Creating Unforgettable Characters

by Linda Seger

  "There's an element that I love to emphasize and that is surprise. Principal characters rarely do that, but supporting characters often do that and it wakes up an audience and keeps them alert. In Cuckoo's Nest, Candy Starr was the surprise. Who expects a good-looking hooker in this milieu? Even when she brings her friend, that's a surprise. Not just one hooker, but two. And then also, they are really fun girls."

  I asked Dale what the problems are that can come up with supporting characters.

  "One of the worst problems is lack of fulfillment. There is time to fulfill your principal characters in a story but often auxiliary and very interesting characters are left dangling and unfulfilled. And I believe that whether the audience knows it

  or not, it is very frustrating. I have seen instances where I desperately wished to know about what happened to auxiliary characters and there wasn't time.

  "There is also a tendency to sketch in only enough characteristics that serve the character and leave the character otherwise not quite fleshed out. In movies that's almost a necessity because you don't want too much attention to go to contributory characters. It troubles me when it happens, though, because ideally every character should be interesting and shouldn't leave one baffled and dissatisfied. "

  APPLICATION

  As you look at the supporting characters in your script, ask yourself:

  ■ Do my characters all have a function in the story? What is their function?

  ■ What is the theme of my story? In what way do each of my characters help expand this theme?

  ■ Have I paid attention to the creation of my minor characters? If I use character types, have I made sure that they are not stereotypes?

  ■ Do I have contrasting characters? In what ways do they add color and texture?

  ■ What broad strokes have I used to define both my supporting and minor characters? Do these strokes relate to the story or theme, so they don't seem like imposed character schticks?

  ■ Do I have villains in my story? What are their backstories? The unconscious forces that drive them? Is there a perceived good that they pursue, using evil actions to achieve it?

  SUMMARY

  Many of the best stories are memorable because of their supporting characters. They can move the story, clarify the role of the main character, add color and texture, deepen the theme, and expand the palette, adding detail to even the smallest scene, the smallest moment.

  James Dearden sums it up: "Within the context of reality, without overdoing it, you can make your little characters interesting. A lot of what stories are about is entertainment, not in a broad sense, but in a sense of keeping people's eyes moving and their ears flapping and their brains working. It's those little details that make something come alive."

  Many writers and writing teachers have said to me, "You can't teach dialogue. Writers either have an ear for it or they don't." I agree that great dialogue, like great painting and great music, cannot be taught. However, good dialogue can be. There are methods of thinking through a scene and a character that can improve dialogue. Writers can train their ears to hear rhythms and speech patterns just as musicians can train themselves to hear melodies and musical rhythms.

  You first need to understand what is good dialogue—and what is bad dialogue.

  ■ Good dialogue is like a piece of music. It has a beat, a rhythm, a melody.

  ■ Good dialogue tends to be short, and spare. Generally no character will speak for more than two or three lines.

  ■ Good dialogue is like a tennis match. The ball moves back and forth between players and represents a constant exchange of power that can be sexual, physical, political, or social.

  ■ Good dialogue conveys conflict, attitudes, and intentions. Rather than telling about the character, it reveals character.

  ■ Good dialogue is easily spoken, because of its rhythms. It makes great actors of us all.

  There are a number of great dialogue writers. One of these is James Brooks. Read the following dialogues from Broadcast News. Then read them aloud, and listen to their rhythms. Notice that each line reveals something about the character. Notice, too, the difference between the dialogue of one character and that of another.

  The assistant says to Jane:

  ASSISTANT In every way but socially, you're my role model.

  Or, in a conversation between Jane and Tom:

  JANE

  I saw the taped outtakes of the interview with the girl. I know you "acted" your reaction after the interview. Working up tears for a news piece cutaway. You totally crossed the line between ...

  TOM

  It's hard not to cross it; they keep moving the little sucker, don't they?

  Or, in a conversation between Aaron and Jane:

  AARON

  Could you at least pretend that this is an awkward situation for you—me showing up while you're getting ready for a date.

  JANE

  It's not a date. It's coworkers going to a professional enclave.

  Jane, unnoticed, reaches into the paper bag, takes a small box of condoms, and drops it into her evening bag.

  Notice the elements contained in these examples. The dialogue of the assistant contains an attitude (toward Jane). Tom's dialogue shows both emotion (frustration) and a conflict of values as he strives for integrity in a career where the meaning of integrity keeps changing. Aaron's dialogue shows conflict and attitude. And Jane's dialogue shows inner conflict as she tries to balance her relationships with Tom and Aaron.

  From the above examples, we can see that great dialogue has conflict, emotions, and attitudes. It also has another essential component: the subtext.

  WHAT IS SUBTEXT?

  Subtext is what the character is really saying beneath and between the lines. Often characters don't understand themselves. They're often not direct and don't say what they mean. We might say that the subtext is all the underlying drives and meanings that are not apparent to the character, but that are apparent to the audience or reader.

  One of the most delightful examples of subtext comes from the film Annie Hall, written by Woody Allen. When Alvie and Annie first meet, they look each other over. Their dialogue is an intellectual discussion about photography, but their subtext is written in subtitles on the screen. In their subtext, she wonders if she's smart enough for him, he wonders if he's shallow; she wonders if he's a shmuck like the other men she's dated, he wonders what she looks like naked.

  In Annie Hall, both Annie and Alvie understand the subtext of their conversation. Usually, however, the characters are unconscious of the subtext. They're not aware of what they're really saying, of what they really mean.

  In Robert Anderson's play I Never Sang for My Father, there is a strong subtextual scene in the first act. It takes place in a restaurant and seems to be about a son taking his father out to dinner. The subtext of the scene is quite different. It's about the lack of communication and tension between father and son, and suppressed anger from a son who doesn't live up to his father's expectations.

  Although the subtext will always be partly dependent upon an actor's interpretation, I have inserted what might be the subtext of various lines of dialogue. The scene in the play occurs between the father (Tom), the mother (Margaret), and the son (Gene), but for the purposes of this discussion, I have condensed the scene and focused on the Tom-Gene relationship.

  Waitress comes up for drink orders: WAITRESS: Dry martini?

  TOM: (a roguish twinkle) You twist my arm. Six to one.

  (SUBTEXT: I'm quite a man to drink my martinis this dry!)

  What's your pleasure, Gene . . . Dubonnet?

  (SUBTEXT: To Tom, Gene is certainly not as much a man as he. Therefore, he wouldn't drink martinis; he'd drink , Dubonnet.)

  GENE: I'll have a martini too, please.

  TOM: But not six to one.

  GENE: Yes, the same!

  (SUBTEXT: I defy you to think I'm any less than you are!)

  TOM: Well!

  (SUBTEXT: What an u
pstart!) Now, this is my dinner, understand?

  GENE: No, I invited you.

  TOM: Uh-uh, you had all the expenses of coming to get us.

  (SUBTEXT: Look what a generous father I am—and how fair-minded! And remember, you don't make enough money to pay for this trip—and pay for my dinner!)

  GENE: No, it's mine. And order what you want. Don't go reading down the prices first. . . . Whenever I take you out to dinner, you always read down the prices first.

  (SUBTEXT: Let me give to you. I want you to enjoy the meal and yes, I can afford it.)

  TOM: I do not. But I think it's ridiculous to pay, look, $3.75 for curried shrimp.

  GENE: You like shrimp. Take the shrimp.

  TOM: If you'll let me pay for it.

  GENE: No! Now, come on.

  (SUBTEXT: For God's sake, let me treat you to this shrimp, please!)

  TOM: Look, I appreciate it, Gene, but on what you make . . .

  (SUBTEXT: You aren't as successful as I am or as I'd like you to be.)

  GENE: I can afford it. Now let's not argue.

  As the anger builds before they even have a chance to order, Tom declares: "I don't feel like anything. I have no appetite."

  WHAT IS BAD DIALOGUE?

  The elements that make up good dialogue include conflict, attitudes, emotions, and subtext. What, then, is bad dialogue?

  ■ Bad dialogue is wooden, stilted, difficult to speak.

  ■ With bad dialogue, all characters sound alike, and none of them sounds like a real person.

  ■ Bad dialogue tells the subtext. Rather than revealing character, it spells out every thought and feeling.

  ■ Bad dialogue simplifies people, instead of revealing their complexity.

  So how do you improve dialogue if you know it's flat, bland, uninteresting, or wooden?

  Let's begin with a scene that you see in many scripts. A screenwriter has been called into a meeting with a producer, who's interested in producing his script. What follows is meant to be some of the worst dialogue ever written (I take full credit for it—it was written especially for this book).

  PRODUCER Well, come in. It is a real pleasure to meet you. You know, I liked your script very much—it is really very good.

  YOUNG WRITER Well, thank you. It is my first script, and I'm really very scared about what you'll think about it. I'm from Kansas, and I have never been to a big city

  before, and I feel really lucky to meet someone like you. I have admired your work for so many years.

  PRODUCER Oh, that is very nice of you to say that. Let's talk about making a deal.

  Pretty dreadful, isn't it? It's wooden. It's boring—no life or energy to it. Both characters tell us just what they're thinking and feeling. Both characters sound the same.

  To begin with, this dialogue can be improved about 5 percent by doing nothing else but writing contractions instead of "it is" or "I have," and by taking out all such excess words as "well," "oh," "you know." Simply making it more conversational will begin to improve it. But to make the dialogue work, the scene needs to be rethought.

  I asked for help from one of my clients, a writer named Dara Marks, whose dialogue always has energy and rhythm. We worked through the process in much the same way I would work through a consulting session on dialogue. I asked the questions; we discussed; she rewrote.

  We began by looking at different aspects of the scene. First we asked, Who are these people? We know the writer is from Kansas, he's new to Los Angeles and admires the producer. We know nothing about the character of the producer.

  What are producers like? The producer stereotype is a frenetic dealmaker who's out to make a lot of money, or a fifty-year-old, cigar-smoking shark, hungry to exploit young talent. Dara and I agreed that, while any stereotype has some truth in it, most producers are quite different from that. We discussed producers we had met: those who were very relaxed and laid-back (or high), those who played tennis every afternoon, those who were nervous, those who were self-important, those who were very knowledgeable about all aspects of film.

  We discussed the various settings where we've met producers—in their offices, in restaurants, in a hotel suite if they're from out of town, in a home office, at a party, or on a racquetball court. Since we've both actually had meetings on a boat, that's where we decided to set our scene. We created a producer in his early fifties, very successful, who runs his business from the main salon off the large, airy aft deck of his ninety-foot yacht.

  Picking a more unusual setting (but one that is entirely believable in Hollywood) gave us opportunities to move away from the traditional and the predictable—and to create more interesting and real characters.

  We then thought about the attitudes of our two characters, and decided that the producer would be asleep at the top of the scene, and the young writer would be overly excited and eager.

  Keeping these three elements in mind, we reworked the scene in the following way:

  INT. YACHT—DAY

  TIGHT ON a pencil that rolls back and forth across the top of a desk as the yacht sways softly in its anchored berth. The CAMERA WIDENS to first reveal the soles of two deck shoes perched cross-legged on the desk, then the entire slumbering form of the PRODUCER comes into FOCUS. Like a baby in a crib, he rocks gently from side to side with a half-finished script laid out across his chest.

  The YOUNG WRITER appears at the cabin door, slightly off balance, and very uncomfortable at being on a boat (this is probably his first time off dry land). Awkwardly, he looks around and sees that the producer is asleep. He doesn't quite know how to handle this.

  YOUNG WRITER

  Ah-hem. The PRODUCER doesn't move.

  YOUNG WRITER

  (louder) Ah-hem . . .

  The PRODUCER casually opens one eye and glances at his watch.

  PRODUCER

  You're late.

  YOUNG WRITER I'm sorry, sir, but the bus . . .

  PRODUCER

  (sitting up) You rode a bus? . . .

  YOUNG WRITER (very uneasy) Well, yes, sir . . .

  PRODUCER I never knew anybody who rode a bus.

  (He jots down a note to himself.) Gotta try that.

  The PRODUCER lights up a cigar, which only serves to make the YOUNG WRITER more seasick.

  PRODUCER So, kid, what can I do for you?

  YOUNG WRITER (surprised) It's my script, sir, you asked to see me.

  PRODUCER

  I did?

  YOUNG WRITER nods.

  PRODUCER

  What's it called?

  YOUNG WRITER "They All Came Running," sir.

  The PRODUCER rummages through his desk.

  PRODUCER Let's see, running . . . funning . . .

  The YOUNG WRITER sees his script and points it out to PRODUCER.

  YOUNG WRITER

  That's it.

  PRODUCER Oh, yeah, the running script . . . j Running's out this year, hockey's big.

  YOUNG WRITER It's not really about running, Mr. Dinklemyer. It's about Kansas, where I'm from.

  PRODUCER Kansas, huh? Sorta corny and homespun?

  (thinks for a beat) Could start a new trend—I like it! Okay, kid, you gotta deal!

  In this reworking of the dialogue, notice that the producer's attitude is leading the scene. He has an attitude about new experiences (he might try taking the bus sometime), about Kansas (it's homespun and corny), and an attitude about commercial trends (he's successful because he has a "nose" for what's hot and what's not).

  The dialogue now has some rhythm, an unusual setting that could be used by actor and director, a feeling for the producer's character, and an attitude for him. But we still don't have much of a sense of the young writer.

  To begin developing his character, we began with his backstory. We decided that he has come out to Los Angeles and has given himself exactly a year to sell his script. This is the last day of the year, and at this point, he figures he has nothing to lose. He is angry, frustrated, and feeling a bit hopeless about
the whole situation.

  Just as the producer leads the scene through his attitude, we decided that the young writer will lead the scene through conflict and emotion.

  We then reapproached the scene, keeping most of the elements we liked from the last draft, but now focusing on the young writer's contribution to the scene:

  INT. YACHT—DAY

  The YOUNG WRITER sticks his head inside the door, and is very annoyed to see the PRODUCER sound asleep.

  YOUNG WRITER

  Ah-hem. The PRODUCER doesn't move.

  YOUNG WRITER (very loud) Ah-hem . . .

  The PRODUCER awakes with a start, embarrassed to be caught napping.

  PRODUCER (fumbling to pull himself together) You're late!

  YOUNG WRITER

  (amazed)

  I've been here since nine this morning.

  PRODUCER Well, I'm a busy man.

  (shuffles some papers around his desk) So, what'd'ya got?

  YOUNG WRITER About six hours before I gotta be on a bus back t'Wichita.

  PRODUCER

  You ride the bus?

  YOUNG WRITER Something wrong with that?

  PRODUCER No, I just never knew anybody who did that before.

  YOUNG WRITER Well, we're the people who watch your movies. You oughta try it sometime.

  PRODUCER I don't think I like your attitude.

  YOUNG WRITER (blowing his cool) I'm not selling my attitude, sir! I'm selling my script, so either buy it or I'm going back to the farm.

  PRODUCER What farm? What script?

  YOUNG WRITER (exasperated) The script you wanted to see me about.

  PRODUCER I did? What's it called?

  YOUNG WRITER "They All Came Running,"

  The PRODUCER rummages through his desk.

  PRODUCER Running stories went out with disco!

  YOUNG WRITER It's not really about running, for God's sake, it's about the plight of the displaced dirt farmer in Kansas.

  PRODUCER Dirt, huh? Who cares about dirt?

  YOUNG WRITER (throws his hands up in the air) I give up! I'm going home. . . .