I mentioned recently that sometimes a when a movie I'm watching ends it seems like five minutes have passed, while after watching another movie for a few minutes it seems like 10 hours have passed. Ten miserable hours.
Screenwriting teachers and mentors had begun telling me that I didn't need to take more classes, that I was ready--that it was time for me to "go for it." I didn't lack confidence but I knew something was missing, and I needed to figure it out.
Answers have came from not only screenwriting professors, but directors, other students, and interestingly, from Dr. Jeanine Turner, a professor in Georgetown University's department of communication, culture and technology.
A friend invited me to the university's George Carroll Weekend this year, and I attended a seminar presented by Drs. Turner and Philip Boroughs: "Real Presence: Challenges to Relationships and Spirituality in a Technological World." I still have notes I took during the presentation on my iPhone.
Dr. Turner told us that research has shown that people think four to five faster than others speak. This impacts every conversation and every interaction we have. And it also impacts every word that goes into crafting a screenplay.
As I begin to experience the first few moments of a movie I wonder: who is the hero? Who is the villain? I'm picky and so the buy-in isn't easy.
As the characters are introduced, they begin to reveal who they are and what they want; supporting characters words and actions show the relationships they have with the main characters and with each other. This is where time stops and I disappear into the story, or where I begin to want to check Twitter or email.
Within a few minutes I begin to see where the characters' conversations are going (when there is dialogue, the entire audience is thinking four to five times faster than the characters are speaking).
So much of the enjoyment, the magic comes from watching the other things that appear on the screen (the set, costumes), from planting and payoff (which I will write about next time), and from sound.
Though I'd completed the master of professional writing degree/emphasis screenwriting, the first class I was allowed to take from the School of Cinematic Arts' writing division was beginning screenwriting. Ron Friedman was the teacher, and at the end of the semester I told Ron that I'm convinced that more working screenwriters will come out of his classes than from any others I've taken. Ron can take a mediocre or just plain bad scene that doesn't work and make it sing faster than anyone I've met, and explain how he did it. I treated his class as a master course in screenwriting, and learned about things that were new to me: pacing and writing with precision.
A student wrote an introductory scene where all that's shown is a tree-covered mountain in the fall. I think the colors may have been changing (spectacular, yes), but Ron wasn't satisfied. "The audience," he told us, "will be confused. You will lose them. They will see an entire movie screen with thousands of trees, every one the same. They won't know where to look and this is disorienting. Make something stand out." He then suggested adding a small cabin to the hillside, with smoke drifting from its chimney. What is happening inside of that cabin?
In the past, I'd concentrated on the story itself: concerned only about what was going to happen next. What obstacles were going to get into the protagonist's way? The fact that the screenwriter can write with such intricate precision that they can control, can pinpoint the very place on the screen where everyone in the audience will look, continues to be a revelation.
NOTE: These entries are inspired by the final assignment for "The Business of Writing for Screen and Television," a School of Cinematic Arts' course taught by Frank Wuliger. Hoping to help his students become working screenwriters, he asked us to create a personal, five-year road map into the industry. This post is day 30.
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