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In the last issue, I urged screenwriters to seek the perfect verb in each sentence and bring vitality and élan to the story on the page. In this article, I’d like to share some things writers do that drain the energy from their story, and send the reader for that next cup of java… and the next script on the stack.
When you write a screenplay, your job is to create a continuous flow of active images across the reader’s mental movie screen. You accomplish that by using specific action verbs that show characters working to achieve their scene objective. You would be amazed at how many writers write what a character DOESN’T do. Consider the following:
Jill turns to Jack.
JILL
I want a divorce.
Jack doesn’t respond.
What does this mean? How can Jack not respond?. He’s not a lump of clay. Writers also write “Jack doesn’t know what to say.” Or “Jack doesn’t know what to do.” Anytime you write the word “doesn’t” in your screenplay you stop the flow of mental images through the reader’s mind. You turn off the light of the mental movie projector and create a black hole in your story.
On the other hand, a writer will write “Jack remains silent.” Well, of course he remains silent. We can see that he remains silent because you haven’t scripted anything for him to say. This is tantamount to the same thing as “…doesn’t respond.” This is not a movie image. What do we see Jack DO when he receives this news from Jill? Does he collapse onto the sofa? Look out the window at their estate? Drum his fingers on his desk? Light a cigarette? Pull out a gun? Blow out a sigh of relief? Does he glare back at her? Of course, he responds! Show what he does. Don’t write what he doesn’t do. Keep the flow of your movie active in the reader’s mind.
Another phrase that generates an energy drain in your story is “…tries to…” If a character "tries to" do something, he’s not really doing it. Write what we see on the screen. We don’t see a character "trying" to do something. We see a character in action in which he doesn’t accomplish his intention. Show that. Jack has been knocked to the floor. Does he try to get up? Or does he struggle to his elbows and knees and crumple onto his hip?
Consider this: “Jill runs away. Jack tries to catch her.” This shows me nothing. I have no clue as to what’s happening here, no picture on my mental screen… or worse, I’ve made up a picture that is not the picture the writer intended. Does Jack catch Jill? Does Jill get away from Jack? I might learn that in the next paragraph, but the present frame of the movie is missing.
I encourage writers to rethink and rewrite these beats to show what we see on the screen in this moment right NOW. This may seem picky, but my belief is that if screenwriters write visually and specifically, they create an immediacy that propels the reader forward in the story.
“Jack’s not sure what to think.” Well, if Jack’s not sure, I sure as hell am not sure what he should think either. I might even go to lunch after this sentence to contemplate what Jack should be thinking at this very moment in the story… or whether I should pass on to the next script. I’d be afraid of reading further because I might come to a sentence that tells me “Jack doesn’t know what to do next.” Those of you who know better, bear with me. You would be amazed at how many scripts tell a reader what s/he cannot possibly know by watching the movie. Sentences like these get a big “HOW DO WE KNOW?” from my pencil.
Here’s the deal. A movie is made up of a series of visual images and aural cues that create a story. These sounds and images may imply a psychology of character, but that’s as far as screenwriters can go. We don’t have the luxury of a novelist who can plumb the interior of a character’s mind and wander the pathways of confused neurons firing in all directions. We must suggest through a visual and aural context. There’s a poetic beauty to this kind of writing that I love. It’s a gestalt. If you “draw” the correct few lines of the scene on the page, the reader will fill in the negative space to complete the picture. I liken it to a delicate water color that suggests an entire scene through a few strokes of the brush that leaves mostly negative space. Make everything you write visual and/or audible. Write only what we can see and hear….
…which brings me to another little pet peeve of mine. “We see…” “We hear…” Who is this “we” that has leaped into the scene? “We” are not in the movie. Keep “we” out of it. As I wrote earlier, everything in a movie is something we see or hear, so there’s no need to cue “we.” Instead, cut “we.” If a screenplay is supposed to be a blueprint for a movie, then honor the movie with the most accurate blueprint you can create and write only that which is necessary. You might find that your movie’s blueprint not only represents the art of the film, but is a work of art itself.
Use these indicators as red flags that provide you with the opportunity to dig deeper into your craft: adverbs; passive and helping verbs; doesn’t; tries to; character thoughts; we see/we hear. Happy rewriting!
Founder of Rainey Script Consulting, John has worked with thousands of screenwriters since 1989. Creative Screenwriting Magazine's 2003 review of script analysts rated Rainey #1. His services guide novices to recommendations in today's competitive marketplace. His work with professionals provides fine-tuning that results in sales.
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