Act I is easy to write, but difficult to do well. Everything must be boiled down, and must start with a bang, drawing the reader or viewer in immediately. If they’re not hooked by page 10, forget it. If page 1 isn’t either funny, mysterious, intriguing or gripping, the reader will think, “Great… another 119 pages of drivel.”
Good writing jumps off the page, like a beautiful girl entering a room. All eyes notice her. And all eyes will notice your snappy actions lines and quip-filled dialogue. The reader will gladly turn off his phone, put his feet up and hungrily devour your screenplay for the afternoon. These people lie awake wondering if a good script will ever cross their desk again.
Don’t bore the ass off people with your protagonist waking up, stretching, brushing his teeth, making coffee, reading the newspaper. Get to the point. Does he run over a child on his way to work? If so, put your protagonist in the car, swerving away from a head-on collision with a truck. Have him slosh coffee down his suit, swear his head off, wipe his crotch then flatten the child. You ready for page 2 now?
The other mistake, which is worse than moving too slowly, is moving too fast. You can always cut slow scenes. It’s creating them that’s tricky. But beyond that, rushed drama lacks sentiment. Give the audience time to empathize with your characters. Let the drama evoke emotion.
The film Kramer vs Kramer embodies these difficult screenwriting concepts. It starts very efficiently, but is never rushed. Dustin Hoffman is a high-flying business executive with a wife (Merrill Streep) and a little boy. The film opens with Hoffman accepting a promotion from his boss. He goes home for dinner, and in the first conversation with his wife, he doesn’t listen to her. He keeps interrupting, gloating about his job and success. From the first two or three scenes, the audience can tell his marriage is failing, he’s a disinterested father and work dominates his life. The characters interactions show us these various levels of conflict. The story is about divorce and child custody, and the Inciting Incident is when his wife walks out. Why not open with Dustin Hoffman meeting his wife, the honeymoon days of their marriage and tracing its decline? There’s no need. The story is about divorce and child custody. It must start at the tipping point – the day it falls apart.
Find The Essence Of Your Story
A screenwriter’s job is to select the correct opening. This must reflect the core of the plot – the essence of your story. This is why the ending must be worked out before you start Act I.
The openings of films are the first steps heroes take along their conflict-ridden paths. Let’s take another look at Kramer vs Kramer. Dustin Hoffman starts out as an insensitive man lacking family values. His wife walks out, and he is left with a little boy he hardly knows. During the film he becomes a caring father, one who will sacrifice his job, career and possibly his life for his son’s happiness. This is a complete character arc, (which Hollywood producers love), but it is also the nature of films. Heroes must go on journeys and return better men, just like Ben Kramer, who learned that family was more important than the office.
Plotting Act I… The Inciting Incident
Divide Act I in half at page 15. This page contains the Inciting Incident, which, put simply, is the event that happens in your hero’s life that doesn’t happen every day. It’s the catalyst that produces a butterfly effect, setting the film in motion. It is the critical moment when the snowball slides off the peak of a mountain and starts to roll downwards, gathering momentum and weight. It is the first big moment where cause meets effect for the first time.
Hollywood screenplays are written in 15 page sequences. The first sequence ends with the Inciting Incident. The second sequence takes the audience to page 30, where the Goal is established. At this moment, the Hero begins his journey.
Inciting Incident vs Goal
In “The Wizard of Oz” the Inciting Incident is the tornado scene. When Dorothy lands in Oz and steps out of her house, here ends Sequence 1, NOT Act 1. We don’t know Dorothy’s Goal until the Good Witch tells her to follow the yellow brick road and find the Wizard of Oz, who will show her home to Kansas. Act 1 ends when Dorothy sets off down the yellow brick road. You can almost sense a curtain coming across the screen to signify the end of the act. This is how Act I must be crafted.
Finding The Goal
Ask, “What must my hero do in Act II to win the prize in Act III?” Answer that question and you have the Goal. Act I is about formulating a series of conflicts that prepares the Hero to pursue the Goal. Animated films are very good to watch if you’re a beginner. The structure is obvious, the dialogue is on-the-nose. “You mean we have to cross the Dark Forest and enter the Castle where the Princess is tied to a flaming cross?” “Yes. And something tells me it won’t be easy.” Lines of this nature usually mark the end of Act I. In more advanced films the end of Act I is less obvious, but it’s always there.
Mastering This Information
Watch the first half hour of a dozen movies. Write brief descriptions of every scene in Act I. Identify the Inciting Incident. Learn how much conflict is needed to fill the first 30 pages, and how Act I always contains the essence of the Hero’s journey and ends when the Goal is established.
Screenplay Structure: Act II - The Elusive Heart of The Screenplay
Before reading this, see my article, “Screenplay Structure in Four Easy Parts.” This will give you an overview of my system, and introduce the concepts of the Four Act Structure.
Act II is the longest and most difficult part of any screenplay. It is the 60-page heart of the script. But it’s a broken heart, split into two very distinct halves, and the dividing page contains the most critical part of the story. This must happen at the mid-point on page 60.
How To Create a Mid-Point Shock.
The show-stopper of a Hollywood screenplay should burst like a thunderbolt halfway through the second Act, exactly one-hour into the drama. Figure this out, because Act II cannot generally fall into place until this moment is established.
Anyone can read books on this subject, even more can become totally perplexed by all the diverse and confusing points, moments of enlightenment, crises, percentages and general lack of clarity. However, my disciplined method is a simple way of structuring Act II, in line with Hollywood standards.
How to Structure the Act II Mid-Point
Imagine a tale about a sexually nervous college graduate who is seduced by an older woman. At the end of Act I, she makes it very clear she is available, and given half a chance would jump straight in the sack with him! But the movie must end with the hero’s love for the older woman’s forbidden daughter. To win her hand, he must destroy an arranged marriage, barricade the church and run away with her.
I give you the ‘The Graduate’ with its perfect set-up and brilliant conclusion. Act I and Act III. But, the trick is the pace of the 60-page Act II and its correct structure. Ben has to progress from sleeping with Mrs. Robinson on page-30, to the low-point on page 90, where he has apparently lost all hope of marrying Elaine.
You must divide Act II in half. Watch ‘The Graduate’ again. And again. It is perfect. Look again at the significant events in Act II.
They are as follows:- Night one in the hotel with Mrs. Robinson and the montage that follows. His father berates Ben about his future… “And would you mind telling me what those four years of hard work were for?” Ben’s unforgettable response, “You got me.”
Then we get the first argument between Ben and Mrs. Robinson in the hotel room, and the incendiary topic of Elaine. We move to the first date with Elaine. Ben tries to tell her he has slept with her mother, and then that devastating moment when Mrs. Robinson appears, hears and coldly calls the police. Elaine is sent back to Berkeley. What now for the pitiful Ben?
Devastated, he drives to Berkeley hoping to find Elaine, but discovers she has a new boyfriend and a virtually arranged marriage. Ben is helpless. His life shattered, his love lost, beaten by his lust and his true self. This is the low-point. This is how Act II plays out in order. The significant event is the turning-point when Mrs. Robinson becomes enraged at Ben’s interest in Elaine. Not until then do we suddenly think, “Uh, oh. This lady is dangerous.”
This is the classic page-60 event, dividing, changing and heightening. The fling with the mother in Act II A, the fling with daughter in Act II B. It’s that simple. Don’t get caught up with theory. Just neatly divide Act II in this fashion - sharp as the slash of a dagger.
How To Figure A Mid-Point.
And, as ever, there’s a knack. Look for the moment where the drama is heightened. At the beginning of Act II A, your hero is pursuing his goal, dealing with conflicts, until suddenly, something changes his course.
In ‘The Graduate,’ Ben discovers Elaine is very beautiful, and that he’s falling in love with her. As her mother’s lover, this is a potentially disastrous moment, loaded with unimaginable consequences. Therefore, ‘The Graduate’s’ mid-point must be the arrival of Elaine, and the first glimpses of Mrs. Robinson’s fury. They filmed this scene so skillfully, so movingly, Ben could be seen before our eyes to begin losing his attraction to Mrs. Robinson, and Elaine now represents the conflict that will carry the rest of the drama. Mrs. Robinson becomes the nemesis.
Watch films with a stop-watch to hand. Concentrate on this moment. With practice, you will never miss that flip-the-script moment when the course of the movie is suddenly set in marble. Every Hollywood producer looks for it and expects it bang before his eyes.
Next Step – The Low Point.
The Low-Point is where your hero has just about run out of options. All hope is lost. His goal no longer seems attainable. Notice the words ‘just about’ and ‘seems.’ This is the key. Nothing is finished, but it must appear that way. Your hero, on page 90, must be beat-up, battered, and emotionally cooked. This is the first time he’s been this distraught, this helpless. Ben Braddock is in the boarding house. Mr. Robinson is threatening to sue. Elaine is getting married. Mrs. Robinson has orchestrated his worst nightmare. He’s disgraced at home. It couldn’t be worse. This is page 90. The audience is suicidal. This is the low-point.
And of course, there’s a trick to creating a devastating page 90 which will keep the drama alive. And it’s everything to do with time.
Ben cannot spend the afternoon hanging around the University of Berkeley, remembering better times, because Elaine is getting married right now. He must race north, find the church, break down the door, and save her from a fate which only he appreciates represents cold horror.
What follows is one of the greatest Act III’s ever filmed. The hero must act now or never. If he doesn’t get dressed and get moving, he will lose the only girl he would ever love. The race is against time.
Another example of a brilliant low-point comes in the gangster movie ‘Scarface,’ when Tony Montana kills his best friend after he discovers him with his sister. Tony guns Manny down, and without emotion, steps back into his Rolls Royce, and drives home. But he inhales a mountain of cocaine, and suddenly realizes he’s murdered the only man he ever trusted… “Oh, fuck, Manny… How the fuck I do that?... How the fuck I do that Manny?” The brash, cocky, kiss-my-ass Tony, in tears of remorse.
This leads directly to the final battle of Act III. But like Ben in ‘The Graduate,’ Tony Montana has no time to wallow in his sorrow. Sosa’s army has arrived to finish him.
You need a low-point thunderstorm where the hero is weak, maybe even broken, and the nemesis comes forward like Atilla the Hun. The time element will usually solve itself.
Once you have established the mid-point and the low-point, it should be plain sailing to the movie’s end. That’s if you’ve planned it meticulously. With the Act II A cliff-hanger halfway, and the Act II B roller-coaster to impending catastrophe properly set out, your run-in to an interesting end is nothing like so difficult as the minefield of Act II. Page 30 to page 90. That’s when you face death. Tread carefully and plan properly.
Screenplay Structure In Four Easy Pieces
All plays, whether on the screen or on the stage, have a format more defining than any other form of literary expression. Screenplays are, perhaps, the toughest. They have a structure as steely and rigid as the support towers of the Golden Gate Bridge. They are more restrictive than the Japanese seventeen-syllable, set-in-concrete poem known as haiku. The best comparison is to picture a novel a vat of mushroom soup, and a screenplay as a stock cube, same intensity of flavor, but powerfully compressed. If writing a novel is swimming in the ocean, screenwriting is swimming in the bath.
Every story must have a beginning, must have a middle, and must have an end. And don’t think you can write it until you know what that end is. These elements can also be called set-up, conflict and resolution. You can dance around this formula until you’re blue in the face, but you’re always going to come back to it. Set-up. Conflict. Resolution. That’s the way it always has been. That’s the way it always will be. And the key to screenplay structure is hitting the right page with the right beat.
Set up. Conflict. Resolution. Act I, Act II, Act III. Scripts are mathematical. Structuring them is a numeric problem. They are meticulously engineered; yet must disguise their geometric precision.
Act II is so long – 60 pages – it must be divided in half to create Act II A and Act II B, which leaves four Acts. Plain and simple. But the trick is to split Act II at the central turning point of the entire movie. This can sometimes be called the flip-the-script moment, or the mid-point, and it happens exactly halfway through all movies. This turning point in the drama must be established long before you begin writing. And it must take the audience from Act II A into Act II B.
Each Act should be 30 pages. Four of those make 120, the Hollywood length. Act I, II A, II B and III. But, unlike the theatre that has a curtain to divide Acts, or television dramas where they are consistent with commercials, how can you tell when an Act has changed in the cinema? Being able to spot this, and understanding why Acts change, and grasping what each Act must achieve is something you must master.
Act I
This introduces the main characters, establishes ‘the rules of the world’, and sets-up the hero’s goal for the rest of the movie. But this can’t be an arbitrary decision. In all great scripts, there lies within Act I the Inciting Incident. This is the event, usually found on page 10-15 that sparks the desire your hero needs in order to pursue his goal. When you study films, it can be identified easily. Watch out for the event that occurs in the hero’s life that doesn’t happen every day. This is the Inciting Incident.
Act I ends on page 25-30. Study opening scenes from films you know. Why have they chosen to start this way? How does this opening reveal character, introduce the hero or nemesis? The opening to a movie must be chosen carefully. The Incident that sparks the story, must, above all, be credible. Not some cockamamie idea that will cause everyone in the cinema to say, “Yeah, right!”
Act II A
The hero begins his journey. It must be filled with conflicts and obstacles that are constantly being thrown in his way. The trickiest part is inventing that turning point on page 60. It must change the course of the story, yet keep the hero pursuing the same goal. A great example is in Derailed. At the end of Act II A, Clive Owen suddenly realizes Jennifer Anniston is no longer the sweet blond with a bad marriage, but his real nemesis. You must come up with something that will literally turn the script around, making the audience gasp. This turning point is so critical you may want to structure the entire story around this one event. Watch films and identify this point. A History of Violence contains another great example.
Act II B
At the beginning of this Act, a ray of hope must shine upon the hero. With his original goal from Act I, and with the drama now aimed in a new direction, conflicts must start again, sliding towards the low-point, where the hero reaches an all-time low. This must happen on page 90. It marks the end of Act II. It’s the now-or-never moment, and everything you write is aimed resolutely towards this point. You must keep telling yourself, “I’ve got to get my hero to the page 90 abyss in the next x amount of pages.” You’ll find it easier to work backwards. That will stop you over-shooting and ending up page 96, which makes Act II B too long, too long, too long. Then you’ve got to cut it, which is even more difficult than writing it.
Act III
This contains two parts. The final battle with the nemesis, where the hero achieves his goal against all odds, and then, the long awaited resolution - only a few pages long. The end of the script is the most important part. You must know where your hero is going before you write one word of the script. You write towards the end. This will allow you to plant and foreshadow the drama. You cannot operate until the end has been established. If you start writing without knowing the end, you will fail, probably catastrophically.
Mastering this information
Once you know the basic story, spend the next five hours trying to work out the last two minutes of the movie. Then you can begin to establish the low-point, moving backwards to the much more tricky mid-point.
The easiest Act to write is the first, because it’s an introduction and establishes the Goal. However, Act I requires diligent research and more detail than any other part of the script. Act II is very hard, and this is where almost every script fails, leading up to the turning-point. And if you feel this is going wrong, you might as well turn off your computer and start again.
Ultimately, you live and die between page 30 and page 60. It’s a four Act structure, no ifs, ands or buts. Keep the reader or audience hooked, load in the surprises, and no goofing off cruising through three or four pages without much happening. You can’t afford it in screenwriting.
Watch films with all these points in mind. Pay attention to Act breaks, (time them on your watch – about every half hour). Count the conflicts being hurled at the hero. Watch how the nemesis always seems more powerful. This is the making of a hero. He must overcome the seemingly insurmountable struggle to achieve his goal.
Thrillers, action films, Westerns and horrors are great genres to grasp these principles. High Noon, The Wizard of Oz and Star Wars all possess the geometric precision I have outlined. The watchword is structure. And it’s as critical to your writing as those towers that hold up the Golden Gate Bridge.
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