by Jim Mercurio
(Murtaugh) grabs Riggs, slams him against the wall. Tries to grab his collar. Riggs’ hand shoots out. Lightning fast. Stops Murtaugh’s hand. Stops it cold.
In this scenario, the sentence fragment works fine. But consider this action description:
Matt sees Fred’s gun tucked in his pants and puts a hand on his. Fred sees it. Fingers caress a gun handle. Eyes connect, unwavering. A bead of sweat. A blink. Suddenly, Matt pulls his .45, points it at Fred. Backs away.
Whose eyes? Who’s sweating? Who’s blinking? Who backs away? This example is purposefully confusing but any one of these ambiguities would justify not using a fragment. Never sacrifice anything more than a nominal amount of clarity in exchange for a few words. This example would bring the read to a dead stop.
This is not a grammar lesson, so you don’t need to know that the above example features dangling modifiers and undefined antecedents. What you need to recognize is when you are not clearly capturing the action and story. Don’t avoid fragments because they are not proper sentences. Avoid fragments if they’re confusing, or if they are contributing to a style that is antithetical to the content of the scene. Use them when they serve the story.
Figures of Speech
In screenplays, figures of speech such as “he sees stars” confuse the reader. In an animated film, we might literally see stars orbit around a character’s head. Or maybe the character is hallucinating and actually seeing stars, which would require more precise description. In the breakout box below, Wrestling with Words for Clarity and Efficiency, we consider ways to describe a person who is dazed without reverting to this specific figure of speech.
An adjective like “garden-variety” always causes problems. The moment someone reads that phrase, she probably pictures a garden in her head. If the gangsters have a “ton of money” spread out on the boss’s desk, what exactly are we seeing? Two thousand pounds of gold coins? Stacks of hundred-dollar bills? Screenwriting is not about your mastery of prose but rather a description of precise images that gather momentum while exploring and expanding upon a dramatic premise.
Directing on the Page
If I am allowed one “because I said so” in the book, let me use it here.
The rules of screenwriting format have their basis in logic and were designed to make the read clear to the average reader, regardless of their familiarity with the rules of filmmaking.
Most screenwriting books concur that you should not use camera angles, specific shots, and camera movies such as dolly, zoom, or pan. I would even suggest that you avoid, “we see” and the term camera (the CAMERA floats through space), too. Unless there is a really compelling reason to include technical terminology, describe only what you want the audience to actually see.
Notice how the following action description implies shots such as close-up, long shot, or aerial view without explicitly using the terms:
Jan’s pupil dilates.
The vampire’s eyes suddenly become bloodshot.
The soldiers appear as specks in the distance under a wide azure sky.
Icarus flaps his golden wings and soars above the snow-capped vista.
You can essentially direct or call shots invisibly by choosing images that imply how you want to frame your action. Challenge yourself to save words and find ways to tell the story visually. No better example of this exists than in the contrast between two drafts of the script for Alien.
Here is the opening of an early draft of the Alien script:
FADE IN:
EXTREME CLOSEUPS OF FLICKERING INSTRUMENT PANELS.
Readouts and digital displays pulse eerily with the technology of the distant future.
Wherever we are, it seems to be chill, dark and sterile. Electronic machinery chuckles softly to itself.
Abruptly we hear a BEEPING SIGNAL, and the machinery begins to awaken. Circuits close, lights blink on.
CAMERA ANGLES GRADUALLY WIDEN, revealing more and more of the machinery, banks of panels, fluttering gauges, until we reveal:
In this case, simply eliminating camera directions and phrases that include “we” leaves us with the same story told more efficiently. I challenge you to rewrite this with the same images but without the technical terms.
In early drafts, writers are often searching for tone and details of mise-en-scène to build mood. The excess material you might write in early drafts is not a waste of time but is part of the process. However, an important shift happens when you’ve dialed in the atmosphere and pacing of your script. Then it’s time to eliminate the surplus and get down to brass tacks.
Look at the contrast between the above passage and the opening of a draft of Alien written by Walter Hill:
SOMETIME IN THE FUTURE:
INT. ENGINE ROOM
Empty, cavernous.
INT. ENGINE CUBICLE
Circular, jammed with instruments.
All of them idle.
Console chairs for two.
Empty.
And then less than a page later…
INT. BRIDGE
Vacant.
Two space helmets resting on chairs.
Electrical hum.
Lights on the helmets begin to signal one another.
Moments of silence.
A yellow light goes on.
Data mind bank in b.g. (Note: b.g. means background)
This version purposefully ignores the formatting rule of double-spacing action description. The choice to make each sentence a new line makes it easier to read because the reader can smoothly focus his eyes to the left. A script written this way probably wreaks havoc on the rule that a page of script equals a minute of screen time. Instead of mimicking this style exactly, adopt some of its tendencies, and see how the challenges of the medium can inspire creative solutions.
As, While, and Participles
Remember, temporally, film is a linear medium that shows us only one image at a time in succession. One of the most powerful tools a filmmaker has is the ability to order the shots to build suspense, create maximum emotional impact, and reveal the surprises clearly.
This is why “as” and “while” are problematic. These words suggest simultaneous actions, which confuse the sequence of events.
In a police drama, a female officer pleads with a suicidal man on the other side of a locked door. Here is a description of the moment’s awful climax:
Ellen puts her head against the door as the O.S. gunshot goes off, and she closes her eyes.
This is too powerful a situation to allow any ambiguity about what we see and when we see it.
Ellen puts her head against the door, closes her eyes. BANG! An O.S. gunshot jolts her back.
Beyond the emotional clarity, the more controlled ordering of what we see affects the meaning, too. In the latter example, there is a sense of resigned fate. The former is just a grouping of events.
Consider how the following sentence, beginning with a participial phrase that creates a subtle momentary ambiguity, requires the reader to mentally reorder the events so they flow logically.
Carrying an ax over his shoulder, Paul Bunyan walks down the path.
The subject doesn’t “appear” until later in the sentence, so it begs the question of what do we see? With something like this, we might direct without directing. Carefully sequenced visuals allow you to present the exact images in the order that you want the reader/viewer to notice them:
A glint from shiny metal reveals a razor-sharp ax blade. A wooden handle bounces up and down. It rests on the flannel-clad shoulder of Paul Bunyan.
Without any camera direction, we have created a sense of a “PULL BACK TO REVEAL.”
Essence of Climax
Instead of thinking as a copy editor, think as a film editor, whose job it is to shape material with an eye toward escalation and cutting out redundancy. Consider this line of action description:
Kara turns to see the monster, whose fangs drip blood, in the corner.
If you were a film editor, wh
en would you cut away? When is comprehension by the viewer achieved? We can’t follow the reveal of the monster with “in the corner.” It’s wasting words and, emotionally, it’s anticlimactic.
You could simply move “in the corner” to earlier in the sentence or even cut it:
Kara turns toward the corner to see the monster, whose fangs are dripping blood.
Here is the essence of the “shots” in this moment.
• Kara turns
• Looks in corner
• The monster
• Fangs drip blood
“Fangs dripping blood” does seem to build upon the monster and escalate things. However, if we look at these as strips of film like an editor, we would find it hard to justify a shot and time spent on establishing “the corner” as the location of the monster or to where she looks.
Combining the principles of these last two topics, we can derive a simple process:
Arrange the sequence of actions and visuals very carefully to tell your story, and then simply write the accompanying action description in the order you want the reader to experience it.
Here is the result:
Kara turns to see the monster. Blood drips from its fangs.
Wrestling with Words for Clarity and Efficiency
Here is a short excerpt from an early draft of My Best Friend’s Wedding. These twenty-nine words are from the scene in which Julianne, on her twenty-eighth birthday, is preparing to call Michael but is reluctant because she thinks he might be planning to propose to her because of the pact they made to marry each other when they turned twenty-eight.
As an exercise, I played around with phrasing, efficiency, clarity, and style. I purposefully included a few “cheats” to make you consider whether they are acceptable. Whether or not I improved it any or you disagree with my commentary, this will provide insight into the thought process you can apply to polishing your script’s language.
Here is the original action description:
She turns to continue pacing and walks straight INTO a dresser. Stuns her, momentarily. Enough, already! She punches up the number, primping absently in the mirror. When it connects…
29 words
I don’t really have a problem with “Stuns her, momentarily” but you might argue it’s a cheat. We couldn’t use “sees stars” or “birdies fly around her head” because it confuses the reader as to what he or she is actually seeing, but here is a different cheat for “Stuns her, momentarily,” which may have a better visual component:
She turns and SLAMS into her dresser. Shakes it off. Enough already! Punches the numbers, primps absently in the mirror. RIIIIIIINNNNNG!
21 words
If we were in a hipper movie such as Juno or Deadpool, maybe we change the tone of the “enough, already” cheat and add a bit of style. This also uses sound to create a bit of surprise and maybe a moment of curiosity around the pretty boring act of dialing a phone.
She SLAMS into dresser. Shakes it off. F**k it! BEEP BOOP BOOP. Primps absentmindedly in mirror. RIIIIINNGGG!
17 words
The O.S. “Hello” on the other line would pay off and clarify the action. Or, if you like the style but want more clarity, let’s put in a lean and mean reference to the phone:
She SLAMS into dresser. Shakes it off. F**k it! Pounds digits. BEEP BOOP BOOP. Primps absentmindedly in mirror. RIIIIINNGGG!
19 words
If eliminating one or two of those “I”s in RIIIIING saves you a line, go for it.
If we eliminate the “F**k it” cheat and replace it with a clear reference to the phone and something we can see or hear, then maybe that allows the beeps and boops to work.
She turns and SLAMS into dresser. Shakes it off. Looks determinedly down to phone. BEEP BOOP BOOP. Primps absentmindedly. RIIIIINNGGG!
20 words
Which way is correct? Wrong question. The correct questions are… Is it clear for the reader? Does the viewer see and understand all that the reader understands? Are you wasting words? There are many viable ways to reduce your word count by putting your descriptions through the same wringer.
Cheats
Ideally, everything in a screenplay should be what we can see and hear. However, inevitably there will be violations of this principle—descriptions of things we can’t see or hear, which I call cheats.
Although I said that there is never a reason to write that a character thinks, realizes, remembers, or reminisces, you may have good reason to show them in the act of thinking, realizing, or of having an epiphany. It’s acceptable because it is an action or beat that we can see. However, describing the content of what they think or realize is a no-no because it works only on the page. It does not translate to the screen.
Action description like these phrases are something we will often see in a script:
The look on her face reveals joy.
She suddenly looks happy.
She thinks for a moment and then a devilish grin overcomes her face…
She has an idea.
Aha! An epiphany.
You can make an argument that an actor’s reaction can communicate emotions such as sadness, frustration, or happiness and also suggest simple actions such as thinking or planning. However, if you include lines like these in your script, consider replacing them with a clearer visual or building on them to better clarify your intent.
For instance, if we cut from a character’s “aha” look to him taking a new and surprising action, then that might clarify his intent. The facial expression foreshadows the dawning of a thought, and the next image or action strongly suggests its completion.
In Air Force One, the filmmakers adopt this strategy but take it one step further. After a shootout in the luggage compartment, President James Marshall (Harrison Ford) notices milk dripping out of a bullet-riddled carton. His face registers a “light bulb moment,” and then the film cuts to him dumping fuel from the plane.
The facial expression alone with the cut to him emptying the fuel might have been adequate. The filmmakers used some imagination to find a visual—the dripping milk—that further clarifies his thought process.
Another ubiquitous cheat is the one-sentence summary of a character’s essence when introduced:
Bob is the guy who never takes chances or changes routine.
This convention seems to be almost universally accepted in scripts. When not overdone, this tactic has a purpose. It becomes what I call a contextual cheat; it helps the reader get a more immediate grasp of a character. Consider it a reframe for the reader, a clue or a nudge that levels the playing field between the reader and viewer, because the viewer gets more information when watching the completed film.
If you used action description such as “He enjoys making a game out of everything,” to introduce the protagonist in the remake of The Thomas Crown Affair, it’s acceptable and here’s why. In one of the film’s early character-establishing scenes, several actions reveal how Crown (Pierce Brosnan) toys with the opposing businessmen who are buying his building.
While the buyers struggle to contain their excitement—with an unlit cigar at the ready—Crown takes out his pen, fidgets with it, hems and haws, takes off the cap, and hesitates again before finally signing. See how the actions support the description? The writers aren’t relying on the “cheat” to deliver the essential information that drives the story.
Yes, it’s “telling” instead of “showing.” But ultimately it’s telling us about what the scene is showing us. It’s a summary or reframe for the reader, but the script also delivers the requisite visuals and actions to bolster it.
Let’s say you start with the cheat of “Bob is in a rut. For too long he has been unwilling to risk breaking out of the same old routine.” I suggest that you use this cheat to inspire an introduction to the character that captures this.
In Bob’s first scene, make sure he eats alone in the worker’s cafeteria. Put him in line to order his food and have the person in front of him order the daily speci
al or invent something that isn’t even on the menu. When Bob approaches, instead of just having him order something bland, have him order “the usual.” Or better yet, the cook interrupts with “the usual?” Now, the cheat doesn’t have a huge downside.
Now that we found a way to express Bob’s personality by the way he interacts with food, we can expand upon it and create a motif that tracks his internal journey. The milieu of food can define or contrast his eventual love interest. On one of their dates, Bob can order something “adventurous,” which suggests his openness to change and risk.
I once summed up a character this way: “A classic neurotic, he will do anything to avoid being in his own head.” Every single action for the next few pages exemplified this and gave the reader a quick context in which to understand the actions that might have been open to interpretation.
I was happy with the summation, so I gave it a promotion. I found a character in the story who could organically call him on his neurosis with, “You’re so neurotic, you will distract yourself with anything to stay out of your own head.” If you think your summary sentence nails your character, do what I did and elevate it beyond a simple cheat, so viewers can benefit as the readers do.
If you can perfectly distill the essence of the character perfectly in a single sentence as a clue for the reader, go for it. Then follow up with visuals and actions that continue to reveal the character so well that the “cheat” becomes superfluous.
Cardinal Sin of Cheats
Some cheats are less egregious than others. The presence of a few innocuous directions that capture a character’s thinking or emotion might not be overly detrimental to your screenplay. However, if we pass up too many opportunities to express something in a visually novel way, the script will suffer, and the effect becomes exponentially cumulative, destroying the screenplay.
Let’s look at how a few cheats in a script can lead to disaster.
Start with the popular character intro cheat:
Bob is the guy who never takes chances or changes routine.
He runs into his old high school friend Shelly on the street and they flirt. If not translated into words or actions, the cheat becomes too clever for its own good: