Words in Action

by Paolo Braga

  This is the case in the conversation between Lowell and Wigand in The Insider. Lowell’s first intention has been declared because it can be. He wants some expert advice about the document he has in front of him. And that is what he says. Lowell’s second intention cannot be declared. He wants to know what Wigand really knows.

  Lowell plays on this declared intent to keep all communication channels open with Wigand and to gently attain his real objective. Lowell risks conflict in achieving this ulterior motive because Wigand shows reluctance, still worn by such a trying decision.

  We could say that the conversation involves Wigand’s need. True. In theory, each and every dialogue in a movie should refer to the need of the main character. However, the audience still knows little about him, which is why the entire dialogue focuses on what the chemist implies: “I know what you really want from me.” Lowell clearly perceives this. Also, Wigand makes it known that if he is to become a source, he wants discretion and protection. It’s a deal made in exchange for complying with the reporter’s unspoken request.

  Even in the opening scene of The Godfather, the subtext is strategic. On the surface, Don Vito acts offended because the man who is asking him to avenge his daughter has never shown interest in becoming friends before. Under the surface, Don Vito implies that the man must become one of “the family” in exchange for the favor he is asking. This is clearly not the path the girl’s father had intended to take, but this is not why the scene is so intriguing. What captivates the audience is Don Vito’s ‘indecent proposal’, which is made and accepted without ever being clearly spoken (“Now you are part of the organization”. “You have made a pact that can never be broken.” “You cannot back out now.” ← 110 | 111 → Each of these sentences are implied, but never actually said. Don Vito, instead, only asks for the man’s friendship and a kiss on the hand.).

  Schindler’s List (directed by Steven Spielberg and written by Steven Zaillian, USA 1993) offers another example of strategic subtext (made purposely obvious) when Schindler (Liam Neeson) talks for the first time, in private, with Amon Goeth (Ralph Fiennes), the director of the concentration camp in Krakow.

  Schindler protests because his Jewish workers have been deported and he wanted them to keep working for him. Goeth, knowing how skilled Schindler is in public relations (parties, French wines, women, gift-giving, etc.), tells him: “Scherner told me something else about you. That you know the meaning of the word gratitude. That it’s not some vague thing with you like it is with others”. Goeth then refers to what Schindler needs (“I know you. What you want is your own sub-camp…”). Then, pretending to complain, Goeth emphasizes the difficulties Schindler will have to face, implying that Schindler really needs his help (“Do you have any idea what is involved? The paperwork alone? You’ve got to build the fucking thing. Getting the fucking permits is enough to drive you crazy. Then the engineers show up, they stand around, they argue about drainage, foundations, codes, exact specifications, fences four kilometers long, twelve hundred kilograms of barbed wire, six thousand kilograms of electrified fences, ceramic insulators, three cubic meters of air spaces per prisoner. I’m telling you, you want to shoot somebody. I’ve been through it. I know.”).

  Schindler is not at all put out by Goeth’s greediness. This was what he was hoping for and feeds him his closing remark (“Well, you know. You have been through it. You could make things easier for me. I’d be grateful.”).

  In this scene, asking for money in exchange of favors is easily-readable subtext, re-enforced by a commonly used understatement (“gratitude” to mean “corruption”). The ingenuity of the writing can be seen in the screenwriter’s choice to have Goeth use an indirect strategy to propose an illegal bargain to Schindler. Indeed, he complains about the complications in building an over-planned concentration camp. It is a double psychological subtlety that portrays Goeth’s unbalanced personality. He is a man incapable of thinking beyond the ideology he has ← 111 | 112 → been educated for (camps, sub-camps, etc…), even as he pursues his own petty interest. Goeth is an insecure man who succumbs to Schindler’s charisma. He would like to emulate him, ultimately becoming his equal (“I’ve been through the same thing…”). Zaillian ironically introduced these psychological nuances even before the dialogue gets to the point.

  After hearing Schindler’s objections, before making his own proposition, Goeth calls the Jewish waitress to fill their glasses. Goeth dismisses her, but as soon as he notices that Schindler has thanked her, the officer stops her. Wanting to emulate Schindler, Goeth violates the customs of the house and, he too, says thank you; a shy “thank you” spoken by the man who, just minutes later, will put the word “gratitude” to shame.

  Attraction between man and woman is one of the main sources of strategic subtext. A character does not often openly express his feelings for fear of rejection, timing (it may be too soon or inappropriate at the moment) or the other may already be spoken for. For this reason, feelings are left unspoken. The character waits, tests the waters, then tries to make his feelings understood without coming out and saying it.

  An example of this can be seen in the film Drive (directed by Nicolas Winding Refn, written by Hossein Amini, USA 2011). The man (Ryan Gosling) is a stuntman hired by criminals as a getaway driver for robberies. The woman (Carey Mulligan) is a young mother who has suffered greatly at the hands of her husband who is now in prison. The “driver” has moved into the apartment next to the woman’s and has only seen her around. He officially meets her and her child at the supermarket when her car breaks down. He drives her home and helps her bring in the groceries. The silence between them once inside her apartment expresses more than words.

  He asks her about the picture hanging on the wall. She tells him it’s of her husband, who is in prison, then asks about his job. When she finds out he is a stuntman, she asks in a sincere tone, “Isn’t that dangerous?” Silence. The immediate feelings they both sense suddenly rush to the surface and become tangible- what would it be like to act on these feelings? The situation (two young, lonely people who could soften one another’s hearts), the silence, the absence of the child’s father… Even ← 112 | 113 → the audience picks up on their thoughts, but now, thanks to the actors, they feel the intensity too.

  “Isn’t that dangerous?” The look on the girl’s face is sweet and promising. Their eyes meet and hold, in silence, for a few seconds. He answers, “It’s only part-time. Mostly I work in a garage.” The man’s expression, which has been void of all emotion until now, finally relaxes. He lowers his guard so the girl’s eyes don’t lose their tenderness. But it is too soon. Such feelings may not even be possible. He says, “I gotta go.” As he leaves, however, his eyes have lost some of their loneliness.

  In this dialogue, through each character’s backstory and lines that do not pertain to their actual feelings, the screenwriter has created the contours of subtext. The actors then create the actual subtext, filling in the gaps left by the script, by acting out their reciprocal attraction, their desire to take care of someone and to have someone to lean on.

  This is an excellent example of what can be said about subtext. Subtext is the actor’s stage.

  Unspoken attraction between a man and a woman takes on its own particular style when masked behind witty confrontation. When the dialogue between a man and a woman becomes a case of holding one’s own with the irony of the other, the implicit fondness between the two characters is accompanied by a warning (understood through subtext) that if something blossoms between them, neither of them wants to let the other gain control of the game. This kind of subtext can be expressed as, “Know that I can rise to the occasion because you will give in. Let’s see if I can say the same thing about you”. Since female emancipation has inspired strong and independent female characters, usually it is the woman who defies the man.

  This is the case in Casino Royale (directed by Martin Campbell, written by Neal Purvis, Robert Wade and Paul Haggis, USA/Czech Republic/UK/Bahamas
2006). James Bond (Daniel Craig) is on a train when he meets the woman he will fall in love with, Vesper (Eva Green), an official from the British treasury who will give him the money he needs to play an important poker game against the film’s villain.

  Vesper is beautiful and knows the effect she will have on a man like Bond. She uses an allusive and teasing line to introduce herself. She says, “I’m the money.” Bond readily answers, “Every penny of it.”

  ← 113 | 114 → This is the premise of a dialogue that focuses on a poker game (the game Bond is going to play with the villain) and where the dialogue develops in the same way a poker game would (raise and call). The two tease each other, call each other’s bluff, try to find out more information about the other’s past and about their weaknesses, all masked behind false bravado. Haggis, the screenwriter, shows his skill in this lengthy dialogue. Vesper cunningly challenges the greatest of all secret agents.

  In the following example, Vesper gives Bond a hard time as she points out that she knows the meaning of the word “bluff” in poker (Bond allusively says: “You’ve heard the term. Then you’ll also know that in poker you never play your hand. You play the man across from you.” Vesper skeptically responds: “And you’re good at reading people?” Bond: “Yes, I am. Which is why I’ve been able to detect an undercurrent of sarcasm in your voice.” Vesper: “I’m now assured our money is in good hands.” She says this as if the sarcasm in her voice weren’t already evident, as if Bond required great skill to pick up on it).

  The irony is even more evident as they are having dinner at the end of the train sequence. Vesper implies she is aware she has been talking to a womanizer. While she does not entirely look down on his “qualities”, the audience senses something between them as she warns Bond. She is not willing to be one of his victims (Vesper: “Now, having just met you, I wouldn’t go as far as calling you a cold-hearted bastard.” Bond: “No, of course not.” Vesper: “But it wouldn’t be a stretch to imagine. You think of women as disposable pleasures rather than meaningful pursuits. So as charming as you are Mr. Bond, I will be keeping my eye on our government’s money and off your perfectly formed arse.” Bond: “You noticed?” Vesper: “Even accountants have imagination. How was your lamb?” Bond: “Skewered. One sympathizes.” Bond admits she is both charming and clever enough to work him over, definitely not the usual Bond girl)51.

  Another type of strategic subtext is based on a silent pact, a taboo. The naked Emperor remains naked because all the characters concur ← 114 | 115 → with silence, no one states the obvious. Tension is generated by the conscious and mutual effort to not get involved in any “inconvenient” truths. The subtext implies “pretend it doesn’t exist”.

  In a beautiful miniseries on the Kennedy family (The Kennedys, directed and written by Joel Surnow and Stephen Kronish, USA/Canada 2011), a bitter scene perfectly demonstrates this kind of implied subtext.

  Notwithstanding the Kennedy’s commitment to their Nation and their family’s reputation, with no chagrin and yet with great dramatic sensibility, the series deals with both John Fitzgerald and his father Joseph’s, the patriarch, weak point – marital unfaithfulness. In the second episode, the screenwriter creates a scene that shows first-hand how the patriarch’s weakness is repelled through an excruciating code of silence.

  On the eve of the presidential elections, late night at the Kennedys’ house, Joseph Kennedy Sr. (Tom Wilkinson) accompanies his personal assistant Michelle to the door. They are lovers. Meeting his kiss, the assistant has passionate words for the old Kennedy (“I miss being with you Joe.”). Their intimacy, however, is interrupted as they notice Mrs. Kennedy staring poker-faced at the two of them.

  Cold and aristocratic, Rose Kennedy makes an obvious effort to contain her indignation as she steps towards them. The two only stare at her. While only the assistant seems to be embarrassed, the tension in the scene is tangible. The audience expects Rose to cry out in rage. Surprisingly, however, she does no such thing. She approaches them with an icy smile and Lady Kennedy politely dismisses her husband’s assistant (“It’s chilly out there. Would you like a sweater?”).

  After the door closes, Joseph, who has followed every move to make sure that everything goes smoothly, as he has obviously done many times before, smiles lovingly and says, “Shall we go to bed, Rosy girl?”. His wife maintains her painfully composed attitude, not saying a word. The two turn, and as if nothing has happened, begin climbing the stairs together.

  The Kennedy reputation must be preserved and this is the price. This is the difficult and silent agreement Mrs. Kennedy has made with her husband.

  ← 115 | 116 → Strategic subtext is particularly used in TV series. High-quality TV series, like American ones, have main characters that have strong moral needs. The screenwriters create the subtext around this need. In a long running series, however, screenwriters need to delay the solution of the characters’ need as much as possible. In order to do this, they are forced to look for tension through the strategic dimension. For this reason, subtext is created from superficial and temporary issues, often depending on the theme of a single episode.

  We would like to analyze this type of subtext in a famous dialogue known for its powerful and ironic climax. This example will demonstrate how the ulterior motive is used to create and manage conflict.

  The West Wing. “We’re gonna get the names of the damn commandments right”

  The pilot episode of one of the most ambitious, expansive and successful series in the history of American television was written with just one line in mind, a powerful and effective line placed right at the end of the climax, said within a dialogue distinguished by two different ulterior motives. At the beginning of this key scene, the audience is only aware of one of the two ulterior motives, the other is a surprise revelation later on within the same scene.

  The West Wing (USA 1999-2006) is about the staff of an imaginary Democratic President of the United States, Josiah Bartlet (Martin Sheen). It is the backstage of a progressive administration working in the West Wing of the White House, represented by a mix of drama and humor typical of screenwriter Aaron Sorkin, creator of the series.

  In the opening episode, crafted by Sorkin with as much ingenuity as risk, the main character, Bartlet, is off-screen for most of the episode. His staff is on their own while their Commander in Chief is on vacation at his country estate where he has broken his ankle. His staff is actually relieved by his absence. One of the staff members has thoughtlessly created a political scene that would have infuriated his boss. Josh Lyman (Bradley Whitford), the young, belligerent and passionate Vice-Chief of Staff has hastily accused Mary Marsh (a member of the Christian conservative party) of fiscal fraud. The administration now risks losing part ← 116 | 117 → of the Christian party’s votes and must be settled before the President returns to Washington. If the storm doesn’t blow over, the President will most likely force Josh to resign to stop the rightwing from adding more fuel to the fire.

  The staff members make their best efforts to save their colleague. After secret talks with Mary Marsh’s (Annie Corley) political group, an agreement is reached. The opponent will bury the hatchet in exchange for an invitation to the White House, an official apology from the staff and a favorable mention during the next presidential speech.

  The rescue plan has been hatched by the Chief of Communications, Toby Ziegler (Richard Schiff). Perfectionist, grouchy and irritable, Toby is mad at Josh for having created such a mess and for being so stubborn in admitting he was wrong. Even still, Josh is a friend and Toby doesn’t let friends down.

  THE SCENE. When the meeting with Mary Marsh begins in a room of the White House, the screenplay has already given the audience an idea of what they should think about Mary and her rightwing Christians. Through the characters’ dialogue, Sorkin has labeled Mary Marsh’s party as radical. In private, staff members have even admitted that Josh was right to flare up during the debate, that people like her are only tolerated out of poli
tical convenience.

  This awful “off-the-record” opinion the staff members have of Mary along with their concern for saving Josh’s job, creates a great example of dialogue that illustrates the connection between subtext and conflict. The presence of subtext fuels the conflict. The absence of subtext, when real thoughts are revealed, makes conflict explode. The latter is most pertinent in this case.

  Toby and Josh sit on one side of a couch. The rest of the staff members remain in the background. Mary Marsh, middle-aged, bitter, resentful and lacking all humor, sits on the other side of the couch. The good-natured Reverend Caldwell and the not-so-brilliant politician Mr. Van Dyke sit next to her.

  ← 117 | 118 → Reverend Caldwell is the first to speak, addressing Josh:

  CALDWELL

  I’m surprised at you, Josh. I’ve

  always counted you as a friend.

  Caldwell has not even finished saying how much Josh’s behavior hurt him when Josh starts apologizing in an unusually humble manner.

  JOSH

  And I’m honored by that, Reverend.

  First, let me say that when I spoke

  on the program yesterday, I was not

  speaking for the President or this

  administration. That’s important

  to know. Second, please allow me

  to apologize. My remarks were glib

  and insulting. I was going for the

  cheap laugh, and anybody willing to

  step up and debate ideas deserves

  better than a political punch line.

  We know what ulterior motive lurks behind this apology. Josh does not mean what he says (the audience knows that he does not feel “honored” by having friends in the rightwing Christian party). His real intention is to avoid being fired. This is what gives us subtext from the very first words of his line.

  Mary, however, knows exactly what Josh really feels and tries to use it to her advantage.