Why This is Good

Writers, by nature, are creative people who dislike rules, limitations and being told what to do. If we liked rules, we’d be mathematicians, not writers. Screenwriting, more than many other types of writing, is full of rules. Screenwriters are being told what not to do and what to do more than any other type of writer. Prose writers have been expanding the rules of what is acceptable for years, and are now free to write in a mixture of tenses and points of view. Email and texting have made grammar, spelling, punctuation and usage rules more lax, and writing prose has always afforded the writer with the opportunity to say whatever he or she wishes, in whatever way works. There are no limitations on length or subject matter or tone.  Even poets have the freedom to write however they want, rhyming is no longer a requirement, and even punctuation isn’t imposed upon them.

But a screenwriter is limited. The tense must be present, the font must be courier, the margins must be just so, and the overall length must not exceed 120 pages. Screenwriters are so often told what not to do that they feel stifled and rebellious. And this is where attempts to buck the system and break the rules come in. I understand the need and the desire, but I am still here to tell you not to do it.

The writers I work with fall into two categories: those who are new and don’t really understand or know the rules, and those who know the rules all too well, and break them because they’re frustrated with being told what they can and can’t do. The latter try to subtly, slyly break the rules and fly under the radar with their violations, hoping their reader won’t notice or care. We do notice, and we do care.

The following are the most common attempts to subtly break some common screenwriting rules:

Margins-I see this all the time. When I was teaching screenwriting at Cal State Northridge, the problem was often margins that were too wide. Stressed and busy students who didn’t have time to meet the page requirements for an assignment would try to use huge margins to push their 2 page scene into the 5 pages required. Outside of school, it’s more likely that the script is too long, so tiny margins are used to turn what would normally be a 150 page script into something that falls within the 120 page maximum parameters.

This is obvious and easy to spot. Think about how many pages of script a professional reader observes daily. Anything outside of the norm is instantly recognizable. The same goes for odd spacing or smaller or larger font. Don’t do it, you’ll definitely be caught and written off as an amateur who doesn’t even know the most basic things about screenwriting.

Directing-Screenwriters often fancy themselves filmmakers, or soon-to-be writer-directors, so they cannot help but imagine their script and every single perfect angle and shot that it will take to tell the story best. Because of this, they can’t help but insert their brilliant camera directions into the script. Amateurs who haven’t been told no yet (usually those fresh out of film school) often just put the shots into the script, formatted properly, for a shooting script. Don’t do this. It’s not your job at this stage, and when writing a spec you have to assume that someone else may direct it. If you’re lucky enough to get the funding and power to direct what you wrote, you can go back then and add the shots and angles and lighting notes. If you already have the funding and are directing what you wrote and making your own film, then go nuts, no one but you and the actors will be judging your script. Until then don’t do it.

More sophisticated writers who have been told not to direct rely on the old trick to subtly direct without putting ANGLE ON: directly into the text. This is a gray area because we screenwriting consultants tell you to do this: instead of putting in shots as in a shooting script, write the action description in a way that implies direction. For example, instead of “CLOSE UP: Mary’s hand holding the gun,” write “A hand holds a gun.” This is fine if it’s subtle and limited. But if every single sentence in the entire script is written in this unnatural way in order to control and direct every shot without saying so outright, the script becomes hard to read. Keep this subversive way of directing limited to a few shots, and only use it when it truly matters that we focus on a certain item, or see a scene from a wide angle. You should only do this a few times in an entire script, not a few times in each scene.

This may sound like a rather boring topic, but I think learning the history and origins of formatting will help you understand the reasons why proper formatting is so important.

Unlike books, screenplays have only been around since the age of the typewriter. While typewriters may seem like extremely archaic devices to those of us who have grown up with computers, compared to ancient books being written by hand, screenplays are relatively modern literary works. The most basic elements of contemporary screenplay format are holdovers from the early days when scripts were typed on typewriters. The font-Courier, is not just used because it makes the script look as if it were written on a typewriter. Filmmakers are not that nostalgic. Courier is used because it is a monospace font. A monospaced, or fixed-width font is one whose letters each take up the same amount of space on the page. Some fonts are proportional, a w will take up more room than an i. With Courier, each letter takes up the same amount of room, which means that the spacing is consistent and uniform. This is important because of timing. All of the formatting, along with the writing style contribute to a uniform style that keeps the words on the page as close as possible to one minute per page standard. If your formatting varies from these standards, it throws off this ratio. Your 120 page script in Times New Roman 14-point font with three inch margins will not translate into two hours of screen time. A 120 page script in Courier 12-point with the correct margins will, or will come very close.

Margins are also in place to provide consistency in both look and pacing. The origins of margins were to give readers, producers and directors ample room to write notes, and to make a clear distinction between dialogue and action description. Incorrect margins are one of the first things that will jump out to a trained reader and mark your script as amateur work, so make sure you understand and use the proper margins.

There are other picky, odd screenwriting format guidelines that may seem odd, but they are there for a reason. The binding with only two brads is to facilitate the easy unbinding of scripts so that multiple copes may be made. As we move towards a more electronic, paperless age, this may change, but for now, stick to the rules and go with brads-only two brads! Do not ever dream of binding your script in any way other than with brads. Your story will have to be the best thing they’ve ever read to pacify the intern or reader who has to unbind it from some fancy spiral binding, any script bound that way is likely to end up in the trash, unless your uncle is James Cameron, and even then you’re starting out on the wrong foot.

Fancy covers in anything but neutral colors, or, even worse, with illustrations or logos are a red flag of epic newbieness to readers. Your story should be strong enough to stand on its own. Don’t try to show off your graphic design talents or your ideas for casting or marketing your movie. You’re just the writer, and all they want from you is a properly formatted, emotionally engaging, marketable story.

For more on formatting and beginner mistakes to avoid, check out the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences guidelines here.

When writing scene descriptions, there are three basic elements that you should always include. Without these three things your reader is left without a clear picture of what is going on, making it difficult for them to visualize the story in their heads. Anything that confuses the reader, takes them out of the story, or makes the story seem less real and vivid makes the reader enjoy your story less, and thereby decreases your chances of selling your story.

What it looks like-Your slugline will tell us briefly where we are-a diner, a classroom, a battlefield, and whether it is day or night. This alone is not enough, and I often see writers relying on the slugline alone to convey what the scene looks like. But while one diner could be a busy 50’s throwback, alive with customers, bright shiny vinyl booths and Elvis blaring on the jute box, another could be cold, dim, with aging, faded décor and tired, sad customers. A classroom could be bright and warm, with rich wood paneling and beautiful desks in a prestigious prep school, or a run-down, dirty cell, with bars on the windows and graffiti on every battered desk, or anywhere in between. A battlefield could be tense on a bright sunlit morning as two armies face off, or raging with battle, as soldiers fight for their lives and men fall to the blood-soaked earth only to be trampled on by the next wave of infantry, or it could be quiet and misty, as medics pick through the bodies looking for survivors, swatting flies and shooing vultures from the carcasses.

Descriptions of what the scene looks like give the reader a picture in their mind, and tell them where we are, what this place is like, and reflect the theme. The type of scene tells us where this movie will go and what we can expect. A run-down inner city public high school classroom promises a different type of movie and different characters than a fancy, expensive private school setting. If you only tell us it’s a classroom, the reader’s mind will pick the closest recollection they have of a generic classroom-whether it’s their own or the last one they saw on TV or in a movie, it will take away the uniqueness of your film, and they may picture something completely different than what you did, than what is appropriate for the story. This not only makes your script seem more generic, it can be jarring, if, for example, the reader is picturing this cold, desolate, run-down diner in their head, and all of the sudden reads about a bubbly waitress on roller skates popping bubble gum. This will take them out of the story and confuse them and draw attention to the fact that they are reading a poorly written story.

It is essential that you describe new settings in brief but vivid detail the first time we see them. When we return to the diner, the classroom, or the battlefield, you only need to note any changes, perhaps the diner is now quiet and dark as the owner wipes down the counter and closes up, or the classroom is strewn with crumpled papers and debris after the kids have left for lunch. Don’t neglect to describe any setting, no matter how small, even if it’s just with a few words. And don’t be redundant and repeat the information in the slugline in your description. If you wrote INT. CLASSROOM-DAY do not begin the action description with: “We’re inside of a classroom during the day.” Sounds ridiculous, but it’s something I read constantly.

Who is there-This is a step writers frequently neglect, and it is very confusing for the reader. It only takes a few words, but it is essential to tell us who is in the scene. As a reader goes through your script, they picture the events in their mind. Your words guide their imagination and tell them what to expect. If you leave out crucial details like this, we readers are surprised and confused, and worst of all, taken out of the story and reminded we are reading. After telling us what the place looks like, tell us who is there. Which main characters, obviously, but also the background people and extras that lend credibility to the scene. In the diner we’d probably have other customers, a waitress or two, maybe a short-order cook in back, the owner greeting people as they came in. If you don’t mention that these people are there, the reader won’t necessarily fill in the blanks the way you intended. Or worse, they’ll imagine a diner full of people, when in your head it was important to the story that there were only two people in the whole place.

What they are doing-As you describe who is in the scene, let us know what they are doing so we don’t picture them just standing around staring blankly. This lends credibility to the scene, and is important to the plot. Tell us that the teacher is sitting at the desk reading, the students are coming in and sitting down, or reading diligently, or making out in back. If we don’t know what everyone is doing when the scene opens it is not only difficult to picture it can often be confusing when they start to speak. If we know the teacher is pacing in front of the classroom, it will make sense that he starts to lecture, and tells those two in the back to get a room. Without telling your reader what your characters are doing, they are left with flat, generic imagery that fails to convey the story in a realistic way.

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.