The Blank Page : Part 2

The Screenwriter's Workbook
by Syd Field

(Page 2 of 5)

During her preparation period we had several discussions, talked about the possibilities of opening it up, using the visual components found in the hospital: tests like EEGs, CAT scans, PET scans, and X-rays, and having the action broken up by the arrival of emergency cases and the various activities of the nurses on the floor. I wondered what would happen in the character's life while she was in the hospital. I suggested that she could show bits and pieces of the woman's former life, possibly through dreams and memories, and weave those flashbacks throughout. Because the main character was so static during the Second Act, she could add several more visuals to the story line about what the woman was thinking and feeling.

Feeling more secure, my student began preparing her material. She did her research, structured the First Act on cards, wrote up the back story, designed the opening sequences. As a novelist, she had always researched her idea thoroughly and gradually, and it would be through the actual writing experience that she would find her story and characters. She told me she did not want to know "too much" because, in her experience, she wanted to let the story guide her to where it wants to go. I replied that you can do this when you're writing a novel or play, but not when you're writing a screenplay. A screenplay is a specific form; approximately one hundred twenty pages in length and knowing the end is always the first step in writing. You can "feel" your way through a four hundred-fifty-page novel, or a one hundred-page play, but not a screenplay.

A screenplay follows a definite, lean, tight, narrative line of action, with a definite beginning, middle, and end, though not necessarily in that order. A screenplay always moves forward toward the resolution, even if it is told in flashback like The Bourne Supremacy (Tony Gilroy), or American Beauty (Alan Ball.) A screenplay follows a singular line of action so every scene, every fragment of visual information, must be taking you somewhere, moving the narrative forward in terms of story development.

This was somewhat difficult for my student to understand because it was unlike her previous writing experience. But after she had done her preparation, when she knew her structure and had done some background character work, she was ready to start writing. She began writing the first act, the emphasis on the professional life of her main character, an active and dynamic woman responding to the challenges of the workplace with energy and integrity. As a professional woman, it was clear her character was active, likable, and well drawn.

But when the main character entered the hospital after the traumatic injury at the end of Act I, the tone of the story changed. The character was now confined to a hospital bed, weaving in and out of consciousness for several pages. Feeling the story becoming boring, my student became insecure and started looking for new cinematic areas to explore rather than focusing on the main character. One day she called to tell me she was writing new scenes with doctors and nurses, then told me she had a sudden inspiration to bring in the main character's daughter, an executive who always seemed to have trouble dealing with authoritarian male figures like doctors. I told her to go ahead and try it; after all, if it works, it works, and if it doesn't, it doesn't. All she would really lose was about three days of writing.

So she began writing this new character, the daughter, in Act II, and then another problem began to surface: the daughter was emerging as the dominant character. The mother, the main character, now seemed to be lost somewhere in a hospital room. By making the daughter the active force, or voice, in the story, my student had shifted the focus of the story line. The story was now about a daughter taking charge of the health and well-being of her mother.

That raised another issue. The story now hinged on the idea of "a durable power of attorney for a health issue," an interesting premise in medical therapy. The daughter was asked to choose the medical treatment for her incapacitated mother. The doctors told her there were two choices: electric shock treatments to jolt her mother out of her acute depression, or a regime of antidepressant drug therapy. And the doctors explained that both treatments could give rise to disastrous side effects. What should the daughter do? She was ambivalent about male authority figures, yet was now in a position where she had to make a life-altering decision about her mother. Seeking counsel and confronting her own feelings, the daughter decided to do nothing; she wanted to wait and see and possibly allow her mother to come out of it on her own. There were no shock treatments, no drugs, nothing; just patience, time, and understanding. At the end, the mother, through her own will, and the daughter's help, gradually steps back on the path to health and recovery.

That's the way my student completed the first words-on-paper draft. When I read this first draft, I saw immediately there were two separate stories. One story was the saga of the mother who recovers from her injury to take back control of her own life. The second story dealt with the woman's daughter who was forced, almost against her will, to take charge of the situation. And it's during this challenge that she overcomes her own deep-seated fear of male authority and resolves the formerly strained emotional relationship with her mother.

My student started out writing one story and ended up writing another. This happens quite often but the question remained: Was it the story of the mother or the daughter? Or both? Whose story do you tell?

My student didn't know. One of the things I've learned through the years is that when I'm uncertain about what course of action to take, I step back for a while. When in doubt, do nothing is my rule. So I suggested that she put the screenplay aside somewhere for a couple of weeks until she had a new perspective on the material. It's important to note that the issue here was not about the quality of writing, or dialogue, or character depth, or whether it worked or not; the issue was what story the writer wanted to tell. By moving into the daughter's domain, she changed her dramatic intention and changed the subject. I explained that it's not a question of good or bad, or right or wrong, but whether it was the story she wanted to tell.

She waited a short time, and then, in some doubt and uncertainty, she gave this first words-on-paper draft to a close friend of hers, a literary agent in Hollywood. Her friend saw that the script needed work, but liked the premise well enough to give it to one of her associates at the office. He read it and felt the script was "slow, dull, and boring." It should have more action: "It's the mother's story," he said. "Let's see her getting an electric shock treatment; maybe change the opening and have it start at the accident because that would make it more active."

Copyright © 2006 by Syd Field.

About the Author

Syd Field is a screenwriter, producer, teacher, international lecturer, and author of the bestselling books Screenplay, The Screenwriter's Workbook, Selling a Screenplay, and Four Screenplays. Published in 1982, Screenplay has been translated into sixteen languages, and is used in more than 250 colleges and universities across the country. At present he is creative consultant to the governments of Mexico, Argentina, Brazil, Austria, and South Africa, and has been a script consultant for Roland Jaffe's film production company, for Alfonso Arau and Laura Esquivel on Like Water for Chocolate, and for Tri-Star Pictures. He lives in Beverly Hills, California.