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OK, ready to see what screenplay sequence follows the Act One turning point in 27 Dresses?

Sequence C – Tess & George get engaged

I

Jane and Tess enter their dad’s shop.

They eat and Tess is evasive about how long she’s going to be in town. She leaves to answer a call from George. Jane looks worried.

At work, Jane looks through her diary. She calls Kevin as he walks down the street with his friend. He’s ripped a page out of her diary. He asks her out and she tells him to get lost.

George and Tess enter with a kid. They leave for a game. (Notice how the end of the first mini-sequence sets up the conflict for the sequence as a whole—George and Tess are going to spend time together at the game.)

II

They order food at the game and Tess pretends she’s vegetarian and likes hiking. They sit down as Tess talks about her dead dog. George leaves and Jane and Tess argue about it. Tess says she could like the stuff he does given the chance. She joins him to play ball.

Montage: At home, Jane takes some flowers for Tess from a delivery man. At work, she sees George has a picture of Tess on his desk. She comes home to see them making out. At a Goth wedding, Tess and George say they love each other. Jane screws up a note from Kevin. (Viewing a sequence as a mini-script with three acts, this is the crisis “act two turning point”—Jane sees George and Tess have taken their relationship to the next level.)

III

Jane fixes George’s tie—he’s going to meet her father with Tess.

At her desk, Jane notices George’s wallet.

She gets out a cab. She enters a hotel and meets George. Tess enters and proposes to George. Jane tries to leave. Tess accepts and they kiss. (1^st turning point failure) (If Jane thought the 1^st turning point at the end of act one was bad, things have just got a whole lot worse with this turning point at the end of the 3^rd sequence)

Want to find out how the next screenplay sequence takes the film to the midpoint?

OK, so here’s the second screenplay sequence to 27 Dresses, taking us to the end of Act One.

Sequence B – Tess gets together with George

I

Kevin enters his work building. Inside, he talks about the wedding to his friend who can’t believe he’s not getting it on with the brides.

Jane meets Susan and they go inside. Jane asks the receptionist if she’s seen her diary. (The receptionist has an attitude but Jane is very unassertive.)

Kevin tells his boss his new idea for a piece. She says they want upbeat stories and he tells her about Jane. He wants to do a piece on weddings being a revenue stream. She finally agrees. (this first “mini-sequence” is essentially Kevin’s. His goal and second turning point after meeting Jane is established—to write the article on her)

II

Susan teases Jane about George—a guy she has a crush on. Jane receives some flowers but doesn’t know who they’re from. George enters and they talk about the photos—they’re too corporate. She tells him about a speech he has to make. Susan can’t believe how pathetic Jane is.

They leave and Susan invites Jane to a party but she can’t because she has to pick up her sister, Tess.

Jane meets Tess at the airport.

At home, she looks at a photo of their mom in a dress. Jane talks about how she loves this guy who writes about weddings. Tess invites her to a party but she can’t make it.

In a cab, Kevin drives to the address in Jane’s diary.

In a club, Jane stands with Susan and chats to George. Susan has a go at her for not flirting with her. George comes back and asks if she was OK with the flowers. She agrees she has to go over and tell him how she feels. As she does, he sees him approach Tess. She realizes he didn’t leave the flowers. George leaves with Tess.

Kevin comes over and tells her he sent the flowers. She leaves the club and screams. Then she realizes another party can see her.

She goes back in and he gives her back her diary. He asks her for a drink but she refuses. Jane comes over to George and Tess but they leave to go dancing. (act one turning point) (the central conflict is established—how will Jane cope with her sister getting together with the man of her dreams?)

III

Montage: At home, Jane can’t sleep. She reads. She writes. She works out. She cleans.

Tess comes home and says she had the best night ever. She’s having lunch tomorrow with him. Jane tells her George is amazing, and an amazing boss. (another denouement to the sequence and hook to the next one)

Here’s the next screenplay sequence in 27 Dresses.

Sure, we all know how to write using the three act paradigm, but to make screenwriting that much easier, it’s essential to understand the principal of script sequences.

In this post, we’re going to take a look at the mysterious world of writing in sequences and how using them can revolutionize your screenwriting.

For those of you not at all familiar with sequences, we strongly recommend you get your hands on a copy of Paul Joseph Gulino’s book, The Sequence Approach.

Well crafted screenplays generally contain 7 to 8 sequences as follows:

Sequence A—ends with the Call to Action.

Sequence B—ends with the First Act Turning Point

Sequence C—ends with a Success or Failure in response to the First Act TP.

Sequence D—ends with the Midpoint

Sequence E—ends with a Success or Failure in response to the Midpoint

Sequence F—ends with the Act Two Turning Point

Sequence G—ends with the Climax

The easiest way to illustrate the function of a sequence is by using an actual film as a case study.

Take the popular romantic comedy hit of a couple of years ago, 27 Dresses. OK, we are well aware these types of films are not everyone’s thing, BUT their simplicity makes them very useful to break down and analyze.

We’ll post a sequence a day of the entire film, adding notes in italics to help you see how films are comprised of sequences.

Sequence A – Jane meets Kevin (This heading signifies the outcome of the sequence)

I

Super: 1986. At a wedding, a woman, in voice over, talks about being 8 and discovering her purpose in life. Jane, as an 8 year old kid, takes her sister to the bathroom. Later, she sees a bridesmaid freak out and rescues her dress. She says that was the moment when she fell in love with weddings. (inciting incident) (this is the inciting incident of Jane’s life—the moment that has to happen in order for this story to be told)

II

In the present, Jane tries on a dress and Susan rings—it’s for her.

Montage: Jane waits and meets Susan. She looks bored at the wedding. She hails a cab. In the cab she gets changed. She enters a Hindu wedding and joins in the wedding as a bridesmaid. She jumps in the cab again. She gets changed. Back at Susan’s wedding, Susan checks out the men.

Montage: Jane runs past a guy, Kevin, checking her out, and gets in the cab again. She dances at all the wedding receptions. She helps all the different women. She dances. She gets thanked by both the brides. She gets barged over and misses catching the flowers. She wakes up and sees Kevin tending to her. She’s fine. (It’s unusual to have so much screen-time taken up by montage. We don’t advise this)

In a cab, Kevin asks her how she stands going to two weddings in one night. He tells her he’s a writer. She grumpily gets out and they argue over marriage. She leaves. (call to action) (The classic “cute-meet” present in all rom-coms)

III

Kevin sits in the cab and realizes she’s left her bag. He looks at her diary—full of appointments to set up weddings. (a continuation of the cute-meet hook. Now he has a way of getting in touch)

At home, Jane closes a cupboard, but it opens again. She opens a paper and reads about weddings. (These images serve as a denouement to the sequence)

This is the end 0f the first sequence in 27 Dresses. Check back tomorrow for the next installment on the secret to writing with sequences.

Script editing can be an arduos process. Here’s some more things to look out for in your script that you may need to cut.

Montages

Ah, the ubiquitous montage… This is a very popular device and yet screenwriters often fail to implement them the correct way.

Montages should serve a specific function—showing ONE ACTION, usually executed by the protagonist, which should take hours, days or weeks, condensed down to a minute or less to save screen time.

One example is the classic “falling in love montage.” The hero has just met the girl of his dreams and so we get the first two weeks of their relationship—running on a beach, sharing an ice cream etc.—in the space of forty seconds.

Another is the famous “training montage” found in sports and war films. The hero has a week to get in shape for the big fight or entrance to the army, and so we see them doing lengths in the pool, chin-ups, and shooting on the range in a series of ultra quick scenes.

Often, they are visibly better at whatever they’re doing at the end of the montage than they were at the beginning, to increase the sense that they’re getting somewhere.

The key point is a montage is ONE ACTION with a purpose. The hero has a specific goal, just like in a scene, except there is little or no conflict. It simply exists to quickly move the story along by demonstrating what we already know.

The mistake many writers make, however, is adding montages without a clear purpose. Common examples are montages of city / country life. Montages of family /friends lives. Montages of travelling / driving home / commuting to work etc. In each of these examples they fail to move the story along and so should be cut.

It helps to remember that a montage should be written as

MONTAGE — FRANK AND JONNY FIX THE FERRARI

or

MONTAGE — KATE NURSES HER MOM BACK TO HEALTH

with the scenes listed underneath. This helps keep them focussed on one specific action and keep them relevant.

Unnecessary Characters

At the risk of sounding repetitious, every character in a film is there for a reason. If their impact on the main plot is unclear or non-existent, take them out.

Does your protagonist really need that buddy who pops up every so often? If the buddy is not guiding the protagonist, advising them, or turning against them then they shouldn’t be in the script.

Often, several minor characters can be melded together to form one. A protagonist will come up against several obstacles posed by different characters, when in fact they could all be the work of the same one.

Make sure your characters perform a specific function. The Writer’s Journey by Christopher Vogler has an excellent section on character functions that we can’t recommend highly enough.

What’s the first thing an industry reader does when receiving a new script? Answer: Look to see how long it is. This gives an immediate clue as to whether some script editing needs to come into play.

A feature script should run about 100—110 pages in length, with comedies better off coming in around 90—100. Certainly, anything over 110—120 immediately suggests to the reader that the script may be bloated—full of unnecessary sub-plots, scenes, description and dialogue that need to be edited.

Anything under 90, of course, suggests the opposite—there’s maybe not enough story present to make a feature.

In nearly every script we receive, though, we find ample room to cut back on the page count. So, starting in today’s post, we’re going to take a look at a series of things to consider when making sure you’re script is as tight as it can possibly be.

Hellos / Goodbyes / Small Talk

A film “is life with the uninteresting parts cut out.” And that means cutting out all small talk. In well written scripts, characters don’t make small talk. Every single word they say in some way moves the story forward or reveals character and theme. And often all at once.

The old chestnut concerning writing scenes is to “get in as late as possible and leave as early as possible.” This means trying to avoid having your characters say hello and goodbye to each other. UNLESS it’s important or significant in some way.

Notice in films how, if a character does enter a room and say “hi,” to someone, they don’t get a reply. The other charcter will just counter with conversation or action. And the same goes for goodbyes.

Unnecessary Scenes

These are the single biggest culprits for over-inflating a script. Every single scene should move the story forward and hopefully reveal character. If it’s not then it shouldn’t be in the script.

A good way to test whether a scene should be in a script is to take it out and see what happens. Has it any way made understanding the main plot harder, or incomprehensible? If it hasn’t then it should probably be left out. Sometimes, though, you may think a scene is necessary for a sub-plot, which is fine, if the sub-plot itself is necessary. Read our post on How To Write A Scene for further info.

Unnecessary Sub plots

These are also a big culprit for over-inflating a script. Remember, sub plots exist in order to impact on the main plot. If you write a series of scenes in which your main character tries to set up a friend, but nothing happens to the main character as a result, then it doesn’t belong in the script.

In Sideways, Jack gets together with Maya’s friend, Stephanie in a sub plot. After finally getting it on with Maya, Miles lets it slip to her that Jack is engaged and she dumps him. The sub plot, therefore, directly affects the main plot and this should always be the case.

Tomorrow we’ll look at more script editing exercises.

In this post we’re going to talk about the main bug bears we encounter with scene descriptions. No more introductions needed, let’s get to it!

Clichéd / Prosaic Writing: Try to eliminate the words “is” and “we,” as in, “We can see the dog is happy to see him.” Aim to make your writing as powerful as possible with choice evocative images.

Instead of writing, “The BAND, early twenties, are setting up on the small stage. The LEAD SINGER, (21) looks a little spooky and the crowd watches them suspiciously.”

Write something like this: “A group of skinny INDIE ROCK BOYS are setting up their equipment on a pathetically tiny stage—it’s more like a dais. The LEAD SINGER has intense, spooky eyes, nearly obscured by a shock of hair. The LOCALS, mostly good ‘ol boys, eye the band suspiciously.”

Writing What Can’t Be Seen: “Jeff shakes Bill’s hand, remembering how he used to beat the crap out of him in high-school.” Or, “Eddie and Jane pull up outside the diner—the same place they had their first date when they were kids.”

It sounds obvious, but you should only write what can be seen on the screen. Remember to think visually and never write what’s going on in a character’s head. Of course, sometimes professional writers DO add little asides to their scripts (made hip by Shane Black) but they’re professionals and can get away with it.

The Past Tense: It’s easy to slip into the past tense occasionally but should be avoided at all costs. “Kate ran over to the door and locked it.” Keep things in the present and keep them moving with active verbs. Also, avoid phrases that mix past and present tenses, like, “Having climbed into the car, Harry pulls out a gun.”

Confusing Description: The following is the opening scene to a script we received. Can you easily follow what’s going on? Scripts should be as easy to read as possible. (Especially the opening scene!)

INT. BEDROOM, COOPER RESIDENCE – DAY

“The Iron chef” airs on The Food Channel. THE JAPANESE HOST, an Asian Liberace, is about to reveal the mystery food for the show:..”Eel!” TWO CHEFS go about preparing the slippery food. CLICK.

Animal Planet, A TRAINER signs to an ORANGUTAN in an effort to communicate with the animal. CLICK.

The Learning Channel, BOB VILA is renovating a house.

TRISTAN (O.S.)

Happy Birthday to you…

CONNIE COOPER (35), disheveled and slightly plump lies curled up in the blankets, watching TV and not wanting to face the day.

She flips the channel back to THE ORANGUTAN. CLICK.

THE DOOR CREEPS OPEN and a five year old, tiara crowned princess, TRISTAN COOPER, comes in carrying a breakfast tray of pancakes with A CANDLE stuck on top.

SPENCER COOPER (40) the poster boy for the ideal husband, follows her in, carrying gifts.

Tristan sets the tray down on the cluttered night stand and hands her A CARD that has the NUMBER “35” on the cover. CONNIE squints at the offending number. Connie forces a smile.

Over writing: Last, but definitely not least, comes writing too much description. Lines and lines of prose which are more at home in a novel than a screenplay. Again, keep it lean, keep it clean, keep it simple.

Writing action without dialogue is definitely an art in itself and the best way to get better at it is by reading scripts. See our blog Read Screenplays for more advice.

Screenplay formatting can be a bit of minefield to get right. There are so many rules, so many do’s and don’ts it can all start to bewilder even the most accomplished of writers.

Getting it right can often be difficult because there seems to be so much contradictory information out there on the web and in books.

Take something as deceptively simple as the cover page, for example. In David Trottier’s Screenwriter’s Bible, it tells you to place contact info in the bottom right hand corner. But in The Hollywood Standard by Christopher Riley, it tells you to place it in the left.

The bottom line is that small script formatting errors are never going to be the deal breaker in whether your script gets picked up or not. BUT consistent and obvious errors flag your script up as the work of an amateur writer right off the bat. It’s extremely rare that a script riddled with formatting mistakes turns out to be a masterpiece.

It’s all about making your script as easy to read and as professional as possible. Why deduct points from it before they’ve even read the story?

Below are five script formatting mistakes we commonly encounter. The great thing about them, though, is that they are easily remedied once you’re aware of them. Unlike, character problems, or a lagging second act!

• SLUGLINES. Keep them short. Instead of writing INT. APARTMENT BLOCK – APARTMENT 123 – BEDROOM – DAY just write INT. JULIE’S BEDROOM – DAY

• CONTINUOUS and SAME. These should only be used at the end of the slug-line when we follow a character from one location to another. For example, literally through a door. Not from morning to night, or sitting on a plane to jumping in a cab.

• LATER. Only employ this as a slug to show a passage of time in the same location. Every scene in a script is “later” but only write this when, for instance, showing two people meet in a restaurant and then finishing their meal. And only write LATER as the slug. Not INT. RESTAURANT – LATER

• FADE IN / FADE OUT. It’s amazing how many scripts we receive fail to include these two phrases at the beginning and end. FADE IN should be the first line in your screenplay and FADE OUT the last.

• PARENTHETICALS. Keep them to a minimum. Many writers seem to want to direct every action a character a makes while speaking. Leave it to the actor.

• TELEPHONE CONVERSATIONS. Under one slug, simply have a character pull a phone out of their pocket and say something. Then, under a new slug, have a different character reply. Then put INTERCUT — TELEPHONE CONVERSATION and then go back and forth between the two without any further slug-lines.

• FADE TO / CUT TO / DISSOLVE. These are directorial decisions so you can leave them all out.

We’ll be back with more script formatting issues in another post!

So, what is the single best way to introduce your hero? There’s a very simple answer to this question:

Make them ACTIVE.

But here’s the key: The very first thing we should see the hero doing is what makes them who they are as a person.

Audiences want to see what the hero’s all about straight away. They want to be shown the heart of their character right off the bat. This is what we like to call a character’s essence.

When showing your lead protagonist for the very first time, think about what kind of character they really are. What makes them tick? Once you’re clear on this, SHOW THEM ACTING IN THIS WAY.

Let’s take a look at some examples.

How is Indiana Jones introduced? Less skilled writers would’ve chosen to introduce him at home talking to someone on the phone about the Ark. Or maybe on a routine dig somewhere in the desert.

Sure, he’s actively doing what defines him to a certain extent in these examples, but what shows us the essence of what Indy’s really all about? Yep, being chased by boulders, dodging poisoned darts and leaping chasms in pursuit of a golden artefact.

The same goes for the hero in any action film. Look again at the beginning of any James Bond film, or Die Hard. Often, the action at the beginning of these films is completely unrelated to the eventual plot, but it’s there in order to get us straight away into the character of the hero.

Action films show this principal at its extreme, but whatever genre you’re working within it remains the same.

What’s the essence of Mike’s (Jon Favreau) character when we first meet him in Swingers? He’s depressed about splitting up with his ex and can’t understand why she hasn’t called. And what’s he doing the first time we see him? No, not happily playing golf, or shopping, he’s sat across from Rob in a diner, miserable and talking about his ex.

In The Truman Show, the first image of him is peering into the camera in his apartment, reassuring himself he can make it. This is what Truman is at the beginning of the film—completely hoodwinked about the circumstances of his own life—so the writers show this in his opening scene in as clear a way as possible.

A Stronger Opening to Your Script

Showing this heightened version of the hero the first time we encounter them has a few other functions. By introducing the hero in a more powerful way it follows that your script will open in a more powerful way.

Genre and tone become clearer. Take another look at the opening of The 40 Year Old Virgin. The things he’s doing are the most mundane imaginable, and yet they sum up perfectly who he is at this point in his life. And through these actions we know straight away the genre and tone of the film we’re about to see. Without words or music it would still be conveyed just through Andy’s actions.

Opening with a strong sense of who the hero is also serves as the hook to get the viewer interested in the film straight away. And often, this is seeing the hero doing what they do best, whether it’s saving a plane from going down, attacking someone or waking up alone to the same fussy routine.

Take a look at your hero the first time we encounter them. What are they doing?

What’s the opening image we see of them? Are they actively doing something that displays their core essence as it stands at the beginning of the film?

We have found that it takes at least two years solid writing and studying the art of screenwriting to reach a level where the writer is competent enough to start sending out work into the industry.

Below is a list of the eight best possible ways you could spend those two years.

1. Quit your job. If you’re young enough and without any major commitments, move back in with your parents and write screenplays. Or move to Paris and write screenplays. Doesn’t matter where you do it, but just make sure you do. It’ll be tough but you always hated your job anyway, right?
2. Take a degree in Screenwriting. Two or three years completely immersed in the world of writing is great if you can afford it. Another option is to take a part time screenwriting course.
3. Make sure your job isn’t stressing you out. If neither of the above are an option, consider quitting anyway and taking a less stressful job. Find a job in which you can write during the day. Or at least one which you don’t take home with you.
4. Move to LA. This is where it’s all happening and you’ll feel inspired just being here. Plus, you’re much more likely to meet people in the industry who can help.

OK, so they’re just some of the major lifestyle changes you can make. Now here’s what you should be doing every single day.

1. Write screenplays. It sounds clichéd, I know, but it’s only by actually writing every day that you’ll improve the most. We recommend a minimum of three hours a day. It all boils down to how much you really want it. If, before they turned pro, writers like Terry Rossio could get up at five am and write for three hours before going to work, what’s stopping you?
2. Read screenplays. This will take a couple of hours out of your schedule but it’s definitely worth it. See our post on Read Screenplays for more details.
3. Write an outline. Sit down with your laptop and write an outline of a film as you watch it. You should be doing this every day also. See out post on Mastering Structure.
4. Read screenwriting books. Nothing beats the actual hands-on experience of writing a script, but reading some of the hundreds of screenwriting books out there can greatly improve your awareness and abilities. See our resources page on Screenwriting Books.

And there you have it. Sticking as closely as you can to the above schedule for two years will see a major shift towards the positive in your writing capabilities. Aim to write at least two scripts a year and in a couple of years you’ll have four solid scripts to send out into the movie industry.

By far, the most common fault with spec screenplays is associated in one way or another with the hero’s goal. These problems generally fall into one of the following four categories:

1) There is no goal

Nothing happens at the end of Act One, around page 25, that establishes a major quest for the hero to embark upon. They are left to drift through the script with no clear function, purpose or drive.

2) There is a goal, but it’s weak

The hero has something to achieve but the stakes aren’t high enough for us to care if they do or not. There’s nothing of much importance, or interest, in their goal so, in effect, they may as well not have one.

3) There is a goal, but the protagonist isn’t interested in it

A compelling goal has been established, but the hero seems intent on not pursuing it and would rather do something else.

4) There are too many goals

One minute the hero has to stop one antagonist from stealing a magic ring. Then they have to stop another from releasing a deadly virus. Then, they realize the real threat is actually some guy with a nuclear missile. Each on its own is enough for one movie.

A fifth, less popular version, is the hero who has a goal, which they pursue through the script, right up until the last act, before ditching it in favour of an unrelated goal. For more info read our post on How to End a Script.

So, take another look at your hero and his / her goal and make sure it doesn’t fall into any of the four categories. If it doesn’t, you’re already half way to gaining a “Consider” or “Recommend.”

If it does, here are the answers to the problems, one by one…

1) If you feel your hero may not actually have a goal, give them one. Make something happen around the 10—15 minute mark that spins their head on their shoulders. An invitation, a major problem, the cry of adventure. Then, after a brief period of wondering whether to accept the challenge, make them come to a decision and go for it at the end of Act One.

2) Make sure that whatever goal you choose for hero, it’s an interesting one. Can you imagine the story in a trailer? On a poster or a one-sheet? All good films have high stakes attached to their goals because all good films are about death. Either literal death (The world is coming to an end, as in 2012) or figurative death (the protagonist’s real self will die, as in The Truman Show or any romantic comedy) if they don’t get the girl or guy.

3) This one’s all about delivering on what you’ve set up. An interesting premise / problem for your hero has to be followed through and fully developed, right the way through to the climax. If you throw them into a difficult situation, make sure your hero attempts to get out of it.

4) Your hero will have many minor goals throughout the script, but they should all lead to overcoming the one major goal at the climax. This goal should be deceptively simple and singular. If your script has more than one major goal, one needs to go. Then, focus on this as the hero’s goal— one key problem that he / she needs to solve by the script’s end.