Breaking & Entering: Are You Killing Your Screenplay on Page One? The Description Crimes That Readers Punish

Earlier this month, I spoke at the San Francisco Writers Conference, and participated in a unique panel discussion. We panelists were handed first pages of five screenplays. They were also projected for the audience, and read aloud by the moderator who created this exercise. The scripts were anonymous and the writers were not in attendance. I was seated between two whip smart industry pros – a writer and a writer-director – and we offered critiques of each page. The writer-director picked up a pen and started marking up the page. Impressed, I borrowed a pen from the writer, and we all started making notes – circling words, drawing arrows, marking things out.

The feedback was rapid-fire. While there were many invaluable suggestions and valid points on how each page could be improved, it was also fun to be able to be brutally honest, calling out every pet peeve and flaw! It was reassuring to learn that I’m not the only one bothered by unnecessary clutter on pages or distracting formatting. I’ve vented about readers’ top complaints in my column, “Five Things Readers Wish Every Writer Knew,” and this was an opportunity to drive home those points.

There were many valuable takeaways about what may be the single most important page of your script – your chance to draw us into your story.

It is almost always the most rewritten page, whether taking a new pass from the top or in development. A consulting client of mine has directors attached to two projects, and each wanted the opening altered, resulting in vastly reconceived and more cinematic first pages – convincing me there is no end to writing a great beginning.

Quickly help orient the reader. Keep it clear and clean. Unless your story is set here and now, we need to know where and when quickly. Yes, you can use titles or “super” text if necessary – whether it’s a galaxy far, far away, or Big Whiskey, Wyoming, 1880. What’s happening? What is the action of the scene? Who is important? Is it the bartender’s story or the customer’s?

Establishing the tone right off the bat is essential to begin putting us in the movie in your head. The same goes for pitching. If you don’t convey the tone, we’re either confused and don’t know how to interpret what follows or, as creatives, we start making it up. And what we presume might not match your intention, nearly guaranting you won’t succeed.

Everything from the title, to the sentence structure, to the vocabulary should reflect and support the tone. Notice that I didn’t say genre, because that is far too broad a construct. There are dozens of shades of dramas and countless versions of comedy, from broad slapstick and spoofs to dark, edgy humor. Know your tone and convey it on Page One with your choice of words, pacing or rhythm, and the details you choose – or omit.

Does your protagonist bound into the room – or slink, skulk or slip in?

Are your sentences long and detailed, short and punchy, or do they alternate?

Ask yourself, if we skipped the dialogue, would we still be able to grasp your story, the world, and the characters?

In our Page Ones, this was one of the most challenging elements. And as there were no cover pages, we didn’t even have the title as a clue.

I’ve discussed the essential elements of description and how to elevate your description in past columns. If you don’t write it, we don’t see it, but how do you find the perfect balance between too much and too little? The key is significance. That which is worthy of attention – important to grasping plot, setting, or characters – merits more words.

Don’t waste words.

The more focus you give to a character – or even a setting – the more significant readers will assume it is. The amount of words draws our attention and says “Look at this; it’s important.”

“Zoom in” on your protagonist and go light on detail for a character we’ll never see again or a setting that we’ll never revisit.

I went through my Page Ones and circled every neutral word – those generic words that provide no connotation hinting at character or subtext: walks, looks, sits. These made my list of “Screenwriting’s Seven Dirty Words.” They could and should be replaced by juicy options that paint vivid pictures and reveal character: strolls through the park, gazes into his eyes, plops onto the worn sofa.

The writer on my panel made a really sharp-eyed critique that applied to several samples. As you are writing a blueprint for a film, you should reveal What We See As We See It. He pointed out a Page One where the protagonist was introduced at the outset, yet a third of the way down the page, we learned a significant detail about what they were wearing. If this writer had shown us What We See As We See It, this expository information would have all happened at once, just as it would have if we were watching the scene unfold on the screen. As written, the story was in motion and essentially backed up to deliver more exposition.

In another sample, three-quarters of the page was devoted to a character we were convinced we would never see again, until we finally go to the two protagonists. The writer explained how readily they could have been introduced in an earlier shot, and saved much of the heavy-handed, insignificant detail in between. The story would have been up and rolling in less than half the time.

Think cinematically. When the shots are important, point us to them not by calling for an ECU, but with the words you choose to describe them. That pushes you to write cinematically without telling the director and the cinematographer what lens to use.

It’s the difference between:

PUSH IN on Claudia’s beautiful face as tears well up in her blue eyes and roll down her face IN CLOSE UP as she wipes them away.

Versus:

Claudia struggles to appear calm. She sucks in a deep breath and holds it, but can’t hold back hot tears as they slide down her cheek.

Yes, both descriptions indicate a close up shot, but the second version is more visceral – it conveys the character’s emotion. And visceral writing evokes emotions in your reader. In an engrossing scene where we’re already rooting for this character, readers might even hold their own breath. The director and cinematographer can choose the shot that works with the style and substance of the film. For instance, it might be from the POV of the character who provoked her tears. And while you haven’t told the actor exactly how to play the moment, you’ve conveyed the character’s inner emotional state – and they can externalize the subtext because it’s clear on the page.  

Cinematic description:

Page One is your first chance to make a good impression. While I doubt any reader will put down a script based on a single page, it is a crucial opportunity to show us you have what it takes and to earn our trust. Lose it, and there’s no appealing that verdict. Make intriguing, focused, cinematic choices, and we know we’re in the hands of a professional.

None of the Page Ones we read were poorly written or amateurish, but they all had room for improvement. Most were overwritten: too much description that felt unfocused or unnecessary as it honed in on insignificant detail.

Every line of description is either working for you – or against you. As Terry Rossio puts it:

The bottom line both for this panel and in real life remains, “Do we want to read more?” Your script won’t be judged solely on its first page – but give us a great one and we’ll be eager to read on, relax and immerse ourselves in the story, trusting that we’re in the hands of a skilled, confident writer.