Upgrade To Screenplay Specifics

Upgrade To Screenplay Specifics

New writers' descriptions invariably suffer from a crippling lack of specifics. Locations are often blasé and one-note ("INT. BAR" or "INT. SUPERMARKET"), personal descriptions vague and uninspired ("He drives a yellow car and wears dark sunglasses" or "She's an exotic beauty that men want to possess").

http://screenplay.biz/the-best-unproduced-screenplays-in-hollywood/ 

First problem with this approach is making the writer look lazy as hell -- not the critical first impressions any of us should be striving to make. Lame "choices" such as these just sort of sit there, don't they, like moist, listless turds. Level of difficulty? Zero. Any dyslexic first grader could have done as much. By keying them in you're offering public confession to your lack of imagination and creative involvement -- a de facto "I could give a shit" and/or "I don't want to work too hard at this".

 

Dude, where's the passion? What happened to the Rock 'N Roll?

 

If the writer isn't passionate about these choices, how the hell can they expect a reader to get fired up about them?

 

Potential readers are like any good Friday night crowd seeing an up-and-coming band. They can only feed off whatever energy the performer (you) gives them. If your shit's out of tune, your guitar playing low-energy and lifeless, motherfuckers ain't gonna dance.

 

The tragic thing about going soft is that you're forfeiting an opportunity to enrich your screenplay so comprehensively. Because one massive benefit of using well-chosen specifics is that it personalizes the writing for anyone reading it, making it feel textural and a thousand times more real in their eyes.

 

Screenwriting is essentially a process of turning nonsense into make-believe. Nothing accomplishes that better than scripting your people, places and things (Schoolhouse Rock in da house!) in Technicolor, giving readers a vivid, visual point of reference they can quickly internalize and make their own. Minor as they may seem, detailed specifics provide the figurative "dirt under the fingernails" capable of bringing any writer's narrative to life.

 

Instead of the mundane "INT. BAR", push yourself into more textural terrain. Something along the lines of say, "INT. FIREFLY LOUNGE" -- a Barfly-era L.A. nightspot where top of every hour they light the bar on fire. Or "INT. THE ARSENAL" -- a Westside speakeasy decorated wall-to-wall with ancient weapons; battle axes, muskets, samurai swords, WWII pistols, etc.

 

See how these examples offer ten times the descriptive firepower? They engage you, pique your interest, get you involved in what's happening from the location alone.

 

Isn't that the trick of any great writer? To get the reader's imagination doing a lion's share of the heavy lifting, enlist them as willing accomplices to better sell your dreamscape? Anytime you recognize legit truth in a description, it elevates the material, makes it that much more personal. And personal connection is what good storytelling is about.

 

All of us love to get lost in a good story. We're delighted to take that trip whenever possible -- which accounts for the tens of millions of books, movies, TV shows and graphic novels available across the globe. Folks will suspend disbelief about as far as intellectually possible if you'll simply give them something they like, something worthy of committing to.

 

Professional reads of a screenplay are no different. Entertain the nice people while spinning your yarn, make them glad they took the time, and whether they buy, consider or pass, they'll love you for it.

 

Going back to our example, bare minimum something like "INT. SUPERMARKET" is swapped-out with a common chain like "INT. RALPH'S" or 'INT. WHOLE FOODS MARKET", etc. But kids, you can still go so much bigger. The sky's the limit, everything from "INT. CLOWN LIQUORS" to "INT. JUNIOR'S MEAT-A-PLENTY" just waiting for your invention. Remember the name of the '50's malt shop in Pulp Fiction? Jackrabbit Slims. Perfection, right? Try seasoning your choices to taste along these same lines. No matter what the situation or what you're describing, it should always seek to service the story at maximum capacity.

 

Another big league upgrade? Character specifics. When done expertly, how your characters are presented within your screenplay's world gives readers revelatory glimpses of who these folks are on the inside. Personality stuff that plays awkward at best if forced to reveal it through expository dialogue.

 

"He drives a yellow car and wears dark sunglasses." Again, think specifics. What kind of car? A bumble-bee yellow Testarossa or a Reagan-era Mazda 280Z with the driver's door smooshed in? See how much difference that one detail gives us at just a glance? Specifics. What kind of sunglasses -- $2000 Chrome Hearts or BluBlockers bought off QVC? Big gap between those two customer bases, don't you think?

 

"She's an exotic beauty that men want to possess." Exotic how? Are we hinting at ethnicity? Is this jaw-dropping hottie French, Persian, Inupiat or Vietnamese? Or is it more a question of style? Her yellow 1950's Bouton D'Or dress or that Cartier necklace brashly sprinkled with pink diamonds? (Or are you politely trying to say she has big breasts? If so, try "stacked", "buxom" or "built like a brick shithouse" instead. No worries, on the house. Happy to help.)

 

While we're on the topic, let's all agree to quit using the word "beautiful" in any script ever again. It's a wasted word with zero impact. Of course the dramatic female lead is beautiful -- it's the movies for chris'sake. Ugly people don't get cast in those roles.

 

One of the finest character descriptions I've ever seen is found in Tony Gilroy's The Bourne Identity. It's of Chris Cooper's C.I.A. character Chester Conklin -- "Ivy League Oliver North. Buttoned down. Square jaw." How's that for specific? Eight words tell us everything we need to know -- the first four alone putting it in the hall of fame. I aspire to sell characters with that same surgical level of coloration in my own writing, and yeah, shit is hard; but great writers do it all the time. They invest the necessary effort working and reworking a passage until it's as refined and impactful as possible.

 

(By the way, Gilroy's description of C.I.A. underling Zorn is also top notch, and it's only three words -- "Brilliant bloodless lapdog.")

 

Don't forget -- characters' names are also capable of saying a lot in themselves; becoming evocative and surprisingly informative, whether in tone or feel or by literal interpretation.

 

Michael Douglas' "Gordon Gekko" in Wall Street -- as slippery, cold-blooded and cunning as his namesake lizard. Christopher Walken's "Hickey" in Last Man Standing -- a psychotic killer with menacing facial scars. Robin Williams' "Seymour Parrish" in One Hour Photo -- creepy and odd and forever out of sorts. James Earl Jones' "Thulsa Doom" in Conan The Barbarian -- the ultimate source of towering evil which dominates the film. And what about little "Damien Thorn" in The Omen? Sweet-sounding nick for the Kindergarten-sized son of Satan himself, right?

 

Cooking this stuff up is actually fun for me, one part of the process I sincerely enjoy. There's an infinite palette of shadings for any writer to explore in this arena, and it's a killer device for further racking your characters into focus.

 

Specificity plays a key part in any great screenplay. So please, fellas, consider all these elements with great care. There's meat and there's a Morton's ribeye. There's music and there's Exile On Main Street. There are books and then there's Fear In Loathing In Las Vegas.

 

For legit writers, surgical grace notes such as these can enhance the stranger's read a hundredfold. This is truly one of those cases where "God is in the details.