Good news for those readers frustrated by the all-too-frequent outages at this site: we’re moving to a new server, which will hopefully not flake out as often. If it does, I’ll change service providers. Again. Sigh.
There may be a little turbulence this week as the new server settles in. Caveat browser.
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](http://johnaugust.com/Assets/elevator.jpg) This sign in the Beverly Center parking garage is, I think, an example of [found poetry](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Found_poetry).
I find the decision to switch from subjunctive to indicative mood in the second line bold and foward-thinking; the elevator will become inoperative, in the same way that all men will grow old and feeble.
In lines three and four, I appreciate the writer’s ironic instruction to remain calm while inciting alarm in others.
“If furnished.” Those quotation marks are the author’s wink to an audience jaded by systematic disappointment. We know there will never be a telephone.
And how could one read those last two lines as anything other than a call to inaction? Yes, there are steps you could take. You could attempt to be a hero, as you’ve seen countless times in movies and on TV, but you’re certain to fail. Better to give up now, and learn helplessness.
Ding. Sigh.
Over the weekend, my friend [Rawson](http://imdb.com/name/nm1098493/maindetails) came to visit the bambina, and we talked about the script he’s writing. He said he was about to start his next draft, which was mostly character tweaks. He was unsure how to go about it.
I said, “Decide out what you want to accomplish, then figure out which scenes would need to change.”
He seemed to think that was pretty good advice. And the more I thought about it, the more I agreed.
The biggest problem with most rewrites is that you start at page one, which is already probably the best-written page in the script. You tweak as you go, page after page, moving commas and enjoying your cleverness — all the while forgetting why you’re rewriting the script.
Instead, you need to stop thinking of words and pages, and focus on goals. Are you trying to increase the rivalry between Helen and Chip? Then look through the script — actual printed script, not the one on screen — and find the scenes with Helen and Chip. Figure out what could be changed in those scenes to meet your objectives. Then look for other scenes that help support the idea. Scribble on the paper. Scratch out lines. Write new ones.
Then move on to your next goal. And your next one.
At first, this “checklist” approach to rewriting probably won’t feel organic. It doesn’t have the same flow as writing the first draft. But fixing your script isn’t that different than fixing your car. If the stereo was busted, you wouldn’t start at the tailpipe and work your way forward until you got to the dashboard. You’d rip out the stereo, figure out what was wrong, and replace it if you couldn’t get it working. Then you’d do the same for the headlights, the shocks, and the windshield wipers. A car is a car, and a script is a script. But they’re both made of lots of little pieces, and you can only fix one piece at a time.
And scripts are much better than cars. If you don’t know what you’re doing when you try to fix your car, you might be stuck taking the bus. With a screenplay, you always have the old version saved on disk. So roll up your sleeves and get to it. Don’t let the fear of screwing up keep you from starting.
When you have a character talking on the phone who is not in the scene that the audience is watching (e.g. Bill is in a phone booth talking to Jim who we only hear but never see) — do you use (O.S.) or (O.C.) or something else?
— RMT
Los Angeles
I would use O.S., which means “off screen.” I think the distinction is supposed to be that O.C. (“off camera”) applies when the speaker is physically in the same space as the person he’s talking to, but just not on camera, while O.S. is when speaker and listener are in different places.
Your case is definitely the latter. It would look like this:
Bill holds up a one-sec finger while he answers the payphone.
BILL
Ni hao.
JIM (O.S.)
Where the hell are you? He’s waking up, and I’m out of demerol.
I don’t think the distinction between the two terms is all that useful. In fact, I never use O.C., even in situations where it would probably apply — I just use O.S., and no one is ever confused.
I can’t say for certain what my aversion to O.C. is. It may be that on a subconscious level, I know that the “C.” stands for “camera,” and I try to never refer to the camera itself. I think it takes the reader out of the story, reminding them that what they’re reading is just a script.
However, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with O.C. — most readers will know what it means. So if it floats your boat, by all means use it in appropriate situations. Which does not include this one.