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More on Dialogue Strategies

Like every other dimension of the short film, dialogue has to be exercised with economy and purposefulness. There is no time for lengthy speeches or excessive exposition. Perhaps the most useful strategy with dialogue is to view it as another opportunity to further the emotional drive of your screen story. In this sense, dialogue should be as animated, intentional, and active as the visual dimension of your story. Consider dialogue as much a part of the action of the script as the visualized actions.

The underlying premise here is that language can create a sense of activity and intensity of the kind that one usually associates exclusively with visual action. Dialogue and visuals must be partners in the short script; our goal in this chapter is to show you how to make them partners. Before we do so, however, we will begin with a warning: don’t use too much dialogue. This may seem to contradict the previous assertion, but a few illustrations will clarify and contextualize the caution.

What if a film were made up entirely of dialogue? It could work, but the energy, characterization, maturation, and plotting would all come from the same source: the dialogue. Unless that dialogue were tremendously vital, we in the audience might not engage with the screen story as readily as we would if there were visual variety. We also would tire or tune out; sound and dialogue overload would take place, in part because the viewer needs more time to interpret sound than visuals. The danger here is that the screen story will bore or tire the viewer.

Even in a less extreme case, in which dialogue did not exclude other elements but was simply excessive, there would still be an imbalance—too much aural stimulation and not enough visual.

The writer needs to find a proper balance between dialogue and visuals in order to provide viewers with the variety they need to interpret what is being said and seen and be stimulated by both.

The Purposes of Dialogue

Good dialogue, in the most general sense, gives the speaking characters credibility. Writers know this intuitively; they wince every time they hear bad dialogue. The message registers: I don’t believe this character. Without this credibility all else fails, since disbelief in character quickly leads to disbelief in plot and in the other dramatic elements of the script. Consequently, the writer does not want to fail with dialogue.

In addition, dialogue can characterize. When characters register their responses to situations, they characterize themselves as bigots or big shots, as highly anxious or supremely confident. Speech is only one path to an understanding of character, but it provides the audience with a complement to visualized behavior. It is through the mix of visual and verbal behavior that we gain an understanding of character.

Dialogue also advances plot. Although, as mentioned earlier, dialogue should not entirely replace visual action but aid and complement it, effectively placed dialogue often lessens the need for visual action. For example, imagine a scene in which we stand before an awesome mountain, watching people climb. We can’t see the peak; it is hidden in the mist and clouds. The visual option is to watch them climb. To show how daunting the task is, we can emphasize the difficulty of the climb visually. After sufficient screen time, we will understand the plot: the climbers are trying to go all the way to the summit.

An alternative approach using visuals and dialogue would have the two climbers engage in the following dialogue at the foot of the mountain:

The purpose of the dialogue is to tell us they want to climb all the way to a peak neither can see. The reference to heaven alludes to the goal but does not state it directly—although to do so is also an option.

Another goal of dialogue is to modulate the tension in a scene. This is usually done with humor. Since this is a very important function, we will deal with it later in the chapter, after discussing issues of character and plot in relation to dialogue.

Dialogue and Character

It is in the specific details of dialogue that the writer develops credibility in his characters. Everyone is a member of a family, a community, a country. Speech patterns and phrases are often associated with particular communities. It’s not simply a matter of dialect; it’s also the slang and the level of formality or informality that differs from one community to the next. The writer who has done research will know that. The members of the audience who know people who “speak that way” will recognize those particulars of speech.

Age and gender should also influence a character’s choice of words. And what about profession? A lawyer does not have the same speech pattern as a baseball player; a young lawyer from Regina, Saskatchewan, will not share the same phraseology with an older lawyer from Manhattan; similarly, an African-American female lawyer from Santa Rosa, California, will speak differently from the lawyer from Manhattan.

So every factor—age, gender, race, profession, regional association— will alter speech. If the goal is credibility of character, what that character says will help us believe in who the character is and where the story might be located.

The emotional makeup of a character is also crucial for credibility; dialogue plays a role in this, because it is here that character and plot meet. The reason is not always apparent, so let’s be explicit: it is the emotional reasons that motivate a character toward a goal, a place, or a person and that make the journey dramatic. “I want,” “I need,” “I must” are the modus operandi of every dramatic form, including the short film. So we turn now to that meeting point of dialogue, character, and emotion—the plot.

Dialogue and Plot

Dialogue marries character and plot, by demonstrating the emotional motivation of the characters, whether directly or indirectly. The writer articulates the characters’ feelings through the particular goal in a scene.

Once the writer determines that the scene’s purpose is to suggest that the characters want to climb to the peak of a mountain, for example, or that they will wait endlessly for the Long Island commuter train, the central issue for the dialogue becomes clear: how does the character who has a goal feel about the barriers to attaining that goal? That feeling is what should fuel the dialogue.

The writer’s choice of words will make it easier to relate emotion to plot. Direct, active words convey more feeling than indirect, passive words. Too many words can be a barrier as well. The conditional tense distances the audience, as does the past tense. That is not to say that a reminiscence about the past can’t be emotional; rather, the writer should try to keep the action in the present and in development, and that means active, present-tense dialogue. The more immediate the dialogue, the more emotional and the more surprising the story will be.

Remember, when dialogue intended to develop plot is separated from character, emotion is lost, and the dialogue becomes no more than descriptive. For dialogue to be vital to the plot, it must be related to the desires of the character as he or she moves through the plot. Dialogue is only dynamic when it forwards the plot.

Dialogue as Transition

Dialogue can be very useful in providing transitions between scenes. One of the problems the writer faces is the task of “collapsing” a story that may take place over a long time and in a number of geographical locations into a script less than 30 minutes long. Even the story of one day or one moment, as in the case of Enrico’s Incident at Owl Creek, requires transitions to convince us of the dramatic use of time and place in the script. Changes of time and place occur in the original story, “An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge,” making it seem to take place over a full day, whereas this 30-minute film refers only to the last 5 minutes in the life of the main character. The writer has to convince us of the dramatic time, creating a sense of real time by punctuating the end of the action.

Writers can facilitate transitions by simply repeating a phrase. In Citizen Kane, the repetition of “Merry Christmas” and “Happy New Year” allows us to leap 20 years into the future. Of course, the time shift can be more modest. Either way, the writer can use repetition to alert the viewer that one scene or location is related to the next.

A more direct approach is simply to tell the audience in one scene where we will be in the next. When the two climbers in our imaginary film tell us they want to go to the peak of the mountain, we are prepared for the following scene on the mountainside or at the peak. The dialogue here can be as involving as you want it to be. If this climb is but one of a series of climbs, in a series of locations, the dialogue can alert us specifically to the next mountain range or the next phase in this journey. Once alerted, we are prepared for the transition in place or time and will go along.

Because of the dramatic collapse of real time and place in the screen story, dialogue is very important; it provides the transitions so that we can more readily accept and enter the time and place frames of the screenplay. Without that preparation, we would be lost—or worse, indifferent to the screen story.

Dialogue to Intensify Tension

Just as dialogue is the expression of the emotions of the character in terms of arcing toward a goal, it is also the barometer of that arc as the character moves through a scene. Perhaps the best way to understand this notion is to consider that every scene has an arc from the point where we understand the character’s goal to the point where the character either succeeds or fails in achieving that goal. In either case, the scene should be shaped by a growing anticipation of achieving the goal, or by the tension between the character and the barrier to success. As the character tries more forcefully to achieve the goal, the tension should grow. Once we know the fate of the character in terms of the goal, that tension is resolved. Dialogue plays a critical role in the articulation of that growing tension.

As with other dramatic elements, the writer should not rely solely on the dialogue to create that tension. Visual action, interaction between characters, as well as the nature of the setting can and should contribute to the scene. If these elements are well considered, they free the dialogue to be less direct and more effective—expressing feeling in a more oblique way. Direct dialogue would be obviously purposeful, less masked, and consequently less effective. For example, returning to our mountain-climbing scene, we see that the scene already has an overlay of religiosity, in terms of the devotion of one of the characters and the irreverence of the other. The failing light introduces an element of danger. If we also introduce another factor, a twisted ankle, we develop a physical barrier to the goal. We then have as barriers a personal tension, over religion, between the climbers; a visual danger, the loss of light; and a physical danger, a twisted ankle. There would be an obvious visual explanation for the danger or tension in the scene. This is more effective (and less direct) than their speaking about the danger of the climb, the time, and their health.

As you might imagine, there are any number of other external factors we could introduce to raise the tension in the scene. But working with the factors we have named—personal differences, the loss of daylight, and an injury—we can construct a scene that progresses through a series of stresses, from the least stressful to the most. These factors can be elements in the dialogue throughout the scene, but when we want to increase the tension, we should shift that dialogue to a factor that clearly yields more tension. For example, references to discarding sunglasses might humorously imply concern about the impending nightfall. The irony increases tension.

The most dangerous factor in the climb to the peak is the loss of daylight. If the personal injury were to worsen, they would stop the climbing. The personal differences are always there regardless, but the daylight, whatever they do or say, will be running out as they progress through the scene. Therefore, in order to increase the tension in the scene, the writer can focus the dialogue on the loss of daylight, such as the reference to sunglasses. By shifting the focus between the three factors, the writer can modulate and make more effective the rising tension.

Dialogue to Relieve Tension

Dialogue can be used equally effectively to relieve tension. The writer must keep in mind the arc of the tension as it builds throughout the scene. In order to reduce tension, the writer can employ humor at strategic points. Humor should not be as direct as a character suddenly stopping to tell a joke. Although this approach might work, it tends to take the viewer out of the scene. Relief of tension should keep us in the scene but simply drop the stress level of its characters.

Humor is useful when it surprises and disarms us. As with the other dramatic elements, it can be derived from a visual action. More often, however, it comes out of the reaction of a character to a visual situation. A reference to escalators by a climber who has a physical injury and is attempting to climb a mountain is a surprise, which helps to relieve tension for the audience. Such a reference is an improbable wish, one that can also give voice to the stress the character feels during the climb.

Humor can range from the aggressive to the absurd. Often writers will have one character in a scene say the wrong thing, tell a joke, or voice a funny complaint that relieves the tension. In this sense, character can be the source of humor. Often that character is the most anxious one, the character who carries feelings on his or her sleeve.

Narration

Narration occurs more frequently in the short film than in the longer dramatic form. The most obvious reason is the best one: there is too little time available to the writer to allow the action to develop on its own. Whether to frame the story or to establish the point of view toward the narrative events, writers of short films often will resort to a narrator.

The narrator may be onscreen, like the grandmother in Lisa Shapiro’s Another Story (the script is reprinted in Appendix B). Or the narrator may be offscreen, a guide or interpreter for the story. The actual dramatic needs of the story will determine whether the narration will be interior or exterior.

Interior Narration

Interior narration is a private monologue on the events of the story. Perhaps it’s easiest to think of it as a confession by the narrator to the viewer. Writers resort to interior dialogue to foster intimacy, deepen emotion, or offer revelations in the narrative. Some writers believe that a counterpoint of visual and voice strengthens both. For example, objective visuals can be undermined by a subjective narrator, or the interior voice can whisper an interpretation that clashes with the visuals that are cold and formal, rather than keeping with the tone of the intimate narration.

Where an intimate, closer relationship between the character and the audience is the goal, the interior narration can act as window between viewer and screen story.

In order to intensify a sense of inner voice, some writers will make use of a poetic narration. Others will use the language of passion, in preference to the language of science. The dialogue would include words such as “love,” “want,” and “possess” rather than “respect,” “conclude,” and “contain.” Whatever the approach, the writer chooses language that emphasizes intimacy, feelings, sharing, and insight.

Exterior Narration

An external or distant voice is useful when the writer wants to distance us from, or present an alternate view to, the visual drama. Many approaches can distance the viewer, but most often the writer will borrow from journalism and use an “on-the-air” narrator or offscreen voice. The purpose is not only to distance the viewer but also to lend an air of objectivity and credibility to the proceedings.

If the drama is presented as reportage rather than fiction, the audience will develop a different relationship with the dramatic material. This is not always a relationship of respect; the journalistic narration can also undermine the credibility of the drama, or supersede it with a new reality. In either case, the exterior narration introduces another voice into the drama. If that voice is purposeful, it can strengthen the dramatic impact of the script.

The specific language of the exterior narration tends to be objective, journalistic, even scientific. The narration is organized to enhance credibility, perhaps a credibility not present in the visuals. Consequently the use of past tense, conditional verbs, and subjunctive phrases all support the distancing goals of the exterior narration. If the writer pushes subjectivity and passion, the credibility that is often derived from information, usually statistical or scientific, can be undermined, or at least made suspect.

Silence

Now that we have discussed narration, we need to note that the visual and dramatic dimensions of the script may become crowded. It is worth considering the absence of dialogue and narration, particularly where one or both have been used in the script.

When a silence is juxtaposed with a scene filled with sound, that silence, momentary or protracted, can be deafening in its dramatic impact. Just as the counterpoint of visual and sound can heighten the drama, so too can a counterpoint of sound and silence. Let’s turn back to our climbers on the mountain. They have personal differences, one of them has a physical injury, and as they climb they are quickly losing light. We spoke of the growing tension conveyed in the dialogue, particularly around the issue of impending darkness. A way of using silence effectively would be to shift to silence at that moment when darkness arrives. Suddenly there is no more dialogue, and the characters’ sudden silence screams out their fear. Silences can be as powerful as dialogue and narration.

Dialogue and Realism

Dialogue as sound is the most immediate device with which the writer creates a tone for the film. The writer can choose to use dialogue to convince viewers that what they are experiencing is real, or to undermine deliberately the film’s sense of reality. In either case, dialogue is the most immediate vehicle to achieve these ends, but the writer has only a brief time to capitalize on that first impression.

In order to deepen the impression of realism, the writer must flesh out and capitalize on the dialogue. This means doing in-depth research and making informed decisions as to time, place, age, gender, race, education, physical qualities, and behavioral characteristics. Every factor about character will and should influence what the character says. Each time the character speaks, that sense of realism should be deepened. There is no better way to convince an audience to believe in your characters than through what they say. How realistic and credible your characters are will influence the audience’s response to the characters and their story. That’s how important dialogue is!

You have to decide what level of realism suits your story, and it is to this issue that we now turn.

The Level of Realism

Many short film genres do not rely on an absolute sense of realism. Perhaps only the mockumentary requires a sense of believability that lasts until the very end of the story. The other genres (the fable, for example) require some realism, but not so much that it crowds out the fantastic, the supernatural, from the screen story.

Dialogue can be useful here. In an animated film where the donkey speaks of going to Harvard and the frog speaks of going to MIT, we see visually how absurd the notion is, but if the dialogue is sincere and intelligent, on one level we will believe the donkey and the frog. Here, where visually it’s difficult to see past the animals before us, the writer must use the dialogue to interject a sense of realism and sincerity.

In genres such as the fable and the parable, the balance between realism and fantasy is the challenge for the writer. Here too the dialogue is critical, to introduce that balance. If the language is too objectified, it will flatten out the fantastic dimension of the parable; if the language is too passionate, too subjective, it will also undermine the parable, by seeming to be too much from the viewpoint of the particular character.

Concluding Remarks

In this chapter, we have suggested a variety of strategies regarding the uses of dialogue in the short film. Dialogue can be a highly charged expression of emotion, or it can be a vehicle for moderation in the story. But when in doubt about the use of dialogue, the writer can always rely less on it. If you set up the visual action and the interplay of characters, the drama will unfold with or without words. Many people are intimidated by writing words; they think of Shakespeare and freeze when it comes to the dialogue.

If that is your concern, simply use less dialogue and, where you use it, keep it simple. It might not help you as much as you would like, but simple dialogue won’t hurt you either. Too many scripts are ruined by inappropriate or excessive reliance on dialogue. Our message is that you can always get away with less dialogue. This is an option you might think about; if you want to go for broke, reread this chapter.