Cinema is a medium dependent on concrete existence. That means the content of a film or movie must be made up solely of things that physically exist in some form (whether they be people, props, locations, etc). Otherwise, they cannot be photographed with a camera and shown to an audience (or in the case of modern cinema, at least brought into visual existence using CGI). So, a movie is made up of specific and concrete visuals. The script may only mention that the scene contains “a man.” But the audience does not see a generic man, they see Matt Damon. The script may mention “a car,” but the audience sees a specific car, a yellow 1978 Datsun.
The goal of the writer should be to use the written word to communicate the actions and images of a scene with sufficient visual detail to allow the reader to visualize the scene as closely as possible to how the audience will experience it on the screen. A good story can succeed or fail with the reader depending on how well the writer does this. If the writer lays out action in vague, wishy-washy words, what the writer wishes to be interesting and/or emotionally charged will come off flat. Consider this example:
'Mark walks down the street. It is a cold autumn morning. Mark stops at his car and gets in.'
Given that this description lacks much visual detail, the reader has no choice but to imagine the action in the most generic manner possible. To the reader, this piece of action feels unimaginative, bland, and dull. Compare it to this improved version:
'Mark walks slump-shouldered down a sidewalk lined with small New England-style homes. He shivers as wind blows dead leaves across his feet. Mark opens the unlocked door of a shiny black Mercedes CL and climbs inside.'
This version, while longer, not only has the benefit of allowing the reader to visualize the scene in greater detail, but also communicates information about Mark and his environment in the process. Merely saying “autumn” doesn't indicate much. Autumn looks different depending on where you are and how late in the year it is. This passage helps us zero in on that. We learn information about Mark. Rather than having a generic “car,” we see he can afford a luxury vehicle which for some reason he has the confidence to leave unlocked.
First and second drafts always start out rather vague. This is expected, since the writer's focus at this point should be on figuring out the best way to make scenes do what they needs to do according to their function in the overall narrative. But once this has been worked out, scenes should be brought into clearer and clearer focus with each revision, like an optometrist putting a series of lenses in front of the eye. It all comes down to knowing your scene and knowing your characters. If the writer has gotten to a point where he or she knows the story and characters down to the most intimate detail, this becomes easy. Once a writer has become this familiar with their story world, they can see it inside their head in the smallest detail and know exactly how their characters may behave in any situation. The only challenge that remains is communicating these nuances on the page in a manner that is clear and efficient.
Once a writer reaches the stage where he/she can communicate with such a level of detail, his or her work makes the jump from just being a good script, to becoming a potential movie. There are a lot of good scripts out there, but very few potential movies. Good scripts may work on paper, but they are still not ready for the screen. Only once the script attains a required level of visual detail does it cross the threshold. What is needed is not only a great story, but a great story that directors, cinematographers, actors, and the like can pick up, visualize, and immediately understand what they must do to make the story happen.
Vagary is a hallmark of an amateur screenwriter. Everything in the script seems typical, average, or generic*. The locations are all treated like stock settings. The characters are little more than names on a page. Geography is unclear. Character actions are hazy. We cannot visualize where the characters exist spatially in relation to each other and their environment -- instead characters seem to float in some kind of limbo space. Usually, this lack of visual detail occurs because the writer is still not exactly sure what is going on in the scene in his or her own head. The scene is hazy on the page because it is still a fog in the writer's imagination. The writer still has not made the effort to know his or her story and characters well enough to tell the story with a VOICE OF AUTHORITY.
(* BTW, never describe your protagonist, or any other character, as “an average 20-something,” or “a typical high school teacher.” WTF is interesting about a character who is "average"? Why would an audience want to spend two hours of their life caring about a person who has nothing unique or special about them? “Average” means “boring.” This is lazy characterization. It is also unnatural characterization. There is no such thing as an “average” person in real life. There are no identical clone pods walking around with the same brains and personalities. Everyone has something about them that makes them unique. Find it and communicate it. No one wants the watch “The Underwhelming Adventures of Nobody Special.”)
Some new writers may think that writing in broad strokes is good enough, that merely suggesting action and visuals are enough for other creative professionals to take over and fill in the gaps. This is not true. Being vague only manages to leave the writer open to criticism. Using wishy-washy words communicates a story in a timid voice. Rather than tell us what is happening, the words seem to merely suggest or guess at what should happen, allowing the story to show through as a contrived, made-up world. The reader starts to question the storyteller's authority. You're trying to be the Great and Powerful Oz, but your show is so underwhelming that it allows us to notice your butt sticking out from behind the curtain. On the other hand, strong, visual words communicate a story with a voice of AUTHORITY. Rather than reading a suggested story, the reader is led to SEE the film, exactly as it should be happening. This is a script that grabs the reader and says, 'This IS what is happening, right NOW. There is no questioning it. This is REAL.'
But how much detail is too much? Overdoing it is just as easy as coming up short. Ironically, the same day I started work on this article, I began reading a spec script that has the exact opposite problem. This script was completely OVERWRITTEN. The description spelled out every little pointless and repetitive detail. Simple actions were described with entire paragraphs. Sentences were cluttered with unnecessary adjectives and adverbs. This script must have been at least ten pages longer than necessary simply from all the unneeded description.
Here's the thing: I can't give you hard and fast rules about how much is too much. You just have to know when to say when. You do not have to tell the reader how many chairs are in the room (unless this information is important to the scene). We do not have to be told about every piece of clothing the character's mom wears (unless these details communicate something about her or the story we need to know.) We do not need to know the exact time of day, all the items in the hero's sock drawer, or how many steps the villain takes to cross the room (unless this information has some sort of significance to the story).
Do you see a pattern here? Your script needs visual detail, but only those details that are significant in terms of conveying story or character. Every detail should communicate something. Either something that advances the story, allows the audience an improved understanding of the people, places, and things of the story, or helps deepen character. For example, if we have an important character walking his dog, learning the type of dog he owns helps us learn more about what type of person he is. Is it a rottweiler? A chihuahua? A shelter-rescued mutt? On the other hand, if a scene takes place in a park with plenty background persons walking their dogs, it would be pointless to give details on these people and their pets. They have nothing to do with the story, so who cares?
Don't be redundant with details. If you establish in Scene 1 that the story takes place in the freezing cold of winter, you don't need to keep telling us it is cold all the way through Scene 114. Audiences/readers only need to be given information once. They don't have that Memento disease where they forget every ten minutes. For example, we only need to call Mark's car (from the example above) a “shiny black Mercedes CL” the first time it is seen. From then on, it can simply be referred to as his “car,” since a proper visual for that car has already been established.
When it comes to describing characters and locations seen for the first time, create only a handful of telling visual details that get essential ideas across and let the reader's mind fill in the rest. Here is a good example from The Bourne Identity:
INT. FISHING BOAT BUNK ROOM -- NIGHT
A wreck. Too small for all the people in here right now --
SAILORS sweeping off the table -- rough hands laying THE MAN
down --
THE CAPTAIN -- brutal and impatient -- watching from the
door as --
GIANCARLO tears through the clutter -- searching for a
medical kit buried in the shambles. GIANCARLO is sixty. A bloodshot soul.
There is very little actual information written in this excerpt. Yet still, it is enough for us to see the scene and character in our heads because our minds fill in the rest of the details.
But, all of this aside, there is a far more deadly type of vague that may be lurking about your script. Vague character motivations. This will be the topic of my next article.
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