Writing for Film

The Basics of Screenwriting

Darsie Bowden

• Publisher: Routledge
• Year: 2017
• ISBN:
  9781351226684
• Edition: 1
• Topic: Mezzi di comunicazione e arti performative
• Subtopic: Film e video

In this introduction to screenwriting, author Darsie Bowden provides sage, real-world advice and instruction on the process of writing film screenplays. This text will help budding screenwriters to structure their dramas, refine their characterizations, and craft their language, while also introducing them to the appropriate screenplay formats. It covers the complexities of writing for the screen and points out the contradictions to expect if readers pursue this work as a career. In addition to covering the elements of the dramatic film screenplay, Bowden discusses writing for such "alternative" markets as documentaries, independent films, experimental films, and other non-Hollywood options. Features of the text include: guidelines for working as a screenwriter;applications and exercises to enhance skills;suggested readings for further development; anda comprehensive list of resources for screenwriting.Successful writing for film lies in being able to heighten one's perceptive abilities about the world and to communicate those perceptions in a cinematic way. In this text, Bowden introduces readers to an approach to screenwriting that will help them see the world in a different way and write about it using different genres and media. This most valuable skill prepares readers for the range of possibilities they will encounter on the path to successful screenwriting.

Part I
The Dramatic Film

1
The Rhetoric of the Screenplay

A book is easier to write than a film, because you can get away with murder. You can write around all kinds of situations and characters, whereas in a film you have to be much more concise. Every line has to work very hard. Writing for film is much more exposing. It has to move forward at a much more driven pace. Waiting a book is a great luxury, because all you do is write it and hand it in. It doesn't matter how much anything costs. You can write any location you want. You don't have to worry about casting. You have the luxury of producing the finished product whole. But making a film is like making a cake. There are so many different factors involved, like recipes, temperature, ingredients and utensils. You don't know, until it comes out of the oven, what kind of cake you've got. A screenplay is more like a map of the film, whereas a book is the end product itself.

—Novelist Helen Fielding, writer of Bridget Jones' Diary, interviewed by Alan Waldman for the Writers Guild of America (www.wga.org).

Introduction: What Does It Mean to Write for the Movies?

The screenplay is one of those anomalies that does not fit neatly into a precise literary category. Although screenplays can be very poetic, creative, and imaginative, they are rarely considered to be "literature." You do not often find them in libraries, literary critics do not analyze them (rather, film critics tackle the films themselves), and screenplays seldom stand alone as pieces of "art." Although they can be well crafted, persuasive, and compelling, they are not considered essays or arguments. Since the development of the film and TV business—and hence the development of the film and TV script—screenplays have rarely been considered worthy of much focused attention and have only recently been deemed worth reading in their own right.

One of the reasons for this is that, generally speaking, screenplays are templates for a film, and therefore, unlike novels, poetry, or essays, they are not ends in themselves. In other words, they are intended to serve as instructional manuals or maps to guide filmmakers and actors in the work of making a film. Yet the skill and art of the writer and the "literariness" of the script is often what captures the imagination of the reader (often a producer or director) and helps to get the screenplay sold and, ultimately, produced. Without the screenplay—or a script in some form—there would be no film.

Despite the lack of attention, the contention of this book is that the screenplay is indeed literature. But it is also a sales tool, evaluated both by what is present on the page and by what kind of potential it seems to have for being made into a good, marketable film. In other words, many of the most important readers of screenplays look at it with two minds: Does it move me (Is it good)? Will it sell (Will it make a successful film)?

It is important for writers to be aware of this tension between creativity and profitability, both when they write and when they begin to look for a buyer for their work. Writers who believe their work is already a masterpiece—that is, so perfect that the slightest change will destroy its integrity—are doomed to suffer considerable torment. Films are almost always different, sometimes drastically and unrecognizably different, from the screenplay from which they are made. Often these differences improve the final film; occasionally the film is worse than the screenplay. For a screenwriter, belief in one's own creativity is extremely important, but part of the creativity involved in screenwriting is the flexibility to accept the flux that is characteristic of the medium and the business.

At the same time, writers who work only to make a profit—that is, simply to get a sure and quick sale—are also destined to fail. They may find themselves trying to second guess the film-viewing public, which can be very fickle in its tastes. Or they might try to second guess the film producers, who are trying to second guess the film-going and fickle public. Moreover, what is popular today may not be popular by the time the script is finished and ready to market, or by the time it is purchased and ready to be made.

Make Money or Tell a Story?

Film making is an expensive business, and screenplays are only the first step in a process that can cost a large fortune. Because of this fact, many writers, directors, producers, and investors in the film business naturally must try to determine what will produce a return on their investment—in other words, what will make money. If they did not, they would not be in the business very long. But to use this as the sole criterion in writing is a mistake. Film critic for the Los Angeles Times, Kenneth Turan, laments that so many films today go for the gimmick—the stunning special effects or the savagely bloody, sex-laced action-adventure plot—to attract the youth segment of the film-viewing population. Unfortunately, in the process, Turan argues, film makers have lost the knack of making broad-based entertainment. They no longer trust that the well-crafted, well-written, old-fashioned story will appeal to general audiences. Ironically, it is the old-fashioned story that people still love to watch: a good love story, a good western, or a good mystery. But as Turan explains, the cost of films today may be one reason that producers fear that a good story will not be enough: "The size of the budget is a problem. When a film costs a lot of money, producers want everyone in the U.S. to see it. The results are films that are not too sophisticated, that don't offend anybody. In fact, they are so bland, they ultimately don't really please anybody either" (Turan, personal communication, December 12, 1998).

Although it is relatively easy to think up a gimmick, writing a well-crafted story takes time, energy, and skill. This book is directed to those who are interested in practicing the craft of good storytelling for the movies.

Trust Yourself and Your Ideas

Most professionals advise students of screenwriting to write about what they know: their lives or experiences. This is because the best writing is that which opens a whole new world to the reader or viewer. To engage an audience in this world, you must be intimately familiar with its details—the look, the feel, the taste, the smell, the action—of that world and use those details to create a world for the screen. These details are best uncovered by those writers who know them by having lived in that world. For example, James Dickey (1982), who wrote the screenplay Deliverance from his own novel (1970), can include details about rural Appalachia—the landscape, characters, conflicts, and concerns—that an audience having other kinds of life experiences cannot know about by virtue of the fact that he was born and raised in the South. The result is a film that is rich in detail, has the ring of truth, and creates an environment about which most people only have superficial knowledge.

Perhaps as important is the insight that a writer who is intimately familiar with his subject brings to his writing, Lawrence Kasdan, who wrote Grand Canyon (1991) from a story that he and Meg Kasdan authored, knows from his own experiences a lot about life in Los Angeles. This in and of itself would not make a good screenplay because many people know a lot about Los Angeles. What makes his film worth watching is the insight about some of the problems that Angelenos face (crime, racial tension, human relationships, and money) that the Kasdans offer in their script. As with any good script, the issues they take up are in some way universal; they are problems that many of us can identify with even if we have never visited Los Angeles or never care to.

Does this mean you have to have lived in exciting places like the deep South, Los Angeles, or Viet Nam; know exciting people; or have had exciting life experiences to write a good screenplay? This helps, for sure. Even so, most professional writers do a lot of research even when they know a place well. They read, view films, visit places, and talk to people. Often they live in a place for a while so that it becomes part of their subconscious. In other words, you can come to know a place well. We might well frame this, then, as a maxim: Good characters and plot situations grow not only from your imagination but also from an imagination that is well informed.

We have all had a variety of life experiences, the most interesting of these being the ones that involve conflict. Most of our lives have been filled with conflicts; many of these are small and petty, but some are significant or overwhelming. A difficult life is usually what provides the opportunity for insight, and this insight is usually what makes people want to write. Consider the points of conflict in your life. Do you have something to say about them that would interest or intrigue a wide audience?

One way of looking at this notion of conflict is to liken a story to an argument in expository writing. You have something—a point, an insight, a thesis—you want to get your audience to believe. But to do so, you need to persuade your readers that you are the expert, that you know more than most people about the subject, and that you have insight. Consequently, you can consider your screenplay as support for your point; you will take your audience on a narrative journey through plenty of conflict, and by the end of the story they come to the same conclusion; they see your point. (There is much more on effective drama in chap. 2).

Finally, good writers write about something they feel is important to convey to others. Be aware (and beware) of the current trends because they are just that: trends. By the time you finish your screenplay or your screenplay becomes a film, the popularity for fantasy or futuristic films may have evaporated to have been replaced by stories about broken homes or child abuse; trust yourself and your instincts first.

Creative Genius and Talent

Some people would argue that good writers are born and not made. There is a long tradition in Western culture that upholds the romantic view that the best writing, especially but not exclusively literary writing, requires genius. Clearly, no one can help someone else be a genius. But genius is worthless if you don't have the tenacity, proficiency, and knowledge of your craft to get the work—the writing—done.

This romantic tradition also holds that "real" writers hole themselves up in their garret, smoking cigarettes, and living the solitary life of a recluse while they are engaged in the creative process of "writing." This tradition suggests that the only voice you should hear as you work should be your own, and you should avoid any kind of feedback until the work is finished, complete, and, in a word, wonderful. Although much writing tends to be a solitary experience, good writing is a very social event. Good writers consider their audience; their minds are populated with voices: voices of characters, viewers, other writers, people they have known, seen, and heard. They listen to these voices, responding to them and incorporating them into their story.

In film making, much of the work is genuinely collaborative. One person has an idea, another person writes up a story, a third does the screenplay, a fourth rewrites that screenplay, a fifth decides to prod...