The virtue of 'Not Wrong'

We have a tendency to look for the right, the best or even perfect choice, also when we are creating drama. Obviously there are good reasons to do that, but the mindset of the right and perfect also has a number of creative traps. As many creative people have realised, the mistake, the error, is a rich source for new developments.

In my work I utilize a category called 'not wrong'. In my process material which might not seem or feel absolutely right or perfect, I think of as 'not wrong' while I let it stay in the mix, until at some later point, the final material is ready to manifest itself.

The 'not wrong' material often end up in this category because I can see value in it; in some ways it is not wrong, but it lacks that special something, which cannot always be found in the first or even ninth take. I examine and ask questions to the material. Looking both for the qualities which makes it 'not wrong' and 'not perfect'.

The major trap in the mindset of perfection is the notion of only one, single perfect solution. And either-or-mindset. That its either perfect or wrong. Even if your way of thinking is not that extreme, most of us are in some degree conditioned by our culture's and society's mind-set about perfection. Practicing the discipline of 'not-wrong' helps avoiding the traps of perfection.

Speaking of perfect and mindset, after living in Greece, I integrated their version and understanding of perfect in mine. The word for perfect, Telios, also means final or in a variant, the end (as seen in the end of Greek films). So for the Greeks perfection is not necessarily the sublime, but that which finalizes a process.  And in that light, the 'not wrong' is a step in the process to reach the final expression, which might not even have the quality of perfection.

Allowing ourselves to avoid the trap of perfection, gives us the possibility to stay in a process, ask unbiased questions to the material and leave room for the kind of answers, which could surprise both us and our audience.

Wanna surprise your audience? Surprise yourself!

Often we think of plot twists, when it comes to surprising an audience. And some writers will go far out of their way to create a twist, perhaps even so far, that they will inadvertently have left their good senses behind. Twisting the plot is just the most obvious, but not only way of keeping your audience on their toes. Surprising material exist at many levels, from the way a character phrase a question to the grand dramaturgy in your arrangement of scenes.

It all comes down to striking a balance between repetition and development. We want to repeat patterns, because it establishes recognition and awareness. Both comedy and tragedy relies on the repetition to establish a motif and then on a surprising development to exact the laugh or the tears.

Often I find that the balance is off in many dramatic productions. Either there's too little development. The pattern is being established, but in the most predictable way, and in the worst cases, so the pay-off is seen miles away. The other extreme is when the motif is not established properly, because the creator is simply afraid to repeat himself or afraid to bore the audience and jumps all over the place with new ideas. For me the key is not to be afraid of repetition, but instead have a bit of fun with it – by creating variations along the way. This also helps to keep the audience guessing and hopefully not see the pay-off before it arrives.

In my own work, I keep challenging myself to create small surprises in everything. It's not about being clever, but about opening your senses; feel if you are boring yourself a bit with the stuff you come up with. And if you do, surprise yourself by choosing a different path. No, they are not going to kiss, even though the moment is perfect. Instead he asks her, if she thinks, he is that easy to get. She has been wearing dresses in different colours – but suddenly she's in a grey, dirty coverall. You are your own audience – are you surprising yourself or just keeping ourself busy by putting words together, painting-by-numbers-style?

It's both far more difficult and far too easy to second-guess an audience, you'll most probably never even meet. Can you master the discipline of being your own audience, then you have the best test at hand, to see if you are being trite or surprising – just surprise yourself.

Don't answer that question

Writing dialogue many writers have a habit of making their characters answer every question another character may ask. You'll also often see this habit in improvisation with actors. It's not a very good habit in a dramatic context.

I'm not saying questions shouldn't be answered at all, but often – also in real life – it becomes interesting, when questions are not answered – for the very simple reason, that it generates a conflict. 

Character A wants to know, what Character B had for dinner, but B ignores the question and talks about the weather. Even in this very ordinary situation, as an audience I will begin to wonder if B is hiding something, how A feels about getting the question ignored, and what A will do to get the answer; I'm engaged in the conflict and it's outcome.

This little trick is also something which could save any of the unbelieveable many exposition-scenes, where only information is being narrated. Come on, dear writers, it's easy to add a conflict. Just have A make a question, and then B doesn't answer, but delivers a bunch of information.

What was your question again? Well, see you later.

Wanna think outside the box? Stay inside it.

Obviously this metaphor holds a value, in the sense that you shouldn't allow yourself to be boxed in by conventional thinking. Viewed from my principled design-based approach to the creative process, it doesn't really make a lot of sense. Recently I was reminded about this by my old teacher, Ingolf Gabold, who is both a wise and gifted dramaturge.

One of the fundamental aspects of the principle of unity is that a piece of drama is one system, and a system is defined by a set of borders. So if you go outside those borders, you will undermine your system.

This happens quite often, when people write, direct and perform drama. We will always get ideas and notions, that are outside the box, the system of the drama, and perhaps include them. One or two might actually be working for you and for the system, because of the old adage – the exception that proves the rule. Or you might, if your are disciplined and experienced, come to realise, your system has a different set of borders. But often its not working, and just weakens the material, because it doesn't add to the complexity of meaning.

Working as a consultant for others, or working in groups with devising, I have often seen a pattern in behaviour, when people begin to get the un-useful outside-the-box-ideas. Very often it happens as a reaction to difficulty with the existing material, the system as it is, and there might be real problems, that needs fixing – but instead of confronting those problems inside the box, people tend to jump outside the box to find a quick fix, or even being drawn by the allure of the grass is always greener..

And this is not a very productive behaviour, you'll waste time, energy and only find new material, which at first looks great, all new and shining, but will also present difficult problems later on, as it needs to be developed and incorporated into the system – something which might not even be possible if it is foreign to the system – and again, there's also a time factor in our design process – we need to go over our material and refine it. If you bring in new material late in the process, it may end up never being properly developed.

Instead we need to stay inside the box and confront the problems we have, because often the answer is there, hiding in plain view. We need to dig deeper and ask the difficult questions and the very simple questions to our material – what is the conflict, who is this character, what are the needs, the intention? And we need to be truthful with ourselves in answering – why am I bored with this? what do I really want as a creator? And we need to be patient and wait for the right answer to arise from the questioning.

And this can difficult because it can challenge our faith in ourselves as creators, our faith in the material we have chosen to work with – and even in the worst cases our faith in ourselves as human beings.

And when you find yourself in such a crisis of creation, you can either run or stay inside the box, in the zone.

The African Ploughing Method

Way back when I went to the National Playwright Education of Denmark, we had for a short while a guest teacher, Erling Jepsen, one of Denmark's most productive playwrights, and in his later years also a successful novelist. Two of his books have been turned into successful feature films, "Terribly Happy" and "The Art of Crying", that's really worth your time, if you don't know them. Erling Jepsen is one-of-a-kind with a unique dark tone and good ear for dialogue and conflict. In person he can seem shy and is never boastful of his accomplishments.

Back in '94 Erling Jepsen taught us one very simple thing, which I've been applying to my work ever since. Many writers probably do it. He called it The African Plough Method and explained that in Africa, when the farmer wants to plough a field, it's a great challenge, because the soil has been baked into a hard shell by the merciless sun. The first day of ploughing the farmer can only manage to get through a small corner of the field. When he returns the second day, he will again plough the same small corner, but now, because the soil is softer, he can manage to go a bit further and extend his corner of the field – and so he continues day by day – always beginning by ploughing the soil, he has already softened, extending the ploughed area every day.

This is also a great way of doing your writing, especially when you are working your way through a full script. You begin every new day by reading and editing the pages, you've already have written. You correct small mistakes, you consider and vary language, you find opportunities you missed in the first write, you erase unnecessary lines of dialogue, you connect dots begging to be connected and you get into your fictional universe and warmed up for the moment when you reach the part, the fully unploughed field, you haven't written yet.

In context with my own principles, The African Plough Method is great, because it helps you to build the unity of your drama. Every day as I begin from the top, I keep most of my attention on the elements I have already put into play; are they 'talking' to other elements, can I enhance their exchange; the way they 'speak' to each other – create new connections. The standard technique in scriptwriting is about set-up and pay-off, which is the most obvious version of doing this. On every level of you drama, you should be setting-up and paying-off. And by meticulously ploughing through your script every day, from the top, you can manage to do that – make every detail count, and every detail relate to other details.

So get your horses out, get ploughing and always begin from the top. For your procrastination, here is a trailer for "Terribly Happy":

You're not a writer..

This is what I often tell novice students at courses, I do on scriptwriting. And it is not to belittle their talent or aspirations, but to adjust their understanding of what it is, we are actually doing, when we create drama.

We are not writers in the sense a writer of novels or poetry is a literary writer. For them the words on paper is the final work of art. The words, we put down on paper, are just a means to communicate to our collaborators, who will be making the film, tv-show or theater performance. What we make is more like  a blueprint for a building or the score for a piece of music. This is also why, at the top of this blog, it says "Principles and tricks for creating scripts.." and not writing.

The fundamental construction of a piece of drama is also much more important, than the actual lines of dialogue. It's great if you write brilliant dialogue, but don't despair if you don't, because it's not the main thing. Joss Whedon, the creator of Buffy The Vampire Slayer, was hailed for his great and witty dialogue on that show, and at some point this came to frustrate him, because was that really the only thing, he was good at, and the only thing that made the show great? He decided to challenge himself by making an episode with very little dialogue – "Hush" – which became one of the best episodes in all 7 seasons of the show.

Directors and actors will be able to improve on your dialogue quite easily, but it is much more difficult to fix the construction of a piece of drama, while in the midst of rehearsing or shooting it. Your main responsibility is to get the construction right. This is all about the premise, the structure of the acts and in staying on target with your main conflict. If you don't get this right, your clever dialogue will only serve as window dressing for a drama, which will collapse somewhere in 2nd or 3rd act, and leave audiences frustrated in a bad way.

Drama is more like music than like literature. The rhythm, the timing, the weaving of themes, motifs and the build of crescendo is so much more important for drama and music, than for literature. The simple fact, that our works of art are played out in real time, second for second, moment to moment makes it so. Our audiences experiences it in a flow of time, so each second counts, the rhythm matters, the timing matters. And you need to be very precise in your communication, because the audience can't re-read a line or a page, or turn back a page to see, what the character was named – no, it happens now, and it happens in a flow.

You're not a writer. Don't feel bad about it. Enjoy creating drama, be proud of it. Or stop and become an author of literature instead.

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.

Allied with the actor

Here we go further examining the writers potential alliance with the actor.

Actors will often have a sense of the well-proportioned scene. It can both be a intellectual or primary, bodily sense of drama's structure. But most of all, actors are worth listening to as a scriptwriter because they will be living with your fictional work, taking responsibility for it, investing it with their own bodies and minds. They'll sense when lines doesn't work, are surplus or go in a wrong direction.

Of course, sometimes an actor can have problems with a line or element which is difficult for them personally. It might provoke a fear in them, often unconsciously, and so they will try to argue rationally, objectively why the line or element is bad. If you sense this is the case, be happy, because it is a great opportunity to strengthen the alliance with the actor. If you can explore the actors objection to the element and reach a satisfying resolution without antagonizing him or her, you'll have expanded your mutual trust.

One of my main tools to exploring differences of opinion, both in relation to actors, but also when working with writers/directors/producers, is to focus on asking questions and establishing a mutual agreement on the primary logic and mechanics of a script/scene. Its a bit Socratic, but without the didactic approach. The key is to allow for the possibility that you are wrong, even when you damn sure you're absolutely right.

In such conversations I listen a lot after what I call 'hidden gems'. Because often hidden in an objection, no matter how rational or irrational, you can find an unknown treasure. An experience, an emotion, a story or a moment which can bring a new aspect to the script.

Actors are the writer's best ally, alone for the reason that they have the most to win by making you better, by helping you to succeed - and many of the understand how to be truly collaborative.

The courage

"Courage is being scared to death... and saddling up anyway" - John Wayne

The word courage has its root in the latin word for heart; cor. Courage flows from the beating heart, that wants to live in spite of fear. David Mamet argues that the most important thing the actor brings to the character is their own courage. This will give the character life; a real, living heart, so to speak, to the otherwise artificial and non-existent person.

The actor's primary virtue has always been courage. The simple act of standing in front of an audience demands courage in itself, even if you by disposition crave it and are driven to do it. One of the best pieces of advice I ever received was to connect with actors, if I wanted to write drama. As a writer, you might think you are the brain, but without the heart you are worth nothing.

After my return to Denmark, I attend more theatre performances and I meet more actors. Two of the recent performances I saw reminded me of the importance of courage. One was a grotesque, semi-spex version of Chaplin's The Gold Rush put on stage to buffoon the makers own desire to be political correct. The whole performance breathes with courage; it hides nothing, uses all the most simple, old tricks, never tries to be clever, and that is why it works so well. The courage of the performers convince. The other performance I saw was cleverly made, well-designed and full of new tricks, but in the directing and in some of the crucial parts, it lacked courage. It never left the stage. It was impressive, but without heart.

The same goes for writing and designing drama. Better to have courage than to be clever and perfect. Practice the discipline of sensing if your impulses are controlled by fear or inspired by courage and desire. I have a bunch of tricks and questions I treat myself to in the process. Like:

"What is the worst thing that could happen now?"

"- for the character?"

"- for me as a writer?"

"What is the worst possible idea I can come up with to solve this problem?"

- I leave the script and take a walk, while trying to sense and answer to: "What do I really, really want, no, not just want, but desire, crave? What can I imagine that will give me a kick?"

As writers, we have the time to reflect and ponder, so what I really admire about the courage of actors, is that they do it on stage in real time - they follow their impulses even when they know it might lead the performance astray from the planned (that is; when they do it, and not when they are just playing safe). Both in acting and writing, its the true moments of courage, where someone let go of all that is safe and well-known and take those steps into uncertainty, those are the moments, which truly touches us as an audience.

“Not just because..”

Drama is essentially an examination of what people want and what they will do to get it. This seems to be the basic mechanics of the good scene or script.

Ask what your characters want and how they go about getting it. This is the fundamental tool to make weak scenes better.

Always.

Say it out loud: Always.

Now repeat it, while hitting yourself in the head, lest you should forget it.

Your best friend, the actor.

Because writers often forget it (and don’t even get me started on the directors, whom so easily get lost in their ‘visuals’). The scenes are then weak. You end up writing something else than drama, pure expo, narration or even poetry. Maybe we get lucky and the director and/or especially the actors have plenty of dramatic instinct to infuse the scene with drama. Despite the weak scene, the actors will somehow play their characters with lots of intention. This is the hallmark of the natural actor, not being able to play without clear and present intention, no matter what ‘method’ or technique they think they are applying as actors, this is fundamentally their craft, as it is ours. So learn from them. Speak your own lines. Find the intention. Feel it. Its in the body. Not the mind. That’s why you need actors. They have bodies. Physical bodies. Authors of novels don’t need them, so in their writing they can be lyrical, reflective and even acadmic. We can’t. The actor is our siamese twin and we can’t live without them. Hell, we shouldn’t even want to.

Our profession: Existential paradise

This examination of want and will demands a certain portion of cynicism from us as creators. By ‘a certain cynicism’, I’m not thinking of a bleak outlook on life, but rather a questioning, not-taking-anything-at-face-value-attitude. Peel off the illusions to better create the illusion of a drama.

Nothing is ever ‘just because’; just because he is a good man, just because that’s how the story is, just because that’s how reality is.

No, the young man is helping the woman because he wants something. What does he want? To be considered a hero? To make her fall in love with him? To forget about his own problems?

No, a story never just is. Its always a choice. At the outset, you might be making a lot of unconscious choices, just to get going, but at some point, you need to examine your choices. Are there better choices to make? More interesting? Daring? Never accept your story at face value, just because.

OK, reality is, just because it is. But you are not constructing reality. It might remind us of reality or it might be an altogether different reality from mine. So, yes, we are back at the choices. How is the world and reality of your drama?

That’s your decisions, and you have to make them. That’s how you construct drama. Satré would be in paradise (and btw, he wrote a few decent plays himself).

This is one of the most important 'tricks' in our tool-box: Never stop being the child who asks “Why?” and the child who observes the emperor and exclaims: “But he’s not wearing any clothes!”

The Joke

I believe creating scripts for drama is one of the more difficult things you can undertake. One reason is that a script is essentially build upon one joke, and you have to make everything relate to that joke. You have to keep this simplicity in mind while creating a complex world around it. Often a script fails because it looses aim of it's joke or repeats the joke over and over without any complexity. I use the term joke, because of its simplicity, but could also talk about dramatic irony, the inner mystery or

So what is a joke. Here are some examples.
Silence of the Lambs: Starling hopes she can make the lambs stop screaming by saving the girl from Buffalo Bill, but she can't.
Seventh Seal: The Knight has lost all faith, but in facing the most meaningless of all, Death, he finds a new faith.
Sixth Sense: Crowe, the main character, believes he is supposed to save the boy, when in fact its the boy, who can save him.
Last Tango in Paris: The Brando-character has lost all faith in love because of his dead wife's betrayal, and takes out his despair on a young woman in a nihilistic sexual relationship. The joke is that he rediscovers love, but too late - death has been invited into the relationship and the young woman kills him to his big surprise.

When I work on my own scripts, I always stay in notebook-mode, collecting ideas, writing a few lines, arranging the rough structure, until I have a firm hold on the joke. Only then can I progress to treatment or script. In my work as a consultant, I have seen too many times, writers and directors setting out to write their script without a solid idea of their joke. The result is always what I call an unfinished script, even if it gets produced.

Synopsis, Outline, Treatment? Part 2

This time about the outline. This tool doesn't get mistaken and is virtually never used as a sales tool. It is pretty simple and straight forward. In my own process this is the tool I use consistently throughout. From beginning to end.

It is a short description of each and every scene. The basics. Where, who, action, conflict, essential information. As brief and to the point as possible. Sometimes I throw in a single line of dialogue, I find crucial.

In the beginning I sketch this out in a notebook. I separate the notebook into four acts and then I begin to fill in scenes. At first I'm looking for the important scenes. The plot-point-scenes, any scenes that have given me the inspiration in the first place and scenes that are essential in linking those together. From there on it becomes about filling in the blanks - creating the smaller stepping stones. Often I separate the acts themselves into smaller units - sequences each driven by one question, task or idea. I give everything - scenes, sequences and acts - titles to re-inforce what they are about. Some use the much beloved index-cards for the whole re-shuffling thing. This doesn't speak to me, but I see why it works. For me, when the re-shuffling becomes the main job, I move from notebook to computer, because its often the same time I want to expand my notes on each scene into something more concise and clearly written.

This process form the basis for the two other short-forms - the treatment and the synopsis. The treatment being the natural expansion of the outline and the synopsis being the condensation. I do the synopsis to demand of myself the discipline to focus on the drama's most essential plot movements, conflict and narrative strategy - and not getting lost in detail and darlings. To be able to later on verbally narrate the story within half an hour and below, without missing the key elements, but making it sound like a movie. Late in the process, working with a director, it will easily become the reference tool and your common road-map to the full treatment/script. So it's a real handy thing.

The outline is the spine of the development process in many ways. It lets you develop your whole script without actually writing it - and contrary to belief and our job title, we are really not writers in the, you know, author sense. We are more like composers, I think. The outline also lets you remain flexible, able to play and goof around with your drama (notice how I keep saying drama, instead of story - again because we are not story-writers, but composers of drama). The moment you have actually written those scenes as scenes with dialogue and all the stuff, you get bogged down by them. It becomes more difficult to change, to play and goof. I know it's tempting to get into the writing of scenes. I feel the urge. I see it all the time when I am a teacher or consultant, how people want to skip the development and just write those scenes. If you have not already become accustomed to the development through outline, synopsis and treatment - start getting there and save yourself some trouble.

Synopsis, outline, treatment? Part 1.

Before ever writing a single scene or a single line of dialogue the scriptwriter should go through intermediary stages of sketching the drama. I don't know how it is in other corners of the world, but in many of the places I have been there seem to be some confusion about the different 'sketching'-formats. Fx. I hear producers, directors and writers use synopsis and treatment interchangeably. So I figured, I would describe my idea of them, their different incarnations and purpose. Here is my take on the synopsis.

The Synopsis
There are shorter formats - like a pitch or something in that neighborhood - but the synopsis is the shortest format, which is a real tool for the writer. The others tend to serve only the purpose of selling the story to producers.
The synopsis is short. But how short? In general I would say between 2-5 pages for a feature film. The synopsis of 2-3 pages is a presentation form and bordering on the verge of a sales tool, but can be useful in honing in on what your story is really about.
Being brought up in the Danish tradition I have been taught the 5-page synopsis, which has a really simple logic and formula. It goes like this:

Page 1: The first half page is used to describe the opening of the film, the hook or pitch, or what you want to call it, with some degree of detail. Then you spend the rest of the page on summarizing the action for the rest of the 1st act.

Page 2: The next half page is spend on what I call the initiating plot point - again with some detail. Rest of 2nd act is summarized on the remainder of the page.

Page 3: You guessed it, the next plot point - what I call the turning point - is again covered over a half page in detail - and then summary of the 3rd act.

Page 4: Do I really have to say it? Next plot point - I (and many others) call it the Point of No Return - in whatever detail you can fit in on half a page - and then a half page with the rest of 4th act (or almost the rest of it -- wait--wait...)

Page 5: The conclusion/climax - also a plot point - described in detail over a half page. That's it. Wait, it only tallies 4 and a half page? Well, it sounds awkward to say the 4-and-a-half-page synopsis - and anyway, the last half page, you are most probably going to use it up anyway, as you can't contain yourself to the strict half-page per plot point/act.

The obvious purpose of writing the 5-page synopsis is to flesh out the basic structure, get a feel for the rhythm and focus on the main story. Sometimes I start out with doing an outline and a rough treatment, and then I return to synopsis, to distill and purify the drama. Focus myself, before writing the first full treatment.

Later on in the process a sales synopsis might be written, either a short 2-pager or a full 5-page synopsis. Then it is the time to get obsessive about language. It really has to flow seamlessly. I often try to use some verbal language to soften up the highly condensed sentences. Especially when you find the exact right phrase, you can also reflect something about the tone of the film/situation.

Even if you don't use a 4 act model, you can figure out a similar way of writing a synopsis that fits your structure, where you detail the plot point and summarize the main body of action. Its all about rhythm.

Picasso's Desire and Fear

”Then I understood what painting really meant. It’s not an aesthetic process, It’s a form of magic that interposes itself between us and the hostile universe, a means of seizing power by imposing form on our terrors as well as on our desires;” - Picasso

Picasso states clearly – not only what painting is about – but also what all art is about. Specifically we come to the drama to experience in action, the forms of those terrors and desires that cannot be expressed in plain words.

For some years now this has been one of my most precious quotes. We make drama out of conflicts. They arise from the clashes between fear and desire. It is where I turn to when I am stuck in my process. It is my constant touchstone, where I test my ideas. Are they born out of my desire? Out my fears?

This dichotomy of what we want and what we run away from is engraved in our two basic nervous systems, the sympathetic and parasympathetic nervous systems. They function in opposition to each other. This opposition can be understood as both complementary and antagonistic. The sympathetic system is responsible for our 'flight-or-fight'-reactions. When fear strikes us, it will pump out adrenalin, it will withdraw blood from the surface of our skin, it will accelerate our heart-rate and make us breathe quicker and more shallow. The parasympathetic system takes care of all things pleasurable. It will relax our muscles, send blood to the surface of our skin (making it more sensitive), make our breathing deeper, stimulate digestion and prepare our sexual organs for love-making.

This is our hard-wiring as organisms. Our ancient battlefield of internal conflicts and by proxy our external conflicts. Tune into it and let it be your guide to drama.

Your First Feature Film

You are not an established writer/director. You are looking to make your break-through or just to get that first feature film financed and produced. Here are some thoughts on how to make that script.

Keep it simple. One novel provocative idea. Strong characters.

Keep it simple.
This is key for several reasons. You want to minimize your budget. Makes it easier to get the project financed and produced. Failing finding a producer, you might even be able to produce it yourself. Keeping it simple also let you focus on maximizing your strengths instead of trying to accomplish everything. Example: Instead of wasting your energy on directing many different actors/characters, you can focus on a few, strengthening their performance and the audiences relation to those characters. Simplicity is not the opposite of complexity in this context. Complexity in the sense of a fascinating, inexhaustible art-work comes from simple ideas connecting to create complexity. By working under the rule of simplicity, limiting your number of location, actors, plot-lines and so on, you will be forced to make meaningful connections between the elements you have - creating complexity.

One novel, provocative idea.
The criteria for your basic idea of your script should be novelty and provocation. The novelty can take many forms. It can be the world of the drama is a world we have never (or rarely) seen portrayed in film. It can be the way you shape your drama. It can be a basic conflict we have never seen before, or at least not seen treated like you plan to do. The provocation is required for your script and film to break through the carpet bombing of film projects and releases. You need to stand out. What is provocation? Basically to question in any way a well-established truth.

Strong Characters!
In a low-budget film you can't have all the expensive stuff that attracts people to film. Instead you can utilize the one fundamental thing we also love about drama - the characters. They are not expensive. But they demand all of your creativity, logic and sense of drama. Pour all your energy into them - making them stand out, being unforgettable. The kind of characters you wish you knew in real life, or in your dreams (if that's the kind of film you are planning), or that you yourself was one of them. Really, push yourself on this aspect. And it's not only about writing great dialogue for them. Its about their conflicts (external and internal), how they deal with them, their courage, their strength and weaknesses.

A sample of breakthrough films that have these characteristics. Find more yourself.

• Sex, Lies and Videotapes
Small ensemble cast. Good actors. Main character has a huge problem - he can't commit to a relationship. The novelty is that he deals with this by questioning convention and videotaping peoples most intimate, private stories. In doing so he stirs up status quo of their lives. By shaking up their world, finally somebody emerges to shake up his world. The provocation: Questioning the existence of love. A romantic lead who is everything he is not supposed to be.

• Reservoir Dogs
Ensemble cast. Few locations. Main character is thrown into the dangerous task of infiltrating a criminal gang - posing for one of them. The novelty is that this is not a film about a detective solving a crime. This is the crime-film as an existential metaphor regarding identity. The main character bonds with a father figure among the criminals, and when they are all lying dead or dying, he realizes the futility of all his aspirations - the bond between him and the criminal was what he cared most about. Added novelty: voluminous, imaginative dialogue. The provocation in this film is the blurring of black and white - ex: Our mixed enjoyment/vehemence at the torture of a police officer.

• Festen (The Celebration)
Ensemble cast. One location. Main character has a huge problem - he can't continue his life because of his father's abuse of him and his sister in the past. The novelty is two-fold: This was one of the first Dogma-films shot on DV. It was one of the first 'mainstream' films to talk about incest. This is also more or less its provocation, but its provocation has a deeper level. We are led to believe our main character's intention is to expose his father (get justice) and in the end of the film he succeeds - but he is not really happy about it. The main character's true intention is to find reconciliation with his father, to gain a real bond between them - and this is truly provoking as the gut-reaction towards incest-perpetrators are pretty much to castrate them (socially and physically). This film actually ends up siding with both the victim and the perpetrator.

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.