Filmmaking is a collaborative art form that will change your story. Guaranteed.
Screenwriters hear that all the time. But until you’ve spent time on set watching the process, you don’t really appreciate what that means.
Newbie screenwriters are often convinced that it’s their job to provide every parenthetical direction (mad) (happy) (confused) and every stage direction (he points, he smiles, he nods) the story needs.
That’s called “directing from the page” and it’s not your job. Like, at all. I mean, sure, you have to paint a picture for the reader, or it’ll never get to production.
But the mistake is believing that the screenplay will remain the blueprint for the director, cast, and crew. That they’ll be dedicated to faithfully reproducing the vision you had in your head, and so therefore you have to define each and every little nuance of performance, blocking, and direction.
The reality is that your screenplay will be changed, edited, enhanced, and improved by everyone from the director to the cast to the lighting team in ways you can’t even imagine… and over which you’ll have no control.
How It Really Works
Something magic happens on set. Production is an intense group enterprise driven by a motley crew of creatives and journeymen, under the gun of insane deadlines, unpredictable circumstances, weather, and egos.
They all want to put their creative mark on the project, and they all want to do their best work. They all contribute to the quality of the story, to the characters, and to creating special moments on screen that were never imagined by the writer.
A Simple Example
I worked as Art Director on the film Fat Rose and Squeaky, and there was a scene where Bonnie (Louise Fletcher) takes off with her two troublemaker buddies (Lea DeLaria and Julie Brown) in her classic ’57 Chevy.
The script said:
“They get in the car. Bonnie opens the glove box, and grabs a pack of cigarettes.”
As Art Director, it was my job to think beyond the literal script and give the director, and the actors, choices. So when I got to this scene, I had to imagine “What else would be in the glove box of an 80-year-old woman’s car?”
See, if she opens the glove box and the only thing in there is — conveniently — the cigarettes the scene calls for, they’re obviously a prop.
What I Did
I thought it would be funny to have a crapload of old lady stuff spill out when she opens the glove box, so she has to rifle through it to find her smokes. Knowing of course that that’s not my call… I’m giving the director options… he’d made the final decision.
So I got a pack of cigarettes. And a cool vintage Zippo lighter and some matchbooks. A poorly folded map. Black Jack gum. A couple of those little travel-sized packages of Kleenex. Some loose Werther’s hard candies. Ladies driving gloves. And five pairs of old classic sunglasses.
None of which were described in the script in any way.
(Fun fact: On the day of shooting, I ran out to dress the car only to find that it had no glove box… the door was there, but there was no box inside. Just an empty space inside the dash open to the floor. I had 20 minutes and a sheet of black foam core to build a glove box and install it for the shot.)
What The Actors Did
When the actors ran a rehearsal, they found all those funky sunglasses and started riffing with each other, trying on the different pairs. It quickly developed into a “bit” where they simultaneously donned the glasses and struck a pose. The director loved it, and once it was shot and set to music, it became a “trailer moment.”
That was magic. And it wasn’t on the page.
It happened because everyone contributed to the creative alchemy of filmmaking.
- The art department thought beyond the page, and provided the director and actors with fun choices.
- The actors did what they do best, and imagined what their quirky characters could do with those choices.
- The director recognized the actors’ genius, and gave them the room to do their thing.
- And the editor and composer folded it all into the finished product in a way that created a “moment” that defined the characters, added humor, and frankly helped sell the film.
What I Learned
Being on set is invaluable for understanding what it takes to get from page to screen. As a screenwriter, I worry less now about the choice of just the right prose nuance. I focus more on making the story flow and creating characters and moments that are ripe for others to capitalize on.
And I find myself able to let go of the minutiae of blocking, stage direction, and parentheticals. I trust in the director and actors to make the right choices, choices I might not even consider, to bring the scene to life.
I’ve watched dialogue get rewritten on set, the finale of a film get rewritten during lunch break, entire scenes cut for lack of time, characters cut for lack of space on set, and all kinds of new funny, dramatic, or scary moments added by improvisation.
Writers Need To Get On Set
If you’re a screenwriter and you haven’t spent time on a working set, find a way. I promise you there are student and indie productions in your neighborhood that would love an extra pair of hands to carry heavy things, fetch coffee, or distribute sides.
While you’re there, keep your mouth shut and observe. Learn. Get a look at the script if you can, and watch how it evolves through the production process.
You’ll have a greater appreciation for all the work that goes into making movies after the screenplay is done.
Footnote:
I got involved in production to understand the process, so I could do a better job as a screenwriter giving everyone what they need.
Since then I’ve worked on 11 features, 9 shorts, and 2 TV series in some capacity, as a writer, director, producer, art director, prop builder, or storyboard artist. I’ve had a chance to observe micro-budget and multi-million dollar projects (all at the indie level — admittedly no studio projects). And I love what happens on set.
BTW, if you’re a writer-director, you may have more control over translating your screenplay to the screen. If your screenplay is your personal magnum opus, and you’ll die a sad hollow death if it isn’t faithfully reproduced, then produce and direct it yourself. And more power to you.
If you’ve got a screenplay in progress, and you’ve been staring at it so long you don’t know if it works, you might need a developmental editor to give it a look.
Chip Street - Writey Guy 