V.O. versus O.S.

Most of us know what (V.O.) means when it appears after your character's name on your script pages: voiceover. And then there's (O.S.) or (O.C.). Both mean the same thing: offscreen or off-camera. The upshot is that (O.S.) is used when we hear your character's voice but don't see them because they are in another room, behind a plant or other large object or just - and here's the fun part - out of our view for whatever reason. You'll see why that can be fun in a minute.

Voiceover means your character is NOT in the scene whatsoever but they are narrating something - potentially even something from the next scene. Yep - I know that sounds weird but let me give you some examples.

EXT. CORNFIELD - DAY

Rows of corn undulate under a blue sky.

DORIS (V.O.)
I grew up on a farm. And it was on this farm that I learned to be a man. Yes. A man.

A windmill picks up the wind and turns - crick crick crick.

DORIS (V.O.)
That's right. I was the first gender-awkward man in Tuolumne County.

- So our character is narrating this story over a view of her lovely corn farm in Tuolumne County. And that's a real county and it's pronounced "Twah-luh-me." Just FYI.

But then we might have:

EXT. CORNFIELD - DAY

The wind picks up. A storm is approaching. The hat FLIES off the scarecrow.

DORIS (V.O.)
And the biggest test I had as a man was the day the big storm came.

INT. EDITOR'S OFFICE - DAY

A fancy high rise in Manhattan. DORIS (32), slender, pre-op, a thin five o'clock shadow, in jeans and a flannel shirt, sits across from a literary editor.

DORIS
It was an F5 tornado. The only ones who were safe were the ones down in the coal mine.

EDITOR
Doris - I mean, Don - I have to stop you right there. Coal mine?
This is -

He looks down at his paperwork.

EDITOR
...California, right?

So we used V.O. with the images of the cornfield and then as we roll into the next scene, we see that Doris is sitting right there and that's where the V.O. came from. We didn't have to do that; we could have then jumped into the tornado scene and picked up the dialogue as the tornado is actually happening.

Another fun way to use V.O. is to use it for comedic or ironic effect - you can juxtapose the image with the content of the V.O. Right? Does that make sense?

INT. COAL MINE - DAY

MINERS sweat and toil in the inky darkness.

DORIS (V.O.)
Daddy worked hard for his money.

INT. CORPORATE OFFICE - DAY

An older man with a mane of silver hair winds up a phone call.

MAN
I don't care how many particulates they inhale! I need more coal!

He slams down the phone. Presses the button for his secretary.

MAN
Get my daughter on the phone, STAT!

So as long as you don't abuse it, there are a lot of fun ways to use V.O. for entertaining and informative purposes.

O.C. or O.S. means, once more, that the person is THERE somewhere, just not visible to us.

So you might have:

INT. CORPORATE OFFICE - DAY

MAN
I don't care how many particulates they inhale! I need more coal!

He slams down the phone. Presses the button for his secretary.

MAN
Get my daughter on the phone, STAT!

DORIS (O.S.)
You mean your son.

Doris hands her father piping hot coffee. His eyes widen.

MAN
Doris?

DORIS
It's Don now, Dad. It's Don.

So we used the O.S. just to make that little exchange more fun. It takes a sec to see Doris. It's like he/she is the sidler from Seinfeld.

So (V.O.) and (O.S.) are differentiated because one is literally a voice over a scene with the person being totally absent because this is perhaps a memory, or perhaps the origin of the voice is revealed in the following scene.

(O.S.) means the person is in the scene but they aren't visible for whatever reason - because they are in the bathroom and we hear them but can't see them. Because they are in another room. Because we just aren't showing them for a sec because it's funnier or scarier that way. For example:

EXT. FARMHOUSE - NIGHT

A man looks at a creaky, fall-down barn. Bats SWARM out of the rafters.

EDWARD
Let's start the tear-down tomorrow, Shirl!

MAN (O.S.)
I wouldn't do that if I were you.

Ed whirls around. He's face to face with his DEAD FATHER!

So V.O. and O.S. - know the difference and use them well. And before you ask, yes it's okay to use V.O. as long as you don't abuse it by being too expositional or heavy-handed. Use it for good, not evil. Don't be lazy.

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Subtext

One rogue Rouge Waver has asked me the same question twice in comments rather than email me the question directly and the lesson here is both that you kids need to listen to mama and also if you bug me enough, I'll probably answer the question eventually anyway. However, going forward, please, please do not leave questions in comments that require a whole blog post to answer. Email them to me using the handy sidebar above my picture that says MY EMAIL. That way I can find 'em, consider 'em and answer 'em in a timely manner. Questions I love - questions in comments make me crazy. Ahem. Onward.

The rogue Waver says I should talk about subtext. I find this question very silly because almost everything is subtext. The alternative is writing on-the-nose. There is subtext to what I'm writing right now. Can you pick up what I'm laying down? Do you detect an undertone? That's subtext.

Subtext is one of those skills that separate talented writers from inexperienced writers with unconfirmed, nascent would-be-maybe talent. Why? Because if you have to ask, Houston, you are lacking a fundamental skill set when it comes to writing. All right, all right, now I'm being a little snobby. But really. Seriously. Subtext is any writer's stock and trade. If you don't know that - know it now.

Think about the root of the word - sub - and then text. Beneath the text. The meaning beneath the words.

Subtext: Aren't you glad you paid attention in school during "root words are fun"?

In screenwriting, we have different kinds of writing: We have action line writing, which is where that pithy, almost haiku-like, voicey stuff goes - the way you describe things cinematically - and we have dialogue writing. Everything else is the way the story is organized. Notice I've left out the most fundamental ingredient - inventive imagination - but that's not writing, per se. It's how you came up with the idea in the first place and it's how you figure out theme, tone and genre.

Two kinds of writing. Dialogue. Action lines. And both can include subtext.

LLOYD (52) is an insurance adjuster cowboy with the knock-off Rolex to prove it. He moves his tie over the gravy stain on his polyester shirt and leans toward MARVELLE (35), way too pretty to be at this crummy convention:

LLOYD: Hey. Let me know if you didn't get that last part. We could uh, go over it later if you want.

Marvelle shifts her attention from the SEA OF CONVENTIONEERS to Lloyd.

MARVELLE: I'd love to go over it later.

LLOYD: Oh yeah, sure. How about we meet in the bar in 10? I'll sketch it all out. Go over the numbers. Put you ahead of the game.

MARVELLE: Let me go freshen up.

So who's zoomin' who here? There's subtext in the dialogue, there's subtext in the description of Lloyd - and yet all of it rises to the surface to create a situation which could either be funny or horrifying. The subtext in the action lines actually isn't that subtextual: "knock off Rolex," "gravy stain," "polyester shirt" - this paints a picture of Lloyd, yes? Does Marvelle need to freshen up because she's a two dollar hooker scamming conventioneers or because she truly likes Lloyd and she's had a long day? Is this a love story about to play out? Or FATAL ATTRACTION?

In the same way that writing is rewriting, subtext is writing. That's why it's so hard to write and write well. Subtext is the feeling behind the words and the situation. And to get that out of your head and onto paper in a way that I can be entertained by - that's just magic. If you are asking what subtext is - the answer is subtext is what writing is made of.

Again, the alternative is writing on-the-nose. It's the difference between writing a manual and writing real prose. A manual leads me step by step - no imagination, no experience of revelation and discovery is possible. But good writing always includes subtext - it IS subtext. The reader has to piece together what's happening.

Subtext exists in writing because it's a lot like real life. Almost nothing in real life is exactly what it seems. Is that happy couple really happy? Was that a sincere comment? Did your boss really mean to put you on another account for your own good? But subtext also exists in writing because good writing is like life elevated to a higher, more thematic, more symbolic level.

Writers are both pointillists and realists. Portraiture artists and modern artists. We zoom in and out in our writing to create a satisfying web of a story that engages the reader on every level.

If all of this is beginning to sound pretentious or intimidating or confusing simply scroll back up to the mini-story of Lloyd and Marvelle. There's subtext in every bit of that tiny sketch.

Look at your script pages - are you telling us exactly what's going on very clearly? Or are you showing us through gestures, tones and - subtext?

Now, upon occasion, some high falutin' writers who have gone from novel writing to screenwriting forget that in screenwriting there needs to be more clarity and less circular intellectualizing of things. Screenwriting is NOT the bastard stepchild of prose; it is at once much simpler and more complex. It's nuanced but clear. It's cinematic but internal. It is universal, it is personal.

While a novelist can take two pages to explore a character's inner thoughts with nothing else driving the plot in that moment, a screenwriter must marry plot and character development in each scene.

So - what is subtext in screenwriting? Everything. It is the essence of the craft itself.

Now get back to work. And don't leave me questions in the comments section anymore. :)

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Subplots or "B" Storylines

There are of course charts, graphs and stacks of books on every aspect of screenwriting. And at times it can all feel quite academic and intimidating. I know I used to feel that way about subplots. Subplot - what do you mean? I just figured out the main plot! Aaargghhh!

But think of it this way - your character has more going on in his or her life than the adventure at hand, right? Your character has or had a job, a spouse or significant other, parents, siblings - a life. So the B Story - or subplot - is going to be related to something else going on for your main character, if not something going on with another significant character in your script. It's another, lesser complication and it also adds to the lesson or journey for your main character.

Writing subplots is part of writing three-dimensional characters - the adventure happening to them does not exist in a void, right? Stuff was going on for your character before the story began and stuff will go on after the story ends. Characters cannot exist in a bell jar. Subplots not only create a more compelling, fleshed-out story, they are part of a more compelling, fleshed-out character.

Your script might have several strands or subplots that all thematically connect and relate to the main plot. A subplot doesn't necessarily have to take up much screen time but it will definitely have a beginning, middle and end.

A great way to study and really GET subplot is in sitcoms. Just because they are quite overt. Rachel and Ross decide whether to live together - subplot - Joey auditions for a part as a dinosaur. And you'll notice the connect-a-dots with the subplot interrupting the main plot only enough to play itself out pretty efficiently.

Subplots do a lot of things for your script: They flesh out the world and the characters and they also serve as a way of creating more tension in the main plot because we want to get back to THE GOOD PART and see what's going to happen! I could say a bunch of academic stuff here about how the subplot needs to be in service to the theme - but, is that academic? Or just plain obvious? Right? The subplot is some kind of version - even an opposite version - of the theme in the main plot.

Let me think of some subplot examples off the top of my head - mind you, I am only plucking out ONE subplot from these examples, of course there are more:

LEGALLY BLONDE: Elle tries to help her manicurist friend with her love life.

BEETLE JUICE: Lydia's horrible mother, Delia, is an "artist" who seeks to turn the house into an avante garde haven for her pretentious friends.

MILK: Harvey's relationship with his boyfriend is strained by his ambitions.

3:10 to YUMA: Dan Evans tries to earn his son's respect.

HOT FUZZ: Nick Angel's friendship with Danny Butterman.

SCARFACE: Tony Montana's relationships with his wife and his sister.

STAR WARS: The love triangle between Luke, Princess Leia and Han Solo.

POLTERGEIST: Craig T. Nelson's relationship with his work - the evil company that paved the burial ground in the first place.

So take a look at your script - do you have subplots going on? And are those subplots in service to the main character and the main plot? Does each of your subplots have a setup, a complication and a resolution? Does the subplot (or subplots) fit organically into the larger plot? Does the subplot speak to the theme?

Remember, subplots don't need to be complicated, necessarily. Subplots are complements to the main plot. They add nuance, complication and emotional complexity. You don't need to overthink your subplot - I'll bet you already have at least one. Just make sure you set it up, complicate it and pay it off.

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Writing is Rewriting

Forgive my absence today, Wavers. My writing partner and I are deep into a rewrite of a script set to go out to buyers after Sundance. We're having a lot of fun with it but it is time consuming.

The story of this psychological thriller is a long one. I came up with the idea probably five years ago, based on a newspaper article I read about a local man waiting for a heart donor. I was writing comedies at the time so I just wrote down one or two sentences about the idea and shelved it. I was just about to graduate from the two year program at The Writer's Boot Camp when one evening I mentioned the idea to some of my writer friends. They were completely excited about the idea. So I outlined it and then got in touch with the talented writer who is now my partner. He had written a number of psychological thriller novels and I knew he'd bring so much to the table. We wrote the script in just a few weeks and felt we had a strong draft. It didn't take us long to get a manager and we were off to the races. The script went out wide and we had a interest from some major players. One of which was a producer at Fox. We decided to work with that producer and we went into development, i.e., several weeks and months of rewrite after rewrite after rewrite. The script improved with every pass but over time, the producer got more interested in another, "hotter" script and we got bumped. So much for that. Months of our time. Down the drain. We were disappointed and yet we did have a better script for the experience. Except now the script had nowhere to go: too many eyes had already seen it. Into a drawer it went. For almost two years.

Until about a month ago when a friend of mine passed it to a producer known for hating every script he reads. Sort of a useless favor, I thought. Except - he liked it. And the rewrites were on - again. Tweak it this way - tweak it that way. No, no - too far. Bring it back. It's like trying to steer a ship into a dock. A very big, slow moving ship. Again, the script has benefitted but I kid you not, this is easily the 35th draft of the script since its inception almost five years ago.

It has been written and rewritten and rewritten again and reinvented and tweaked to make it scarier and more R-rated and less scary and more PG-13. But the bones of the story have always remained. It has been a lesson in taking notes and a lesson in executing those notes to the best of our understanding. There have been notes that we didn't agree with and that we stood our ground on. There have been notes that we hit ourselves on the head over because it hadn't occurred to us.

And now - we're back at it again. We did a draft about two weeks ago. Big changes. But not quite what the producer wanted. We made things too pointed in the first act. Then we did another draft, softening the first act and making the first act break BIGGER. We took our set pieces and added more "stuff." We tweaked the character arc of the protagonist. Which had a trickle down effect and forced changes in almost every scene of the script.

We've made changes with a chainsaw - losing entire scenes wholesale. We've made changes with a scalpel, tweaking single lines of dialogue toward a connotative meaning. We've used a sledgehammer on some of our set pieces - and a laser on others. Some drafts have clearly been better than others - other drafts have been six of one and a half dozen of another - it just depends on subjective tastes.

You can go crazy rewriting a script this many times. Seriously. It's tempting to get sloppy and lose sight of the fundamental DNA of the script that you originally envisioned. It has been an intense lesson in listening to, interpreting and enacting notes.

We've had to reconsider entire sequences and replace them with new material. We've had to repurpose sequences, moments and even single lines of dialogue. When you have this many drafts on file, you have almost a library of scenes and sequences to repurpose. The producer we're working with now has impeccable taste and I think (or hope) that the script is now in better shape than it ever has been to possibly - maybe - hopefully - get sold. The producer is a well respected heavy hitter and so it's going out to the big boys. We don't currently have rep but have already had a couple of offers. Know what? I don't feel like giving anyone a percentage of a sale, should we be so lucky. We've done all the heavy lifting and we have a good lawyer.

You know what has made this experience a good one for us and for those we have worked with? A willingness to bury our darlings, a sharp ear when interpreting notes and a resulting toolbox full of laser beams, chainsaws, sledgehammers and scalpels. But possibly most importantly, we have maintained a love of the fundamental story we wanted to tell. Even after all these drafts. We'll see what happens after Sundance. Maybe we'll finally make that homerun. Maybe not. But I'll tell you one thing - we're better writers for this experience. We've proven to be writers who are good to work with. We listen to notes carefully and we deliver drafts quickly. We're good in a room and we are totally focused on one thing and one thing only - writing a draft that is the best iteration of the story we wanted to tell.

Are you willing to take notes - over and over and over again on your script? To hack away scenes or sequences that you were really fond of? To totally reinvent, reimagine and repurpose them? To be totally flexible and yet totally focused on the essence of your story? And then to not even be sure that you'll ever earn a dime for any of it? It's a tall order.

Upon occasion I work with writers who are loathe to take notes, make changes or totally reimagine a scene, act or even a premise. To which I generally observe - silly preciousness will get you nowhere. Get limber, my friends. Get real limber. Do your writing yoga every day. Be willing to do anything to elevate your script to its highest creative potential.

You might as well. Writing IS rewriting.

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Bigger Set Pieces

One day this could happen to you. You're sitting in a meeting with an agent, manager or producer (okay in my case, I am talking about a producer) who says to you - I really, really like the script. Great concept, great writing, I think I can sell this. Except.... He leans forward. Could you just...make the set pieces, I don't know - bigger?

And you stare. And you think, what do you mean - bigger? I have this incredible car crash or fight scene or jet fuel explosion - how does that get BIGGER than that? You mean like, more stuff in the scene? Yeah, exactly - he says - more stuff!

And you leave the meeting and google the nearest bar. More stuff. What the hell? But this is where the two most powerful words in screenwriting can be your friend. And those two words are "what if". But let's wind back the tape and talk about just what a set piece is:

Set pieces are the - wait for it - stuff that producers dream of. Because set pieces are the parts of movies that audiences remember the most. Think of some of your favorite movie moments - likely those moments were set pieces. Set pieces are relative to the genre of the movie, so your set pieces may have nothing to do with jet fuel or car chases or smashing through plate glass windows. Set pieces are the essence of show don't tell. Set pieces can be five minutes long or just a quick moment.

The other night, I (re) watched BRIDGET JONES'S DIARY and had a new appreciation for great set pieces. When Bridget shows up to the Tarts & Vicars party and it's been canceled - that very first moment when all eyes turn to her in her ridiculous bunny suit - that's a terrific set piece. The montage when Bridget shaves her legs, waxes her punanny and works out really hard - that's a set piece. Set pieces show up in the trailer for your movie. They are on the poster. They sell the movie.

One set piece from BRIDGET is a perfect example of more stuff in a set piece. And here we harken back to those golden words: What if? Colin Firth and Hugh Grant get in a fist fight outside in the street. It's a great confrontation, it really is. Because every time it gets good, it gets better. So what if the two main love interests are duking it out in the street, in front of Bridget? What if as they start fighting, they tumble into a restaurant? But - what if someone was having a birthday party in the restaurant? What if, just as the fighting is really going crazy, a waiter brings a birthday cake into the room? A really elaborate birthday cake? And what if, as a comedic detail, the two characters stop fighting momentarily to join in singing "Happy Birthday?" And THEN the fighting resumes and they crash through a plate glass window? So we've gone from a confrontation out on the street to a full-on slapstick reverie. With a lot of stuff.
It is helpful to go through your script and simply list the set pieces you have. Do you have at least six? And - do they have enough "stuff?" Are they big, bigger, biggest? Are they exciting and scary and funny or whatever your genre calls for?

Set pieces are the coin of the realm when a producer reads your script. You need to not only deliver a number of entertaining set pieces in your script, you need to make sure they are as chock full of exciting detail and "stuff."*

Stuff: going into the Rouge Wave vocabulary along with BOSH (Bunch Of Stuff Happens, but not good stuff).

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The Opening Image

We all know by now that screenwriters have very little time to grab the attention of a reader. Some say 10 pages, some say five - I'm going to blow your mind and say one page. Most experienced readers and consultants will often say privately to one another that they can tell if your script is good somewhere on the first page. Sometimes we sort of joke around with each other after a couple of cocktails - I can tell within two sentences. I can tell by halfway down the first page. I can tell by the first line of dialogue. I personally can tell by the first page. Can tell what? Whether you're a good writer and whether this script is going anywhere.

And how can I (we) tell? Your use of language, the pacing on that first page, succinct but compelling action lines, and a great opening image.

Now, the screenwriting world is divided into roughly two camps: The Film School Academics, who spout Eisenstein, and the Populists who spout just-effing-entertain-me. Then you have your subgroups: The Hero's Journey-ers, the Save-the-Cat-ers, the McKee-ers, the Syd Field-ers, the UCLA-ers, the USC-ers, the NYU-ers and the I-Never-Took-One-Class-ers.

What I try to do on the Rouge Wave is to synthesize those various points of view into actionable simplicity. Stuff that's easy to understand and to do. It doesn't have to be rocket science, in other words. Because if you want to talk Eisenstein, I can go there too but honestly, you don't have to go to film school to grok this stuff.

The opening image - it's right in the name - is literally the first thing we "see" when we read your script (or watch the movie, should you be so lucky). So, given that we all understand that your very first page better be provocative, compelling and totally engaging - what should you choose as your opening image?

The opening image could be a landscape, a home, a person, an event - but whatever it is, it should set the tone, genre and theme of your script up immediately, pleasingly and artfully.

This is the opening image from BLADE RUNNER:

EXT. HADES - DUSK
We are MOVING TOWARD the Tyrell Corporation across a vast
plain of industrialization, menacing shapes on the horizon,
stacks belching flames five hundred feet into the sky the
color of cigar ash.

This is the opening image from LA CONFIDENTIAL:

Over the opening strains of "I love you, California," a MONTAGE: a mixture of headlines, newsreel footage and live action. Economy Booming! Postwar Optimism! L.A.: City of the Future! But most prominent among them: GANGLAND! Police photographers document crime scenes. The meat wagon hauls ex-button men to the morgue. Where will it end?

This is the opening image from LOST IN TRANSLATION:

EXT. NARITA AIRPORT - NIGHT

We hear the sound of a plane landing over black.

INT. CHARLOTTE'S ROOM - NIGHT

The back of a GIRL in pink underwear, she leans at a big window, looking out over Tokyo.

You see how each example is setting up the story to come with tone, visual theme and a compelling, interesting opening that describes, on a micro level, the story to come? So when it comes to your script - do that. Go to your page one right now - seriously, minimize The Rouge Wave and go to page one. I'll wait right here.

[muzak version of: You Light Up My Life]

Okay. What was your opening image? How does it speak to the story to come in a cinematic, thematic, tone-establishing way? Or does it do that at all? The opening image is fun. It is a creative opportunity to set the tone and to grab your reader. The opening image should grab YOU.

You know how you flip the channels on the TV and you take about 3 seconds (and guys, for you, that's 1 second for some weird reason) to decide whether to stay or keep flipping? That's how your script is read. You have one page, guys, to make me believe that you are a good writer and that I should turn the page and keep reading. Not for readers - you have one page to get them liking you enough to not be jaded and cranky as hell, since they HAVE to read the whole thing. But execs, agents and managers? One page. Maybe less. They have the luxury of the circular file. Don't tempt them into playing yet one more game of Script-In-The-Can.

Now get back to work.

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Diagnosing Your Script: The Charmin Effect

So I have read - oh gosh - a thousand scripts? Fifteen hundred? I have no idea anymore, I've stopped counting. These days I take it easy; I don't read all that much, maybe 3 to 4 scripts a week. And more than ever, I realize the value of having another pair of eyes on a script. What to me is obvious - a weak complication, two-dimensional character or front-loaded script - to you is a nagging mystery until I point it out. Because after spending so much time with one script, you can't see the forest for the trees. And I don't blame you.

The only thing I have that you don't have is perspective and a thousand scripts under my belt. I have not stared at your script day in and day out for six months. I have not lived with your characters. I am like a doctor. I sit your script down on the exam table and I look at what's there in the here and now. And it might hurt juuuust a little. Close your eyes if you don't like needles or a whack on the knee. But I always send my patients back home with a lollypop and a smile.

It takes a lot of courage to go to the doctor. We all want to get a clean bill of health. But people come to The Script Department because they have a weird itch, limp or rash and they don't know why. We all want to hear we're going to be fine and that there's nothing we have to change or worry about. We all want to hear that if we take the doctor's advice, we WILL win the marathon or gold medal. But the doctor can make no guarantees. Only diagnose and send you home with a prescription.

If I had to name the most common script problems I see, the problems I point out over and over and over each week, I would have to say The Charmin Effect.

DIAGNOSIS of the CHARMIN EFFECT
Soft character arcs, soft premise and soft structure.

What does "soft" mean, exactly? It means that there's too much subtlety in whichever element. As we are all aware, in real life, things are often complex and multi-layered and things almost never resolve neatly. Complications and reversals can land on us like a ton of bricks or they can accrete over time. In real life we muddle through our problems and we are quite good at not allowing anything to force us to change. Some of us literally never change.

In the movies, however, audiences crave resolution, for one thing, and they need to see things writ large. Now, of course there is a difference between character arc in a movie like THE SAVAGES and in a movie like THE MUMMY; you have to service your genre appropriately.

Soft premise, soft character and soft structure - these things are all related. It's all the same problem. Not going BIG enough. Put it another way: not enough going on in the premise to warrant a whole feature script, passive main character and complications and act breaks which don't move the story forward in a significant way. This all combines to create a boring script, or the BOSH script - bunch of stuff happens. Kiss of death, my friends. Flat line on the monitor.

CAUSE
A soft premise is the result of fear of conflict not really thinking the premise all the way through. Writers get stuck in their heads sometimes and tell a story which has mild emotional and usually autobiographical interest to them but not to anyone else. A woman inherits a house from her grandmother and learns that like her grandmother, she loves photography. Wha-? Movies are about conflict. Major conflict. Movies are uncomfortable and filled with tension. In real life most of us avoid conflict like the plague. But the movies are centered on it. Writing a script is a time to scrap being polite, proper or careful. Movies are conflict.

Newer writers are too easy on their characters because they model them too closely after themselves or people they know. But your character is not you or a friend - a character is a symbol that represents Jealousy, Power, Innocence, Betrayal, Justice or Heartbreak. Writers are often loathe to be too hard on their characters. They like them too much to give them a meaningful, active flaw. They start them out pretty nice and they wind up nicer. Characters must have an arc of change and they can't wind up changed if they started out pretty okay in the first place. Something has to be majorly amiss in your character on page one. Not a little amiss like they are shy and want a date. That's boring. We all want a date. Go. Bigger.

Soft structure is bound, hand and foot to soft premise and soft character arcs. You cannot separate these three elements. If you're too soft on your characters, the turning points and complications will be soft too. Your pages will just blur in to one another with nothing significant moving the story forward. And you wind up with a script with the consistency, color and flavor of oatmeal instead of a script with the consistency, color and flavor of paella.

THE CURE
Don't avoid conflict - seek it out. Take the gloves off. Don't be so polite and so careful. Writing is a down and dirty occupation and don't let anybody tell you any different.

Write down your premise line. Do you have an antagonist? A crux of CONFLICT, major turning points and a big sacrifice or choice the main character will have to make? Stare at your premise line. Is it going to get anyone outside your immediate family excited? Does it have a hook and a unique concept?

It takes courage to Go Big in your script. Writers are afraid to really think bigger and sometimes they are too lazy to do the work. That's right, I said it. Too lazy. Where is the backstory for your character? Where is the outline for your script? Where is the killer logline that you should have worked out before you started writing the script? Laziness, timidity and a loathing to really put your characters through the wringer is the reason that the word "soft" would apply to so many scripts.

I know most writers don't have the access to read a thousand scripts in order to gain the perspective that lends a person. But you have the Rouge Wave and a million other resources. Ask yourself if you're really writing about conflict, change and catharsis. Not kind of - but truly.

Watch movies that are in any way similar to your script idea. Push the pause button when you think you spot a major complication. Look at the timer on your dvd player - notice that it's right about 10, 25 and 50 minutes into the movie that these things happen? Gain some cajones, Wavers - are you writing about conflict or are you writing about CONFLICT? Are you being too easy on your main character? Is your premise SERIOUSLY worth several million dollars to make? Who would the audience be for this movie? You and your family? Or millions of people all around the world?

Writers who are unafraid to really go there - whether in the premise and in the execution or whether that means going to the doctor to find out how they did - are writers who have a million times more chance of actually having a writing career than a writer who is stuck in his or her head, too timid and too vacuum-sealed to get outside perspective and to push their characters harder and further than they thought possible - or nice - or convenient.

It's up to you whether you take the cure. We are not all getting in shape for a sprint here, that's the good news. This is a marathon. So you've made some mistakes. So what. It's never too late to get it together so you can really compete with the thousands of scripts that flood into Hollywood every single day.

Bigger, better, faster, more. It's the way of the movies.

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The Organizing Event

Ah - autumn in Los Angeles...hot dusty Santa Ana winds and half the town is on fire again. Well, the fire is in the Valley but still...

The Santa Ana's create a strange atmosphere - literally. Not just the increased dust and the bone dryness of it, not just the palm fronds that litter the streets, it's a mood, something that descends upon Angelenos like a stealthy Something Wicked This Way Comes.

Here is a passage from Joan Didion's essay "Los Angeles Notebook":

There is something uneasy in the Los Angeles air this afternoon, some unnatural stillness, some tension. What it means is that tonight a Santa Ana will begin to blow, a hot wind from the northeast whining down through the Cajon and San Gorgonio Passes, blowing up sand storms out along Route 66, drying the hills and the nerves to flash point. For a few days now we will see smoke back in the canyons, and hear sirens in the night. I have neither heard nor read that a Santa Ana is due, but I know it, and almost everyone I have seen today knows it too. We know it because we feel it. The baby frets. The maid sulks. I rekindle a waning argument with the telephone company, then cut my losses and lie down, given over to whatever it is in the air. To live with the Santa Ana is to accept, consciously or unconsciously, a deeply mechanistic view of human behavior.

Now think about your script. Your comedy, thriller, horror, drama - genre doesn't matter. What is it that is inexorably descending upon the characters in your script like a hot, uneasy wind? What is making the maid sulk and the baby fuss? What is not quite right in your fictional world?

The organizing event is closely related to be not exactly the same as the ticking clock. The organizing event is what set that clock to ticking in the first place. The organizing event may have occurred on page negative ten, page negative 25 or it can happen on page one. It can be what everything is racing toward on page 75. The organizing event can be a national spelling bee, a devastating earthquake or the arrival of the aliens.

The organizing event is the sometimes ephemeral, sometimes quite clear event that is pulling everyone and everything toward itself in your story. It can be the event that sets everything in motion - but it can also be the event that everything is racing toward. The organizing event can be something that happened on page negative ten which set everything in motion so that on page one, as we jump in late, the effects are felt.

In JUNO the organizing event was Juno's pregnancy. In DUDE, WHERE'S MY CAR it was the theft of the car at the top of the script. In RAT RACE it was the race - not the getting to the money on time, that's the ticking clock, but the race itself. In REDS it's the Russian Revolution. In SUNSET BOULEVARD it's the murder of Joe Gillis. In THE GRADUATE it's Ben Braddock's recent college graduation. In MEMENTO it was the murder of Leonard's wife. In JAWS it is the first shark attack. In DONNIE DARKO it's the jet engine falling into the Darko house. In THE RAINMAN it's the death of Tom Cruise's father.

So give this some thought, Wavers. What is the organizing event in your script? If you aren't sure, ask what the ticking clock is and then pause and think about what set that clock to ticking in the first place. Having an organizing event can illuminate what your negative page ten (recent back story) is. It can ensure that your ticking clock is organic and powerful. It gives your characters something around which to gather, strive for, avoid, or fight against. Like the Santa Ana's, it's something in the air, something which has descended upon your fictional world which makes extraordinary decisions and actions necessary.

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Imitation is the Sincerest Form of Flattery

....but it's not going to sell your script.

Last week, I read a really good script. It was so well executed. Compelling, masterful, entertaining. But completely unoriginal. Because it was a carbon copy of a movie which has already been made.

So this tells me the writer is a quick study, a fan of the genre, and a competent writer. But it also tells me this writer has not done his or her homework thoroughly enough when it comes to understanding the marketplace.

How do you know whether what you've written is truly original or whether it is a carbon copy of something else? Well - what movie would you compare your script to? Have you written DISTURBIA which bears a close resemblance to REAR WINDOW (Ah, a little too close, according to the news of the day.) and yet turned some key points inside out? Is this a riff on another movie or a rip off of another movie?

Now - each genre has expectations. Take a sub-genre that for some reason has shown up in several movies and scripts within my world lately - the crazy-person-stalker-movie. LAKEVIEW TERRACE is related to FATAL ATTRACTION which is related to SWIM FAN which is related to SINGLE WHITE FEMALE. All good movies - well, mea culpa, haven't seen LAKEVIEW quite yet but it's Sam Jackson so my hopes are high. But here we have the seemingly friendly person that you get mixed up with who turns out to be someone you cannot get rid of. It's a great sub-genre because it has an everyman-resonance. We can all relate to it, either because it's happened to us or because we fear that it could. We build our lives so carefully and hold so many things to be so dear and then someone can come along and destroy our lives from the inside out. That's a nightmare we can all relate to.

You'll notice that in each of the movies I mentioned above, the basic story type is the same while the specifics are different. Different enough to make each movie unique. And yet familiar enough to make each movie appealing to audiences.

In each genre there are conventions and expectations. Some of the expectations of psychological thriller are that the main character has made an error in judgment and now must pay for it. But it gets out of control and the antagonist is generally insane. There will be blood in a psychological thriller - meaning there is often an escalation of the conflict until the antagonist must die a spectacular, deserved death. The main character should go to the police but cannot because of that initial error in judgment - the battle must be fought alone. Another genre expectation of the antagonist in this sub-genre of crazy-person-stalker is that the antagonist inextricably insinuates him or herself into the intimate life of the main character by way of that initial judgment error. And they make this initial incursion by identifying the weakness of that main character. Which is a great jumping off point for identifying the flaw of your main character.

Each genre has expectations - a template, if you will. Would a truly great horror movie entertain you quite as much if there weren't at least ONE good pop-out moment? In THE ORPHANAGE, as one great example, there is certainly the good ol' pop-out moment but done with such originality and with a stamp of uniqueness on it, that it satisfies over and above the expectation. If you haven't seen THE ORPHANAGE, by the way, you should treat yourself. Here is the trailer.

So here's how you can check in with yourself to see if you've written an imitation of a movie you loved or whether you've taken it to a new level of uniqueness:

*Ask yourself: do you truly understand the conventions and expectations of the genre? I mean - do you TRULY understand them? Watch this genre over and over until you can identify the conventions. This is a great way to take a break while writing, if you feel stuck. Go to the video store and rent 2 or 3 movies that are in any way similar to your own. This is probably one of the healthiest, most productive ways you can procrastinate. It's the gift that keeps on giving.

*List the ways in which your script has met the conventions of the genre. Go ahead. List 'em. As one example: If you're writing a romcom have you got the "cute meet"? Have you got the "bellamy"?

*Now: having identified that you have indeed included the expected conventions and beats, ask yourself, yes, but how have I taken that convention and gone one step beyond it? Is it a run-of-the-mill horror pop-out moment or have I made this pop-out something that has not been done in this particular way before? This is where YOUR particular voice and point of view comes into play. There are cute meets and there are CUTE MEETS which we have not yet seen before. Hint: a cute meet in which the two romantic leads bump into each other and stoop to pick up their books? Not original.

Writing a script which is a carbon copy of a previously made movie save for the location and the names of the characters is a good exercise. I suppose. But it is also a waste of your time. But do not fear if this is what you have done. Go back and look at your script and look for those conventional moments - now think outside the box. How can you take this whole script a giant step beyond what has already been done?

You might ask how your script speaks to the zeitgeist two years from now. Ghosts have been and will always be good, scary stuff for viewers. Ghosts of little orphaned children? Good, stock stuff. But THE ORPHANAGE took that a step beyond and if you've seen it, you'll know that there is a particularly powerful call-back moment - a game that the children play - that is one of the several things that makes this movie stand out.

In fact, THE ORPHANAGE could be grouped together with THE OTHERS. This would be a good homework viewing double-feature, in fact, which would handily sum up my point here. They are the same - but quite different.

And that's what you want to shoot for - familiarity but uniqueness. A seemingly difficult combination. The best piece of advice I can give Rouge Wavers who are aspiring writers is:
Know your genre inside out. Then do it differently. The same. But different.

Remember - when your audience member goes out to the movies, they like to have some idea of what they're getting. They paid the sitter, parked the car, went out to dinner and are now shelling out upwards of $12 to see your movie. And they happened to have felt like seeing a romantic comedy this Friday evening. So you damn well better give them a romantic comedy. But not one they've seen before.

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This is Your Brain on Script

I read an article in the New Yorker a couple of years ago - could have been five - time compresses when you get older, oddly - about cab drivers and brain scans. These scientists performed brain scans of cab drivers and found that a certain part of the brain - we'll call it the navigation-a-thalamus -is larger than those in normal people. And they found that when they measured the navigation-a-thalamus in new cab drivers, it was smaller than that of experienced ones. So in doing the same thing over and over, a certain part of the brain grew and became more powerful.

It's the same when you're a reader of scripts. A part of your brain gets really muscular. Which explains the odd head shapes you see so much of here in LA.

So who here saw RATATOUILLE? There's a scene in the movie in which our hero, Remy, looks at several letters and documents and certain key phrases float into focus, blurring out other, less important phrases and words. And in this way, little Remy is able to put together and understand an important plot point.

In the class I taught at the Great American Pitch Fest which was essentially an inside view of how readers do their jobs, I gave the class participants ten pages to read and timed the read for four minutes. That's 40 seconds per page. And that's a little generous. In reality, an experienced reader will spend about 30 seconds on each of your pages. And that RATATOUILLE thing happens; sluglines, action lines and lines of dialogue come into focus while others fade to the background. Because the reader's brain is trying to quickly line up information to get a grasp of what's important so that the information can later coalesce into a cohesive whole - your story. We all have a vast, information-gathering and interpreting super-computer atop our shoulders.

That's why dense action lines do you no good. You can write as little or as much as you want on the page but when it's read, about 30 seconds will be spent on that page. If your action lines are dense, my brain is scanning for the key words or phrases that help me understand what's going on. It's not conscious. There is an urban myth that readers consciously skim because we just don't give a damn. Untrue. It's the way the brain works.

Great example: we had a script in the Silver Screenwriting Competition which was written beautifully and was setting up, on page one, a small mid-western town that was past it's prime. The writer did an almost Malick-like description of ruts in the road and waving rows of corn and oil rainbows in the puddles. And it was gorgeous. But the reader was simply scanning for: small town. Midwest. Seen better days. She paused in her judging and said you know, this is great but not necessary.

In some ways it's like reading a book - you imagine the scene based on the words and that's part of the fun. But when you dictate every single aspect of the scene, I not only get bogged down in your details, you disallow me from just flowing along with the story and letting my own imagination fill in the details like the mud puddles after the rain.

Now dialogue - dialogue our brains can't skim; we need to read every line because that's where the plot is happening.

Everybody reads and evaluates information: directions, recipes, letters, instructions. When you're reading a script you're doing the same thing but what your brain is doing is actually pretty complicated: You're information gathering so you can follow the narrative, you're mentally bookmarking significant moments or details and then on another sub-level, you are analyzing theme, character arc and general entertainment levels of everything working together. A reader's brain on a CAT scan is probably a complicated field of fireworks.

Now - one of my mentors, Stephanie Palmer, teaches that the human brain can really only process three pieces of important information in sixty seconds. In this case, she talks about that in the context of pitching. I'm listening to you and my brain is trying very hard to HEAR those key points that coalesce into your story making sense.

Your brain is always working hard to gather and interpret information. A friend is telling you about his or her day. And your brain is working on so many levels in the moment of hearing the story. WHAT happened? HOW should I respond? What does this MEAN? HOW can I relate?

So your brain is actually hearing: blah blah blah MY BOSS blah blah DID THIS BAD THING blah blah blah I WENT TO A GUN STORE blah blah blah. Now, your friend might prattle on quickly, with a lot of dense thoughts but those three things are the ones you plucked out and ordered as being important.

Similarly, reader's brains are gathering, ordering and interpreting information very quickly.

On your page you should have about THREE things for me to absorb in order to not only follow your narrative but interpret your story:

Plot development
Character development
The dna of the premise and the theme

A great exercise is to take a page out of your script, get a highlighter and highlight those significant pieces of information. Highlight where your plot moves forward, highlight an example of character development and highlight what signifies the dna of your premise on the page. All of these components can show up in action or dialogue.

If your premise is: A man searches for his long lost sister in Peru only to find that she's been kidnapped by an eco-terrorist group bent on taking over the government, then the dna of that plot: man searching for sister - Peru - kidnapped by eco-terrorists - taking over the government - should show up, some way, some how on every page. Everything, every creative decision you make, should evidence your premise on every page. I should never read a page in which this dna is not present.

Because, to put it in more work-a-day terms, that is what the reader's brain is doing. It's scanning your pages trying to recognize and interpret what your premise is and then how, on every page, that is falling into a pattern that can be later interpreted. You know how the brain works - like a computer. So it sees "eco-terrorist" and instantly images and meaning flood into the brain. It sees "frat party" and the same thing happens.

So don't fear the reader (which needs more cowbell, honestly) but rather understand that setting aside their preferences, how their day has gone so far today, whether this is a competition script or a regular coverage - readers have a highly developed sense of ordering information and analyzing it for logic, resolution, complication, character development and overall entertainment. It's not personal - it's a brain activity. So when a reader reviews a script and by page 18 the brain is unable to coalesce this information into a shape which is in some way recognizable and satisfying - you're failing in your job as a writer.

Some say that scripts are like blueprints - true enough. If anyone knows anything about technical writing, even there, as I write the instructions for putting together your new Ikea cabinet, I need to write the instructions in such a way that you can follow easily and connect the dots. It has to be in some kind of order that your brain can interpret. Same with stories.

Turn your eyes away from the Rouge Wave right now. And write down the three words or phrases that float to the surface of your awareness. Do it.

I'll wait.

Now. What did you jot down?

The way brains work.
30 seconds a page.
Three things on every page.

Or maybe you jotted down a slightly different list, subject to your interpretation. Pretend that readers are students cramming for a test the night before. They are information gathering. What stands out? What seems important? If you had to put the script down right now, this minute, and pitch it, what would you say? What would you be ABLE to say? That's what happened during the judging process the other night.

Put yourself in a reader's shoes. It will help your own writing in a huge way. Inestimably, in fact.

Wavers know I am teaching a how-to reader correspondence course (sidebar). If you can do this, I think it has the potential to move your writing chops into a whole new realm. If you can't or don't want to do the homework necessary, get hold of some scripts and do the 30-second test. Then go back and highlight the pertinent information. Do it to your own scripts. Become familiar with the idea that every page should contain, ideally:

Plot development
Character development
The dna of the premise and the theme

For you argumentative types, yes, you can have a page with two of those three qualities but why be stingy? The best scripts have all three. Think about it.

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Should You Write a Short Script?

So yesterday, The Wave-inatrix got together with my friend T, a DGA program graduate, gifted short film maker and soon-to-be CSI AD (assistant director). I'm leaving his name confidential so as not to jinx anything. Not that I believe in jinxing - how juvenile! - but still. Anyway, so T, as we already know here on the Rouge Wave, is in search of his next short film to direct. His last short film starred Sandra Oh of SIDEWAYS and Grey's Anatomy, just by way of wow, that's impressive.

T and I talked about Billy Friedkin and Werner Hertzog (VERNER for you non-teutonic types), then ordered mint lemonade and went over the scripts I had obtained for T through clients and a few submissions here on the Rouge Wave. I know, you're wondering why the pic of the fancy wine, above. It's coming. Read on.

Now I do want to note that yours truly has stupidly never bothered to write a short script. Why, I thought, would I do that when I should write a feature script - that's where the money and the careers are, right? Ah. But through this experience I have learned that in actuality, a well written short script is not only a trillion times more likely to get made, it can open doors FOR your feature script. I admit, I have secretly thought that short scripts were hobbyistic ways for nascent writers to spend time rather than facing the REAL work - a feature. Sure, I've seen plenty of short films and gone to short film festivals - wow, you barely have to feed the meter! But this experience with T has really been eye-opening for me. Had I bothered, in the past, to write some short scripts, my work would have been the first thing I would have given to T, and due to our friendship, my experience and sunny personality, I would probably be the one getting my short script produced. But no. I have never bothered. In fact, I pitched T a short story I had written awhile back. He LOVED it. Was it in short script form? Had I adapted it? Because he'd make it baby! Ahhhhh guess what the lame answer was? No. Hadn't bothered. I missed the boat. That crazy Willie Wonka boat. You know the one. Through the tunnel?

So - exactly what is a short script? How short is short? Well, there doesn't seem to be an exact measure. A short script can be anywhere from 10 to 30 pages long. Most often, short films submitted to festivals, etc., run about 10 to 12 minutes. So that's approximately a 10 to 14 page script. Price Waterhouse fired me for trying to use my abacus at work, just FYI. But you get the drift.

So there we were, T and I, drinking our mint lemonades and going over what DIDN'T appeal to T about the short scripts I'd given him, as he worked up to the one that did appeal to him very much. What, I asked T, is the short list, in your view, of qualities you look for in a short script?

And this is what he said:

Voice.
Absolute and irreversible change.
Emotional payoff.
Gettable locations.

We've talked so much here on the Rouge Wave about sequencing, structure and character arc over some 100+ pages of script. How on earth do you squeeze that all down to say 12 pages? It's like trying to shove a camel through the eye of a needle, right?

As T and I reviewed the short scripts that did not work for him, two qualities came up over and over again: 1) Very expensive shoot; too many cars, extras and locations. 2) What was the point of the story and he could see the end coming a mile away.

Many of the short scripts that were submitted to me after I made the request here on the Rouge Wave fell into the "what was the point" category. They were clever and ironic but sort of ended with a thud. Wow - so the good guy was the bad guy. As if that revelation and irony was super powerful. But it isn't. Not really. Many of the submissions were dramatic dead-ends. Well written, from page to page but ultimately, what I saw again and again was the writer getting through nine pages and then essentially saying - PSYCH! Wait - did I spell that right? You know what I mean, like what your brother did to you all growing up until it left a painful scar. Here's money - PSYCH! You can borrow my car - PSYCH! My best friend has a crush on you - PSYCH! Ha ha ha ha. Ha. Yeah it's pretty funny now, dude. Who's pushing fifty? I'm just saying.

Many of us are familiar with the famed American short story writer, O. Henry. Famous because he wrote extraordinarily clever short stories that almost always had a major twist. Most famously, The Gift of the Magi. Ambrose Bierce, of course wrote the amazing An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge.

Those two writers - and I'm only stating the obvious and of course leaving off many, many modern writers who were inspired by them - knew how to tell an extraordinarily emotionally complex story in a simple way in a short space of time. Simple plot, complex characters. We've all heard that before, right? If that formula is true of a feature script, it is a thousand times as true for a short script. Because you do not have 90 minutes to tell your story. You have ten minutes. So writing a short script is not a free pass in which a writer doesn't need to bother with complexity and payoff. A short script doesn't ask less of you as a writer - it asks quite a lot more.

A short script has to be extraordinarily powerful because of the delivery system - 10 pages. It's not good enough that everything we just saw didn't happen or was ironic or awful or cute. Ten pages about two sisters who find a kitty and save their parent's marriage simply isn't compelling enough to warrant a short film. A short film really has to cover significant emotional terrain. As T put it, "absolute and irreversible change".

T said, on the one hand, he hates writers to censor themselves by worrying about expense and "gettable locations" but at the same time, the reality is - could this scene in the car be shot in a car that is moving or parked? Because the moving car is way more expensive and difficult. Can the scene set in a crowded bar be set on the sidewalk OUTSIDE the crowded bar? Because if we show the crowded bar interior, the film maker just got himself dealing with hiring dozens of actors to play extras. See what I'm getting at?

If a feature script is a field of grapes harvested and turned into a barrel of wine, a short script is that barrel of wine turned into one jeweled glass of exotic, apricot-scented dessert wine.

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Slow, Slow, Quick Quick Slow: Music in Writing

Today I met a favorite client of mine (hi Mike!) who just so happens to a funny and very gifted writer. As we went over his script pages we discovered that in a few set pieces, his rhythm was off. Just, you know, the scenes weren't working. Too little information was happening at too slow a pace. So we worked on the rhythm of his opening pages and the rhythm of subsequent set pieces and talked about rhythm in writing overall.

Firstly, rhythm is a word I always stumble on when I write it - what word has two h's!? I vote for: rithum. I wonder if in the year 2050 all words will be spelled in the shorthand of text messages. That would be super annoying. I also stumble over "dialogue" because according to my computer, that is a spelling error. Some people spell it simply "dialog". That looks both way wrong and way right to me. Must research.

Again with the digressage.

Just about everything in life has a rhythm or a pattern. The seasons, the day, your life. And so does writing. First act, second act, third act. Set up, complication, resolution. Feel, do, complicate, resolve. And all of this while other stuff is going on like walking, eating and picking up the phone. Your scenes should have an almost balletic feeling to them.

As every comedian knows - ya gots to land the joke. And in this case, ya gots to land the scene. Keep things moving - whether that means physically or the dialogue, or as is often the case, both. Look at the HOW on your page. Yes, you've got the beat, yes your character work is good, but does the scene flow? Imagine that you are a camera; how does this scene look when you watch it? Is the dialogue flowing back and forth between your characters fluidly? What is happening in the background? Is a waitress efficiently balancing an order in her arms? Is the front door opening and closing - what is the choreographed scene happening here and how are your main characters part of it?

In real life, a phone ringing can interrupt a conversation. In reel life it can too - but you made it happen just when it did for dramatic or comedic effect. Feel the rhythm on your page. Is it there or is it stepping on some toes at this point? That's okay if it's a little clumsy right now, but eventually you want to choreograph your scenes in such a way that the scene has a genre-appropriate flow to it. Do you need long pauses? How about short bursts of dialogue and action? Is your romantic comedy couple doing the mental tango while they eat dinner? Is your script a fox trot, a quick-step or a dramatic paso doble? If you were to set your script to music, what would the music be?

This scene from David Mamet's STATE AND MAIN could be set to music. Check it out:

ANGLE interior Walt's office.

WALT
I have to tell you, I can not express
to you how happy...

MAYOR
And we're glad to have you here...

WALT
My golly, you know? All my life I grew up in the city, but every
summer...would you like a cigar?

MAYOR
(of cigars)
Aren't these illegal?

WALT
Why would they be illegal?

BILL
...there's a trade embargo against Cuba.

Pause.

MAYOR
Well, you know, Walt, I just wanted to say that anything I could do...

WALT
That's very kind of...as a matter-of fact, one I hate to bother you with...

MAYOR
...not at all...

WALT
...we need the shooting permit for Main Street...

MAYOR
Whatever you need. The City Council, of course, has to pass on your...

WALT
...the city council...

MAYOR
On your "permit," but that is less than a formality.

WALT
...it is?

MAYOR
I am the City Council. We meet Friday, and I...

WALT
George, that is so kind of you.

MAYOR
And, my wife wanted to, wanted me to ask you, we'd like to welcome you,
we'd, she'd like to have you to dinner at our house.
(beat) I don't mean to be...

He hands an invitation to Walt.

WALT
Are you kidding me? We would be
de...

Phone rings.

Walt motions to an aide, who writes in green on a production board...Tuesday 12th, dinner, Mayor.

MAYOR
Well, I won't take more of your time...

BILL
Walt, it's Marty on the Coast...

MAYOR
We'll see you Tuesday, then...

Walt starts for the phone.

WALT
It's one of the great, great pleasures meeting you...

Mayor leaves the office.

BILL
It's Marty on the Coast -

WALT
On the coast? Of course he's on the coast, where's he gonna be, the
Hague...

Walt goes to the phone.

WALT
(into phone)
What? Marty! Hi. We're...
(pause)
The new town is cheaper than the other town. We're going to save a...for...because..because we don't have to rebuild the Old Mill, they've got
an Old Mill...they've got a firehouse...they...

A production assistant comes in, installing a piece of equipment. She brushes past the drywipe board, where we see she wipes out "Dinner with the Mayor."

WALT
Baby, baby, I want to save the money just as much as you do..no, no it's not coming out of my pocket, it's going into my pock...my...my and your pock...yeah? Okay. A product placement - tell me ab...he's going through a tunnel. (to Production Assistant) Whoa, whoa, whoa...you wiped out the board. DINNER WITH THE MAYOR, TUESDAY NIGHT, write it in red. That's all we need, to miss Dinner with...

First A.D. sticks his head into the room.

FIRST A.D.
We can't shoot in the Old Mill.

WALT
(to phone)
Wait a sec, Marty.

Mamet uses ellipses to create breathing room around his dialogue. It makes it feel as if it overlaps more. Overlapping, slightly stilted dialogue is his trademark. It creates a rhythm in the scene.

And here's a scenelet from a comedy I wrote a million years ago. Quick primer: A newly empowered Ella spirits her Granny away, leaving Lena, the bad-gal-extraordinaire pinned to a tree.

Confused, Lena stares after Granny.

LENA
Hey! What about me?

Suddenly - THWANG!

- An arrow slices through Lena’s coat at her shoulder millimeters from her flesh. And pins her to the tree.

Lena looks at the pinned arm incredulously when -

THWOCK

- Another arrow pins her other arm.

Ella lowers the bow calmly.

ELLA
Get in the car, Granny.

LENA (o.s.)
Hey!

Lena struggles in vain.

LENA
You can’t just leave me here!

WHACK! A pine cone hits Lena’s head. She stares after Ella and Granny miserably.

A moment in a scene of mine has no business being next to a great Mamet scene - but my point is this. Do you see how, in that scenelet of mine, the movement is almost storyboarded? I draw attention to certain parts of the moment purely by where and how I used the words. Notice the creative choice I made:

- An arrow slices through Lena’s coat at her shoulder millimeters from her flesh. And pins her to the tree.

I didn't write:

- An arrow slices through Lena’s coat at her shoulder millimeters from her flesh and pins her to the tree.

I chopped the sentence up because it "lands" better. It's a little funnier to note that the arrow pins Lena to the tree after the brief pause that the punctuation mark created.

Does your scene have a rhythm? Or is it clumsy? Is it as pithy as possible? If you took away the dialogue could you still understand what was going on based on body language, etc.?

Well, as Gene Kelly sang in AN AMERICAN IN PARIS - I got rhythm. I got music. I got my gal, who could ask for anything more? Who could ask for anything more?

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How to Make a Good Script Great

So do Wavers think the Wave-inatrix ever takes a day off? Or a vacation? No! I work tirelessly, seven days a week! [Insert bleak moment of realization here]. And while it's the 4th of July all over the world, only one continent gives a damn, and not even the whole continent, either. The rest of us carry on living and creating and...okay I wish I were camping or something. At minimum. But. I do have a great article for Wavers today, by Michele Wallerstein: How to make a Good Script Great. Read and enjoy. And light a sparkler for me.

***

Getting a screenplay down on paper is difficult, there’s no doubt about that. Yes, you search endlessly for that “different” story, for that unusual and fantastic arena that you are sure no one else has done or will do.

Writers often try to find and create unique situations that are so far out that they bear little or no resemblance to real life or real people. Trying to be unusual can be a trap for new writers as well as established pros.

A “great” screeenplay and film has legs. That means that people will want to see the movie over and over again. They might want to bring their friends, or rent the film on DVD, or purchase a copy to own.

The secret for writing a great screenplay is not in finding the rare situation, it is in writing with the following high standards:

1. Character Arc: No one wants to stay with a film or screenplay if the main character does not grow internally, does not learn something important about him or herself and does not become a better, smarter or move loveable person. Whether the film is BOOTY CALL or anything by Jane Austin, you will notice the growth of the star character, and love them for it.

2. Underlying Theme: A great movie is not about the plot. It is about what is going on underneath. It is about something emotionally important or with a universal problem of great significance. Jim Carrey’s MASK is about the insecurities of all people. It is about the main character’s feelings of inadequacy’s and personal fears. You must find a way to touch something that can affect the collective and often unconscious needs of people in general. Even the animated classic, BAMBI, is about all of our fears of abandonment.

3. Dialogue: I believe that it was the great actress, Helen Hays who once said “If it ain’t on the page, it ain’t on the stage.” Nothing in a screenplay is as bad as boring dialogue. You must learn to write characters that speak with a unique voice. They must jump off of the page with personality, wit and exceptionally clever ways of saying things. Each character in the piece needs to have a distinct personal quality and voice.

4. Pacing: If your pacing is slow, or worse, if it is repetitive, you will lose your reader in just a few pages. Keep the story moving forward like a shark in the water, never stopping, never holding back or over-analyzing itself.

5. Likeability of Main Characters: If the reader cares about the people in the story, they will want to go forward with the script. Likeability is more difficult to explain than it appears on its face. Sean Penn’s character in the 1995 film, DEAD MAN WALKING, is an obnoxious murderer. By the end of the movie, the audience understands him and has some sympathy for the child that he was and the unhappy adult he became.

Certainly there are more facets to a good screenplay then the above and those you will learn in film schools and books on the subject. The professional looking format, the short exposition, etc. mean quite a bit. However if you want to raise the standard of excellence in your writing, I suggest you concentrate heavily on seeing if the above 5 points are well http://www.blogger.com/img/gl.link.gifcovered in your next project. These 5 points will separate you from the crowd, they will turn a comedy, thriller, drama, family film or love story into a GREAT SCREENPLAY.

By Michele Wallerstein

"You can purchase Michele Wallerstein's CD titled "HOW TO BE AN AGENT'S DREAM CLIENT" by emailing her HERE.

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The Rouge Wave Mailbag

Dear Rougewave,

I keep running into the advice to never use "we see". People say that a lot of readers will throw my script into the "round filing cabinet" if I use it because in general they hate to see "we" in a script. They say I shouldn't take the chance. Is this true?! Do you guys really hate it that much? So much so that if I've written a killer script you'll toss it out just because I used "we" a couple of times? The thing is, I've seen it in all kinds of scripts, but the same people tell me those scripts are later drafts and that I'll rarely if ever see it in early drafts of spec scripts. But I thought spec drafts WERE what I was reading! Gah! I'm confused! Am I taking a chance by using it?

Sincerely,

Ed F.

Ed,

First off, close your eyes and take a deeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep breath. A nice, relaxing, cleansing breath. Innnnnnnnn... ouuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuut. Good. (Open your eyes.) Okay, here *we* go...

This is by far the most frequently asked screenwriting-related question (at least on the internet). And I have to be honest -- when Julie told me someone had asked it, I begged her to let me weigh in. Man, for ages, I've been waiting for someone to give a definitive answer. *The* answer. The one that would end all speculation. Well, I'm going to attempt to do that now. Yeah, yeah, I know the debate will rage on long after this blog entry has passed away and gone to cyber-heaven, but, what the heck, lemme tell you what *I* think...

"We xxx (see, hear, fly over, tumble through, etc.)" is part of the screenwriting lexicon. It's not quite a formatting tool, like INT. or EXT., but it's close. I have seen it used so often, I practically *expect* it now whenever I crack open a script (or scroll down in a pdf or FD document). And, yeah, early drafts of spec scripts that sold (and are in development or have been produced) are sometimes riddled with it. And since I know the *real* question is about early drafts of specs that broke their writers into the business, rest assured, you'll see it in those, too. (Check out Brad Inglesby's THE LOW DWELLER, James Simpson's ARMORED and Jon Spaihts' PASSENGERS, for starters.)

So put your mind at ease -- you can use it. Just use it wisely. And creatively. But that applies to everything, right? Instead of writing a bunch of random "We see Gary walking into the bar. We see Todd stumbling out of the bathroom. We see Veronica caving Fred's skull in with a hammer" sentences, think about exactly why you might want to use it on a given occasion. Perhaps it's to create a POV shot in your reader's mind: "We inch our way down the corridor... toward the blood spattered door." Or maybe it's to draw attention to something we see, but a character in the scene doesn't: "Right as Paul turns away from the closet, its door quietly swings open, and we see two glowing RED EYES peering out of it. Paul is oblivious, though, and we want to warn him, we want to scream "Watch out!" at the top of our lungs, as the dark, hulking SHAPE glides out of the closet..."

Crude examples, but you get the idea.

And, yeah, people will say, "Well, in both of those passages, you could omit 'we' and still have the same visual." And then they'll offer their rewrite and it *won't* be the same thing -- it *won't* imply the same visual. It won't have the same *feeling*. It won't have the same, dare I write it, Voice. I've seen that a million times.

Because here's the thing... the real issue: When you write a screenplay, your job is to give a reader (be it a reader-reader, an agent, a producer, a studio exec, an actor, a director, etc.) the experience of watching a movie. You want to immerse them in the film you've played over and over in your mind. Basically, you want them to feel as if they're watching *your* movie when they read your script.

I say use whatever tools you have to use to accomplish that. Use them creatively, use them wisely, and use them confidently.

"We back away, slowly, as the hordes of mutant anti-we-seers crawl out of the woodworks."

Tony Robenalt

****

Yeah. Tony's pretty cool. That's why he reads at The Script Department. If you want Tony's notes on your script you can request him personally. If you dare.

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That's Entertainment

Sometimes it's very clear to the Wave-iantrix exactly what I'm going to post on the Rouge Wave and other times I stare at the flotsam and jetsam on my desk until inspiration strikes. But you don't want to hear about the coffee rings, highlighters, books and scripts lying all over my desk. Oh but wait, what's this?

This week the Wave-inatrix had to cover a book for an A-list actor and his production company for whom I read. And the book is a ridiculous bodice-ripper. Which is, incidentally, one of the, if not THE highest selling paperback genre in human history. So I'm thinking - oh god, kill me now - I'm a Dorothy Parker adoring, F. Scott Fitzgerald worshipping, John Irving, Michael Chabon, Alice Sebold, David Sedaris, Joan Didion loving literary fan girl. A bodice ripper? Really? Why me, god? Why?

So two days later, as I'm reviewing this book for potential movie adaptation, I find myself reading the pages. I mean reading the pages. I'm not supposed to do that. I can't - it takes too long. Usually when you cover a book, you skimmy mcskimmerson as fast as you can, only noting the major plot points and general vibe so you can summarize it quickly and make a decision about whether it's cinematic, commercial and appropriate for the actor or production company in question.

But this Dorothy Parker adoring, F. Scott Fitzgerald worshipping, John Irving, Michael Chabon, Alice Sebold, David Sedaris, Joan Didion loving literary fan girl finds herself - the shame - responding to the romantic through-line like nobody's business. Oh, don't get me wrong, this is a big fat PASS for a lot of reasons (repeated beats, archaic, outdated themes, thin subplots) but I once again find myself in awe of the power of the primal, archetypal emotion to sway even the snarkiest of us. In this case - romance.

He loves her! He will not ever leave her! He's so strong - oh, his rippling muscles and sad blue eyes - I mean, this is treacle. But I'm responding to it like a freaking Jungian experiment. Sure, I could be embarrassed. But if you know the Wave-inatrix, you know I can find a lesson in just about everything.

When writing a screenplay, recognize the power of the primal core of your story. Which is to be found in your...wait for it...THEME. Love, death, fear, lust, revenge, redemption, triumph, tragedy - these are some of the most deeply rooted human emotions which are literally encoded into our genes. It's hardwiring, people. We're stuck with it. Emotional response to primal archetypes and fears.

Shakespeare knew it. So did Milton. And Tolstoy. And James Joyce. And Euripides. Every truly great writer knows that we must tap into that deep well of primal human emotions to really hook the reader. It's why JAWS - a silly (but great) movie about a giant shark scared us out of the water for decades. It's why we cried so hard watching ORDINARY PEOPLE or TERMS OF ENDEARMENT. Or why we laughed so hard at most any Monty Python movie and our hearts broke for the two cowboys in BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN. It's why we rooted so passionately for Christian Bale in 3:10 to YUMA and Viggo Mortensen in A HISTORY OF VIOLENCE. Because we are deeply drawn to the themes of dignity and redemption. We're not ranchers or crazy mob killer guys - we never have been, we live in a three floor walkup in Brooklyn - but that hardwired instinct is alive and well in all of us.

So ask yourself - what is the primal emotion that is the foundation of your script? Your reader, even the snarkiest, most jaded Hollywood reader is a human being susceptible to having that hard wiring light up like a switchboard. Push the reader's (and ultimately viewer's) buttons, Wavers. Push them hard but not obviously. Sneak in and leave them secretly lusting after the revenge the antagonist deserves. Or the cojoining of the two leads in your romcom. Leave them wanting resolution and satisfaction on a level so deep they can't quite articulate it.

Push those buttons, Wavers. Push them wantonly. Readers love it.

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The First Ten Pages

They say that just as the sun sets over the ocean, a brilliant but brief green flash appears.

They say that a person will tell you everything you ever need to know about them in the first five minutes you meet them.

They say that readers can tell, within the first ten pages of your script, whether the script is working.

They say that if your first ten pages don't rock, an executive will simply toss the script on the PASS heap.

I don't know about the green flash, never having seen it, but I do know that all the major signifiers of your skillset as a writer are contained within the first ten pages of your script.

This Saturday, I will be leading a class at the Great American Pitch Fest punchily titled: Ten Things Readers HATE. The class is going to be a hoot and one thing I will be doing is passing out samples of good, bad and ugly first ten pages (yes, they will be anonymous samples and yes, I have permission from the good-natured writers to use pages from their very early scripts).

My aim is for the members of the class to see, first hand, what works and what doesn't work.

But let's get down to brass tacks: what are the signifiers of your skillset as a writer that are so evident in those first pages? Well - what should be happening in the first ten pages in general, Wavers?

The main character(s) are introduced and described
The world is established (relative to the genre and tone)
The main idea of the story is established
The genre and tone are established

So what are the skillsets we are then looking for? What turns us on and what turns us OFF?

Action lines:
Are they dense and talky? Do they tell and not show? Are they descriptive yet brief? Are they wordy with typos? Are they lifeless? Or are they like chiffon - colorful and textured but very light. Are they clunky or are they cinematic and evocative? Does the writer have not only a grasp of language but a way with it?

Bad example:
She stares at him. He leaves. It starts raining outside.

Good example:
Her look withers him and he skulks out of the room. A clap of thunder and the bruised sky lets loose with a deluge.

Character descriptions:
Did the writer describe your characters in a blow-by-blow, wordy and yet ultimately empty way, noting everything from their shoes to their hair color? Or did the writer take it a up a notch and manage to capture the character's essence in a clever shorthand?

Bad example:
SHIRLEY (in her mid thirties), in a denim skirt and with bleach blonde hair is a waitress. She has an English accent and she hates her job.

Good example:
SHIRLEY (30s) is a life-long waitress and it shows. She shifts the gum to the other side of her mouth. Shirley: Take your order, innit?

It is in your action lines and dialogue that you will paint a picture of the world you are establishing. Within the first ten pages, I want you to paint a vivid picture of what it looks and feels like where the story is set. Is it bleak? Is it rich and colorful? So often writers just leave that part out. It's set in some generic city. Sometimes the city isn't even named. Wavers - think about it, if you're writing a thriller are you maximizing the space around the characters to add an air of creepiness? If it's a romcom are you using the world it's set in to create a sense of loneliness or romance or whatever you're going for? Are you GOING for anything in your setting and location? You should be and never moreso that in those first ten pages.

All the signposts should be in place to indicate the genre. If it's a romcom or comedy of any kind- the first ten pages should have...wait for it....funny dialogue and moments. If it's a horror...give me the creeps right away. Drama...show me where the conflict is going to come from. Sci-fi/apocalyptic, period piece - set up your genre with the signposts of that genre.

In the first ten pages, the reader should have major hints about where the story is going.

Readers are weird; we've read so many hundreds if not thousands of scripts that our minds are geared toward seeing patterns. Probably better than anybody, readers are great at grasping what lies ahead in your script. If we can't get a sense, by page ten, of the main idea or, annoyingly, "Big Idea" of your script - something is not working.

To refresh Wavers, the main idea or concept of your script is that short sentence I might reiterate to an exec: It's about a guy who robs a bank but the bank manager is his long lost brother. So that's the main concept of your script. So in the first ten pages, you need to establish so much: the characters, the place, the tone and the genre - and that the main character is desperate enough to rob a bank. Notice I am not saying that if the main concept, that a guy is going to rob a bank needs to be spelled out - but it needs to be heading in that direction by page ten, yes. In tone and otherwise. So what does that mean? That in the first ten pages, I am seeing desperation, bleakness, maybe loneliness, anger...Unless it's a bank heist comedy in which case - well, you get it already.

Set up your story efficiently and do it quick.

To head off the inevitable question: Yes, sometimes I read scripts in which the first ten pages didn't completely tell me where the script was going but the writing is so good, the voice is there, the writer's grasp of the pages is so strong that I am so on board with it - it's a delight to find out where it's going.

But for newer writers, that grasp of language, that confidence that voice is often not there. So even if some pretty cool stuff happens in your story later - it's like going on a bad date. Once you've gotten spinach in your teeth over salad - I'm not feeling it anymore. Even if dessert is great.

The first ten pages - of any genre - is like a seduction. Foreplay. A strip tease, if you will. You want the reader to sit up and take notice. And by page 108, you want the reader to stuff a hundred dollar bill marked CONSIDER right in your glittery g-string.

So come on, Wavers - it's all in the hip action. And a boom chicka boom chicka boom boom boom. Shake your booty in the first ten pages and you just got yourself a reader interested in the next 98.

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