Out of Book

An expression from the world of chess, describes the phase of the game, when you leave behind the known opening moves and systems of 'the chess book'. This is where real players prefer to be, where the challenge happens. This is the critical state, in between chaos and order, where inspiration and new ideas emerge almost by themselves.

This is also where we should aim to put ourselves when working with drama, be it as writers, directors or actors. As professionals we have an understanding of the rules and systems of drama, and often we need to follow them strictly for a while, as we build up our game. But as soon as we have enough elements brought into play, we need to get out of book.

In my experience, by understanding the rules and systems from a more principled, dynamic view-point rather than as a rule-book, we put ourselves at a starting point, from where we'll quicker reach the 'out of book'-phase. Where the magic and the 'cooking-with-gas' happens.

By disciplining ourselves to constantly look for the unexpected, by reversing our own expectations, by letting any of our own mistakes or stupid criticism from others be a potential source to bring us out of book, we can get there, and stay there, and bring our game beyond book.

Please, don't kill your darlings

How many times have you heard the expression "Kill your darlings"?. It has become an almost universally accepted cliché applied to any kind of problematic element of a script. How many stop to examine the wisdom of the expression? Or what it really means?

Oh, Darling? Who are you?

A real darling is an element, which the creator has a somewhat passionate and irrational relationship to. The creator cannot offer a reasonable explanation to why it should be in the script and how it relates to the other elements. There's good reason to single out such elements, as they can disrupt an otherwise well-functioning script. And if the darling is crucial to the premise of a script, it can sour the whole affair. So the advice of killing off darlings could seem quite rational.

It is most certainly more easy, than to examine if there's a deeper rationale behind the darling. Especially for producers and script consultants. But it is more like treating a symptom, than the disease. Or like aborting a passionate love affair, even before it has begun, because its not practical.

Your mystery lover

Obeying to the dramatic principle of mystery, we should instead engage the mysterious darling. It could be the hidden river, the deep well, the source from where the underlying mystery of a great drama springs. Imagine your were Ted Tally in the early stages of adapting the book for "The SIlence of the Lambs". You are having problems incorporating the idea of Clarice Starling's childhood experience with the screaming lambs. It has become a darling for you, but it doesn't really make sense. The script consultant, the producer, everybody tells you it slows down the action, that the flashback to her childhood are clumsy and irrelevant. They tell you the film is about a young female detective trying to save another woman in a man's world, not about lambs and childhood. Under the pressure you are ready to abandon, or kill your darling. But there's just something about this image, a girl, all alone in the world, listening to the screaming of the lambs, wanting to save just one of them, that you are immensely attracted to. Then it strikes you - its about loneliness. Clarice Starling's struggle is not really about being a hero and saving others, but about escaping her own loneliness. It not about being a woman in a man's world - that's only a circumstance, an aspect of her loneliness. Its a heroic, tragic struggle, but one ultimately doomed to fail, as we are always alone. That's the deeper mystery of your drama - so even if she succeeds in saving the woman from the serial killer, she is still alone. Suddenly all the pieces begin to fall into place, you see how loneliness is present in the material; the conversations with Hannibal Lecter, who's also an immensely lonely figure, the single touch between them, the final line from him: "Tell me, Clarice, has the lambs stopped screaming" - and her lack of answer.

It could have been you, so please, stop killing your darlings. Or other people's darlings. Engage the mystery lover.

Spank your darlings

The real wisdom of Kill Your Darlings lies in the cynical treatment of something which can be sentimental or even sacrosanct to the creator. The darling might need a rough hand, before the true love can be revealed. And if it is true love, then it should be able to endure some spanking and rough questions.

When I work as either creator or consultant on dramatic scripts, I'll be the first top defend even the most absurd darlings against the meddling of producers, but also the first to ask the really difficult questions, but questions aimed at revealing the darling's real nature. Questions about how it could relate to other elements, what it reminds us of (principle of unity). Or about what kind of conflict it does or could involves (principle of conflict). How it's tonality sounds, is it comedic, tragic, and how (principle of tonality). Overall seeking an underlying theme, truth or what have we; the mystery. In this process you might very well discover that your darling doesn't really belong in the present script, but at least you will know a bit more about why, and perhaps have a strong idea for new script.

So please, spank your darlings, but don't kill them.

Receiving response

Tricks and advice
It is can be difficult to handle response and criticism when readers, directors or producers have read your script. There are a lot of pitfalls. But it is an essential part of our job, and unavoidable because it is a collective art form. Teach yourself how to get the most out of the collective.
The ideal responder will never pass judgment on you or the script, but try to understand the logic of the dramatic universe you are creating, and give all responses as either questions, suggestions or impressions, and perhaps supporting these with reasoning within the perceived logic of the universe.
But in most scriptwriters' experience there are very few ideal responders, even though it is actually pretty simple rules of engagement you have to follow, to be one.
So often we find ourselves in a situation with less- or much-less-than-ideal responders. You can't escape this, as they might be the ones who decide if your script will get produced, and neither should you try it, as even the daftest responder might actually lead you to improve upon your script, if you know how to use them.
The first step to handling this situation is to have a strong script you believe in, and more so, one where you know how the construction works. Why every element is there and how it plays together with other elements connecting to the fundamental conflict, and leading forward to its final resolution. Even when you are not that clear about everything in your script, at least be clear about what the fundamental conflict and logic is, and what you believe is your strong points.
Because then when you meet response you''ll be able to deal with it constructively. You can sort between relevant and irrelevant response. Sometimes people will say things that have much more to do with their own issues than with your script. Lets say you have a character who is controversial - she might be gay - and a reader who is not entirely comfortable with homosexuals, this person might not say this directly, but it comes out as irrational criticisms of details or concepts in the script. Obviously you should never let yourself be persuaded in any degree by this, and you will be able to argue why it makes sense that this character is gay. And you might also realize, that if you want this person and persons like him or her, as audience to your drama, then you could perhaps try and introduce this character in a way, that would make it easier for them to take the bait.
Then there is the kind of response which might be funded in something substantial but is phrased in a non-constructive way. It is often the case, when a reader is not able to phrase his or hers criticism within the logic of the script, or even within the logic of drama, and it is more rooted in a subjectivity. In this case you should try to translate it into something constructive - either by questioning the reader to find the logic behind, what disturbs them, or by making the translation by yourself - often it can be quite obvious - like if you have missed to give a proper set-up for a reader to understand a subsequent action.
Often you'll receive very specific suggestions about how to solve perceived weaknesses. Be courteous and appreciate the suggestions, but never take it at face value. Yes, maybe your main character seems to in-active, and you need her to show more initiative, for us, the audience to understand her and take an interest in her, but perhaps not by accepting the first and best suggestion of making her have a fight with her boyfriend in the opening scene, as your fundamental conflict is exactly about her problem taking a conflict into the open - so instead you have to find other ways of showing us what she wants and what she is trying to do.
Many times people might use comparisons to what they see as bad examples - other films, plays, stories - to convince you, that your ideas are wrong. This always makes my alarm go off. Most often these examples are quite superficial, and can be like "Oh, no, I don't like you have a transvestite in the script, it's like all those spanish movies by that guy Almodovar, it's passé and boring". Yes, maybe it seems so, but what if the transvestite is essential to basic logic? Maybe we don't need to get rid of him, but only to make sure, he is presented in a new original way? In these cases it is mostly about the reader's taste, and not about the quality or weakness of the script.
One of my favourite tricks when I am finishing a draft of a script is to leave something in there, which obviously doesn't work. I do this because no matter how good you make a script, people like to find something they can comment on. So I leave them this 'obvious' weakness that I know they will pick up, because then they can feel clever and better than me - and I can play the 'good collaborative writer' who accepts criticism. Also if they fail to see the obvious, then I know they haven't read it very carefully.
I will finish this post with reminding people of the test that the British film magazine Empire did in the early 90s, when they took the script from Sex, Lies and Videotapes, changed the title, the author name, the names of the characters and other superficial stuff, and then mailed it to a wide range of production companies. Not one of them realized that they had been reading Sex, Lies and Videotapes, and almost all of them completely rejected the script. This is what you are up against. Be brave and clever.