character – The Story Department

About Screenwriting Rules [And The 3-Act Structure]

Karel FG Segers — Sun, 16 Oct 2016 23:25:13 +0000

When How To Train Your Dragon was released, some people learned to their horror that the film was written following Blake Snyder’s beat sheet. How could such a successful – and critically acclaimed – film be written by the numbers??

Creatives hate screenwriting ‘rules’. So they should. But it is also helpful to understand what rules really are, and what they do.

Observe And Study

All Blake Snyder did (just like Field, McKee, Seger etc.), is study films and look for patterns, then describe the patterns he found in films that were successful.

Many screenwriters find this approach incredibly attractive, because it creates the illusion that you can reproduce success by replicating those patterns.

Of course it isn’t this simple.

If you ask yourself what vehicles are the fastest, you’ll see that a Ferrari is faster than a bus, and a Boeing 747 is faster than a Ferrari. Now you know that if you want to go fast, you pick the 747. Sadly, this knowledge doesn’t buy you the ticket; let alone build the airplane.

Screenwriting rules show you what is fast, not how to make it fast.

Analysis vs. Creation

Screenwriting rules, theories and books are mostly analytical. Intellectually, it can be incredibly gratifying to acquire these insights. But none of this is creative. It doesn’t get you anywhere near having a screenplay that works. What these theories do, is give you an understanding of what you need to be successful. Not how to create it.

Now you know this, you are one step closer to writing a successful screenplay. The next step is to figure out how to use this type of information practically. Let me tell you this: studying these theories by heart to apply it during the writing is not the solution. In fact, this may even hold you back by causing writer’s block.

Most working writers first come up with a concept (or else it is handed to them). Next, they write an outline, and finally they write the script. At any stage of this process, they look back at the work and reflect on it. Does it work? Where could it be improved?

This is the analytical stage.

You need to have something written before you can apply any theory to it.

Screenwriting Rules That Work

So, does it work?

Your answer to this question will initially be subjective. You’ll probably think “yes, it works”.

In your head.

The bad news: as a beginning screenwriter you may safely ignore your subjective assessment, as 99% of the time you’ll be wrong.

The great news is that you have written something. Now you can apply your analytical knowledge to it, and make a prediction based on what has worked previously.

You examine any similarities – and differences – between successful scripts, and yours. (After this, you’ll see that you were indeed wrong.)

In assessing your work, you look at the precedents, and you apply common sense. Much like this:

If successful screenplays are mostly somewhere between 90 and 130 pages, while yours is 276 pages, perhaps you should consider some cutting.
If those successful works have a balance of dialogue and description, while yours has 85% description, there’s a clue as to where to cut.
If you have only one cliffhanger on page 87, and most scripts have a climactic scene every 10-15 pages, you may have to look at your story’s structure again.
Etc.

You may think these are not hard-and-fast screenwriting rules, but many people that judge screenplays actually do.

L’Artiste

Alternatively, you can ignore all the above, and just follow your gut. Because you’re creating art.

I am not being sarcastic here.

If you are independently wealthy, and don’t need to draw an income from writing, why would you pander to any audience? Do your thing. Be bold and crazy. What do you have to lose? Ignore screenwriting rules.

The same goes for those who love the romantic idea of the poor, struggling screenwriter.

But most of you want to get your script read, right?

Trust me, no serious producer will read your 276 pages, your endless blocks of description, your badly formatted genius.

Even if they read, and nothing majorly dramatic hooks them in by page 10, that’s it. They’ll bin it. And your name may go on their blacklist. No hard feelings, they’re just trying to be efficient.

Of course there are exceptions, and if you want to bet on those, go for your life.

It makes perfect sense to try and understand what qualities are present in most successful works.

Whoever blanket-rejects the notion that there exists a set of common sense principles, is an idiot.

Does this mean you need to aim and replicate all of these principles? No. But you may want to be in the ballpark, if you want to be in the industry.

Even in the ballpark, you will need to stand out, and be different somehow. In order to be noticed, you may need to bend some rules.

How To Write

Guess what is the one thing that keeps wannabe writers from breaking through the glass ceiling. Hint: it is not a lack of knowledge of rules or principles.

The only thing that holds you back is the discipline to read scripts and write – every day.

Those who are successful have managed to create a routine that allows them to deliver work, consistently.

No amount of books or courses or gurus is going to help you overcome this challenge.

The tools or programs that will ultimately get you the closest to your goal, are the ones that help you do what you need to do on a regular basis.

The 3-Act Structure

What about the Mother Of All Screenwriting Rules… The 3-Act Structure?

Writers have rejected the 3-act structure based on what I say above: it won’t help you come up with a great story.
What the 3-act structure does help you with, is understanding structure. And structure is one of those criteria where almost every successful film seems to align.

At the end of the 1970’s, Syd Field decided to stay vaguely in the realm of Aristotle, and divide a screen story in three parts.

He gave it a label: the 3-act structure. A paradigm was born.

Can you see that there is no inherent value to this approach?

It is only because professionals need to be able to talk about story, that you need to understand their lingo.

It’s Academic

That said, you can perfectly develop your own system, and write amazing scripts. But once you’re pitching – or working with others on development – they’ll all need to know your custom-built system. Imagine every writer did this. Can you see the problem? We need a common framework.

I would argue that it is better to have a bad understanding of the 3-act structure than none at all. At least you can enter into a conversation, and learn from the people you speak with.

Some producers love showing that they understand story structure (even if they don’t), and you can forge a bond by pretending you are on their wavelength by being prepared to speak their lingo.

In essence, the 3-act structure is no more than a tool to communicate about stories.

To summarise, it really doesn’t matter how you get to write your story, and how you make them work. But sooner or later you will need to talk about them, and you better speak some generally accepted structure language.

Pick Your Label

Sure, not everyone sticks to the 3-act tool box. Some talk about Hero’s Journey, Dramatica, 4 Parts, 22 Steps, 6 Stages, etc.

You know why?

Because each guru needs a point of difference to get their stuff sold.

Only a very few have really added anything of note to the existing screenwriting rules; they simply change the labels.

Lazy, I know.

I’m incredibly tempted to add a new approach to the list, just for fun. My own structure paradigm: The 2-Act Structure. You might even like it.

But when all is said and done, the 3-act structure ends up being the most commonly accepted dramatic language for the screen.

Learn it.

Karel FG Segers

Karel Segers wrote his first produced screenplay at age 17. Today he is a story analyst with experience in acquisition, development and production. He has trained students worldwide, and worked with half a dozen Academy Award nominees. Karel speaks more European languages than he has fingers on his left hand, which he is still trying to find a use for in his hometown of Sydney, Australia. The languages, not the fingers.

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Beau Willimon, Writer Out Of Necessity

Camilla Beskow — Fri, 11 Dec 2015 21:57:38 +0000

Beau Willimon is a powder keg of clean-cut realism, childlike curiosity and sharp wit. During his Bafta speech, Willimon covers political writing, research in everyday life and the importance of finding your characters’ inmost needs.

“I don’t think writing is a choice. It’s not a career. It’s something that’s born of necessity.
If I didn’t write, I’d go bonkers.”

A question commonly thrown at screenwriters is the big and heavy why. Why does one write? Beau Willimon (House of Cards, Farragut North) responds passionately. An expressive speaker, Willimon doesn’t cower from telling the brutal truth about life within his profession.

“There’s a lot about writing that’s not very pretty. In fact, if you can do anything else, you probably should. It’s life that’s full with rejection and humiliation, self-loathing and self-doubt.”

Writing for the screen isn’t your typical nine-to-five work. It doesn’t ensure financial security, healthy routines or social acceptance. In spite of this, Beau Willimon has evidently “chosen” this profession, and agrees that some not only should, but must write.

“If you need to grab at the cosmic and without it you have no bearing, then it’s the life for you and those are the things you need to endure.”

What Willimon keeps coming back to is that writing is not a “want”, but rather a “have to”. Spectacular artists are invariably driven by a certain urge.

Those who need to express something through a particular art-form, whether it’s music or writing, painting or cooking, are the ones who’re born artists. Knowing that your art may kill you, but having to practice it anyway because if you don’t, you’re already gone.

“Why do you breath? Because the air is your sustenance, and without it, you die.”

Straying from your comfort zone

If you’ve entered the world of writing, and decided to put your feelings on a page for the world to see, you’re already brave. This might be enough to write a decent script or two.

But if you wish to further your development, consider challenging your courage. Enter the land of “what the fuck am I doing” and you might just have a chance of arriving at “holy shit, I did it!”

If you can discipline yourself to do this, you’re not just brave, you’re commendable. I applaud you.

“I felt like I needed to do something to make myself feel uncomfortable, to fail, to go into a zone of complete mystery and a place where I was completely ill-equipped”…”I’ll write a play, because I don’t know how to do that.”

Human beings, at their essence, are remarkable. We continuously aim higher and strive further than our predecessors. It’s in our nature to explore, challenge and cognitively learn from those who came before us.

Even so, lots of silent bystanders sheepishly allow themselves to be herded through life. If you wish to be one of them, by all means, carry on.

My guess is, you don’t.

Consider Beau Willimon’s words, and dare do something only because you don’t know how. It will be difficult, and you’ll probably fail. But you’ll certainly grow.

On the subject of hiring fellow writers for House of Cards, Willimon says:

“The only thing I was interested in when hiring my writers was not whether they knew anything about politics or not, but if I read something of theirs; a line, a scene, some image, that I never in a million years could have thought of or come up with myself.”

To develop, let yourself be judged by those who can give you the advice you could never give yourself. Showing your work only to fans, might give you what you want, but won’t tell you what you need to hear.

The confidence boost from positive feedback has value, but at its own, it can make you ignorant of your own issues. These may side-tackle you later on if you’re not aware of them.

Work alongside people who challenge you and whom you, in turn, challenge to be better.

Beau Willimon on writing politically

“I think all writing is political, because we all come to the table with a believe-system, and politics is infused in your writing whether you like it or not.”

How we portray (or don’t portray) certain things and people, even without political intent, reflect our personal view-point.

A film isn’t, say, racist, simply because it has an all white cast. But when the industry continuously chooses not to portray coloured people (at least not often or in a heroic context), it becomes an issue.

Take a moment to consider not only what you write, but what you continuously don’t write. Further reflect on whether this is a conscious decision or if you’re excluding something out of pure habit.

Avoid excessive dialogue

There’s this delusional idea that a screenwriter’s job is writing lines.

Constructing story, building worlds and developing character psychologies is our responsibility. Great dialogue is vital, but it’s equally important to convey what’s not being said.

“There’s so much storytelling you can do without dialogue. Because, if you get close on a person’s hands, that sometimes can say much more than the best monologue ever written.”

Talking represents a tiny percentage of human communication, leaving the remaining percent to body-language and other non-verbal expression.

Consider a character is about to present a speech. He’s sweating, twisting his hands, pacing back and forth. There’s no need for this guy to say “I’m so nervous.” We get that.

Same rule applies when presenting the morals of a character. Never have a villain telling us he/she’s a badass. Show what the person does that makes him/her bad.

Writing for TV

Beau Willimon has the experience of having written for both film and television and explains some major differences between the two crafts.

”A movie is much more like a short story or a poem”…”It has to resolve itself within 90-120 minutes, and with a television show, it doesn’t.”…”If you really take your time with storytelling, you can dive into your characters in ways that are impossible to do in film, or even a stage play, because you have the time to do it.”

This is why television shows are so intriguing, for writers as well as audience. The characters develop alongside you, at a pace similar to yours. This allows you to connect with them on a personal level.

Another capturing aspect of television, is the dreaded cliffhanger. Since there’s a continuation ahead, a TV episode doesn’t need to resolve all issues and reach a final goal.

”It can actually end in a place of total lack of resolution, but with the feeling that you’re heading somewhere.”

Haven’t you ever thought you’ve arrived at the end of an episode, when – BAM – an unexpected plot-twist? Your heart is racing, and then… end-credits.

So. Frustrating.

This creates an urge within you to watch another episode. You need to find out what happens. That urge is a brilliant tool for us writers, and a dangerous hook for our audiences. Make ’em sweat.

Beau Willimon on writing female characters

“I really am against the notion that a female writer should write the female characters and the male writers write the male characters. I mean, what is writing if not putting yourself in other people’s shoes?”

If we could only write characters similar to ourselves, every screenplay out there would be a dud. There would be no conflict, and nothing of interest.

Whether your character is male or female, black or white, rich or poor, is such a small part of the actual character. That’s just the physical stuff. How does the character act under pressure? What does your character fear? These are the types of questions you need to ask.

“We are all limited by our own experiences. There are certain things I will never be able to access because of things that are genetic, things that are in my up-bringing, things that are cultural”…”But I think writing is an attempt to acknowledge those and sometimes get beyond them and find the universal in all our experiences.”

Now, this is crucial. Whether you’re writing a dark drama or an animated comedy, finding the universal in our experiences is key to creating emotion.

People work differently, and that plays an important part in how you’re writing your characters. But there are certain emotions that we all experience, no matter who or where we are.

A white female lawyer in America can experience humiliation, loneliness or joy, just as well as a black male hunter in Africa. The fact that we are different does in no way eliminate our ability to understand each another.

Gender, ethnicity and status put aside, try to understand the inner workings of a human mind.

“I take a little bit of issue with strong female characters. Why do you have to put the word “strong” in front of it? There are strong male characters, and weak male characters. There are strong female characters, and weak female characters. There are strong and weak trans characters. I mean, they’re human characters.”

Finding story in everyday life

“You can see something on a sidewalk, like a man screaming. A homeless man screaming on a sidewalk; that’s research. If you absorb it.”

Being observant is a strong attribute for any writer. If you can see plot, character and conflict in everyday situations, your stories will find you.

Take every opportunity to absorb what’s already around you. Listen in on conversations on the subway. Notice how different people walk differently. What do people do when they think nobody’s watching?

It’s in your job description to be a little creepy and intrusive. Go right ahead.

Many writers, especially up-and-coming ones, have day jobs. This can take up a lot of precious writing time. So use it as best you can. Whatever you do, there are probably people around you. Observe them.

Even when you’re not writing, be a writer.

“Just think of what you do when you’re alone. Like, take an hour, in your house, when you’re alone, and just really objectively look at what you do. You do some really weird shit.”

You’re never as genuine as when you’re by yourself. Just like you, your characters will have things they do when nobody’s around.

As a writer, you often try to find those special moments that define your characters. It’s just as important to find the ordinary moments. Or, should I say, the moments that are ordinary for that character, but may seem peculiar or interesting to us.

Any person, or character, can enter a house and proceed to the kitchen. But if someone, for example, has to stop by every mirror on the way to observe his/her own reflection, that says something about the character.

“I believe character is behaviour. That’s it.”…”Ultimately, all their character is, is what they do. Because that’s all we see.”

Finding you character’s needs

Just as Beau Willimon spoke of his own need to write, he similarly speaks of needs within his characters.

“If you know what they need, they don’t need to know necessarily, but if you know what they need, then all their behaviour will be dictated by that. And then their needs will conflict with other people’s needs, and that’s where you get the conflict of drama.”

One major difference between a need and a want is that people often are oblivious to their needs. Not knowing ones need is often a cause of being way too focused on the want (capitalism in a nutshell).

Even people who are aware of their needs can, out of laziness or fear, ignore to acknowledge them. It’s tough, because it means revealing your flaws, which is sensitive. However, doing so will most likely lead you to a more truthful existence.

When it comes down to your characters, try to separate the need from the want, and it will help you figure out which behaviour is suitable for which person in which situation.

“They’re not plot-driven. It’s not like, “this person needs to get a new job”- that’s plot. A need is, “this person needs respect”, “This person needs love”, “This person needs validation”, “this person needs warmth”.”

On getting shit done

“The only real advice I can give is to do the work.”

A seemingly obvious statement, which we must repeatedly remind ourselves of.

We all have heaps of un-finished work. No matter how great, nobody outside your private circle will consider reading it, unless you’ve actually reached “fade out”.

“The only thing you can do, that is completely within your control and that will ultimately make you successful – at least financially or whatever – is having the pages and putting in the time.”

It’s not every day that you’re going to wake up and want to write. Inspiration seldom strikes when you wish it to. Beau Willimon has a rather original approach to self-motivation.

“My first thought every day, like my mantra, as soon as I have a conscious thought, is “I will die”. Which sounds morbid, but it’s not. To me, it’s completely liberating, because it can’t get worse from there. You have that thought, and you go “Let’s get to work.””

What you do with your time is what will be remembered of you. If you don’t even take a shot at being extraordinary, how are you ever going to be brilliant?

You have a limited time to show what you wish to be seen, and say what you long to tell. Better get crackin’.

So what’s next for Beau Willimon?

“I have some very concrete thoughts about that, and I have some really big and vague thoughts about that, and I’m not going to share those with you. That’s for me.”

A brave and wise response, from a brave and wise man. Willimon chooses not to stain his future stories with expectations until he’s ready to tell them and they’re ready to be told. All we can do, is wait impatiently.

Beau Willimon does, however, have one goal he’s willing to share with us. One we should all share with him if we ever want to reach places previously undiscovered.

“Ultimately, all I want to do, is figure out the secrets of the universe.”

-Camilla Beskow

Camilla Beskow

Camilla Beskow is a screenwriter, and former student at the Gotland based film school Storyutbildningen. Among her favourite films are Pan’s Labyrinth and Good Will Hunting.

Joel Schumacher And The Anti-Hero In Falling Down

Karel FG Segers — Fri, 20 Feb 2015 04:00:29 +0000

The nineties may not have been the greatest decade for movie characters in my view, but the anti-hero in Falling Down was a highlight to me. We will be looking at a classic moment in the movie, which signals the beginning of the end for this tragic character.

Joel Schumacher

An adolescent in the 1980’s, I felt as if St Elmo’s Fire, The Lost Boys and Flatliners were made just for my generation (and a bit for Kiefer Sutherland, too). Because of their relatively high concept, some of these medium budget movies had a massive impact, and director Joel Schumacher could just keep going on. He was given the Batman franchise with the Akiva Goldsman scripted Batman Forever and Batman and Robin, which weren’t necessarily great movies, but they still made their blockbuster budgets back. Well, just.

St Elmo’s Fire, The Lost Boys and Flatliners
were made just for my generation.

With Tigerland he entered more serious territory, and put Colin Farrell on the map as a lead actor. Its budget and shooting schedule would be a challenge for any indie director.

Schumacher has always been flexible in the material he picked. Teen angst, fantasy, war or thriller, he usually delivers a satisfying and cinematic result.

Joel Of All Trades

For more anti-hero examples, check out Joel Schumacher’s Phone Booth, a project that rested on Hitchcock’s shelf for a long time. With Schumacher at the helm, and favourites Farrell and Sutherland (only briefly) in front of the camera, the script was updated and delivered to the screen with dazzling style and dialogue, belying its humble budget. With Colin Farrell as yet another anti-hero example in the role of Stu Shepard, I have always found Phone Booth an inspiration, and a true celebration of audience-driven independent filmmaking.

I have always found Phone Booth an inspiration,
and a true celebration of audience-driven independent filmmaking.

Schumacher – now in his seventies – has remained agile, moving with the taste of the times. Some of his more recent credits saw him join the dignitaries on the directing stable of Netflix’ House Of Cards.

City Of Demons

In Falling Down (1993), recently retrenched defence worker William “D-Fens” (Michael Douglas) goes out of control on a sweltering day in L.A. It shows Schumacher just as comfortable shooting on the streets of New York in Phone Booth, as in the suburban sprawl of Los Angeles, where our anti-hero’s tragedy plays out. In fact this is one of my favourite nineties movies when it comes to portraying the city of angels, often using gorgeous long lens shots, against an ominous soundtrack. Only Michael Mann would top this two years later with Heat.

This is one of my favourite nineties movies
when it comes to portraying the city of angels.

Los Angeles may be cinematically sexy in this movie, it is surely not a happy city. Protagonists and antagonists all fight their own demons. Robert Duvall plays the proverbial fin de carrière cop, who will catch the baddy at the end. However, before the hero vs. anti-hero finale in the climax, he will pay a heavy price.

Falling Down starts from an interesting premise, in that the hero is not the protagonist. Central to this movie is the anti-hero of D-Fens, played by Michael Douglas, who turns in a landmark performance.

The Devil’s Advocate

D-Fens is the devil’s advocate. Why do we empathise with this anti-hero? Because he represents the disgruntled Angelino who is mad as hell, and he is not going to take it anymore. Only, D-Fens’ anger is of the not-so-pc kind.

In our movie moment, a Korean store owner refuses to break a dollar for his customer’s phone call, and D-Fens explodes like a nail bomb in slow motion. As his rage builds, D-Fens reveals his revenge strategy against this city… The poor dude won’t die at his hands. But he will suffer. While taking the shop down, D-Fens hurls insult after insult at the poor shopkeeper, who is hiding behind the counter.

The poor dude won’t die at his hands.
But he will suffer.

The shopkeeper, who now believes D-Fens is after his money, tells him to take it. D-Fens replies:

“You think I’m a thief? Oh, you see, I’m not the thief. I’m not the one charging 85 cents for a *stinking* soda! You’re the thief. I’m just standing up for my rights as a consumer.”

Plummeting Down

This is an important scene in the movie, as it feels like the first watershed in the anti-hero’s steep downward descent, referenced in the movie title. The scene opens with the Korean topping up the till, proving he definitely doesn’t lack small change. However, he may be sick of customers entering his shop without buying. So don’t push his buttons… Which leaves us with the dramatic question for this scene: “Who of these two men is more p***ed off?”

– Karel Segers

[vimeo 120000828 w=900 h=389]

Karel FG Segers

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