenge. Both the action description and dialogue can sound too formal and stilted if you’re not a native speaker. Listening to real life conversations is important for all screenwriters trying to perfect their dialogue, but it is essential for non-native speakers. You’ll learn phrases, expressions, and sentence structure that isn’t taught in English classes. If you’re not a native English speaker, you should also try to read as many screenplays as possible. Reading only books, magazines and newspapers will not help you get used to the appropriate language that should be used in a screenplay.

After you’ve written your story, have as many native English speakers-whether they are screenwriters or not-read your script and give you feedback on the language you’ve used. Revise as many times as needed to make sure your script sounds completely Americanized.

Everyone, no matter what language they speak, should share their story, and screenwriting is one of the best ways to reach a large audience with your vision.

When an audience sits down to watch a film, or when someone starts to read your script, you are asking them to suspend their disbelief. This is obvious in fantasy genres, including horror films, science fiction, and stories set in imaginary times and places. But the same goes for the most grittily realistic current drama. No matter the genre, audiences must suspend their disbelief in order to enjoy the film. In realistic genres, this involves them getting so wrapped up in the story that they forget they are sitting in a dark room watching a projected image of actors saying lines written by someone, with lighting, background music, and artificial situations all added to enhance their experience. When you are writing a fantasy, they must do this as well as believe, temporarily, in the world you are creating.

The only way you will get your audience to suspend their disbelief enough to enjoy your story is to be consistent with the rules of the world you have created. Again, this goes for fantasy and realistic genres. It’s obviously true for fantasy worlds. We are all familiar with the standard rules for vampires-sunlight or a stake through the heart kills them, garlic and crosses scare them away, they can’t come in your house without you saying so. Because vampire lore is so familiar, any movie about vampires must abide by these rules, or explain when they break them. If the rules are broken, the story becomes inconsistent, unreliable, and draws attention to itself. If you’re creating a brand new fantasy world, such as the author of the Harry Potter books did, you need to establish rules and remain consistent to give your world credibility and create a sense of place for your audience. In Toy Story, the rules are subtly established early on. The toys remain motionless when the kids are around, but once they leave the toys spring to life, inhabiting a world of their own. We understand that one of the rules is that the humans don’t know the toys are animate, and the toys try to maintain this illusion. When they do break the rules, to scare Sid, it is explained and understood why they do this. Science fiction movies and television shows must do this well, and any new technology used must be explained and work consistently. When these rules are broken, they create holes in the story, and you’re left with questions that remind you that you are watching a poorly crafted film. Your disbelief comes back into play, no longer being suspended, and you stop enjoying the film. In The Time Traveler’s Wife, we see early on that Henry has no control over his traveling, that he always ends up naked when he arrives in the new time period, and that because of this affliction, he has learned to fight, to pick locks, and to steal and run away. This is established so that when we see him doing these things we understand why and feel that it is realistic and consistent with his character.

This concept is harder to understand in non-fantasy genres, but it is still important. Your characters must behave in ways that are consistent to their personalities, lifestyle, and background. If your story, for example, requires your hero to perform a perfectly executed ballroom dance routine in Act Three, it would seem out of place if we had never seen them dance or take a lesson before. If you show them practicing or dancing early on, we will accept that they do know how to dance and feel that it is believable when they start dancing in the climax. Realistic films also must abide by the laws of nature that govern the natural world. If everything in your film is supposed to be real, you can’t suddenly out of nowhere have your hero able to make himself disappear, or fly, without explaining how these superpowers came out of nowhere. You’ll notice in superhero films, such as Spiderman, when the hero first comes into their powers, they will spend scenes testing them, which establishes and shows us what they can and can’t do. This lays the groundwork for the rest of the film. We know early on that Spiderman can fly using his web material, that he is very strong and agile, but he doesn’t have, say, super healing powers like Wolverine. Wolverine can heal, is nearly indestructible, but he cannot fly. The characters behave within these rules, and if they fail to do so, we would immediately notice and dismiss the film as poorly written and inconsistent.

Despite reading a few negative reviews, I had high hopes for Amelia. Of course, the critics were right and it was not good. The best thing about this film was the cinematography. With grand, sweeping aerial shots of all the gorgeous land and sea Amelia flew over, there’s no denying it was stunning visually. That and the fact that Hilary Swank looked just like Amelia Earhart are the two things I could say were done well. The rest was a mess.

There were little things that were irritating about the film. Hilary Swank’s weird accent bothered me. I don’t know anyone from Kansas, so I’m not sure what women from Kansas in the 1920s and 30s would have sounded like, but if they truly sounded as irritating and awful as Hilary Swank did, then the acting coaches should have taken poetic license and allowed her to speak normally. Her accent was so odd, it was distracting. It was also inconsistent and drew attention to itself, taking me out of the experience of the film.

The chemistry between Amelia and George Putnam, played by Richard Gere, was entirely lacking. While Richard tried his best to feign love, and said all the right things, I just didn’t buy it. And Amelia was cold and completely unlovable towards him, which I assumed was just part of her character, since when he proposed marriage she responded with a grimace and a promise that she would not be faithful nor would she expect him to be. Because she was so honest, it was not dramatic, interesting or exciting when she began her passionless, short-lived affair with Gene Vidal.

The only thing keeping me awake through most of the film was my popcorn, but I perked up slightly when I thought perhaps they were hinting at Amelia being gay. This at least, was a new take on her life that I hadn’t heard of yet.  While at a bar, she pointed out that a woman nearby was very attractive. That, her masculine appearance, and her support of other female pilots, particularly the mentoring of an attractive young competitor combined to make me wonder if maybe the filmmakers were going to explore that side of her story. But no, it was just an idle comment used to explain why Amelia always wore pants, she admired the other woman’s legs and thought her own were inadequate. Yawn.

The primary problem with this film goes back to the script at its very basic level. There was an utter lack of conflict that made the story incredibly dull. Biographies are hard to do well, as most people’s lives are meandering and episodic by nature.  We all know the fascinating story surrounding Amelia Earhart’s disappearance. This story should have brought us into her life, engaged us so thoroughly that we were on the edge of our seats and calling out “No Amelia-don’t get on that plane!” as we watched her take the fateful voyage. Because if we had cared more about her and been brought into her world by an exciting, conflict-driven look at her life, we would have been emotionally attached and deeply moved at the thought of her demise. We all knew how Titanic would end, but were nonetheless moved to tears when we watched Jack sink to his watery grave, because the writers of Titanic did what the writers of Amelia did not-they got the audience emotionally involved with the characters so that we cared whether they lived or died. Watching Amelia was like watching a historically accurate documentary which included all the dull parts of a real person’s life. There was little focus on the obstacles and conflicts Amelia Earhart no doubt faced in doing what she did at that time in American history. Instead, everything seemed relatively easy for her. The main conflict arose from her feeling like a sell-out while endorsing product after product, but this too was explained and accepted as necessary, and didn’t create any real drama or conflict for the hero.

When the ending we all saw coming finally arrived, it was just that, the end of a story we already know, no less exciting after watching this uninspired portrayal of a woman who truly was groundbreaking and inspirational. It’s a shame that the writers did not craft a more engaging Amelia for Hilary Swank to embody. The real woman was a passionate pioneer whose life was interesting, dramatic and groundbreaking. This bravery and zeal could have been captured by an actress as talented as Hilary Swank if the writers had given her a story to work with, rather than this dull retelling of facts.

Research and fact-checking may sound like the boring part of being a journalist, but they are actually essentials for quality screenwriting. I am constantly reading scripts by writers who don’t take the time to find out if the details they’re including are credible. There’s a reason writers are told to write what they know, and that is because it lends authenticity to your work. If you’ve grown up in a small town in Kentucky and worked in a library, then you can write a script about living in a small town and being a librarian better than someone who grew up in Chicago working in a restaurant. Of course, this advice is very limiting. If you can truly only write what you know, then you’re limited to the twenty or thirty years you can remember, and then geographical locations you’ve spent time in. Following this line of thought your characters could only work in jobs you’ve held, and come from backgrounds identical to yours. And if you’re going to be lazy about research, than this advice holds. If you can’t take the time to investigate what it’s like to live in another time, place, or socio-economic setting, then don’t write about it.

If however, you’re willing to take the time and do the work, you can write about anything you want. Considering the wealth of easily accessible information on the internet, there’s no excuse for not doing research. Fact-checking is as simple as typing a search in Google or Wikipedia. There is no reason you shouldn’t know every detail about everyday life for the time and place you are writing about. If your character is a firefighter, research as much as you can about what this entails. Visit a fire station, ask if you can help out, interview them, observe as much as you can. If your story is set in a restaurant with characters working in the kitchen, go to a local restaurant and ask if you can help out. Get a job washing dishes for a week if you have to, do whatever it takes to immerse yourself in the world you are trying to write. Reading articles online is certainly not enough, but start there and see where your research takes you.

Authenticity is vital to your story feeling real and you being taken seriously as a writer. Do not skimp on this important step or feel you can fill in the details later. Each profession, region, and economic class has its own lingo, rules, acceptable behavior, and mannerisms that you must be familiar with in order to write a realistic story. Inaccuracies are easy to spot and not only make you look like an amateur who doesn’t take their job seriously, they pull the reader out of the story by drawing attention to the misinformation, reminding the reader they are reading a poorly written story, when what you want is for them to feel so engrossed in the realistic world you have created that they become emotionally involved and captivated by your story.

As I touched on in the last post, boring your reader is death to a screenplay. It is your job to keep them interested and intrigued enough to keep turning pages, rather than putting your script down and picking up one of the other stories in their stack.

The best way to do this, and the way that will work in all genres, is to constantly challenge your hero. Don’t make anything easy for them. Set up impossible obstacles, then cleverly show how your hero overcomes them. This question-answer rhythm will not only keep the pages turning, it will establish a pattern of emotional highs and lows that will give the script the right feel. If every page is emotionally draining due to constant suspense or chaos, the audience will become desensitized and the emotional impact will wane. Look at good horror movies, for example. Horror films play on one of the most primal human emotions-fear. There’s nothing complex about what you feel when watching a horror film. You feel scared, because you put yourself in the character’s shoes and fear for their life, and emotionally, your own. However even the simplest of successful horror films utilizes the emotional high-and-low pattern by scaring you, then lulling you back into a sense of safety, then scaring you again. Whether the situations are life-and-death thrilling with horror, suspense, or action or normal everyday drama in a romantic comedy, the hero needs to constantly face obstacles that stand in the way of them achieving their goal. No matter what their goal is, these obstacles can be present and you can tailor them to the story you are telling to make sure they are believable in tone and scope. Every page or few pages should ask a question that the next page promises to answer. Will the hero escape the psychotic killer? To find out, turn the page. Will the hero get the girl to kiss him? To find out, turn the page. Make sure your script asks and answers questions so your reader is compelled to keep reading and experience how great your story is from start to finish.

One piece of advice that I heard over and over again at the Expo was the importance of keeping the reader turning the page.

This seems logical enough, we all know that an exciting, compelling story is important, but many writers make the mistake of thinking they have time to get their reader interested, that the person reading their story cares enough about them to read it from page one to one hundred. They often leave the juicy, intriguing scenes for later on, filling the first several pages with dull exposition. Writers often feel that in order to have their story understood, they must present backstory, explain who everyone is, and set the scene in the first ten pages, and that out of goodwill or determination their reader will continue past this slow start to the good part of the story.

The brutal truth is that the person reading your screenplay-that is, the person who has the power to option or produce your script-does not have time to get involved in a slow story. Readers have stacks of scripts in front of them, most having to read five, ten, a dozen a day in the hopes of finding that one great story that will make them rich or get them noticed by their boss. These readers have no incentive to read your story from start to finish if they aren’t engaged in the first few pages. You have until page ten, if you’re lucky, to grab your reader’s attention, after that, if the script is boring, the story has holes, or they aren’t at all interested in what happens next, they’re going to put your script down, mark it as a pass, and move on to the next script in their huge stack of homework.

Because of this it is vital that you make sure your first page, not just your first ten, is fascinating. Ask your friends to read your story and be honest with you about when they got bored, when they put the script down and got up to take a break from reading. If the script is easy to put down for your friends and family who know and care about you, imagine how easy it will be for an overworked studio reader, producer, or development assistant to toss your work aside once they’ve realized your work is not going to get them the success they need. The best way to get the reader turning the page and unable to put your story down is to ask a question on each page. This works in all genres, not just fast paced suspense-thrillers. Present a question or problem for the hero that is going to be answered on the next page. Once that question is answered, ask another. Using the techniques I outlined in my post on Character Sympathy is also an effective way to get the reader turning the page. If the reader likes and cares about the hero, they will be compelled to keep reading to find out what is going to happen to them.

Well it’s been a screenwriting saturated three days at the Expo. This is the third time I’ve attended, though I wasn’t there last year or the year before. It was wonderful to go back and refresh myself by being totally immersed in screenwriting for three days straight. I heard some amazing talks from teachers I’ve heard before such as Michael Hauge, of course, and Karl Iglesias and Linda Seger. I also got to listen to a few people I haven’t heard before who were equally knowledgeable, including Victoria Wisdom, Dara Marks, Pilar Alessandra, Linda Cowgill, and Paul Gulino. One of the highlights of the Expo was the interview with William Goldman and John Cleese. These two men are both icons and legends in the entertainment industry, and their insight into the craft and career of screenwriting was inspiring. John Cleese, of course, was funny, and he played off of William Goldman’s dry wit and pessimistic outlook with hilarious results. William Goldman was a bit dismal about the future of screenwriting and the abundance of terrible movies being made to target teenage boys, but the writers I spoke too seemed optimistic about their futures, many had made contacts during the pitch fest and met producers, agents and managers interested in their work.

There was one theme that ran through all of the lectures I attended and seemed to reaffirm what I believe about screenwriting. Everything depends upon your story. Agent and manager Victoria Wisdom assured us that “If you write it, they will come.” In his lecture on pitching, Michael Hauge pointed out that in the history of Hollywood, no one has ever turned down a great story because the pitch was bad, or the writer was nervous. Conversely, no one has ever bought a terrible story because the pitch was so good, or the writer so calm, cool and collected. Pitching your ideas and getting your story read are major parts of your career as a screenwriter. If no one reads your script it doesn’t matter how amazing it is. But the absolute most important thing is creating that amazing story, writing something that captures your audience and elicits emotion from your reader. If the story is bad, no amount of persistence or marketing skill can help it. If the story is good, your sales techniques aren’t important.

While most writers know that scripts are written in the present tense, they often slip into past tense because it is a style we are so used to. Most novels and articles are written in the past tense. Even letters, emails, and journal entries are written this way. It’s the way we recount things that happened to us when talking to someone, so it’s the first way you’ll be inclined to write. It’s important to break this habit, and make sure you don’t slip into the past tense while writing. While I’ve never read a script written entirely in the past tense, I’ve read countless scripts with a few sentences here and there written in the past tense. This is a common error, but careful proofreading, including having a friend, colleague, or professional editor read your script will help you eliminate these errors.

On a side note, I’ll be at the Screenwriting Expo for the next three days. Hope to see you there!