that feature mothers and daughters from generation to generation. In order, it dragged. But cut asynchronously, as suggested by Mark Evan Schwartz, a colleague at Loyola Marymount University, it sings. It’s more cinematic. And it makes sense as the themes and even some of the dialogue move from generation to generation.
So what I’m getting at here is that there is no one order in which to tell your story. You still must have a beginning, a middle, and an end, but they don’t necessarily have to come in that order. This is best experimented with at the script stage because, believe me, it’s hell to do later. But it can be done and sometimes should be done. Try it. It may work for you. You’ve got nothing to lose but time and paper.
Step 4
“An Original Screenplay By”
I often see this on title pages of scripts by my students: “An Original Screenplay by.” It’s the standard credit that some screenplay programs include with their title pages, but it’s meaningless. First of all, it’s not an official Writers Guild of America credit which, for an original screenplay, is limited to two choices: “Written by,” or, simply, “by.”
Of course, credits for screenplays which are adaptations or include other writers working on the project (say, for example, someone else wrote the story) are different. But if you, the writer, came up with the idea, wrote the story (or skipped directly to the screenplay) , then wrote the screenplay, then, of course, it’s an original screenplay. What else could it be?
Then what does it mean when you see the credit that says, “Screenplay by”? This can mean a couple of things. One, that someone else wrote the story or that the writer shared story credit, in which case the credit is separated to indicate same. It could also mean that the screenwriter based her screenplay on an existing work or previous release in a franchise. For example, if a writer adapted a book, say A Tale of Two Cities, then the credit would be, first, “Based on A Tale of Two Cities” by Charles Dickens, followed by a separate card saying, “Screenplay by John Doe.”
This applies to sequels, too, even though the screenplay may be a prequel or may not really continue the story, or even may not have anything to do with the original film except using the same set of characters. This designation happened in films nominated for Oscars from 2013 when Richard Linklater, Ethan Hawke, and Julie Delpy’s screenplay for Before Midnight was placed in the best adapted screenplay category because it was based on characters from their previous two collaborations. It was an entirely original work, yet it was considered an adaptation.
Is this fair? I think so. The hard work of writing a screenplay consists of two things — creating characters and creating a world (a story) in which they develop. If part of the work is done previously, then your job as a screenwriter is easier. Oh, yes, you still go through torture crafting your story, selecting the right scenes and the right characters, adding or subtracting from the story, even inserting your own story into it (see Adaptation, written by Charlie Kaufman, 2002, for an example of this). But the fact is, much work has been done for you (or even by you) by the originator of the story or characters. Yes, you still sit in front of a blank screen, but you have a starting place. If you’re writing an original work, you have nothing but your own imagination to give you the impetus to start typing.
That’s one reason more adaptations find their way to the screen than originals. (There are others — name recognition, sequels, previous success of the material, etc.) Given this fact, though, why is adaptation not focused on in most film schools (Where I teach — Loyola Marymount University — there is a specific adaptation class. Where I have taught before — UCLA — there is not.) The easy answer is that schools want to focus on the process: creating characters, constructing stories, writing scenes. In other words, making an “original screenplay.” And that may be why “An original screenplay by” is included in screenwriting programs, which have their greatest distribution in film schools. But, in truth, every story is “original” even if it’s based on work previously done. Just ask Shakespeare, who based many of his plays on previous works, or Marc Norman and Tom Stoppard, whose Shakespeare in Love borrowed much from Shakespeare (and invented much more).
Step 5
Writing (Not Overwriting) Descriptions We Can “See”
Here’s one of the basic contradictions a writer has to face. You know that a reader, probably not the producer, is going to be the first person at the production company or studio to read your script, so you have to impress this person. We know that motion pictures are all about what you see on screen, so you’d think that the descriptive passages of a script would be important. And they are. But readers often skip through them to get to the dialogue because they think, sometimes correctly, that the character is shaped by the dialogue. And dialogue is easier to read. But harder to write.
So, does that mean you shouldn’t pay attention to description? No. Does it mean that you shouldn’t write visually? No, on the contrary. You should still make the reader see the movie as best you can, and that’s where your writing style for descriptive paragraphs will pay off. But you may lose the reader’s interest if he or she has to plow through dense and long paragraphs. So, you want to make your paragraphs as short and succinct as possible.
No one has ever been accused of having too little description. Screenplays should be terse, filled with short phrases emphasizing verbs always — always — in the present tense.
Connor drags himself to the bed. Falls. Checks his arm. Blood spurts out of his wrist. He slams his other palm on it. Nearly faints.
Short declarative sentences. Fragments. Lots of verbs. But the scene is clear as a bell, isn’t it? You can see it, can’t you? You don’t need to know what kind of bed it is, or even what Connor looks like. You see the action, and that’s what counts. Let the makeup artist, the set designer, the production designer, the wardrobe designer, the director of photography, and the director fill in the rest. Let them do their jobs. Your job is to make them see the film, see the action, and move on.
Now take a five-line paragraph of description (and you know you have one) and turn it into two and a half lines. Take out thoughts, feelings, extra adjectives, adverbs, and even nouns if need be. Leave action words. Now compare it to the original. Isn’t it better?
Step 6
It’s often said that the key to life is balance, and I know that I’ve certainly tried to live that way. Too much partying leads to a desire to do good in society to balance things out. And it works the other way, too: Too much doing good means it’s time to party!
Balance also applies to your screenplay. A student of mine recently asked if it was okay to have a 30-page first act, a 30-page second act, and a 60-page third act. In a word, no. Of course, there are no rules in making movies. But there is a guideline here that is very important to follow.
In a 110 page script, you should have about 25–30 pages to set up the character and what s/he is going to do (the first act), and about 40–50 pages in the second act where the movie really gets going (i.e., your character goes after his/her goal). The third act is when your character faces himself and his final challenge, and it should be about 25–30 pages (all figures are fungible and are kept in proportion for longer stories). If you keep the audience waiting, they’ll get impatient.
The last act is usually the shortest act, and audiences expect that once your character pulls out of the funk he found himself in at the end of Act II, he’s going to do some ass kicking. You want to get to that, the most exciting part of your story, the one with the most tension and the most riding on it, as soon as you can and you want to make the final