Meaningful Objects

(Spoilers: The Apartment, Notorious)

Film is a visual medium. As screenwriters, once we’ve built the story structure, much of our attention often goes to dialogue. But we should be looking for more visual ways to tell our stories so that we can take full advantage of the filmic medium. One of those ways is to create meaningful objects – props that are imbued with meaning that helps tell the story.

Besides making your script more visual, there is another benefits of creating meaningful objects: they can provide opportunities for layering subtext into scenes. This often comes when one character knows information about the object that another does not. Today I want to look at two examples of masterful use of meaningful objects for telling stories.

The first is in The Apartment (written by Billy Wilder & I.A.L. Diamond). In the story, C.C. Baxter owns an apartment that he loans out to executives at his company, including Mr. Sheldrake, as a place to carry on affairs. Baxter has a crush on elevator operator Fran Kubelik, who, unknown to Baxter, is Sheldrake’s mistress.

The object in question is a make-up compact. It is introduced when Sheldrake comes to visit Baxter in his new office – the result of a promotion that was Baxter’s reward for sharing the apartment with executives. Baxter returns the compact to Sheldrake, saying it was left at the apartment the night before. Baxter points out that the mirror is broken and says he didn’t do it. Sheldrake replies that it broke when his mistress threw it at him.

This set-up of the compact is elegantly done. First, there’s a reason to bring the compact up – Baxter returning it to Sheldrake. In bad screenplays, characters might produce the object and explain it for no apparent reason. When you are setting up a meaningful object, create a good reason for it to be brought into the story, even if that reason is unrelated to the object's purpose in the plot. Second, the crack in the mirror is a way to identify this particular compact in the future – and again there is a reason for this detail to be pointed out to the audience: Baxter fearing he’ll be blamed for breaking it.

Once the compact is introduced, it is then ignored for a few minutes of screen time. Soon we have a scene set at an office Christmas party where Baxter brings Kubelik to see his new office. While Baxter is getting them drinks, Kubelik learns from Sheldrake’s secretary that Kubelik is only the latest of Sheldrake’s conquests. This provides a layer of subtext to the scene once Baxter returns. He’s flirting with Kubelik, showing off a bowler hat he’s bought. She’s trying to be nice, but we know she’s heartbroken at the recent revelation.

Then the compact makes a reappearance. Kubelik brings it out to show Baxter what he looks like in his hat. When Baxter sees the crack, the audience knows that Baxter now knows Kubelik is Sheldrake’s mistress. Baxter doesn’t say anything, but the revelation adds a new layer of subtext to the scene. The dialogue in this scene is about Baxter’s promotion and new hat, but the subtext is about Kubelik and Baxter’s heartbreaks, the latter revealed entirely through the visual use of the compact.

Don’t miss the exceptional subtlety of this. Kubelik doesn’t know Baxter knows her secret. By using the meaningful object, the writers have allowed the audience to follow this revelation without the need for a separate scene to explain it in dialogue.

Imagine how the writers’ thought process may have gone: They knew they needed Baxter to learn about Kubelik and Sheldrake, but didn’t want it to be through dialogue. So they came up with the idea for the compact, which had the advantage of allowing the revelation to happen in a scene that includes Kubelik’s character, creating subtext. The writers then had to figure out how to plant the compact and had the idea to have Baxter return it to Sheldrake. Finally they had to figure out a way for the audience to recognize the compact and came up with the cracked mirror.

The second example I’d like to discuss is in Notorious (written by Ben Hecht), and the meaningful object is the key to a wine cellar. The story is about Alicia, the daughter of a Nazi turned U.S. government spy, who has married a Nazi living in Brazil named Sebastian in order to uncover a secret plan. Alicia’s U.S. handler is Devlin, and they’ve fallen in love. Alicia has learned that something is being kept in Sebastian’s wine cellar, but it’s locked and she doesn’t have the key. Alicia and Devlin plot to sneak into the wine cellar during a party at the house.

The key is introduced when Alicia slips it off Sebastian’s key ring while they get ready for the party. She’s almost caught – Sebastian comes in just as she gets the key off of the ring and takes both her hands, the key clutched in her right fist. Sebastian kisses her left palm and moves to kiss her right one. To avoid him discovering the key, Alicia throws her arms around him and drops the key behind his back, then kicks it safely under a table.

The reason for the key is inherent in our heroes’ plot to get into the wine cellar, but this introduction with a moment of suspense cements the key’s importance in our mind. The suspense continues during the party as Alicia and Devlin try to get to the wine cellar before the butler runs out of wine and has to go down for more. The complication is that Sebastian is jealous of Alicia and doesn’t like seeing her with Devlin.

Alicia and Devlin finally manage to slip down to the wine cellar and find the clue they’re looking for, but the wine runs out upstairs and Sebastian and the butler head down. As Devlin and Alicia leave the wine cellar and head out a back door, Devlin notices that Sebastian has seen them. Devlin grabs Alicia and kisses her. When Sebastian comes outside to confront them, Alicia claims Devlin tricked her outside and forced her to kiss him. Devlin is kicked out of the party and it seems our heroes have gotten away with their plot.

Here is where the key makes its reappearance – or rather doesn’t make its reappearance. Sebastian and the butler go to the wine cellar. Sebastian pulls out his key ring… and discovers the key is gone. We see on his face that he’s put two and two together and figured out our heroes’ trick. He turns to the butler and says they should just give the guests liquor and champagne. The information has been delivered visually, adding subtext to the mundane dialogue with the butler at the end of the scene, all because of the use of the key as a meaningful object.

If you have a scene with on-the-nose dialogue or you need to give a character information, consider creating a meaningful object. You’ll need to figure out how to introduce the object and imbue it with the necessary meaning. But once you do that, you can use the object to create powerful scenes layered with subtext.

Have your own favorite example of a meaningful object? Share it in the comments!

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Four Secrets for Better Exposition

(SPOILERS: Raiders of the Lost Ark, The Terminator, The Matrix, Inception, Little Miss Sunshine)

One of the most difficult things to handle well in a screenplay is exposition. Exposition is the stuff the audience needs to know to understand the story but isn’t particularly interested in. Because the audience doesn’t inherently care about exposition it is, by definition, boring. Your job as writer is to find ways to make it palatable. Here are four ways to help exposition go down easier:

1. Timing

When you deliver your exposition is as important as how you deliver it. Never, ever start your script with exposition. Readers will toss it aside before they even get to the meat of the story. Instead, place the information somewhere the audience will appreciate it. Often it’s best to dribble the exposition out, slipping it into scenes that have other purposes. But sometimes, especially in stories with complex or fantastic settings or mythology, it can be better to have a scene that is solely for exposition.

Raiders of the Lost Ark (story by George Lucas and Philip Kaufman, screenplay by Lawrence Kasdan) has a very expository scene in Act One. Two FBI agents tell Indiana Jones and his boss at the university about the clues they’ve uncovered regarding the Nazi’s search for the Ark, and then Indy explains the Ark’s history and a bit about the Staff of Ra. It lays out almost everything the audience needs to know to understand the rest of the movie.

If we opened with this scene it would be a snooze-fest in the theater. Instead, it comes soon after a long sequence of rip-roaring action. At that point the audience could use a little break. So one way to handle exposition is to place it after a tense, exciting scene when the audience is happy to take a few moments to catch their breath.

The Matrix (written by Andy & Larry Wachowski) demonstrates another way to time exposition for maximum effect. We don’t get the explanation of what the Matrix is and the history of how the machines have taken over the world, until Act Two. Prior to this we’ve seen all kinds of weird things – people with super powers, Neo’s mouth vanishing, and a pill that draws Neo into a strange world. By Act Two we’re desperate for somebody to explain what’s going on and we happily sit through Morpheus’s lecture. If you make the audience want to know the expository information it won’t seem boring.

2. The Character Who Doesn’t Know

It can be particularly painful to see one character tell another character something they already know. It’s obvious the dialogue is just there for the audience’s benefit. Putting someone into the scene who doesn’t know the information can solve the problem. This is why the FBI agents in the Raiders scene don’t know anything about the Ark or its religious history. That gives Indiana Jones a reason to explain it.

In Little Miss Sunshine (written by Michael Arndt), the character of uncle Frank serves this purpose. He is newly arrived to the family, so he doesn’t know things like why the brother doesn’t speak or why Grandpa got kicked out of the retirement home. He can logically ask these questions. And when the reason is explained to Frank, the audience is let in on it as well.

This is why in movies featuring a team of some kind there is usually one new member. Ariadne serves this purpose in Inception (written by Christopher Nolan). She’s new to the team and new to the process of inception, so the veterans have to explain how everything works to her.

3. Reveal in conflict

If you have to have a character deliver information known to another character, try adding conflict. If characters are arguing, they will bring up things everyone knows to support their point. When Joe and Jerry are introduced in Some Like It Hot (story by R. Thoeren and M. Logan, screenplay by Billy Wilder and I.A.L. Diamond) they’re debating what to do with their impending paychecks. This allows Joe to point out that they owe money to a whole bunch of people – something he would never bring up otherwise because Jerry’s well aware of it.

Similarly, when we need to learn the reasons the whole family must go in the van to California in Little Miss Sunshine, they are delivered in an argument between Richard and Sheryl. The exposition about money problems, Sheryl’s inability to drive a stick shift, etc., are necessary for the story, but well known to both characters. But the dialogue doesn't sound false in this scene because the characters are mentioning these issues to support their point of view.

4. Wallpapering

Another trick to make exposition go down easier is known as wallpapering. This is when you set the scene in an interesting locale, or have something visually interesting in the background so the audience doesn’t notice how boring the scene actually is.

Inception does this. Many of the scenes where Cobb explains things to Ariadne are set in dream worlds. We see the environment shift – in one case the city folds up on itself. The cool visual effect hides the lack of drama and conflict in these scenes. Similarly, The Matrix delivers much of its exposition in a mock up matrix on Morpheus's ship that provides interesting visuals.

The Terminator (written by James Cameron and Gale Anne Hurd) has an expository scene very similar to the ones in Raiders of the Lost Ark and The Matrix. Reese explains the time travel premise and what the terminators are and the history of the future to Sarah Connor. This happens in a car fleeing an attack on Sarah Connor by the terminator. Throughout the scene, we’ll get a little bit of exposition, then a police car will catch up to them and we’ll get a little bit of car chase. Then Reese will lose the pursuer and it’s back to exposition. The car chase isn't particularly relevant to the story, it's wallpapering.

(It’s also worth noting that this Terminator scene comes about forty minutes into the movie when the audience is desperate for an explanation for what they’ve seen, and includes a character who needs to know the information. It's pulling out all the techniques to keep the exposition from being boring.)

Every script requires exposition. The key is to use these techniques to make it more palatable to the audience.

“Hello, my name is…”

In response to my last post, C.S. Wyatt asked if I would address introducing characters. He noted how many scripts he sees that force name and expository character information into dialogue in a painfully fake way. (This is a little different topic than the one I wrote about way back in 2009, which was more about how to introduce your character with oomph – though they are related.)

Let’s start with how we let the audience know the character’s name. The first question I would ask is, “Is it really important that the audience know the character’s name?” Obviously there are some memorably named movie characters – Indiana Jones, “Bond, James Bond,” Luke Skywalker, etc.

But there are plenty of excellent movies where the character name doesn’t really seem to stick with us. I doubt most people could have named the characters in Pretty Woman (written by J.F. Lawton) or Little Miss Sunshine (written by Michael Arndt) or, for that matter, my own Sweet Home Alabama more than a couple hours after seeing the films. Since I’ve recently written a lot about it, many of you might be able to name the lead character in Inception (written by Christopher Nolan), but I imagine most people just think of him as “Leonardo DiCaprio.” And none of these movies seems to have suffered from forgettable names.

That last example may give us a clue as to why. In a movie we have an actor’s face – whether famous or not – to help us identify who the character is. And, as you might already be thinking, this is a tool we don’t have in a script. But what we do have is the character’s name printed above each line of dialogue. In essence, that is our “actor.”

But just as casting directors think about casting actors who don’t look similar enough to be confused for each other, screenwriters really ought to choose distinctive names for their characters. I always make sure none of my main characters names start with the same letter, partly so Final Draft will auto-fill with a single keystroke, but also because it helps keep them distinct. I also try to vary the number of syllables in my main characters’ names and avoid rhyming. It’s much easier to keep Kevin, Joe and Alexander straight than Steve, Stan and Sam.

It also helps to use memorable names, though you do want to be careful not to fill up your script with oddball names that will start to come off as goofy. But it’s usually best to avoid common, ordinary names like Dave, Mike or Mary. If you do use them, give them to the minor characters. Or, if you want your main character to have a common, ordinary name, then surround him with characters with more unusual names.

Another way to help the audience remember the name is to use it in the title. People won’t likely forget who the main characters are in Thelma and Louise (written by Callie Khouri) or When Harry Met Sally… (written by Nora Ephron) Of course, this can lead to boring titles. Dave (written by Gary Ross) was a great name for the main character – an ordinary man who has to pretend to be the President – but as a title it really doesn’t grab you and make you want to know more.

But let’s get to the original question of how to reveal the name in the script. It is, of course, natural for people to introduce themselves when they meet. If you’re doing a kind of romantic comedy “meet-cute” then an introduction probably slides in easily. But introductions are inherently boring and you want to avoid having a big group of people meet up and introduce themselves. Just like when you meet a bunch of people at once in real life, the audience will never remember all the names anyway.

The best way to get out names and other basic character info (job, relationships to other characters, etc.) is to create situations where the information naturally comes up (see my post on Show, Don’t Tell).

There are several ways to do that. One is to have other characters talk about the character when they’re not around. This is one of the benefits of advertising the character before their appearance. In Casablanca (screenplay by Julius J. Epstein and Philip G. Epstein and Howard Koch), several people talk about Rick who owns Rick’s American Bar (helpful to name the place after him). Customers ask employees where Rick is and if they can have a drink with Rick. Finally we cut to a hand signing a check “Rick” and then pan up to reveal our main character. I doubt the audience will forget his name!

Having other characters talk about the character is also a good way to get basic exposition out. By the time Rick appears in Casablanca, we know he’s American and that he runs a bar and that he never drinks with customers. You also need, of course, a character who doesn’t know the information. For example, in Little Miss Sunshine, making the suicidal uncle character a newly arrived member of this family unit allows the father to explain why the son has taken a vow of silence.

And creating a little conflict can motivate people to offer up information they wouldn’t normally say. I often reference the introductions of Joe and Jerry in Some Like It Hot (screenplay by Billy Wilder and I.A.L. Diamond, story by R. Thoeren and M. Logan). They debate what they should do with their first paycheck – get Jerry’s tooth fixed, bet it on a dog, or pay off their many debts. Creating this argument gives them a reason to bring up how broke they are. Since both of them know this fact, it would be clunky if they just said something like, “Boy, we sure have a lot of debts.”

Introducing basic character information is a combination of exposition, dialogue and dramatization. It can be a big stumbling block for inexperienced writers. Make sure you create a plausible situation for the information to come out, and do your best to show rather than tell.

Exposition in Inception

(SPOILERS: Inception)

One of the main reasons I wanted to analyze Inception (written by Christopher Nolan) was to examine how it handles the enormous amount of exposition required for the story. Like any story with magic, super powers or sci-fi technology, the audience needs to clearly understand the rules of the world. And the rules of the dream-infiltrating technology are particularly complex.

I already mentioned one of the techniques the movie uses: Ariadne. In the opening sequence of the movie, Cobb loses one of his team members, the architect, and has to replace him. So he recruits someone completely new to the business. She becomes the stand-in for the audience. As Cobb explains how things work to Ariadne, we get to learn about it as well.

There are several training scenes where big chunks of exposition are delivered. The first is the exploding café scene where Ariadne learns the basics including how time works differently in dreams. Soon after is the folding city/footbridge scene where Ariadne learns about the flexible physics of dream reality and the source and danger of subconscious “extras,” and is warned not to build architecture from memory.

A couple of things to note about these scenes: First, they happen well into the movie. The concept of dream infiltration is introduced in a dramatic thriller scene at the opening. This is important – early in the movie the audience is figuring out the world of the movie, so we have to introduce our big conceits quickly. In the opening sequence, we get some of the rules and concepts of the main conceit – the dream-within-a-dream, how things in the real world manifest in the dream world, and that when you die in a dream you wake up but pain feels real.

That exposition is important, but many of the rules are not really explained yet. And because we’re hooked in with character and action, we want to hear the explanations. By the time Ariadne has things directly spelled out for her, we’re happy to tolerate a rather dull scene that answers our questions.

Second, these training scenes are an excellent example of “wallpapering” – the technique where you place a boring scene in a visually interesting setting. The dream world conceit of Inception makes this easy. The action in the scenes is really just Cobb explaining stuff to Ariadne, but the visuals include a café blowing up and a city folding in on itself, making them far more interesting than their story content warrants.

Wallpapering also comes into play in some of the character exposition scenes I mentioned last post. Most notably, when Ariadne slips into Cobb’s dream to find out what he’s hiding – we get an elevator that opens onto a beach, a train and various settings from Cobb’s past.

There are more of these sorts of scenes – Arthur showing Ariadne how to make a stairs that is an impossible loop, for example. Eventually they move from training scenes to briefing scenes where the team plans the job, laying out more information we’re going to need in the final half of the movie. But the same techniques come into play.

Another trick to revealing exposition elegantly is to do it in conflict. What you want to avoid is having characters say things they have no reason to say. Here Inception uses a second character: Arthur. Arthur is Mr. Negative, constantly doubting and questioning Cobb’s plans.

This is how the concept of inception itself is explained. When Saito asks if it’s possible, Arthur says no. Saito wants to know why not, which leads to a verbal analysis of a concept that everyone in the conversation already understands but the audience does not. If Saito had simply said, “I’d like to hire you to perform an inception,” and Cobb and Arthur accepted, the plot would move forward just fine but how would the audience know what they were talking about?

Look at the way we get the explanation about how, in the triple-dream plan, when you die you don’t wake up but end up in Limbo. Cobb doesn’t tell them this detail before the mission. Arthur’s pissed, but Cobb says he didn’t mention it because the dream wasn’t supposed to be dangerous – Arthur failed to discover that Fischer had been trained in dream defenses.

The story would work just fine if Arthur had discovered the defenses and Cobb had told them about the wrinkle with the sedative before hand. But creating an argument between them over who’s to blame allows the information to be revealed more dramatically.

Sometimes conflict and the ignorant character are used in tandem. For example, when Cobb suggests the Mr. Charles gambit, Arthur thinks it’s a bad idea. This leads Ariadne to ask him about it, giving Arthur a chance to explain to the newbie. Also, Ariadne’s concern about Cobb’s secrets causes her to push him for explanations of his backstory at several key moments. There would be no reason for these explanations without her fear.

One other reason we are happy to sit through some of the complex explanations in Inception is that we are involved in the bigger story. The movie gives us a strong through-line to hold onto. And one of the ways that’s kept alive is by using elements of the future. And that will be the topic of my next post!

(Note the element of the future used in that last sentence!)