Characters tell you who they are in dialogue

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Creating Dynamic Scenes - Dialogue

By Paul Chitlik

WHAT PEOPLE SAY IS USUALLY WHO THEY ARE

If you have been reading my articles, by now you’re getting the general drift of my main thesis – conflict is the one ingredient necessary for each scene.  Without it, most scenes, even wide-angle Technicolor scenery extravaganzas, are just going to end up boring.  Even something so seemingly devoid of conflict as the opening scene of Platoon was full of it –  Taylor had to fight the sun and the dust from the moment he stepped off the plane.  Some conflict was subtext – expectations versus realities.  Clean uniforms and fresh faces versus body bags and the hardened faces of the vets shipping out.  Everything was in contrast.

Of course it’s easy to put conflict in a fight scene, whether it’s a physical fight or a verbal one.  Arguments are good sources of conflict, but you don’t want to have two hours of argument.  It’s just tiresome.  But people can be in opposition and not be angry.  Or they can hide their anger on purpose or unintentionally, or they can be unaware they’re angry, or they can just not give a damn, which would frustrate the person with whom they’re in opposition.  It’s all about having different goals and expectations.  

Let’s look at the scene in Shakespeare in Love, screenplay by Marc Norman and Tom Stoppard.  This most literate of screenplays features dialogue that flows from the mouths of a number of diverse characters, each with his or her own voice.  Listen carefully to each person speaking – they have different vocabulary, different cadences, not to mention different accents.  And despite the fact that it’s an extremely talky film, it never gets boring (for me, at least) because there’s always conflict.  

You could pick almost any scene as an example of good structure and dialogue, but let’s look at the that appears at approximately minute 47:30 (with the opening commercials) in the DVD or video tape.  In this scene, Wessex announces his impending marriage with Viola as if he had just closed an important business deal.  (He had.)  There’s no asking for her hand, there’s no show of love.  Strictly business.  In case we didn’t know Wessex was a prick – we’d seen him nearly trample Shakespeare and the musicians outside Viola’s house, we’d seen him talk to Viola’s father about Viola as if she were a prize cow, we'd seen him take a knife to Shakespeare’s throat – we now hear what kind of man Viola’s to wed. 

The scene starts with conflict.  He bitches at her for being at prayer for two hours and calls himself her six day lord and master.  We know Viola to be independent and thoughtful, so we know that she’s holding in her true feelings when she opens with “You’ve been waiting,” in an apologetic tone.  He refuses to be gracious – “I’m aware of it.” – though he is, in his mind, complimentary.  Of course, he hasn’t seen her mustache and small beard, and he won’t.  

I’ve said before that a scene has a beginning, a middle, and an end.  I’ve also mentioned that a scene is constructed just like a screenplay with a moment of ordinary life, an inciting incident, an act one curtain, a mid-point (turning point), an act two curtain (all is lost), and a final challenge.  This scene has that classic construction.  The ordinary life is the small talk opening.  The inciting incident is Essex informing Viola of the marriage contract.  The end of act one is Viola telling him she doesn’t love him, followed quickly by the mid-point when he kisses her and she slaps him.  The low point is when he tells her she will be submissive, modest, grateful, and brief.  The resolution is when she capitulates:  “I will do my duty, my lord.”

Just two minutes long and we know his personality, his plans, her reaction, her sense of duty, and the inevitable outcome.  

If the protagonist of a scene has a goal, and the antagonist’s job is to thwart that goal, who is the protagonist of this scene?  Not the heroine of the movie.  No.  She enters the scene without a goal, though soon develops one.  The protagonist of the scene is Wessex, whose goal is to begin shaping his marriage.  She fights him at every turn until, forced by her sense of duty and devotion to her father, she resigns herself to her fate.  She uses words, actions, anything she can think of to put him off, but he doesn’t care.  He needs her –her money and child bearing abilities (so that he can work his estates in Virginia) – too much to let a small thing like contempt stand in the way of his happiness. 

No argument in the sense that they’re not screaming at each other, but they are opposed.  Their goals are in conflict.  

Good dialogue is not dialogue that merely informs, it’s dialogue that ignites.  It’s not always back and forth.  Sometimes it can be elliptical.  Sometimes it can come out of nowhere, but it’s always, in the end, in service to the character’s goal in the scene and the film.  

The dialogue in this also established the relationship between Viola and Wessex and traced its changes.  It also pointed to the one they will have in the future.  Niceties were used early on in the scene, though the subtext in Wessex’s words was clear enough.  Still, because Wessex was in her house, Viola was in the dominant position at first.  By the end of the scene, she was clearly the lesser power.  Their roles had, in fact, been reversed, and all because of the words they spoke.  

Words have power, Shakespeare would surely maintain.  Used out loud, they can be mightier than the sword.  Which is not to say that you should come out swinging at the beginning of a scene.  A scene has rhythms, like the tides.  Like a prize fight.  If you start out too strong, where to do you go from there?  You have to work up to it.  And when you get intense, you have to reach a resolution.  Maybe not a knock out, but at least the end of the round, so that your characters and your audience can take a breather.  So the scene may start calmly, then slowly escalate in a series of ups and downs, each one higher or lower than the last high or low point:  working up to the inciting incident.  Down again, then up to the act one curtain.  Down again, but not so far down, then up again to the mid-point, then very down to the act two curtain, then up as far as this scene is going to go with the final challenge and resolution, then down again to the return to normalcy. 

Could be the next ride for Magic Mountain seen that way, but, in fact, it’s just a miniature movie.  

But some scenes don’t have all the parts.  I’ve mentioned before that it’s best to enter a scene as late as possible and leave as soon as you’ve reached the objective of the scene, moved the story along.  That means that sometimes you won’t see the bit of implied normal life.  You might start with the inciting incident of the scene.  Even that might be implied, but that’s hard to do.  It’s not at all unusual, especially in television dramas, to leave the scene at the close of the low point to keep suspense going, especially just before a commercial.  Watch any of the CSIs, Hawaii Five-O, or even Game of Thrones (though there are no commercials) and see if you can pick out 1) the goals of the principles; 2)  the overall purpose of the scene  3)  and where in the structure the scene began and ended.  You’ll see many, if not all, of them enter late and leave early. 

And have plenty of conflict. 

For more information, see Paul’s book, Rewrite, a Step-by-Step Guide to Strengthen Structure, Characters, and Drama in Your Screenplay (mwp.com).  You can also get copies of his original The New Twilight Zone scripts from  Digitalfabulists.com.  Check out his website, Rewritementor.com, for info about Paul and his rewrite retreats and consults. 

© Copyright 2012 by Paul Chitlik.  Copying or dissemination in any format other than a single printout for personal use is prohibited.