A Masterclass in Dramatic Writing

Theater, Film, and Television

Janet Neipris

• Publisher: Routledge
• Year: 2016
• Print ISBN: 9781138918528
• eBook ISBN: 9781317421122
• Edition: 2
• Topic: Media & Performing Arts
• Subtopic: Theatre

A Masterclass in Dramatic Writing addresses all three genres of dramatic writing - for theatre, film and TV - in a comprehensive, one-semester, 14-week masterclass for the dramatic writer.

This book is tightly focused on the practical outcome of completing a first draft and first rewrite of a dramatic work, drawing on Professor Janet Neipris' many years of experience as the head of Dramatic Writing at NYU Tisch. The fourteen chapters, organized like a semester, take the reader week-by-week and step-by-step through writing a first draft of an original play, screenplay, or TV pilot, while also teaching the core principles of dramatic writing. Chapters include Beginnings, Creating Complex Characters, Dialogue, Escalating Conflicts, Endings, Checkpoints, Comedy, and Adaptation, and there are Weekly Exercises and progressive Assignments.

This book is perfect for professional writers, teachers, and students of dramatic writing, as well as anyone who wants to complete their first dramatic work.

An award-winning playwright and Professor of Dramatic Writing at NYU, Janet Neipris has written for Screen and Television. She has also taught dramatic writers at UCLA and in China, Australia, Indonesia, South Africa, Italy, and in the UK at Oxford, CSSD, University of Birmingham, and the University of East Anglia. Previous publications include To Be A Playwright ( Routledge 2006). Janet Neipris's plays and letters are in the Theatre Collection of Harvard University's Houghton Library. For more, see www.janetneipris.com.

Week 1
Beginnings

Finding your story and telling it

The most compelling stories are those where the characters struggle to take control of their lives. The strongest stories originate from passion. What makes you angriest? Betrayal? Mendacity? Blind ambition? Entitlement? When contemplating a new play, screenplay, or TV pilot, I often make a list of my major grievances and irritants, both personal and political, mindful that the personal is the political. Next, I think about life experiences that powerfully recall those same emotions. The same guidelines apply to writing spec pilots for television. Hog Alley was a pilot I sold to ABC, prompted by unconscionable work conditions at an engineering site in Texas where my husband was stationed. An overweight employee with a history of heart disease was made to park almost a mile away every day and walk in the summer heat on gravel paths, while the managers and top corporate people were assigned a parking space adjoining the main gate. One day the employee collapsed and died. Appalling. An event based on this story was only one incident in the pilot, but was brought to light, the same as management in the films Silk wood and Network. “How could they?” We write dramas to ask questions. Often, we are asking why someone behaves like they do.

Sometimes stories originate with dissatisfaction and a questioning of a personal or observed journey, one that began with good intentions and went sour. Was there a way the downward trajectory could have been prevented? If so, start with a character’s noble intentions, but have a different result. The plot is then shaped by the actions the character takes that influence the new outcome. In that case there is the satisfaction of taking charge of the past and reordering it. That’s what motivates many writers. Writing is the best revenge.

Locating the story you want to tell requires what I term “open heart surgery.” You are open to your inner stirrings, indicating you are totally engaged, and will fight to the end to write this story. It is easy to detect the writer who is distanced from the fervor or ache of their subject. The lack of passion and connection to a piece evidences itself early on. When the author describes the project, the enthusiasm is absent. Then, the characters fail to take on flesh, blood, or emotion. The focus is fuzzy. The story limps along. This is often the case when I suspect a student is merely interested in their subject, but not “on fire.” Eventually they will come forward, saying they want to scrap the project, because they have something they are more ardent about writing.

There are also those stories that emerge from newspapers. Take any day of the Guardian or New York Times, circle one potential story on every page, and then choose one that grabs your fancy and make an outline. I often use this as an exercise in class, and, to my surprise, some students choose to write one of those stories that resonate with them. Some of us need a little “jiggling.” The news stories are the seeds, but when they fall on fertile ground, the writer is off to a beginning.

Then there are the plays, screenplays, and TV dramas and series that originate with character. It starts with us observing someone. Chekhov was the master of observation, even in his short stories, which demand compression and a swift portrayal. They are similar to the requirements of the ten-minute play. In his short story “The Lady With the Pet Dog,” Chekhov begins:

A new person, it was said, had appeared on the esplanade, a lady with a pet dog… a fair-haired young woman of medium height, wearing a beret; a white Pomeranian was trotting behind her. She walked alone.

When formulating a character, what kinds of behavior attract our attention, arousing our curiosity? Why is she acting like this? How did she become this kind of a person? How could his present actions contribute to his downfall? How will the person driven with ambition finally get stopped in their tracks? How can their own actions contribute to their disaster? How might they get into trouble and then make a correction? Will it be too late? Will they just miss their joy like one misses a train? What does our character want badly? How hard will they fight to get it? We write by asking questions. The audience is pulled inside our stories, wanting to know one thing—what happens.

Who is our protagonist? The protagonist has the most to lose. What is in danger as the main character searches for the object of their desire? What may be the barriers to success? I use the metaphor of a castle on the hill where a treasure is buried. This treasure represents the character’s deepest wants. But, in order to get up that hill and into the castle, the character must slay the dragons standing in the way. Only, once they slay the first dragon, another appears in its place, and then finally a third to be conquered. These are your escalating conflicts, a requirement of drama.

I love the journey in the film The African Queen, adapted from C.S. Forester’s novel, where this concept is clear. During World War I, two disparate characters are thrown together on a river boat in East Africa, trying to travel down the treacherous Ulana River in search of an opening to Lake Victoria, with a plan to attack a German ship. First they are confronted by one of the character’s drinking problem, then mosquitoes, then leeches, then violent rapids, then Germans shooting at them, then a drought, then incessant rains and a flood. The troubles never stop. The obstacles multiply. Continuing the castle metaphor, every time we think we’re safe, we’re not. Or, there is the possibility that we reach the treasure and it turns out not to be what we expected, or it may not be there at all. In the case of The African Queen, the main characters, after overcoming a multitude of tribulations, finally reach the opening of the river onto the lake, and there is The Louisa, the German ship they’ve been trying to reach.

Only, there is one more twist. They aren’t free yet. More trouble lies ahead in a spectacular and triumphant ending. The shared challenges of the journey ultimately transform the characters.

Adaptation of a novel or short story is another source (Chapter 10). If a story is not in the public domain, be prepared to deal with obtaining the rights from the author and publisher. Once you succeed in procuring the rights, there are the decisions about what to leave in, what to extract, what to completely abandon, and what to imagine.

Some scripts evolve from overheard conversations or from a single image. In those cases, the storyteller has to think backwards. Why did the conversation stick with you? What issue did it raise? If this is what you want to write about, who will populate the drama? How could these characters be tested? What will be their tragic flaw? The real question—once you have characters and conflict identified, and write the first scene—is does the script idea still excite you? Do you still yearn to write this story? Desire is always the engine.

Basing a play on a historical event requires laborious research. Count on it taking six months to a year, at a minimum. There are the obvious books and periodicals, but you can’t know a country or event just by reading a book. That only gives you the facts. If it is a contemporary event, there are the possible interviews. Once those are completed, you have to select the information that may be helpful either historically, shaping characters, or establishing possible conflicts. Then there is the dilemma of how closely you have to stay with the facts (Chapter 6, “Putting It All Together”; Chapter 10, “Adaptation”). If you don’t, anticipate criticism and be willing to go with the project anyways, as Oliver Stone did with his film JFK. Peter Morgan’s drama Frost/Nixon is another example of selected facts. Aaron Sorkin’s Social Network caught flak for fictionalizing events based on a true story. In the case of The Social Network, fiction notwithstanding, the film won the Academy Award for Best Adapted Screenplay. So take a chance, accept the consequences, and be willing to fight for your project.

If you choose to stay only with the facts, there is also a price. The true story may not be dramatically sustainable. Do you have the right to change the facts for the sake of theatricality? No one is going to sue you if you are writing about an incident in the Civil War and imagining some of it. Certainly Shakespeare did this in his history plays. However, if you claim it is a documentary, be prepared to be challenged. Note how often the term “based on” is used in plays and screenplays. This term covers a multitude of fictions. There is also the less formal TV piece, which simply states “inspired by” to provide much literary latitude.

Once you’ve chosen your subject, how to begin? You can’t start writing the first scene until you’ve populated the landscape. The first questions are who and where? First, consider your protagonist. It’s generally a single character, although there are examples of the buddy movie, like Thelma and Louise. The protagonist should be determined by their goal, and their opportunity to achieve it. Arthur Miller, in his essay “Tragedy and the Common Man,” says the possibility of victory must always be there. The audience must always have empathy for the main character. This doesn’t necessitate that they “like” the character, more that they understand the character’s motivation. Always, I construct a backstory for characters, in order to grasp the source of their actions or longings, but also to give the text depth and specificity.

Then there’s the question of how many characters you need to tell your story; and, at the same time, consider the practicality for production. One time I was writing an epic play, covering thirty years. It began with ten characters, until I was warned of the dangers inherent in writing such a large cast. Most theaters do not want or cannot sustain that production cost. So, I fused some of the characters and, at the same time, double cast them. This reduced the cast to five. When I gave the first draft to Zelda Fichandler, founder of the Arena Stage Theater in...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Half Title
• Title Page
• Copyright Page
• Dedication
• Table of Contents
• Contributors
• Overview
• Preface: the moral responsibility of the artist
• Acknowledgments
• Introduction: one writer's life
• Week 1 Beginnings
• Week 2 Creating complex characters
• Week 3 Dialogue
• Week 4 Escalating conflicts
• Week 5 Sixty questions to ask when writing a dramatic piece
• Week 6 Putting it all together
• Week 7 Endings
• Week 8 Checkpoints
• Week 9 Rewriting
• Week 10 Adapting from fact, fiction, and further
• Week 11 Comedy
• Week 12 The habits of successful dramatic writers
• Week 13 Lessons from master teachers and students
• Week 14 To be a writer
• Index