The Craft of Scene Writing Page 5

  What if they fight over who is more sorry? What if Character B apologizes for the wrong thing, or confesses to a secret and more serious transgression? In a drama, this reversal might be an insightful exploration of themes of accountability and responsibility, or seeing things from the perspective of others. In a comedy, this scene could illuminate irrational behavior or immature viewpoints.

  Surprise Comes from Expectation

  The process of linking surprises to prior setup, including intentional misdirection, means that surprises don’t really come out of the blue. All surprises are, in some respects, expected. That might sound like an oxymoron, but it is a universal truth about scene writing and storytelling.

  In the True Romance interrogation scene, the conventionally accepted expectation that a person being tortured and interrogated wants to avoid pain sets up the context for the surprise that Cliff makes the choice to try to be hurt.

  If you were writing a similar interrogation scene in a dark comedy, you might find inspiration in the expectations that a parent being interrogated wants to withhold information to protect his child. Maybe a father, instead of protecting his son like Cliff did, would surprise us by gladly volunteering the whereabouts of his son to his pursuers.

  Let’s start with David Bordwell’s succinct definition of surprise:

  A surprise is a frustrated expectation.

  I expound on this definition by extracting three rules for creating and evaluating surprises:

  Rule #1: Expectation SHOULD happen.

  Rule #2: Frustration COULD happen. There is evidence—sometimes perceived by an audience only in hindsight or on a second viewing—that the surprise is plausible.

  Rule #3: There is a place where the EXPECTATION is ALWAYS the strongest.

  Let’s flesh out these principles with examples:

  Pretend we are watching a gritty, realistic crime drama. Our protagonist, an undercover FBI agent deeply embedded within an international drug cartel, hears a knock at the door and opens it to reveal a green and purple-tentacled Martian. This is not a surprise; it’s a non sequitur. It violates Rule #2. Given the setup of the tone and genre, an alien’s appearance cannot happen.

  However, the brief description of the story alone presents many surprising but plausible possibilities for who could be at the door. The femme fatale, a victim, a drug dealer, an assassin, a red herring, a snitch, a character we thought was dead, or a mysterious package. The best surprise relates to the established expectations while simultaneously subverting or inverting them.

  The “who is at the door” question is a prototypical example of this craft. The audience always has some set of expectations of who it should be. It might be a person who just left, maybe accompanied with the cliché of the character walking to the door mumbling, “What did you forget?” or “I told you I have to get work done.”

  If your character had just slammed the door on a vacuum salesman, the ensuing doorbell could lead to some dialogue that buttresses the expectation, “I don’t need a vacuum with hypersuction.” Have fun with this. A movie about Girl Scout zombies might lead to a character saying to himself, “How many times do I have to say no to Thin Mints, you little monsters?”

  The penultimate scene in How to Train Your Dragon uses a variation of the “Who’s at the door?” moment very cleverly. Here is the gist of the scene. After the heroic confrontation with an evil dragon, the young hero, Hiccup, awakens in his own quiet bedroom with his faithful friend Toothless, a Night Fury dragon, at his bedside. He discovers that he lost his foot in the battle, but he still doesn’t know how the climax turned out or whether his friends and family survived.

  So what are the expectations? What should happen?

  The entire movie up to this point, from the opening voice over, is in keeping with the generally accepted norm that dragons are terrifying enemies. Hiccup has operated under the assumption that dragons could never be accepted by his clan of Vikings, whose entire culture is based on hunting and slaying the mythical beasts.

  The scene also reestablishes the expectations that make its stakes and the looming question clear in the moment. As Hiccup hobbles to the door on his new leg, this scene mirrors an early moment in the story when he peeks out his door to see dragons wreaking havoc in his village, stealing livestock, and burning homes. As Hiccup carefully opens the door, we get a clever twist on the classic “Who’s at the door?” moment.

  Hiccup pries it open (as he did in the opening scene), revealing a MONSTROUS NIGHTMARE flapping outside the door.

  Hiccup YELPS and slams the door closed. He turns to Toothless, alarmed.

  HICCUP

  Toothless? Stay here, bud.

  This moment is perfect. Without talking or exposition, the scene clarifies the expectations and sets the stakes visually. It shows a nightmare version of his worst fear. His quick line is meant to protect Toothless and clarify that the question of whether dragons are still dangerous mortal enemies is palpable for him, not just a curiosity for the audience.

  Let’s summarize where we are with each rule. We established that there is plenty of setup for the expectation of dragons being dangerous, both throughout the entire movie and in the moment at the door.

  Regarding Rule #2, the entire movie has been about a special kid who sees the real nature of dragons and has become best friends with Toothless. Although Toothless is a Night Fury, the most fearsome species of dragons, he waited loyally by Hiccup’s side while he recovered. And the “good” dragons helped the humans defeat the evil dragon. So the “surprise” that the dragons are now allied with the Vikings is definitely plausible.

  The climax of the scene will reveal the rest of what you need to know about the third rule.

  The action is continuous from where we left off above and reveals the surprise.

  Hiccup pauses… and cracks the door open again. He peeks outside, his eyes widening. He allows the door to swing open, revealing…

  … the Monstrous Nightmare, carrying Snotlout [Note: a Viking child] on its back.

  Notice the sense of a reveal on the page. The ellipsis “…” is literally like a “tada” or a “voilà” presenting the surprise.

  Do you see how the scene makes its most extreme progression toward supporting the expectation that “dragons are still the dangerous enemy” in the split second preceding the upcoming reversal that dragons and Vikings are now allies? As any scene progresses, it will bounce back and forth between the two opposite poles of expectation and frustration. Here’s a graphical representation of how the flow might look:

  In case you haven’t figured it out, the most dramatic zig toward expectation comes seconds before the abrupt change in direction toward the surprise. Let’s update the final rule:

  Rule #3: The expectation is the strongest in the split second before the climax.

  Here, the biggest movement or shift from “left” to “right” creates the power of the climactic change.

  Realistic Expectations

  Stories set in a realistic world can pose a challenge because they draw from common expectations about real-world truths, psychology, and human nature. For example, people will generally avoid physical danger and emotional pain, if they can. And to maintain realism, stories set in our world must abide by the laws of physics as well as a shared understanding of history.

  When you write a script based in our ordinary, everyday world—and this is especially true for slice-of-life dramas or historical period pieces—you risk telling a generic or vague story because your boundaries are exactly the same as every other writer’s. Fortunately, you have your own voice upon which to rely, plus the idiosyncrasies of character, theme, and the peculiarities of a time period or geographic location.

  Stories set in a nonrealistic world or that employ a clever conceit or hook give you a well-defined cauldron in which to find expectations. Fantasies such as Liar Liar or Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone have unique circumstances, with firm rules, that you can exploit for unique su
rprises.

  You have to control the specific expectations for your story, not rely solely on preexisting mythology or clichés. If your script involves vampires or werewolves, you must develop a “rule book” for the audience that clarifies the roles of, among other things, garlic, wooden stakes, sunlight, silver bullets, and so on. You can even use those very clichés to reverse the audience’s generic expectations.

  Here’s an example of how to balance realistic expectations and genre expectations with organic and original surprises.

  Scene Analysis:

  Hoosiers

  In sports movies, we’ve seen hundreds of scenes in which the coach benches a good player in favor of a lesser one to enforce discipline, or in a battle of wills. In Hoosiers, during a basketball game, Coach Norman Dale (Gene Hackman) yells at Rade (Steve Hollar) several times to “share” or pass the ball and eventually he benches him. Even the moment he pulls him out of the game is crafted as a reversal and a surprise; it’s immediately after Rade makes a perfect swish shot.

  Moments later, another teammate fouls out, so Rade, the only player left on the bench, stands up and prepares to go back into the game. Coach Dale stops him and tells him to sit.

  Rade’s response does double duty as conflict and establishing the expectation that a basketball team has five players.

  RADE

  What do you mean? We gotta have five out there.

  (Expectation: five players.)

  COACH

  DALE Sit, sit down.

  (Hint at frustration: maybe not five players.)

  The game referee trots over to Coach and further cements the expectation, which allows Coach’s follow-up line that caps the reversal:

  REF

  Coach, you need one more.

  (Expectation: five players.)

  COACH DALE

  My team is on the floor.

  (Surprise/reversal/frustration: no, four players.)

  The parents and supporters in the stands are confused and angry. Assistant Coach Cletus (Sheb Wooley) calls him on it quickly, which further emphasizes the expectation:

  CLETUS

  What are you trying to do?

  The filmmakers put a surprising twist on an old cliché.

  At the end of the scene, there are two important reaction shots. Coach Dale’s eventual love interest, Myra (Barbara Hershey), and Shooter (Dennis Hopper) each look on admiringly, recognizing something special in Coach Dale’s ability to stand up to the players and to eschew the disapproval of the locals, who are “sideline” coaches. The fact that these two individuals see the importance of Coach Dale’s tough choice establishes the plausibility of the frustration/surprise experienced by everyone else.

  However, most of the credibility for the action comes from the character. He is a hard-nosed, stubborn disciplinarian. Call it what you want, but Coach Dale is a rabble-rouser with a self-destructive streak and a contrary perspective. Not only is he not afraid to go against the grain, he enjoys it as a sort of a challenge that tests his boundaries.

  This brings us to the most constant source of expectations and surprises: characters. To show the two ways in which characters inspire reversals, let’s quickly differentiate between character and characterization. Characterization is more about the collection of superficial traits of your fictional creation, whereas character is the deep-rooted essence at the core of that creation.

  Small twists in scenes might come from the character’s surface nature. A neurotic character might make a surprising choice based on jealousy or insecurity. An immature adult might act like a child. Essentially, their neuroses create an amusing contrast to the expectation of what a well-adjusted person should do.

  However, the biggest surprises in a story will usually come from deep character. Take Han Solo (Harrison Ford), for example. Even his name creates an expectation of self-reliance and/or selfishness so that we don’t expect him to help Luke. The reversal created when Han does choose to help establishes Solo’s identity on a deeper level.

  Think about the L.A. Confidential and McLintock! scenes above. The source of the surprise in these scenes is, respectively, character and characterization.

  In L.A. Confidential, Bud White seems destined to follow in his abusive father’s footsteps and become devoured by a tragic flaw, but his surprising choice not to perpetrate violence comes from the depth of his character. It’s life-changing growth. The scene in McLintock! relies more on characterization, i.e., McLintock’s cantankerous personality and sense of justice.

  Later, we devote an entire chapter, “Dilemma,” to mining the depths of character to find the changes that resonate most powerfully with emotion.

  A Special Case:

  When the Surprise Is No Change at All

  A particularly challenging scenario arises when you are trying to make something out of nothing; that is, your surprise is that nothing happened.

  Two characters chat about their day over coffee after work, and then each goes her own way. What was the point of the scene?

  • No alcohol was consumed, so clearly it was victory for the recovering alcoholic.

  • Neither revealed herself to be a Martian, offering selfies from her spaceship as proof.

  • The characters did not don gold jumpsuits and break into a duet of “I Will Survive.”

  Surprise, it is true that none of these things happened.

  Hopefully, you can see the futility of merely hoping an audience will understand the importance of a beat or action that is missing from the moment.

  In order for a surprise to frustrate an expectation, the expectation must first be clearly established. If the absence of something is the surprise, then it becomes even more critical to specify very clearly what we should expect to transpire. Layering in the expectation of what should happen allows the audience to experience a sense of surprise even when in the climactic moment or reversal, it seems that nothing has happened.

  Let’s say you are writing a romance. The eventual lovers don’t have sex on their first date and you want that to be the surprise. If they begin to head in that direction, then that becomes the expectation itself.

  This strategy is illustrated in Crazy, Stupid, Love when Hannah (Emma Stone) and Jacob (Ryan Gosling) spend a romantic night together but surprise us by not having sex.

  HANNAH

  So is this how it normally works?

  JACOB

  What?

  HANNAH

  How you woo a woman? You take them back to your granite-countered bachelor pad, put on the perfect song, and make them a drink?

  JACOB

  Yes. That’s how it normally works.

  But what if the idea of sex never comes up? Even when “what’s supposed to happen” is nowhere to be found or physically absent, you have to find a way to sneak it in.

  Here are several ways to get the expectation of “yes to sex” into a moment with varying degrees of subtlety:

  • One of the characters could have lamented earlier how he always has sex too soon when meeting someone.

  • Foil character—As a contrast, use another couple that does have sex.

  • Instead of specific foil characters, the “world” of your story might be permeated with sex, as seen in Eyes Wide Shut or Carnal Knowledge.

  • Maybe offscreen sounds of lovemaking from the adjacent apartment could plant the thought in the minds of the characters and audience.

  • On their way home, a billboard with a hypersexual ad for a dating service looms above them.

  Contrast, and even the most muted hints at the expectation, will register with the audience on a subconscious level. Consider this principle about the way our minds work: the unconscious knows no negation; there is no “no” in our minds.

  If I tell you not to think about pink elephants, I might as well be screaming the opposite at you. Any time you make a negative statement, that is, about something that is “not,” it inevitably simultaneously implies its opposite.

  Even the d
enial, a statement that implies “no sex,” can simultaneously conjure the notion, “yes sex.” So, if a character says, “I’m a virgin,” or “We’re not having sex,” or even “I am coming upstairs only to see your etchings,” then the moment can still plant the idea and plausibility of sex in the audience’s mind. The above statements establish the expectation.

  In True Romance, Clarence (Christian Slater) visits Alabama’s pimp, Drexl (Gary Oldman), to let him know that Alabama (Patricia Arquette) is leaving with him. Clarence has an envelope to deliver to Drexl that is meant, as we will discover, to pay him off and allow Alabama a clean break. Drexl claims he knows that Clarence is scared, which Clarence cleverly rebuts by boldly going about his intended business.

  You will find a dozen or so setups in this one-page scene excerpt that create the expectation that Clarence is offering something, assumed to be money, which accentuates the eventual reveal that he offers Drexl nothing.

  Scene Analysis:

  True Romance

  Clarence takes out an envelope and throws it on the table.

  CLARENCE

  In that envelope is some payoff money. Alabama’s moving on to some greener pastures. We’re not negotiating. I don’t like to barter. I don’t like to dicker. I never have fun in Tijuana. That price is non-negotiable. What’s in that envelope is for my peace of mind. My peace of mind is worth that much. Not one penny more, not one penny more.

  You could hear a pin drop in the room. Once Clarence started talking, Marty went on full alert. Drexl stopped eating, and the whores stopped breathing. All eyes are on Drexl. Drexl drops his chopsticks and opens the envelope. It’s empty.

  DREXL

  It’s empty.

  Clarence flashes a wide Cheshire cat grin that says, “That’s right, asshole.” Silence.

  The reversal is so important that “It’s empty” appears in the action description and the dialogue to accentuate the twist. A writer might rely solely on the plenty of implicit setups in the real world and from other movies:

  • A pimp’s relationship with a prostitute involves money.