The Understructure of Writing for Film and Television

by Ben Brady

  Even now that expectation exists for plays written for the legitimate stage and for theatrical release. Ingmar Bergman’s screenplays are published without shots or screenplay format as literary works. Films like Amadeus or A Man for All Seasons possess obvious literary merit. Romeo and Juliet was adapted into West Side Story, an immensely popular stage and film musical, in which characters rise at critical moments not to Romeo or Juliet’s speeches but to equally expressive songs. Lolita remains a classic American film, distinguished by Vladimir Nabokov’s elegant and witty dialogue. Harold Pinter’s dialogue has a great deal to do with his success as a writer for both stage and screen. Comedies have for a long time depended on their writers’ invention of zany, unexpected lines. Contemporary dramas like Ordinary People or Kramer vs. Kramer are literate films that depend on their characters’ ability to speak well and to the point at critical moments. A Streetcar Named Desire invests Blanche with rare power as a character in large part because of the poetic charge of her language. The greatest weakness of Eugene O’Neill, our most famous dramatist, is the inchoate dialogue he gave his characters at critical moments.

  We stress this literary aspect of good dialogue because there is a current misconception that this kind of concern with language doesn’t belong in film. That misconception is isolated from the evidence of our own good films. It is isolated from reality. Is quality in language really absent from the real world with which screenplays deal? Isn’t a moment made memorable when someone of our own acquaintance or someone in public life is moved to speak with force, elegance, intelligence, and poetic sharpness? When your characters speak with as much force, wit, or elegance as possible in a film, that film is improved, both theoretically and, as our examples show, commercially. Don’t let anyone tell you differently.

  That said, three things must be emphasized about the proper nature of what a playwright does write:

  1. A playwright writes an action, not words. Words are one of the primary tools, but only a tool, that help a writer create character and conflict and develop those through crisis and climax to their final revelation and resolution.

  2. How a character speaks must always be appropriate to that character and his immediate situation.

  3. Dialogue used today is based on current conversational style.

  Appropriateness

  You cannot have a character who is a redneck speak the same way as a neurosurgeon on the faculty of Harvard Medical School. A Southern belle does not speak like an Italian mother-in-law from New York City’s Bronx. A starlet in Hollywood does not speak like an English teacher in a small midwestern town, nor does an Asian immigrant. You must fit the right kind of speech to your character. Take the following exchange between Blanche and Mitch from A Streetcar Named Desire:

  BLANCHE (CONT’D)

  True? Yes, I suppose—unfit somehow—anyway. . . . So I came here.

  There was nowhere else I could go. I was played out. You know what played out is?

  ON MITCH

  [as he stares at her.)

  FAVOR BLANCHE

  BLANCHE (CONT’D)

  My youth was suddenly gone up the water-spout, and—I met you. You said you needed somebody. Well, I needed somebody, too. I thanked God for you, because you seemed to be gentle—a cleft in the rock of the world I could hide in! But I guess I was asking, hoping—too much! Kiefaber, Stanley and Shaw have tied an old tin can to the tail of the kite.

  MITCH & BLANCHE

  There is a pause. Mitch stares at her dumbly.

  MITCH

  You lied to me, Blanche.

  BLANCHE

  Don’t say I lied to you.

  MITCH

  Lies, lies, inside and out, all lies.

  BLANCHE

  Never inside, I didn’t lie in my heart . . .1

  Blanche’s dialogue is charged with poetic phrases like “a cleft in the rock of the world.” “I didn’t lie in my heart” has a poetic resonance. Her language is immediate, spoken in response to Mitch, and also evokes a sensibility that transcends merely immediate needs. She is awash with words, too. We know that Blanche is educated and from a formerly prominent family and class and that she was a teacher. These lines fit and characterize her. Mitch, by contrast, is entirely down-to-earth. He makes simple declarative statements: “You lied to me, Blanche,” he says, “Lies, lies, inside and out, all lies.” He talks like the factory worker he is. If you go through their scene you will notice how characteristic their language remains. Look at Blanche’s first lines to Mitch.

  BLANCHE

  Mitch!—Y’know, I really shouldn’t let you in after the treatment I have received from you this evening! So utterly uncavalier. But hello, beautiful!2

  This is immediate—“I really shouldn’t let you in”—and typically charged with “uncavalier” and “But hello, beautiful!” The first thing Mitch says is: “Do we have to have that fan on?” These lines fit and characterize simultaneously. If the drama had just begun, you would only need to be consistent with Blanche and Mitch, as indeed Williams is, to develop the characterizations such lines suggest.

  Look at the following exchange from the scene in the bar between Ted and Shaunessy from Kramer vs. Kramer:

  TED

  (grim)

  What if I fight it?

  SHAUNESSY

  (matter of factly)

  We can appeal, but I can’t guarantee anything.

  TED

  (determined)

  I’ll take my chances.

  SHAUNESSY

  It’s going to cost.

  TED

  (his mind made up)

  Don’t worry. I’ll get the money.3

  Their dialogue seems completely unremarkable. But think about it for a moment. Both speak ordinarily and ordinarily well. They speak like middle-class Americans. That’s what both of them are. Their dialogue fits them as well as Blanche’s and Mitch’s. Imagine if Ted had said, “Don’t you worry, pardner. I’ll git that thar money for ye.” Same sense, but an entirely different world of reference that has nothing to do with Kramer vs. Kramer!

  Two additional facets of writing dialogue emerge from this:

  1. Dialogue must be consistent with each character as well as appropriate to character and situation.

  2. Dialogue characterizes the speaker.

  Economy

  Shakespeare’s famous play Richard III begins in the following manner:

  ACT 1

  Scene 1. London. A street.

  Enter RICHARD, DUKE OF GLOUCESTER, solus.

  RICHARD

  Now is the winter of our discontent.4

  We see immediately by virtue of the nature of the street and the fact that Richard is in some sort of historical costume that we’re in for some sort of historical drama. We see also that Richard is well dressed: we don’t have to know he’s a duke to guess he has high status. Without a word being said, we guess he must be a man of influence. Moreover, we see immediately that one of his arms is shriveled and that he is a hunchback. Before he speaks we guess he is unhappy. We suspect his status gives him means of expressing his unhappiness. Now this is a lot to get from very little, and we get it all in silence through the detail we see on stage.

  Then he speaks.

  We get a fresh rush of detail. He speaks in blank verse. This only confirms our suspicion from his appearance that he’s a figure of influence. But he also emphasizes “now.” He’s so unhappy he calls his present moment “the winter” of his discontent. But he doesn’t use “my” discontent, but uses “our,” which has the smack of royalty to it, like the royal “we.” He is of royal lineage and will cut his way to the throne in this play. How he speaks fits how he looks, characterizes him further, adds the detail of how unhappy he is, and promises action. His first words are tremendously economic.

  Turn back to the scene between Ted and Joanna in Kramer vs. Kramer in the restaurant as they meet for the first time since she abandoned Ted and Billy.

  JOANNA

  Hello
Ted. You look well.

  TED

  So do you.

  The WAITRESS appears, carrying a scotch and soda. She sets it down on the table in front of Ted.

  WAITRESS

  The usual, Mr. Kramer.

  TED

  (not taking his eyes off Joanna)

  Thanks.

  The waitress promptly disappears.

  JOANNA

  How’s the job?

  TED

  Fine.

  There is a self-conscious pause.

  TED

  Look at us, Joanna. Just like any old married couple having dinner. Who would believe it.

  JOANNA

  Yes . . . How’s Billy?5

  How two people would greet each other who have not seen each other for a long time is a good challenge to a writer’s imagination. Would they greet each other with a rush of words or with minutes of awkward silence? “Hello Ted. You look well,” she says. He responds, “So do you.” What could be more appropriate, simple, and economic? They move on to his job and then on to Billy. It’s a natural sequence: there are no wasted words. The confrontation between them builds by such natural steps.

  Examine Bonasera’s long speech about what happened to his daughter from the opening of The Godfather. He doesn’t call vengeance down from the heavens from his sense of outrage, he gives a straightforward account of the details. Then he succinctly expresses his indignation:

  BONASERA

  . . . Suspended sentence! They went free that very day. I stood in the courtroom like a fool, and those bastards, they smiled at me. Then I said to my wife, for Justice, we must go to The Godfather.6

  The Godfather replies directly to the point, reproaching him for coming for help only now, though they’ve been friends a long time.

  The simple moral here is don’t waste words. Don’t use two words where one will do. Don’t use any words where a silence or an action is more effective. Effective dialogue is economic in giving a character’s intention, response, or situation. Equally important is the point we made about Richard III: Effective dialogue leads to action. Joanna will demand Billy, the Godfather will demand a price, Ted will pledge to get money and then give up his request rather than hurt Billy. Good dialogue is never static.

  What Dialogue Communicates

  We have seen that effective dialogue can communicate a character’s intention, characterize that character, reveal a character’s social or economic class; that if appropriate to a moment it can move us and give a poetic dimension to a character or scene; and that it works best when it is economic and leads to action. This is already a great deal, but just what is it that dialogue expresses?

  This may seem an odd question, but a character can never express the writer’s understanding, only his own. A character’s understanding of his conflict or even of his objective, as we stressed in the last chapter, is very limited. He searches for understanding as he works through one immediate reverse and complication after another, constantly frustrated until his final triumph or failure. Most of the time, then, your character’s response is going to be emotional.

  Don Corleone tells Bonasera that the court gave him justice; Bonasera exclaims: “An eye for an eye!” Rocky, preventing Adrian from leaving in the scene we looked at from Rocky, tells Adrian, “I always knew you was pretty.” She responds: “Don’t tease me,” which expresses her fear of his taking advantage of her, her sense of herself as not pretty, and her wish for confirmation that she is pretty. Look at this dialogue from the climax of On the Waterfront:

  EDIE

  You think you’ve got to prove something to them, don’t you? That you are not afraid of them and—you won’t be satisfied until you walk right into their trap, will you?

  His silence maddens her. She seems on the verge of striking him out of frustration and impotent rage. Her voice is hysterical.

  EDIE (CONT’D)

  Then go ahead—go ahead! Go down to the shape-up and get yourself killed, you stupid, pigheaded, son of a—

  (struggling to control herself)

  What are you trying to prove?7

  This economically and effectively expresses Edie’s response to Terry’s silent and growing decision to go down to the docks. The language itself expresses her struggle, first trying to be reasonable, if challenging, then breaking into anger, which she controls, finally coming to the point: “What are you trying to prove?” They don’t know, yet. They’re groping to find out. Everything is in immediate terms. When Terry says a moment later that he’s going to get his rights, he doesn’t know that to get those rights he will have to stage a revolution.

  Dialogue communicates feelings. Those feelings express a character’s immediate situation. Those feelings are what lead to action.

  Communicating Information through Dialogue

  You may wonder how to communicate information necessary for understanding a character and situation if dialogue must always primarily reflect the feeling of a character at some immediate moment of conflict. Let’s look at some examples where such information is given effectively.

  First, look at Terry’s outburst to his brother Charley in the scene from On the Waterfront.

  TERRY

  It wasn’t him!

  (years of abuse crying out in him)

  It was you, Charley. You and Johnny.

  Like the night the two of youse come into the dressing room and says, “Kid, this ain’t your night—we’re going for the price on Wilson.” It ain’t my night. I’d of taken Wilson apart that night! I was ready—remember them early rounds throwing them combinations. So what happens—This bum Wilson he gets the title shot—outdoors in the ball park!—and what do I get—a couple of bucks and a one-way ticket to Palookaville . . .8

  This evokes the scene in the dressing room when Terry was asked to take the dive and then recalls the fight; it shows how ready he was to triumph and how the early rounds are the supporting evidence; and it demonstrates the consequences of taking the dive. It makes us see that he is better than his present situation, and lets us feel how bitterly he resents that disparity. Last, he places the blame for this on Charley. That’s a lot of information. You must handle information with the same economy as dialogue.

  Why does Terry tell Charley this now? Because of the immediate conflict, namely, Terry’s effort to persuade Charley to let him wrestle with his conscience over testifying rather than, with the gun Charley is holding, take Terry to River Street and Gerry G. That is why the information is not presented abstractly, but passionately, from Terry’s point of view: this happened, Charley, because you betrayed me. The implied demand is, Don’t betray me now.

  Information should appear in a scene only when a character needs to bring it out in order to influence the immediate action. Information in a scene is always some character’s information, never the author’s, and is presented from that character’s point of view with appropriate feeling. Terry’s outburst does influence the immediate action. Charley lets Terry go.

  Study again the scene between Bishop Vergérus and Alexander from Fanny and Alexander:

  EDVARD

  In my childhood parents were not so soft-hearted. Naughty boys were punished in an exemplary but loving manner. With the cane. The motto was: “Spare the rod spoil the child.” I have a cane too. It is there on the table. Then we had another means that was really efficacious, and that was castor oil. There you see the bottle, Alexander, and a glass. When you’ve swallowed a few mouthfuls of that you will be a little more docile.

  And if castor oil didn’t help there was a dark and chilly bogey hole where one had to sit for a few hours, until the mice started sniffing at one’s face. You see, over there under the stairs, Alexander, a nice big hole is waiting for you. Then of course there were other, more barbarous methods, but I disapprove of them. They were humiliating and dangerous and are not applied, nowadays.

  TWO SHOT: ALEXANDER & BISHOP VERGÉRUS

  ALEXANDER

  What punishment will I get if I
confess?9

  The structure of the speech itself, as with Terry’s, is active. Look, Alexander, here are the instruments of punishment—one, two, three, the bishop says. Information isn’t just thrown out or only used to affect another character’s emotions: the dialogue that conveys information effectively is active.

  This information functions in a very immediate context, too: the bishop is trying to make Alexander give in to him. At the same time the information gives us the sense that some of these methods, and perhaps the more barbarous ones, were applied to the bishop. We need to know that now because we are trying to understand the bishop’s cruelty. Information should help us understand a character’s motivation.

  Now recall the scene between Blanche and Mitch as Mitch reveals what he knows about her past. We saw how Blanche resists him a moment and then reveals more information. This is information that we as an audience need to appreciate her fully and that she needs to tell to change Mitch’s view so that she can hold on to him. Her revelation puts her motivation in a deeper context we wouldn’t otherwise have guessed. A character must be motivated immediately to reveal information: and that information should reveal further motivation.

  We have not spoken so far of exposition, information needed to understand the immediate situation in which characters find themselves. You might, for instance, need to communicate a lot of information about other characters that your protagonist doesn’t know that he or she needs right away, as is often the case in a murder mystery. That is commonly done by arousing the protagonist’s curiosity, by satisfying his often unspoken question: Why do I need to know this? Ideally, you should make such information immediately necessary for some character, as with any other kind of information.

  Some Technical Aspects of Dialogue

  Tag and Curtain Lines

  You may encounter the terms tag or curtain lines. A tag line is simply a scene’s final line or speech when either of those sums up what has come before and points toward the next scene. Not all scenes have such lines. A curtain line has the same function at the end of an act. Not all act breaks have curtain lines. Screenplays are not written with act breaks, though these are present structurally; however, teleplays often are so written for obvious reasons: they want to focus and hold your attention through commercial breaks. Teleplays are often written in four acts in order to fit the four standard commercial breaks. Those acts are more or less arbitrary and don’t affect the three-act structure of the action that we have stressed here.