Writing for Films, Filming for Writing: Even More Scripts!

Another ‘Initiative Post ‘, again with the intention of deconstructing the scripts of movies that I enjoy and identifying what makes them work. So far, the overwhelming feature that I think these scripts have in common has been the presence of a distinctive authorial voice, something that sets the screenplay apart from the pool of others, something that translates to the screen and imbues the finished product with a sense of the writer’s tone. Having said, I thought I might have a look at another, particularly distinct, fairly nasal voice.

                                       Hello, ladies.

Yes, Quentin Tarantino. God help me, I love his movies. He’s arrogant and long-winded and self-indulgent but I challenge anyone to watch Not Quite Hollywood and not feel inspired by his passionate love for the Australian film industry. He’s an actual walking encyclopaedia of filmic knowledge, and that same knowledge and devotion is on display in his films, which pay constant homage to his favourites. Anyway, the screenplay I thought I’d take a look at is Inglourious Basterds, Tarantino’s WWII flick; a bloody, multi-lingual romp, reminiscent of The Dirty Dozen among others.

Now, this one was really interesting to look at, because I naturally assumed that it would be witty and tangential, much like how Tarantino communicates in reality, but it’s actually fairly subdued. While Joss Whedon and Aaron Sorkin tend to work their personalities into their work, it feels like Tarantino’s personal touch lies in the large chunks of dialogue, rather than the big print.

“The Jew Hunter removes both a pipe and a bag of tobacco fixings. The pipe, strangely enough, is a calabash, made from an S-shaped gourd with a yellow skin and made famous by Sherlock Holmes.”

This is a typical piece of big print from the screenplay. It’s precise, straight to the point, and while it possesses life (the strangely enough is an unnecessary comment), it’s fairly tame. This description is immediately followed by a lengthy monologue from Colonel Landa, comparing the Jewish populace to rats. Landa’s speech is also precise and to the point – polite, even. It mirrors Tarantino’s text. I read through the script, and while it’s littered with brief asides and interesting notes (Lt. Aldo’s neck scar is described as a “rope burn … as if, once upon a time, he survived a lynching.”), it still seemed subdued. In this case, it seems as if Tarantino’s ‘voice’ existed more in the performances of the actors, the frenetic editing style, the explosions of violence and wordplay that burst into the frame. More so than in Whedon and Sorkin’s work, Tarantino’s personal style seemed to make itself apparent through a blend of various production elements, demonstrating the importance of cohesion in all aspects of the filmmaking process.

Next up … Animal Kingdom, by David Michod. A fantastic film, I chose thing screenplay because one of the things I love about this film is its authenticity. It feels like a Melbourne story. The locations, the familial relationship, the ‘look’ of it – it just felt so honest. I wanted to see if that was reflected in its screenplay, or something that was worked on and developed in the production process.

                             Welcome to the Jungle.

 
The first thing I noticed about the script was just how simple it was. Nothing fancy, no real authorial flourishes, just a strong narrative coupled with solid dialogue. It was almost a relief, to know that a fantastic film could be crafted from a ‘plain’, (but still brilliant) screenplay. A typical passage of big print would run like this:

“A GUN BLAST strikes Pope in the head and his body slumps like a sack of meat, instantly lifeless, to the floor. J climbs off the bed, holding a gun. He stands back and surveys the scene, standing over Pope’s body. He exits to the hall still with the gun. As he heads for the lounge, Smurf walks toward him, panicked, hands to her mouth. J stops her. He holds her. She is strangely calm, catatonic.”

All of the film’s big print passages are written in this way – detailed, clean, describing the scene and nothing more. There isn’t a specific ‘voice’ that unifies the material, but it works for ‘Animal Kingdom’. It’s not showy, or witty, it’s a crime story rooted in reality.

So! Lessons learnt? While authorial voices are fun and interesting to read, they don’t guarantee compelling viewing, nor does their absence guarantee a dull film. Inglourious Basterds and Animal Kingdom both lack the wit and compelling asides of previous films I’ve looked at, but both movies stand up as excellent examples of the medium. The strength of the dialogue and narrative, plus the confidence and excellence of the production elements combine to strengthen the initial script. So … that’s interesting?