So, this article is going to take you through my experience as part of Team Superluminal, in the 2012 Sci Fi London 48hr Film Contest.  Our film, ‘Eight Items‘ came third overall in the competition, out of around 360 initial entries.

After the tips section, there’s a special guest post from the writer of the film…  I know, I know – you’re being spoiled.

First off, a little history…:

Last year (2011) I entered the Sci Fi London 48hr Film Challenge. On Saturday morning, a friend of a friend queued up for us outside the Apollo Cinema on Piccadilly, then picked up some criteria (a title, prop, line of dialogue) that had to make it into our film.

From that point, we had 48 hours to return to the Apollo with a finished film of no more than 5 minutes.

5 measly minutes.

300 seconds.

Easy-peasy.

I made my first 48hr film (here) in 2008, for a different competition.  The process had been fairly enjoyable and we’d even won a couple of awards.

The rules of that competition required the film to be dropped off in London. So (obviously..) we shot in the Oxfordshire countryside, nearly missed a vital train, and got the film handed in with minutes to spare.

The 2011 Sci Fi competition also required that the film be dropped off in London.

So, logically, we shot it in Bristol.

The journey from Temple Meads to Paddington on the Monday morning was actual hell. I hadn’t slept. In fact, I didn’t sleep until that evening, by which time I’d been awake for 60 hours and was producing the kind of smell that gets you a tube carriage to yourself.

I hadn’t slept because I’d been a fool – I hadn’t taken the competition seriously enough and had failed to plan adequately.

RULE 1 – don’t try and do every job on the film yourself.

I shot some of it. Directed. Wrote. Did some of the sound. Edited it. Synced the rushes. Did the effects… Gah….

Don’t do this!

Pull in favours and get people to help you out. Don’t take on too much.

The 2011 competition was a tough experience but two really good things came from it. Firstly, I developed the idea into a 60 page pilot script. I whacked it in for the Red Planet Prize, it got down to the last 100 and…

Well, it didn’t get any further – but still, it’s another script under the belt.

Secondly, the networking. While everyone waited (and waited… and waited…) for the results, a strong community developed on Twitter. Using the hashtag #sfl48hr we shared horror stories, swapped films, and theorised about the delayed results (much the same in 2012…)

Then we all met up for drinks at the Curzon Soho.  Through that event I met several other filmmakers, including Jake Wynne (@jakewynnehd on twitter).  By coincidence, we’d both done some work with the same actor.

When the 2012 competition came round, I knew I was in no state to take on directing a film – I was in the process of moving from Bristol to London, having meetings and interviews and all sorts, looking for a house…

But… I’d kept in contact with Jake, and he asked if I was up for helping in his team – as A.D. and 2nd Unit.  This was a wildly different experience to the 2011 competition.  The film we made (here) has just placed 3rd in the competition overall – and I’ve got a good idea why…

Jake’s a hell of a director on set, but as good as the film looks (and it looks good… great performances, engaging story) there’s a lot of his skill which you’ll never directly see on camera – because the film’s success is founded on excellent preparation and organisational skills.

I’m not talking about preparation in the ‘it was all pre-written’ sense. I’ve seen a couple of those films in the competition and they tend to stand out like a sore thumb. Our film had a strong script that was based on the criteria (there’s a post from the writer, Will Goodchild – @filmchild on Twitter – at the end of this post) and that definitely made a HUGE contribution to its success – as it did, undoubtedly, with the excellent winner.

Jake’s preparation was as follows (I’m paraphrasing here): ‘I need a good crew. I need a good postproduction team. I need good catering. I need to organise potential locations. I need good actors’.

Simple…?

Having a team you know you can rely on is enormously important on any project – and it’s no different in a 48hr context. If you don’t take it seriously, you’ll either not make the deadline (over 50% attrition rate every year), you’ll not make as good a film as possible, or you’ll kill yourself in the process.

Our crew consisted of:

Actors. (@alexisrodney / @morganwatkinstw)

Director. (@jakewynnehd)

Writer. (@filmchild)

Producer.

DOP. (@sonsofsidjames)

Sound. (@jacknash)

Editor.

Edit Assistants.

FX.

Grade.

A.D. / 2nd Unit. (me – @hit_delete)

Runner.

Catering.

Music/Sound design.

We got a phenomenal amount done because everyone had clearly defined roles and at each stage of the process there were dedicated people waiting to get stuck in and do their job (often going waaaaay beyond the call of duty).

So, here cometh the main bulk of the tips – based on a mixture of my experience in 2011 (bleurgh…) and my experience in 2012 (Yay!). They’re in no particular order:

1) DO NOT try to do every job on the film yourself.

Pull in favours, get a proper crew, and delegate. Use your showreel and portfolio to get people interested in working with you. Then, once you’ve got your super-crew, keep them well fed and watered.

2) In particular, get someone else to do the edit. And preferably multiple other people to work on sound, fx, etc.

Jake’s got a strong background in editing and was able to get some amazing people working on the Post side of things. To be able to sit back and watch them at work was a pleasure. I played ping-pong, drank endless cups of tea and occasionally stuck my head in to see the latest version of the cut. Get a good editor and get some sleep.

3) Wait until you get the criteria before you write your film, and don’t be in a rush to start filming ASAP.

The winner this year (Future Inc – here) spent the whole of Saturday writing and re-writing their script, basing it firmly on the criteria they received. While most other films (ours included) had finished shooting by the end of Saturday, by Sunday morning Future Inc. hadn’t even started… At the time, I thought this was madness. Now, it looks like genius.

We spent a decent amount of time on our script – and our writer, Will, did a heck of a job. In the mouths of our actors, the dialogue sparkles and the criteria line (about ‘monogamy… tyranny…’ etc.) fits perfectly.  I guarantee Will wouldn’t have minded more time – but given the nature of the story that was developed, if we hadn’t started shooting until Sunday we’d never have finished on time.

It’s always a balance, but this year definitely proves that time spent on your script is time well spent.

4) Figure out deadlines, then back-time.

If the finished film has to be delivered at 10am, and it’s going to take you an hour to get there…

Don’t start exporting it at 9am, in the car, hoping to burn a DVD en route. Set healthy deadlines and try as hard as you can to stick to them. There’s an ‘ideal’ of what the film could be, and there’s a ‘possible’. You’ve got 48hrs – better to make a ‘possible’ film, than fail at making an ‘ideal’ film.

Set a time by which FX etc. have to be finished.  Prioritise.  If necessary, cut down elaborate ideas.  Do whatever is necessary to make sure that your film makes it to the finish line.

5) Think different.

This year’s winner is a kind of romantic comedy / tragedy / sci-fi.  Ours features a car chase, some witty banter, and a bit of espionage.  The films that were the most exciting recognised that sci-fi doesn’t just mean the following: Post-apocalyptic scenario / Warehouse locations / Women in leather with guns / Men in biohazard suits with guns / Men in black suits with guns / Tortuous ‘techy’ dialogue.

Right, that’s enough of the lecture. To recap:

1) Don’t try to do it all yourself. Pull favours, and get a proper crew.
2) In particular, get someone else to do the Post.
3) Spend as long as possible on the script, and really make the criteria central to your story.
4) Figure out deadlines, and stick to them.
5) Think different. Combine sci-fi with a unusual genres, and see where it takes you.

And as a bonus, 6)…

Get the bloody fllm in on time, and then network like hell. The competition is a great opportunity to meet new people AND get your work seen.  Get someone on Twitter throughout the process, and make the most of this opportunity to connect with your fellow filmmakers.

Our finished film is HERE.

And now for something completely different – to make this into a special, jam-packed sci-fi post, here’s some words from the writer of ‘Eight Items’, Will Goodchiild (@filmchild / http://goodchildfilm.blogspot.com/ ):

On the Saturday morning director Jake Wynne went into the Apollo Picadilly for briefing and to pick three elements out of a hat. I went over the road for a strong cup of Joe with Alex Richardson, our 1^st AD/2^nd Cam (you may have heard of him). Our spirits were high but the air was tense. I felt like an old-style expectant father in a waiting room. When Jake appeared with the criteria, the work began immediately. The title, dialogue and prop supplied were not exactly terrible but they were still a real bastard. As we spit-balled ideas, a thought kept popping into my head that I couldn’t quite suppress:why put ourselves through this? Film-making is hard enough in the first place without added rules and constrictions, I mused. And there the question popped: why put ourselves through this? But I maintained a focus… of sorts.

The supplied criteria needed to be key components of the film, and ideally, they would be part of the actual skeleton. The three of us worked together well, furiously throwing ideas around. We travelled by tube and car to Jake’s flat in North London, chattering all the way. Every idea was accorded respect. It seemed mutually understood that no idea was a stupid one. Even the ones that didn’t work inspired and breathed life into ones that did. The ideas were coming thick and fast but not especially from me. It does, I admit, take a little while to find my groove. Jake allowed that to happen when they left me alone as they ferried equipment around. Given this chance to breathe, a shape started to emerge. Although there are periods of inactivity on shoots they are busy environments – certainly compared to the quiet of one’s usual writing “cave”. Different things are happening around you constantly which means there are a lot of distractions. The ideas melded with the results of our brainstorming and a structure began to take place. Making ideas work is one of my better strengths. Creating an idea out of nothing I can do, but it can be excruciating.

Vanessa’s flat was shoot base camp. Sat amongst piles of kit we talked more about story. Jake, very sensibly, was keen to get the story locked before any filming began. This was my kind of director: someone wanting to serve the story. Everyone present had an opinion. In some ways it aided, in some ways it confused. It was helpful to explain the story structure to everyone. Hearing it spoken aloud was useful in that it made clear what did and didn’t work. It shone a light on the weaknesses and gave us a chance to work on them. I do subscribe to the theory that no great ideas are ever created by a group. It takes one individual, or a pair, to come up with an acorn of a great idea.  The experience was unusual due to the lack of familiarity. Here was a group of talented and smart individuals who didn’t know each other, all fighting (and I use the word figuratively) to be heard and to get their points across. A kind of mini-United Nations… but more serious. Jake presided with the diplomacy of Kofi Annan and we managed to agree on everything in the end. We got the title and prop usage sorted and had fully figured out the initial section of the film – a car chase. I had given each of the actors, Alexis and Morgan a page of dialogue but merely to illustrate their actions and motivations. Jake and I also gave them bullet points. Outside of that it was entirely improvised by Alexis and Morgan. And damn, they did a wonderful job.

As the rest of the cast and crew went off shooting the car chase I was given opportunity to work alone. Well, I say alone. Vanessa was in the kitchen preparing a fine spread of food for us hungry film-makers and Roxy the Jack Russell was snuffling around me as I typed. The utilisation of the prop was an ingenious idea from Jake and Alex. I merely had to slot it in. The line of dialogue was a little trickier. It took time to make it sound natural, and really let it dictate the tone of the film.  You can almost forgive bad use of the title and prop but clunky dialogue can be spectacularly jarring. Gil, playing the arch villain, had to deliver the supplied words. The line was somewhat involved and not exactly short. Many past entrants to the competition have barely featured the spoken word so Jake and I had been keen to fully embrace dialogue. One of the problems is that actors do not have long to learn lines when you’re writing them on the hoof. But Gil, a sprightly 77 year-old and consummate professional nailed not justthe line but the long speech surrounding it. And boy, did he deliver those lines well.

The entire script ended up being shot entirely in chronological order. I imagine this was helpful to the actors (e.g. Morgan didn’t have to rise from the dead to complete any scenes) and it was hugely helpful to me. I was afforded the luxury of coming up with an ending as far along into the shoot as was possible. (This ended up being very late with us wrapping at 6.15am Sunday.) I wouldn’t want to put myself through this again. Script-writing is tough enough without having to bash something out in a few hours. But it’s a good exercise and when we wrapped there was an incredible feeling of satisfaction. As the sun began to rise and the birds began to tweet, thankfully that question (why put ourselves through this?) evaporated into the ether and was never heard again.

http://goodchildfilm.blogspot.com/

And script readers. 

And actors. 

And warehouse managers.

I’ve just got back from a break in Wales, where I spent some of the time bashing away a draft of a TV pilot for the second round of the Red Planet Prize, and some of the time getting feedback on a new feature I wrote in January.   The writing seems to be coming a lot quicker at the moment, and I think I can attribute that to two things:

1)   Once you’ve written one feature length script, there’s no psychological barrier there – you know you can write something that long, so you just get on with it.

2)   The acting classes I’ve been attending have made a world of difference to the way I write the interaction between my characters.

So, as you may have read across multiple other posts, I’ve been attending acting classes.  The plan was that these would make me a better director, as I’d understand more about the process for an actor and how to give them what they need.

An unexpected benefit of these classes has been that my writing rate has improved quite a bit.  I’m bashing out scripts at a furious speed at the moment – with a short, a feature and a TV pilot written since January, and ideas for another short and feature planned out.  The acting classes have really freed me up in terms of really getting to grips with characters and relationships, and my scripts are improving.

The latest feature script needs a couple of redrafts, but I’ll soon be looking to get some actors together to start doing some read-throughs because of an experience at the acting classes….

A recent exercise went as follows:

Write a one-page scene (or take one from a script you already have). 

Take out any of the descriptions about the characters, and change their names to A, B etc.

 Also, be sure to take out any dialogue that tells us about their gender, appearance, age and so on.

Get two actors, give them the scene.

Get another two actors, give them the scene too.

Repeat until you’ve run out of actors.

Watch the different versions of the scene.

I gave the actors a modified version of a scene from my first feature script.  Fifteen minutes later, we watched the versions of the scene…   The relationship between the two characters generally wasn’t what I’d pictured in my mind.  They were good performances, but the dynamic was unexpected.  Different.

Okay, it’s under a time constraint, there’s no director and there’s no real direction in the script for the actors to use as a signpost… but still…

I slowly realised that it was my fault I wasn’t seeing what I’d expected to see.  The problem? – There was quite a lot (in terms of character dynamics) that I wasn’t communicating clearly enough through dialogue alone.  I was relying too much on stage and character descriptions.

Before I continue, here’s the scene (with no descriptions, as the actors saw it):

A:  GCSEs, A-levels, Degree.  Jesus, you’ve got the Holy Trinity.  Y’know, you’re not of the normal sort what we get through here… As long as you won’t be expecting me to tug a forelock at yeh… eh?  Heh heh heh…  And reliability?  Are you reliable?

B:  I’m never late.  And I always leave on time.

A:  …Right… Yep, that’ll do.  Good.  This day and age you’re lucky to get that.  Great Britain my arse.   You think we’re great?

B:  My time on the warehouse floor has… disabused me of that notion.

A:  Christ, you’re a fan of long words?  Can’t be doing with them meself.  You happy down there, on the floor?

B:  Not particularly.

A:  Good.  Ambitious.  Wanting to scramble up the ladder I ‘spect… eh?

B:  You could say I believe I deserve better.

A:  Well, nothin’s for certain, what with these uncertain times, but you’ve learned the ropes quick – what there is to learn – and you’ve worked hard enough.  I like that…

(He waits)

Quiet.  I like that too.  Any luck and I won’t even notice you’re there.

B:  With any luck I won’t be.

A:  What’s that? Yeah… So… We’ll get you off the floor then, eh?  No more warehouse work.  Promotion.  Start tomorrow, up here in the office, wear a shirt.  What do you say to that?… Eh?

B:  This is too much.

A:  Eh?  Excellent.  See you tomorrow.

It was based on my experience after university, where – having just graduated with an MA in (ridiculous title…) ‘Renaissance and Enlightenment Literature and Thought’, I then went on to fulfil my promise by working in warehouses for a while.

The character of ‘B’ was intended to be a bit arrogant – a young man who considers himself superior.  He’s definitely not keen to climb the ladder at this place.

‘A’, I envisaged as a fat, middle aged warehouse manager… strong regional accent, bit unaware, proud of his position, thinks this is a great place to work.
Now, all that can be conveyed pretty easily with a few words of stage direction (and was, I think, in the original script).  However, strip it away and you’re left with an interesting situation – does it all still come across clearly enough?

Why does that matter?  Your script has the stage directions and descriptions… Well…

Who is reading your script?  When you send it out, who is the person that’s sitting down to flick through your pages?  Are they in a rush?  Are they adept at script-reading (an art in itself).  Are they going to pick up on all the little pointers you’ve left – the things that convey X,Y,Z characteristics?

The truth is – they’re just another person, with a pile of other things to do, and they can’t be expected to look into your brain and figure out exactly what you were intending.

My lesson from this experience – even though it may pain you, sometimes there’s nothing wrong (and everything right) with…

SPELLING IT OUT.  CLEARLY.

Particularly in the dialogue.  Stage direction and character descriptions tend to get skipped over (I’m basing this on experience of watching other people read scripts).  If you’ve loaded your ‘action’ bits with stuff that’ll bring up subtext in the dialogue, you might just find that the reader rushes past that, gets to the dialogue and sees  ‘text’… with no ‘sub’.

So, my tip (primarily for me in the future): Put a couple of things into the dialogue that spell out the situation clearly – as you want it to be read.  If you hate the lines you can always take them out at a later date, but in the early stages they might just help you connect with your readers a little bit more – whether they’re actors, script readers, or producers sitting on a big bag of gold.

Alex.

1) Basic ways a director can help an actor.

2) How actors will analyse your script (and why you need to know this).

3) Actors and script analysis (continued).

4) Auditions (and how writers/directors can help).

First Performance.

Okay, the grand premiere – after a few weeks of writing about being a director attending acting workshops, here’s some video evidence…

This is taken from a session on subtext and how it can be used to play against what is suggested by the text – in this case, taking us off in almost a completely different direction than expected.

An initial reading of the dialogue used for this scene suggests a very easily playable approach – Character A is dominant, confident and has the upper hand.  They’re a bit of a bastard and largely untroubled by what they’ve done (whatever ‘that’ is – decide for yourselves).

We played this through a few times before being thrown a curve-ball (as I believe Americans and the two British people who play baseball like to call it).  Instead of taking the obvious reading, we were given an action and a subtext that would be much harder to play but could potentially give life to the scene in a different way.

The subtext – Character A actually feels incredibly guilty about what they’ve done.  They’re not keen on facing up to this so…

The action – Character A is trying to appear bored, to disguise their guilt and get rid of character B.

Right, here’s the scene – judge it as you will, and then have a read of my own analysis/pointers afterwards.

This is just a scene taken in isolation – it might be that in the context of a longer piece this reading stretches the characterisation too much.  On the other hand it might be a perfect way of injecting some new interest and avoiding something that would otherwise have been flat and one-dimensional.

There’s a lot of things I don’t like here – my face does weird things, some of the lines seem to be fighting against the delivery and so on and so forth.  I definitely found it easier to play the (unfilmed) ‘bastard’ version of Character A.  The lines easily let me dominate Character B, it was strangely enjoyable to be hellishly vindictive, and easy to maintain concentration.

HOWEVER…

I was aware that the ‘guilty’ version of Character A filled him out with more shades and tones – not necessarily making him more interesting (everyone loves a bastard on screen), but giving the audience more to participate in and piece together as regards back-story, potential plot development etc.  One key thing – regardless of weakness in performance – the idea that Character A is guilty does seem to come across.  I’m learning that it’s a fine line between making sure that something is readable on screen (giving enough hints for the audience to pick up) and turning something into pantomime.  If the performance doesn’t play on the subtext hard enough, then there’s a good chance anything you wanted the audience to pick up on will never come through.  Equally, play on it too much and you’re in the territory of very hammy acting.

The ‘guilty’ approach was definitely harder to play – we had less time to prepare this, the script didn’t obviously lend itself to this reading, and fundamentally (for me) it’s a harder mindset to take on.   Crucially, the experience made me aware of some things about myself that will hopefully help with my directing:

1)   There are comfort zones for actors – patterns and performances that they can easily turn on and take through lots of different scenes.  They might be absolutely brilliant at this…

2)   There are, equally, ‘discomfort zones’ – things that an actor can’t do quite as well, shades that they’re not as good (or just comfortable) at bringing out.

3)   Even highly trained actors are likely to have this.

4)   It’s difficult to play a reading that seems to go against what the script suggests.

5)   When asked to do so, an actor may understandably feel compromised/forced/nervous/distrustful.  After all, it’s their face and their performance that are being recorded for permanence – if they don’t feel something is right, they’re still the one who’ll be judged.

And from these lessons learned, some advice:

a)    Do everything you can to maintain the trust your actors are giving you.  Their reputation is in your hands.

b)   If you’re asking your actors to approach the script in a radically different way you must be prepared for some discussion and negotiation.  Demanding they see things your way isn’t going to be useful – even if they accept, they’re going to have to find some truth in this new approach.

c)    If you’ve got the time, play it both ways.  This isn’t some kind of creative weakness on your part – it’s giving yourself options.  It might be that Approach A, followed by Approach B leads to some entirely new and exciting Approach C that neither you nor the actors had previously seen.

d)   Don’t let yourself be dissuaded from at least trying something new – even if it does seem to fly in the face of conventional wisdom and your actors are doubtful.  At the very least you’ll see what worked with the standard approach, and at best you’ll come out with something a lot more exciting.

Comments VERY welcome!

Alex.

1) Basic ways a director can help an actor.

2) How actors will analyse your script (and why you need to know this).

3) Actors and script analysis (continued).

Auditions.

In two days I’ve been on both sides of the auditions process and I think some of the things I’ve learned should be useful – for directors and even writers – and will help you make sure you’re getting the best from an actor in that short period.

So, my experiences: Yesterday I auditioned for the lead in a short film being made by some university students and today I auditioned some young actors for a role in a short I’m hoping to make next month.

To avoid any confusion, when I’m talking about the experience of me auditioning for a role as an actor, I’ll refer to it as ‘the audition’, and when I’m talking about me (as a director) holding auditions for young actors, I’ll refer to that as ‘the casting’… Hope that makes sense.

The audition – I was given a script in advance and some idea of specific scenes to look at and prepare. I met the director and producer of the film, chatted about the role and my interpretation of the character, and then played out a key scene a few times. The director gave me some notes, we talked about elements of the character, and then I gave him some variations and ideas on ways the scene could be performed.

The casting – I attended the workshop for young actors (age 10-12), observed some of the warm-up games, and then spent some time with likely candidates explaining my background, the project, and the format of the audition. We then looked at a very simple scene together (I’ll reproduce a variant of it later in this article) and read through it a few times. Audition over.

Things I’ve learned.

LET THE ACTOR CONCENTRATE. Acting is an awkward craft and often takes some coaxing. For an actor to really have a chance of setting some magic free they need to be able to concentrate. In an audition context, you can help an actor by not overloading them with information and distractions. Keep chat short and sweet – it’s a nervy situation already, and you don’t want to further complicate things by giving your actor a thousand new ideas to process.

DISCUSSIONS ARE GOOD but you should primarily let the actor take the lead and work through their own ideas. The director at my audition positively encouraged this and it was definitely helpful in the build-up to my own performance. Sometimes as an actor it’s good to be able to talk through your ideas out loud. Equally, if an actor doesn’t want to discuss it, let them be quiet – they’re trying hard to hold all that concentration and energy together. You can always give them some notes after they’ve had a crack at the scene.

Which leads us to – GIVE NOTES. Let the actor take a run at the scene first, without too much interference – it’s a good opportunity to get warmed up, and it may also bring up an interesting new approach. Then give them some simple notes – a new subtext, a different goal. You’re looking for an actor who will be a collaborator in your film and this is your chance to see how they respond and develop ideas.

Some simple notes might be along the lines of: ‘You really don’t want to talk to this person, because they’ve lied and got you in trouble. Try to get out of this conversation’. In some acting schools of thought, even that might be too complicated… If so, simplify it again – ‘Shut this conversation down’. Run the scene again and see what the actor does. You can always bring more tones and nuances into your notes as you go along – what’s vitally important is that you give them a chance to show you if they’re capable, responsive and creative.

PREPARE A SIMPLE SCENE. Your ideal scenario is that you have a perfect dialogue scene in your script, and a couple of actors ready and waiting to try it out. You’ll be able to see their chemistry together, their delivery of your wonderful lines…

And so on… Ideal, perhaps, but also unlikely- particularly on a low budget shoot where the logistics of getting everyone available at the same time for auditions can be nightmarish. If this is the wary stages of the casting process, you can worry about getting your favourite actors together to check chemistry at another point, further down the line. Right now, you don’t have any favourites- you have a long list of people to see, they’ve all travelled a long way to get here and they’re waiting politely for their chance to show you what they can do. You need to be prepared.

It doesn’t have to be a scene from your script, though obviously it’s helpful. With some scripts there’s a definite danger that it might not even be a particularly good way of judging if this is the best actor for the role. So what to do?

Definitely don’t go looking for a monologue in your script. They’re generally undramatic, unnatural and unengaging. If your scripts are like mine, you might have trouble finding anything suitable – Short scenes and little/no dialogue? It can work in an audition, but it can be bloody difficult too. It doesn’t give either the actor or the director much opportunity to really get the ball rolling, and it’s hard to judge what potential is there.

There’s always the option of improvising something around a scenario from the script, and this can work well – but I don’t think it should be used in isolation. The actor you’re auditioning is already putting together a lot of stuff creatively in a very short time – it’s not always fair or appropriate to heap improvisation on them too.

I’d recommend doing something like this- Take a scene from your script, or a basic idea/scenario that’s important to your character. Speak with your writer very politely, and see if they can help you develop it into an audition piece – this is not necessarily the same beast as a script scene. You’re looking for something that lets you see an actor play with aspects of the character you’ve written, with plenty of wiggle room for notes and discussion.

In addition, write something new (and simple) that will help you see other aspects of that character. In my casting sessions, I’d use something like this:

Sample Audition Scene

A – Go on

B – What?

A – Now

B – No

A – Sure

B – Yes

A – Really

B – Stop it

A – What?

B – You know

A – Forget it

B – Fine

That’s taken two minutes to write. It’s not Shakespeare – in fact it’s quite bland – but for once that’s not actually a bad thing. It’s a blank canvas that’ll be useful for a whole range of different situations. It has some kind of tension going on between the two characters, and the potential for a reversal of the power dynamic when ‘B’ starts to push back at ‘A’. You could use it in any number of scenarios.

For example – ‘A’ is a teacher. ‘B’ is a pupil. ‘A’ is victimising ‘B’ and trying to force them to squeal on some friends. You can bring in two actors for something like this, or if you want to see them in isolation you can take one of the roles. Let the actor be ‘B’, you (the director) can be ‘A’.

Run the scene.

Notes…? ‘B’, take it further and really try to get out of talking to me.

Run the scene…

And so on. Play around with it – see what the actor can do and how they respond to direction.

Alternatively – ‘A’ and ‘B’ are friends in a bar. ‘A’ is trying to get ‘B’ to approach someone. ‘B’ is very shy.

Run the scene.

Notes..? Same basic setup – two friends in a bar, ‘A’ encouraging ‘B’ to approach someone… but this time ‘B’ is in a relationship and suspects that ‘A’ is trying to break it up.

Run the scene. And so on and so forth.

If you use an exercise like this, in addition to some script discussion and piece from your script you’ll give your actors the opportunity to collaborate in the creation of something, and really show you what they can do.

Alex.

(Earlier article HERE).

Right, the quick update – I’ve been attending acting workshops at ITV West, with the notion that an insight into the process from an actor’s perspective will help make me a better director.

Understanding how your actors are likely to approach your script is of massive importance for you as a director or as a writer.  If you know what an actor is looking for, you’ll be better at guiding them through the text.

Last time we looked at script analysis for actors concentrating on what a character says about themselves and what others say about them.  We looked at ways this can be played straight or subverted – and how all sorts of interesting tensions can come to the surface.

This time we’re looking at script analysis for actors with reference to context, action and subtext.

Quick definitions:

1). Context – where are we?

2). Action – what are the characters doing (physically)?

3). Subtext – what is lurking beneath what the characters are saying?

Context

In my first article in this series (HERE) I said that it’s vitally important to know where you’ve just come from when you start a scene.  What happened to me immediately before this?  That’s context on a micro-level – and it really gives colour and depth to a performance.

On a macro level an actor will ask, ‘what is the context of this whole piece?’.  Some quick and easy questions might be:

- When does this film take place -A period piece? Modern day? Futuristic?.

- What sort of world is this – One in which everyone knows their place and good manners are of paramount importance? A once grand society, ripping itself apart? A nuclear wasteland with a handful of human survivors?

- What is my character’s position in this world – A man of power? The lowest of the low? A despised wheeler-dealer with a finger in every pie?

These questions give you a framework to build on.  Discussions about a characters wants/needs can be referred to that context, so that they exist as part of a whole world within your film – rather than as disjointed elements.

Action

What do the characters actually do in this scene?  Avoid looking at what they’re trying to do with the words they say, and just concentrate on the actual physical cues in the script.

In some scripts these actions might be given more detail than others, and very often during rehearsals something new develops and the action in the final scene differs quite widely from what was originally on the page.  Either way, it’s important to understand what the writer was originally conveying through their description of the action, as it will often introduce interesting tensions and conflicts.

Simple example:

A Western.  Gringo is out for revenge.  He arrives at the saloon:

Gringo creeps into the saloon.

OR

Gringo strolls into the saloon.

One word changed, but there’s a massive difference now in what’s going on.  Does Gringo creep because he’s scared?  Does he want them to think he’s scared?  Does he want to be unheard? Is he not sure if he’s got the right man??

OR

Is Gringo insanely confident? Does he want people to think that he’s confident? Is he unaware that he’s walking into danger? Is he naïve?

An actor will take a cue like this and relate it to all the other ideas they’re building up about a character.  Then they’ll figure out what’s right (or interesting) and use that as a basis for injecting a bit of life into the piece.  Even if – after rehearsals – the action doesn’t take the initial form that was in the script (Gringo hovers around outside for a moment or two, then bursts through the door) the discussion that was born from an analysis of the action will have been useful.

And remember – all characters are doing something physically.  If a character is sat down throughout your whole scene you might ask: ‘why aren’t they standing up?’.  Why don’t they get up during this scene?  Are they arrogant? Rude? Shy? Or, like Westley in The Princess Bride, are they still recovering from being dead an hour before?

Subtext

What is going on underneath what is being said and done?  An understanding of the subtext in a scene can help an actor give a far richer, more layered performance.  For me, it’s always helpful to start by asking:

- What does this character really want to say, but can’t (and why)?

- What is a character trying to hide/protect in this scene?

Let’s take an argument scene – they’re pretty common and a good argument is never just an argument.

Based on your understanding of the context, what’s on the page (dialogue and action) and other decisions about the characters, what is really going on behind the words?  Is your character in love and trying to hide the fact because they’re scared of getting a broken heart?  Are they going on the offensive because they know they’re wrong and don’t want anyone to find out?  Are they trying to re-assert their dominance after an earlier embarrassment?

3 readings (of an imaginary scene!) each with subtext that would give texture to the performances.  You shouldn’t even have to look far to get this sort of thing, as good writing gives plenty of room for analysis of subtext – that’s part of the job for a writer.

It’s nothing new either – people have always been analysing what’s going on behind the words – and this analysis itself can be used for dramatic/comedic effect:

Benedick

Ha! “Against my will I am sent to bid you come in to dinner” – there’s a double meaning in that.  “I took no more pains for those thanks than you took pains to thank me” – that’s as much as to say, “Any pains that I take for you is as easy as thanks.”

The Benedick/Beatrice relationship from ‘Much Ado about Nothing’ is a model for the relationships in every romantic comedy you can think of – couple hate each other (but love each other really) and after some mishaps everything comes right in the end.  Their dialogue is always full of subtext, and helps actors bring their relationship to life in a way that is engaging, exciting and entertaining for an audience.

Summing Up

If you’re a director or a writer it’s your job to make sure that you’re aware of what an actor is looking for, so that you can help them get the most from the text.  It doesn’t have to be difficult – it just requires an understanding of:

-       Where we are.

-       What the characters are doing.

-       What the characters are saying.

-       What the characters are not saying.

Once you know this, you’re ready to start twisting and turning things and getting the best from the script.

Hope that’s useful!

Alex.

For the past couple of weeks I’ve been learning about script analysis for actors.  If you’ve not read the previous post in this series – shame on you – I’m taking some acting classes at ITV West, with the aim that a better understanding of acting will make me a better director. Each week I’m learning plenty that then feeds into my approach when working with actors. It’s also proving very useful when it comes to writing my own scripts. Whether you’re an actor, writer or director, there should be something here for you.

Right, back to it. A script for a professional actor doesn’t arrive in the same way, same context every time. If you go for an audition, you might get a paragraph or two of background info about your character and some dialogue to read. If you’re in a play or a film you might have some directors notes and the whole text. Or part of it. Or you might not get any notes at all… Or, or, or….

I had my first audition recently – for a low-budget British film. I got some notes on the character (background, basic relationships etc.) and a couple of pages of dialogue. I then went and sat in a corridor opposite a young woman with a video camera (a casting agent) who was playing my brother in the scene.

I’d like to think I didn’t get a call back because I was the wrong age.

In truth, I didn’t have a clue about approaching a script and breaking it down – not as an actor anyway, and especially not at such short notice. I’m still no expert, but I’ve learned quite a bit since.

We’ve all heard about actors who do enormous amounts of background research to really bring a character to life, or who put themselves physically through processes that imitate (or – if ‘imitate’ offends, ‘re-live’) a character’s experiences. This certainly has the potential to bring interesting depths and textures to a role, but first and foremost an actor needs to know how to get the most out the script itself (and any notes that may accompany it). With quality writing, the script will be full of potential – power-shifts, double-meanings and subtext, juicy dialogue and the space to bring thoughts to life.

There are a few simple ways to start wrangling useful character information out of the script. This time round, I’m focusing on what characters say about each other.

1. What does your character say about themselves?

‘As far back as I can remember, I always wanted to be a gangster’.

When a character describes themselves (their own tastes, memories, fears, loves, personality…) you’ve always got a foundation for an actor to build on. One useful exercise (taken from the ITV West workshops) is to try playing the character as if everything they say about themselves is absolutely true. Equally, you can spin this on its head and play the reverse. Both will bring to light interesting beats in the script – unexpected tensions and reversals of power.

But you don’t stop there. Characters are (or should be) like real people – unreliable, conceited, deceitful, insecure, egotistic.  If someone tells you ‘I’m the cleverest person you’ll ever meet’, do you believe them immediately? You ask, ‘why are they saying that? – what does it mean in this context?’. Are they trying to impress, to put a confident face on insecurity, to intimidate?

From this one simple approach you’ve already got interesting questions flowing about your character. The next stage is to add more depth to your understanding by bringing in other aspects of the script, such as :

2. What do other characters say about your character?

‘He was one of those guys that had that weird light around him. You just knew he wasn’t going to get so much as a scratch here’.

Plenty to go on here. Again, it’s useful to start from a perspective of ‘this is absolutely true’, assume the reverse, then bring a little in-depth contextual analysis into things – who is saying these things? Why? Where are they? Does it conflict with what the character says about themselves?

Playing it as true, the character who’s being described here is one that stands out among other men – he’s got an aura, a presence that marks him out as different. If everyone else is ducking for cover, this guy walks through the middle of things with his head up and not even a flinch…

Of course, my analysis here might be slightly skewed by the fact that I’ve seen the film (Apocalypse Now) and the character (Colonel Kilgore) – who definitely seems to be played as if everything said about him (by others, and himself) is 100% true. This is a man who really does love the smell of napalm in the morning.

It’s your job as an actor (guided, of course, by a collaborative director) to work on elements like these, navigating your way between the different possible outlooks to really bring the character to life.

For a director, these two pointers are a great way to get into some useful discussions with an actor. As a writer, this approach is helping me become more conscious of giving actors something to get their teeth into – simple things that will let them bring their own creativity into the process – rather than spoon-feeding everything. It’s always useful to question – what do my characters actually say about each other? Do they really say anything at all…???

More next time, where we’ll look at context, action, subtext…

Alex.

I know there is much bullshit written about dialogue because I have read most of it.  And in that bullshit – the occasional pearl.  Very occasional.

– To avoid any confusion, a quick definition – I’m going to use dialogue to mean anything that a character says in your script.  Anything – including monologues, asides, voiceover, narration, blah de blah.  Keep it neat and simple – if a character is saying it, we’re calling it dialogue. –

Film is a visual medium.  Fair enough.  I’ve made several dialogue-free films (two for your viewing pleasure, here and here) and my latest short begins with almost 7 minutes of dialogue-free wondrousness.  I’m a big fan of purely visual storytelling, but I also like what dialogue can do – and I’ve noticed that all too often dialogue gets a slap from the screenwriting manuals – as if it’s some sort of necessary evil, and films would be much better if only dialogue were… avoidable.

This is plainly horseshit.

Forget the rules when it comes to dialogue, or you’ll be swamped as soon as you try to write anything – ‘Good dialogue should advance the plot’, ‘it should reveal character’, ‘it should X,Y,Z’…  Really, you only need two things – plotting, and fun.  Particularly in the early drafts.  Plan your script properly, and then when you get stuck in to your dialogue you can get back to what should be the driving force for any writer – the fun of using language to communicate.

PLOTTING

There’s probably a thousand and one things you need your dialogue to do as your script plods along.  That’s your business.  There are all sorts of reasons your characters are speaking in each scene.  That’s their business.  Just don’t make it painful for me to listen to.

If your plotting is up to scratch, then you’ll know why the characters are where they are in each scene.  You’ll know what happens to them next.  What they do to get there.  Where they really wanted to be – and a thousand other details.  Great.  If you know this, then you know why they’re speaking.  Simple.

If you’ve plotted the whole damn thing out in any sort of detail you know enough to put words in the mouths of the characters.  It doesn’t matter if your dialogue reads like a set of Ikea instructions at this point – you’re just using it to get them from A to B and keep the cogs of the plot turning.

So far, so uncontentious – and if you stop here you’ve got a pretty functional script…

FUN

But alongside this you’ve got to have a little fun.

Too much dialogue can be a bad thing.  So can too little.  Too much or too little of anything doesn’t tend to be good.  How much is too much?  You’ll have to walk that tightrope yourself – it’s your script.  But if you just follow the rules and formulae, your dialogue will do exactly what it needs to do.

And nothing more.

It will not sing.  It will not lift the spirits.  It will not burn itself into the minds of a generation of cinema-goers.  Good dialogue does all the things that screenwriting manuals can analyse and quantify, AND it does so much more.  It plays with language.  It takes pleasure in exploring the myriad wonderful ways words can move back and forth between people.

For every film masterpiece that is frugal with its dialogue, there’s another that luxuriates in it.

A script without some kind of verbal indulgence is going to struggle to capture an audience’s heart.  That sort of script is often a machine – mechanical and efficient… but dead.  It’s like a fitness-freak who counts every calorie and doesn’t go near anything remotely delicious.

Indulgent dialogue can make your script unhealthy.  And that’s fine – you can always take it down the gym at some point.  Until then, get stuck in and fill your boots every once in a while.   If you give free rein to your characters, their verbal outpourings are more likely to be diarrhoea than rocket fuel, but every once in a while there will be something that sets the page alight – and those are the moments audiences love.  In the strictest, most by-the-book terms they might not even be necessary to propel your script forward, but in human terms they’re those little moments where something intangible and wonderful happens and a connection is made.

Don’t just take my word for it.  Look at Shakespeare.  He’s got a pretty good reputation, as dramatists go.  Actors love him, directors love him.  Audiences can go either way, but in general he’s in good standing.

Two key things that are immediately obvious from a little Shakespeare bed-time reading:

1)   Careful plotting does wonders for your dialogue.

2)   It’s fine to indulge your love of language by putting words in a character’s mouth even when the plot doesn’t strictly demand it.

I’d always rather read/watch something where I know a writer has taken risks and gone out on a limb with something that they weren’t sure about – exploring their tastes, giving vent to their instincts.  That’s the only way to get a film with some humanity in it.  At its worst it might not always work… it might have scenes or moments that didn’t quite gel…

But it’ll also have that little spark that’ll make me go back to it, again and again.

And at its best?  Well, a masterpiece, naturally…..

I am not a writer. I am the person who wrote ‘Painful.  Dull.  Boring.’ at the top of several pages of Alex’s script when he first asked for feedback.  I am also his girlfriend.

I am not someone that likes/dislikes. I tend more towards intensely loving or hating things.  I have no attention span, I get frustrated easily and have been known to heckle in a cinema.  I walk out of films. I cannot lie.

I realised very quickly how this request for feedback could be detrimental to our relationship.  Alex must have been very nervous.

We made some coffee, found somewhere comfortable and settled down for the long haul.  I read the first few pages – phew! He could write.  I was relieved.  A few more pages in… I flinched.  I probably pulled a face.  I wrote on the script.  Alex flinched.

My pen danced over the next 90 or so pages.  Alex attempted to look disinterested.  Finally it was time to discuss….

Lessons I have learnt from this experience:

Giving feedback

Be honest – but think first.

If you are reacting to something positively/negatively it’s better to first spend some time thinking why it makes you feel a certain way before speaking.  ‘Yay’ or ‘Boo’ is not useful feedback.  What’s useful is analysing why it made you respond that way.  It makes it more specific and gives direction to the writer.

For example –  I hated it one of Alex’s scenes.  Absolutely hated it.  It took me time to figure out the reason, but eventually I realised it was because he had weakened what was a previously feisty female character, just for the purposes of the scene.  This was much more useful feedback than ‘CHEESE’ (which I saved for another page).

The Shit Sandwich.

I work with very vulnerable people in an environment where I often have to give bad news.  The shit sandwich method is helpful because the negative feedback (the shit) is cushioned with more palatable positive feedback (the bread).  Always be sure to give them more bread than shit to build confidence and protect the ego.

Receiving feedback

Be open.

Remember, as nervous as you are about receiving feedback, the person giving it may be nervous too.  Listen carefully and try not to react – trying to justify why you wrote something will probably not make the person like it more.  Don’t keep interrupting. Wait until it is appropriate, and then ask questions.  Discussion will help to develop your ideas.

Be positive.

Take feedback on the chin and say that you’ll think it over – even if you think that what you’ve been told is total horseshit.  Say that you really appreciate their feedback.  An ego-boost for the reader makes it more likely they’ll do you a favour and read another draft further down the line.  It also helps you make sure you’re not building a little protective wall around you and your script – if you cut yourself off like that, you’ll never see the benefits of healthy discussion.

Further suggestions:

- It was useful reading the script with the writer present, as this allowed me to raise issues when I wanted to, rather than just providing a summary at the end.

- Write lots of notes, clearly explaining what your thoughts.  These will be invaluable for the writer on the next draft.

- Painful. Dull. Boring.  I hang my head in shame that I cut be so cut-throat, but I also am proud that I could be so honest.  It’s not easy to give your script to someone close to you, but equally it’s not easy to give honest feedback.  Resist the temptation to blow smoke up their ass – the more analytically honest the feedback, the more chance they’ve got of actually improving.

Alex gets feedback from multiple sources for each draft.  Personally I’ve read about three or so, and each one has got better.  So has my feedback – Now I don’t just write, ‘CHEESE’, I give him an example of a particular brand:

Cheese

Twisted bare branches
Form shapes that stir memories
- Wooden Man Charades.

Another ten to enjoy/endure (see the first batch here). Hover over a picture for a clue and leave your guesses at the bottom of the page:

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

Best feedback ever

You’re not a writer, of any sort, unless that writing ends up in front of other people.  All  art is communication (and screenwriting is an art), and while communicating with yourself is a noble pursuit it’s not likely to pay the rent.

There are three main reasons why people don’t seek feedback on their work:

1)   They don’t feel they’re ready for it.  It might knock their confidence.

2)   They don’t know anyone who might be able to give good feedback.  Their opinions – positive or negative – are not to be trusted.

3)   Someone will steal their ideas.

These reasons are horseshit.

It’s all well and good to wait until you’ve done a couple of drafts, but after that there’s no reason not to seek feedback.

Having your confidence knocked is one of the most important experiences for a writer – it makes you question your work, your understanding of storytelling, your ability, your day job…  And once you’re done with all the questioning, you turn on your computer and start again – armed with the knowledge that you’re not the best writer on the planet (yet) but you’re going to keep cracking at it until you get better.  Take the self-doubt and use it to critique your work mercilessly – and as long as you keep writing you’ll keep getting better.  And if you can’t write – you’re crippled by the doubt?… Force yourself to do it anyway.   It’s the only way to progress.

So, you’re prepared to have your confidence shaken to the core.  Great.  But who to do the damage?  Who knows screenwriting the best, who will understand, who can phrase their feedback the most eloquently, who won’t blow smoke up my ass…???

It doesn’t matter.

Very few people know expert script-editors.  Usually the people who do are already professional writers.

It really doesn’t matter.

When your script has reached a certain point – many, many drafts down the line – then you might want to consider getting some professional feedback.  There are plenty of places to go for that.

But the real treat with feedback is that it starts immediately.  The process begins at the very moment you click ‘send’ or let go of the envelope.  Immediately you’ll be filled with embarrassment and self-doubt.  Suddenly the veils are lifted and you see your script in a way that you hadn’t seen it before – from an outsider’s perspective.  The knowledge that other people are going to be reading this makes you feel like an idiot – ‘Why didn’t I develop X more?’, ‘That whole scene doesn’t make sense!’.  You’ve managed to hold the script at arm’s length for the first time and you can see it for what it is.  Rubbish.  But the next draft will be better.

How do you know who to send it to? Which of your friends, contacts, enemies do you think will have the time to sit down, read a script and actually take the time to give you feedback? Those are the ones you should send it to.  You’re asking a lot of them, so be grateful.

When it trickles in, any feedback is good feedback – because as long as you’re a writer you’ll question everything that anyone says:

‘It’s great!’ (why are they saying that?…)

‘I liked the ending’ (what’s the subtext here… they hated the start?)

‘This Dave character, he’s really stood out’ (Oh God, everyone else must be dull as dishwater…)

Whether they’re right or wrong doesn’t really matter as long as you take this as an opportunity to ask questions of your script.  You might find some people who give you really useful feedback – the sort that helps you develop better structure, figure out what’s wrong, delete ten pages at a time.  Be polite to them, and hopefully in a few drafts time they’ll read it again.

You might find that the harshest criticsm comes from unexpected sources.  Great!  If you were sending your work off to get feedback like ‘Perfect, don’t change a word’ then you don’t want to be a writer in the first place – ‘writing is re-writing’ (as the elders put it).

The key thing – write another draft, then send it off to a different bunch of people.  Get your confidence knocked again. Question the work.  Write another draft, send it off to the first bunch of people.  Repeat process until perfect.

And don’t worry about people stealing your idea – it’s not going to happen.  You can do all you want to try to copyright your script, protect it in some way, send it out on spontaneously combusting paper…. It’s all a distraction from actually sending it out in the first place.  Nobody wants to steal your script – It’s crap.  You’ve got a long way to go before anyone wants to spend time making it.  You’re lucky that they even want to read it.

(As a side note – my most useful bit of feedback recently was ‘Painful. Dull. Boring’ written across the top of three pages of my first feature script.

The feedback was right – I could see that immediately and I re-wrote the pages.  An immediate improvement.  But the best thing about this feedback? – There were another 96 pages without ‘Painful. Dull. Boring’ written across the top).