I’ve been thinking a lot about Scene Showdown and why it didn’t yield better results. I’ve gone on record here saying that you can’t write a good script if you can’t write a good scene. A scene is a mini-screenplay. So you need to be able to make at least those 5 pages entertaining if you have any hope of making 100 pages entertaining.
But how do I teach you that without working with you one-on-one (by the way, if you want me to help you in a one-on-one capacity, I consult on loglines, scenes, acts, screenplays, pilots, treatments, outlines, anything. Just e-mail me at carsonreeves1@gmail.com and we’ll set something up). The best I can do is explain by example. And two great examples I want to use today are Grendl’s scene from Undertow, which won the Scene Showdown, and last night’s episode of the Apple TV series, “The Studio.”
It all comes back to the concept of dramatizing. Dramatizing is using tools to generate DRAMA within the scene so that it’s entertaining and makes you want to turn the pages. Most aspiring writers do not dramatize. Instead, they approach scenes as information that needs to be conveyed to the reader.
For example, if a high school kid is picking up his date for prom, the aspiring writer will write a scene where the kid shows up, there’s a little nervousness between the couple, the parents take pictures, maybe embarrass the kids. The writer throws in a couple of jokes, thinking that’ll be enough entertainment to do the job.
No.
That’s not dramatizing the scene.
Dramatizing the scene is sending the nervous kid into the bathroom and when he thinks he’s been caught looking at his naked date through the window, absentmindedly rips his zipper up, accidentally getting his penis caught in the zipper. Now he’s got to figure out a way to get his penis out of the zipper without his dream date finding out. And everything gets worse from there.
Now you’re dramatizing the scene!
One of the best tools to dramatize a scene is anticipation. And both Grendl’s scene and the “The Studio” episode from last night use it effectively. With anticipation, you imply a negative possibility is forthcoming then cast doubt on what will unfold.
When you do this, it’s almost impossible for the reader not to want to keep reading. In Grendl’s scene, the negative possibility is not getting to the doctor’s apartment. This is a scary deserted apartment building at night. A young woman is walking around alone. That’s dangerous. Then you add this creepy guy in the elevator, which creates even more uncertainty about what’s going to happen next.
All of this creates ANTICIPATION. We’re eager to find out if she’ll make it to her destination alive or not.
Now, some of you may say, “But Carson. It’s just a basic scene where a woman is walking up somewhere at night. Anybody could write that.” That’s where you’re wrong. I know this because I read screenplays all week long where writers don’t dramatize scenes at all. And I know exactly how they’d write this scene.
They would have the woman show up during the day. The neighborhood surrounding this building is bustling. Families are enjoying a day out. Everything feels fun and safe. The woman calls up to the doctor. He’s a little annoyed that she came to his building (the extent of the drama in the scene) but he lets her up. The inside of the building is bright and inviting. There is no man in the elevator. And she gets to our doctor’s apartment without a hitch.
Do you see the difference? In the daytime version, there is no anticipation at all. These are the choices that every writer has at their disposal. They can choose to dramatize the scene, making each moment within the scene entertaining, or they can lay out a safe and inviting scenario with little conflict that merely gets our character from point A to point B.
Now let’s look at last night’s episode of The Studio for an even stronger example. It’s a stupendous episode of television and it does something that supercharges the anticipation. IT MAKES THE MOMENT MATTER. Which is another way of saying, it UPS THE STAKES. When you up the stakes, you up the anticipation as well.
If you haven’t seen the episode, titled, “The Note,” it follows our new studio head, Matt, and his trusted group of helpers (his top producer, Sal, his marketing genius, Maya, and his assistant, Quinn) after they’ve just screened a movie that Ron Howard made for the studio.
The group is ECSTATIC while watching the movie, believing it’s Oscar-bound. They get to the climax, which delivers in spades. Everyone is celebrating. This is going to be a mega-hit for the studio. And then… the movie keeps going. The story shifts to a motel where the main character (played by Anthonie Mackie) meets up with his dead son, who seems to be living as a ghost at the motel. And the two share numerous deep conversations set to melancholy montages over the next 45 minutes.
The group is gobsmacked. It’s the worst 45 minutes of film any of them have ever seen. Lucky for them, Ron is coming in for a meeting that day, giving Matt an opportunity to give Ron the note – cut the motel sequence. The problem is that the motel sequence is rumored to be Ron’s favorite sequence. And Matt is terrified of telling such an iconic director that the last 45 minutes of his movie sucks.
The episode takes place over the next 30 minutes, as Matt and his group try and figure out a way to give Ron the note.
What I love about this episode is that the plot is soooooo simple. There’s one tiny goal driving the story – Give Ron Howard the note. That’s it! That’s the whole plot right there.
And what is the main tool being used to keep us watching? That’s right: ANTICIPATION. We keep ‘turning the pages’ because we’re anticipating what happens when they give this note to Ron Howard.
But here’s where some advanced screenwriting comes in. Goldberg and Rogen, who wrote the episode, understand that they can ramp up the anticipation by raising the stakes. So they use every little opportunity to make the “note” more difficult to give.
For example, Matt is trying to establish himself as the most ‘creator-friendly’ studio head in town so that they can get the best directors to make movies for them. If he tells Ron to cut this sequence, word will get out that he’s a soulless corporate suit just like every other studio head, which is Matt’s biggest nightmare.
Also, while Ron Howard is publicly known as the nicest guy in Hollywood, Matt’s heard that he’s actually, secretly, a raging psychopath who burns to the ground anyone who crosses him. So there’s that to worry about.
But the biggest reveal is discovered after Matt does some digging about the sequence. It turns out that Ron Howard lost a very close cousin when he was a child. It’s something he’s been holding onto his whole life. He created this whole motel sequence as a way to finally, cathartically, move on from his cousin. This, of course, means that telling Ron to cut this sequence is telling him to cut the very reason he made the movie.
Note how, by upping the stakes, our anticipation of Matt giving Ron the note grows. It grows and grows and grows with each new reveal. That’s how you dramatize. That’s how you make people turn the pages.
Anticipation is such an easy way to dramatize scenes that you should be using it consistently in your writing. And, as you can see, the impetus behind the anticipation can be basic, as long as you up the stakes. You could build a scene around something as simple as going to the dentist. If your hero is terrified of the dentist. If this dentist is a glorified sadist. If your hero has a particularly gnarly procedure that needs to be done. All of that juices up the anticipation.
Anticipation may not be the answer to ALL of your screenwriting woes. But it’s a dependable tool you can call on whenever you need to ensure that your pages remain entertaining.
