…Dr. Orbis twists back the dial, turns on the red spots, switches off the green. The humming SOUND fades away. The girls stop short in their exhibition of rapture…look blankly at each other, the audience, and Dr. Orbis.
DR. ORBIS
So! Ladies, you weren’t hurt, were you?
Giggling and whispering, the girls shake their heads.
DR. ORBIS
Nothing bad happened to you, did it? …And you did have fun?
Complete affirmation from the girls, perhaps with AD LIBBED COMMENTS.
DR. ORBIS
Then back to the fair with you! Have the best of times! Arid remember, all of you…
(arms flung wide, to take in crowd and girls alike)
…Dr. Orbis is the man who rules your mind!
It’s been a good show. The crowd’s in a good mood as it starts to leave the tent. But now the roughneck noted earlier breaks the spell.
ROUGHNECK
(bellowing)
Bull shit!
DR. ORBIS
What was that—?
ROUGHNECK
Bull shit, that’s what I said! You’re a fake!
The departing crowd stops…turns. Dr. Orbis peers down at the man through his thick-lensed glasses.
DR ORBIS
(dangerously gentle)
Sir, do I understand you doubt my powers?
ROUGHNECK
You bet you do. I know your kind —crooks, liars, frauds—
DR. ORBIS
Of course you know. What’s the saying—’It takes one to know one’?
ROUGHNECK
Why, you—!
DR. ORBIS
Since you feel so strongly, why don’t you join me up here on the stage? Prove to everyone just how much of a fake I am?
ROUGHNECK
You think I wouldn’t!
DR. ORBIS
Oh, no, sir. I’m sure you would. So, if you’ll just step up here now‣
Dr. Orbis’s reaction is totally unanticipated by the roughneck. It dawns on him he’s started something he’s not sure he wants to try to finish. He starts to turn away.
ROUGHNECK
(in fake disgust)
Ah—!
DR. ORBIS
You’re not going, sir—? Not before you’ve exposed me? …Or could it be you’re just a bit afraid I’ll do the exposing?
ROUGHNECK
Bull shit!
He’s eager to leave, but now the crowd won’t let him.
MAN 1
Go ahead! Get on the stage!
MAN 2
What’s the matter? Where you going?
WOMAN
He’s scared the brujo’s going to cast a spell on him!
Is that it, sir? Are you afraid to come up?
ROUGHNECK
I’ll show you who’s scared!
He charges up the nearest stairs onto the stage.
DR. ORBIS
(gesturing to area beneath the green spots)
Right here, sir.
Simultaneously, he backs to the light board…throws the mind machine control switch…twists thesubmission dial. The raging roughneck stops short, caught in the cone of green light. (SOUND: humming.)
DR. ORBIS
Now, my friend. Surely we can talk this out like reasonable men. …Actually, I’m glad you came. I can see you have a problem. …You’ve always wondered: Are you really macho?
The crowd guffaws. The roughneck cowers, wordless.
DR. ORBIS
Oh! That was unkind of me, wasn’t it? Your kind of man… who could doubt you are a lover? …Herel
Stepping to the table, he whips off the rebozo…tosses it in the direction of the roughneck. It falls at the man’s feet. The roughneck stares stupidly at it.
DR. ORBIS
Yes, indeed, you are a lover. And every lover needs someone to love. For you…
(Turning to coffins, clapping hands)
Jorge! Join him!
The worst-looking of the “undead” men steps from his box… crosses to and enters the cone of green light. Dr. Orbis goes back to the light board.
DR. ORBIS
(adjusting dials carefully)
A little lust, now…
(to roughneck)
Isn’t Jorge beautiful? Your heart pounds, your blood heats at his very nearness, doesn’t it? …Oh, we all understand how it is with a real macho like you!
(hoarse, guttural)
Aahhh…
DR. ORBIS
Kiss him, lover!
The roughneck clutches Jorge…buries his face in the “undead”’s neck in an impassioned kiss. The crowd roars.
DR. ORBIS
Muy macho!
(stopping short, faking shock)
Or—could I be wrong? Was there somehow something womanly about that kiss? …Sir, the rebozo!
Letting go of Jorge, the roughneck picks up the rebozo.
DR. ORBIS
Wrap it around you, my dear. You must be modest, maidenly. This is your lover, Jorge, that you meet here in secret in the campo. How your lips burn for his kisses!
The roughneck drapes himself in the rebozo…stands simpering: head down, eyes averted.
DR. ORBIS
Jorge! It’s your sweetheart! Kiss her!
Jorge smothers the roughneck with kisses. Again, the crowd roars.
DR. ORBIS
(arms spread, mocking)
Oh, such rapture! Oh, such passion!
In a frame-filling REACTION SHOT, the crowd roars with laughter.
What we see above is a sample of dialogue: that portion of a script in which people talk … the things they say, word for word.
The writing of good dialogue is an art in and of itself. For the film scriptwriter, it’s a vital skill.
What issues do we need to consider, where dialogue writing is concerned? They fall into three categories: dialogue functions, dialogue continuity, and dialogue realism.
1. Dialogue functions.
Dialogue has four primary functions; four main jobs to do:
a. To give information.
c. To advance the plot.
d. To characterize the speaker and the person to whom spoken.
To a very considerable degree, these functions overlap. A given line may simultaneously perform all four jobs. Yet this is often enough not true to warrant our checking out each category separately. We’ll start with
a. To give information.
At first glance this would seem so simple and so obvious as not to call for comment.
The problem is, good dialogue must not only convey information; it must do so without being obtrusive or impeding the story’s flow.
Thus, in the script from which our sample above is taken, it was important to demonstrate that Dr. Orbis really does have mysterious powers. To that end, and also to lighten an otherwise heavy horror piece, this incident in which these powers are tested was written in. The situation is such that the key fact to be set forth is contained in Dr. Orbis’s own grandiloquent proclamation—”Dr. Orbis is the man who rules your mind!”—yet it is so introduced that it is totally in keeping with the situation and so doesn’t at all get in the way of the developing action. Indeed, it precipitates said action, by giving the roughneck an excuse to voice his challenge, thus clearing the track for the demonstration of Dr. Orbis’s strange abilities. Each line that follows the initial statement builds upon it, adding new data and insights.
Is the point to be made worth this much screen time? That obviously is a matter subject to debate. My own reaction is that it is.
b. To reveal emotion.
Insofar as practical, each line a speaker delivers should reveal his mood, his feeling. Lines which fail to do so are “dead” and tend not to contribute to the sense of rising action viewers seek.
The place beginners’ dialogue falls down often centers on the fact that they, writing, are not aware of the continual flux and change of a speaker’s mood. In consequence, the words they put into his mouth fail to reflect his feelings.
Thus, Dr. Orbis’s first three speeches in our sample reflect a genial mood, an interval of good feelings. In total command and playing to the crowd, Dr. Orbis coaxes and cajoles and radiates confidence.
The feeling flips with the roughneck’s interruption. Dr. Orbis’s cordiality falls away, but he stays in control. His words mirror smooth menace, as in the very formality of his line, “Sir, do I understand you doubt my powers?”
The roughneck blusters, riding the impact of his initial break through. But Dr. Orbis takes the sting from the roughneck’s words—and the initiative from the roughneck—by the agreement-plus-switch he voices in his “Of course you know” line. Each line that follows puts him more strongly in command, just as each of the roughneck’s lines reflects increasing loss of control.
For the writer, the most important issue is less the words themselves than the changes in attitude, mood, feeling, that each line reflects. The state of affairs and state of mind of each speaker are continually shifting.
In good dialogue, the speaker’s words and manner mirror this. In poor, the speeches are wooden, mechanical, and for the author’s convenience. In consequence, they embarrass the actors called upon to speak them, as well as leaving the listening audience bored, irritated, and unconvinced.
c. To advance the plot.
Good dialogue should not only advance the plot: It should leave the audience unaware that it is doing so.
Our sample offers a good case in point. On the face of it, it merely acts out the humiliation of a hoodlum, making it more vivid through introduction of appropriate lines. Yet simultaneously it reveals Dr. Orbis’s ability to distort reality for his victims: The macho roughneck is first deluded into caressing a zombie-like male … then warped even further, to the point where he himself takes the female role.
Now all this is entertaining enough in and of itself. But it also constitutes preparation for later sequences in which Dr. Orbis exercises such control in infinitely more sinister fashion. The audience accepts it, however, because this earlier, less crucial demonstration with the roughneck has “proved” to them—”Seeing is believing!”—that Dr. Orbis can indeed rule his victims’ minds.
What has dialogue contributed to this “proof? It has made the demonstration infinitely more vivid, by enabling viewers to follow the subtle ebb and flow of emotional change more closely than they could have through sight alone. In consequence, the scene’s impact is much more convincing.
The lesson for the writer is clear: In film, dialogue does not—cannot—exist as an element separate and apart from the picture as a whole. To fulfill its function, it must be integrated into the overall pattern that the writer designs in order to create that ebb and flow of tension which we call entertainment.
d. To characterize the speaker and the person to whom spoken.
Inevitably, dialogue reflects the speaker: his background, his education, his social status; above all, his attitudes and feelings.
On the obvious side, garbage collector and college president hardly are likely to speak the same. Dr. Orbis and Roughneck demonstrate this clearly. “Sir, do I understand you doubt my powers?” is one person—and one kind of person—speaking; “You bet you do. I know your kind—crooks, liars, frauds—” another.
But it is on a deeper level, on that of personality itself, that the picture really comes into focus. Thus, Roughneck’s speech labels him as a loudmouthed bully—ignorant, inwardly insecure. That of Dr. Orbis, in contrast, reflects quiet menace, coupled with the kind of sadism-laced insight that enables him instantly to pinpoint the chink in his opponent’s armor.
It goes without saying, I trust, that insight precedes dialogue where this is concerned. If you don’t know the kind of man with whom you’re dealing and the traits which reveal his inner self, you can’t write proper lines for him.
Part and parcel of this insight picture is the matter of reaction. Where Roughneck responded to Dr. Orbis’s exhibition with a yell of “Bull shit!” another man might, without commotion, have asked the authorities to close down the show. A lesser figure than Dr. Orbis, in turn, might have cringed or fled or blustered at Roughneck’s bellow.
Once you have your understanding of your people, dialogue becomes one of your most useful tools for bringing insight out into the open … putting it in such form that viewers can understand and draw full emotional value from it.
2. Dialogue continuity.
How do you make dialogue hang together?
You make use of a device called the dialogue hook, which insures that each speech acknowledges the one preceding it.
We see this technique at work in the very first interchange between Dr. Orbis and the girls at the show:
DR. ORBIS
So! Ladies, you weren’t hurt, were you?
Giggling and whispering, the girls shake their heads.
The hook, in this case, is question/answer. The girls’ giggling, whispering, and head-shaking acknowledges Dr. Orbis’s question. Without said question, the “answer” would make little sense.
Note also, incidentally, that though this is a dialogue sequence, the “answer” takes the form of action rather than words. An important point for anyone to remember; too often, learners insist on words, words, words and formal speech, when mime would play better. But more of that later, when we deal with dialogue realism.
The question/answer pattern is only one of a host of hooks, of course. Thus, Roughneck’s “Bull shit!” stands as disagreement with Dr. Orbis’s “… Dr. Orbis is the man who rules your mind!” Dr. Orbis’s “What was that—?” in turn, represents reaction. Roughneck’s later “You bet you do” and Dr. Orbis’s “Of course you know” are both hooks of agreement—by agreeing with the previous speaker’s statement, each acknowledges the speech and so establishes the element of continuity which makes good dialogue hang together.
Dr. Orbis’s “Of course you know” is also a hook of interruption— he has broken in on Roughneck’s “cheap crooks, liars, frauds—” diatribe, and the fact of breaking in is in itself an acknowledgment of Roughneck’s rantings. Some lines later, when he begins, “Now, my friend,” he’s using a transitional word as a hook. The “now” is an “empty” word, like “Oh?” or “Well!” or “You don’t say?” It acknowledges prior speech or behavior without taking a stand. In so doing, it constitutes an excellent pivot for changing the subject. Thus, in our example, the whole opening portion of the Orbis speech is really little more than social noise (“Now, my friend. Surely we can talk this out like reasonable men.”) But what follows is a total switch which might have jarred had it not been built up to: “…Actually, I’m glad you came. I can see you have a problem…. You’ve always wondered: Are you really macho?”
Elsewhere in this script, the same transitional word device is coupled with another favorite, repetition, and question/answer to keep an expository passage moving:
LUIS
Good God!
DR. ORBIS
Why shudder? Daring is always the handmaiden of progress. What does it matter what happens to the weak and stupid, so long as man’s knowledge marches forward?
LUIS
So?
DR. ORBIS
So, I developed my master work, the retinal serum…
Here, Luis uses a transitional word to answer a question with a question … Dr. Orbis repeats the word … and off we go again!
Again, we have this hook, this acknowledgment via action, followed by a reaction speech:
(moving head dazedly)
I—I can’t see…
Luis removes her dark glasses. Her face is still averted and/or in shadow. Taking her by the chin, he gently turns her face to the window. For the first time, light strikes her eyes. In CLOSEUP, we see they show only blank white sclera…no iris, no pupil.
LUIS
My God—!
And so it goes, with speech or action acknowledging preceding speech or action. All constitute dialogue hooks. The classifications into which I’ve broken them down—repetition, transitional words, reaction, action, interruption, agreement/disagreement, question/answer, and so on are totally unimportant. What counts is understanding of the basic principle involved: Each speech should somehow “hook” to the one ahead. Keep that in mind, and you can’t go too far wrong.
3. Dialogue realism.
Where realism is concerned, the big thing to bear in mind in working up dialogue is that there’s a world of difference between speech and the written word. Good dialogue strives for the tone of conversation. It attempts to avoid the stiffness and formalism that too often envelopes us when we “take pen in hand.”
On the other hand, saints preserve me from the script in which the writer has tried to duplicate actual speech. Better by far that he simulate the way we talk. Which is to say, you should aim for the flavor and color of spoken language, but eliminate all but a salting of the banality, repetitiousness, and general meandering in which we all tend to indulge.
To that end, be sure your dialogue keeps your story moving forward in a reasonably straight line. Do not permit yourself the dubious luxury of bogging down in endless burblings and weather talk in the name of realism.
Beyond this, the going grows hazy. So much depends on taste and talent! An interchange handled with one man’s humor comes out as light and clever. In another’s hands, it would prove cloddish. The trick is to assess your own abilities, strong points and weak. Then, stay within your limitations or work with the devil’s own fervor to overcome them. There is no other way.
A few observations may help you sharpen your attack, however … as witness these 15 far-from-all-inclusive points:
a. Dialogue should be characteristic of the speaker.
I’ve already given this some attention, so I’ll keep my comments here brief.
The key principle is: Know your people, and let their speech help differentiate them. A Texan doesn’t talk like a Down Easter, nor a cowhand like a coal miner, nor a child like a man. Each nationality, each generation, each social stratum has its own speech patterns. Only as you listen, listen, listen, pay attention to them, can you hope to capture them in your scripts.
b. Since good dialogue represents our language as spoken, rather than written, it makes full use of contractions, the second person approach, the active voice, and such.
When Roughneck in our horror film sample roars, “You’re a fake!” he’s using that specialized verbal shorthand that we call contraction: It reduces “You are” to “You’re.” In the process, it adds a touch of realism to Roughneck’s speech. Same for Dr. Orbis when he asks, “What’s the saying?” or says, “I’m sure you would. So, if you’ll just step up here now …”
Second person? “When you get to the third corner, you turn right a block,” instructs Character. “If you want to cut down the alley, then …”
This habit of using second person and active voice—the “you get,” “you turn,” “you want” element—is ever so common with most of us, especially when we’re explaining or instructing. Indeed, the more formal third-person usage (“How does one reach the hotel?” “One proceeds three blocks in the direction you are going.”) is in itself a characterizing device, useful in tagging the speaker as on the stiff and prissy side.
c. Ungrammatical constructions, clichés, and slang are a habit with many of us.
ALASTAIR
Precisely what do you mean, young lady?
SHARON
I mean, it do take talent, don’t it? Like she’s a doll. But rhythm counts more than rich relations. You know how the song goes—”It don’t mean a thing if it ain’t got that swing.”
Alastair is a man who speaks correctly. But closer to the hearts—and speech patterns—of the masses is Sharon’s approach.
Note too that the contrast between these speakers helps to make for livelier, more interesting dialogue.
d. Some speakers fumble, hesitate, and/or interrupt frequently.
DR. ORBIS
But where? where were they?
ZARA
I—I don’t know.
DR. ORBIS
Was it here? Here, in the tent, my show?
ZARA
No…
DR. ORBIS
Not the tent—?
ZARA
No. The walls…they were different…stone, maybe…like an old house.…
As with almost everything else in the writing business, this can be overdone. But occasional gropings by the right person at the right time certainly does help.
e. Most speeches should be kept brief.
Turn back to the sample with which we began this chapter. You’ll find it has 11 one-line speeches, ten two-line speeches, two three-liners, five four-liners, one five-liner, two six-liners, and one seven-liner.
Similarly, checking out a random three-page sample in the script of the much-acclaimed Winning, I counted 19 one-liners, six two-liners, and five three-liners; none longer. A three-page chunk from the highly successful Ruthless People turned up 22 one-line speeches, seven two-line, one three-line, and one four-line.
This is not to say that longer speeches are unknown. A quick thumbing of Ruthless People revealed one 32-line speech, two 14-line, a ten-line, and two nine-liners. Winning came up with one 11-liner, as well as assorted sevens, sixes, and fives.
But the overall picture, in life and in film scriptwriting, favors the short speech.
f. Action—stage business—often substitutes for speech.
DR. ORBIS
So! Ladies, you weren’t hurt, were you?
Giggling and whispering, the girls shake their heads.
Again:
Now, my friend. Surely we can talk this out like reasonable men. …Actually, I’m glad you came. I can see you have a problem. …You’ve always wondered: Are you really macho?
The crowd guffaws. The roughneck cowers, wordless.
The issue in dialogue, remember, is acknowledgment, reaction.
Often, actions speak louder than words in this regard. What a man does clarifies his stance far better than what he says.
That being the case, your own best approach is to consider response, rather than mere words. You may end up finding silence golden.
g. Emotionalism dominates factual content in most speech.
People are not computers, nor logic machines, nor yet taped answering services. Consequently, as pointed out in the section on dialogue’s emotional function, they tend to speak more in terms of feeling than of fact.
Thus, when Roughneck bellows “Bull shit!” he’s giving vent to rage, rather than good sense.
Anger, even though controlled and masked, is equally evident in Dr. Orbis’s “Sir, do I understand you doubt my powers?” And the sarcasm of his later “Oh! That was unkind of me, wasn’t it? Your kind of man … who could doubt you are a lover?” clearly reveals a sadistic delight in the twisting of the knife.
Your own characters should be equally enmeshed in feelings; and those feelings should show through their dialogue just as clearly.
h. Well-nigh every speech should reflect an attempt to influence someone’s attitude or behavior.
In life, much speech is empty. That’s a luxury you can’t afford in dialogue. Screen time is just too precious.
Avoid dull dialogue of agreement, therefore—”Oh, it’s a lovely dress!” “Yes, I think so. And brown’s my color.” “Yes, it certainly is. Besides, when you wear your hair that way …”
As much as possible, your players should be goal-oriented, strivers. Then, you should focus on their confrontations, the moments when they’re trying to gain their ends in the face of opposition.
i. Beware of letting any character volunteer information.
AUNT AGATHA
This girl, George. How much do you really know about her?
Please, Auntie, pleasel Whatever I know or don’t know, it’s enough.
AUNT AGATHA
George, even before her teens, she was a problem!
GEORGE
Auntie, whatever it is—
AUNT AGATHA
An affair’s one thing. Three in a row’s another. And those are just the ones I know about. And then, those poor children—
Beware of making life too easy for your hero—or, for that matter, for any other character. To do so takes the edge off your story.
One way of making Hero’s life dangerously easy is to allow other characters to present him with needed information as a gift. Better by far that he should have to fight for it, tooth and nail, wresting it from antagonists in bitter battle. For only thus can you build a proper pattern of rising action.
How to cope with such information, if it insists on coming? One solution is to let Hero look gift horse in the mouth … question why he’s receiving such largesse … and so come up with a new and unsuspected twist. Or follow the old “truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth” line, letting Hero receive only part of the truth, or truth mixed with falsehood, or a total lie. Or, let Hero be so eager to escape from his informant that he ignores the data he’s receiving.
Whatever your solution, however, be certain of one thing: that you keep your viewers’ interest aglow with some unceasing element of tension.
j. Always consider the factor of normal reticence in speech.
Few things in this world are more painful than dialogue in which the scriptwriter puts words into actors’ mouths that no normal person would speak.
I’m talking about the lines in which the saintly mother describes her sex experiences in four-letter words, or the miser details the fortune he’s accumulated, or the priest reveals secrets of the confessional in the course of casual gossip.
How to get such information in, then? Why not let another character hazard a guess or make an accusation?
Another aspect of all this centers on the fact that not all speech is forthright. Few of us always say exactly what we mean. Lies, evasions, euphemisms, exaggerations, irony, and the like are common.
Good dialogue reflects similar patterns of indirection, when character and occasion demand.
* * *
Beyond these hints, how do you learn to write good dialogue?
The first step is to learn to listen; to pay attention not just to what people say, but also to how they say it.
It will help you in this endeavor if you’ll beg, borrow, or steal a tape recorder. Conceal it in locations where conversations are likely to occur—behind sofas, for example, or in the vicinity of restaurant tables or cocktail lounge booths, or concealed by a package or two in a smoking area.
Then, turn it on and exit for a while.
The dialogues you’ll capture will be worth your trouble, believe me—not so much in terms of content as because you can play the tape over and over, until you catch the patterns and rhythms of speech the speakers reveal.
It will also help if, as you write dialogue of your own, you make it a point to read each passage back aloud, to see if it really sounds like people.
You’ll have a lot of opportunity to do that when you buckle down to writing the master scene script in all its glory. It’s the subject of our next chapter.