Screenwriting Contests

One of the ways for beginning screenwriters to get through the enormous wall that separates them from the business is to win a screenwriting contest. I myself have won one – the now defunct Carl Sautter Memorial contest. There are hundreds, maybe even thousands of contests out there. Unfortunately, most have an entry fee and many won’t help you much even if you win. How do you decide which are worth entering?

I would generally look for contests associated with some reputable organization such as a film commission or film festival. Look at your local commission and festivals in particular. They might have contests limited to local writers, which increases your odds. You might also look in the region your film is set. Many commissions have contests just for scripts set in their area to encourage filming there.

Some studios and production companies offer excellent contests and fellowships as well. Just read the application materials carefully. Make sure it really is a contest and not simply a way for the company to get paid for accepting slush pile material. And some of the fellowships require a commitment of a year or more. If you’re serious about screenwriting that’s probably not a bad thing. But make sure you know what you’re getting into.

Unfortunately some contests are scams. They just want to collect the entry fees and sometimes they’re even designed to give the award to a specific person. There is no organization that oversees the ethics of contests. The longer a contest has been around the more legitimate it is likely to be. Look back at the lists of previous winners. If you have doubts about a contest, do a web search to see if the results were widely published.

You’ll also want to consider the entry fee. I would avoid ones that costs more than $40 - $50 unless they're really well known. You can burn through a lot of money in entry fees. Balance the fee against the potential benefit you might get from the contest.

And you will want to analyze the potential benefit. Contest that give big cash prizes are definitely worth a look. And consider how the contest promotes the winner. Some festival contests will give you a free pass to the festival, which you can use to make a lot of contacts (though if they don't provide travel you'll have to weight that cost). Others might set up meetings with agents or producers. Even free participation in a class or seminar can be a good payoff if the entry fee is reasonable.

Most legitimate contests will distribute the winning scripts to a wide range of industry professionals. But if you win you shouldn’t leave it up to the organizers to do all the promotion for you. That’s the time to send out query letters to your own list of agents or producers touting your success, giving a quick logline of the script and asking if they’ll read it.

There is one contest that rises above all others: The Nicholls Fellowship administered by the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences. Even the semi-finalists get pursued by agents and producers. But be forewarned – the competition is fierce. If you really think you’re ready, though, you should definitely apply. You can find out more at:

http://www.oscars.org/awards/nicholl/index.html

Finally, though contests are one of the most straightforward ways to get your foot in the door, they should not become an end in and of themselves. Be selective of which ones you enter. And once you win a couple you should really evaluate what more you can get out of the process.

But until then, good luck!

Writer's Block

Every once in a while someone asks me how I combat writer’s block. Truth is I don’t think about it much. But I realize I’ve developed several tools to help me cope with the problem of not knowing what to write next.

First, I think there are two kinds of writer’s block. The first is when you don’t know what story you want to write. This happens to me every few years. I won’t have a paid gig and I won’t know what spec material I want to pursue. It’s not that I don’t have ideas – I have notebooks full of more ideas than I could write in several lifetimes. But I’m not sure which idea I want to commit the next several months of my life to. This problem never seems to last that long. I’ll just start noodling with several ideas, outlining them and doing character development, and eventually one will come to the forefront and take over.

But where do I get all these ideas? I think everyone stumbles across half a dozen movie ideas every day. The difference is I recognize them and most people don’t. I see movie ideas everywhere in daily life as I meet people, read newspaper articles, etc. because I’m looking for movie ideas. If I designed furniture I’d probably get several ideas a day for new styles of chair or table.

Most of these ideas are not good. But that doesn’t really matter. Since it takes me months to write a script I only need one good one out of every couple hundred.

If you aren’t yet in the habit of seeing movie ideas everywhere you look I would recommend a technique one of my first writing instructors suggested: carry a notebook with you. Anytime you meet or see an interesting person or hear a snatch of interesting dialogue or learn about an unusual fact, exciting job or dramatic situation, write it down. You’ll have a notebook full of movie ideas in no time. And the more you do it the easier it will get to spot new ideas. Soon you won’t be able to write fast enough to keep up with all your ideas.

The other kind of writer’s block is when you’re in the middle of a first draft and don’t know what to write next. I believe strongly in having a detailed outline before I start writing, so this is less of a problem for me. I have a roadmap that always tells me what the next scene needs to be. Sometimes I wander off the path or revise my route as I’m going, but it’s rare that I don’t have some idea of what comes next.

Still, sometimes I find myself unable to conceive of how a scene will play out. Often this is due to a lack of confidence. There are a couple ways to combat this:

First, give yourself permission to be bad. This is only the first draft. Write it bad now and make it great in the next draft. People will only see the draft you give them. They’ll never know how awful the scene was in previous drafts. And frequently when I read through a recently finished draft, the material I thought was going to be bad is actually pretty good and some of the stuff I thought was brilliant when I wrote it makes me cringe. When we’re in the middle of the scene we’re not always at our most objective.

(Writer’s block only seems to happen in the first draft stage, at least to me. When I’m fixing things the answer to what needs to be done is always pretty clear.)

The second technique is to sit down at the computer or the notepad or whatever for a specific amount of time every day. This is a tip I picked up from an article by Lawrence Block. He recommended writing for an hour or two hours or whatever every day… and stopping exactly at the end of the writing period, even if you’re in mid-scene.

I don’t do that. But if I’m feeling blocked I make myself sit at my computer for at least an hour. I tell myself it’s okay if I only write a few words, but I can’t surf the web or play computer solitaire or do anything else for one hour. I have to stare at my half finished script. What always happens is I get bored and start trying different approaches to the scene in question. In no time at all I’m writing furiously and productively and invariably I blow past the hour mark without noticing. The danger is in not sitting down at the computer in the first place. If I don’t show up the ideas will never come.

Which brings me to another little technique inspired by Lawrence Block. I usually don’t stop mid-scene, but I also don’t end my writing day at the end of a scene. If it’s getting toward quitting time and I finish up the scene I’m working on, I always take a few minutes to plan out the next scene. I review my outline, make a few notes, brainstorm a few ideas and lines of dialogue. Then I walk away.

By the time I sit down for my next writing session, my head is swimming with ideas for the scene and I’m anxious to get started. What I’m doing is priming my brain at the end of a writing session. I’m setting my subconscious to work on the scene while my conscious mind is occupied with the rest of my life. And when I come back to the script I know exactly what I’m working on next.

Because of these techniques, writer’s block is simply not a problem for me.

Polishing Exercise Part 2

Last time I posted a short scene and suggested you polish it. First, here's the original scene with my notes on what's wrong with it (and again, please forgive the inability to mimic true screenplay format in the blog):

INT. APARTMENT – NIGHT

The apartment is spacious and well appointed. A couch, love seat and recliner are arranged in a conversation area by a gas fireplace, above which a plasma TV is mounted. Modern art hangs on the walls and a piece of abstract sculpture sits on a coffee table surrounded by architectural magazines. Big picture windows look out over the New Orleans skyline. A table surrounded by four chairs is set for a fancy dinner, complete with tablecloth and two candles. A bottle of champagne rests in an ice bucket.

(Too much description. We can simplify this a lot. I’d pick out the modern art and the architectural magazines as the best details to use. And we probably want to say something about the table being ready for a date.)

The sound of food preparation comes from the kitchen. It stops when there’s a KNOCK at the door.

KEVIN enters, wiping his hands on a plain green apron. He is about 30 and dressed with casual style in khakis and an oxford shirt. His shoes and watch are expensive, signaling his good taste. Yet a certain ruggedness is apparent under the well scrubbed surface.

Kevin goes to the door and opens it. (We don’t need to say he goes to the door to open it.) On the other side is MARIA. She is also about 30, pretty and dressed to impress in a black cocktail dress, high heels, and a demure gold necklace. Her make-up has been applied with care and her hair is swept up to show off her swan like neck.

(More description than is needed for both of them. I’ll pick a couple of representative details to describe.)

KEVIN
Good evening.

MARIA
Hello.

KEVIN
Come in.

MARIA
Thank you.

(Four lines of dialogue that tell us absolutely nothing.)

Maria enters and looks around.

MARIA
Mm, smells delicious.

KEVIN
I think you'll like it. Have a seat. Would you like some champagne?

MARIA
Sure.

She goes to the table and sits. Kevin gets the champagne out of the ice bucket and pours each of them a glass.

(Question: What do we get out of showing Maria’s arrival? Let’s just start with him pouring the champagne.)

MARIA
Champagne. Fancy.

KEVIN
Well, this is our third date after all. I’m glad Mona introduced us.

MARIA
Yeah. How did you know her again?

KEVIN
We met in college.

(The exposition feels clunky. I can get the needed info out in a more elegant fashion.)

He puts the champagne back in the ice bucket.

(Don’t need this line.)

MARIA
(nervously) (Don’t need this parenthetical. The tone is obvious.)
About that. It’s very nice of you to cook for me, and I know what people say.

KEVIN
About what?

(We could cut this line out and still get the meaning, but I like breaking up Maria’s line to show she’s uncomfortable. You don’t want to lose the subtext as you trim your scene!)

She looks down, embarrassed. (Don’t need this. Let the actors do the acting.)

MARIA
Third dates. But I’d like to take this slow.

KEVIN
Have I done something to give you a bad impression of me?

MARIA
(quickly) (Don’t need this parenthetical.)
No, no. Of course not.

KEVIN
Because I wouldn’t want you to think I was trying to take advantage of you.

MARIA
I don’t think that. I’m just trying to... (beat) manage expectations.

Kevin looks hurt. (We get this from his dialogue.)

KEVIN
Maria, I wanted to cook for you because, if I may be a bit immodest, I’m a very good cook and I’m trying to impress you. That’s my only agenda for this evening.

Maria smiles, relieved. (We get this from her dialogue. These kinds of action lines just slow down the scene.)

MARIA
You don’t have to try to impress me.

Kevin holds up his glass.

KEVIN
Okay. Let’s make a toast. To an evening of no pressure on either one of us.

(The toast sentence is unnecessary.)

They clink glasses and drink.

KEVIN
I better check on the chicken.

Kevin stands up and starts for the kitchen. (We can cut stands up.)

Maria looks sick.

MARIA
Oh…

Kevin turns back. (Don't need.)

KEVIN
(concerned) (Don’t need this parenthetical. The tone is obvious.)
Is something wrong?

MARIA
Where's your bathroom?

KEVIN
Down the hall.

(This whole exchange could be trimmed.)

He points the way. Maria stands up and starts to head for the bathroom. She stumbles and catches herself on the couch. Kevin rushes to her aid.

(This action is overwritten.)

KEVIN
Whoa, maybe you better sit down.

He eases her down onto the couch. She mumbles something inaudible as her eyes close.

KEVIN
Maria?

She doesn’t respond. Kevin flips open his cell phone and dials a number.

KEVIN
(into phone)
She’s out. You have about five hours.

He closes the phone, stands up, smiles with satisfaction, and heads back into the kitchen.

(More overwritten action.)

Now, here's the scene as it would appear edited based on my notes:

INT. APARTMENT – NIGHT

The apartment is spacious and well appointed. Modern art hangs on the walls and a piece of abstract sculpture sits on a coffee table surrounded by architectural magazines.

KEVIN and MARIA sit at the dining table which is set for a fancy dinner.

Kevin is about 30 and dressed with casual style. His shoes and watch are expensive, signaling his good taste. Yet a certain ruggedness is apparent under the well scrubbed surface.

Maria is also about 30, pretty and dressed to impress in a black cocktail dress.

MARIA
Mona will be happy to hear things are going well between us.

KEVIN
She did a good job this time. You should have seen some of the women she set me up with back in college.

Kevin pours them each a glass of champagne.

MARIA
Champagne. Fancy.

KEVIN
Well, this is our third date after all.

MARIA
About that. It’s very nice of you to cook for me, and I know what people say.

KEVIN
About what?

MARIA
Third dates. But I’d like to take this slow.

KEVIN
Have I done something to give you a bad impression of me?

MARIA
No, no. Of course not.

KEVIN
Because I wouldn’t want you to think I was trying to take advantage of you.

MARIA
I don’t think that. I’m just trying to... (beat) manage expectations.

KEVIN
Maria, I wanted to cook for you because, if I may be a bit immodest, I’m a very good cook and I’m trying to impress you. That’s my only agenda for this evening.

MARIA
You don’t have to try to impress me.

Kevin holds up his glass.

KEVIN
Okay. To an evening of no pressure on either one of us.

They clink glasses and drink.

KEVIN
I better check on the chicken.

Kevin starts for the kitchen.

MARIA
Oh...I don't feel so good...

Maria suddenly looks sick. She dashes for the bathroom but stumbles and catches herself on the couch. Kevin rushes to her aid.

KEVIN
Whoa, maybe you better sit down.

He eases her down onto the couch. She mumbles something inaudible as her eyes close.

KEVIN
Maria?

She doesn’t respond. Kevin flips open his cell phone and dials a number.

KEVIN
(into phone)
She’s out. You have about five hours.

He closes the phone and heads back into the kitchen.

Polishing Exercise

Last post I discussed the art of polishing your writing. Now I thought I’d do an example. But for fun, I’m going to set it up like an exercise. Below is a short unpolished scene, intentionally bloated and overwritten. My challenge to you, should you choose to accept it: polish the scene yourself. On Thursday I’ll post how I would polish it and why. You can decide if your version is better than mine!

(By the way, I apologize if the format doesn't come out correctly. It's hard to mimic screenplay format in html.)

INT. APARTMENT – NIGHT

The apartment is spacious and well appointed. A couch, love seat and recliner are arranged in a conversation area by a gas fireplace, above which a plasma TV is mounted. Modern art hangs on the walls and a piece of abstract sculpture sits on a coffee table surrounded by architectural magazines. Big picture windows look out over the New Orleans skyline. A table surrounded by four chairs is set for a fancy dinner, complete with tablecloth and two candles. A bottle of champagne rests in an ice bucket.

The sound of food preparation comes from the kitchen. It stops when there’s a KNOCK at the door.

KEVIN enters, wiping his hands on a plain green apron. He is about 30 and dressed with casual style in khakis and an oxford shirt. His shoes and watch are expensive, signaling his good taste. Yet a certain ruggedness is apparent under the well scrubbed surface.

Kevin goes to the door and opens it. On the other side is MARIA. She is also about 30, pretty and dressed to impress in a black cocktail dress, high heels, and a demure gold necklace. Her make-up has been applied with care and her hair is swept up to show off her swan like neck.

KEVIN
Good Evening.

MARIA
Hello.

KEVIN
Come in.

MARIA
Thank you.

Maria enters and looks around.

MARIA
Mm, smells delicious.

KEVIN
I think you’ll like it. Have a seat. Would you like some champagne?

MARIA
Sure.

She goes to the table and sits. Kevin gets the champagne out of the ice bucket and pours each of them a glass.

MARIA
Champagne. Fancy.

KEVIN
Well, this is our third date after all. I’m glad Mona introduced us.

MARIA
Yeah. How did you know her again?

KEVIN
We met in college.

He puts the champagne back in the ice bucket.

MARIA
(nervously)
About that. It’s very nice of you to cook for me, and I know what people say.

KEVIN
About what?

She looks down, embarrassed.

MARIA
Third dates. But I’d like to take this slow.

KEVIN
Have I done something to give you a bad impression of me?

MARIA
(quickly)
No, no. Of course not.

KEVIN
Because I wouldn’t want you to think I was trying to take advantage of you.

MARIA
I don’t think that. I’m just trying to... (beat) manage expectations.

Kevin looks hurt.

KEVIN
Maria, I wanted to cook for you because, if I may be a bit immodest, I’m a very good cook and I’m trying to impress you. That’s my only agenda for this evening.

Maria smiles, relieved.

MARIA
You don’t have to try to impress me.

Kevin holds up his glass.

KEVIN
Okay. Let’s make a toast. To an evening of no pressure on either one of us.

They clink glasses and drink.

KEVIN
I better check on the chicken.

Kevin stands up and starts for the kitchen.

Maria looks sick.

MARIA
Oh…

Kevin turns back.

KEVIN
(concerned)
Is something wrong?

MARIA
Where’s your bathroom?

KEVIN
Down the hall.

He points the way. Maria stands up and starts to head for the bathroom. She stumbles and catches herself on the couch. Kevin rushes to her aid.

KEVIN
Whoa, maybe you better sit down.

He eases her down onto the couch. She mumbles something inaudible as her eyes close.

KEVIN
Maria?

She doesn’t respond. Kevin flips open his cell phone and dials a number.

KEVIN
(into phone)
She’s out. You have about five hours.

He closes the phone, stands up, smiles with satisfaction, and heads back into the kitchen.

Polishing

This is a lesson I learned from my second agent. We were about to send out the first spec I’d done with him. He asked me to turn to page 42 where there was some dialogue along the lines of:

Kevin: Boy those hamburgers were good.

Julie: I think there’s one left.

Kevin: Want to split it?

Julie: Okay.

And then Kevin and Julie went outside to the grill where the next scene happened. My agent pointed out that I used four lines of dialogue whose only purpose was to get the characters outside. It wasn’t that it was particularly bad dialogue, but it was wasted space. And space is precious in a screenplay. Moreover, wasted space slows down the read. The pace can feel like it drags even if each scene is progressing the story.

Finding these kinds of things is polishing. It’s a special stage of rewriting that you should do when you think the script is pretty much finished. In your earlier drafts you shouldn’t worry about this kind of thing too much. It’s likely a lot of your dialogue and action is going to change anyway so don’t waste the time. But when the script is solid doing a final polish pass can really elevate your material to a new level.

One of my screenwriting mantras is “do it once well not three times badly.” In other words, if you’re trying to get something across to the audience, find something that does it effectively and only do it once. For example, if you want to show a character is greedy it’s much better to show one instance of him being really greedy then three instances of him being kind of greedy. (Of course he should then behave consistently with what you’ve established.)

One of the primary things to do in the polishing phase is eliminate unneeded beats. Find those repetitive moments and cut out all but the best. And also cut out bits of action that don’t really advance plot or character – like my dialogue above. Sometimes you’ll need a transitory bit of dialogue to smooth the scene along, but one line would have accomplished the same purpose as the four I’d written:

Kevin: Let’s split that last hamburger.

Particularly watch out for the dreaded “greetings, introductions and farewells.” Too many weak scripts begin scenes with characters entering, greeting each other, introducing friends, asking how each other is doing, etc. It’s boring! Cut into the scene later. We don’t need to see the character arrive at the party; we can open with them in mid-conversation, drink in hand. And the same rule applies to leaving. We don’t need long goodbyes, just cut out of the scene. The exception, of course, is if something unusual happens in the greeting or exit.

And definitely avoid having someone introduce a group of characters to each other. It takes lots of space and the audience probably won’t remember the names anyway.

The same principles apply in descriptive paragraphs. Many writers start a scene by describing everything in the room. That’s unnecessary. If the slug line says we’re in a classroom we have a pretty good idea of what we’ll find in there. Pick a few specific things that tell us what kind of classroom it is and let us fill in the rest. If the chalkboard at the front of the room is just an ordinary chalkboard you don’t need to mention it.

Another tip is to bring up common items as they’re encountered. If a character turns on a lamp in the bedroom you don’t have to mention the lamp until they turn it on. We know bedrooms typically have lamps. But if there’s an enormous gerbil cage on the bed then that’s probably worth describing at the top of the scene!

Another common problem is overwritten action. It usually stems from the writer envisioning the scene as he or she writes and then describing what happens in detail. I particularly have a bad habit of writing the character “turns around” and does something. That’s because as the scene plays out in my head the character turns. But that’s almost always unnecessary. If the character is picking up a knife, for example, I can just write they “pick up the knife.” If on the set the knife is behind them I can trust the actor will figure out they have to turn around to get it.

Keep your action simple and spare. Only describe what’s needed to understand the scene.

Polishing isn’t just about cutting stuff out. You’ll also be looking for clunky dialogue and weak exposition. Basically, you’re fixing the little things that kind of slide by as one reads, but create an overall impression of a sloppy script that drags. It’s not always easy to ignore the forest and focus on the trees. You have to force yourself to go slow and evaluate every line and even every word.

But the result can be the difference between a good script and one that really pops!

Exposition

(SPOILERS: Raiders of the Lost Ark, The Matrix)

I’ve been talking about dialogue lately, and now I’d like to discuss one particularly troublesome type of dialogue: Exposition. Exposition is the stuff the audience needs to know to understand the story but isn’t particularly interested in (and it’s usually but not always delivered in dialogue).

Because the audience isn’t interested in exposition it is, by definition, boring. Your job as writer is to find ways to make it palatable. Here are some techniques I use.

Timing

When you deliver your exposition is important. 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.

Raiders of the Lost Ark (story by George Lucas and Philip Kaufman, screenplay by Lawrence Kasdan) has a very expositional scene in Act I. Two FBI agents tell Indiana Jones and his boss about the clues they’ve uncovered about the Nazi’s search for the Ark, and then Indy explains the Ark’s history and a bit about the Staff of Ra. 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 II. Prior to this we’ve seen all kinds of weird things – people with super powers, Neo getting his mouth sewn shut and a pill which draws Neo into a strange world. By Act II 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.

Who’s the expositor?

Setting up a scenario to deliver the exposition can also be a challenge. One rule of thumb is you want to avoid having your leads deliver exposition. Movie stars don’t want to say the boring stuff!

It’s become a cliché to have a character in a movie whose sole purpose is exposition. This is the role the characters of Q and M play in the James Bond movies. Frequently there’s a character whose job it is to brief our hero as to what’s going on, but if you’re going to do this, you want to make this character interesting in some way.

Another trick is to give the main character a buddy. This gives our hero someone to talk to which makes it a lot easier to get information out. You can also stick ignorant characters in the scene that need an explanation. Think of the FBI agents in the Raiders scene. Indy and his boss know all about the history of the Ark but the FBI agents don’t so there’s a reason for the exposition to come out.

(Indy even makes a joke about their ignorance when he says, “didn’t you guys ever go to Sunday school?” That’s another useful trick – if you’re worried something might seem a little unbelievable, have a character comment on how unlikely it is. Then, as long as it’s plausible, we accept it. In this case Kasdan might have been worried that the audience would think the FBI agents are unbelievably uninformed so he has Indy tease them about it.)

Reveal in conflict

One of the most painful kinds of expository dialogue is when characters tell each other things they already know. For example, imagine a husband saying to his wife, “I’m tired. Let’s go back to the mansion we’ve been living in for the last three years ever since you won the lottery with a ticket you bought with your coworkers.” In real life that husband would simply say, “I’m tired. Let’s go home.”

As I’ve said, you can get around this by putting in an ignorant character that needs to know the information. Or, you can often solve it by adding conflict to the scene. If characters are arguing, they will bring up things everyone knows to support their point. Consider the introduction of Joe and Jerry 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 which 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.

Let’s look at another expository scene from Raiders of the Lost Ark. Here’s a snippet of dialogue from when Indy goes to see Marion in Tibet.

MARION: You son-of-a-bitch! You know what you did to me, to my life?

INDY: I never meant to hurt you.

MARION: I was a child!

INDY: You knew what you were doing.

MARION: I was in love. It was wrong. You knew it.

INDY: Look, I did what I did. I don't expect you to be happy about it.

What we’re getting here is the back story of these two characters’ relationship. It’s revealed in conflict because otherwise they’d have no good reason to bring it up. Notice also how cleverly the dialogue is done. They’re speaking in shorthand since they both know what they’re talking about. They don’t spell out everything in detail, but there’s enough there for us to get the gist of what happened without it being too on-the-nose. The exposition is all in the subtext (see my last couple posts for more on subtext!)

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

Dialogue Study: Almost Famous

(SPOILERS: Almost Famous)

Last time I discussed subtext and on-the-nose dialogue. Let’s study an example from a scene from Almost Famous (written by Cameron Crowe). If you haven’t seen it – stop reading and go rent it! It’s a great movie. In case it’s been a while since you’ve seen it let me recap what’s going on leading into the scene.

William is a high school senior and aspiring rock journalist who has gotten his first big assignment to cover the band Stillwater on tour. Penny is a groupie (she says band-aid) who is in a relationship with Stillwater’s lead guitarist, Russell. The band is about to head to New York where Russell’s wife is, and William has witnessed Russell arranging to send Penny with another band for the time being. In this scene Penny is trying to find out what William knows. Here’s the dialogue as it is in the movie:

PENNY: I can read you. I know what you're thinking.

WILLIAM: What's that?

P: You're worried about me and Russell.

W: Yeah, I gotta work on that.

P: You're so sweet. God, if there was more of you in him.

W: Don't tell me this stuff. I wanna like him.

P: Did you miss your test or something?

W: You have no idea.

P: Look, I know I'm not on the plane. I'm not going on some other band's bus. I could go with the Stillwater road crew but that would be pathetic... and the girls are all going with Humble Pie. So, if you could find out from Russell--Forget it. I'm flying to New York myself. I've got a bunch of partial tickets. I know his ex-wife... current-girlfriend thing is gonna be there.

W: I'm not sure that's a good idea.

P: What are you saying? Did Russell say something?

W: I don't know anything.

P: Well, I know he wants me there.

W: Wake up! Don't go to New York.

P: Why are you yelling at me?

W: I thought we were going to Morocco. There is no Morocco. There's never been a Morocco. There's not even a Penny Lane. I don't even know your real name.

P: If I ever met a man in the real world who looked at me the way you just looked at me--

W: When and where does this "real world" occur? I mean, I am really confused here. All these rules and all these sayings and nicknames.

P: Honey, you're too sweet for rock and roll.

W: Sweet? Where do you get off? Where do you get sweet? I am dark and mysterious and pissed off! And I could be very dangerous to all of you. I am not sweet! And you should know that about me. I am the Enemy!

P: Look, you should be happy for me. You don't know what he says to me in private. Maybe it is love, as much as it can be for somebody--

W: Who sold you to Humble Pie for 50 bucks and a case of beer? I was there. I was there! Oh, God. I'm sorry.

P: What kind of beer?

It’s Penny’s scene and her objective (her want) is to find out what William knows. That’s what’s driving the scene. William’s objective is to keep her from going to New York which he knows would be a disaster. If we tried to write the scene with only that information, we might write some bad, on-the-nose dialogue such as:

PENNY: Has Russell said anything about me coming to New York?

WILLIAM: He doesn’t want you to go.

P: Are you sure? I know his wife is going to be there but I know Russell really loves me.

W: I don't think you should go.

P: Yeah, but I can't trust you. You're kind of naive.

W: I'm not as naive as you think I am.

P: So how do you know he doesn't want me to go?

W: He traded you to Humble Pie for 50 bucks and a case of beer.

P: That bastard!

But Cameron Crowe adds in secondary objectives for each character that are obstacles for their main objectives and force them to approach their goals obliquely.

In Penny’s case her identity is all about being an unflappable rock goddess. She wants information, but she doesn’t want to admit that William might know something she doesn’t and she doesn’t want to show vulnerability.

William on the other hand has a crush on Penny. He doesn’t want her to go to New York, but he also doesn’t want to hurt her. So he’s trying to convince her without revealing what Russell did.

Here’s the actual dialogue again with comments from me in italics. I’ve also included the “intentions” that I would assign to many of the lines.

PENNY: I can read you. I know what you're thinking.

WILLIAM: What's that?

P: You're worried about me and Russell.

(Intention: To get him to talk about it. Penny’s trying to get William to volunteer information without having to ask any questions by making it his problem.)

W: Yeah, I gotta work on that.

(Intention: To avoid the topic)

P: You're so sweet. God, if there was more of you in him.

(Intention: To butter him up.)

W: Don't tell me this stuff. I wanna like him.

(Intention: To put down Russell.)

P: Did you miss your test or something?

(Intention: To blame him. Penny tries to attribute his mood to something besides Russell.)

W: You have no idea.

P: Look, I know I'm not on the plane. I'm not going on some other band's bus. I could go with the Stillwater road crew but that would be pathetic... and the girls are all going with Humble Pie. So, if you could find out from Russell—

(She starts out trying to prove she really knows what’s going on but then she slips and reveals her vulnerability – and stops herself when she realizes that’s what she’s done.)

P: Forget it. I'm flying to New York myself. I've got a bunch of partial tickets. I know his ex-wife... current-girlfriend thing is gonna be there.

(Intention: To end it. Penny’s trying to regain her illusion of control of the situation.)

W: I'm not sure that's a good idea.

(Intention: To warn her.)

P: What are you saying? Did Russell say something?

W: I don't know anything.

(Intention: To escape.)

P: Well, I know he wants me there.

(Intention: To prove it.)

W: Wake up! Don't go to New York.

(Intention: To warn her.)

P: Why are you yelling at me?

(Intention: To blame him.)

W: I thought we were going to Morocco. There is no Morocco. There's never been a Morocco. There's not even a Penny Lane. I don't even know your real name.

(Intention: To attack. Here William starts challenging the fantasy world Penny constantly constructs for herself which he blames for her inability to see how Russell uses her.)

P: If I ever met a man in the real world who looked at me the way you just looked at me—

(Penny is defending her fantasy world.)

W: When and where does this “real world” occur? I mean, I am really confused here. All these rules and all these sayings and nicknames.

P: Honey, you're too sweet for rock and roll.

(Intention: To dismiss him. Penny belittles his wisdom because she’s afraid of what he might tell her.)

W: Sweet? Where do you get off? Where do you get sweet? I am dark and mysterious and pissed off! And I could be very dangerous to all of you. I am not sweet! And you should know that about me. I am the Enemy!

(Intention: To demand respect. He wants her to trust his judgment of the situation.)

P: Look, you should be happy for me. You don't know what he says to me in private. Maybe it is love, as much as it can be for somebody—

(Intention: To prove Russell loves her. Penny is trying to convince William he’s wrong about Russell. And subconsciously she’s trying to convince herself. If William believes it, she can, too.)

W: Who sold you to Humble Pie for 50 bucks and a case of beer? I was there. I was there! Oh, God. I'm sorry.

(Intention: To prove it. William finally snaps and reveals his secret. When he sees how much it hurts her he immediately feels bad.)

P: What kind of beer?

(Intention: To make light of it. Penny doesn’t want to admit she’s hurt.)

The text of the scene starts out about New York travel plans and then veers into an argument about Penny’s tall tales and William’s innocence. But the subtext is all about Penny’s romantic relationships with Russell and William. To get that kind of layered dialogue you need rich, complex characters. Which Cameron Crowe has created in spades!