The Craft of Scene Writing

by Jim Mercurio

  The telling of a joke is an example of how role-playing can limit the revelation of character. Does your character tell the joke differently than everyone else? Theoretically, are they themselves while reciting it, or are they playing a role? Ultimately, it’s a question of what you add to the joke.

  In Good Will Hunting, the characters constantly tell stories and jokes. The movie is worth studying to learn how to write showy actor-bait moments. After all, it was written by then up-and-coming actors Ben Affleck and Matt Damon to showcase their talents.

  Will and Skylar are hanging with the boys at a bar, and Skylar follows up Chuckie’s long story by telling a dirty joke. It shows off her ability to do Irish accents and silly voices, and the crass punch line incorporates the environment when she spits her beer back into its mug.

  Its inclusion is justified because it reveals something vital to the story. As wealthy, attractive, and polished as she appears to be, there is a side of her that is compatible with Will’s blue-collar, rough-around-the-edges world. Without establishing this, their relationship would seem improbable at best and, at worst, destined for failure.

  Here is a joke in the script for The Edge that turns out to be a clever and integrated story within a story within the story.

  GREEN

  Two guys in the woods. In a tent. Big bear comes up, he’s gonna eat ’em. One guy reaches in his pack, starts putting on his running shoes. The other guy says “you idiot, you can’t run faster than a bear…” Guy says “I don’t have to run faster than the bear, I just have to run faster than you…”

  Everyone laughs.

  ANGLE: INT. THE PLANE

  MORSE

  You know why that’s particularly funny…?

  (PAUSE)

  The man would not be in the woods with his running shoes.

  (PAUSE)

  He wouldn’t take them in the woods. So the joke indicates hostility on the part of the man who brought the shoes.

  (PAUSE)

  It indicates, in effect, that he brought the other man into the woods to kill him.

  There is probably not a better way to sum up this movie. This is a textbook example of many of the additional criteria we are looking for to justify long or rhetoric-filled scenes:

  • It foreshadows the plot and theme.

  • It is ironic.

  • The joke itself is funny.

  • It hints at Green’s hostile intention.

  • It reveals character (in this case, how analytical and perceptive Morse is and how good he is at reading other people’s covert hostility).

  • It frames the entire story.

  The filmmakers who made The Edge exemplify how discerning you must be when deciding whether to include unoriginal rhetoric. Despite all the reasons for including it, they cut the joke from the final film. This is a case in which it fulfilled many of the “higher level” or advanced criteria, but it was less effective at the more essential “lower” function of being dramatic.

  Diatribes, Rants, and Monologues

  The underlying concern with monologues, long rants, and diatribes in which one character dominates the conversation is that the scene can become one-sided, static, or undramatic.

  In Bridesmaids, Annie (Kristen Wiig) is to be the maid of honor at the wedding for her lifelong best friend, Lillian (Maya Rudolph). Annie is broke and her life is falling apart, which contrasts with Lillian’s new friend, the wealthy and privileged “everything about her is perfect” Helen (Rose Byrne). The moment they meet, they begin to compete for control of the wedding festivities: the shower, gown choice, and, ultimately the title of maid of honor.

  When Annie’s pride causes her to ruin the bachelorette party, Lillian gives the responsibility for planning the shower to Helen. Helen had earlier dismissed Annie’s idea of a Parisian-themed shower. Not only does she steal Annie’s idea, but she invites Lillian on an actual trip to Paris, making Annie’s sweet, homemade gift look chintzy. Annie loses it:

  ANNIE

  (to Helen)

  I told you she wanted to go to Paris. I told you Paris! I told you about ALL this stuff!

  LILLIAN

  Annie, calm down.

  ANNIE

  No! What, you’re going to go to Paris with Helen now?! Are you going to ride around on bikes with berets and f*****g baguettes in the basket of the front of your bikes? How romantic! What woman gives another woman a trip to Paris? Am I right? Lesbian! We’re all thinking it aren’t we?

  The rhetorical questions, references to setting, a few quick responses and reactions from the other characters all help prevent this block of dialogue from becoming too one-tracked. She continues:

  ANNIE

  Lillian this is not the ‘you’ I know. The ‘you’ that I know would have walked in here and rolled your eyes and thought this was completely over the top, ridiculous, and stupid. Look at this shower! LOOK at that f*****g COOKIE!! Did you really think this group of women would finish that cookie? Hey, you know what!? That reminds me, I don’t think I ever got a piece!

  (Annie has sudden changes of thoughts and discoveries that make the rant sound like real speech. When doing a monologue, incorporate these techniques including built-in stops and starts, characters losing their train of thought, and purposeful repetition to make the dialogue sound natural.)

  Annie storms outside. She takes swings at the cookie, punching it.

  ANNIE

  Stupid f*****g cookie!

  She rips off a large hunk, shoves it in her mouth.

  ANNIE

  Oooh, delicious! Ooo! Maybe it’s better if I dip it in the CHOCOLATE!!

  (The scene becomes visual, and the blocking externalizes her argument, highlighting the true absurdity. Annie tries to pick up the oversized cookie, but falls over from its weight. When she can’t budge the fountain of chocolate, she splashes the chocolate on the ground. One final line retroactively reframes all of her actions and, if it’s not already perfectly clear, here is the intention of her long-winded rant:)

  ANNIE

  … Nothing says friendship like 1,000 gallons of unsanitary chocolate!

  As silly as this tirade is, it is dramatically sound. Unlike the joke about the bear in the woods in The Edge, there is a clear battle playing out in subtext that directly affects the characters. This scene happens at exactly 75 percent of the page count: girl loses girl, as friends.

  One of the most famous monologues in cinema is in Last Tango in Paris in which Paul (Marlon Brando) sits alone by the open coffin that holds his recently deceased wife, who had just committed suicide. His grief is mixed with rage because he discovered that his wife was having an extramarital affair.

  Because it was partially improvised, it’s fascinating to watch Brando’s storytelling instincts at work. The monologue has everything a good scene should have—internal conflict (his raging anger and crippling guilt), variety (ups and downs), reversals (huge emotional swings), and a sense of naturalism (stumbling and discoveries).

  Although I don’t include the transitions that contributed to the naturalism, here is a summary of some of the monologue’s broad beats with a short excerpt of the accompanying dialogue:

  He mocks her suicide.

  You look ridiculous in that make-up.

  A little touch of mommy in the night. Fake Ophelia drowned in the bathtub. I wish you could see yourself…

  He attacks her sexual mores and expresses jealous rage.

  The cardboard box, I found all your, I found all your little goodies

  Even a clergyman’s collar.

  He ponders her unfathomable nature in a reflective respite.

  I mean, I, I might be able to comprehend the universe, but I’ll never discover the truth about you. Never. I mean, who the hell were you?

  He admits his pain and then uses sarcasm to express his all-out anger.

  And all it took for you to get out was a 35-cent razor and a tub full of water.

  Go on, tell me, tell me something sweet. Smile at me and
say I just misunderstood.

  After the height of the angry name-calling, he makes an abrupt reversal to guilt.

  Rosa, I’m sorry. I just can’t, I can’t stand it, to see these goddamn things on your face. You never wore make-up.

  I’m gonna take this off your mouth. This lipstick. Rosa.

  Whether it’s long and twisty dialogue between two characters, stories within the story, or a monologue, the fundamental principles—everything we have learned about scenes and dialogue—apply. There will be a clear story to the scene, a battle that plays out in subtext and escalation toward a climactic reversal.

  The breakout box How Sideways Moves Forward illustrates how importance and an emotionally dramatic core can sustain a scene practically endlessly.

  How Sideways Moves Forward

  In Sideways, Maya (Virginia Madsen) asks Miles (Paul Giamatti) about his passion for pinot noir and its grapes. By talking about something he loves, he is able to let his guard down. It quickly becomes evident that he is talking about himself, but it seems very organic because of their mutual love for wine, the wine country setting, and the premise of the movie that Miles and Jack are on a wine-tasting road trip.

  The long and dialogue-filled exchange between Maya and Miles includes rhetoric, thematic reframes, stumbling, and monologue-like speeches.

  Scene Analysis:

  Sideways

  MAYA

  Can I ask you a personal question?

  (This is a reframe or signpost that alerts us to be on the lookout for possibly subtle significance in what follows.)

  MILES

  (bracing himself)

  Sure.

  (He evades intimacy, so the idea of him “bracing” himself or really being on alert hints at the expectation of how personal this will become.)

  MAYA

  Why are you so into Pinot? It’s like a thing with you.

  Miles laughs at first, then smiles wistfully at the question. He searches for the answer in his glass and begins slowly.

  (A factual, literal response would be boring. The comfort he gets from the topic of wine disarms him and allows him to reveal honest insight into himself.)

  MILES

  I don’t know. It’s a hard grape to grow. As you know. It’s thin-skinned, temperamental, ripens early. It’s not a survivor like Cabernet that can grow anywhere and thrive even when neglected. Pinot needs constant care and attention

  …

  Only when someone has taken the time to truly understand its potential can Pinot be coaxed into its fullest expression. And when that happens, its flavors are the most haunting and brilliant and subtle and thrilling and ancient on the planet.

  Maya has found this answer revealing and moving.

  (Miles is not incomplete control as he slips into the powerful honesty and vulnerability that attracts her. Notice he is not consciously trying to flirt with or seduce her. Think back to this moment when you reach the topic of “stumbling” later in this chapter.)

  When Miles asks her why she is into wine, her story has equal insight. Their rhetoric has a pronounced thematic and dramatic function.

  MAYA

  I love how wine continues to evolve, how every time I open a bottle it’s going to taste different than if I had opened it on any other day. Because a bottle of wine is actually alive -- it’s constantly evolving and gaining complexity. That is, until it peaks -- like your ’61 -- and begins its steady, inevitable decline. And it tastes so f*****g good.

  (This strong perspective on progression and evolution contrasts and accentuates the ideas of regression and moving, per the title of the film, sideways. It sheds light on the thematic ideas of the film and serves as an alley-oop for later in the film as Jack regresses, and Miles, by merely knocking on Maya’s door in the climax, steps forward, or at least, laterally.)

  Now it is Miles’s turn to be swept away. Maya’s face tells us the moment is right, but Miles remains frozen. He needs another sign, and Maya is bold enough to offer it: reaches out and places one hand atop his.

  MILES

  (pointing)

  Bathroom over there?

  MAYA

  Yeah.

  Miles gets up and walks out. Maya sighs and gets an American Spirit out of her purse.

  In regards to story density, you might see how as a director, you would want the pacing of both of their long speeches to be slower than the “fire from ice” exchange in the The Edge. In Sideways, the words have meaning in and of themselves, with more for the viewer to savor, literally. The facts about the grapes are interesting, and then at some point, the reader or viewer will reflect upon the subtext and that extra insight into the characters. If it were delivered at breakneck speed with the staccato rhythm as in The Edge, it would be emotionally rushed and unsatisfying to the audience.

  Despite each character’s story-length responses, interesting rhetoric, and thematic reframes, what ultimately allows the moment to hold our interest is the dramatic heart and emotion of the scene. The dialogue digs deep and overcomes Miles’s defense mechanisms until the intimacy overwhelms him, and he chooses to escape.

  Rule #3: Avoid Subtlety and Nuance

  Challenges arise in scenes in which smart or sensitive characters wrestle with subtle conflict or take a nuanced or possibly confusing action. You must make their intent clear to the audience without overexplaining or being too obvious. Two concepts that might help you subtly reach your audience are communication and clarity.

  Communication

  When your character’s reactions and conflict are specific and subtly different from what might be expected or immediately understood, a helpful tool is what actors call communication.

  Communication emphasizes that two characters must really listen to each other. If your character truly hears and comprehends something, then the specificity of his response becomes a reframe that helps to clarify the initial line or action that triggered it.

  For example, if your protagonist is in a shaky marriage and asks her husband if he still loves her, the slightest pause before his “yes” can end their relationship. Although a pause is a muted action, if you establish that she “hears” it and internalizes it, then, retroactively, her response can give it meaning and weight. Use blocking to emphasize its impact on her. Her succinct reaction, perhaps retrieving a suitcase and beginning to pack, could clarify the magnitude of his selfish gesture.

  You will have to rely on your own barometer of emotional honesty to decide if a moment is motivated and subtle as opposed to forced and melodramatic.

  In the famous “I coulda been a contender” scene from On the Waterfront, Charley (Rod Steiger) tries to prevent Terry (Marlon Brando) from testifying against his mob boss (Johnny Friendly). At one point, Charlie pulls a gun on his brother. A few words expressing his disbelief and another few wedged in a parenthetical reveal a surprising and honest action that allows the moment to transcend potential cliché.

  TERRY

  (hushed, gently guiding the gun down toward Charley’s lap)

  Charley…. Charley…. Wow….

  Both the character Terry and the actor, Marlon Brando, are intuitive and sensitive. Instead of the sudden appearance of a gun being perceived as a legitimate threat of violence, it is immediately understood for what it is, a desperate grasp for control and a bluff. Rather than having an overwrought reaction, Terry gently pushes the gun away. Terry knows that his brother would never shoot him.

  Let’s say you have a character (SPEAKER) who is pitching his plan to rob a bank to his friend (LISTENER), who gets upset and calls the Speaker stupid. Later, during the rewrite, you decide that what really bugs Listener about Speaker’s action is that even though the plan is absurd, Speaker casually describes it as if it were perfectly logical. Listener feels Speaker is insulting him by even thinking that he would ever consider such a plan.

  That’s a great idea, but now you have to do some work to make that subtle and specific intention clear.

  Start with the setup. H
ere’s a surprising but productive choice: instead of being gung ho and excited about it, the would-be bank robber, Speaker, matter-of-factly describes his plan as if he were on the phone with the cable company. When Listener acts annoyed or becomes defensive, Speaker will remain calm and react in absolute disbelief that his friend does not “get it.” Speaker will respond with a stoic dismissiveness, as if the concerns are immaterial, which will aggravate Listener further. Here are two options:

  SPEAKER

  You think a rent-a-cop is going to put his life on the line for 12 bucks an hour? Nah, you won’t get shot.

  SPEAKER

  We’ll get out of there in less than five minutes for sure. My safe-cracker came highly recommended from some business associates of mine out of Denver.

  A response such as “Are you an idiot?” or “What are you talking about?” is vague, generic, and too open to interpretation. We had a specific beat in mind, so let’s follow through with a more specific response. This will help to reframe what the Listener perceives the essence of Speaker’s action to be.

  LISTENER

  So, that’s it, you thought we’d make a checklist and just sync our calendars?

  See how this line more clearly evokes the beat of calling him on his ridiculous idea that the bank robbery can be treated so casually as if it were an everyday occurrence. Once you realize the power of Listener’s response to clarify Speaker’s line, you can be even more specific. Instead of calling him on it, you could try mocking his matter-of-factness.

  LISTENER

  Let’s sync our watches, 7:15 breakfast, 8:20 morning constitutional, read the paper till 9:00 and then dig out my duct-taped ski mask… Where do you come up with this?

  This has the most surprising subtext. Rattling off an imaginary list of humdrum actions serves the beat of mocking but also serves to clarify the Speaker’s subtle initial intent.

  Is this flat exposition? Does this show weakness and lack of subtlety on your part? No, no, and no!

  Clarity

  You can have the highest aspiration in the world for sublime and nuanced conflict, but it’s all for naught if the audience doesn’t get it. Share your brilliance. Subtlety is okay; vagueness is not.