Longtime commenter, Grendl, takes home an easy win on the third screenwriting showdown of the year!
I was initially quite down about Scene Showdown because I was reading 20, sometimes 30, entries in a row and not finding even a single respectable scene. To that end, I’m very thankful that Grendl entered the competition because as soon as I saw his e-mail address, I knew he was going to give me a quality entry. And he did.
To be honest, it provided a sigh of relief because I was starting to worry that I wouldn’t have enough entries to create a showdown. And, just to be clear, my frustration is not on you guys. It’s on myself. If the scenes you chose to enter are not up to par, then it’s something I’m doing wrong. I’m not conveying to you what constitutes a good scene. I’m not conveying to you how to write a good scene. These days, I consider myself a guide, a teacher of sorts, and that means if the entries fail, I failed.
I would like to get into why the entries didn’t work in a more aggressive manner because I think that soft-peddling criticism has, maybe, made writers believe script issues are less problematic than they are. But I need your permission to do so. So, if you entered a scene that didn’t get chosen and you want it to go through the Carson gauntlet, let me know in the comments. Cause I feel like if I’m more aggressive with my analysis, it has a better chance of sticking.
Okay, let’s get on to today’s winner, which won by a whopping 10 votes, Grendl’s scene from his script, “Undertow.”
The first thing I’m going to praise here isn’t sexy. But as I learned, after going through all these entries, it is by no means a given. Which is that the writing is simple and easy-to-understand.
Veronica approaches the intercom, spotting the faded listing behind a glass pane. She scans the list of names, but doesn’t see his. There is one button with no name next to it. She presses that one.
There’s no pretentious overly-complex description here. The writing tells us exactly what’s going on and nothing more. When there’s an opportunity to add detail (“spotting the faded listing behind a glass pane”) it’s taken. But there isn’t anything in the description that makes me double-take because it was unclear.
Yet this issue was prevalent in nearly all of the submissions. I don’t know what it is about writers but they seem to seek out the most awkward ways to describe things possible.
This was a huge issue while I was picking entries. I couldn’t even get to the point where I was judging the scene because I knew that if I put something up that had a sentence like, “In no uncertain manner as the buttons bloom with faded blue light, the intercom from which Vernoica has approached, in dire need of being replaced, responds to the index finger she presses upon it, the one button without a name…” that the entry would get hammered.
If we’re not even getting basic sentence-structure right, how can we expect to tell a compelling story? Grendl’s writing was simple and to the point. It allowed me to focus on the story and the story alone.
And I liked what Grendl did right away with the scene. We establish this trust and rapport between driver and passenger, with our driver promising he’ll wait around. And then Veronica barely makes it a step out of the car before the driver zips away. I like moments like this because they establish that unexpected things can happen at any moment.
This is so important in a genre like this because you need the reader to feel unsettled. If they feel too comfortable reading a scene like this, you haven’t done your job. So even before my protagonist moves into the dangerous situation, I’m already on edge.
The conversation that follows between Michael and Veronica is solid but unspectacular. It mostly deals with logistics (who are you, oh okay, you can come in) and I probably would’ve added more resistance on Michael’s end to create extra tension. Especially because this is no longer just about meeting with this man. It’s about how, if she doesn’t get into this building, she’s in danger. This is a strange scary neighborhood at night and she’s a lone girl.
So for the conversation to go that smoothly was a missed opportunity. Then again, I don’t know enough about the story to understand the context of this conversation. So maybe it makes more sense than I’m giving it credit for. These are the challenges with scene showdowns. The reader doesn’t have all the information.
Once in the building, Grendl knows to ratchet up the tension and the potential danger. He knows that you don’t want to just throw Veronica into the elevator right away. You want to build suspense. So the stuff about the elevator lurching into motion, “rattling and screeching its way down,” is good.
Remember that the original need for a written screenplay was to convey to the people working on the film what it was we’re going to see onscreen. That mission has evolved over time, as screenplays require the pages to be more entertaining. But everything goes back to that.
And Grendl achieves that here. I’m seeing this movie on the screen as I read it. Cavernous hallways, echoing footsteps, looming shadows. And none of this is overbearing or overwritten. It’s just enough to get an idea of what we’re looking at, and then we’re moving forward.
The scene gets another jolt when the elevator doors open and Veronica realizes there’s someone inside. One of the things I talk about in my latest book is this idea of leaning into common situations. The first instinct writers have is to avoid common situations behind the logic that they’re “cliche.”
But certain situations are dramatically dependable because they are RELATABLE. Every woman knows what it feels like to get into an elevator with a man who looks sketchy. And men know this too! Even if they haven’t experienced the scenario themselves, they understand how the situation would feel to a woman.
So, you have this baked-in tension powering the sequence. Even if you did nothing with this setup, it would provide the scene with an adequate amount of conflict. Of course, the writer’s job is to play with the scenario and create even more conflict with it. Which is exactly what Grendl does.
By the way, this section could’ve been described better. Veronica initially hesitates when she sees that there’s someone on the elevator. We’re then told the man “presses the button,” and she gets on. But what button did he press and what does it do? A few lines later, we’re told about a “DOOR OPEN” button so I guess that’s what he’s been pressing. But since the average elevator doesn’t require someone to hold a ‘door open’ button, that probably needs to be described up front.
And yet, it doesn’t matter. I’m already hooked on the scene. My suspension of disbelief is strong because of the way the scene’s been set up.
When you do that as a writer, readers DON’T CARE about this button stuff. I’m only pointing it out because this is an analysis of the scene. But if I was just reading this to enjoy it, this moment wouldn’t bother me at all because it doesn’t affect the core elements of the scene, which are working.
If this scene would’ve been bludgeoned in its setup, then the button qualm becomes indicative of a larger issue. So, get the dramatic stuff right and it won’t matter if you make little mistakes here and there.
Next, we get this fun little moment where the strange elevator man presses the basement level button instead of the 3rd floor button. So we’re going in the opposite direction of where we want to go. This is Suspense 101. You want to imply that something dangerous is coming and then sit in the anticipation of it. This is what directors such as Alfred Hitchcock were so good at.
There were very few writers who submitted to the Scene Showdown who understood anything about suspense. So, opportunities like this were overlooked. I just want to make it clear to people WHY this scene was chosen over other scenes. And an understanding of basic dramatic screenwriting, stuff like how to properly implement suspense, was a big reason.
My only real criticism of the ending is cutting directly to the third floor. I probably would’ve sat in the elevator as it ever-so-slowly ascended away from that basement, away from the danger of this man, to allow our heroine to finally let out a relieved sigh. Then follow her, in real time, up to the third floor, the elevator doors opening, and her trying to find Michael’s door.
She starts looking around. None of the doors have numbers on them so she has no idea where to go. And then, of course, as has already been written, she hears the elevator moving back to the basement floor. The scary man is coming back up. She’s got to find Michael’s door ASAP. She does just in the nick of time. End of scene.
Very strong entry. This is the scene I probably would’ve voted for as well.
[ ] What the hell did I just read?
[ ] wasn’t for me
[xx] worth the read
[ ] impressive
[ ] genius
What I learned: The scene is a great reminder that even small goals, such as your hero trying to get to an apartment in a building, can be compelling if you add the right mix of dramatic ingredients.
