John August

Search Results for: characters

When a character has two names

QandA, Words on the page

questionmarkI have a character that appears midway through the script, but is never introduced by name and the reader should not know who he is at this point. So, let’s call him something descriptive: ONE-LEGGED MAN. All the while, in other scenes, his actual name is being mentioned. Let’s say: KEVIN SUGARMAN. Towards the end of the script he introduces himself to a character and it becomes important that the reader understands that ONE-LEGGED MAN is KEVIN SUGARMAN.

From this point out what do you think would make for the smoothest read:

1. Continue calling him ONE-LEGGED MAN
2. Call him ONE-LEGGED MAN/KEVIN SUGARMAN
3. Or start calling him KEVIN SUGARMAN

— Ruckus
Atlanta, GA

This happens in scripts all the time. There’s no perfect solution, but your general goal should be to confuse the reader as little as possible for the fewest number of pages.

If One-Legged Man has dialogue as “ONE-LEGGED MAN,” keep using that name through to the end. It’s confusing to have dialogue blocks with differing names.

If One-Legged Man has no dialogue (or very little dialogue) before he becomes Kevin Sugarman, it may be worth swapping his name, particularly if he hasn’t been prominently featured in a lot of other scenes. The slash technique (One-Legged Man/Kevin Sugarman) works best in scene description, and then only as a reminder to the reader. The guy’s name shouldn’t be 25 characters long every time you use it.

Finally, there are times when the best solution is to simply tell the reader that the character’s name is Kevin Sugarman from the time he’s first introduced. From what you’ve described, it sounds like the reveal is very important to your story — it a key joke or plot point. But in many cases, it may not be worth the trouble and possible confusion.

Changing horses mid-stream

QandA, Writing Process

questionmarkI am on page 75 of a screenplay that I am writing, and I was so excited about finally finishing a draft. Then today, I went to write and came up with a MUCH better first act — which would mean completely rewriting the first act and seriously reworking the second and third act. I pitched it to an exec I used to work for and he agrees that, while the old idea is viable, the new idea is much more organic and the characters are inherently more flawed, and thus, more likeable than the Kate Hudson-esque characters that preceded them.

If you were in this situation, would you proceed with the current draft, or immediately begin on the rewrite?

— Anna
Los Angeles

If your new first act embodies the movie you want to make, then grinding out the last 45 pages of the “old” movie will do you no favors. So write the new first act.

Yes, I generally caution that rewriting is the enemy of finishing — you can find yourself rewriting the first 20 pages a dozen times, and never complete the full script. And your new ideas will always seem more exciting than your old ideas, simply because they’re fresh and unimplemented.

But there’s nothing so dispiriting as finishing a script you know is fundamentally flawed. As a professional writer, you’re sometimes stuck in that situation, forced to implement notes that couldn’t conceivably work (c.f. Charlie’s Angels: Full Throttle). But for your own scripts, you should never be printing out 120 pages of ambivalence.

Continuing this discussion of mixed emotions, what is “Kate Hudson-esque?” Is it a mathematical derivative of Goldie Hawn, approximating the slope of comedy without ever achieving intersection?

Because while I can sense the stereotype you’re wrestling with — pretty, manic, girl-next-door — there’s a fairly wide swath of actresses I’d put in that category: Jennifer Aniston, Mandy Moore, Katherine Heigl. Many actresses could play a “Kate Hudson-esque” role, more or less interchangeably. And that’s not good, particularly in a comedy. (I’m guessing you’re writing a comedy.)

So as you’re rewriting the first act, and introducing your characters, create situations and motivations that will keep the reader from ever thinking of Kate Hudson. If it helps, make the oddest mental casting choice you can and write the role that way. When your script sells, and Kate Hudson stars in it, she’ll have the opportunity to not be “Kate Hudson-esque.” And she’ll thank you profusely.

Strike, day 93; Production, day 2

Projects, Strike, The Remnants

With all eyes on yesterday’s primaries, the announcement of the big, bi-coastal WGA membership meeting this Saturday was easy to overlook. But it’s certainly a welcome development. It’s widely expected that the WGA boards will discuss the status of the agreement with the AMPTP, and outline the steps needed to get back to work.

I anticipate some uncomfortable questions and awkward moments. That’s almost a given at a meeting with 1,000+ people and open microphones. But I can plead for a little decorum. Specifically:

* __Dissent does not equal treason.__ You can disagree with anyone in the room or on the stage, but that doesn’t mean they’re a villain or a sell-out.
* __If someone else asks your question, or makes your point, sit down.__ Yes, you waited in line 20 minutes to get to the mic. But let someone else say something new.
* __The future takes precedence over the past.__ There are a lot of histories to be written about the strike, including alternate scenarios. These make interesting message-board discussions, but don’t play well as one-sided polemics.

In Los Angeles, the meeting is at the Shrine Auditorium — often home to awards shows, but also the stage where I got my USC diploma. I’m planning on working the phone banks at the WGA mothership on Friday, so if you’re a member, there’s a chance I may be calling you to encourage you to come to the pow-wow.

Much of yesterday’s shooting on the web pilot was constrained to a narrow kitchen, which reminded me again why traditional TV comedies have unrealistically-sized rooms. Another challenge: this show has a lot more characters in a scene than The Nines did, which inevitably slows down the work as you connect eye-lines and coverage. But it went smoothly, and we got our last shots just as the sun went down.

Today, we have a late call — 11:30 a.m. — and wrap production after dark.

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.