Beyond the Frame

The Artistry and Craftsmanship of Screenwriting: 

When I consider a script, the quality of the craftsmanship is immediately indicated by the writer’s ability to balance deliberate language while allowing the story to be told without attempting to direct from the page.  Giving a character an action - he cried - is always better than giving them a thought - he felt sad.  Giving the location essential details - the old house creaks with every step - is better than writing about its essence - the house is eerie.  

Well, I violate all those rules in the treatment below.  Elements is a series of experimental short films where I attempt to go beyond the bounds of traditional cinematic narrative storytelling.  The animated gif above is an actual loop from the film.  I think it illustrates the feeling that the script is going after.

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If you’re inclined to see how I break the rules, I’ve included the aforementioned treatment below.  You’ll see it resembles prose more than it does screenwriting.

Also, here’s a link to the previous film in the Elements series.  

Without. Within. 

Elements • Winter 2012 

He crosses his shoelaces, winds one side underneath and pulls them tight with a single yank.  He forms a loop, rounds the second string behind it, forms a second loop and pulls it through.  One more yank.  The shoe is snug.  

He sits motionless.  Although he is filled with tension, it is so deep-seeded that he likely isn’t even aware.  His right leg bounces.  The old chair creaks along, asking for mercy.   The young man remembers his fiancé wrapped in the warm glow of the fireplace.  She is cutting out paper snowflakes.

The fire burns.  He stares at it with an empty look.  His arms ride along with his active leg.  He suddenly pushes off his thighs and shoots out of his chair.  He leaves his apartment and slams the door behind him.  The sound echoes through the sparse room.  The fireplace and lonesome chair do not react.

It’s winter outside.  Cold.  Inert.  The wind shakes the hibernating trees.  Almost nothing else moves.  The sky is a wash of grey.  Grey smoke bellows from a chimney and disappears into the grey sky.  The muddy earth offers a reprieve.  At least the brown is not grey.

But there is something to be seen in these spaces.  The emptiness is full of life waiting to happen.  The cracked ice floating on Lake Michigan is a sign of mercy.  The wind lifts the seagulls high above the earth.  The sun sits on the horizon.  The winter ebbs.  

He jogs through the bitter winter night.  His steps charge through the piles of snow.  His face reacts to the bite of the cold air.  He powers through it and, for one moment, forgets about what he has lost.  The momentary reprieve offers an opportunity to see things in a new light.  At this very instance, he is stopped by a startling sign: paper snowflakes dangle from the barren limbs of a tree.  They float effortlessly through the wind, like memories through the mind.  There is sudden new rush of meaning.  An opportunity to grow.  A cause to remember.  He carries her within him.  She is everywhere he goes, in everything he sees.  She is alive within him.

And suddenly, there is no longer snow.  Only a clear path remains.  Spring has come.