Writing the short film 3th - Part 12

At this point, Gittes is handed a summons and complaint by the gray-haired man, who remarks that he supposes they’ll be hearing from Gittes’ attorney. He speaks pleasantly—just a lawyer doing his job. Then Evelyn walks out the door, and the scene ends with Gittes staring down at the thick sheaf of papers. Gittes quickly modifies his usual rowdy voice to the more genteel one he uses with female clients as soon as he speaks to the young woman. When she threatens him with publicity, he reverts somewhat to his usual way of speak- ing, only because he is in shock. (“It’s not going to do any good to get tough with me—”) Evelyn Mulwray’s voice is that of a well-educated, wealthy, quite imperious young woman who appears to be accustomed to getting her own way. These two are worlds apart. When you are not familiar with the way a character would speak, it is often necessary to do research the way that actors and professional scriptwriters do: take yourself off to the kind of place in which such a per- son might spend time and listen carefully to conversation around you. In the short script The Lady in Waiting, the authentic-sounding and very different voices of Scarlet and Miss Peach are the result of considerable such research on the writer’s part. However, we all have many voices available to us—the voices of family members, of friends, of the people with whom we’ve gone to school, or played, or worked. Accessing this material is often a first step in discovering how to write dialogue that works. EXERCISE 9: AN INTERVIEW You are going to conduct a friendly, imaginary interview with someone you know, or have known, well enough to have a good idea of how the person usually spends a day off. For obvious reasons, don’t choose anyone you live with or are involved with, or anyone who would be uncomfortable being interviewed by you. Close your eyes and imagine this person in the room in which he or she would be most at ease talking to you. In your mind, explain that the interview is just a writing exercise in which the person will be anonymous (as they should be). You will be given a single (apparently) innocuous question to start off your interview, with a second question as backup in case the person falls silent for longer than, say, ten seconds. Anything less than that qualifies as a pause. Pauses, as well as any ahs, hmms, ums, smiles, laughter, or physical actions, should always be noted: these can often be more revealing than speech. Remember that your purpose in doing this exercise is to hear the intervie- wee out, not to control the way in which the interview shapes itself. Try to Writing an Original Short Screenplay 67 Ch06.qxd 9/27/04 6:05 PM Page 67 avoid interrupting by responding to what is being said; respond only with encouraging murmurs rather than talk—uh-huh, mmm, right, etc. If things falter, ask the backup question, which may well lead to a sudden flow of speech. If you are skeptical, think of all the voices running through your head on any given day; think of the way in which actors work to create a charac- ter; think of the way you talked to yourself as a child. Then put aside your skepticism and go to work. Here, then, is the first question: How do you spend your day off? (Or, how do you spend your Sunday?) The backup question: If you could do anything you wanted on that day, what would it be? Set your timer and GO! At the end of ten minutes, stop writing and read the exercise. Did you capture the sound of the person’s voice, the way that person would react to talking to you about him or herself? If not, it is worth choosing someone else and trying again. When you move on, as you shortly will, to writing an original short screenplay, this exercise can prove a useful tool for exploring your characters’ backgrounds: what it is they want out of life, and whether they are getting it. DIALOGUE AS EXPOSITION In the fourth chapter, we discussed just how much exposition was buried in the first page or so of Thelma and Louise. Reading the script or viewing the film for the first time, we are enough engaged by the two women—what they are doing and what they are saying—to be unaware of the fact that we are also being fed essential information about each of them in a masterful way. Beginning screenwriters often tend to pack their characters’ speeches with information, both necessary and unnecessary. What is necessary—and, in the short film, it shouldn’t be much—can often be given through behavior, or through dialogue whose primary purpose is to forward the dramatic action, as in the excerpt from Thelma and Louise. In the following scene from the comic script Dead Letters Don’t Die, we learn about the main character in a completely “natural” way—no forced feeding. We are shown, rather than told about, his innocence, his passivity (the man’s been in love for two years!), and a basic tenacity that helps him resist the fellow worker who is aggressively handing out unwanted advice. Chuck shows Thomas the tacky negligee he has bought for his girlfriend and asks what Thomas got for his “ole lady.” Thomas stammers that she deserves more than he could give her. CHUCK Still haven’t talked to her, huh? 68 Writing the Short Film Ch06.qxd 9/27/04 6:05 PM Page 68 THOMAS Uh, not yet. Chuck faces Thomas. CHUCK Fupper, you’ve got to take the bull by the balls. He crumples the letter he is holding into a ball. CHUCK This Stevie Wonder, secret lover crap has gone on for much too long. THOMAS It’s still too early. CHUCK It’s been two years! She writes to her dead husband for God sakes; you can’t tell me she doesn’t need a friend. THOMAS I don’t want to rush it. DIALOGUE AS DRAMATIC ACTION: TEXT, SUBTEXT, AND CONTEXT In art, as in life, gesture and speech have to be seen or heard in context in order to be fully understood. Someone may say, “Come in, and close the door after you,” in a manner that implies a request for privacy, suggests wonderful things to follow, or threatens your physical well-being. In order to grasp the subtext of a particular line or gesture in any script (the text)— that is, in order to grasp its underlying or implicit meaning—we need to place it in proper context, to examine that line or gesture in relation to the events or circumstances that surround it. Again, in art as in life, people often don’t mean what they say or say what they mean. For a variety of reasons, some of which appear to make sense and some of which do not, we frequently choose to express ourselves obliquely rather than directly, using tone of voice and physical emphasis to convey our real meaning. For instance, in the example just given, you might respond to the line of dialogue by coming in and closing the door after you with a bang, Writing an Original Short Screenplay 69 Ch06.qxd 9/27/04 6:05 PM Page 69 or very slowly, or with exaggerated care, each choice denoting a different subtext. Among the pleasures afforded us in viewing a first-rate narrative film or video are a kind of automatic deciphering of possible subtext along with an appreciation (the more conscious, the more pleasurable) of the tension that exists between text and subtext. EXERCISE 10: DIALOGUE AS ACTION Write down the following dialogue, in format or not, as you choose. As soon as you have the lines on paper, begin writing further lines, or even physical actions of the characters, as fast as you can, without worrying about exposition or con- cerning yourself as to whether or not any of it makes sense. Write for 10 min- utes and stop. A : What are we going to do about this? B : I dunno. A : Well, we’ve got to do something. A pause. B : Why? Immediately afterward, ask your characters the questions from Exercise 2 (see page 29) and write down the answers. The answers will establish the context for your scene. When you have answered them, put everything away for the usual 24-hour period. The novelist and scriptwriter Raymond Chandler wrote in an article on writers in Hollywood that “the challenge of screenwriting is to say much in little and then take half of that little out and still preserve an effect of leisure and natural movement. Such a technique requires experiment and elimination.” 1 If this is true for screenwriting in general, it is particularly so for the short screenplay and for dialogue in the short screenplay. To illustrate the process of “saying much in little,” here is the opening scene of a short script by Pat Cooper, one of the coauthors of this book, in first-draft and then in rewrite form. The script is called “Annie’s Flight,” and its protagonist is a 70 Writing the Short Film Ch06.qxd 9/27/04 6:05 PM Page 70 seven-year-old girl whose parents are about to get a divorce. 2 Through much of the title sequence before the scene, we have heard muffled sounds of a man and woman quarreling. FADE IN: INT. DININGROOM. DAY A pleasant room in an old house: bright reproductions of paintings, hanging plants, a large round table with a lace tablecloth. KIRSTIN and DAVID, a couple in their late thirties, sit facing one another at the table. KIRSTIN So . . . when do we tell her? DAVID You decide. KIRSTIN I don’t know I don’t know . . . DAVID But soon, it should be soon. KIRSTIN Well, you say, then. A slight pause. DAVID I’ve got meetings all week . . . Silence. Listen, Kirstin—I honestly think it would be better if you told her. KIRSTIN We agreed to tell her together. CAMERA MOVES DOWN PAST THE TABLE to a place where the cloth is rucked up eighteen inches or so. In this space, we see a little girl peering out. This is ANNIE. Writing an Original Short Screenplay 71 Ch06.qxd 9/27/04 6:05 PM Page 71 As we watch, she disappears into the darkness underneath the table. Again, KIRSTIN AND DAVID. DAVID Then it has to wait. A pause. KIRSTIN You don’t really give a damn about her, do you. DAVID That’s not true! (pause) You know that’s not true. (pause) We’ll tell her on the weekend. KIRSTIN Fine. DAVID pushes his chair back and gets up from the table. KIRSTIN It’s not her fault, after all. HOLD ON KIRSTIN, watching him go. After a moment, she gets up herself, and goes out. CUT TO ANNIE, UNDER THE TABLE. When the time came to revise, the writer was aware of two significant factors before starting: (1) this was too lengthy an opening for a film of seven or eight minutes in length, and (2) the tension between the parents could be increased if certain lines were used as subtext rather than text (that is, implied rather than spoken). Here, then, is the revision, with her rationale for the changes: THE IDENTICAL SCENE REVISED (Description of room and characters remains the same.) KIRSTIN So, when do we tell her? 72 Writing the Short Film Ch06.qxd 9/27/04 6:05 PM Page 72 DAVID You decide. KIRSTIN I don’t know I don’t know . . . DAVID But soon, it ought to be soon. KIRSTIN Well, you say. DAVID The thing is, I’ve got meetings all week. A pause. KIRSTIN Cancel them. DAVID Oh, come on, Kirstin . KIRSTIN We agreed to tell her together. A pause. DAVID Friday morning, then. KIRSTIN Friday morning’s fine, David. He gets up and abruptly goes out of the room as KIRSTIN sits gazing after him. After a moment, she gives a sigh and crosses past the CAMERA to go off as well. The CAMERA MOVES DOWN THE TABLECLOTH to a place where it is rucked up about eighteen inches or so. In that space, we see a little girl of seven peering out from under the table. This is ANNIE. She looks after her mother a moment, then pulls back into the darkness. Writing an Original Short Screenplay 73 Ch06.qxd 9/27/04 6:05 PM Page 73 . which such a per- son might spend time and listen carefully to conversation around you. In the short script The Lady in Waiting, the authentic-sounding and. Louise. Reading the script or viewing the film for the first time, we are enough engaged by the two women—what they are doing and what they are saying—to