Words in Action
Page 15
50Bobette Buster – Professor at the University of Southern California, screenwriter and one of the most appreciated story consultants, decisively underlines the root of this kind of subtext, observing that, “ultimately all stories are about either someone becoming fully alive or becoming the living dead.” Deep subtext is produced when this dramatic alternative is conveyed through intense unspoken meaning.
51Linda Seger makes the same analysis in Writing Subtext, cit., without calling it “strategic subtext”.
52There is not much literature regarding this kind of subtext. The only contribution – deep, but not extensive – is the article that Mike Jones, an Australian script doctor, dedicated to the subject in his blog: “Subtext − Secrets and Lies”, February 17th 2011,
53Terry Rossio (screenwriter of Shrek and Pirates of the Caribbean: the Curse of the Black Pearl) makes enriching observations about dramatic irony on his blog: “Dramatic Irony - Screenwriting Column 48”,
← 140 | 141 →
Chapter 3
Dialogue and exposition
Film dialogue is concise (it uses the least amount of words and lines possible so that it doesn’t get in the way of action), but rich in content (to fuel action) as it expresses the confrontation between characters and the development of the relationships between them.
Screenwriting techniques have resolved these two conflicting needs together, seeking to enhance the capacity of the human mind, if appropriately guided, to process specific information and make the necessary hypotheses to complete it with implicit information.
The means of elaborating information by integrating it with the unspoken information most pertinent to the conversation is called interpretative inference or abduction54. This form of reasoning helps the screenwriter to cut down on lines, allowing the content to be mentally deduced by the characters and, thus, also the audience. Interpretative inference allows for there to be dramatic subtext.
Even real-life dialogue leaves much unspoken, but screenplays use unspoken content in a more continuous, enriching and direct way (to broaden the knowledge of the speaker and to create possible conflict). This concept is understood well by comparing characters’ spoken lines to the tip of an iceberg.
Each of the scenes previously analyzed confirms this. For example, Avner in the film Munich, is torn. In order to make him face up to his contradictory nature (an Israeli patriot who supports justice, a civilian and a father who loves and desires peace in his homeland, but also a killer whose conscience weighs on him), Carl does not dwell on moral considerations, he simply says “mazeltov”.
← 141 | 142 → In The Lives of Others, in order to dissuade the actress Christa Maria from lying to herself and to others and to open her eyes to the serious artistic and individual consequences of continuing to sell herself to a powerful man, Wiesler does not make a long speech. He simply says, “You see? You weren’t yourself at all just then”.
In Crash, to make Cameron fully aware of what will happen to his job if he disobeys the tacit rules about discrimination against blacks in show business, Fred (the producer) simply asks him, “Is there a problem?”.
The deductions made from these lines emphasize what is at stake between the characters and are fundamental to understanding the characters themselves, their personality and their type of human nature. A single line can say many different things.
An example can be found in Gladiator (directed by Ridley Scott and written by David Franzoni, John Logan, William Nicholson, USA 2000). At the beginning of the film, from the frontlines, the Barbarian army sends a powerful message back to the Roman army to show them they have no intention of surrendering. The Roman army’s messenger’s horse is sent back with the messenger in the saddle, decapitated. Upon seeing the horse with the cadaver and certain of the power of the Roman troops, Quintus, the protagonist’s assistant, states, “People should know when they’re conquered”. Maximus (Russell Crowe) then asks, “Would you, Quintus? Would I?”.
This line is full of information. Maximus is someone who would prefer to die on the battlefield than lose the battle, someone who knows the enormous bout of courage it takes to fight for one’s people, a patriot who is not swayed by the cruelty of an enemy but by his own value and, finally, someone who believes in the people working at his side.
A Few Good Men presents another example of this. During Kaffee’s interrogation of the despotic colonel Jessep, he asks the colonel to indicate if, according to him, the homicide victim in question was in “grave danger”. Jessep replies, “Is there another kind?”. This single line paints a clear portrait of the colonel. He’s a contemptuous and unscrupulous man with the credentials to be so because he lives in a constant state of war. He is a man so accustomed to risking his life that all other risks are of little consequence to him, very different from the young lawyer ← 142 | 143 → in front of him who he deems weak and hypocrite, someone who speaks about different degrees of danger only because real danger is foreign to him.
The problem of exposition
Bringing the audience to make a conclusion can do a lot for the story, but it cannot do everything. There are cases in which the screenwriter needs the audience to explicitly receive information through words, that cannot be deduced through visual or verbal clues, such as places, dates, names, historical circumstances, social factors, a character’s origins, family situations and specific events from the past. Sometimes explicit dialogue is the only alternative. For example, “saying why” is the easiest way to transmit knowledge there is not enough time to add scenes for (i.e. like with a character’s backstory) or when the audience needs to be given detailed or expertise knowledge about a specific, sometimes even complicated, topic that requires a clear explanation (i.e. procedural matters in legal and medical dramas or politics in spy/espionage movies, etc.).
Dialogue must, therefore, also be used by screenwriters to resolve the problem of exposition. Consequently, screenwriters are forced to use words to transmit knowledge in a comprehensible way, not to generate drama. Words, thus, represent potential fiction in the inner narrative workings of involvement55.
Moreover, exposition is not necessary for the characters’ comprehension, which would seem unnatural, but for the audience’s (i.e. when characters know each other well or in situations when characters do not need to hear what the audience needs to hear in order to understand one another).
← 143 | 144 → In fact, the problem of exposition is typical of screenplays for TV series premieres. There are many characters and little time for all of them to be introduced to the audience, but it has to be done immediately in order to capture the audience’s attention and to prevent them from changing the channel. For this reason, information must be given about the characters through dialogue. If, however, the characters are colleagues or family members, they already know each other well and don’t need to introduce themselves, tell each other what they do i
n life or reaffirm their own relationships. It is the screenwriter’s job to find a way to do this in order for the characters in the series to tell each other what the audience needs to know without taking away from the realism of the dialogue. The screenwriter’s goal is to write invisible exposition56.
The screenwriting techniques to solve the problem of exposition
Resolving the problem of exposition means making sure the information given does not produce a lull in audience involvement or come across as artificial. There are essentially four screenplay techniques that do this: dramatizing the information, accompanying it with irony, using examples and creating expectations. There are two things to note when applying these techniques ‒ continue working as much as possible on subtext and distribute the information in small doses, across more than one dialogue.
← 144 | 145 →
Dramatization of exposition
Dramatizing information means:
•giving characters reasons, within a situation or within a relationship, to give information that the audience needs to hear. If the situation does not have a reason, then you need to find one;
•giving reasons for conflict, so that, with this information, one character makes things difficult for another, responds to the difficulties created for him by the other speaker or involuntarily gives the other character the opportunity to get in his way. McKee has been quoted many times for saying, “turn exposition into ammunition”. When information serves the purpose of reacting for or against someone, provoking opposition, it is no longer inactive, but dynamic. It creates expectations towards the development of the story and fuels attention and curiosity.
The following are some examples from A Few Good Men and ER.
In two scenes at the beginning of the film A Few Good Men, Sorkin, the screenwriter, informs the audience of the protagonist’s backstory with information that the speaker uses to put the character down.
Joanne (Demi Moore), Kaffee’s (protagonist) colleague and ally on the difficult case assigned to the young lawyer, is a dutiful traditionalist and has no tolerance for indifference. When the two of them meet for the first time in Joanne’s office, she has already taken the case to heart while Kaffee, a brilliant slacker, has evidently not. Accompanied by his friend Sam, the young lawyer seems more interested in the apple he’s been chewing on since he arrived than anything else. Joanne is immediately annoyed and instigates him. She asks him for some information that, given her first impression of him, she already presumed – demeaning information that Joanne knows will go against Kaffee, will make him feel inferior to the case and will, as she hopes, convince him to stop underestimating the case they must take on together.
In response, Sam and Kaffee face Joanne’s skepticism, giving her the information she requests in a way that irritates her and adding information to contradict her preconceptions.
← 145 | 146 → Here is the dialogue:
JOANNE
Lieutenant, how long have you been
in the Navy?
KAFFEE
Going on nine months now.
JOANNE
And how long have you been out of
law school?
KAFFEE
A little over a year.
JOANNE
(dissatisfied)
I see.
KAFFEE
Have I done something wrong?
JOANNE
It’s just that when I petitioned
Division to have counsel assigned I
was hoping I’d be taken seriously.
KAFFEE
No offense taken, in case you were
wondering.
SAM
Commander, Lieutenant Kaffee is
generally considered the best
litigator in our office. He’s
successfully plea-bargained
44 cases in nine months.
← 146 | 147 → KAFFEE
One more, I get a set of steak
knives.
JOANNE
Have you ever been in a courtroom?
KAFFEE
I once had my driver’s license
suspended.
SAM
Danny…
KAFFEE
Commander, from what I understand,
if this thing goes to court they
won’t need a lawyer, they’ll need a
priest.
JOANNE
No, they’ll need a lawyer.
The audience has been made aware of Kaffee’s past, his talents and his inexperience (he has never been inside a courtroom and cannot, thus, call himself an accomplished lawyer) all without the audience realizing the screenwriter wanted them to have this information and without the audience getting bored.
Soon after this dialogue, another dialogue between Joanne and Kaffee makes the rest of Kaffee’s life known to the audience.
Kaffee is playing softball and Joanne approaches him on the field. The young lawyer intends on closing the case as soon as possible with the least amount of damage to his clients (the accused) and without fighting for their innocence.
To shake Kaffee up a bit, Joanne reveals that she has some information on him that has, once again, created strong doubts about his capability to perform on this case:
← 147 | 148 → JOANNE
Lieutenant, would you be very insulted
if I recommended to your
supervisor that he assign different
counsel?
KAFFEE
Why?
JOANNE
I don’t think you’re fit to handle
it.
KAFFEE
You don’t even know me. Ordinarily,
it takes someone hours to discover
I’m not fit to handle a defense…
(a short beat)
Oh, come on. That was damn funny!
JOANNE
You’re wrong. I do know you. Daniel
Alistair Kaffee, born June 8, 1964
at Boston Mercy Hospital. Your
father’s Lionel Kaffee former Navy
judge advocate and attorney general
of the United States. Died 1985.
You went to Harvard law. Then you
joined the Navy probably because
that’s what your father wanted you
to do. And now you’re just treading
water for three years in the JAG
Corps. Just laying low till you can
get out and get a real job.
(aggressive)
If that’s the situation, that’s
fine. I won’t tell anyone. But it’s
my feeling that if this case is
handled in the same fast-food,
← 148 | 149 → slick-ass, Persian bazaar manner
with which you seem to handle
everything else then something’s
gonna get missed. And I wouldn’t
be doing my job if allowed Dawson
and Downey to spend any more time
in prison than absolutely necessary
because their attorney had
predetermined the path of least
resistance.
KAFFEE
Wow, I’m sexually aroused,
Commander.
In usual Sorkin-style, this lengthy dialogue arrives like a spray of “ammunition” against Kaffee and culminates in a sarcastic and humiliating reprimand. Yet Kaffee doesn’t bat an eye and ends the dialogue, outdoing his colleague, with a teasing remark that enters into the personal sphere.
Even the pilot episode of ER uses dramatized exposition to immediately reveal, in the first two minutes of the premiere, essential information about the protagonists. Two examples.
The series must immediately make the audience empathize with the main character, Dr. Greene (Anthony Edwards), by expressing the problem that torments the doctor and absorbs him throughout the episode. The information is given through a dialogue between Greene and Dr. Ross (George
Clooney), which also provides the opportunity to introduce the two characters at the same time, saving time.
To work around the fact that Ross is one of Greene’s colleagues, a friend who already knows what’s going on in his life, for which it wouldn’t seem credible for him to be specific, the screenwriter goes tough on him. Ross is drunk and arrives at the hospital late at night, during Greene’s shift.
While Greene tries to assist him with the help of a nurse, Ross blabbers on, revealing everything and making things difficult for Greene:
← 149 | 150 → GREENE
Don’t worry, Doug. Just lie back.
ROSS
How’s your beautiful wife,
Jennifer?
GREENE
She’s fine, really.
ROSS
You two settle your problems?
GREENE
Everything’s okay.
ROSS
Hate to lose you in the ER, you
know.
Greene has a real problem. His wife wants him to take on a new job. He is very precise and explicit. Exposition here has slipped into a situation of conflict that gives rise to the opportunity for some information about Ross, too:
NURSE
Does he always do this?
GREENE
Only on his nights off.
The second example is more refined, taking place a few minutes later.
The emergency room is swept over by a real emergency. A building in construction has collapsed and the wounded are pouring in. While the series shows a frenetic group of doctors swarming around, it still has to introduce some of the main characters. The series must describe these characters to the audience, provide information that ← 150 | 151 → connects them to the series and build the context around them. Given all the commotion in the ER, however, there isn’t much time to do this.
In the midst of all this tension, the audience is introduced to Dr. Lewis (Sherry Stringfield) through a very effective use of exposition. Exposition here is helped by the audience’s own conclusions.
The doctor is inside an examination room, where all the commotion and chaos of the ER is muffled. She is examining a patient that has survived the collapse of the building. The man’s condition doesn’t seem serious. He is sitting on a hospital bed, answering the questions the doctor poses. She begins by holding up three fingers: