So over the last few weeks, you guys have seen me bring a certain term up time and time again: CLARITY.  Or, more specifically, lack there of.  Clarity isn’t as sexy to talk about as character arcs or the first act turn, but unclear writing is a way-too-common problem for beginners and low intermediates, particularly because they’re not aware it’s a problem in the first place.  Tell them you didn’t understand something, and they think the onus is on you.  They believe that if it makes sense in their heads, it should make sense in yours.

The problem is that what works inside your gray matter doesn’t always work on the page. For example, say you’re writing about a movie that jumps back and forth between Present Day and the Old West.  As the writer, you’ve been prepping this dual-time story forever.  So by the time you start, everything about it makes complete sense to you.  Your first scene, then, follows a detective walking into a murder scene.  After the scene is over, you cut to a whorehouse in the Old West.  Now to you, this cut makes perfect sense.  To a reader being introduced to the story for the first time, however, it’s confusing as hell.  How did we get from a murder scene to a 19th century brothel??? The solution to orientating the reader is quite simple.  Just insert a title card that says “1878 – The Old West.” Now the cut reads as structured and intentional, as opposed to random and bizarre.  It seems quite obvious but beginner writers often don’t know to do this.

And that’s the problem.  If a script contains as little as three or four confusing moments in the first act, the script is shot.  It gets too confusing for the reader to follow along.  I mean sure, we have a vague sense of what’s going on, but the particulars are hazy, and the particulars are what make a script a script.  Now the more I started thinking about this problem, the more I realized there weren’t any articles out there specifically addressing it.  Which seemed strange to me because it’s an issue that comes up three or four scripts a week in my reading.  Hence, why I decided to write today’s post.  I want to give writers the tools to BE CLEAR in their writing.  So here are some guidelines to follow that should keep your screenplay easy to understand.

A CLEAR GOAL – One of the simplest ways to write a clear story is to set up a big goal for your main character in the first act.  In Trouble With The Curve, we establish that Eastwood’s character must correctly scout a minor-league player or lose his job.  In yesterday’s script, The Almighty, I was never clear on what the ultimate goal was.  Stop Lucifer maybe?  But we had to get through a lot of gobbledy-gook to get to that point, and even then, I wasn’t sure if that was the ultimate goal.  So, as a beginner, instead of having a bunch of changing or shifting goals during your story, keep it simple.  Your hero should be going after one thing (Indiana Jones goes after the Ark).  Following this one rule is going to take care of most of your clarity problems.

GET RID OF UNIMPORTANT SUBPLOTS – Lots of writers will add subplots that feel completely separate from the main storyline.  So instead of enjoying them, readers spend the majority of the time trying to figure out what they’re doing there in the first place.  This detracts from the primary story (the main goal), making the story difficult to follow.  Subplots are good.  Just make sure they’re plot related.

GET RID OF UNIMPORTANT CHARACTERS – I can’t tell you how many times I stop reading a script to ask the question, “Who is this person???”  Characters that have only a minimal effect on the story should be ditched or combined with other characters.  The more characters there are in a script, the harder it is for the reader to keep track of everyone, and the more confused they get.  They’ll start mixing people up, forgetting who’s aligned with who, and just outright forget characters.  This is a big reason for reader confusion.

REMINDERS – Depending on how complicated your story is, you may need to remind your reader every once in awhile what the goal is.  Even if your story isn’t complicated, you’d be surprised at how quickly a reader can lose track of why we’re on this journey.  In The Hangover, Bradley Cooper’s character is constantly reminding us that they need to find Doug.  For simple stories, you may only need to remind the audience twice.  For complex ones, you may need to remind them as many as six times.  Feel out the complexity of your story and determine the number from there.  But a good reminder of what we’re doing and why is always helpful to the reader.

STAY AWAY FROM FLASHBACKS, FLASHFORWARDS AND DREAM SEQUENCES – In the hands of beginners, these devices are script suicide.  I’m not even sure what it is, but when new writers attempt them, they almost always occur at random times and result in total confusion.  I just read a script two weeks ago that started with a woman getting married.  The very next scene had that same girl walking into a pharmacy and flirting with a different guy.  Questions: Why was our protagonist going to a pharmacy right after her wedding?  And why was she trying to pick up a guy hours after getting married?  Eventually I figured out that this was a flashback.  But how was I supposed to know???  This kind of thing happens ALL THE TIME, even with more advanced writers.   So the best solution is to just keep your story in the present.  Use these devices if they’re necessary for telling your story (Eternal Sunshine Of The Spotless Mind).  But make sure that they’re properly notated and that there really is no other way to do it.

KEEP YOUR WRITING SIMPLE – I was just discussing this with a writer the other day.  He’d written this huge lumbering opus and peppered every paragraph with 20 adjectives and 90% more description than was needed.  Even when I did manage to understand what was being said, it felt like I’d run a marathon through quicksand.  After awhile, it became so laborious to read through even the most basic scenes, that my mind tired out, and it became difficult to follow what was going on.  Therefore, it wasn’t that the information wasn’t on the page.  It was that we had to dig through a pile of words to get there.  Do that too many times and the reader gives up.  And when that happens, your script becomes unclear by reason of exhaustion.

MAKE SURE EACH SCENE HAS A CLEAR GOAL – Believe it or not, there are tons of writers out there who can’t even write a clear scene.  ONE CLEAR SCENE.  And it’s usually because they don’t have a gameplan.  They just sort of write what comes to mind.  So make sure going into a scene that you’re doing four things.  First, make sure you have a goal for the scene.  For example, you want your two leads to meet. Second, make sure the scene moves the story forward.  In other words, the scene should be required to get your protagonist (either directly or indirectly) closer to his ultimate goal.    By “indirectly” I mean, yes, Indiana Jones wants the Ark, but the scene where he goes to Marion is required because she has a piece of the puzzle required to find the Ark.  If she doesn’t have that piece, this scene isn’t moving the story forward, and therefore isn’t needed.  Third and fourth, make sure both characters in the scene have a goal.  So in the Marion Intro scene, Indiana’s goal is to get that puzzle piece, and Marion’s goal is to keep it from him.  This basic setup should ensure that every scene you write makes sense.

IF YOU DON’T TELL US, WE WON’T KNOW – In your mind, Indiana might be standing right next to Marion, but if you don’t tell us, how are we supposed to know?  In your mind, the bar might be full of people.  But if you don’t tell us, we might assume it’s empty.  In your mind, the bad guys are in the room adjacent to our hero, ready to strike.  But if you don’t convey that, we may assume they’re in a room all the way across town.  Writers leaving out basic information is one of the quickest ways to scene confusion.  For example, I just read a script where two friends were sharing secrets about a guy named “Joe.”  But Joe was right there in the room next to them!  I was so confused.  How could they secretly be talking about a guy who was right there???  The writer later explained that Joe was actually on the other side of the room, so he couldn’t hear them. Well how the hell was I supposed to know that?  Again, it’s a matter of assumption with a lot of beginners.  They assume things are obvious.  But the reality is, if they don’t tell the reader, how the heck is the reader supposed to know?

Now in the end, sound storytelling principles have the biggest effect on clarity:  A strong goal.  A hero we want to root for.  An interesting story with exciting developments.  Escalating stakes.  If you do that, you’ll keep the reader’s interest.  If you don’t, the reader will get bored and start checking out, missing things because they’re just not into your story anymore, and hence start getting confused.  And one last thing.  When you’re finished, give your script to a friend to read and just ask them if it all makes sense.  Drill them on parts of it.  Ask them questions.  Make sure it’s all clear.  Then, and only then, should you unleash your screenplay into the world.

A spoon full of sugar wasn’t needed to make today’s screenplay go down. It looks like we have a new entry into the Top 25!

Genre: Drama
Premise: The story of how Walt Disney got the rights to Mary Poppins.
About: This script finished on last year’s Black List with 13 votes, so somewhere in the middle of the pack. It’s been getting a lot of heat lately because Tom Hanks has been circling the role of Walt Disney. And who couldn’t see that working? Kelly Marcel created the series Terra Nova. And she was also the script editor on the film “Bronson.” I have to admit, though, that I have no idea what a script editor is.
Writer: Kelly Marcel
Details: 109 pages (This is an early draft of the script. The situations, characters, and plot may change significantly by the time the film is released. This is not a definitive statement about the project, but rather an analysis of this unique draft as it pertains to the craft of screenwriting).

I’m about to drop a barrel of honesty on you guys. I wasn’t looking forward to this script. It had all the makings of a biopic. Dull play-by-play of successful folks facing “adversity” in their journey towards immortality. Awww, times were tough for you before you became a billionaire and achieved international fame and success? I’m sorry. However did you cope?

I only opened it because I thought Tom Hanks was perfect casting for Walt Disney. Wanted to see what he’d gotten all excited about.

P.L Travers, who has about six names in this script (besides P.L., she’s also Ginty, Pamela, Pam and I’m pretty sure a few others. What is this, a preview of Friday’s amateur entry, “We, Myself and I?”), is the creator of the Mary Poppins books back in the U.K. The books have been popular enough to give her a financially stable career, but the reality is, it’s been 20 years since they came out, and the money is running out. If Pamela doesn’t do something soon, she’s gonna be camping outside of Big Ben with a big cup of change.

So you’d think that the most popular movie maker in the world desperately wanting to turn her books into a movie would be “a spoonful of sugar” to her ears. Alas it is not. In fact, Walt Disney has been trying to secure the rights to Mary Poppins for 20 years now. And Pamela has never thought twice about it. The answer’s always been “no thank you.” Without the “thank you.” But times they are a changin’. Pamela needs a spoonful of money in her bank account. So she decides to go to America to hear Walt out.

Now Pamela is not a happy person. To give you an example, when she’s having trouble stuffing her baggage into the overhead bin on the plane, a woman with a baby kindly offers to move her own bag so Pamela can get situated. Once Pamela sits down, she turns to the helpful woman and says, “Is your baby going to be loud during the flight?” What a charmer.

Once Pamela gets to Disneyland, she’s greeted by her writing team, who’ve already written the script she must now approve. But Pamela isn’t interested in them. She came here to meet Walt Disney and that’s the only person she’s going to give any respect to.

When the two do meet, Walt Disney is as advertised. He’s a big kid, full of ideas and energy, optimistic to the core. In other words, the exact opposite of Pamela. Pamela quickly reminds him that she has script approval and if any of her demands are not met, she will cancel the movie immediately. Walt isn’t used to people making demands, but since this is the last leg of a race he’s been running for 20 years, he assures her that they’ll do everything they can to accommodate her.

One of my favorite moments in the script is when Pamela sits down to go over the script with the writers. She starts at the top of the first page: “Scene one. Exterior. 17 Cherry Tree Lane, London. Day.” She pauses. “Yes, that’s good. That can stay.” The writer looks at her incredulously, “That’s just the scene heading!” lol. Boy do I love screenplay humor!

As the script goes on, Pamela makes things as difficult as humanly possible for everybody involved in the project. For example, at one point she decides she doesn’t like the color red. So she makes a demand that there can be no red in the movie. Everybody is rightfully flabbergasted by this demand, but Walt Disney knows that he has no choice but to give her what she wants. So no red in Mary Poppins!

Probably the most daring decision Marcel made was to include flashbacks to Pamela’s life as a child. You guys know how I feel about flashbacks. They’re script killers. But if that wasn’t daring enough, Marcel decided to explore an alcoholic father in these flashbacks. The drunk father trope?? Uh-oh. A double dose of script killer!

And yet it’s handled beautifully! The best I’ve ever seen of anyone handling an alcoholic father. I’ll get into this more later but we learn that her issues with her father are the main reason she’s held onto Mary Poppins for so long.

So what did I think of Saving Mr. Banks? I loved it! Almost every single choice was perfect. I don’t even know where to begin and will probably start rambling but I’m very passionate about this screenplay so I’m just gonna wing it.

It all starts with an interesting protagonist. Pamela isn’t the most likable person in the world, but she’s intriguing. She has a huge flaw – that she’s untrusting of others. I’m still not sure why we’re occasionally attracted to characters like this (big meanies) but I think the fact that we all know people like Pamela helps us find her relatable. And in a way, we feel that if Pamela can overcome her flaw, that those friends of ours can overcome their flaws too! Or maybe we even see a bit of Pamela in ourselves. So we think WE can change.

The script also does a bang-up supercalfragilistamakespeealadocious job with conflict (come on, you knew I had to bust it out). Whenever you write a screenplay, you want to establish some sort of central conflict between two main characters. If you do that, it’s hard to make your story boring.

In this case, it’s Pamela and Walt. He’s on one side, desperately wanting to make this movie, and she’s on the other, intent on sabotaging any chance of the film being made. Even though she’s here to work with Walt, it’s clear that she has no intention of doing so. She will keep pushing and pushing and pushing until Walt gives up. Because the divide between the two wants is so great, the conflict is supercharged. And that’s what you want in a screenplay – supercharged conflict! Weak conflict rarely gets you anywhere.

But here’s the real thing that surprised me about Banks – the flashbacks. I thought for sure Marcel was digging her own grave when she did this, particularly when she wanted to focus on the alcoholic father. But I’ll tell you why this worked where so many other alcoholic father storylines die a quick cliché death. Are you ready?

Because she got specific.

We didn’t get the standard scenes of daddy coming home and beating mommy up then yelling at the daughter. Instead, we took a serious look at alcoholism. Her father, who’s the most loving man in the world, simply can’t stop drinking. No matter how hard he tries, he has no power against the disease. So even though he loves his daughter and his family and knows they’re falling apart around him, he keeps drinking. And it gets so bad that he’s eventually put on bed rest. Every day, then, Pamela has to wake up and see her father in this bed, weak, crippled, and still pining for his next drink. It was so detailed, so specific, so UNLIKE what we’ve seen before in these kinds of stories, that it resonated immensely.

And what’s great about this backstory is that it’s the reason Pamela created Mary Poppins. She needed a “Mary Poppins” to come in and save her when her father couldn’t. That’s why she didn’t want to give this book away. She was afraid of Walt Disney tainting and ruining this person who allowed her to make it through childhood.

I cannot stress how difficult it is to pull something like this off. I see so many writers try it and so many of them fail because you have to walk this thin line of not being too cliché and not being too melodramatic, yet still building those moments that have real emotion and connection. You have to take those chances of putting a little girl by her dying father’s bedside and write it in such a way that it doesn’t feel melodramatic or dishonest. Not easy!!!

But the script didn’t stop there. Another one of my favorite parts was Ralph the driver – who’s been hired to drive Pamela around while she’s in town. He couldn’t be more different from Pamela. He wakes up, excited for every day. He always sees the positive in everything. And he’s absolutely infatuated with the weather, particularly when it’s a sunny day outside. Of course Pamela hates him for it but he’s so damn earnest that she has no choice but to warm up to him. There’s a great moment near the end where we learn why Ralph is so obsessed with the weather, and if it doesn’t have you in tears, then I’m afraid you don’t have tear-ducts my friend.

And then there’s the monologue. When I say “the monologue,” I mean the best ending monologue I’ve maybe ever read in a screenplay. I’m going to get into a little bit of a spoiler here so you might want to turn around. But basically, Pamela leaves Disney World at the last second, deciding not to give Mary Poppins to Walt. When she gets home, she’s quickly disturbed by a knock on the door and when she answers it, there’s Walt Disney.

Walt then gives the most heartfelt convincing thoughtful meaningful plea as to why Pamela should give him the rights to the book. It’s so moving and so TRUE, that it grips your heart and won’t let go. I’ve seen so many of these ending monologues and they’re usually just a bunch of words that don’t matter. But this monologue/plea is so authentic and true and honest that *I* wanted to give the rights to *my* book up to Walt Disney. It was just such a great final moment for this character and without question, this reason Tom Hanks signed on.

I loved this script!

[ ] Wait for the rewrite
[ ] wasn’t for me
[ ] worth the read
[x] impressive (Top 25!)
[ ] genius

What I learned: Whenever you have to write a big moment in your screenplay where one character has to convince another character of something, such as the ending monologue in Saving Mr. Banks, you want to step out of the fictional world, and bring the argument into the real world. Write the argument as if you’re trying to convince A REAL PERSON. And not just any real person – a person who has already made up their mind to say no to you. Because if you try to write your argument to a fictional person, it will be fictionally convincing. You know you don’t have to be that persuasive cause all you have to do is write “Sounds good to me” from the other character after it’s over. Push harder. Make that argument REAL WORLD convincing.

The “X-Men: First Class” co-screenwriter talks screenwriting and her latest movie, The Woman In Black, with Scriptshadow.

 

Jane Goldman has had the kind of screenwriting career most writers dream of.  She co-wrote “Stardust,” “Kick-Ass,” “X-Men: First Class,” and most recently, “The Debt,” all with Matthew Vaughn.  This week, she offers her first solo screenwriting effort, an adaptation of “The Woman in Black,” about a young lawyer who travels to a town only to find out it’s being haunted by the ghost of a scorned woman.  The movie stars Daniel Radcliffe and comes out next weekend. 

SS: You seem to have a lot of different career opportunities (presenter, model, producer, etc.). What is it that draws you to screenwriting, a path that’s more low-key and that some might say doesn’t get nearly as much recognition as those other ventures?

JG: I’m honestly the least ambitious person I know in terms of a desire for recognition – the idea of being “known” has not only never appealed to me, but actually gives me panic attacks, as I’m chronically shy!

I’ve occasionally strayed off the writing career path as and when opportunities have presented themselves, but writing is what I’ve done my whole life, and what I wanted to do ever since I was a child.

I started freelancing while I was still at school – I used to spend my summer vacations hanging around in magazine office lobbies badgering features editors, which miraculously paid off! When I left school, my first full-time job was as a junior reporter on a newspaper and from there I moved on to working for magazines and writing books (eight non-fiction titles and one novel) before I wound up moving into screenwriting six years ago.

Along the way, I got offered various other jobs in other areas, and I always think it’s worth giving things a shot out of curiosity or just for fun. In the case of TV presenting, I turned out to be pretty crap at it and really didn’t enjoy being on the “wrong” side of the camera! Producing I love, however, and it’s the one other thing I still do when I can, alongside screenwriting.

I genuinely prefer the notion of a low-key career, as I’ve never craved recognition, and with screenwriting, I especially like the fact that you are part of a team rather than having to push yourself forward as an individual.

SS: I have a large UK following and a lot of UK’ers ask me how to break into Hollywood from another country. Can you give any advice to those trying to make it from the UK (or any other country)?

JG: My advice would be to do the very best work you can in order to break in to the film industry in your own country first, as anyone whose work has had even a small measure of success and recognition in their own country will likely be approached by US agents offering representation. Or at the very least, you can legitimately approach US agents yourself. I’d say that’s a far swifter and less stressful approach than moving to LA and trying to get a foot in the door without having anything substantial as a calling card.

The UK has the huge advantage of having radio as a very accessible stepping stone for writers, leading to getting an agent and opening doors into TV and film. But in these days of cheap HD cameras and Youtube there’s also always the option of just getting out there and making a low budget short – write something wonderful and find an aspiring director to make it, or even direct it yourself.

I thought the character development in X-Men was some of the best I’ve ever seen in a superhero movie. What’s your approach to building characters and what do you think the key is to creating a truly memorable character? 

JG: Thank you SO much, that’s extremely kind of you! My initial approach is quite clinical and technical, in trying to make sure that a character has enough traits, complexities and flaws that they feel three dimensional. If I were trying to describe my best friend to you, I’d probably be able to reel off five or six adjectives or phrases without having to think too hard, so my aim would always be to strive for a similar level of detail in a fictional character, even if some of that detail never makes it onto the page. Ideally, you want to know your character so well that you know exactly what they’d do in any given situation. Then the next step is ensuring that all your characters who interact have traits that spark off one another – you want them to push each others buttons, yank one another out of their comfort zones, force each other to see things they don’t want to see. You want them to provide each other with obstacles or be catalysts for change – even the ones who get along.

Putting a touch of yourself, or people you’re close to, into your characters obviously doesn’t hurt either, in terms of making characters who feel real and relatable, and that’s certainly something I – and I think most writers – do.

Being objective, I’d say the key to creating a memorable character is to create someone with familiar traits, but in an uncommon combination, or someone who is a recognizable archetype with a surprising twist. For instance, one of my favorite characters is Maude from Harold and Maude. She’s the archetypal eccentric free spirit with a passion for life and scant regard for law or convention, and if she was also young and pretty with dyed hair and crazy clothes and too much mascara, it would all be eye-rollingly tedious, but the fact that she’s an octogenarian (and, it’s hinted, a holocaust survivor) makes her character fresh, affecting, extraordinary. By the same token, so many memorable characters play the game of combining traits you’d normally use in creating an unlikeable character, with other traits that make you adore them despite yourself – Ferris Bueller is a spoilt, manipulative rich kid who does whatever he wants, Melvin Udall from As Good As It Gets is a rude misanthrope, Tyler Durden is a psychopath, terrorist and all-round reprobate, Dexter and Hannibal Lecter kill people for kicks. But we love them all.

SS: I find that most screenwriters focus on the wrong things when they first start out. What was the primary thing you focused on as a beginning screenwriter and what’s the primary thing you focus on now? Do you look back and roll your eyes at the silly stuff you used to obsess about?

JG: The primary thing I focus on now is economy and pacing. I try to be really strict with the rule that every scene, every beat, every word of dialogue should be doing a job, or else it shouldn’t be there.

I feel like I made most of my mistakes, and hopefully learned from them, when I wrote my novel. I’m not sure that I focused on a specific wrong thing, but I deeply regret that what was published was essentially a first draft and it could have been a million times better if I’d gone through it with a critical eye, been brutal about editing, taken it apart, put it back together again and polished it until I was positive that every scene, every beat, every word was doing a vital job. I was just so happy when my editor didn’t suggest any changes that I cheerfully let it go to print as it was. I really regret that.

SS: You’ve been fortunate enough to work with a lot of talented people. What’s the best piece of story/screenwriting advice you’ve received from them?

JG: One director I worked with was a particular influence, although I unfortunately can’t name him, as the re-write job I did for him was a non-public thing. He had a really interesting policy about minor characters – he believed that whatever function they are serving, you can usually do away with them entirely and find other ways of making the same thing happen without them, and it’s a lot cleaner. I thought that was very interesting advice and have found on numerous occasions since that he’s absolutely right. He also likes his scripts to be notably shorter than the “standard” length for whatever genre, which made so much sense to me. Pretty much every movie’s first assembly in the edit room is always not just a little too long, but way too long, and losing scenes and moments that you love is never a nice experience.

SS: You’ve now written/co-written 5 movies. Which one of those movies was the hardest to write and why? 

JG: Every project has it’s own challenges and pleasures, so it’s hard to single one out. X-Men: First Class had the tightest deadline, and the first draft needed to be delivered very fast because they were waiting to begin preproduction. That essentially meant a few weeks of writing seven days a week, essentially every hour that I was awake – literally only stopping for food, bathroom breaks and bedtime. My back eventually gave out from sitting in an office chair, so I started writing lying down on my couch instead, which has remained my favorite writing position ever since!

The most technically demanding was a screenplay that I recently completed, an adaptation of an incredible novel by Peter Ackroyd called Dan Leno and the Limehouse Golem (I believe it has a different title in the US, The Trial of Elizabeth Cree). It’s multi-stranded, strays into the esoteric and involves a monumental plot twist that is brilliantly concealed in the book by a literary conceit that you couldn’t possibly employ in a film! Figuring out how to approach an adaptation of it was immensely challenging but also unbelievably rewarding.

SS: You take some crazy chances in your screenplays. I particularly remember Stardust having some totally off-the-wall things going on (I loved the ending with the “dead person” swordfight). Do you deliberately try and buck convention or do you follow the traditional screenplay “rules” (3 acts, inciting incident, the protagonist arcs, hero must be likable, etc.)?

JG: Thank you! Re: the swordfight, a friend of mine remarked that it was typical of me to be working on a fairytale and find a way to slip a zombie in! I’d put zombies in everything, if I had my way :)

I think confounding expectations within storytelling is vitally important, but when it comes to structural framework, I don’t see any great need to buck convention – most of the traditional “rules” are there because they work well. It’s like building a house. You could build a house out of poptarts just to be different, but surely it’s more appealing to build it out of bricks and then buck convention in the design itself, knowing that it’ll hold strong.

To do away with things like inciting incident and protagonist arcs would seem a little bloody-minded and self-defeating to me. Some rules you can play with though, I think. In fact, Matthew recently noted that the screenplays we’ve worked on together could sort of be viewed as having four acts, rather than three. I’m not sure that a hero has to be likeable, either – just this year Young Adult and Submarine both played with that convention very effectively – but it obviously requires a different narrative drive to replace the one that is lost. There’s got to be something else that makes you want to see how the story is going to play out.

SS: I’ve been trying to come up with a good ghost story idea myself for years. What do you think the key is to making a ghost story work?

JG: I think the best ghost stories have an emotional core, but the main thing is probably mining what actually, genuinely scares you. I think with other genres you can approach things technically, but with horror – just like comedy – you’re actually trying to invoke a physical reaction in yourself and others. I think it’s not about finding something that seems scary, but a notion or collection of elements that actually make your skin creep, or send a shudder down your spine, or have you looking over your shoulder, even if you don’t believe in ghosts.

SS: What were some of the unique challenges you ran into while writing The Woman In Black and how did you go about solving them?

JG: One unique challenge was trying to ensure that it was scary! Writing descriptions of what are essentially visual beats, in a way that would convey their essence and my intentions clearly to a director, was a challenge because you need to be very specific. I’m used to writing action scenes, so conveying non-verbal beats wasn’t new to me, but at the same time, this was very different – it really required a lot of focus and careful choice of words – even punctuation! – in order to transfer from my head to the page what were often intricately timed moments, and their intended emotional and visceral effects.

SS: One of the issues I’ve noticed in these slower darker movies is that all of the characters are very restrained, and therefore it can be hard to write dialogue (in Kick-Ass for instance, every character has so much personality that I’m sure the dialogue flies off the fingertips). How do you conquer that problem and still make the dialogue pop? 

JG: I actually made a conscious decision with the Woman in Black to let dialogue take a back seat and to keep things very simple, restrained and un-showy. I realized early on that this would serve the plot and the atmosphere best, and it was an interesting exercise as a writer, as you have to find other ways to convey character. It was also a good exercise in humility and ego-checking, as dialogue is the area where it’s easiest to show off!

SS: An always controversial discussion in the screenwriting community is the importance of theme. Do you put a high value on theme, and if so, can you explain how you incorporate it, and more specifically how you incorporated it into The Woman In Black?

JG: I do think theme is important, in that I think that if it is absent, a film risks having a sense of being directionless. Sometimes that sense is only vaguely tangible, other times it’s pretty obvious. I think incorporating theme is just about ensuring that there are plot points and scenes throughout that speak to your theme in a way that is consistent. It’s also pretty key that those thematic elements should involve not just your main character and their central dilemma or drive, but also ideally your supporting characters in parallel, related or opposing situations.

In the Woman in Black I guess the pervading theme is loss. And more specifically, the different ways in which people respond to loss. Without wanting to give away too much of the plot, we learn that the Woman in Black herself is driven by grief, anger and vengeance, so I wanted to ensure that Arthur, the main character, reflected another facet of that experience, an alternate reaction to bereavement. And, in fact, pretty much every supporting character also inhabits a different point on that same spectrum.

SS: Finally, it looks like this is the first time you’ve written by yourself. What was the biggest screenwriting lesson you learned that came out of that experience? 

JG: I’ve done quite a few solo screenwriting jobs since Woman in Black, but yes, it was my first. It wasn’t really a markedly different experience, though, since Matthew and I don’t have the work habits of a traditional writing partnership – usually he works on the structure alone first, then we discuss it, then I go off and write alone, he gives me notes on the draft and then I make revisions. I just followed the same procedure – writing an outline, then the draft, then going through it with a critical eye and making improvements. I did miss having him to bounce ideas off at the structural stage, or to phone up to chat things through, or just to ask “I’ve just had an insane idea for how this scene could go – do you think it’s insane, or shall I try it?”

I guess I’d also written alone for a couple of decades before that, too, as a journalist and author, so it probably didn’t feel like a new enough experience to learn from it. I love the collaborative nature of screenwriting, though – whether you’re working with a director, a producer or directly with a creative partner. For me that’s probably one of things I enjoy most about screenwriting – the feeling that everyone is working together towards the common goal of making sure that you write the very best version of your screenplay possible.

Great interview!  Thank you to Jane for stopping by.  I learned a ton from her answers.   Hope you guys did too. :)

Tawnya is basically one of my favorite people in the world. She’s sweet, smart, cool and has a staggeringly high screenwriting IQ. So when she told me she was starting up Script Anatomy, which would teach both TV and feature writing (in Los Angeles), the first thing I said was, “Well we have to get you some students.” Not for Tawnya’s sake, but for the students’ sake! I knew that anybody I could get into her class was going to become a hell of a lot better screenwriter.

To give you some background on Tawnya, she taught at the Writers Boot Camp for 4 years. She now writes on USA’s “Fairly Legal” with her writing partner, Ali Laventhol. The pair are in development on two original pilots, and have optioned a few features, one being packaged by CAA. They are repped at CAA and RABINER/DAMATO Entertainment. Feel free to jump over to her site right now or sign up for spots while they’re still open (I don’t know how long they’ll be available after this post). Or get to know her and her philosophy on screenwriting first in our interview. Enjoy!

SS: So why did you get into screenwriting? Are you a masochist?

TB: I started out as an actress. I had gone to an Acting Conservatory. Worked in the theater in Seattle, Chicago, Vienna and Prague and then moved to LA. After struggling, not getting enough auditions and doing a slew of crappy B films (if we’re letter grading they’d be D minus at best), I’d had enough. The writing was awful. The directing was awful. I was awful. And it was painful. This was years ago, and my boyfriend at the time was in the business and doing pretty well as a writer/director. I think I was the only actress in town for whom the casting couch failed — he never gave me any work. Bastard!

I started writing because I wanted to write a short for myself but I ended up catching the bug. I knew inside that I was really a writer. I quit acting and started writing. Two screenplays in and one thing was clear: I had no idea what the hell I was doing. So I set out to change that. I read books. I read scripts. I took every class and workshop under the sun: Robert McKee, William Martell, Jen Grisanti, Blake Snyder, Michael Hague, John Truby… I went to Writers Boot Camp for 22 months, where I then ended up teaching for four years. Am I a masochist? Isn’t every writer?

SS: You and I have chatted about the craft before. What do you think is the hardest thing about writing a screenplay?

TB: Writing the screenplay.

Seriously, I think what’s difficult about writing a screenplay is going to vary depending on the individual and where they are with their craft and process. I feel like dialogue and scene work were always strong suits for me. Early on, getting the structure right did my head in. Later, it was theme and arcing the character throughout their journey. I worked hard on those and now specialize in them as an instructor. Not many instructors out there teach theme and how to apply it, which blows my mind because it’s so important.

Anyway… focusing solely on my last two scripts, I’d have to say the most difficult part was getting the opening right. There are so many ways in, but maybe only a few ways that will get your story off on the right foot. On the most recent one, we (the producer, my writing partner, and I) had a two hander and there was some disagreement as to whose story it really was. We went back and forth. We ended up making the right choice – but it wasn’t without trying it many different ways. On another project, I was hired by a director to write his idea. Looking back, I shouldn’t have taken the job. I wasn’t excited about the material, which made it a long and hard row to hoe. If you don’t love what you’re writing — if your heart isn’t in it — you constantly have to pull out the defibrillators. Even when you love what you are writing, rewriting over and over again without losing enthusiasm for a project can be challenging. Writing is rewriting. It’s how you turn something good into something great — yet if you lose your passion it shows on the page.

SS: You’ve also taught a lot of screenwriters. In your experience, what was their biggest misconception about the craft that you needed to correct?

TB: I think the biggest misconception is that structure kills creativity. That if you’re writing a smaller independent film, structure doesn’t matter. Of course, that would launch me in to breaking down the structure of Another Earth, Lars and the Real Girl, Happy Accidents, The Swimming Pool or In the Bedroom and what have you. All storytelling adheres to structure — it’s just whether it’s weak, ineffective structure or strong, effective structure.

SS: What were some of their common mistakes? And don’t hold back!

TB: I think the usual suspects are:

– Weak concept or no concept at all
– Poor structure or no structure at all
– Passive writing
– Inactive characters
– Too many characters
– Characters who don’t have distinct voices
– No conflict or stakes
– Dense action lines
– Dialogue heavy/action light
– On the nose dialogue
– Taking too long to get into the story
– Unmemorable characters that lack a flaw and therefore possibility for growth and change.
– Characters who are two-dimensional archetypes instead of three-dimensional humans. If they don’t come alive we can’t possibly care about them and their story.
– No theme
– Too much directing on the page. Pet peeve: CUT TO. When you write a new slug line that is a cut.
– Typos
– Incorrect formatting
– Scripts that are too long
– Lack of surprise
– Getting into a scene too early / getting out too late
– Lack of craft in transitions
– No story. Yes, that’s right. No story! Just a lot of words and bumbling about that doesn’t lead anywhere.
Etcetera.

SS: Wow, you really didn’t hold back. Okay, so, let’s move on to something more positive. I always have a lot of writers asking me how to write great dialogue. I find it one of the harder questions to answer. What’s your approach to teaching dialogue?

TB: I like Elmore Leonard’s list, especially, “Leave out all the boring parts” and “If it sounds like writing, rewrite it.”

After going over a long list of dialogue no-no’s, I teach dialogue techniques and give writers examples of those techniques from existing TV or feature scripts. Sometimes I show clips as well. In class, students rewrite one or two of their scenes implementing the techniques they’ve learned. A partial list is: tangents, parallel construction, reversals, unexpected response, comeback zingers, exposition, subtext, character interruptions, echoing, similes, character on own track, response implying answer, set ups and pay offs, comic contrasts… etc.

Here are a couple of examples…

EXAMPLE 1 – From the MAD MEN Pilot written by Matthew Weiner, illustrates a few techniques: SET UP AND PAY OFF, an UNEXPECTED RESPONSE and a COMEBACK LINE.

DON
We should get married.

MIDGE
You think I’d make a good ex-wife?

Don sits up and grabs a cigarette off the end table.

DON
I’m serious. You have your own business and you don’t care when I come over. What size Cadillac do you take?

EXAMPLE 2 – From UP IN THE AIR, screenplay by Jason Reitman, based on the novel by Walter Kirn, uses ECHOING and PROGRESSIVE DIALOGUE.

CRAIG GREGORY
Today I took my first crap in two weeks. Hallelujah.

RYAN
That’s me, applauding.

CRAIG GREGORY
That’s me, passing blood.

RYAN
That’s me, hanging up on you.

SS: What’s your general screenwriting teaching philosophy? What do you focus on most? 

TB: Character, character, character. And structure and theme. My TV and feature classes begin with concept and continue through full development of a writer’s first draft. However, because of the depth of in class exercises and tools I teach, usually the resulting first draft will look more like a second or third. I really believe in investing the time up front – developing ideas and characters, brainstorming infinite options and outlining vigilantly before writing pages.

SS:  You seem to be hitting on theme a lot. It’s definitely one of those things screenwriters struggle to grasp. Can you give me a basic breakdown of what theme is in your opinion and how you apply it?

TB: Theme is the foundation on which your screenplay is built. Theme is the spine, the core, the heart and soul of your story and what makes it relatable and universal and meaningful. Because it’s the lesson or moral of the story and expresses your unique point of view about the world and the state of humanity, theme is your voice.
And how do you express theme? Through symbolism and cinematic imagery, dialogue… many ways… but most importantly, through character and transformational arc. I do a workshop on theme and I hate to simplify because it’s actually more complex than this but I’ll distill it here for “page” length purposes.

Theme is the opposite of the main character’s flaw.  (Carson note: I like this!  I’ve never heard it expressed this way before)

Your Main Character or Hero is flawed. They have a goal they are not getting because of this flaw. To achieve the goal the MC will have to change and grow, overcoming the flaw throughout the second act journey – hence learning the lesson. (In some cases, the character doesn’t grow or learn but the theme is still articulated). This process is the transformational arc. We see this evolution occur as the MC confronts his flaw via conflict and obstacles, a strong opponent and a catalyst character(s)… we see them “become the theme” in a sense.

Like I said, there’s much more to it – in class I focus on it in more depth as writers develop their projects.

In TV, theme works a little differently. You’re obviously not arcing your characters in one episode to the point of alleviating their flaw. If Nurse Jackie cures her drug addiction do they still have a show? Her med addiction is so connected to the concept, character and arena, they have to draw out her transformational arc – but – she has other flaws to play with that stem from the addiction: lying, cheating, stealing… Which brings me to branches of theme. Theme is like a tree. There might be one primary theme that is the trunk, but other secondary facets of theme, like branches, stem from the trunk.

A show will likely have a series theme and possibly another theme per season, and individual themes per episode – which all may or may not be related.

SS: You work in both TV and features. What would you say is the big “writing” difference between the two mediums?

TB: Writing-wise it’s obviously much more manageable to tell a 24 to 60 page story than it is 110. There’s a lot more to track in a feature. And much more room for mistakes.

Work/Career-wise, the TV and feature world couldn’t be more different. Writing features can be a lonely business. It’s collaborative in that you might get notes from the studio or a director, but you’ll go off and write by yourself. Working in television you’re surrounded by other writers and it’s a collaborative process. Movies are difficult to get made and it can take years whereas everything about TV is fast. You can start working on a TV show and within months you can have a produced credit. I think most writers would think that’s golden.

SS: I’m curious. Which one do you think is easier? 

TB: Oh boy. I don’t think it’s ever easy to write well, but… but TV. As I mentioned, it’s an extremely collaborative medium. The room usually breaks story as a group. If you’re lucky, like we are on our show, you have an amazing showrunner with a strong vision and voice. Writing an episode is much more manageable than a feature just by way of page count but also because some of the work has been done for you: the template, characters, tone, the world, relationships and conflicts are pre-existing. Writing an original pilot is as difficult as writing a feature, it just takes less time. The real challenge of writing for television is the pace. It’s incredibly fast. Recently we (my writing partner and I) had two days to outline our episode and two weeks to write it.

SS: Which one do you think it’s easier to break into? 

TB: I’d say TV. There are more jobs in television. There are also specific ways a new writer can break in such as becoming a writers’ assistant and then getting bumped up. Acceptance into one of the prestigious Studio Writing Programs (I did FOX’s Diversity Initiative and NBC Writers On The Verge) can be a great launching point for a writer. Neither is easy to break into, but it can be done.

SS: In your experience, is an agent necessary to become a successful screenwriter? 

TB: I’ll most likely contradict myself, so here goes: yes and no.

No. Writing careers are like snowflakes. There are no two alike. And everyone’s way in is different. I really believe that great writing will rise to the top and get noticed eventually if you are putting yourself out there. That may be through friends and contacts or a reputable screenwriting contest or fellowship. Hell, it might be because your script got caught in a tornado and five pages landed on Spielberg’s desk. If those pages knock his socks off he’ll come find you even if you’re not repped. Maybe I’m exaggerating, maybe not, but I’ve always done my best to believe that anything’s possible in a career that sometimes feels like the lottery.

Yes. An effective agent or manager can help build your career. They have relationships in the business that you don’t — especially starting out. They can guide you, connect you with the right people and help sell you to those people. A big agency might package a project. And then of course, it doesn’t hurt to be validated by someone respected in the business. People feel more confident about you if you’ve been vetted. That said, I have friends who have agents who are ineffective yet they stay because they’re afraid of not having one.
In our experience, our agents and managers were crucial in getting a job on Fairly Legal. We’re really happy with our reps and their involvement in our career.

SS: You’re repped at CAA. How did you find your way over there and what can Joe and Jane Writer do to get there too?

TB: I can’t make an exact trail map for Joe and Jane, but I can tell you how we got there… (sorry we should have left bread crumbs!)

My writing partner and I have a feature with a producer attached. This producer had given our script to a talent agent at CAA who happened to like it for his star client. A few weeks later my partner and I went to The Austin Film Festival. At one of those panel discussions we noticed a CAA TV agent who stood out as being incredibly savvy and smart. After the panel, we introduced ourselves and asked her a question. During the conversation we managed to slip in that were currently in NBC’s Writers On the Verge program. A few weeks later our feature producer put in a call to the agent. The rest was history. Just kidding. Nothing happened after the call. The agent, more senior in the company, had mostly established writers on her list and wasn’t exactly looking for new writers. After NBC WOTV was over, the head of the program made a call, but it wasn’t until our mentor, who at the time (he’s since been promoted) was the Sr. Vice President of Drama Development at NBC, made a call that we got a meeting. Now we have 4 people on our team there — two TV and two feature agents aside from our two managers.

SS: I know you’re pushing me to stop by your classes. But you know I’m a busy guy! If I came by, what should I expect? What would an average class be like?

TB: You are a busy guy! And I’m so proud of you, by the way, for all you have created with ScriptShadow and all of the exciting things coming up. Still… you should stop by one of my classes! So, um… what to expect… well, nothing average. Haha. You should expect to learn a lot about screen or TV writing (depending on the class) and to become a better writer through not only lecture and theory but more importantly through exercises and tool work. You should expect to gain an applicable process (or improve the process you already have) that will serve you throughout your screenwriting career. My next TV Workshop is already in progress but my next Feature Class is ten weeks long and starts up February 25th.

SS: Before we finish up, do you want to do a shameless plug for the show you’re writing on?

TB: It’s an “all new” FAIRLY LEGAL Season 2 which will air on USA March 16th on Friday nights at 9pm. “All new” because the entire writing team from the showrunner down is brand new. Expect some very exciting changes. My episode, which I wrote with my writing partner, Ali Laventhol, is “Gimme Shelter”. Hope you enjoy it.

I’m already on the Tivo. Does Tivo allow you to tape shows two months in advance? Anyway, thanks Tawnya for dropping by and sharing your wonderful insight. I think I need to take your class for dialogue alone. I’ve never even heard of some of those terms before but I like them. So, if you guys want to learn a little more about Tawnya and her site, check out Script Anatomy. Or if you want to grab a spot while they’re still available, here’s the site where you can sign up for her classes. Good news for Scriptshadow readers. If you sign up before this Sunday at midnight (Pacific Time), it’s 10% off. When it asks for the promotional code, just enter “Scriptshadow_22.” If you have any question about the classes, feel free to e-mail Tawnya at tawnya@scriptanatomy.com. What are you waiting for! Go become a better screenwriter. And who knows? You might even see me there. :)

Genre: Comedy/Romantic Comedy
Premise: Told in the first person, a disgruntled screenwriter falls in love with a taken woman, and decides to do anything in his power to get her.
About: This is one of this year’s (2011) Nicholl finalists. The Nicholl Fellowship is the biggest screenwriting competition in the world.
Writers: Chris Shafer & Paul Vicknair
Details: 104 pages (This is an early draft of the script. The situations, characters, and plot may change significantly by the time the film is released. This is not a definitive statement about the project, but rather an analysis of this unique draft as it pertains to the craft of screenwriting).

Where do I start with this one? Let’s see. I’ll begin by giving these guys a couple of gold brads. This script is unique. As someone who’s read upwards of 50 screenplays in a single week, I can’t tell you how frustrating it is to read the same stories told the same way over and over again. You’re not going to get that here. A Many Splintered Thing differentiates itself right away by telling its story in the first person. On top of that, it’s a self-referential feast. We’ve seen this kind of thing before (Passengers for first-person and Balls Out for self-reference), but never together. On top of that, these guys are actually good writers. If this were attempted by some hack, it wouldn’t work. But you can tell these guys have been around the block.

So then, why didn’t I like it? I’ll get to that in a bit. First, let’s break down the story.

The main character in Splintered is Me. Not “me” me. But you. Actually, no. You’re the main character, which is me. Wait. I’m the main character. Hold on. The main character doesn’t have a name. So he’s referred throughout the screenplay as me. Or I. Because the story is told in the first person. There you go. I think that’s right.

We are a writer. We have an agent. We’re asked to write the kind of screenplays we hate. So we’re frustrated with our job. We also have sex with a lot of women. We don’t believe in love because love sucks. We say this a lot. Love really sucks.

We spend most of our time hanging out with our writers group and because we have a new form of attention deficit disorder that only allows us to pay attention for 3 seconds at a time, in order to make it through these sessions, we insert ourselves into our writer group friends’ stories. So for example, if someone starts telling us about their new Korean immigrant script, we imagine ourselves as that Korean immigrant, and experience the story as them.

Still with me?

Anyway, we eventually meet a beautiful girl at a charity event. This is the first time we’ve ever actually liked a girl. But it turns out she has a boyfriend. So when we go our separate ways, we’re really bummed out because all we can think about is this girl. But then we realize that if this girl was at one charity event, she may be at more. So we start crashing every charity event in town, pretending to be some big time philanthropist (our specialty is saving a very rare form of frog). We eventually run into this girl again (hooray!), and she’s impressed by how much we care about charity, so soon we’re spending time together -as friends.

Of course, there’s that whole pesky boyfriend thing getting in the way, and when the friendship starts to approach the make or break point, we’re not sure what we want to do. Because we hate love, we’re leaning towards ditch city, but then there’s that feeling we have that we haven’t had before, pulling us back into her arms. So will we get her in the end? Will we finally learn that love is good? That is the question.

As you can see, the story itself is pretty basic, which was probably a good idea, since we need some sanity amidst all the storytelling chaos. Now back to the question. Why didn’t I love this?

As I’ve stated over and over again, what I care about most is story. I want to be transported into another world. I want to believe in the characters. I want to believe in the situations. I crave that suspension of disbelief. I still find it fascinating that I can read something that’s completely made up inside somebody’s imagination, and believe it. It’s bizarre isn’t it? I mean you watch movies and all they are is a group of people getting together in front of a big camera, reading lines. Yet you believe it. You actually believe that Luke Skywalker is destroying the Death Star.

So if everything is a joke – if everything is designed to rip me out of that false reality – it’s hard for me to care. And I’m not saying that’s the case for everyone. Some people appreciate goofy self-referential nods, the purposeful flipping of clichés. That can be fun. But I’m looking for the screenplay that moves me, that takes me to another place. A great example of a script that took a similar approach (told in the first person) but was able to bring me into its world was Passengers. The difference was, they used the first-person to put you in the mind of the main character as he gradually went insane. So the first-person had a story purpose. It wasn’t a gimmick.

I had a few other issues as well. The problem when you’re trying to be different all the time is that sooner or later those “different” moments start feeling artificially manufactured. It’s like you’ve set this impossible bar for yourself because you want everything to be something that the audience has never seen before. But you just can’t do that for an entire screenplay, so moments like the Korean mini movie, while cute, end up coming off as “writerly.”

Then there’s the whole “I hate love” stuff. Not believing in love is actually a solid inner conflict. The problem is, this trait isn’t shown visually in Splintered. It’s just beaten into our heads via dialogue, mostly from the main character. It was almost like the writers kept getting the note – “Not feeling the main character’s hatred of love enough,” so they simply added more scenes where the main character would say, “I hate love.”

But remember, one great “show” moment is worth a dozen “tell” moments. Had they just shown him hating love, it would have been enough. For example, if you want to convey that a character is a cheater, you don’t write 13 scenes of him saying how much he loves cheating. You show him meet a hot girl at a bar, and when she looks the other way, discreetly slip his wedding ring into his pocket.

Also, after a while, this screenplay hit a predictable rhythm. We’d get a scene where our main character pursued the girl, then a scene where he’d talk about it with his writers group. Then another scene with the girl. Then another scene with the writers group. It was almost like an episode of Seinfeld, where you have the event, and then the recollection of the event. Except it went on for two hours instead of 23 minutes.  They should probably fix this because the first-person writing style doesn’t work nearly as well once the novelty has worn off. So the second half of the script is tougher to get through. If they changed up the rhythm a bit, made the story a tad more unpredictable, we wouldn’t be focusing so much on that writing because we’d be into the story.

But I have a feeling a lot of people are going to like this. Not everybody is Snobby Carson who’s read a billion screenplays and finds something to complain about with all of them (except Drive of course). No matter which way you slice it, this script is unique. It’s sort of like the illegitimate stepchild of Sequels Remakes and Adaptations, Passengers, 500 Days Of Summer, Balls Out and The F Word. If you liked those screenplays, you’ll definitely want to check this out. Despite it not being my thing, I probably would’ve put it in the Nicholl finals as well.

[ ] What the hell did I just read?
[x] wasn’t for me
[ ] worth the read
[ ] impressive
[ ] genius

What I learned: Cut your script down via diet and exercise, not pills. — Guys, don’t cheat. It comes back to bite you one way or another. As I was reading Splintered, I was getting frustrated by how long it was taking me so to get through it. It was confusing because it wasn’t like the script was badly written, which is the usual reason scripts drag, but it was taking way longer than it should have. Afterwards, a Scriptshadow Nation reader brought to my attention that the writers had formatted their script to 66 lines per page instead of 55 (the standard). This allowed them to “save” 20 pages on the page count. Sure, that looks good on the surface, but if you think that’s not affecting the read, you are wrong my screenplay loving friend. Anything that slows down your script, whether it’s hidden or not, is going to hurt our enjoyment of it, as was evidenced by my frustration. So don’t try to cut pages by cheating (pills). Cut them the old-fashioned way (diet and exercise). Get rid of characters you don’t need. Get rid of scenes you don’t need. Kill those scenes you love that have nothing to do with your story. Pare down your description. I know it’s hard work but in the end it will pay off. I promise you.