The Understructure of Writing for Film and Television Read online

  (a beat)

  I only took two pictures in my whole life. My high school graduation and my wedding. My wife was standing next to me in both of them. I never thought I’d want anyone to fill her place. I never thought there could be another woman gave me the same feeling. That all changed last weekend.

  DOROTHY

  Les—

  LES

  Let me finish. I’ve got to do this in one go, or I’ll never get through it.

  (reaches into pocket)

  I know this is sorta quick but that’s how I am. Never did believe in not gettin’ down to it.

  (then)

  I’d like you to be my wife.

  He opens a ring box, revealing a small diamond ring.

  LES (CONT’D)

  (quickly)

  Don’t say anything now! I know it’s fast. So take some time to get used to it. And if the answer’s “no”—well, at least, I’ll feel you took me seriously enough to think it over.

  DOROTHY

  (feebly)

  Will you forgive me . . . I feel faint.

  LES

  Well, if you’re not the god-darndest, most feminine little thing I’ve met in my whole life. Come on, I’ll take you home.

  DOROTHY

  (rising)

  Would you mind terribly . . . I just need to be alone. I’d like to start thinking it over as soon as possible.

  And she rushes away from the table.

  FADE OUT2

  Jot down your notes on protagonist, antagonist, problem, and structure. How do they compare with ours?

  Protagonist? Michael in his disguise as Dorothy.

  Antagonist? Les, Dorothy’s suitor.

  Problem? Michael-Dorothy knows Les wants to propose and wants to let him down gently.

  BEGINNING. This opening part takes us up to the point that Les announces he has something he wants to say. Michael-Dorothy tries to cut him off, but Les rushes on. The problem emerges in the immediate form of Les’s relentless drive toward the proposal.

  MIDDLE. Les makes his boots, feet, and photograph marriage proposal speech as Michael-Dorothy, trying to be kind, finds he has put himself in the position of listening to the proposal he’d wanted to cut off at the pass. Crisis.

  END. Michael-Dorothy is confronted with saying yes or no after all, and if not immediately then soon. He flees the situation. Climax.

  Consider the scene now from the point of view of emotional realism.

  A man fumbles, proposes; a woman is flustered and runs away. Nothing could be more familiar or clichéd. But knowing Dorothy is really Michael lends the scene another dimension, and we are in the amusing and revealing position of seeing that all of Dorothy’s reactions are not only appropriate to her as a woman, but also appropriate to her as a man disguised as a woman trying to be kind. Michael’s kindness is his downfall, just as it would be if he had actually been Dorothy. The dividing line between the sexes is amusingly blurred—we see it is not as sharp as we had thought. This is certainly one of the central aims of Tootsie.

  We said this scene was also full of familiar comedic conventions. One of the oldest of these, going back to the New Drama of Greece in the third century B.C., is the use of mistaken identity. What greater mistake about identity could Les make? Another of these is the love triangle, equally old in lineage. Here Michael loves Julie (who loves a man called Ron from whom Michael-as-Dorothy helps Julie break away); Julie loves her father, of course; and her father loves Michael-as-Dorothy. This is inherently the stuff of comedy.

  What makes it work here in a contemporary update? The premise, a term you should start getting used to. It has two meanings, actually. The first refers to a brief typed statement you would leave with a studio or network executive responsible for buying likely ideas for shows or films. Without giving the plot, you would try to present in it the essential idea of a story you’d like to be hired to write. The second meaning refers to the essential idea of a story or individual scene, pure and simple, as you would try to give it to someone conversationally, in a few sentences at the most. Terminology varies, and idea and premise are often interchangeable.

  What makes these comedic conventions amusing in the present scene is basically the idea, or premise, behind the story: an out-of-work actor successfully impersonates a woman, attains great success as an actress, and simultaneously becomes plunged into relationships with others as a woman. In any scene you write, you should be able to state the underlying premise as easily and in as few words. After every scene assignment in this text, you must be able to state the premise just so briefly.

  Now, do you entirely accept Michael-as-Dorothy? Do you believe that a man could fall in love with Michael-as-Dorothy? Do you think Les could have Michael-as-Dorothy in his arms, dancing, and suspect nothing? It makes for wonderful comedy, but do you entirely believe it? The fact is you do believe because of the emotional realism of the scene and because of your willingness to identify with the scene for the sake of the fun, but the premise has built-in problems. There is an ultimate nagging doubt.

  Let’s look at the last sample scene.

  A Brief Word on Premise

  The emotional realism of a scene is crucial to the audience’s acceptance. But the underlying premise, the idea on which the story is based, as well as the significance, meaning, or message of the story, also contributes an element of realism that affects the response to your characters. We could call this element dramatic realism as well as emotional realism. By this we don’t mean reality, but the believability of your premise. That can put an element of distance between the audience and your characters or bring the audience unexpectedly close to them. It is almost easier to believe in the people of Star Wars behaving as they do long ago and far away than it is to believe that Les, holding Michael-Dorothy in his arms as they danced, couldn’t sense something was funny.

  Both the briefly summarized scene from Rocky and, to a lesser extent, that from Tootsie were flawed or depended on our accepting a premise of a not wholly convincing nature. We can believe that Adrian might be attracted to Rocky, but not that he would so easily overcome her inhibitions or find her so conveniently pretty. To the extent there was a problem with Michael-Dorothy and Les, it was in the underlying idea.

  So add this consideration about premise, as it affects believability, to your notes on emotional realism after you read the next scene. Compare those with ours on the premise, too.

  A Crucial Scene from Kramer vs. Kramer

  This is what you need to know as background for the next scene. Ted and Joanna are married and have a young child, Billy. Some time ago, Joanna abandoned Ted and Billy and disappeared. They have not heard from her in a long time. Ted had been a poor father, entirely career oriented, until the time Joanna left. In the time since her departure, however, he has been transformed into a devoted father and as much of a mother as he can be, and he has dropped his obsession with his career. Billy, and family, now come first with him. Just as it seems he and Billy have completed this transformation together, Joanna reappears on the scene and calls Ted. What follows is their first meeting since she disappeared:

  FADE IN:

  INT. RESTAURANT, MELONS (EST) DAY

  [CAMERA IS] ON THE DOOR as TED enters and looks around. The OWNER approaches. From his attitude, it is clear that Ted and Joanna were regular customers.

  OWNER

  Hello, Mr. Kramer. Haven’t seen you for a long time. Mrs. Kramer’s waiting in the back.

  TED

  Thank you, Jack.

  [FOLLOW TED] as he walks toward the back room of the restaurant. As he reaches the door to the back room

  INT. BACK ROOM, MELONS DAY

  [showing the tables and customers.]

  TED’S POV

  JOANNA, sitting against the wall, a glass of white wine in front of her. She is still stunningly beautiful. HOLD ON HER FOR A BEAT as she looks up, smiles.

  ON TED

  [as] he stands watching her, his knees weak. It is impossible not
to fall in love with her all over again.

  TWO SHOT: TED & JOANNA

  as he crosses to her table and sits down.

  JOANNA

  Hello Ted. You look well.

  TED

  So do you.

  The WAITRESS appears, carrying a scotch and soda. She sets it down on the table in front of Ted.

  WAITRESS

  The usual, Mr. Kramer.

  TED

  (not taking his eyes off Joanna)

  Thanks.

  The waitress promptly disappears.

  JOANNA

  How’s the job?

  TED

  Fine.

  There is a self-conscious pause.

  TED

  Look at us, Joanna. Just like any old married couple having dinner. Who would believe it.

  JOANNA

  Yes . . . How’s Billy?

  ON TED

  The question he has been dreading.

  TED

  He’s great . . . except . . .

  (not looking at her)

  Except he had . . . He fell and he cut his face. He . . . he has a scar, Joanna, from about here to here . . .

  (indicating where and how big)

  There is a beat of silence. A moment of shared feeling.

  TED (CONT’D)

  (he has to say it to someone)

  I can’t help but feel somehow . . . it’s my fault. I keep thinking I could’ve done something—stopped it . . .

  JOANNA

  You can’t tell it from a distance, Ted.

  For the first time he looks up at her.

  TED

  What?

  CROSSCUT BETWEEN THEM

  JOANNA

  I’ve seen him.

  TED

  You have?

  JOANNA

  A few times. Sometimes I sit in that coffee shop across the street and watch when you take him to school.

  ON TED

  speechless.

  [BACK TO SHOT]

  JOANNA (CONT’D)

  He looks like a terrific kid.

  TED

  He is.

  (he still can’t get over it)

  You sat in that coffee shop across from school—

  JOANNA

  (completing the sentence)

  Watching my son . . . Ted, I’ve been living in New York for the past two months.

  TED

  (amazed)

  You’ve been living here, in the city?

  JOANNA

  (a deep breath)

  Ted . . . The reason I wanted to see you . . . I want Billy back.

  TED

  You want what?!

  JOANNA

  (firm)

  I want my son. I’m through sitting in coffee shops looking at him from across the street. I want my son.

  TED

  Are you out of your mind?! You’re the one that walked out on him, remember?

  JOANNA

  (trying to explain)

  Ted, listen to me . . . You and I, we had a really crappy marriage—

  (hastily)

  Look, don’t get defensive, okay? It was probably as much my fault as it was yours . . . Anyway when I left I was really screwed up—

  TED

  Joanna, I don’t give a—

  JOANNA

  (she will be heard)

  Ted, all my life I’d either been somebody’s daughter or somebody’s wife, or somebody else’s mother. Then, all of a sudden, I was a thirty-three-year-old, highly neurotic woman who had just walked out on her husband and child. I went to California because that was about as far away as I could get. Only . . . I guess it wasn’t far enough. So I started going to a shrink.

  (leaning forward, very sincere)

  Ted, I’ve had time to think. I’ve been through some changes. I’ve learned a lot about myself.

  TED

  (like a shot)

  Such as?

  Silence [as he waits].

  TED (CONT’D)

  (boring in)

  Come on Joanna, what did you learn? I’d really like to know.

  Silence [as he waits].

  TED (CONT’D)

  (relentless)

  One thing, okay? Just tell me one goddamn thing you’ve learned.

  There is another beat of silence, then:

  JOANNA

  (quiet, determined)

  I’ve learned that I want my son.

  ON TED

  He reacts as if he has been slapped.

  TED

  Joanna, go be a mother. Get married; have kids. Don’t get married; have kids. Do whatever you want. I don’t give a damn. Just leave me out of it—and leave my baby out of it.

  JOANNA

  Ted, if you can’t discuss this rationally—

  TED

  (getting to his feet)

  Joanna, go fuck yourself!

  And with that he turns on his heels and stalks out of the restaurant.

  FADE OUT3

  Now, let’s compare notes again.

  Protagonist? Ted.

  Antagonist? Joanna.

  Problem? Joanna’s desire to take Billy from Ted.

  BEGINNING. The beginning lasts up to the point when Joanna says, “I want Billy back.” Problem. Until then they have asked the inevitable surface questions and avoided real issues.

  MIDDLE. In this heated section, Joanna tries to explain herself under Ted’s relentless prodding to tell him one way in which she has changed—his way of trying to make it obvious that what exists between him and Billy now should not be changed. At the end of this, Joanna reconfirms her desire for Billy. Ted has failed. Crisis.

  END. Ted fiercely denounces Joanna and refuses to give in to her desire. Climax. He storms out.

  This scene grips us. How human they both are. How awkward with each other, amazed they’re together. Joanna makes it clear in the scene how bad she felt about herself when they were still together, how desperate she was then, and how she now feels she has straightened herself out. She adds the touching detail that for some two months she has been quietly watching Billy. It is easy to feel her ache, to realize that she is not unfeeling: it has taken her all that time to decide to see Ted. She is not a villain.

  Neither, obviously, is Ted. He has every reason to feel and behave as he does. This one scene is self-explanatory for his motivation in itself. It is made clear at the beginning he is still attracted to her, that seeing her is hard for him. The nature of the change he has gone through as a parent is also made clear in his outraged words to Joanna, “Leave my baby out of it.” He is not a villain either.

  Note how sharply etched is this collision of wills. Joanna wants something. Ted wants just the opposite. She tries to explain herself. Ted refuses to accept her explanation. She reaffirms her desire. He, in effect, declares war. It all matters terribly. How two adults and a child are to live depends on the outcome of the conflict. It will not be easily resolved.

  What about the underlying premise for this scene? It’s entirely credible that at some point Joanna would return. There’s hardly any surprise that she would want her child back. If she had turned out to be a fool, or heartless, or a flake (California and a shrink have come to be stock laughs in storytelling) a good deal of the weight, of the believability of this scene would have evaporated. But she is evidently none of those things.

  Nor is Ted’s inevitable reaction anything but believable.

  What about the underlying premise of the film, that a wife could abandon her husband and son and find herself elsewhere while they, left behind, were able to find themselves as a warm, loving family in her absence. Could we believe that this bond would be so strong that the husband would be willing to fight to maintain this father-son unit against the wife and mother when she finally returns? It’s possible. It’s no longer unheard of. It doesn’t strain credibility.

  You are dealing with a piece of strong writing here. The scene has great dramatic strength because each character seems so reasonable to the audience,
yet totally unreasonable to the other. But are people really always so sensible, with so much justification on each side? It’s unlikely. We can agree on one point in Kramer vs. Kramer’s defense: a story certainly could work this way.

  Review

  You must write a dramatic action.

  That action is the collision of your protagonist with some problem he must resolve but has great difficulty in resolving.

  The protagonist’s problem is caused by an antagonist in the form of another person or persons, a physical or natural obstacle, or by conflict within himself.

  A scene is both the setting in which dramatic action takes place and a structure of that dramatic action into a BEGINNING, in which the characters are introduced and the problem for the protagonist emerges; a MIDDLE, in which the efforts of the protagonist to solve that problem reach a point of failure (the crisis); and an END, in which the protagonist makes the final effort to resolve his problem one way or another (the climax).

  The emotional realism with which characters behave is crucial for credibility; their motivation must be entirely believable.

  Your basic idea, or premise, to be effective, must motivate your characters with a need to overcome an immediate obstacle.

  The freshness with which you create character and situation matters far more than the conventional elements you may make use of, as with, for example, the comedic traditions taken advantage of in the scene from Tootsie.

  Notes

  1. Mario Puzo and Francis Ford Coppola, The Godfather (unpublished third draft of manuscript, March 1971), pp. 1–3. Reproduced with permission from Paramount Pictures Corporation; copyright © 1988; all rights reserved.

  2. Larry Gelbart, Tootsie (unpublished manuscript, March 1982), pp. 116–119.

  3. Robert Benton, Kramer vs. Kramer (unpublished manuscript, September 1978), pp. 72–77.

  4. Camera Language and Format

  Don’t tell it—show it.

  Our aim from the beginning has been practical, which means helping you write a salable script. The look and feel of professionalism suggested by the format and use of the camera seriously influences the reading by any buyer of a script written by an unknown screenwriter. You can be sure that if you show ineptitude in covering the significant action in terms of format and camera language you will have small chance of making a sale, regardless of how good a story may be buried in your script.