Promise Before The Sword: Act I
October 19th, 2009
First day of writing the feature length, Promise Before The Sword. Using Blake Snyder’s “Beat Sheet” as a guidepost, I hand sketched out the first five pages of screen time (through “Theme Stated”). All of these scenes have been hashed out in concept months ago. These are the scenes for setting tone and a baseline for action. Easiest to think of creating these as the inverse of how a painter creates his scene — this is a lot of color overlaying the outline. The story “colors” are in the autumn palette. They are wet, decaying browns and the gray color of wet city streets. I’ve decided to punctuate them with Halloween decorations (also a theme) a lot of bright orange and whispy whites like spider webs.
The classic, "M"
It’s also the time for the tone of action. I’ve known this since I started working on the idea to be a screenplay that progresses from Quiet to Loud to Quiet again. The protagonist, Kevin, is a quiet person in a quiet job, likely to continue this quiet way until the end without the adventure that occurs to him here. The catalyst incident starts out as quiet as well: there is a bag, on the side of the path he takes to work every day. It’s presence signals the onslaught of that quiet voice inside which compels him to act.
October 20th, 2009
More of the same this morning. Colors, tones and accents working together, coming into an unexpected story harmony. There is a rare moment when story falls off the bone. It feels somehow peculiar to say that the planned-for harmony in elements is unexpected but the process of transfer, from idea to seemingly random notes and then onto the actual page is one that often happens outside of intent — as a writer I don’t go in with my intellect dictating action. Getting to a good scene, or a good relationship of scenes, it’s a careful relay between intuition, faith and the constant verification.
This morning I’ve moved into that long imagined catalyzing moment: Page 12/Minute 12 when Kevin opens the duffel bag, reveals the money, but more than that, finds the secrets beneath the money then stashes it all away in a place close to home. It’s this need to keep secrets but hidden close in, along side his life’s perpetually exposed private moments that will set the tone (read: the presence of masks, Halloween, things hidden in plain sight) for the rest of the film. Without knowing that Kevin is private, there would be no internal tension. Having his private moments jeopardized will play forward in the conflict with White Supremacists and Eastern European death metal singers extremely well.
Right now that tension comes in small packages. Bruno walks in. There is a woman in his building overlooking the trash can who knows every time someone throws something away. A client, young and brash, is far too comfortable poking around at his desk. Annalise, curious and attractive, is one to ask too many questions of the secreted social worker.
The elements of drama and story assemble nicely.
October 21st, 2009
The most difficult writing comes in the “debate” section of a screenplay, the place between the catalyst and the moment the hero decides to take action. It’s the place where they debate themselves and the world about whether to go on the adventure presented to them by the story.
Movie Poster For "The Lives of Others"
Models for this screenplay, as sketched into my notebook: The Lives Of Others and The Croupier. Any film with scenes of “following” lead me to Fritz Lang’s classic, M and the great Peter Lorre. Perhaps now is the time to engorge myself once again in German cinema. It is October after all.
October 23rd, 2009
I’ve slept later and later in each of the last two mornings. Personal life, this time, more exhausting than anything else (searching for the best, most practical way to ‘family plan’ isn’t fun with an overly emotional bride). Upon sitting down though, I’ve been focused on stringing the lines together. My outline for Promise Before The Sword at least here, has been vague and generalized. Remember: writing a screenplay is many things, it’s not just scenes with settings and dialog and a Shalyman-esque twist. Layers. Writing a screenplay is the slow, well-timed building of layers, all of which can be peeled back in the next two acts.
Professor Lewis once said: “Don’t show me a fireplace unless you’re going to build me a fire.”
One dimension is that set-up and pay-off — it’s constant, putting the fireplace in the corner. Showing the audience the tinder and spark. It’s never more important than in the first act, as the action is building along side the affection for the character. In the last two days, I’ve built in elements of conflict such as: trust established/trust broken, and, suspicion opened/suspicion delayed. I think I’ve shown the room (this confining world) and shown the fireplace (the presence of possibly dirty motives in the same sack as dirty money) and left wide the swath of possibilities around it’s ignition.
Another dimension I’m working into this screenplay, something I’ve never worked consciously worked towards is confinement. Tension plus confinement. If the fire is set in a small room, it’s a greater threat than in a spacious warehouse. It’s the boilerplate for thrillers, action, characters in danger. In Promise Before The Sword I’ve looked at Kevin Seidler’s corridor of movement and vowed to narrow it at each turn. Already in my build toward Act II, I’ve handed him trust that I’ve begun to pull out.
As the mornings progress, the feeling that this screenplay “works” as well on page as it did in note, increases.
Posted: October 23rd, 2009 under Collected Writings.