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Welcome .............................................................................................................................. 2!
Course Syllabus ................................................................................................................... 3!
Structure............................................................................................................................... 4!
Exercise 1A........................................................................................................................ 10!
Format and Action ............................................................................................................. 11!
Exercise 1B ........................................................................................................................ 12!
Characters .......................................................................................................................... 13!
Creating your Conflict ....................................................................................................... 19!
Exercise 2 .......................................................................................................................... 21!
A Writing Thought for the Day ......................................................................................... 22!
Plot ..................................................................................................................................... 22!
Subplot ............................................................................................................................... 26!
Exercise 3A........................................................................................................................ 30!
Exercise 3B ........................................................................................................................ 30!
Dialogue............................................................................................................................. 31!
Rewriting ........................................................................................................................... 34!
In Closing .......................................................................................................................... 36!
(%)*"+%''
Dear Student,

Thank you for choosing The Writers Store’s Screenwriting Basics course! You’re about
to embark on a unique learning journey where you’ll discover the essential elements of
the craft of screenwriting, from structure, format and action to characters, plotting, and
dialogue.

This course is designed to lead you through a variety of lessons and exercises, including:

• Writing the Outline

• Creating the Protagonist
• Focusing on the Script’s Climax
• Dialogue and Rewriting

The key for any writer is not just lessons…you’ll have to take the basics presented here,
and apply them to your own writing. For the next few weeks, start looking at the world
through your writer’s eye. Find a story in the take-out line at McDonald’s or Starbucks.
Look for great stories in the eyes of the people you see waiting for the bus. See if your
dry cleaner has a great yarn. And write…write as much as you can, whenever you can.

Great writers have specific views of the world, and have the ability to translate that view
onto the page. Not everyone is born with the ability. Most of us have to work really hard
at it, to hone our visions, and learn how to get them out to the world. Craft helps, but it’s
not the whole enchilada. So while you’re taking this class, always think on another level:

• What am I about?

• What do I want to say?

• What in this crazy, messed-up, incredibly beautiful, very full world interests me?

These "higher" questions, by the way, will help invigorate you during tough writing
times.

We hope you enjoy your experience with Screenwriting Basics. If you have any
questions, feel free to contact us at 800.272.8927 (international callers dial
310.441.5151).

Sincerely,

Your Friends at The Writers Store

!",-&%'./))01,&''
The syllabus for this course is intentionally small - the scripts for Up and The Dark
Knight, the script for Good Will Hunting (which you can order or find online), and the
screenplay format book The Screenwriter's Bible by David Trottier.

Please, though, read all you can about the art and craft of screenwriting. Continue to
expand your mind. This is an introductory course that covers the basics, but there’s a lot
more information out there for you as you get more comfortable with this unique writing
form.
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The best place to begin is with the scaffolding: the structure of your screenplay. This is
the framework you’ll use to tell your story. Before we get started, let’s get a couple of
quick definitions down.

1. Protagonist: The main character of your film. He has the primary DRAMATIC NEED
that drives the ACTION of the film. It’s primary, by the way, because all of your
characters have needs—but the need of the protagonist is the one that gives the film its
shape. For example: Raiders of the Lost Ark (by Lawrence Kasdan). Our protagonist is
the good Doctor Indiana Jones (Harrison Ford), and his need is to keep the Ark of the
Covenant from falling into the hands of the Nazis. Everything that occurs in the film is
somehow related to the pursuit of that need.

But simply watching someone pursue his need is a boring experience. Something—or
someone—has to get in his way and cause problems. So on to:

2. Antagonists: Forces of some kind that are against the protagonist, and keep him from
attaining his need. In Raiders, all sorts of antagonists keep Indy busy. There are major
ones like Belloq, the conniving rival archeologist, and Toht, the creepy Nazi with the
cool carry-around clothes hanger. And then there are lesser antagonists, such as the burly
man whom Indy fights by the airplane (the one who ends up getting the Cuisinart
treatment via propeller).

The struggle against these antagonists is called CONFLICT, which is the stuff drama is
made of. A PROTAGONIST has a NEED…to fulfill it, he takes ACTION…
ANTAGONISTS get in the way, creating CONFLICT…and DRAMA is born.

Now let’s return to the scaffolding. Probably the best and most referred-to tome on
structure is Syd Field’s Screenplay. It outlines three-act structure, one of the most
effective tools available for organizing your screenplay. So, with thanks to our good
friend Syd, let’s discuss three-act structure.

Three-Act Structure

Say you’ve got a 100-page screenplay (for easy arithmetic). Following the general rule of
one page equals approximately one minute of screen time, you have a film that runs a
little less than two hours. So what happens in those pages? First, let’s break them up into
three acts - the first and third acts, 25 pages apiece, the second act, 50 pages. Makes the
whole thing easier to digest.
Act One is the beginning of your story.
Act Two is the middle.
Act Three is the end.

Act One: The Beginning

The Bible—one of the earliest big-budget film treatments—tells us that, “In the
beginning, there was a big box of nothing.” (A little paraphrasing) “Then along came
God and voila! There were…lots of things!” Well, Act One is your very own Book of
Genesis. As Dr. Jed Hill (Alec Baldwin) says in Malice (by Aaron Sorkin and Scott
Frank), “A God complex? I am God.”

Enjoy the power.

Let’s begin with the very first scenes—the POINT OF ATTACK. A good point of attack
can get a lot of information across, and quickly set up expectations for the audience. For
example—the point of attack in almost any James Bond film is a mission, usually one
that involves a lot of danger. The suave and smooth superspy blows some stuff up, has a
few mild quips, and ends up in bed with a girl. Even if you’ve never seen a Bond flick,
you’d know what to expect from this movie: action that defies the laws of physics,
cooooool superhero, superbad bad guys, lovely women, and not a whole lot of feminist
thought.

In your point of attack, you can also state your own “dramatic rulebook.” For example, in
the world in which we live, the difficulties of the mentally challenged and the painful
mutilation of a person’s private parts are considered utterly not funny. But the Farrelly
Brothers, in their bravura point of attack prologue to There’s Something About Mary,
basically say, “We claim those things as funny—therefore, anything goes in this film.”
You can love their comedy or hate it, but with that introduction, the filmmakers gleefully
declare that all bets are off—and set their entire movie up.

Including the point of attack, the first ten to fifteen pages of your film are for the “getting
to know you” time. The audience should be introduced to the protagonist, and get to
know him. Occupation? Personal life? How is his life treating him in general? The
audience should also get a chance to know the world you, the writer, are taking them
into…is it different from the world of today? What is the time period? Season? Locale?
Finally, in keeping with the point of attack, what kind of film is this? What should the
audience expect? What’s the tone? Comedy? Action? Drama?

You should also introduce the antagonist—and secondary characters who will play a
major role in the film.

And then: somewhere in that first ten to fifteen pages, you add the CATALYST. The
catalyst is simply this: something new that enters the protagonist’s life, creates a specific
need, and starts the conflict rolling. From there, Act One expands, as the audience
understands more of the conflict, and the ball gets rolling until you hit TURNING POINT
NUMBER ONE. This Turning Point—coming at about 25 to 30 pages—is a scene or a
group of scenes that clearly states the conflict and the stakes, sets the action in a new
direction and kicks us off into Act Two.

That’s all theory, theory, theory…let’s get down to brass tacks and look at this in terms of
a film, Pixar’s Up (by Pete Docter & Bob Peterson).

Point of Attack

The first sequence of scenes: A newsreel titled “Spotlight on Adventure” shows us a

dangerous, mystical place in South America called Paradise Falls. We meet Carl, an
eight-year-old boy enthralled by the newsreel. His hero, Charles Muntz, returns from an
expedition with the skeleton of a giant bird called the Monster of Paradise Falls, loses his
reputation when he’s accused of fabricating the skeleton, and returns to Paradise Falls to
redeem himself.

Carl meets a fellow adventurer, the outgoing Ellie, and the two fall in love. In some of the
most economic and emotional visual storytelling possible, we see Carl and Ellie’s life
together: they get married; buy and fix the house where they met as kids; work as a
balloon vender and zookeeper, respectively; their hopes of having a child are lost because
Ellie is infertile and are replaced with dreams of taking a trip to Paradise Falls; plans for
the trip are repeatedly pushed back by more immediate concerns; they grow old together
and by the time Carl saves up enough money to surprise Ellie with tickets for the trip, she
becomes ill and dies.

By the time all this happens, just 14 pages into the script (11 minutes into the finished
film), we know:

1. This is taking place in our world…and even though it’s a family film and whimsical at
times, it won’t shy away from the darker aspects of life, such as dashed hopes and death.

2. It’s a story about an introvert who dreamt of adventure and was inspired by the love of
his life to pursue it, but lost her before their dreams could be fulfilled.

3. A lot of elements have been set up: There is a place called Paradise Falls; there’s a
myth of a giant bird that ruined the reputation of Carl and Ellie’s hero; a house that Carl
and Ellie pretended was a cockpit when they were kids; balloons were a part of their lives
from the moment they met all the way through their last day together; there’s a photo
album titled “My Adventure Book” that is incomplete after a page titled “STUFF I’M
GOING TO DO”; the house they played in as kids is where they chose to make their
home; this home has a mailbox with Ellie’s handprint; there is a mural of Paradise Falls
with a picture of their house taped to it; Carl made a promise to Ellie that he would take
her to Paradise Falls.
Getting to Know You

When we find Carl again, it is years after Ellie’s death, and he is a bitter, lonely old man
who barely leaves the house. He doesn’t even have the patience to help an 8-year-old
Wilderness Explorer named Russell earn an “Assisting the Elderly” merit badge, the only
one Russell’s missing. He sends Russell on a wild goose chase for a snipe that he says is
blocks away. In the meantime, real estate developers want to buy Carl’s house, but he
refuses to sell.

Catalyst

Carl assaults a construction worker who damaged the mailbox with Ellie’s handprint on
it, and is ordered by the court to leave his house and move into a retirement home.

Note: We chose this particular movie because it demonstrates a strong, clear example of
classic story structure; however, we chose it also because it shows that there has to be
flexibility when it comes to structure. In Up, this flexibility is best displayed by how the
writers dedicate a proportionately large amount of time in the first act to the Point of
Attack and establishing Carl’s back-story, and then follow it up with the catalyst and first
turning point relatively close together. Hey, if it works, it works.

One More Note: Although one could debate that Ellie’s death is the catalyst, it doesn’t
force Carl into a dilemma where there is no choice but to take immediate action to
resolve his dramatic need; therefore, Ellie’s death serves to rob Carl of his passion for
adventure and creates what is usually called a back-story Wound, Scar, Ghost, or
Trauma. It creates a question in our mind that the story will have to answer: Can Carl find
the will to embrace adventure now that he’s lost his partner and inspiration?

And then we get to:

Turning Point Number One

On the verge of being sent to a retirement home and losing the house (which represents
all he has left of Ellie), Carl devises a plan to keep his old Paradise Falls promise to her.
Using thousands of helium balloons, he lifts the house from its foundation and soars
above the city en route to Paradise Falls, when suddenly there is a knock at his door…

Russell was on the porch when the house took off, and now he’s along for the ride. Carl
lets him in.

In this turning point, the script has:

1. Clearly stated the conflict (man vs. man: Carl vs. Russell, as in any great buddy story
where two people must learn to work together; also, man vs. self: old curmudgeon Carl
vs. young adventure-seeking Carl as reflected and personified in Russell; also, man vs.
unfeeling force: Carl and Russell vs. the forces of nature as they journey to get the house
to the top of Paradise Falls)

2. Turned the action into a different direction (Carl goes from being alone to being
responsible for someone else, someone who could become, eventually, the son Carl and
Ellie were never able to have)

3. Raised the stakes of the conflict (if something goes wrong with this crazy plan, it’s not
just old-on-his-way-out-Carl in danger; he’s responsible for innocent Russell, whose life
he has put in jeopardy)

Act Two: The Middle

What is Act Two about? It’s about the pursuit of need, which entails many things: tests,
setbacks, and all the conflict your protagonist goes through. Too much to get into this
first lesson, but we’ll delve into it in the weeks to come. For the moment, let’s just say
the drama gets more and more intense, and the stakes keep rising, until you hit your:

Turning Point Number Two

Number Two takes place approximately 80 pages into your script, and is just like
Number One—with one crucial difference. It ratchets the stakes up to a “can’t-go-
anywhere-but-the-climax” level. Let’s go back to Up…

Just after Carl finds out that Ellie completed the “My Adveture Book” with photos of
their life together and left him a note encouraging him to go on a new adventure, he sets
off to rescue Russell, who is drifting away with some balloons to save Kevin (the giant
bird of Paradise Falls) from Muntz, Carl’s childhood hero.

Again:

1. The conflict is very clearly stated—Carl vs. Muntz to save Russell and Kevin (the
Monster of Paradise Falls).

2. A change in the direction of the action—they take the fight to Muntz, rather than being
pursued. By the way, this is a common Act Two turn in action films—the hunted
becomes the hunter.

3. It raises the stakes to the ultimate height, because Carl will have to throw away all of
things in the house (representing his material connection to Ellie) to get the house off
Paradise Falls and allow him to pursue and rescue Russell from Muntz, the most talented
adventurer in the world.

Act Three: The End

And then we’re into Act Three. Act Three is about the CLIMAX, or highest point of the
film. There’s little room for anything else. No matter if the climax is a full-on battle like
Up, or a quieter, more internal battle, at this point we’re heading pell-mell to the end. The
climax of the film should occur no more than a few pages from the finish, and it should
tie up all loose ends of the film (we’ll talk more about that as well).

So to review, in a 100-120 page script:

1. POINT OF ATTACK—your opener.

2. GETTING TO KNOW YOU—first 10-15 pages
3. CATALYST—somewhere between pages 10-20
4. TURNING POINT #1- PAGE 25-30 [END ACT ONE/BEGIN ACT TWO]
5. TURNING POINT #2- PAGE 85-95 [END ACT TWO/BEGIN ACT THREE]
6. CLIMAX [1-5 PAGES BEFORE END OF MOVIE]
7. RESOLUTION—all the pages after the climax until the end

That’s three-act structure, in brief…but here we get to the caveats.

First of all, the page numbers are not road maps. Your turning points, your catalyst, all of
your dramatic highpoints should happen at the best time for your film—not at the ideal
time according to a set of guidelines. What you’ll often find is that they help in rewriting.
Act One feels like it’s lagging? Maybe I should move my catalyst earlier, see what that
does. Second act feels like it’s longer than Andy Warhol’s Sleep? Maybe putting that
second turning point on page 142 wasn’t such a peachy idea.

Let structure help you; don’t let it run you.

Syd Field’s Screenplay is by no means the last word on the subject—although it’s the
best word to begin with. Another book on the basics that keeps its eye on the marketplace
for you (and that we strongly recommend) is Save the Cat by Blake Snyder. Also, the
hero’s journey approach based on the writings of Joseph Campbell is a favorite, and is the
source of inspiration for many films such as Star Wars (George Lucas), The Matrix (the
Wachowskis), the Harry Potter series (Steve Kloves), and Avatar (James Cameron). You
can find a very helpful guide in a fantastic book called The Writer's Journey by
Christopher Vogler.

'
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A technique that often helps when starting a screenplay is to write a short synopsis or
summary of the story, and a twelve-step outline. Try that for your film.

Your synopsis should be in prose form, and should detail the major events of your film.
Ideally, it will be no longer than one page, opening with your point of attack and ending
with your story’s resolution. The synopsis should be proportionate; since your first act
takes about a quarter of your story’s time, it should take about a quarter of your one-sheet
synopsis. This is not a hard and fast rule, but it’s worth aiming for.

The steps of your twelve-point outline should go like this:

1. POINT OF ATTACK
2. GETTING TO KNOW YOU SCENES
3. CATALYST
4. TURNING POINT #1
5.-8. LIST SOME TESTS THAT YOUR PROTAGONIST GOES THROUGH IN ACT
TWO
9. TURNING POINT # 2
10. FINAL “BATTLE”
11. CLIMAX
12. RESOLUTION
7"-+0$'0#8'6*$4"#'
As you saw on your course syllabus, you should already have in your hands a copy of
The Screenwriter’s Bible. This helpful guide gives you all the rules for screenplay format.
It’s important to follow Industry standard on your script, even on early drafts, just to get
used to the form.

Format can be a bit of a pain, and while it won’t be your best friend, it can be your worst
enemy. Nothing screams “unprofessional” more than a poorly formatted script, and most
producers won’t even take a gander at your work if it’s not in proper form. A bit of
advice: get a screenwriting program. Final Draft is the Industry standard. It’s the easiest
way to be certain of your format—and this program lets you concentrate on your writing,
rather than having to pay too much attention to how many times you tab over before
starting your dialogue.

That being said, no program will help you write well, and there’s one aspect of format
that no “list of rules” will help you with, and that’s writing action/description. These are
the blocks of information that come after primary slugs, and in the midst of scenes.

Writing Action/Description

Your action/description paragraphs should be as short as possible, mainly because readers

tend to skip over large portions of text. Be crisp, be clear. You should make every word
count and show, don’t tell, emotions. Everything must be relevant. Try to visualize your
character and his actions, and figure out what emotional states those actions illustrate.

Don’t use camera or detail shots. That’s for the director, and while you may be tempted
to direct, you aren’t doing it on the page. Again, it’s a signal of a beginning writer to
inundate the reader with camera angles.
23%-*4&%'59''
Write a few action/description paragraphs with proper format that help illuminate any
character you’ve had in mind. Remember to keep your writing in the present tense, and
have each word say something, and remember, show, don’t tell.
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It’s time to talk about your protagonist and your antagonist. This lesson, coupled with the
next lesson on conflict, will help you with the first and most important steps of your
screenplay. If you can create the two warring characters of your story—and give them a
conflict that works—you’re more than halfway home to your first screenplay.

Who is your Protagonist?

Let’s begin first with your protagonist, or the main character of your screenplay. How do
you identify who the main character is? As you learned last week, the main character is
the one whose NEED drives the action of the story. Everything in your screenplay will
somehow spring from that need, in some way. Other characters—although they are three-
dimensional characters in their own right—are somehow functions of that need.

Let’s turn for the moment to The Dark Knight (Jonathan Nolan & Christopher Nolan),
one of the screenplays on your syllabus.

The main character of this movie is Bruce Wayne/Batman (Christian Bale), billionaire
industrialist by day, vigilante superhero by night—but there are many other characters
who play an important role in the film. Harvey Dent/Two-Face (Aaron Eckhart), Alfred
(Michael Caine), Gordon (Gary Oldman), Rachel (Maggie Gyllenhaal), and of course, the
Joker (Heath Ledger), the all-important antagonist. Both the Joker and Harvey Dent have
a considerable amount of screen time, some of it without Bruce/Batman present. But
would they play any part in this story if Bruce’s need didn’t exist?

What is Bruce’s need? Bruce’s need is to embrace the responsibility of being Batman
whole-heartedly and accept he will never lead a normal life. Since he thinks he needs to
unburden himself from the power and responsibility of being Gotham’s protector—so
that he can bring his crusade to an end and live an ordinary life—his acceptance at the
end of the story that this will never come to be is what raises the emotional weight of the
story and lifts it to the level of tragedy.

The Joker provides Batman with a challenge greater than any he has faced: a monster that
represents the worst in humanity, and is, in part, the negative result of Batman’s attempts
to clean up Gotham, as it’s ultimately attracted a more dangerous breed of villain.

Gordon and Alfred are Batman’s closest allies, who provide unofficial police support and
advice, respectively. In one conversation that nods at the themes of the story, Alfred tells
Bruce:
“Endure, Master Wayne. Take it. They'll hate you for it, but that's the point of Batman,he
can be the outcast. He can make the choice no one else can face. The right choice.”

Rachel is the woman who knows Batman’s true identity is Bruce Wayne and offers him
the chance at a normal life, if he ends his vigilante ways. Yet she’s conflicted and doesn’t
want to be responsible, as she says:

“Bruce, don't make me your one hope for a normal life-“

Harvey Dent is Bruce’s best hope for an incorruptible successor to protect Gotham and
represents what Bruce wishes he could be, both in regard to a hero that shows his face,
and in regard to the woman he dates, i.e. Rachel. Incidentally, Rachel is also the person
Bruce confides in about his plans for Harvey; note the following dialogue:

“Harvey is that hero. He locked up half the city's criminals, and he did it without wearing
a mask. Gotham needs a hero with a face.”

Harvey is also the hero the Joker really wants to destroy to take over Gotham’s soul. The
White Knight that Harvey symbolizes is so crucial to Gotham’s future, that when he falls
from grace and becomes the murderous vigilante Two-Face, Batman tells Gordon to
blame the crimes on him, so as not to deprive Gotham of the hero it needs. As Harvey
famously says:

“Well, I guess you either die a hero or you live long enough to see yourself become the
villain.”

And what does he say right after that?

“Look, whoever the Batman is, he doesn't want to spend the rest of his life doing this.
How could he? Batman's looking for someone to take up his mantle.”

(Remember Harvey Dent said that as we move forward and continue the lesson.)

The Joker, Harvey Dent, Rachel. All of these characters are well-written, well-rounded
characters, but they wouldn’t be necessary unless Bruce Wayne/Batman and his need
existed. This is how you identify your protagonist: his need is the engine that drives the
drama.

Okay, how about the characters in another one of the scripts on your syllabus, Good Will
Hunting, written by Matt Damon and Ben Affleck?

The main character of this movie is Will Hunting (Damon), the math genius—but there
are many other characters who play an important role in the film. Professor Lambeau
(Stellan Skarsgaard), Chuckie (Affleck), Skylar (Minnie Driver), and of course, Sean
(Robin Williams), the all-important psychiatrist.
What is Will’s need? To somehow get past the pain of his abusive childhood in foster
homes, which will allow him to use his gift to transcend the life he’s been born into, a life
of poverty in South Boston.

Professor Lambeau provides the math problems that first get Will noticed, then provides
him with both training (and encouragement) and a way to stay out of jail.

Chuckie is Will’s best friend, a version of Will without the genius, and in one
conversation near the end of the film, tells his buddy to use his gifts and get out of
Southie.

Skylar is the woman who tries to push past Will’s defense mechanisms, and fails, but in
doing so shows Will at least the possibility of finding someone other than his lifelong
friends who will care for him.

Sean is the man who manages to get past Will’s defenses, and in doing so, helps Will
achieve his goal of getting past the pain and moving on. At the end of the film, Will is
“going to see about a girl”…to Skylar, to a new life on the West Coast.

Again, all the supporting characters are well-rounded and well-written, but would they be
necessary without Will’s need?

Let’s work on building a protagonist.

Building your Protagonist

1. Explore Background/Make your Protagonist Real

The first step towards building a protagonist is discovering who he is, not just in the
confines of the film, but through his life. Some writers believe that you have to sit down
and write pages and pages of biographical notes, including a full back story, almost a
mini-novel of details about where your character comes from, what’s shaped him, what
his childhood was like. All of those details are crucial. But it’s not always necessary to
write reams and reams of biography. However, you have to know your characters, and
feel them. They have to be real to you.

2. Identify Need(s)

So you have a protagonist who feels real; now you have to figure out exactly what he
NEEDS. For some films, that’s pretty easy. For example, in most action films, including
to some extent The Dark Knight, it’s “Save the world, don’t get dead doing it.” For other
films like Good Will Hunting, the need is more internal.

Here’s an interesting note: need exists on a lot of levels. Characters have both emotional
and physical needs. For example, there was a film in 1988 about a New York police
officer who goes to Los Angeles to try and reconnect with his estranged wife. An
introspective, emotional film? No—it’s Die Hard (Jeb Stuart and Steven E. de Souza),
and while John McClane (Bruce Willis) wants to get back together with his wife, Holly
(Bonnie Bedelia), he also had to contend with the nefarious Hans Gruber (played
brilliantly by Alan Rickman). And so a purely emotional need was transformed into a
more physical one—“don’t get dead.”

In The Dark Knight, Bruce’s physical need is to stop the Joker and find an heir to protect
Gotham. Meanwhile, Bruce’s emotional need (as noted above) is to embrace the
responsibility of being Batman whole-heartedly and accept that he’ll never lead a normal
life.

On the flip side, on the emotional journey that is Good Will Hunting, what is Will’s
physical need? No bad guys there, the only demons are in Will’s past. The physical act he
needs to perform is to simply get out of Southie—to drive away.

Whatever the need is, it must be strong enough to spur your protagonist to action. He
can’t simply be a passive observer—a pure reactor—to the dramatic action. At some
point, he has to make a decision to go after what he needs, or else you’ll have the
audience asking if your protagonist really wants it bad enough.

Note: Ironically, the internal need in many stories is either to forget the past to move
forward, or face the past to move forward—neither one is right nor wrong, the story just
has to be told with conviction.

Also Note: The protagonist is often unaware of his emotional need at the beginning of the
story; the story is what leads him to recognize his emotional need and transform as a
result.

One Final Note: The protagonist’s physical and emotional needs are often in conflict with
each other.

3. Identify Character Flaws

Once you’ve figured out the need, then figure out why he hasn’t gotten it already. Say,
for example, we’ve got Will Hunting at page one of Good Will Hunting. Why the heck
hasn’t he figured out how to ease his pain and use his gift already? Because of two
reasons—one, he’s his own worst enemy, and two, he doesn’t have the people around
him yet to show him the way. So the film will be about him finding those people—and
whether he’ll allow them to help.

In The Dark Knight, why hasn’t Bruce accepted that he cannot be replaced as protector of
justice in Gotham? Because he still believes someone can do a better job, and he’s
convinced that person is District Attorney Harvey Dent. An inability to accept that the
power he burdened himself with (in Batman Begins) is a power that he must hold onto,
and cannot pass on, is his flaw. The story of The Dark Knight is about leading Bruce to
that realization. To understanding that this is not a temporary gig.

4. Transformation

Finally, you want to figure out how your protagonist will be changed by his journey
through your film. Does he, like Will, figure out a way to transcend his past? Does he
defeat the Evil Planners and get the girl?

Or does he defeat the villain, but fail to save the person he thought would be his heir as
protector of Gotham like in The Dark Knight, thus realizing that he cannot unburden
himself of the power and responsibility of being Batman?

All protagonists go through some sort of change through the course of the film.
Otherwise, the journey was not difficult enough.

By the way, The Dark Knight is not the only story to illustrate that change doesn’t have to
be a positive one. Perhaps the finest example of a sad transformation is that of Jake Gittes
in Chinatown (Robert Towne). At the beginning of the film, he’s a cocky, if somewhat
sleazy guy. We get the feeling that he’d be a good guy to have on your side in a fight. By
the end of the film, he’s a beaten man. He thought he could defeat corruption, but he’s
wrong—and he knows it.

So we have:

1. BACKGROUND EXPLORED
2. NEEDS IDENTIFIED
3. FLAWS IDENTIFIED
4. CHARACTER CHANGE

Let’s turn to building your antagonist, the person or thing that is the greatest obstacle to
your protagonist.

Building your Antagonist

1. Explore Background/Make your Antagonist Real

Hey! Look at this, we’ve got a very similar first step…and one that must be done. In too
many films, the antagonist feels like a cardboard cutout. Make your antagonist real, a
person in his own right, and he’ll be a greater enemy to your protagonist.

2. Identify Need

Again, the same step. But here, we start using our protagonist to help. The need for your
antagonist is simply this: to keep the protagonist from reaching his goal. Because you’ve
worked hard to make both of them real people, you’ll know why the antagonist wants to
defeat the main character.

For example: in Die Hard, John McClane fights for his life. His need—to defeat the bad
guys and not get dead. What is Hans Gruber’s need? To steal money and get away with
it. And he has to kill McClane to do it.

The antagonist’s need exists in opposition to the protagonist’s need.

3. Identify Downfall

A good antagonist is strong, stronger than the protagonist, or else the fight is over too
soon. But the antagonist may have some weak spot, some way that he will lose…what is
it? And how does the main character discover that fatal flaw?

So we have:

1. BACKGROUND EXPLORED
2. NEEDS IDENTIFIED
3. DOWNFALL IDENTIFIED

**A note: in many films, there is more than one antagonist. But in most cases, additional
antagonists spring from the need of one primary antagonist, and it’s that character the
protagonist must fight, in the end, if he wishes to resolve the conflict.

**And one more note. Some antagonists do change, much in the way the main character
does. But not always. Should that fourth step be relevant to your antagonist, follow it!

A final thought here: there are many books on character development, and the more you
read, the more tools you’ll have your disposal when you get down to writing. A
recommended book: Inside Story: The Power of the Transformational Arc by Dara
Marks.

Let’s turn our attention to the battle between the protagonist and the antagonist: the
CONFLICT.
!-%0$4#;'/",-'!"#<)4*$'
Conflict is everything in a screenplay. IT IS WHERE DRAMA LIVES. Build a great
conflict, and you’re on your way to a great movie. Let’s begin by discussing the types of
conflicts there are - the three major strains, if you will.

Conflict Types

1. Man vs. Man (Star Wars, Collateral, The Departed, Avatar)

This conflict is mainly external; the battles are between the protagonist and another
character or characters.

2. Man vs. Himself (Good Will Hunting, A Beautiful Mind, Juno, Black Swan)
Here, you find internal conflicts; a character must come to terms with some failing of his
own. The antagonist is the dark side of the main character.

3. Man vs. Unfeeling Force (for example, nature, or machine—Apollo 13, Twister, The
Matrix, The Day After Tomorrow)
The films where the “bad guy” is a huge, implacable force bent on the destruction of the
protagonist.

Note: You may have more than one kind of conflict in your story; most stories have at
least two types. As long as the conflicts are on the spine of the story, multiple layers of
conflict tend to enrich a narrative.

Also Note: You may have more than one antagonist in your story; for example,
henchmen. There’s a theory that every character your protagonist deals with is either
helping them or hurting them, so you can imagine all those characters hindering the
protagonist’s progress as antagonists. However, you do want to have a main antagonist. A
main antagonist will help you keep your story on track.

For example, let’s return to The Dark Knight:

When we think back, the main conflict that comes to mind is likely:

-Batman Vs. the Joker (Man Vs. Man). The Joker is the main antagonist—but there are
others, most importantly…

-Bruce Wayne Vs. Batman (Man Vs. Self) The internal conflict is what gives this
superhero his depth…

Beyond those two key conflicts, you also have all the interpersonal conflicts between
most of the supporting characters, including the Joker’s conflicts with Gotham’s
established criminals. Harvey Dent/Two Face also has similar conflicts, plus those
between him and Batman, and the love triangle.
Audiences love conflict. It keeps them interested. Ideally, the story becomes a web of
conflicts.

You just have to make sure the conflicts are focused on the spine of the story you’re
telling. How do you know if you’re on the spine? Well, if the theme of The Dark Knight
is summed up by Harvey Dent when he says “You either die a hero or you live long
enough to see yourself become the villain,” all of these conflicts should reflect or
ultimately serve that statement.

And what makes for great conflicts?

The Hallmarks of Great Conflict

1. It’s the first time through

This is a key component to any conflict—the protagonist must face a test like this for the
first time. To return to Good Will Hunting for a moment: Will faces down his own worst
enemy, himself. The reason he has to do it? For the first time in his life, he knows people
(Sean, Skylar, Lambeau) who challenge him. In The Dark Knight, Batman faces the Joker
for the first time.

2. The antagonist is stronger than the protagonist

Think of this as the “Bruce Lee Rule.” Bruce Lee was the baddest man alive, a lethal
killing machine…so how to make the fights interesting? By sending a phalanx of bad
guys at him (albeit in a circle, one at a time, for better staging). Your antagonist must be
stronger than the protagonist, or else the ending of the film will feel like a foregone
conclusion—and you’ll lose your audience quickly. What about the second kind of
conflict, human vs. him/herself, you might ask? Does this rule apply? Yes—and even
more so. The “dark side” of the character in an internal struggle must be very strong and
very clear to the audience, or they won’t buy into the journey. We all know about Bruce
Wayne’s dark side; but try this: what if Will Hunting wasn’t abused, didn’t have this
horrible past. He’s just some really smart guy who likes to fight and be nasty to people.
Do you think audiences would have pulled for him?

3. The conflict the protagonist finds himself embroiled in carries serious risk

This risk can be many different kinds. But you want the risk to be somehow life-
threatening. In action films, that’s easy—the risk is “Win or Die.” With films that deal
with internal conflicts, the death might be metaphorical: the death of the soul.

4. The conflict must change the protagonist

In one way or another, the protagonist must be changed by the struggle he goes through.
The conflict cannot be resolved without change.
23%-*4&%'='
1. Following the four steps outlined in the lesson on character, write about your
protagonist. Pay specific attention to NEED and CHANGE.

2. Complete the same exercise for your antagonist, following the three steps outlined in
the lesson.

3. Review the four hallmarks of great conflict. Write a short paragraph for each, outlining
how your conflict fits the criteria.
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6'(-4$4#;'>:",;:$'<"-'$:%'?0/'
Hopefully, starting this course has inspired you to start your screenplay. But if you’re
feeling a little bit stuck, here’s a strategy for you.

Try to write badly.

Sit down, right now, and write the worst ten pages you’ve ever written in your life. As
fast as you can, an outpouring of awful, nonsensical stuff. And see what happens. In the
midst of that dreck you think you’re writing, you’ll find you’ve got some words to keep.

Here’s the thing—the number one reason beginning writers don’t finish their screenplays
isn’t lack of time, and it’s definitely not lack of talent. The reason is usually
confidence…and it plagues everybody, not just beginning writers.

The Truth with a capital T is that first drafts are never perfect. There will be bad
sentences along the way. But that doesn’t make you any less of a writer and it doesn’t
make your screenplay any less fantastic. That’s just part of the whole process of creation.
Your confidence should come from the fact that at this very moment, you’re sitting in
front of the computer, trying to learn more about screenwriting…you’re already a writer,
and a conscientious one at that.

All right. Let’s get on down to plot and subplot, shall we?

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Your plot is the main story of your film—and to begin, let’s figure out exactly how to
identify that main story line.

With films that primarily focus on physical action, the primary plot line is simple to
identify—it’s the actions that occur in pursuit of the primary need of the film. For
example, Terminator TWO (James Cameron and William Wisher Jr.)—a good, smash-
mouth action film if there ever was one. The primary need of Ah-nold is to keep young
John from harm. That gives the entire film its shape, and therefore is the primary plot
line. There are other important aspects to the movie—the Terminator’s relationship to
John is the most important one—but they’re subplots, and we’ll get into those later.

What about less obvious films—say, for example, the one you’ve read, Good Will
Hunting? What’s the main story there? Well, to discover that, work backwards. We’ve
established that Will’s primary need is to face his own demons—slay the internal
antagonist if you will. What is the vehicle that allows for it? It’s his relationship—
therapeutic and otherwise—with Sean. That’s the main plotline of the film, and
everything else springs from that and informs that main line.

Any time you have a hard time figuring out what your main plot line is, work backwards
from the need of your character.

What is plot about? And how can we make it work? Let’s take a look at plot by act, and
how it changes as we get deeper into the screenplay.

Plot By Act

Act One

In Act One, the plot is about setup—letting the audience get to know your main
character, your secondary characters, and the dramatic world. Our “getting to know you”
time. It’s also about the introduction of the catalyst, which sets the conflict in motion.

Act Two

Here, the plot is about the pursuit of need—all of the actions that the protagonist takes to
pursue his goal, and all of the tests that he goes through during that pursuit. This, sadly, is
where most movies go to die. Act Two problems are prevalent in a lot of movies you see
in the Cineplex, and they’re prevalent in a lot of screenplays. So how can you avoid those
problems? By creating and sustaining the momentum of the film. That’s a wonderful
phrase to write, but a very hard thing to achieve. It’ll take you more than one draft to find
your momentum. For now, here are some thoughts to keep you on the path.

1. The tests the protagonist endures must rise in difficulty

Rule number one—it has to keep getting harder for the protagonist, or else the audience
will lose interest. A little blast from the past, Star Wars: the battles and fights and tight
spots that Luke and his crew keep finding themselves in go from the mildly difficult to
the downright impossible, and they keep getting harder all the time.

2. The stakes of the conflict must rise

For the protagonist, achieving his goal must become progressively more important, which
creates more tension the deeper into the story we go. In A Fish Called Wanda, the stakes
keep rising for Archie Leach (John Cleese, who also wrote the script), because of a
number of reasons. He’s falling in love with Wanda, for one. He’s putting his entire life
in more and more danger, for another. And finally, he begins to realize that if he truly
wants to live, and break out of this stifling existence he’s had so far, he has to defeat
Otto, get the girl, and run off to Buenos Aires. The conflict—which began as a simple
flirtation—has become everything to Cleese.
3. The protagonist must take action in pursuit of his need

This is to avoid totally passive, reactive characters. Don’t make it easy on your
protagonist. He should make decisions, take action, make mistakes, mess up and have to
start all over again.

4. Scenes should follow one another as a matter of cause and effect

Information and action in one scene should push us into the next, and create building
blocks that are clear to the audience, or become clear as the movie unfolds. Sometimes,
you might plant a bit of information or foreshadowing in a scene that will come get the
audience later. Speaking of scenes…

5. Get in and get out of your scenes as quickly as possible—[usually]

This is a “rule” you’ll hear—no scene should be more than three pages long. Actually,
there’s another hard and fast rule: scenes should only be as long as needed, and
absolutely no longer. Most of the time, you’ll get in and out of scenes as quickly as you
can, but don’t do it at the expense of the drama. Three pages will probably be way more
than enough. The point is: pay attention to the length of your scenes, and if you’re
dawdling, get the heck out and move on. Your pace will be the better for it, and your
momentum won’t suffer.

And so you’ll fly through Act Two, leaving your audience breathless until you get to…

Act Three

The plot in Act Two is about climax and resolution, the highest point of drama in your
movie. You’re getting to the final battle of your story, be it a glorious 40-gun shootout or
a quiet, introspective moment where your protagonist figures out an essential truth that
allows him to change. So what should the climax achieve? It should:

1. Be the most difficult battle the protagonist has to face—and the one he seems likeliest
to lose

This seems like an obvious one, but it’s hard to keep in mind. You’ve gone through the
entire 60-page expanse of Act Two, creating harder and harder tests, and now you’ve got
to come up with the most difficult one. But this is crucial to a great ending. You’ve got to
have the audience thinking that this time, the hero might not make it. Sometimes you’ll
set that up by failures of other characters earlier in the story.

Let’s take a look at LA Confidential, a firecracker of a screenplay by Brian Helgeland and

Curtis Hanson (who also directed). The final shootout at the motel is incredibly tense.
Okay, the writers achieved a lot by having so many bad guys there, shooting at Russell
Crowe and Guy Pearce. But why does it feel like they really could lose? The tension in
that climax was brought about by Kevin Spacey’s death earlier in the film. When he was
killed, you realized anything could happen, and so you were on the edge of your seat for
the whole gunfight.

2. Transform the protagonist

The final battle should change the protagonist irrevocably. He needs to change, or else
none of this really matters. Two hours of conflict, and all that’s happened is they feel
triumphant, and get the girl? Or the boy, for that matter?

[OK, for most Bond films, we make an exception…but every other film…]

That transformation does not have to be a positive one. The protagonist can fail, be
broken in half…not all stories have happy endings. And perhaps the transformation is an
ambiguous one. In The Godfather (Francis Ford Coppola and Mario Puzo), we find
ourselves rooting for Michael as he fights the forces arrayed against his family. But at the
end of the film—when he takes his father’s place at the head of the family—it doesn’t
feel triumphant. The door closes on his wife—and on us—and we can only imagine
Michael’s upcoming dealings with the devil.

3. Answer all questions [mostly]

There will be a lot of questions that you pose during the course of the screenplay, and
they should be answered before your climax, or during it. Tie up as many loose ends as
you can. That being said, sometimes there are questions that are left unanswered. Those
can be dealt with during the resolution, or the last few pages of your screenplay. But an
important note—if you need too many pages to answer all of the dangling questions, you
may lose your audience. Lord of the Rings: Return of the King anyone? Once the conflict
is resolved, audiences are primed to expect the ending of the film. Too much explanation
after the climactic scene can severely damage the dramatic punch of the climax.

4. End the conflict

This is crucial. Your conflict must be finished, and resolved in some way. Thinking about
Matrix Reloaded, the Lord of the Rings trilogy (Fran Walsh & Philippa Boyens & Peter
Jackson), or perhaps hearkening back to the end of The Empire Strikes Back (Leigh
Brackett and Lawrence Kasdan)? Understand those were films already slated to have
sequels. They were set up that way. For your script, you want to make certain you resolve
the conflict nice and neat. Once you have your trilogy deal, then you can start leaving
questions unanswered and conflicts unresolved.

Don’t use any unbelievable coincidences to resolve your conflict. You’ll lose your
audience quickly. You want to try and create an ending that is inevitable, but isn’t
predictable. A good example of this is in The Usual Suspects, from a killer screenplay by
Christopher McQuarrie, when we realize that Verbal Kint is Keyser Soze, and he’s lied
all along to Agent Kujan. The ending is a huge surprise. But when you watch the film
again, it’s inevitable. See, right at the start of the film, Kujan is questioning Verbal,
pushing him…and although he doesn’t know it, he’s basically daring Verbal to lie. Kujan
says, “I’m smarter than you”…and it’s that very confidence that is his downfall. While
that’s an ending to a thriller—and because of that, a surprise—you want to create endings
that leave your audience feeling satisfied, because the entire film built to this one,
interesting, surprising, but inevitable ending.

And that’s the plot for each of the acts. But all of this is just the main story line of your
film. There’s a whole ‘nother world in that screenplay though…let’s move on to that.

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Subplots are exactly what they sound like—plot lines that are below the main plot line.
But that doesn’t mean they are any less important. All films have subplots of some kind.
They give your story depth, transform your characters, and help to drive your story.

Most importantly, subplots set your story apart. For example, what’s the main plot line of
every romantic comedy ever made? Boy and girl, tryin’ to get together and create a little
magic. It’s the details—the subplots—around that main story that make it unique.

So let’s take a look at subplots, their functions, and how they fit into your film.

The Function of Subplots

1. Subplots help to drive the action and heighten the conflict

Perhaps the best example of this can be found in action films, where the plots tend to be
quite similar. The antagonist is trying to commit a crime, hurt a lot of people, and take
over the world. The protagonist tries to stop him, and physical action ensues. But without
subplots, that physical action has very little tension to it—it’s just a series of fights, and
that can get numbing.

For example—Lethal Weapon. A few sequels later, the light dimmed on the franchise,
but this 1987 film, written by Shane Black, is an excellent example of a well-made
actioner. Why? Well, there are the great action sequences and the nonstop pace. But far
more important to the film’s success is a subplot: the relationship between Martin Riggs
(Mel Gibson) and Roger Murtaugh (Danny Glover). See, Riggs is suicidal, a loose
cannon; Murtaugh is a down-to-earth family man. In the midst of chasing after some
reallllly bad drug runners, they bond, and Riggs finds himself accepted by both Murtaugh
and Murtaugh’s family.

So what happens? The bad guys take Murtaugh’s daughter, Rianne, hostage. That might
work in and of itself to raise the stakes—but because the film takes the time in a subplot,
the fate of Murtaugh’s daughter is obviously crucial to both her dad and Riggs—it drives
the stakes, and the tension, higher.
2. Subplots give emotional depth to the characters

The example of Lethal Weapon obviously holds true here, but let’s try it out on a
different kind of film. Good Will Hunting’s subplots all serve to illuminate different
aspects of the Will Hunting character, while also driving the action.

Let’s break them down:

Subplot #1—Will’s relationship with Professor Lambeau

This drives the action, as Lambeau is the one who first sends Will to Sean, but it also
serves to illuminate just how smart Will is (if Lambeau thinks he’s smart, he must be a
genius). Also important—Lambeau is the first person in the film who believes in Will’s
abilities, and therefore provides the first steps towards Will’s transformation.

Subplot #2—Will’s relationship with his friends, particularly Chuckie

Thie subplot provides us with an interesting twist. See, Will’s buddies are loyal to him,
but at first glance they appear to be bringing him down as well. Drinking, getting into
fights, acting out, they seem like a “bad crowd.” Lambeau thinks they’re a bunch of
gorillas. But in the end, they end up being crucial to Will’s transformation. Chuckie tells
him that he better respect his gifts and leave Southie—and the crew manages to give Will
a car for his birthday. A car—the exact thing he needs to leave this one-way life.

Subplot #3—Will’s relationship with Skylar

Interestingly enough, this is one place where Will fails. He can’t open up to her, and tries
to hurt her as badly as he can, by saying he doesn’t love her. But she gives him the
possibility that a woman out there may love him for him, and in the end, it’s that
possibility that he drives toward.

Now, let’s break down the main subplots in The Dark Knight.

Subplot #1—Batman’s relationship with Harvey Dent

This drives the action since Harvey is the one who gives Batman hope that he can be
replaced by someone who is not viewed as a vigilante, but it also serves to illuminate just
how irreplaceable Batman really is (if the Joker can manipulate him into becoming a
murderer, he can’t replace Batman).

Subplot #2—Batman’s relationship with the Joker

The Joker illustrates why Bruce can’t stop being Batman. With this kind of threat, no one
working within the guidelines of the law can stop him. And his manipulation of Harvey,
first by killing Rachel and then by pitching him the benefits of revenge, are what make
Two-Face into a monster. Also, when the Joker reveals to Batman that Harvey is his “ace
in the hole,” it sets into effect the final chain of events that will lead Bruce to take
responsibility for Two-Face’s actions, which is what will force him to accept the need for
him to be Batman. Notice how many of the Joker’s lines in his final scene echo the
realization Batman needs to have:

-“Can't rely on anyone these days.”

-“Have to do everything yourself.”
-“You didn't think I'd risk losing the battle for the soul of Gotham in a fist fight with you?
You've got to have an ace in the hole. Mine's Harvey.”

Subplot #3—Bruce’s relationship with Rachel

Interestingly, this is similar to Will Hunting’s romantic subplot, as Bruce also fails to get
the girl. Nonetheless, even though he’s been able to open up to her and she’s one of the
only people to know he’s Batman, she won’t be in a relationship with him, actually
choosing Harvey before her death. The different ways in which Bruce and Harvey handle
the loss of Rachel further illustrates why Bruce is better suited to be Gotham’s protector.

3. Subplots expand your film and add dimension

A good example of this is Moonstruck, a great film written by John Patrick Shanley.
Watch this movie again and ask yourself: the subplot with Loretta Castorini’s (Cher)
father and his mistress, is it totally crucial to the main plot? There’s no reason why
Loretta still wouldn’t have gotten together with Ronny Cammarei (Nicolas Cage) even if
her father was being nice and faithful. But—while the subplot isn’t crucial to the main
plot, it is crucial to the film as a whole. It expands upon the theme of that crazy moon,
and all the crazy things we do underneath it. Your subplots can achieve the same.

Another example—Four Weddings and a Funeral (Richard Curtis). While the primary
plot line of the film, like that of most romantic comedies, is about Carrie (Andie
MacDowell) and Charles (Hugh Grant) getting together, the great storylines with all of
Charles’s friends are crucial.

4. Subplots aid—and may create—the transformation of your protagonist

There’s the obvious example of action films where the hero must “learn to work with
others” to solve the case, save the world, make a sequel. But this happens in all kinds of
films. For example: As Good As It Gets, written by Mark Andrus and James L. Brooks.
The primary plot deals with Melvin Udall (Jack Nicholson) and his burgeoning romance
with put-upon waitress Carol Connelly (Helen Hunt). To get the girl, Melvin has to get
outside his funky and difficult mind, and he learns that truth first in a subplot, as he
befriends his neighbor’s dog, and then his neighbor, played by Greg Kinnear. These
subplots aid and give the foundation for Melvin’s transformation.

On to subplots—and their structure.

The Structure of Subplots

Ah, the easiest part of this lesson—because subplots are structured in the exact same
manner as your film. They have a beginning, middle, and end, and they must be resolved
in some way. If you ever have the nagging feeling that there are loose ends to your
screenplay, check your subplots first—and make certain they’ve all been resolved.

'
23%-*4&%'B6''
For your screenplay, create a twelve-point outline that deals ONLY with Act Two and the
pursuit of the primary need - the main plot line. Detail how the stakes keep rising, how
the momentum builds.

Then write a short synopsis of at least two subplots, paying attention to their beginning,
middle, and end.

Then fuse the two—find the places within the main plot where subplots intersect, paying
attention to how the subplot pushes the action and tension higher.

23%-*4&%'B9'

Focus on the climax and answer these questions.

1. What is the final battle of my screenplay?

2. Why is this the most difficult of all the tests my protagonist faces?
3. How does it change him?
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There’s a quick and easy way to deal with this portion of screenwriting. One can simply
say—and it’d be true—“Dialogue takes a while to master.” When you begin your
screenplay, your characters won’t sound even remotely real. Most of your dialogue will
be clunky, too obvious. So ride it out. After you’ve lived with the characters a while, the
dialogue will come easier, flow better, and sound more realistic.

All that is true. Your characters are like any other human being. At birth, we can’t say
anything, we just gurgle. A little later, we learn the whole art of crying—and as any
parent can tell you, each cry means something specific. But it takes a while for us to use
language in a way that makes sense, simply because we’re figuring the world out for
ourselves. Then one day…it becomes clear.

Your characters are your babies. Give ‘em time.

There are some tools that can help the growing-up process. So let’s look at some
techniques that will help your characters speak to you.

Dialogue Techniques

First of all, the cardinal rule: DIALOGUE IS NOT REAL-LIFE SPEECH. Avoid at all
costs the trap of “but he said it that way…why doesn’t it read well?” Our job as writers is
to take speech and break it down, make sure it works for us dramatically. And how to do
that?

1. Identify need

All characters speak for a specific reason. Your characters have a need that drives them to
action—and dialogue is a kind of action. Know what your characters are looking for
when they open their mouths.

2. Identify—and pay attention to—audience

When we say audience, we don’t mean the movie-going audience—we mean the person
listening to the speaker. We change our manner of speaking to suit the audience, and that
reveals something. How does your character speak when he’s talking to a friend? A
police officer? A crush? Think of Crash Davis (Kevin Costner) in Bull Durham (Ron
Shelton). Near the beginning of the film, a cute little batboy tells him to “Get a hit,
Crash.” In most sports movies, that cute kid’s wish would be met by a square jaw and
promise of heroism, but in the irreverent world of Bull Durham, Crash glares at the kid
and says “Shut up.” His reaction to that particular audience says volumes about the well-
worn catcher. He’s been scuffling along in the minors just a little too long for any sort of
reverence.

3. Identify shared knowledge

There are two kinds of communication—high and low context.

High context communication exists between people who know each other well, or have
shared knowledge of the subject being discussed. They can speak in shorthand, in almost
a kind of code.

For example:

BOB
Did you see Alex last night?

CAROL
Looks good. Better.

BOB
Like he’s forgotten her.

CAROL
Finally.

Bob and Carol are speaking in code. You don’t know who Alex is, or who he has
forgotten. But you can glean information from the conversation, can’t you? Alex, a
mutual friend, hasn’t been looking so good. He’s having a hard time with some problem
with a girlfriend or wife. He seems to be moving on, and judging from Carol’s reaction,
it’s about time he did. The trick to writing this kind of dialogue is to make it both sound
like code and give enough information to keep the audience of the film in the know.

Low context communication exists between two people who don’t know each other well,
or don’t have a shared knowledge of the subject being discussed. For example, let’s say
Carol didn’t know Alex.

BOB
You know, Alex, the one I introduced you to last night?

CAROL
Oh, sure. The handsome guy.

BOB
You should have seen him two years ago. His girlfriend broke up with him, he just fell
off the deep end. Wasn’t eating, wasn’t going out. Looked terrible. He’s really just
getting back to normal.
CAROL
Two years? That’s quite a grieving period.

In low context dialogue, everything is spelled out for the audience. But be careful with
having too much low context in your screenplay—frankly, pure exposition like this gets
old, because, as you can see, it takes a while to get through.

4. Identify triggers

No, not the horse…triggers are the words or phrases that cause a reaction in characters.
Problems arise when characters don’t respond to those triggers. For example, let’s return
to the busy home of Bob and Carol.

BOB
I’m so sorry. I wrecked your car. I was driving on the East Side Highway, and this truck
just veered into my lane. I was listening to the radio, you know, and talking on my cell,
and I just didn’t have time to react. The good news is I’m sure insurance will cover it. I
think.

CAROL
You wrecked my car?!

What’s wrong here (besides Bob’s bad driving)? The trigger for Carol’s response is in the
first few words: “wrecked your car.” Her response—whatever it is—should come
immediately following the trigger. If you don’t pay attention to these triggers, the pace of
dialogue is lost.

5. Subtext, subtext, subtext

For the most part, your characters won’t say exactly what they mean. Cringe-worthy
dialogue often arises when they do say exactly what they mean. So what’s the best way
for you to avoid the cringe? Through subtext.

TEXT is what the character is saying.

SUBTEXT is what the character really means.

Often, the actions of a character are what give dialogue its subtext. For example:

Bob and Carol sit at their kitchen table, eating a steak dinner. Bob HUMS happily.

BOB
Nice to be eating in for a change.

Carol picks up her piece of meat and lets it drop—it hits the plate with an alarming
CLANK. She looks over at him and smiles a thin smile.
CAROL
Yummy.

I think we can assume that Carol would much rather be at a nice restaurant. At this point,
she’d take Subway. Bob is pleased as punch. The actions have illuminated the dialogue,
and brought Carol’s subtext to the fore. Utilize subtext as often as possible—you may
even find that by using actions, you eliminate the need for dialogue.

Which brings us to, finally:

6. Dialogue isn’t everything—it’s only one thing

This is the last thought we want to leave you with on dialogue. Actions speak louder than
words, and while dialogue is a form of action, pure deeds are always the way we get to
know characters the best. In that, we take from our own lives. No matter what someone
says, we always wait until we see how he acts before we form opinions. Your audience
will do the same.

For even more discussion on dialogue (and you can never discuss dialogue enough) take
a look at Chapter 7 of Linda Seger’s book, Creating Unforgettable Characters, one of
the best discussions on the art of writing dialogue. The rest of the book is well worth the
investment, as well.

Let’s turn, finally, to rewriting.

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First of all, rewriting is necessary for any script. Your first draft is about discovery, and
getting your story down. Subsequent drafts are about refining your piece, finding
everything that’s great about it and accentuating it, and throwing out the pieces that don’t
work. But it’s difficult.

After you finish that first draft, it’s hard to even think about writing again. “Come on, I
just wrote over 100 pages! How about a little congratulations?!” So DO THAT. Take a
break. Go out. Give yourself a pat on the back. And forget about your screenplay for a
bit. When you rewrite it, you have to go back with a very objective eye, and you won’t
have that until you get a little distance from your work.

Then roll up your sleeves and dive back in.

The first question—the most important question—is why? You should ask yourself that
question throughout the rewrite process. Why this story? Why this conflict? Why this
scene? Why this line of dialogue? Why this semicolon? Everything in your screenplay
should have a reason for being.
Then, go through the story in pieces. We also recommend picking up a fantastic book by
Linda Seger called Making a Good Script Great. Another great book you can look at
before the rewrite is Writing for Emotional Impact by Karl Iglesias. Both of these books
will get your head into a perfect place for the rewrite process.

The Rewrite Checklist

Act One

--Did I begin my story dramatically, to hook my audience in? Does my point of attack set
up my dramatic world effectively?
--Did I set up the story and bring the audience into my world quickly, with as little
dialogue as possible?

--Did I introduce my characters and their personalities quickly and through action?

--Did I begin the conflict quickly by introducing the catalyst in the first fifteen pages?

Turning Point Number One

--Did it clearly state the conflict? Did it raise the stakes? Did it turn the action in a new
direction?

--Did I push the audience into Act TWO?

Act Two

--Did I develop the conflict clearly? Is my antagonist strong enough? Is there tension? Is
there suspense?

--Have I used subplots in Act Two to expand the story and show other sides of my
protagonist?

--Are the tests getting harder with each passing scene?

Turning Point Number Two

--Did I state the conflict and turn the action in a new direction?

--Have I raised the stakes to the point where the conflict must be resolved?

Act Three

--Do I move quickly to the climax?

--Does the protagonist act to resolve the conflict? Does the protagonist transform?

--Do I use any unbelievable coincidences or sudden developments to resolve my story?

--Do I wrap the story up quickly after the climax?

Then, do full-screenplay passes. For dialogue, for action/description, for everything. By

the time you’ve finished with your rewrite, you’ll know your story inside and out…and
then you’ll be ready to send it out to the industry.

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Congratulations! You’ve made it to the end of the The Writers Store’s Screenwriting
Basics course. We hope you’ve enjoyed the class, and that you’ll use what you’ve learned
here in some capacity no matter what path you take going forward.

The Writers Store wishes you the greatest success in all your writing endeavors. We hope
you join us for another writing class in the near future!