A few years ago I had a student who kept repeating a word I had never heard before, until I realised he was concatenating two familiar words into something quite bizarre. I am aware that I do something similar, when I bunch together the phrases “you know” and “I mean” into “ya-meen”. I don’t know anyone else who does this, so I’m proud of my idiolect.

In movie dialogue, we distinguish characters among other things by their native language, dialect, and idiolect. And even though you rarely need to specify all this in the screenplay, it is good to have an understanding.

So, let’s look at a few ways of dealing with accents and foreign language, without hampering the read.

Leave it to the story

In Martin McDonagh’s In Bruges – one of the scripts we studied in Immersion – the characters each speak with their respective accents, but it’s never mentioned in the script. We assume that Ray and Ken are British from a line in the opening monologue “Get the fuck out of London.”

The lead characters ended up being played by Irish actors, but McDonagh has said that this was a happy coincidence more than anything else. When Ralph Fiennes’ character of Harry enters the film with his thick Cockney accent, you’ll find that this is not mentioned in the script, either.

Character introduction

By far the easiest way to set up how a character speaks, is in their first introduction.

If PAUL (28) is a pudgy Liverpudlian, we may assume this comes with the appropriate accent. You can specify whether the accent is slight or thick.

This technique avoids any possible annoyance with the reader, as nobody likes reading accent quirks throughout an entire script.

Scene Notes

Sometime characters change language in the course of a story. In this case, a SCENE NOTE right after the slug may indicate that “The entire scene is in Russian, subtitled in English”, or “During the flashbacks, everyone except our hero will speak Klingon.”

This avoids having to write a whole bunch of parentheticals. Speaking of which —

Choice Of Words

The characters in the world of the Coen brothers often speak in quirky ways. This never hampers the ease of reading their dialogue, as the accent is usually only apparent in the choice of words. A good example is Marge from Fargo.

MARGE [on the phone]: Oh my. Where? Yeah? Aw geez. Okay, there in a jif. Real good, then.

Parenthetical

When a single line, or a few lines are spoken in a different language, you have two options: either you want the audience to understand it, or you don’t.

If you do, the foreign language lines will be subtitled in the film; and if you don’t, they won’t.

Write the lines in English with a parenthetical, e.g. (in Italian) to show they need subtitles. In this way, the reader has the same experience as the audience: it’s a foreign language but they understand what is being said.

If you’re using a simple word or short phrase (ciao, nyet, or ‘dio mio’) and you trust your audience will understand it, just print it verbatim.

Original Dialogue

Sometimes the language is foreign to the main character, and we want the audience to feel just as confused as them, by not translating. In this case, you write the dialogue in the script in the original foreign language – without parenthetical.

This means there won’t be any subtitles, keeping the audience in the hero’s POV.

Do you know of any other ways of dealing with accents, dialect or foreign language? Or do you have great script examples to prove or disprove any of the above, please tell us in the comments.

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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I love teaching, I adore my students, and I’m fortunate enough to see some good results, as some of my students go on to build a writing career.

Yet, I am growing increasingly frustrated.

There is a missing component in the learning of these young people. Some take the initiative to fill in the blanks, but others aren’t even aware of what is missing.

By just taking courses, there is little chance you will survive the real world.

So what else do you need?

Let’s first look at the positive aspects of books, courses and gurus.

Book, Courses And Gurus

I have written about the merits of film school. You can learn a lot from the experts through books, courses and videos. I have the best memories of binge reading screenwriting books, and then attending lectures by the authors.

In some instances, you can speed up the process of understanding how screenplays work, what has worked in the past and what hasn’t.

You’ll also learn the systems and terminology used in our industry.

Courses give you a general overview, based on more material than you can process in a lifetime. You learn about genres and styles outside your taste, which will help you communicate with professionals.

Books and courses give you different perspectives. No matter how long you study a subject, you’ll still only see it through the lens of your own eyes.

Screenwriting courses may give you a wholly new, valuable point of view.

However, one of the biggest problems with courses, is that only little of what you learn specifically relates to the work that you (will) write.

Therefore it is essential that you get feedback to your own work. It will help improve your performance, and level up to the requirements of the market.

Talk, Don’t Write

One of the local film schools offers their students industry feedback. Professional script consultants come in to help the students improve their scripts from first to final draft. It’s great. Students love it.

Not only is this an introduction to how the industry works; it is an invaluable addition to the lectures. Lecturing is a transfer of knowledge in bulk. The consults provide bespoke feedback, different for each student. Even if two students struggle with the same issue, they may need different solutions.

Consults outclass written reports. In the studio system, notes are a standard form of communication with writers. But without produced credits, you will benefit far more from a direct two-way conversation.

In a live consultation, you are able to ask questions, and so can the consultant. This helps define your objectives, as well as the issues standing in the way of achieving them.

The Consult Is Your Inmost Cave

Most of us work better and faster when we can verbally discuss our work, rather than write or read about it in a snapshot report.

Many aspiring writers are not familiar with the lingo, and consultants should not have to explain or define every concept in a report.

A good script consultation is a mini-workshop, where client and consultant work together to determine the priorities for future work, and the way they could be addressed by the writer. The best consult is an intense, inspiring and rewarding experience for both sides.

A welcome side-effect of some consultations is that writers discover what they are actually writing about.

Often new writers are not aware of the themes they infuse their stories with.

As a consultant, you are in the privileged position of discovering these themes with the writer. What is their world view? What bugs them, and how do their stories comment on society?

A great consult creates an Inmost Cave, for writers to discover their own voice.

It allows them to develop their voice, and articulate their ideas in ways that the industry and the audience will understand. Sometimes it allows them to clarify, sharpen and refine their ideas.

Often these young writers are yet to find their path in life, and their writing provides a valuable introspection into their values, hopes and dreams. As a consultant, it is a humbling experience to be there, and witness this fascinating process.

And yet, no matter how inspiring, poetic and even mythical these experiences may be, they are no substitute for learning from the source.

Back To The Screenwriting Source

A few years back, a member of a screenwriting forum was eaten alive when he dared to ask for a method to learn screenwriting for free. Many of the readers had paid good money for their education, and they came down on the boy to annihilate him.

It turned out the boy didn’t know any better. He was new to screenwriting, and with a mental health disorder he didn’t know how to be diplomatic when asking his question.

It set me thinking.

Screenwriting books and gurus have only been around since the 1970’s, while some of the very best movies were written long before.

How did screenwriters learn the craft before there were any gurus around?

My guess? From reading great screenplays, stage plays, and novels.

It seems that we have collectively forgotten that the best learning lies in the best scripts. Yet, students these days seem to believe they can educate themselves without opening a single screenplay.

From reading lots of great scripts, you can learn style, structure and dialogue, virtually by osmosis.

One of my most dedicated students used to read a full-length feature screenplay every day, for months. This experience helped him so much, that he skyrocketed to the top of the best screenwriting contests, and was introduced to Hollywood agents. You can do this, too.

To be perfectly honest, though…

Just reading scripts is not going to cut it, either.

Enter Immersion

Thousands of screenplays are available online at any given time. They’re only a download away. So why don’t we all get to work, like, now?

It turns out to be a massive challenge to tell the wheat from the chaff.

Many are mere dialogue transcripts, which is utterly useless for the screenwriter who wants to learn how to use proper formatting and descriptive style.

Others are butchered versions, converted from one format to another, and ending up in a crappy TXT or – even worse – HTML format.

And only a few dozen scripts are available freely from their rights holders.

Fortunately, some sites publish a curated offering of these scripts, so you don’t have to make the selection for yourself.

In my view, once you are reading a rock solid selection of the best scripts, the only other mandatory daily action you need to take, is: write.

This is why after teaching screenwriting courses for nearly ten years, I decided to completely overhaul the philosophy behind my teaching.

I made a thorough review of what had worked in the past, and what didn’t.

I looked at which students had been successful, and who failed. Then I looked at the practices of working screenwriters, and built a system that helps writers build better habits, and prepare them for the writing of a professional screenplay draft. All without a tutor.

I named the course Immersion Screenwriting.

The results have been phenomenal.

The writing exercises I designed for this course emulate some of the brain processes of the seasoned screenwriter. Others are meant to create a steady writing habit, while building some sort of format muscle memory.

By performing these exercises on a daily basis, you adopt the practices of the professional screenwriter effortlessly. The basic version of the course runs for seven weeks (50 days), enough to change or create a new habit.

Take Action

If this all sounds like something you’d like to try, head over here.

If you have spent hundreds or thousands of dollars on screenwriting courses and consults, rest assured that none of that was a waste. You will have acquired a top level understanding of the screenwriting trade.

But to get in the successful habit of writing effective screenplays, you need to not only know but feel what a great script looks like. This takes some time, and a fair amount of reading.

You need to know your genre inside out, you need to know its flagship movies and writing conventions. In addition, you need to be able to apply a contemporary writing style.

Readers want to enjoy your screenplay not only for its story, but also for its reading experience.

So, what script are you reading next?

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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Steven Miao created the opening video sting and Mukul Kandara helped with setting it all up. Thanks, guys!

The channel had been in the making for a long time, but I just have been too busy with clients, teaching and workshopping awesome projects. What I was planning on doing in January 2017 has finally come to fruition. Will I be able to keep it up? We’ll see.

In the first video, I talk briefly about the correct way to format audio and voice over on a black screen. So many times I have seen this done improperly in screenplays. Yet it is so easy…

Of course, something went wrong during the filming of that first YouTube video, so you couldn’t see the example I was talking about (you can see it below in this article).

I didn’t want to fix the video.

Why not?

The hunt for perfection had been a curse for too long. An excuse for continued procrastination. It was time to ship.

In a way, your shipping is writing; sitting down to commit words to paper.

If you don’t write, great ideas won’t happen. If you don’t believe me, watch that TED talk with Elizabeth Gilbert again.

Okay, back to the formatting class.

Audio Over Black

The example I give in the video is from The Big Sick.

In the YouTube video, you can’t see it. My mistake. But here it is:

As I said above: it is so simple! You just write ‘OVER BLACK’, and then you describe what we hear. At the beginning of a screenplay, this will be printed BEFORE the slugline that introduces the first scene visually.

Easy, right?

Superimposed Text Over Image (Super)

The other thing people often ask me about is how to correctly write a title in the screenplay.

First, you don’t really call this a TITLE. We reserve this for the OPENING and CLOSING TITLES, like you will see in the example.

When you want to indicate where we are (e.g. Paris, Texas), or the time/date (The 18th of December, 2017), you use a SUPER (as in ‘superimposed’).

Mostly I see beginning writers open a scene with the slugline (or scene heading), and then immediately print the Super.

I don’t particularly like this, because the slugline doesn’t give me enough information to visualise the background that the title will be sitting over.

Mostly you will have a shot held for a few seconds before the Super comes in, like in this example from The Disaster Artist:

In the YouTube video, I mentioned that the slugline is imperfect. It should have a full-stop after “INT”, and ideally you also print the time of day at the end of the slugline, e.g. “INT. JEAN SHELTON’S ACTING STUDIO – DAY”.

Then again, my video wasn’t perfect either.

With all this talk about imperfection I may have given the impression that your script doesn’t have to be perfect.

Well, it doesn’t. Until you send it out…

But that’s a different video altogether.

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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Is it good? Is it great? Or is it useless? Should I show it to anyone? To whom? Is it ready to sell?

I have found that as someone’s experience grows, often so does their insecurity about the state of their scripts. Many newbies are overeager to market undercooked scripts.

Why?

They don’t know their own abilities. They don’t understand what constitutes a great script, and they hope someone else will tell them.

If you feel this strong intuitive urge to get validation from a producer or agent, you’ve got to ignore it. Do more work yourself: read great scripts, keep writing, and over time you’ll separate the wheat from the chaff.

True intuition is built upon experience.

What Does Your Screenplay Need To Achieve?

Whether you are ready to sell your script – or not – has a lot to do with your intended objectives. If you need to make a living from your work, perhaps you have no choice. Cashflow forces you to get it into the market. Sometimes even premature scripts sell. (Seen any superhero comic book adaptations, lately?).

Suppose you’re not 100% happy with the story, but your writing style is supreme. If you need work urgently, your script may become the writing sample that will get you other work. So you go and sell. Story ready or not.

In all other cases, if you can afford to wait, then do so while you perfect story and script.

No Such Thing As The Honest Truth?

Each has their own opinion about when a script is done.

If you ask a script consultant, they may argue that your script needs more development. It is in their interest to keep taking money from you. Never ask a consultant who is desperate for clients. Instead, go to the busiest consultant you can afford.

Better even, affiliate yourself with an industry professional who can read scripts.

In fairness, not many can. And those who can, are often too busy. Find someone you can trust. This could be a producer, a director or an actor.

Your English teacher friend is not the person to ask. You may turn to them for a proofread on typos, spelling and grammar, but don’t expect them to understand the intricacies of a screenplay.

Everyone has an opinion. Not everyone has a clue.

Ready To Sell Your Script? Here Are The Signs

1. Your mom/partner/best friend loves it

   Non-professional readers will read a script like a novel, without understanding the nature of drama and tension. Their feedback is hardly vital.
   There is a good reason to have your fans at home read your work, though: to keep your confidence up. They should support you, and encourage you to rock on when times are tough.

2. Your gut tells you it’s ready to sell
   

   It may be more reliable than your mom, but it’s surely not the #1 indicator to go by. Your gut instinct will give you a clue as to whether you have a gem or a dud. But don’t bet the house on it. Your intuition will get better over the years.

3. Your friend/manager/agent/producer is excited
   

   No industry friends (yet)? Get networking! If you’re lucky enough to work with a manager, it’s easy. They will give you useful feedback, and tell you when they are confident the script will generate results.

4. It’s a really fast read.
   

   The quickest reads are typically the best. I have found that really bad scripts can take up to a day to read, partially because it takes time to decipher, but also because of reader procrastination.

5. Feedback is about taste, not technique.

   If most of the feedback comes down to a matter of the reader’s taste rather than specific craft-based notes, it doesn’t necessarily mean they’re being unprofessional. Everyone has a subjective opinion, even pros. And everyone will try to give you some advice, even if they’ve run out of objective notes. Could this mean it is time to sell, and send your script into the world? Possibly…

6. You are shortlisted in a big screenwriting contest

   There are many contests, and thousands of writers enter every year. Fortunately you don’t need to worry about most of them, as only a few are truly relevant.
   The best will introduce winners to agents and producers, and some real players do keep an eye on the award lists.  So, winning an important contest is a big deal. Keep entering every year, and make sure your results keep improving.

7. Everyone talks about it.

   You are very lucky when you find people become aware about your script, and talk about it. When I hear industry folk bring up my clients’ projects in conversation, it’s mostly a good sign.

There are probably tons of things about your script you can still improve. If you didn’t read any screenwriting books until this point – Good! You didn’t need them – this may be the time to check a few things that matter to readers. Look at the ebb and flow of your tension in the story. Weigh up the balance of description vs. dialogue. Check, double-check and triple-check grammar, spelling and punctuation.

These are the areas most beginning writers can improve the most without professional help. Use apps, take online  classes. Become the very best.

You Make The Call

When you feel that the law of diminishing returns is taking its toll, it may be time to consider the 7 points above. And remember: you will never get unequivocal proof that your script is market-ready… until it is sold.

Until then, it’s merely a decision.

And that decision is yours.

-Karel Segers

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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So here I am about to approach three years in L.A. (June 10 to be exact) and I feel the need to share my journey once again despite completely falling off the radar for well over a year with this confronting piece of my Hollywood sojourn.

As I look back, it’s been an up and down rollercoaster ride full of trials, tribulations, emotion and adventure. But then what else was it ever going to be. While I have disappeared for months at a time (across social media, email and more), I am still alive, I’m still kicking, and I’m still flying the flag as best I can.

 To be honest, that’s not always been easy. In fact, it’s been bloody hard at times.

 There have been days where I have wanted to be anywhere else but this city. I’ve not left the country, let alone this state, in the three years I have been here, and if you know me you know how much I love travel. So it feels like I have been going stir crazy. 

 But I found some solace as I discovered but then subsequently lost a relationship – my first here in the U.S and my first in over three years. And while I look back on that year we had with mixed emotions, I can only smile and say thank you to one very special woman who took her own serious leap of faith, and embraced me and my journey and in the process turned me into an even greater version of myself than I could have ever imagined. I am forever changed as a result. 

 But she wasn’t the only woman I had to say goodbye to that year.

 I lost a grandmother and step sister all within six months of each other last year but I didn’t go back. I was super close to my gran and she used to take great delight in reading these articles. I miss her, and writing postcards from abroad just isn’t the same.

I left Australian shores knowing I may never ever see her alive again. But it was with her gentle words of encouragement that I was able to make peace with that cold, hard reality.

 When she died last Mother’s Day, not only did I cry as the news filtered through, but I also had a beautiful vision of her that morning. She appeared before me and whispered: “Keep writing.” It was a profoundly affecting vision.

While all this disquietude, chaos, and loss was going on around me, somehow the only thing keeping me sane was my writing. And thank fuck! Because I am not sure where I would have been without it.

 I found myself sinking into a slow depression-like state during July yet I kept writing. My relationship was breaking down all around me but still I wrote. My grandmother passed, I wrote. My step-sister slowly had her life taken away after battling a brain tumor for years, more writing.

In the space of that one year, while my entire world was collapsing around me (even now I can shed some tears if I allow myself to reflect), my writing was my saviour. I wrote more than I ever have, I became more professional than I’ve ever been, and I churned out four feature scripts over the course of that year. One of which I pitched and which subsequently beat out over 40 other submissions vying for the gig.

 After my relationship broke down I also found myself in the position of moving out of the only apartment I had ever known during my entire time here. I stepped up as a man and offered my ex-girlfriend the space. A space that no longer felt like home. A space that allowed her a better chance to survive in this town than me.

I then found myself in North Hollywood, and while that sounds glamourous, it really isn’t. There are two very distinct parts to North Hollywood. The cooler, funkier ‘Arts District’ and what is unaffectionately called, “the ghetto”. Somehow I went from the clean, green, central beauty of Studio City, to a dirty, dry backwater Mexican suburb (nothing against Mexico).

From a private, spacious, comfortable apartment for myself and my girlfriend, to a smaller, cramped two bedroom place with two other guys – one of which slept on a couch in the lounge room.

 At times I have felt embarrassed by my living situation but this town can be brutal and sometimes you are forced to go backwards to move forwards. But when you are freelance copywriter and the Australian dollar drops (and hard), you are forced to make some serious changes.

 I hated going to bed alone. I didn’t like where I now found myself. I was miserable.

While I never ever lived above my means, I had to go where I could afford. It made me withdraw even further and made me truly understand the definition of humble, but what was more important, to look myself in the mirror and ask some very genuine, honest questions of myself.

 But it has all served to only strengthen my resolve and succeed where many others would have failed, fled or simply given up.

 My year turned and I met and fell into the most amazing, supportive writing group I have found during my time here, after I was fortunate enough to be accepted into a new writing program I applied for.

 It was the first time I felt ‘home’ among like-minded people. A writing group that despite my repeated searches and hopes, I had never ever found in the two years prior.

 And now this group of people I can call friends. How I have craved that. As I retracted from the outside world, I found my friendship base here shrink. In part due to changing dynamics as others disappeared, while a couple of others put their head down to become more professional themselves but also because I was seeking something deeper from myself, my writing… my heart.

It’s a writing group that’s made up of some talented and successful people where I have seen their valuable input and feedback further enhance, improve and rocket my writing skyward. A group of only seven other people who I get enormous pleasure from in so many ways. I cannot thank them enough.

Somehow I overcame a very tough, emotional year and became not only a greater writer for it but a kinder, more sincere, more authentic and honest me.

It’ll be three years in June since I first made the leap, and it’ll be three years I will celebrate in my own quiet, genuine way as I look back. I’m thankful for how far I’ve come, for what I have achieved, for where I now find the level of my writing, but most important of all, where I now find myself as a man.

So raise a glass and cheer on a man who continues to stare down this town. A man who is not afraid of a single thing. A man who will not make up the numbers. A man who will succeed. Because I have faced hardship, loss, death and yet I continue to smile and write.

Here’s to an even greater year of writing, greater success, greater wealth, and so much more as I continue to pursue dreams, my passion, and love.

– Mark Rasmussen

Mark Rasmussen

Mark Rasmussen has been a professional writer for over 15 years. He has written and produced three short films (two of which have IMDb credits), as well completed four features. One of his films ranked inside the Top 10 for the World Wildlife Fund competition (WWF). He is currently working on three feature scripts, two book adaptations, a TV pilot, and a web-series, as he increases his thirst for great writing and storytelling.

“I’m just a writer, so I get to avoid the fundraising and groundwork…”

If you liked this, check out more videos about screenwriting or filmmaking. And if you know of a great video on Screenwriting, let us know in the comments. Thanks!

Over the past decades, screenwriting education has developed into a multi-million dollar industry with rockstar size gurus such as Robert McKee and the late Blake Snyder. All this really started with one book, published in 1979: “Screenplay – The Foundations of Screenwriting“, written by Syd Field.

Syd Field was the first true screenwriting guru and to many his book is still a standard, more than thirty years after its initial publication. Syd visited Sydney only once in his life and during that occasion, he was very generous with his time and we interviewed him at the offices of Screen Australia. This interview was published in three parts, which we will republish this week.

Interview: Karel Segers, David Trendall and Niels Abercrombie

With thanks to Screen Australia

Karel: I’m excited to have with us today the godfather of screenwriting theory: Syd Field.

Syd Field: Thank you, thank you so much. The godfather, it’s a little odd sounding but I will accept that with gratitude.

Karel: You started long before Robert McKee…

Syd Field: Of course, many many years before. I started teaching in ’75 and wrote the book in ’79, I started doing workshops in ’80 at the weekend and I really designed the weekend form which McKee took and borrowed freely from. I think I was about 3 to 4 years ahead of him and I was travelling as he was just starting out in LA.

I really designed the weekend form
which McKee took and borrowed freely from.

Karel: How did you get inspired to write Screenplay and develop “the paradigm”?

Syd Field: I was a documentary filmmaker in the beginning for four years, then I became a freelance screenwriter for 7 years, I wrote 9 original screenplays, 2 were produced, 4 optioned, and 3 nothing ever happened to. And then out of work, broke, trying to be a single parent, I got a job as the head of the story department at a place called Cine Mobile. So as a writer taking a break from writing I started reading screenplays to sharpen the skills of my craft.

As a writer taking a break from writing
I started reading screenplays
to sharpen the skills of my craft.

Karel: How many scripts did you read?

Syd Field: In 2 years I read more than 2000 screenplays and more than a hundred novels and I only found 40 to submit to our financial partners, so my question to me, Sydney, what made these 40 better than the other 1960?

Karel: What did?

Syd Field: I had no answer whatsoever but I kept reading and I took apart those 40 screenplays, because I love to analyze, and I began to see those screenplays started on page 1 word 1.

In 2 years I read more than 2000 screenplays
and more than a hundred novels

And there was an incident that grabbed everybody’s attention and the writing was so stylized and so active, all present tense, that I immediately became hooked so when I had the opportunity to teach a course at Sherwood Oaks Experimental College I went in there as a writer and a reader.

Karel: That’s how you started teaching.

Syd Field: I started teaching a class and I assumed an incorrect position teaching that class, which was a great lesson for me. Since I was there at the head of the class and everybody was there coming to hear me talk, I assumed I knew something they didn’t. What a mistake that was, I was the most terrible teacher because I had this opinion about… because I was there I had to know something.

I assumed I knew something they didn’t.
What a mistake that was.

After a year I had no students left and all left and all walked out.

Karel: How did you deal with that?

Syd Field: I began teaching from a different perspective, I became the student and my students became the teacher. They wanted answers to questions about writing, how do you develop character, how do you write a story, what makes good dialogue, how do you structure a story. So I answered their questions, and out of answering their questions I began to realize everybody has the same questions, how do you prepare your material, how do you execute your material. How do you write great character, how do you write great dialogue.

After a year I had no students left and all left.

I began to go into my experience as a reader and a writer and answer those questions and that’s how the whole thing started. Pretty soon those classes became pretty full and popular and when I wanted to go back to writing and about another year or so after teaching, the urge to write again came back.

I said why don’t I write what I’m doing right now, why not write from my experience. So I wrote a 67 page book presentation, sent it to an agent in New York and she called me 3 days later and she said we’ve got a deal. And I was just astonished.

Karel: But didn’t you want to write screenplays?

Syd Field: I believe in a very simple philosophy: when you’re riding a horse you don’t ride a horse backwards. You go in the direction the horse is going in. So I’m going to put screenwriting aside right now and I’m going to write books.

Random House and Bantom Dell were just astonished. They had no idea that this book would take off like this, they published the book on a flier: “Here’s a little money for you kid, go and write and see what you can do,” that was their attitude.

Here’s a little money for you kid,
go and write and see what you can do.

The first printings were 5,000, second was 8,000, the next was 15,000. The president of the company came to me and pushed me in a corner, he’d been drinking: “What is it you’ve got in your book here?” and “I want another one!” so I said whatever is working, works.

Karel: So why don’t we know you today as Syd Field, the bestselling prose writer?

Syd Field: I wanted to write a book but not the same thing I’d already done. So many times people are writing books and writing the same thing all over again and I said forget it, and I started with Screenplay which is now published by the way in 28 languages and sold more than a million copies. Used in 500 Universities across the US and abroad.

So that’s how the things started

Karel: Since then you’ve been teaching people how to write.

Syd Field: I started traveling and teach the professionals… not how to write, nobody can teach anybody how to write… but what you can do is help the professionals sharpen their skills, go into the dynamics of story and evolution of story and find out ways to make your characters deeper, more dimensional and more interesting.

Nobody can teach anybody how to write.

Find ways to grab your readers attention more quickly and to keep the reader, and the viewer hopefully, perched on the edge of their seat, that’s my whole intention. My intention in writing all these books, I want to see better movies.

Next: What is a great Screenplay?

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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For years, I blindly followed this dogma, as it seemed to make a lot of sense. Learn from good and bad examples. Don’t we all do that in other fields? With hundreds of screenplays readily available for download from www.script-o-rama.com, www.imsdb.com and other sources, it appeared to be a quick and easy way to study the craft of scriptwriting.

But does it?

On average, I try to watch a movie a day, either in the cinema or on DVD. With the birth of my son late 2004, that became a bit more of a challenge. I found myself falling asleep in the second act. To remedy the ‘early fatherhood syndrome’, I would make notes, forcing myself to stay awake. As long as I had the discipline, I would even type them up into structural diagrams.

Suddenly, I had a revelation: the more I liked the film, the easier it was to find the Aristotelian three act structure and the principles of dramatic tension.

Revelation? Hardly.

What was truly phenomenal was that to crack the key to the film’s story structure, it had taken me only the duration of the film plus a few minutes. If I had read the screenplay instead, I’d have spent hours reading and taking notes – and only then would I be able to start work on piecing together the structure. A finished film underscores the drama in ways that help you identify the importance of the beat, scene or sequence: through music, fades or the use of light and colour (Soderbergh’s TRAFFIC is an extreme example).

At the time of writing I was developing a story with Wojciech – “Aerosol” – Wawrzyniak, whose structure is vaguely similar to Kenneth Brannagh’s MARY SHELLEY’S FRANKENSTEIN (thank you, Chris) so we decided to read the screenplay and watch the movie.

That’s when the true value in reading screenplays became apparent: it allows you to compare script and finished film. It shows the areas where filmmakers struggled, where what was on the page didn’t translate into what was onscreen.

Comparing script and film also reveals where directors made last minute decisions because they didn’t believe the script worked (or more often, the money ran out). A great example is the Chicago Train Station climax in THE UNTOUCHABLES. Mamet’s original Third Act had Capone’s accountant going on the train, with a chase and shootout following. However, De Palma had blown the budget and was forced to improvise.

For years, De Palma had been dreaming of shooting a homage to Eisenstein ‘Odessa Steps’ sequence from THE BATTLESHIP POTEMKIN. A budget issue in THE UNTOUCHABLES finally threw the opportunity into his lap. In my view, reading lots of screenplays is the hard way to learning how to write good stories. However, analyzing a few classic scripts in terms of language, style and formatting may help you find the right balance to turn your final draft into a better read.

– Karel

by Karel Segers

A chase is never just a chase.

Have you noticed that the biggest scenes with movement, travel, running, chasing etc. usually happen at particular times in great movies? Have you ever taken the time to reflect on this? Believe me, this is no coincidence.

In the Hero’s Journey, these scenes or sequences are called ‘Threshold Sequences’. The hero travels, not only from one place to the next, but from one state of mind – or state of being – to the next. So these stages of movement occur whenever the hero is ready to move on, usually after an important turning point: the Act One Climax, the Mid Point or the Act Two Climax.

Moving on.

Most screen stories are about change. Change for the characters (triggered by the world around them) or change in the world (triggered by the main character).

Change is about moving on. And moving on is symbolized by movement.
The mythical dimension of movement can take many forms, at least as many as there are functions of mythology. It can be about having faith and being ready to dive into the unknown. Or about exploring (and imagining) uncharted parts of the universe. Sometimes it represents a ‘movement’ in our society but most often it is about completing a psychological stage. This can be coming of age, overcoming fear or grief, etc.

An escape or chase can be about embracing change but still being afraid of the past catching up. The obstacles in these stages of movement are called ‘Threshold Guardians’ and they represent the characters’ reluctance to embrace the change.

Great movies have lots of movement.

Just look at the structure of last year’s Toy Story 3 to see how often Woody and his bunch are traveling, running, driving, flying. First there is the travel from home to Sunnyside. Next, Woody chooses to return to Andy and at the beginning of Act Two he leaves the other toys to embark on a fabulous threshold sequence through the corridors of Sunnyside, crossing the bathroom, climbing the roof, sailing over the playground and finally landing in a tree.

The second half of Act Two constitutes what is probably Pixar’s most elaborate and impressive threshold sequence. It starts with leaving the toy room, followed by crossing the playground where Baby is a major threshold guardian. Next the toys climb through the garbage chute and end up in the garbage truck. In any other movie, this would signify the Ordeal but it is effectively only a modest taster. The threshold sequence keeps moving even after the toys arrive at the tip. They end up on the conveyor belt that will transport them to the Cave. An unforgettable, instant-classic sequence of pure cinema.

Movement is inherently cinematic.

If your script is full of dialogue and talking heads, you may end up with interesting drama but it will never be mythical. Your movie will never be big. Pure cinema shows characters in motion at those points in their journey when they require it. To understand how much movement a good story can absorb and where to best place it, have a look at the structure of the biggest movie ever.

Remember, the word cinema comes from the Greek word “kine”, which means “motion”.

Refusing the Travel

I’m working on a screenplay with a highly experienced team and the story rocks. Until the third act. After the mid point, the hero decides to follow the love interest to an exotic destination but just before the end of the movie, the hero decides against it and stays put.

It feels wrong.

We’ve gone through so much trouble with this character and at the end she decides to just stay where she is. Now, the character has a perfectly valid – and emotionally understandable – motivation to NOT travel. But it still doesn’t work for me. It feels like a story for a small audience.  The decision not to travel feels very much like a refusal to change. And audiences want to believe that the hero – and they themselves – are capable of change.

You are writing a Road Movie

The road movie is the ultimate ‘vehicle’ for a character on a journey of reflection and change. Have you noticed that every main character in every movie reaches the destination a different person? And even if they don’t reach their destination, like e.g. Thelma and Louise, they are fundamentally transformed characters.

In my Character Development seminars on 9 and 10 October, I will show more examples of different types of movement in stories and explain what this means for the characters.

Movement is essential for change.

Travel as a symbol for change was probably never deliberately introduced as a story device. Its origins go back much earlier than any written story tradition and it is effectively part of the collective unconscious, which some say is hardwired in our brain. Just look at the oldest surviving culture on our planet and its rite of passage called “walkabout” to support this theory.

Do you have lots of movement in your story? In the right places?

– Karel Segers

Karel Segers is a producer and script consultant who started in movies as a rights buyer for Europe’s largest pay TV group Canal+. Back then it was handy to speak 5 languages. Less so today in Australia. Karel teaches, consults and lectures on screenwriting and the principles of storytelling to his 5-year old son Baxter and anyone who listens. He is also the boss of this blog.

photo credit: LouisHvejsel

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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If a story isn’t a den of lies then it’s likely – somewhat ironically – to be missing the essential element that will may make the experience of that story authentic and truthful.

by Mike Jones

Does that sound a bit odd? Let me explain…

The presence – or lack thereof – of secrets and lies in a story is all too often what i observe to be absent from the films and scripts of both my students and screenplays by new and inexperienced writers. Often what is otherwise cited as missing in these cases is ‘subtext. But whilst this is certainly true, subtext is also a notoriously slippery term.

Definition of Subtext

It’s relatively easy to define subtext as that which is between the lines – what is not said between characters – but which is none the less clearly present for the viewer. However, putting that idea into some sort of tangible construct as a writer engaged in a creative process is not nearly so easy. Subtext is easy to see once it’s well written but not all that easy to write.

It’s relatively easy to define subtext
as that which is between the lines

Thus what I’m proposing is an alternative way to consider narrative subtext that perhaps makes it easier to hold onto and use as a creative narrative tool rather than a slightly abstracted concept; Subtext as a set of prescribed Secrets and Lies.

photo credit: See-ming Lee 李思明 SML

Two Categories of Subtext

Secrets and Lies can exist in a story under two broad umbrellas and we might conceive of these two categories in the same way that sound design is often considered in cinema – diegetic and non-diegetic. A diegetic sound is one that comes from within the scene and belongs there, such as the sound of a car engine as we see a car drive or the sound of a gun shot when we see a gun go off, not to mention the sound of a person’s voice as we see them speak.

Conversely, a non-diegetic sound is one where the audio does not emanate from or belong to the scene; voice over narration or a musical score being the two most obvious examples.

When we apply this idea broadly to the subtext of Secrets and Lies in narrative we see a distinction between the secrets and lies held diegetically between characters and those secrets and lies held non-diegetically by the audience observing the characters.

We see a distinction between the secrets and lies
held diegetically between characters and those
secrets and lies held non-diegetically by the audience

In the former, diegetic, sphere we have something one character knows that another does not, or something one character believes but the other does not. In the alternative, non-diegetic, sense we have something the audience knows that the character (or characters) do not (or vise versa).

From this simple observation we can construct all kinds of variations for introducing and manifesting secrets and lies in a narrative; be they at the macro-level of an over-arching story concept that’s predicated on a conceit (Breaking Bad and the secret that Walt is a drug dealer) or at a scene-by-scene level (Michael in The Godfather lying to Kay declaring that he didn’t have his brother-in-law killed). In either case the secrets and the lies fuel the dramatic tension.

photo credit: Raïssa Bandou

Four Kinds of Subtext

So let’s ponder the variations of diegetic secrets and lies. There are essentially 4 kinds:

Character A knows something Character B doesn’t.
Character A doesn’t know something Character B does.
Character A knows something Character B doesn’t and lies about it.
Character A says something Character B knows to be a lie.

Any one of these variations invested in a scene or story adds subtext almost innately by investing an element that is not spoken or, if it is spoken, is not true. That said, what is important from a writing perspective is for the writer to orchestrate clarity about who knows what? If you don’t know what your characters know and, just as importantly, aren’t clear about what it is they don’t know, then you have very little in the way if a toolkit to build compelling subtext beyond words and actions.

What is important from a writing perspective
is for the writer to orchestrate clarity.

When mapping out characters for a story we often think in terms of what WHAT and HOW; What does the character want and How are they going to get it. Stress is exerted by every screenwriting book and script guru doing the circuit that characters must Want something and encounter Obstacles on the way to getting what they want. This may well be true but in many ways this is also too simplistic to be really useful to screenwriters in the midst of the creative writing process.

As with most of the high profile script gurus that dominate screen narrative discourse I find such preaching fine and dandy in a retrospective way – describing how good films worked – but far less useful or functional from the front-end when you’re writing from scratch. Such analysis is focused on description from hindsight and so disconnected from in-the-trenches creative process.

Wants, obstacles and active protagonists are great
but they do not, of themselves, generate subtext.

For example, you may have the clearest What and How in the world for your character with a big obstacle and high stakes and yet still have a scene that is bland and dull and entirely lacking in subtext. Wants, obstacles and active protagonists are great but they do not, of themselves, generate subtext.

This brings us back to the usefulness of Secrets and Lies as a way to tangibly motivate the writing of scenes with more sophistication than just What and How. If you can map out not only what a character wants and how they are going to get it, but also sketch what it is they Know, what they Don’t know, what secrets they have and what lies they are willing to tell – from beat-to-beat and scene-to-scene within a script – you will have a very complex array of dramatic possibilities open to you when it comes to plotting.
photo credit: Chris Halderman

Key Ingredients of Subtext: Value and Damage

Of course this leads us to the key ingredients that character-based Secrets and Lies rely on to be effective. To make the secrets and lies work dramatically we need to add two things – i’ll call these Value and Damage . The Secret has to have Value and the Lie must cause Damage (or be capable of causing damage). This might otherwise be called dramatic stakes but thinking in these more specific terms of Value and Damage may help to make the ideas they embody more specifically targeted and tangibly useful for the writing process.

For a character’s Secret to have dramatic implications it must have Value, the knowledge they hold, or withhold, from other characters must be valuable and desirable and important. The more valuable the better, the more other characters want the secret or would be affected by the secret, the more dramatic pressure is applied to the character. What must also be remembered is that the value of a secret is in direct context of the story-world the narrative plays out in.

The more other characters want the secret
or would be affected by the secret,
the more dramatic pressure is applied to the character.

Thus, for example the location of the knock-list of secret agents is a very valuable secret for Ethan Hunt to hold in Mission Impossible, a secret with implications for international diplomacy. On a different scale altogether, but every bit as valuable in the context of the story, is Don Draper’s secret past and appropriated identity in Mad Men. This knowledge wont bring down governments but in the context of the Mad Men world the secret, none the less, has immense value in being kept or released.

photo credit: buckyishungry

In terms of Lies, it is Damage that becomes a crucial ingredient. If the lie can’t hurt anyone, if it has no fallout from being perpetuated, then it is dramatically un-useful. But if the Lie has the potential to cause damage, large scale damage commensurate with the story-world, then you will have armed your character and narrative with a potent subtext explosive. The more damage the lie can cause the more effective it will be. Of course by damage we don’t necessarily mean physical damage – though that may very well often be the case – but fallout damage in a wide variety of forms.

The more damage the lie can cause
the more effective it will be.

In Pixar’s Monsters Inc. for example the big lie is that children are utterly toxic and contact with them will kill and bring down the whole Monster World. The fallout damage for this lie is in fact positive rather than negative (the revelation that children are not toxic after all), but the damage is nonetheless big in scale as the revelation of the lie inverts the monster world and changes forever the characters in it.

Likewise, working at both personal and world scale, is the film Amadeus. The big lie maintained and perpetuated by Salieri is that Mozart’s music is mediocre and not worthy of the Emperor’s attention. The lie in this case for Salieri is to himself more than anyone else, when he in fact knows the truth of Mozart’s genius. The lie can and does inflict great damage – to the world by curtailing Mozart’s career and life, and to Salieri personally as he lives out his days in guilt and despair at his own mediocrity.

Practical Tools for Creating Subtext

What we can take away from these ideas and observations should be some very practical tools for writing character-drama; give your hero a big secret, your villain a big lie (or vise versa), arm each character with a secret to keep and a lie to tell – secrets and lies that have value and possibility for damage – and then throw events at the characters that force the secrets and lies out into the open… At the heart of all great screen drama are Big Secrets and Bold Lies – plotting therefore is the events you toss at the characters to bring out and confound their secrets and their lies.

-Mike Jones

(to be continued)

Mike Jones has a diverse background in screen media crossing writing, technical production and academic research.

He is an award winning teacher, author and currently lecturer in Screen Studies at the Australian Film TV and Radio School. www.mikejones.tv