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").
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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.
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