Wednesday, December 31st, 20082008-12-31T16:39:00Zl, F jS, Y
Did anybody else read that article in Vanity Fair about “Clark Rockefeller,” the German guy who successfully made up a number of mysterious and wealthy personas, including claiming to be a Rockefeller? His audacious and slightly alarming story makes the Catch Me If You Can guy look like a pussy cat by comparison.
What can we, as writers, learn from “Clark?” Anyone? Oh – I see a hand in the back. Yes, correct, we can learn that we all want to believe in the beautiful lie. In other words, people are willing to believe almost anything. Why just last evening, after watching Milla Jovovich complete an extraordinary martial arts stunt in RESIDENT EVIL, my best pal told me he is practicing the same one in his class. Seemed totally plausible to me – my friend is in great shape. Turns out he was joking. But how was I to know? I don’t know anything about martial arts. Sure, looking back now, as my friend was lying flat on his back on my sofa eating popcorn, it may have been a suspicious claim. But in the moment – hell, who knows right?
If someone told you that he or she had lived in Brazil for six months and helped indigenous people build new thatch huts while fighting off tarantulas and a neighboring, warlike tribe BEFORE returning to Yale where he or she was studying the Sociology of Indigenous South American Tribes, would you buy that? Because that could possibly be true, well, what reason would you have to disbelieve it?
Yesterday I watched YES MAN – there’s a nose-wheely stunt done on a Ducati. Real? Or a movie stunt with some CGI benefit? Real, as it turns out. I’d not know the difference and I don’t care – it was a good moment in the movie. In BIG, Zoltar grants Tom Hank’s wish. We know in real life this couldn’t happen but in the movie – we willingly suspend our disbelief. A willing suspension of disbelief is the free ticket handed to you, the screenwriter, by every audience member going to see your movie.
But taking this idea a step further, or perhaps backwards and to the left – when thinking about your characters – who do they want people to believe they are? Who do you want people to believe YOU are? You see, Clark Rockefeller was motivated by more than a need to scam money, rides in private jets and exclusive club memberships – he reveled in the feeling he got from the perception that he was monied and blue blooded. Imagine how differently a Rockefeller is treated making dinner reservations at the most expensive restaurant. Imagine the carte blanche that gives you. Even if you are not writing a character who is a pathological liar – being that that is the extreme – everyone has a self and public image that they cultivate. I’m the nice dad, the crazy artist, the neurotic writer, the dependable friend. But that’s just on the surface – in the bathroom mirror – all alone – who is your character, really? Who are you – really?
Every one of us is playing a role – if not several. You might be one person at work, another person to your family, another person to your lover or friends. Now, we all know that healthy people don’t have huge differences in these different roles – but remember, your main character, at the top of the story, isn’t totally healthy and balanced – they need to change. And you, the writer (aka God in this script) are going to force that change. In the arc of your character, he/she is going to unite inner and outer selves – the external want and the internal need – so that he/she is healthier and more realized and fulfilled in the end. It is that tension between who your character wants to be and who they need to be that fuels their arc.
As the truth began to sneak up on Clark Rockefeller, his lies grew more and more farfetched. He was desperately avoiding being found out and he got sloppy. Or began to dissemble psychologically. Yeah, well, probably the latter, but if he were a character in a movie, his fall apart would coincide with an epiphany – he’d finally come face to face with what it is he’s been running from. Again there’s Reality and then there’s Movie Reality. In Reality, “Rockefeller” will probably just sit in jail for years believing his own lies then writing a book about the experience. But in Movie Reality, he’d have a flash of insight that would lead to personal growth and a satisfying ending.
There are several lessons to draw from this convoluted and, I hope, entertaining post:
1. Read the paper and/or magazines: If you hadn’t heard of Clark Rockefeller til now, you’ve missed out on just one of trillions of fascinating real life stories that can inspire your writing and your understanding of character.
2. Audiences are like a group of people at a party standing in a circle around that one totally fascinating dude – they’ve had a couple of drinks and will buy almost anything. Exploit that.
3. Your main character is one person on the exterior but someone else on the inside. It’s your job to unite those two selves in a satisfying way. Your main character will hate you for trying.
4. The more you think about what makes people tick – everyone from yourself to crazy, pathological liars to that enormously cranky woman who works at the post office – the deeper your writing can explore that.
5. People are weird. We all are. It’s a matter of degree. But movie characters are not like you and me – they are composite, escalated versions of who we fear we’ll become if we don’t find love, spontaneity, courage – you name it. And in the end, they are who we’d like to be. They are life writ large, they are on a journey with a happy, tragic or in some way conclusive and definable ending. Audiences crave it. So do you. Deliver on that.
6. Writers are weavers of The Beautiful Lie. We are that dude at the party. We are Clark Rockefeller. Have fun with it.
Wednesday, December 10th, 20082008-12-10T15:54:00Zl, F jS, Y
Good writers know that they must get the story moving as soon as possible at the top of the script. Jump into scenes late, make every scene count and only write those details that are illustrative and evocative of your character’s – well, character.
We don’t need to watch our character pour his or her coffee, take a shower and choose clothes for the day because this is a movie, with Movie Time and Movie Reality. We don’t show the blow-by-blow or the minutia. Unless it matters or is adding up to something.
But what many writers conveniently forget is that when we meet your main character on page one, he or she has lived an entire lifetime before that moment. Let me repeat that: your main character has lived an entire lifetime before we meet them on page one.
All sorts of factors have shaped your character long before we meet them. Whether we see any of these factors or not. Your character has a backstory, in other words. And it made them who they are on page one – flawed, quirky – specific.
Coming up with backstory can seem like a superfluous detail, especially the kind of backstory I’m talking about. I have mentioned before needing to have a page negative ten for your character. By that I mean what was going on in your character’s life two weeks or three months before this story begins – did they get fired, married, divorced, hit by a car, win the lottery, move into a new town, buy a new car – what was going on JUST BEFORE your story begins. The relatively recent past.
But today I’m talking about a deeper type of backstory. Those formative life events, situations and choices which slowly shaped your character. This is writing and character creation on a deep level – some of this stuff won’t be necessarily obvious on the page at all, but it’s stuff that you need to know about every significant character in your script.
Now, we know that in real life, we judge people by their appearances and the details of their lives all the time. Wow, can’t believe he drives a Hummer. What an arrogant, insecure jerk, right? She goes to therapy three times a week – ruh oh. She has a huge amount of credit card debt – what an irresponsible person! And so on. You meet people, maybe as a new friend, maybe as a love interest, and these details about them add up and paint a picture – rightly or wrongly. You’ve heard the expression to have your house in order, meaning to take care of your Body, Mind and Spirit. Does your main character have his or her house in order? Hopefully not on page one, right?
Imagine you are getting to know someone over a glass of wine. A person you are thinking of dating. Wouldn’t you like to know this stuff? It could prevent a lot of problems down the line, right? I think we’ve all gotten to know a great person only to find out later they’ve had a DUI, have three dollars in savings, tons of credit card debt and got fired from his last three jobs under mysterious circumstances. Oh – maybe that was just my experience. You know who you are. Kidding! I’m kidding!
Rightly or wrongly, in real life, the details of a person’s past and present allow us to create a composite judgment. In the movies, these details matter too. Because they shape our main characters into somebody whole, organic, flawed and interesting.
So here are some questions about your character, divided into formative and house-in-order categories:
Formative Does your character have siblings? How many? What is his or her birth order? Where did he or she grow up? Are his or her parents still living? Does your character have an education? How much? Is or was your character spiritual or religious? If so, of what nature? Who was he or she in high school? Nerd? Jock? Shy kid? Prom queen? Did he or she have money growing up or did the family struggle?
House in Order What does your character drive? Why? Does he or she have a savings account? How much is in it? Has he or she every done anything illegal? What? When and why? Does your character drink? How often? How much? Why? Does your character eat well and exercise? Why? Why not? Does he or she have a close relationship with family? Or estranged? Why?
These are just some starter questions but clearly, there are millions of questions you can ask and answer about your main character. Ask yourself, if you could be totally nosy and ask anyone anything you wanted, what would you ask your boss? Your lover? Your new friend? If a potential new lover revealed that he had twenty eight dollars in savings, does that then turn you off to him? Is there more to that story or is he just irresponsible? Ah but that’s where being a writer comes in. Maybe he has no savings because he paid for his brother’s kidney transplant surgery. Or maybe he has no savings because he has a gambling problem. Big difference. Which is it?
The answers to these questions, just like in real life, color the way your character makes decisions and choices in the now. And it is those decisions and choices – conscious and subconscious – that fuel the story you are about to tell. So please do take the time to get to know your characters, past and present. These details may not show up on your pages but like invisible ink, they are there, underscoring every choice and opinion your character has about the situation you are creating to entertain us.
Monday, October 6th, 20082008-10-06T15:39:00Zl, F jS, Y
So the Mini-W and I watched IRON MAN over the weekend and we both gave it a big thumbs up. And, as the Mini-W is still in the learning stages of movie appreciation, we discussed the fact that IRON MAN is an origin story. Origin as in the comic book world, not the world of mythology that the Mini-W was immersed in for years, being the product of many years of Waldorf School. To this day the kid can knit while discussing Loki, play the violin and sing ancient Teutonic songs about the coming of winter while laying pine boughs in a pleasing circular pattern.
In the world of comic books, origin stories are the back stories for the superhero in question. How, why and when our superhero began his or her trajectory of internal pain and superhero-ness. You know – Batman and his murdered parents, Spiderman, the radioactive spider and his uncle’s death for which he blames himself, Superman and his destroyed planet. Luke Skywalker and the loss of his aunt, uncle and very home. Wait – he’s not a superhero. But this is still his origin story, isn’t it? The beginnings of a lifelong adventure. A pivotal point in his life that changed him forever.
So all of this got me to thinking – what is your main character’s origin story? Regardless of genre, your main character is on an arc of change, right? What was that moment that defined the hole your main character has been trying to fill ever since? What defined them long before your story began? If there was a moment of origin for your main character, your script is then going to be the second most defining moment of their lives, right? Because your script is in some ways the continuation of a story that already began long ago.
Your main character’s origin story doesn’t have to be tragic – you might be writing a comedy – but the point is that something in your main character’s life set them upon a path, positive or negative and now, because screenwriters get to play god, you are going to set a story in motion that will irrevocably change your main character once more. Change the direction of their orbit forever. And it’s deeply satisfying, as a writer, because in real life while many do have defining moments, often it’s more of a cumulative effect, right? Experiences pile up, one atop the other and slowly shape us, like a rock being being battered by the sea. As we get older, we begin to soften and change.
But movies are life writ large – there are defining moments, pivotal conversations, forced decisions and cathartic, satisfying changes. I’m convinced that that’s why we like to go to the movies – to look for patterns, closure and exciting outcomes when in real life, things can seem to move at a glacial pace. Even so – look at your own life – do you have a moment that defined you? Or a period of time? Something about where you grew up, something that happened in your family? A bully at school? A teacher who believed in you? That jerk who fired you and led you to your career today? Were you lucky enough to find the love of your life and that person lifted you up to a whole new level because they love you so? Or did you lose someone and that profound loss lent you a whole new point of view?
We writers have more in common with our main characters than we like to admit. Our main characters live out our fantasies – they get revenge when we were unable to. They speak the truth when we weren’t heard. They overcome their fears. They have the perfect come back, romantic gesture or courageous response. They turn heartbreak into triumph, they take chances and they discover the truth about themselves. They overcome grief and find grace. They are us the way we wish we were.
What was your defining moment? Can you name one? Or maybe a defining period of time that led you where you are in your life right now?
Now think about your main character – your antagonist, that’s fun too – and explore what his or her origin story is. What defined your character on page negative 50, long before your page one was written?
Origin story – back story – defining moment – they’re not just for superheroes. We all have those moments and so does your main character. Be the main character you’re writing, slide into his or her skin and feel that pain, joy or loss in order to write a satisfying arc of change in the now.
I often tell writers that because you get to play god, the journey you set your character upon should be exactly relative to the change you want to see in your character. Could Tom Cruise have GONE on a more painful journey of change as he drove his mentally handicapped brother cross country in RAINMAN? Here is a character who needs to reconnect with his past, forgive his father and heal his wounds. They say that the Universe never gives us more than we can handle but often our limits are pushed. And we rise to our potential if we have to. If everything is on the line. Otherwise we lead a life of mediocrity and quiet desperation and our characters inhabit a dull movie. I think living a life of quiet desperation is a kind of living death. And so does your main character. They just won’t admit it.
So do some spelunking – find that origin story – that pivotal moment that happened long before your script began and then trace it forward – now your main character has reached some kind of uneasy equilibrium and by page ten, you’re going to be the finger of god, upset the balance and set change in motion.
Friday, October 3rd, 20082008-10-03T14:17:00Zl, F jS, Y
How many Rouge Wavers watched the Palin/Biden debate yesterday evening? I know I was glued to it, admittedly waiting (and hoping) for a Palin gaffe that never happened. But my oh my did Governor Palin crank up her down home, regional accent for effect. She peppered her language not only with soft enunciations like “ya” instead of “you” and all the usual “goin’s” and “shoulda’s”, but also a couple of well placed “doggone it’s”. The effect was quite calculated – this is a down home, all American, kitchen-table mom that you can relate to. Now, for someone like me, this was an annoying affectation – but for the voters Palin was trying to connect with, it was canny slam dunk. She understands ya. And maybe she won’t answer questions the way ya’d like her ta, but Americans are just wantin’ straight talk. Dontcha know.
From the linked article above:
Reaction to Palin’s speech has been highly varied. Some people dislike it, finding it harsh or grating; others regard it as charming or authentic. These are common responses to a distinctive accent. Depending on the context, such an accent can make a person seem stupid or uneducated or, conversely, honest and folksily trustworthy—often at the same time. Some people exploit this for effect, emphasizing and de-emphasizing dialect features to prompt a particular reaction. Linguists call this code-switching. In this Palin interview with Katie Couric, you can hear her enunciating her -ings and her yous more clearly in responses where she appeared to have a ready answer, and returning to her more natural -in’ and ya when she seemed stumped, which suggests that Palin may have been deliberately attempting to minimize her dialect features for that audience.
Yes, this code-switching…Palin does what I call a “Zelig”. You know, that great Woody Allen movie about a guy who instantly becomes just like everyone around him at a given moment in order to fit in?
Full disclosure: I am a born and bred Democrat from an educated, East Coast family that doggone moved west but retained a regional loyalty toward everything Boston and a love of literature and discussion. My grandmother attended the Leland Powers School of Elocution in fact, though she could never quite rid herself of her Brahmin Boston accent, i.e., driving the cah to the pahk. For me, while Palin’s diction, colloquialisms and overall diction is clearly a result of where she is from, there is an affectation that I find patronizing and which frankly galls me. Do ya know what I’m sayin’?
But moving on my from personal predilections and prejudices re Palin, I thought it an interesting lesson for screenwriters when it comes to dialogue. Palin employed a particular speech pattern for powerful effect: she was in character. Did she come across as warm, folksy and honest? That was the intent.
But to be both fair and realistic, we all have a bit of Zelig in us. How we want to be perceived varies from situation to situation. The way we speak tells others volumes about us. About where we’re from, our socio-economic status, our education and our world view. We are all in character.
I know that while I might seem fairly polite on the Rouge Wave, in real life, I use the eff word and a thousand variations of it very liberally when hanging around with my friends. Wouldn’t do that around my parents or around someone that I didn’t know very well. When I’m around people who are quite educated and who show that in their speech – I’m right there with ‘em too. My speech patterns and diction vary by situation. And your does too.
Take a look at your script pages and ask two questions of the dialogue: what affect is your character trying to have in the situation and what dialogue and diction choices have you made for your character in order to establish and reinforce personality?
How do you want your character to come across? What kind of vocabulary and diction do your characters use and to what affect? Oh dear, now I’m getting that paranoid feeling that I’m mixing my affects and my effects up. I probably am. And for every smarty pants Rouge Waver who writes in with the definitions of each and both, here’s a preemptive cupcake for you.
The bottom line is that however you felt about the Palin/Biden debate, Palin had a little lesson packed into her speech for us screenwriters. Dialogue defines character.
Saturday, September 27th, 20082008-09-27T15:34:00Zl, F jS, Y
So it was pretty sad to wake up today to the news of Paul Newman’s death. But I try not to allow myself to get too sad about the passing of a writer, actor or notable personage; rather, I shoot for appreciation and gratitude. Paul Newman lived a good long life and left behind a cinematic legacy.
When I was growing up, Paul Newman and Robert Redford were the George Clooney and Brad Pitt of their time. They were the epitome of handsome, sexy, movie-stars. I am sure that I have not seen every Paul Newman performance – there are some notable absences that I plan to rectify. I have not seen HUD, for one.
The performances that spring to mind that I really loved were :
Cat on a Hot Tin Roof Cool Hand Luke Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid The Sting The Color of Money
Probably my favorite was Butch Cassidy. Which, incidentally, I rewatched not long ago and while the great moments were as great as I recall, was also rather dated in a number of ways. But that movie still has one of the best movie endings ever. Who can forget that scene as Butch and Sundance talk about their next heist opportunity in Australia, knowing full well it will never happen and then rush out to a hail of bullets?
Mr. and Mrs. Bridge was a disappointment to me – I had read the books and absolutely LOVED them – (the movie collapsed two books into one movie). The performances were good but the movie just didn’t deliver the same experience as the books by far.
Thursday, September 11th, 20082008-09-11T15:47:00Zl, F jS, Y
You can tell TONS about a person by what’s in their home, right? Just tons. Next time you go over to someone’s house, use your writer’s eye and sweep the room. A lot of books? Is it super dusty and messy? Or clean as a whistle? Is there a prominent flat-screen TV and lots of movies lying around? How about the color scheme? Bright? Neutral? How about tchochkes? (Knick-knacks for you non-Yiddish speakers.) How about awards or artwork? Anything embroidered? Anything at all?
In my neighborhood, many people have their windows flung wide open at night, owing to the heat. And a stroll up and down the block will reveal an apartment with a huge, wide-screen tv with a lawn chair pulled up in front of it. And a living room painted bright red, strung with tiny Christmas lights. And a living room window peppered with children’s drawings. Messy apartments, with stereo systems up on cinder blocks. Apartments with a lot of Hollywood posters of yesteryear. There are apartments that look very lived in. And apartments that look just moved in to.
What is important to us is revealed in our homes. This is our womb-like lair. Where we go home, after a long day, to relax and find safety and peace. It’s where we can walk around in boxer shorts and ripped up tee shirts. It is our private space.
So I was reading a script recently which indicated that the main character’s apartment was nice. That’s all. No other details. Just”nice”. While you don’t want to take up an inordinate amount of space on your pages with design details, taking a second to describe your main character’s domicile is a very good idea. Or, to state it in the reverse, not doing it is a missed opportunity. A big missed opportunity.
Sometimes writers will say that the place is “bare bones” or indicate that the main character is rich or has “good taste”. But – neither one of those things really gives me a visual.
Take “bare bones” as an example. Okay, all right – but are the dishes stacked neatly near the sink or is the sink overflowing with dishes? Is the character a slob or a neatnik? Is this place bare bones because the character is broke or because they have no life? In other words, what does bare bones say about the psyche of the character?
You don’t have to go into a lot of detail (which is another, very common mistake I see) but just sketch it out some. When you say they are rich and the apartment is nice, do you mean they have expensive antiques? Or so you mean they catalogue shop at Pottery Barn? Is the apartment or house stuffed with things or pretty minimalistic? Is it an overstuffed couch or leather? Is the decor feminine in nature or very masculine? Gloomy or bright?
Does your character care for plants? Or not even? How about pets? Anything slithering around or rubbing up against your leg? Could the place use a good cleaning or health inspector? Or does your character use a maid? Is your character’s home a welcoming space or a cold, unwelcoming one?
Again, I cannot stress enough that in the big sweepstakes of significantly important qualities in your script: original premise, character arc, theme – decor is a detail that is not up there as one of the most important details. But not taking a few words to set the scene is a missed opportunity to tell us more about your character. Saying “nice” or “expensive” or “bare bones” is a cop out.
But nor should you catalogue everything in the room. No – broad strokes – but when you say the character is “rich, with expensive tastes” what does that mean, exactly? That tells me absolutely nothing. Is it gilded, Colombian drug lord “good taste” or is it eclectic, upscale-flea-market-collectors-finds “good taste”?
Do some research this week and look around at the home decor of your friends and neighbors. What stands out? How does this define your friend or neighbor? Our chosen decor does offer a glimpse into us, no doubt about that. Whether that decor is cardboard boxes and lawn chairs or priceless art and antiques.
Describing decor is ultimately a small detail of your script but don’t miss an important opportunity to give is a glimpse into your character’s soul.
Sunday, August 3rd, 20082008-08-04T01:51:00Zl, F jS, Y
Wonderful Chris Huntley of The Write Brothers, the man behind Dramatica Software and MovieMagic was my booth neighbor at the Fade In Pitch Fest this weekend. We wound up spending some time together and Chris shared with me a series of video clips he put together in which the “impact character” identifies with the main character. This series of clips illustrates Chris’ point beautifully.
So – what is this “impact character”? At The Writers Boot Camp, this was called the “dynamic character” – a character who can variously be an antagonist, mentor or co-protagonist. This is a character who shares, in a sense, a parallel journey with your main character – a character who is in many ways opposite from your main character and yet ultimately more like the main character than the main character would like to admit. Enjoy these great movie moments which illustrate the way in which a secondary character influences the main character:
Sunday, July 13th, 20082008-07-13T16:31:00Zl, F jS, Y
Do you ever rent a movie that you saw when it came out but not since, just to refresh yourself? Last evening, The Wave-inatrix and the Mini-W watched MISERY and were (re)blown away. Well, The Mini-W had never seen it, since it was made before she was born, but I was reblown away and the Mini-W, a fan and child of obviously much more current fare, became an unmitigated fan. It is also a source of great pride for me to note that the Mini-W made intelligent observations about the thematic similarities between MISERY and WHATEVER HAPPENED TO BABY JANE.
MISERY works so perfectly on so many levels. Great character arcs, tight structure, ticking clock(s), simple, terrifying premise and also, I mean really – Annie Wilkes has got to be one of the most memorable movie characters of all time. Her strange, developmentally stunted dialogue: He didn’t get out of the COCKADOODIE CAR!
And so it led us to have a conversation – if you had to make a list of the most unforgettable movie characters who would be on it?
Off the top of my head, my (starter) list would be:
Travis Bickle Annie Wilkes Hannibal Lecter Austin Powers Annie Hall Dirty Harry Tyler Durden Ferris Bueller Norma Desmond Claus Von Bulow Jake Gittes
Notice I didn’t say Tim Robbins in THE SHAWSHANK REDEMPTION – another brilliant movie, good actor and memorable role – but the difference here is the name of the character is what comes to mind, not the actor – because the character was so uniquely memorable that he or she subsumes the actor. Was Marilyn Monroe unforgettable in SOME LIKE IT HOT? Yes. But that’s because it was Marilyn, not her character, Sugar Kane. Alec Baldwin was great in THE DEPARTED too (really great) but the difference between those mentions and the ones above, is that the characters in my short list above are so memorable, they stand out from the actor and many of us can quote their particularly memorable lines of dialogue.
What lists would Wavers make? Who are your most memorable movie characters? Can you quote them? Do you quote them from time to time -
You lookin’ at me?
You have no idea.
All right Mr. Demille, I’m ready for my close up.
Yeah, baby, yeah!
And more importantly – are you writing characters this memorable? It’s not easy, god no – but it’s what we should strive for, right? Writing a character so memorable that what your character says will wind up in the lexicon of great movie dialogue.
Friday, July 11th, 20082008-07-11T16:17:00Zl, F jS, Y
Guest Blog
By Robert Chomiak
Oops, anyone read that title and experience a pang of guilt? Or are you able to strike a balance by spending enough time with those who matter to you? And what in the world does this have to do with screenwriting?
As someone who has written analyses on hundreds of specs, I’ve noticed a conspicuous number commits the cardinal sin of ignoring important characters. I’ll be knee deep in Act 2 when it occurs to me that the hero’s friend hasn’t been heard from for some time.
That’s why I prefer reading searchable PDF files rather than hard copies of scripts. It’s so much easier to type in a character’s name to confirm in seconds that, yup, the friend doesn’t appear from pages 23 to 61.
Usually it’s the confidante. Another casualty is the parents. The love interest is also neglected big time. And even—nope, I’m not making this up—the protagonist.
Now, I am not advocating equal time for everybody. It’s impossible to do it in real life, so don’t even attempt it in your script.
The key here is balance.
Some people don’t enjoy being the center of attention. But more importantly, no one likes to be forgotten. As Oscar Wilde said, “The only thing worse than being talked about is not being talked about.”
Remember what happened to Michael Douglas when he stopped paying attention to Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction? Eventually she turned up with a carving knife and the ominous line “I’m not gonna be ignored.”
What follows are actual examples of scripts in which writers neglected significant characters. Details have been altered to protect the innocent.
In one screenplay, a detective has fallen for a deli worker while trying to solve a case. The relationship takes a few baby steps in Act 1 and starts to flourish at the top of Act 2. But from that point to the middle of Act 3, the detective is mired in his case and makes no attempt to contact the love interest. There is one obligatory scene somewhere in Act 3 in which she shows up to offer tea and sympathy, then the detective doesn’t bother to meet with her until the resolution.
The major problem is that it’s unconvincing the detective could hook up with this woman again without some issue over his absence. The relationship offers no chance to shake things up for him. This is a clear example of the value of subplots. The love interest here isn’t threaded into the story to give the detective opportunities to explore the emotional aspect of his life. Instead, for a large chunk of the story, we are made to feel the importance of his case. For 40 pages the script feels like a police procedural instead of a detective story.
In another script, a single dad suddenly finds himself pink slipped. He has to move heaven and earth to secure employment, which will allow him to maintain custody of his two daughters. No problem here, the stakes are pretty solid. The dad takes on a crappy job completely beneath him in order to pay the bills and later becomes embroiled in a kidnapping plot. He tries to mind his own business but keeps getting pulled into the caper until he has no choice. An unlikely low-level worker is suddenly forced to play hero by saving a teen girl from her captor.
Hm, and all the while, who exactly is taking care of his own daughters? Apparently his prepubescent offspring can feed, entertain and discipline themselves. When we do check in with them, there is little conflict with the dad’s original goal of trying to maintain custody. Think Pursuit of Happyness without the actual day-to-day routine of raising the kid.
In this final example, a down-and-out fighter enters a championship contest to pay for his pet’s operation. In the first 12 pages we are made to feel the importance of that pet, because it represents the fighter’s glory days; symbolically he wants to keep the dream alive. For the next four pages he makes half-hearted attempts to earn some money before settling on the boxing competition. He spends the next 15 pages convincing others to help him: his mother, his brother, a former fighter. He jumps headlong into his training for the next 20 pages, getting into all sorts of trouble and finding his goal to be an uphill battle. And what is all this for, exactly?
I almost couldn’t remember. For there is a 40-page gap where the pet is absent, even though its presence is vital to remind us of the fighter’s goal. As with the detective and the dad, the fighter becomes focused on the task at hand until the story is all action and little heart.
The careful management of characters should be thought of as a host who spends just the right amount of time with guests to make the party a success. Of course, that doesn’t mean running around trying to please everybody and ending up pleasing no one.
Sometimes a character isn’t heard from for the specific purpose of creating mystery, yearning, tension, anticipation. But you can pretty much tell the writer who is intentionally keeping characters off-screen versus the writer who is merely neglecting them.
So, if this article has inadvertently guilted you into getting in touch with someone you haven’t talked to in a while, sit down later with your script to see if an important character hasn’t been heard from for several pages.
Odds are you’ll suddenly be struck with inspiration to write incredibly cool scenes that seemed to be missing from your script. Scenes that allow your characters time to reflect and to develop, to have their goal or beliefs challenged, to bond together or break up.
In other words, to make your characters complex and interesting.
This awareness of your cast will also prove to be a useful tool when you get stuck asking “What happens next?” The better question will be “Who hasn’t been heard from in a while?”
Robert Chomiak is co-writer of the zom-com feature Fido. He has also written a sitcom episode and adaptations for three animated theatrical features and 207 episodes on seven animated series.
Thursday, May 29th, 20082008-05-29T14:54:00Zl, F jS, Y
My good friend and our new resident psychologist at The Script Department, Jeff Cotton took five questions from Rouge Wavers last week and wrote up some great answers. Today we have Jeff’s response to the first two questions:
Dear Doctor Jeff:
One problem I’ve encountered with my characters (in my drama specs) is that I hesitate to really put them through the wringer. In other words, intellectually I understand that Very Bad Things must happen to them, after all it’s a drama, but emotionally, I can’t bringmyself to do it. I find myself shying away and doing The Next Bad Thing That Isn’t So Bad. How can I overcome this? -Too Nice in Toronto
Dear Too Nice:
One of the questions to ask yourself is “have I gone through the wringer in my own life and am I better because of it?” If the answer’s “No, I haven’t gone through it” or “No, I’m not better because of it,” then I don’t blame you from shying away from putting your hero/heroine through hell. Yet, most life situations that have taken us right to, and sometimes right over, the edge and we healed from, become our great teachers and allies; the places we are wisest because of our personal experience.
I watched Russell Crowe on “Inside The Actor’s Studio”, talk about not falling too in love with your character because either you won’t want them to have flaws or resist having them go pain. To not have our characters go through life is akin to putting the “high filter button’ on my old stereo. The high filter button was used when an album was too scratchy. While the high filter diminished some scratchiness, it also dulled the music. — I encourage you to go for it.
Dear Doctor Jeff:
Is there is a book out there on reviewing the psychology of a movies/scripts like “Silence of the Lambs” or “Batman” or ‘Hellboy” or “Pan’s Labyrinth”? -Curious in Cleveland
I remember reading ‘Red Dragon’ forerunner of ‘Silence Of The Lambs.’ Graham, the FBI hunter of serial killers said (not quite a quote) “I grieve for the little boy that was tortured into becoming a monster.” It seems important to recognize that monsters are created, rather than born. Also, as much as movie like to give it the “it” moment that created us (our personalities), it’s generally a lot less black and white and more created over time, than in an instant.
A good rule of thumb is that the younger (and more helpless) the child was during the trauma(s) either the more helpless they become in later life…. OR the more monster-like they become to protect the helpless child inside.
Okay Wavers, stay tuned for more questions for Doctor Jeff and his illuminating answers.
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