Help! I Want To Be A Script Writer
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Movies: they move us, inspire us, and provide us with topics for lively conversation, even among perfect strangers.

Most of us have our favorites we frequently view; perhaps we can even recite lines from them. Then there are the disappointments—the films we’ve wasted time and money upon, but which, in almost all of us, have ignited the firm belief that we can do a better job—if only we knew how.

If you’ve ever wondered how to write for the movies you’re in luck, for you’ve just stumbled upon the first steps in deciphering what it takes to write a script.

Step One: Watch Movies
This is part of the process? You bet!

Step Two: Read Movies
When I decided to launch into scriptwriting I wasn’t sure where to find scripts. I think I figured the major studios kept them locked in their vaults to keep the mass of aspiring script writers out, or to channel writers into film schools. It’s actually easy to find scripts: most bookstores carry them in published form, which is a handy way to tote about a favorite script to the beach or to your child’s soccer practice.

But to see how a script looks and feels when it is presented to producers, the best bet is to visit a script website like Script-O-Rama where you can download scripts free of charge. You’ll want to click on the film scripts, not the transcripts. Transcripts are the resulting script after a movie is made (which is often the case of the books that are published). To see what was edited out, you want an early draft of the script. That way, not only will you get a feel for how a script works, feels, and looks, but you’ll also glean an idea of what constitutes fluff as the process moves from script to screen. Or what was too expensive to be filmed.

Step Three: Watch Movies
Yep, we’re back to this step again. So, what are you waiting for? Grab a DVD, pop some popcorn, invite the family, a friend or two, or simply curl up alone—and enjoy that flick.

Step Four: Start Dissecting
Did you enjoy the movie in Step Three? Why or why not? It’s okay if you can only utter something like, “I just did (or didn’t); I don’t know why.” You’ll figure it out.

Step Five: Learn Character
What keeps us riveted to a screen for two hours? Why do we care what happens to our favorite characters? Why should we care what happens? What if we don’t care? Why do I ask all these questions? Because it’s important to learn that a character’s wants and needs drive the plot. The protagonist should want something so much that he or she is willing to do anything in order to obtain that goal. Balanced against that should be an equally strong antagonist who will stop at nothing to keep the protagonist from achieving the goal. Let’s look at an example:

In OCEAN’S ELEVEN what did George Clooney’s character Danny Ocean want? That’s right: Tess. At all costs. Even if it meant getting caught violating parole and being sent back to jail. That was a risk he was willing to take. Now, what happened from there was intriguing and engaging, but let’s face it, if Tess had been with Teri the moderately wealthy ranch owner in Montana, it would have been a completely different movie. Ocean’s three or four, maybe as many as seven, would be my guess. And all of them on horseback. Not nearly as fun as knocking off three casinos in an intricate and elaborate plan. And was Teri an equal power to be reckoned with? You bet! He was not about to let Danny Ocean and his troupe waltz in and simply help themselves to the money in his safe.

In action adventures it’s usually easy to spot the protagonist, decipher his or her goals, and to find the antagonist. Spider Man/Peter Parker wants to use his unusual powers to protect the city from evil, to catch the bad guys, and to keep innocent people safe—even if it means giving up a chance at a normal life. The Green Goblin (SPIDER MAN I) and Doc Ock (SPIDER MAN II) are formidable foes who will stop at nothing to keep Spider Man from ruining their plans.

In dramas it’s sometimes more difficult to spot the villains or to decipher what the hero is willing to lose in order to achieve his goal. But guarantee that in the films that keep you engaged throughout you’ll be able to determine the hero’s journey and name the obstacles to get there—even if the villain is internal (classic man vs. self conflict, probably the most difficult to portray on the screen, especially if you refrain from using narration).

Step Six: Learn Conflict
Jack B. Sowards, who wrote STAR TREK II: WRATH OF KHAN, teaches in his UCLA Scriptwriting courses that unrelieved conflict and unanswered questions power a script like gasoline powers a car. When we watch to the end of a movie to see what happens to the character, an unanswered question has kept us hooked.

Last night as I sat with my family and watched the 1983 movie I AM THE CHEESE for the first time, we found the film slow and confusing, but the main character engaged us enough so that we were willing to endure a slow storytelling pace, some frustrating recurring foes, and a boring soundtrack to discover his big secret. Fortunately the pay off was worth our time and effort: it was a satisfying answer to the mystery that surrounded the protagonist.

Conflict does not have to be huge. Sure, in action adventure flicks conflict often reveals itself in the form of expensive special effects—high speed car chases and massive explosions, for example. But conflict, the kind that keeps us interested scene by scene, occurs simply when two people each have a different agenda. Think about it: do you really want to tune in and see everyone getting along? Sure, we want that for our own lives, but as an entertainment value everyone getting along equates to BORING.

That doesn’t mean we need a huge, high energy fight. Picture a couple in their car on the way to the hospital. She’s breathing rhythmically, in heavy labor; he’s trying to keep his eyes on the road, avoid the potholes, and get his wife to the hospital quickly and safely. He innocently says, “I can’t believe Jack is almost here.” “Jerry,” she says between breaths. “What?” he asks, a queer undertone forming in his voice. She shoots a look at him, fighting to breathe away the pain. “But I thought we agreed on Jack,” he says. “Jerry,” she states firmly, flatly, as he pulls into the hospital lot. Two separate agendas: conflict.

We don’t need to resolve it right away: after all, there’s our unanswered question. Which will it be? Jack or Jerry? Two scenes later we might show Grandma in the hospital room, cuddling the baby. She waltzes over to her husband, nearly asleep in the chair, and coos, “Look at him, Thomas.” Thomas smiles. “Little Tommy Junior is an absolute doll!” Hmm, there was even more conflict here then we realized!

Step Seven: Learn Craft
Writing a script is similar to drafting a blueprint. Blueprints are extremely precise, utilizing the same style, lingo, etc., so that any builder anywhere can pick up an architect’s rendering and decipher it. If an architect used unconventional methods, how could a builder trust that the plans would work or that the resulting building would be safe.

It’s the same for scripts. There are certain rules that need to be followed so that any producer or director can pick up the script, flip through it, and understand it, even get an accurate idea for how long the resulting movie would be (one page equals about one minute). So here is a glimpse of a few rules of the trade:

Font: Courier New, Point Size 12.
Margins: one and a half inches on the left (leaving room for the three holes), one inch all other sides—top, bottom and right.

Start every script with: FADE IN: All capped, left flush, with a colon.

Slug Lines: INT. or EXT. Interior or exterior. We’re either inside or outside.

Place: Wherever your character takes you.

Day/Night: DAY or NIGHT. I know you’ll see loads of other choices in scripts you’ll read—early morning, sunset, dusk, but the cinematographer will thank you for choosing day or night since cameras really only know light or dark. If you must convey first thing in the morning, do so in the action paragraph: the lobster boats are just shoving off, or the person wakes to his alarm clock that reads 5:30 AM. The audience will understand it’s early in the morning.

So a Slug line looks like this: INT. TREEHOUSE -- NIGHT (flush left, all capped).

Action Paragraphs: Keep them short—three lines or fewer. Yes, you’ll see exceptions to this rule, but why I promote this is because scripts read very quickly, especially as dialogue is spun, so don’t bog us down with bulky descriptive text. In fact, keep the descriptions to only the essentials, deleting as many adjectives and adverbs as possible.

Verbs: present tense, active and descriptive. As Professor Keating in DEAD POETS SOCIETY says, “He’s not very sad—he’s morose.” Use a thesaurus if necessary and describe how the character walks: she waltzes, lumbers, marches, skips, etc.

Dialogue: Listen and learn how people speak. Eavesdrop when necessary, or simply key in to a conversation among your friends and family. Often we use verbal shortcuts with those we know and converse with frequently. Some things to keep I mind: drop the little words like hey, look, say—instead simply jump into what the character says. Don’t write out “AAAAAAHHHHHHH!” for a scream; simply write Alice SCREAMS in the action paragraph.

Characters: Remember to let your characters take you through their journey. Rather than dropping in an obstacle or a solution like a Greek Script Writing God (or Goddess), let your characters bumble along in the reality that you and they have created together.