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.

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.