One of my pet hates is reading scripts that are clearly written by someone who wants to direct their film. Every line of dialogue has a parenthesis explaining the character’s emotion, and every camera angle is detailed lovingly. This is not good script writing; in fact, it’s one of the rookie mistakes that is virtually guaranteed to irritate readers, directors and producers alike.
Why?
Well, for a start giving directions every other line really makes it difficult for a reader to get into the story, because we’re constantly being wrenched out of the plot with little asides (like playing the director’s commentary over a film you’ve never seen before). It also makes us suspicious: why do you need to clarify your meaning? All the meaning we need should be right there in the dialogue.
It’s also going to irritate directors and producers who are naturally going to see your obsessively controlling take on camera angles and immediately think, “Control freak!”. Film making is stressful enough as it is, and you’re basically advertising yourself as someone who’s going to make the process downright frustrating by constantly wanting to have things ‘your way’.
So –
We’ve established that adding too many directions into your script is a no-no, but equally this is your baby, and you see it a certain way. Now there’s nothing stopping you from conveying your vision – you just have to go about it in a slightly roundabout manner.
How?
Well, let’s tackle dialogue first, because this is one aspect of the script that should just speak for itself. There’s no hiding behind directions here – all the meaning and emotion you want needs to be right here, inherent in the dialogue. You can give us readers some credit. If your character’s saying, “Hey! Watch it!” there’s probably no point in telling us that they’re angry.
Equally, though, we’re not mind readers, and we can’t be expected to know that a conversation consisting of “Hi”, “How are you?” and “Fine” is masking deep passion. And if you’re using directions to imbue lines like that with meaning, then you need to revamp your dialogue completely so you don’t need to rely on asides to tell a reader/actor what’s going on.
Now the tough part’s out of the way, we can move onto the directions. There’s a very simple way of letting the director know you want a crane shot, or an extreme close up at a particular point: just describe what you envision the shot to look like.
So, rather than writing, “WIDE ANGLE on hills of Mongolia, then CLOSE UP of Mongolian warriors riding, then EXTREME CLOSE UP of horse’s face,” you could have something like:
“Windswept plains meet mountains for as far as the eye can see. A desolate, devastating landscape that looks as if it hasn’t been touched for thousands of years.
“Figures appear over one of the hills: horses, hundreds of them, galloping as fast as they can down the steep slope. Atop each horse perches a warrior, armour glinting in the sun.
One of the horses whinnies with joy at the freedom of running over endless grass. Its plain rope bridle may be worn, but its eyes are bright and young.”
Now, I think we can all agree that I’m no writer. However, simply by describing the scene in ever increasing detail, I have (hopefully) guided you into envisioning the same camera angles as above, and I’ve given you a whole load more detail and atmosphere than the first example. Yes, it’s more work, but it forces you to interrogate why you want the audience to see what you’re seeing. It’s also a very good exercise in thinking about what details are absolutely necessary to tell your story.
So, whether you’re writing an epic blockbuster or a micro-budget drama, think carefully about what you want someone to see when they read your script – your directing abilities? Or your story?
Here endeth today’s blog. As ever, I’m always open to suggestions, thoughts and gentle criticism – just hit me up in the comments below.