by Paul Ashton
this moment for the character?
Remember that raising the stakes for your characters applies as much
to the silliest comic scene as it does to the deepest, darkest, tragic scene –
as much to David Brent and Basil Fawlty as it does to Prince Hamlet and
King Lear.
THREE DRAMATIC LEVELS
Conflict is a big term with big connotations, so it’s useful to break things
down in your thinking and clarify for yourself the dramatic levels on which
you are operating within any given moment. There are three important
levels:
INTERNAL: where the conflict is within your protagonist, a battle
with themselves. It might be emotional, where the character’s
feelings are confronted. Or psychological, where the character’s
understanding is challenged. Or about resolve, where their ability to
make a choice and decision is tested. They may not even consciously
realise the conflict is there at all.
RELATIONSHIP: where the conflict is with other characters, a battle
between personalities, and your characters’ relationships are
challenged and changed.
GLOBAL: where the conflict is in the wider world and bigger than the
individual character, though it is perceived by them and they do play
some kind of part in it, however small.
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All three levels will not be necessary for every scene, but the more crucial,
critical or pivotal your scene is in the design of your story, the more likely
will be the need for it to work on all three levels simultaneously.
SUBTEXT
Subtext is probably the single hardest thing to write well in drama because
it requires your characters and story to have depth – hidden depths that
you invite, even challenge, your audience to explore. In fact, subtext is quite
literally impossible to write. It is not text. It is sub-text. It is what is not
written as text. But although you can’t write subtext, you can create it.
Subtext is what is going on behind, beyond and beneath what the
dialogue and action on the surface of the scene tell us. Subtext is the secret
life of the character’s thoughts, feelings, instincts, intentions and fears that
the best drama will seek to explore and express. Subtext is the unspoken
conversation that is held between characters when words and acts are not
sufficient. Subtext is the part of us that we are unable, unwilling or afraid
to express openly – that we may not even be aware is there to express.
Subtext is the extra dimension that brings characters and scenes to
fully-fledged life. You need to explore the extra dimension in your charac -
ters – the thing that makes them a personality like no other as opposed to
a stock or archetypal character. You can’t literally write subtext but if you
make characters with depth and dimensions and contradictions then it will
be there, somewhere.
SURPRISE
Surprise is probably the next hardest thing to write. Put another way, it’s
simply too easy to write a scene that doesn’t surprise the audience. It’s too
easy to write a scene that plays out predictably, goes exactly where we
expected it to go in a way that we have seen before a dozen times, and
therefore reveals nothing new about the character.
Do you manage to turn the scene? Send the characters in a new direct -
ion, however slight that difference might be? Bring about a change in the
characters and story, whether gigantic or minute? A scene isn’t just about
showing things – it’s about showing things that change, that move, that
develop, that do not remain exactly the same as they were.
162 THE CALLING CARD SCRIPT
Surprise is unexpected outcomes. What are the unexpected outcomes
that confound the character’s expectations of the consequences of their
actions?
BEATS
A scene ‘beat’ is a measure of the conflict and movement within a scene. It is
a way of breaking down the action structurally into smaller units. It is also an
imprecise term and form. How long is a beat? How long is a piece of string?
Understanding beats is about appreciating the beginning, middle and
end in your scene. Strong dramatic actions are rarely simplistic – they are
complex and they move your story forward by dramatising a sense of move -
ment. In its simplest form that dramatic movement is:
action reaction unexpected reaction
This form is expandable, depending on the scale of your scene:
action reaction action reaction
unexpected reaction outcome
If it is a major, climactic, pivotal scene, then it might break down into fur -
ther manageable beats:
action reaction unexpected reaction
action reaction unexpected reaction
action reaction unexpected reaction outcome
This is a way of charting how the tone of a scene might change, or the
balance of power in a relationship might shift, or the decision-making of a
character might be dramatised. From an unexpected reaction comes change.
From change comes movement. And from movement comes the momentum
to propel your story forward.
WHAT TO SHOW
Great scenes are composed, designed – crafted. Beginning, middle, end. Action,
reaction, outcome. Goal, obstacle, solution. Problem, complication, resolution.
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Need, opposition, plan of action. We don’t need to see all three – we rarely
see the immediate resolutions to conflicts – we just need to know all three
exist within the context of the scene. The art and craft of writing a good
scene is in the judicious selection of what to show and what not to show.
How much you choose to show and where in a sequence you choose to
show it will go a long way towards setting the tone and feel, the pace and
momentum, and the sense of tension and expectation.
JUXTAPOSITION
Scenes are defined by what surrounds and is left out of them as much as by
what is in them. The judicious selection of material is crucial; the judicious
placement of a scene is just as crucial. Scenes are normally part of smaller
sequences, larger acts and superstructures that arc across the whole story.
Knowing where and how they fit into your story as a whole is key to know -
ing what to show and how much to write.
When a scene doesn’t appear to be working, look at the preceding
scenes, because the problem might lie there – the conflict in that scene
might have resolved itself too fully, or the conflict might simply not have
been there at all.
LESS IS MORE
One dictum in screenplay writing is ‘get in late, get out early’. Cut to the
chase. Don’t ease us into it. Don’t ‘set the scene’. Don’t linger. Don’t ease out
of it. Don’t write a beat, a line, a word more than you need – the crucial
point being: than you need. If you know what the scene is about, the sig -
nificance of the action and conflict, and its place in the larger design, then
you should know what is necessary and what is superfluous. Whatever the
medium, format and genre, it’s useful to always aim to keep it lean, tight,
focused, concise, succinct
. Or in other words, keep it essential.
There are of course exceptions to every perceived rule. But as a writer,
you should guard against indulgence and superfluity. Scenes are hard to
unwrite once you have written dialogue and beats that you like. Deliver
just enough to keep an audience satisfied. Deliver just enough to keep them
intrigued about what comes next. Except for the final scene(s) – that’s the
one place where you need not continue to keep them at bay.
164 THE CALLING CARD SCRIPT
KINDS OF SCENES
Different kinds of scenes will tend to work in different ways at different
points in your story – a series of short interplaying scenes work to build
momentum and pace as you drive towards a climactic moment, whereas a
single, long and unbroken scene will create the opposite effect and perform
a different function in your plot. The terms I use below are a mix-and-match
from theatre, screenwriting and archetypal storytelling traditions. They
tend to come in pairings of related or opposing qualities and functions,
though they probably won’t necessarily (or even probably) sit together in a
story:
INTRODUCTIONS (prologues) and CONCLUSIONS (epilogues) can be
formal, as in Romeo and Juliet, Shameless, The Royal Tenenbaums
or Incomplete Recorded Works. All stories start and conclude – have
an opening and closing scene. But deliberately and formally drawing
an audience in and saying goodbye to them sets a particular self-
conscious ‘storytelling’ tone. Is that the effect you wish to have?
ARRIVALS (first meetings) and DEPARTURES (final goodbyes) can be
simple. In Romeo and Juliet it is the ball where they meet and
church where they die. In this example, they are also PIVOTAL in
that they incite the love story and decide the concluding tragedy.
INSTIGATING INCIDENTS are the primary actions that set the main
story going. We often witness them and they usually come near the
start of the story: Lear dividing up his kingdom and banishing
Cordelia; Sam Tyler being hit by a car and seemingly going back in
time in Life on Mars. But instigating incidents for different stretches
of the story, or for sub-plots within it, can also come at other times.
PIVOTAL scenes are where the story somehow turns on its axis and
heads in a new direction. They can be pivotal in a large or small
scene – and the extent to which the direction of the story changes
will vary.
THRESHOLDS are where a character makes a distinct step in a
particular direction, either expected or new. The point is that we see
the step or breakthrough being made – whether that is physical,
emotional or psychological.
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OBSCURING scenes work to complicate the story and plot and
narrative, and obfuscate what is going on to some degree. They will
be those scenes in a detective or mystery piece that tangle up the
story and leave us wondering quite what is going on. REVEALING
scenes work to clarify obfuscation, to provide exposition about what
has previously been unclear. They will be those scenes where
Holmes, Poirot or Morse untangle what has happened, and reveal
who the killer is and how they managed to work it out. Don’t be
deceived that they exist only in detective stories – all good stories
need tangling and untangling. In Greek tragedy, the ultimate
revealing scene was the anagnorisis, where the hero gained a true
and tragic insight into their fallible humanity.
TWIST scenes spring a fundamental surprise on an audience and
character. Where a pivot turns the action in a new direction, a twist
shocks the action to at least a momentary standstill before resuming
quite possibly in a new direction, but almost certainly with a dif -
ferent understanding of the story and characters. Most twists come
at the end as a final sucker-punch to the audience and characters,
and they are most common in movies – The Sixth Sense, Fight Club.
An infamous example would be the shower scene in Psycho, which
shocks us by killing off early on the woman we thought was the
heroine and takes the story in a wholly new direction. The crisis in
Chinatown, where the truth about Evelyn’s relationship with her
daughter is revealed, is also a kind of twist and a pivot. But they
aren’t exclusive to movies. In soap and serial TV drama, the end of
an episode might have a twist that will hook an audience to tune
back in for the next instalment. And of course, twists are a staple of
detective, thriller and mystery stories, whatever the medium.
NAIL-BITER scenes build tension, either at a high octane or by
manipulating a high fear factor. They are an obvious and common
trope of horror, thriller and action movies. But on a more subtle
level, great drama will often tease and stretch our nerves to breaking
point as a story intensifies. The outcome will not necessarily be
COMIC RELIEF, but if you are pushing a character, story and audience
to its limit, then you’ll need to find a way of releasing the pressure
and tension, allowing all three to breathe again. The greatest tragic
166 THE CALLING CARD SCRIPT
stories frequently use humour and comic relief, from the fools in
Shakespeare to the sexual exploits of Bess on a bus in Breaking the
Waves to the heartbreaking comedy of Yosser Hughes in the confes -
sional box in Boys from the Blackstuff.
PINNACLE scenes are where the action soars to a dramatic, emotional
height. This won’t necessarily be a crisis scene – rather, it might be
a moment of pure, unfettered flight and abandon – Shakespeare’s
Coriolanus single-handedly capturing a city, Tony beating a man
to death in his rage in The Sopranos. The ‘soaring’ might well not
be a happy or nice experience, but it will be a somehow simple,
uncontrolled expression of the true character.
CAVE scenes are where the character descends to the opposite
extreme from the pinnacle. It is their lowest point and ebb –
Coriolanus saying goodbye to his family and thereby becoming the
vulnerable man that his warrior heart has fought to keep unexposed;
a depressed Tony Soprano in the therapy sessions where he is the
vulnerable patient rather than mafiosa crime boss.
The final CLIMAX – or CRISIS – is where the inciting incident will
ultimately take the story. CRISIS scenes can also happen at other
stages in a story – at sequence, act, episode and series level. In Life
on Mars, the climax of the opening sequence of episode one is Sam
being forced to let the prime suspect go. The climax of the opening
act is Sam meeting his new boss, Gene Hunt. The climax of episode
one, series one, is Sam cracking the case, indirectly saving his
girlfriend back in the present and accepting that he is still stuck in
the past. The final climax near the end of series two, and the end of
the show, is Sam returning to the present. The climaxes are what
you and the story are always working and building towards.
CLIFFHANGER scenes sustain tension by cutting away from a crisis
and deferri
ng conclusion, clarity or satisfaction. The classic example
of this is in soap opera, where we must tune in next time to find
out what happens. Many scenes contain an element of cliff-hanger
in them to keep up the tension and momentum. You should never
finally end a drama on a cliffhanger because it is cheating the
audience of final satisfaction. The Green Wing ended series one
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literally on a cliffhanger – but this was a comedy series that revelled
in just such self-conscious irony, and it did return for a second series
(which likewise ended on a cliffhanger).
DELIVERY scenes are the natural successor to the cliffhanger – where
you stop deferring the conclusion and satisfy the audience.
SCENES THAT DO EVERYTHING almost never appear in film or TV,
they are unusual on radio, but are less unusual in theatre in the
form of one-act plays that are essentially one unbroken, real-time
scene. Beckett was the master of this form. Ironically, a real-time
experience in a single setting has become something of a preserve
for absurdist theatre – where ‘real’ means something very different
from realistic or naturalistic.
THE THEATRICAL SCENE
In theatre, where the concept of literally setting a scene was born, there is
always a necessary leap of imaginative faith – a willing suspension of dis -
belief – in the notion that we are live observers of a fiction. Classically, theatre
has always had the freedom to manipulate the space in a non-realistic way.
More recently – and with the proliferation of smaller, studio theatres – that
imagination has become confined (some would say strangled) in the revo -
lution of realism, naturalism, the ‘fourth-wall’ principle (Strindberg, Ibsen)
and the kitchen sink (John Osborne).
Stage plays can be a single scene in a single setting (Beckett’s Endgame,
Krapp’s Last Tape) or they can have the scope of a Hollywood action movie
(Shakespeare’s Coriolanus). If your scene is designed to represent an auth -