John August

Words on the page

You know, like in that other movie

QandA, Words on the page

questionmarkIs this a smart shortcut or stupid laziness?

“We are thrust into the middle of a vast, vicious ground fight (think of the main battle scene in Braveheart, except with assault rifles and bayonets). On the right side is a sea of soldiers wearing red uniforms. The left side is a sea of soldiers in black uniforms.”

— Sung

Your example would fall in the “stupid laziness” category. Lazy in that it coasts on a cinematic reference without really expanding or commenting on it. Stupid in that it squanders an opportunity to show what’s exciting or unique about your battle scene as opposed to all that have come before it.

But I suspect you were really asking about whether it’s okay to drop a reference to another movie in your script — something to help the reader understand what you’re describing. ((Here’s the distinction: In Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, there’s a very deliberate reference to 2001, with a Wonka bar replacing the black obelisk. That’s in the script, and in the movie. That’s not what we’re talking about here.)) And the answer is yes. Just be smart about it.

You’ll almost always want to marry a movie reference with a significant qualifier, something that greatly amplifies, defeats or transforms it. Some examples…

Carla’s date PHIL is like Shrek’s uglier cousin.

There’s something uncomfortably sexual in Josh and Stan’s rivalry. It’s like Top Gun without planes.

With razor-sharp teeth and leathery wings, the dremonae are a cross between prehistoric fish and Oz’s flying monkeys.

So while it’s okay to drop an occasional movie reference, you’re almost always better off doing it your own way. Let’s take your hypothetical example and see how it might be better constructed.

We are thrust into the middle of a vast, vicious ground fight

All good up to here. But rather than immediately reducing it to a movie reference, why not better establish the goals and geography?

We are thrust into the middle of a vast, vicious ground fight: the mighty Empirix Guard, backlit by the afternoon sun, and the scrappy Raiders, whose zeal somewhat compensates for their lesser firepower. From above, we can make out the serpentine battle line, neither side clearly winning.

That feels like Braveheart without explicitly calling it out. And by being more specific to your world, you don’t risk popping the reader out of the story to remember what that scene was like in Braveheart, and how promising Mel Gibson was before he started drunk-driving and crucifying people.

On horseshit, and the New York Times

Strike, Words on the page

I’m quoted in an article in today’s New York Times about how the strike has affected relationships between writers and executives. More accurately, the blog is quoted; I didn’t speak to the writer.

In November, John August, the writer of movies like Charlie’s Angeles[sic] and Corpse Bride spied Peter Roth, president of Warner Brothers Television, at Osteria Mozza, a Los Angeles restaurant. “When you see someone you kind of know at a restaurant, it’s always a process to figure out whether or not to say hi,” Mr. August wrote on his blog. But the strike makes that decision process much more complicated.

Instead of confronting the studio executive, Mr. August returned home and wrote a vulgar blog entry about what he would have liked to say. One part of it that is printable here said: “Everyone knows the C.E.O.’s are talking out of two sides of their mouths.”

Really? What vulgar thing did I write about Peter Roth? I only remembered an insider reference to how Peter Roth tends to hug people. (He does.)

Let’s look back at the original post from November 15th, and my imagined conversation:

ME

Hey Peter. John August.

PETER ROTH

John. John August! How are you? This strike, huh? Crazy. I can’t wait for this to be over.

ME

Then tell your side to come back to the table with an internet residual plan that isn’t horseshit, and you could be shooting pilots by February. Because I’ve been on the picket line for seven days, and every writer wants to come back to work. But not a single one of them would take that shitty deal. Because everyone knows what’s at stake, and everyone knows the CEO’s are talking out of two sides of their mouths.

Obviously, the word in question is “horseshit.” I immediately did a web search of the New York Times website to find all the other instances in which they used “horseshit” in a quote, and found exactly zero results. They really don’t print the word. ((They will use “shit” on occasion, such as when the president was quoted as saying, “What they need to do is get Syria to get Hezbollah to stop doing this shit, and it’s over.”))

Honestly, I find it charming that they deem certain common words too coarse for their readers. They also insist on using polite forms such as “Mr. Smith,” even when it creates more confusion. It’s their newspaper, and they’re entitled to their quirks. ((I’m also a fan of Technology Review‘s predilection for the diaeresis, such as coöperate.))

So it seems that the writer of the article was following Times policy in not printing the full, horseshit-inclusive quote. I can’t object to that.

But what I can object to is labeling my original statement vulgar. That’s a pretty condemnatory remark to slip into a light news piece, considering the word in question is barely PG-13. “Horseshit” may not be an approved word for the New York Times, but it’s a stretch to claim that the mythical New York Times reader would consider it vulgar. It’s basic cable at this point.

Worse, by omitting what I actually said, the article creates the implication I said something much worse. Something — gulp! — unprintably awful. Which I didn’t. I said that the AMPTP’s offer on the table was horseshit. Which it was.

Characters who are not yet important

QandA, Words on the page

questionmarkIf the first time a character appears in a screenplay, it is in a scene in which he does nothing — he is just a peripheral presence — should he be introduced at that point?

The specific scene I’m writing is a funeral. There are four characters in that scene that we haven’t met yet. In that scene they don’t really do or say anything notable; they are peripheral mourners. They will all become significant characters later on in the screenplay. Does convention dictate that I introduce them to the reader at that point? (When we meet them later on, we’re supposed to recognize them as having been present at the funeral.)

— Ed
New York City

Yes. If a character needs to be in a scene, you need to put him there. If you don’t, there’s every possibility he’ll get dropped out of the schedule when it comes time to shoot that scene. Screenplays are literary works, but they’re also instructions. Recipes of a sort. While it might be tempting to leave something out — “Of course they’ll remember that Balthazar is at the funeral!” — assumptions like this invite mistakes.

Ideally, the very first time we meet a character, his introduction should be meaningful, giving us some reason to remember who he is and keep us curious what he’ll do. But there are valid reasons why this might not happen, and crowded moments like funerals and weddings are one example.

So if you need to include a character in this way, remember that you’ll need to make your proper introduction later. For example, in the funeral scene, you might simply write…

  • Among the mourners are JOHN BALTHAZAR (50) and his wispy daughter FIONA (21), who hover near the edge of the crowd. Closer to the action are two imposing men in sunglasses — ELAN and MAX, both 25. We’ll meet them all later, but for now, they’re merely paying their respects.

Later in the script, when we really need to meet one of them, we can do the proper setup…

  • Glenn sits across the table from John Balthazar, who we saw briefly at the funeral. With broad shoulders and a piercing gaze, he has the look of a Viking forced to wear to a suit. He keeps his knife and fork clutched like weapons throughout the meal.

You don’t capitalize his name in this second introduction. Since it will be the first time he’s spoken, the dialogue should be enough to help the reader notice that someone new has joined the story.

Including the unknowable

QandA, Words on the page

questionmarkI recently entered a screenwriting contest and got my wrists slapped for doing something that seemed logical to me. The first time I introduce a character, I do it like this:

  • SMITH stares at the bleachers and sees his wife, NOREEN, and his two kids, MARK and SHEILA.

The evaluators commented that I had “written what we can’t possible know” — that Noreen is the wife and Mark and Sheila are the children. Is this true? Have I made a faux pas that would brand me as a total loser of a screenwriter?

— Sung

You’re not a total loser. You may have lost that particular screenwriting contest, so yes, you’re a total loser in terms of that competition, but in the grand scheme of things, you’re not irredeemably lost.

Assuming this is the first time we’ve met Smith or his family, you’ve written a pretty blah introduction. Yes, I’m hoping that it’s brevity for sake of example, but before you go any further, you may want to re-read [How to Introduce a Character](http://johnaugust.com/archives/2007/how-to-introduce-character).

Are you back? Let’s continue.

Sometimes, honest-to-goodness professional screenwriters will include information that doesn’t seem exactly knowable. Matching up characters to their families is a good example. Yes, Smith could be looking to the bleachers and see a woman and two kids, who we only later find out are his family. But close your eyes and picture the scene. Imagine the shots. Any reasonable viewer is going to immediately grasp that the folks in the bleachers are his wife and kids, so it’s not a big cheat to include that in the scene description.

There are two kinds of “unknowable” information you can safely slip into your script.

**Things that are inherently apparent on screen.**

* The door is locked from the inside. (action reveals condition)
* Matt unlocks his bike. (presumed ownership)
* Sandra has a terrible head cold. (visible condition)
* He races down the aisles, looking for diapers. (presumed in context)

**Details that add flavor, but don’t provide crucial information.**

* He hasn’t slept in days, and hasn’t showered in weeks.
* It’s the nicest house on the street — at least from the curb.
* She collects enemies the way nerds collect comics.

Please don’t take this as an opportunity to load up your scripts with unfilmmable details. Screenwriting is largely an art of economy, so you need to always be looking for ways to say more with less, and to externalize internal motivations. The evaluators weren’t wrong. They were likely just over-applying a pretty good rule-of-thumb: a screenplay should include only those things the audience can see or hear.