Making a Good Script Great

Linda Seger

First annotation on Mar 18th, 2025.

25 quotes

Introduction

Making a great script is not just a matter of having a good idea. In screenwriting it's the art and the craft, the writing and the rewriting, that make a good script great. Art without craft is simply self-expression. Craft without art is predictable and by-the-book. But the two together? That's where great films come from.
At every stage of the process of rewriting, input from others will influence your choices. As it should. Screenwriting is ultimately a collaborative process, combining solitary hours of self-expression with working in tandem with other artists to realize a vision through a visual medium.
After submitting his script to a producer who turned him down, he protested, "But it's much better than anything else I've seen!" "Of course," said the producer. "Anyone can write better than that. The trick is to write so brilliantly that after everyone ruins it in rewrites, it's still watchable." And it's true. Many scripts get worse and worse in the rewrite process. The further a script gets from its inspirational source, the more muddled it becomes. It begins to lose its magic. By the fifth rewrite, certain elements no longer make sense. By the twelfth rewrite, the story is completely different, and no one wants to do the film anymore.
Is there a particular trick to rewriting? Yes! Only rewrite what doesn't work, and leave the rest alone. This often means working against the temptation to do more and more. It means not getting carried away by new and different ideas that are exciting but don't fix your script's problems. It means following suggestions that are designed to get the script on track, not off. It means holding back on a new creative stamp because the writer's original creative stamp is "just fine, thank you." If it ain't broke, don't fix it! And if it is broke, do something!

Chapter 1

A script can be divided into five major components: the storylines, the characters, the underlying theme or idea, the images, and the dialogue.
Research determines your character's vocabulary. Does the character go to a restaurant, supper club, a hamburger joint, a diner, or a private club for dinner? Does the character play the violin or the fiddle? If characters want a drink, do they go to a bar, a pub, a tavern, or a lounge? The art is in the details, and the writer needs to know how those details change, depending on a character's occupation, historical period, culture, and geographic location.
A good screenplay program asks the writer: Have you clearly worked out your characters' biographies? What are the traits of your main characters and supporting characters? Do you understand your characters' wants and what actions they're going to take to get them? What problems do your characters need to solve? Do your characters' choices make sense? What's the dramatic conflict? Who's the audience?

Chapter 2

Dramatic composition, almost from the beginning of recorded drama, has tended toward the three-act structure. Whether it's a Greek tragedy, a five-act Shakespeare play, a four-act dramatic TV series, or a seven-act Movie-of-the-Week, we still see the basic three-act structure: beginning, middle, and end—or the setup of the story in Act One, the development of the story in Act Two, and the build to a climax and a resolution in Act Three.
The movement out of one act and into the next is usually accomplished by an action or an event called a turning point.
Regardless of how long the script is (a film short, a television series, a miniseries), approximately half of the total script is Act Two. About one-quarter of the script (or slightly more) is Act One and a bit less than one-quarter of the script is Act Three.
The first few minutes of a story are often its most important. Many scripts have problems with the setup. It's unclear, unfocused. It sets up everything but the story. The purpose of the setup is to tell us the vital information we need to get the story started. Who's the protagonist? Who are the main characters? What's the context? Where is it located? When does it take place? What's the genre? Is it comedy, drama, sci-fi, horror, action-adventure, thriller, or a combination genre?
If a film takes place in a context that is immediately recognizable, there may not need to be many details and not much needs to happen before the script moves from context to starting to tell the story. But in most films, the audience needs to see a few minutes of context before anything happens. It's the opportunity for the audience to settle in and get oriented, so they can enjoy the show without asking such questions as "What's going on?," "Where are we?," "What are those characters doing?," "Why are they doing it?"
Films that begin with dialogue, rather than well-chosen visual images, tend to be more difficult to understand—and slower to draw in the audience's attention. This is because the eye is quicker at grasping details than the ear. If important information is given verbally, before the audience has adjusted to the film's style, place, and sounds, the audience may not know how to incorporate them into the story.
Although the description is not all-out comedy, there are touches in the script that establish a humorous tone: the hearse moves at a "dignified pace," there's a "wreath of chrysanthemums"—"of course." The tone is still not absolutely clear, but there's an exciting car chase and plenty of bullets, yet no one gets hurt. The booze in the coffin is a punch line. By this time, the audience knows this is not meant to be a serious crime drama. The style has been set. The period is set up by the era of the car, followed by the onscreen date. Most of the beginning is images, not dialogue.
The strongest catalysts are specific actions. In many crime stories, detective stories, and mysteries, a very strong action somewhere in the setup will explosively begin the story.
Sometimes the catalyst can be a piece of information that a character receives. Such a catalyst orients the audience to the subject of the story through dialogue (including via a phone call or a letter that's read aloud) rather than action.
Sometimes a catalyst is situational, made up of a series of incidents that add up over a period of time. This sort of catalyst is rare, because hinting at action is usually not a strong way to start a story. Three films that have situational catalysts are Tootsie, Back to the Future, and Some Like It Hot.
Every story, in a sense, is a mystery. It asks a question in the setup that will be answered at the climax. Usually, a problem is introduced or a situation that needs to be resolved is presented. This situation or problem raises a question in our minds, such as "Will the detective find the murderer?," "Will these two beautiful young people fall in love and get married?," "Will the mountain climber reach the summit of Everest?," "Will the woman get promoted?," "Will the man get cured of his terrible disease?"
Once it is raised, everything that happens in the story relates to that question, which keeps coming up throughout the story. With each turning point and each setback and each step forward, the question is repeated subconsciously. At the story's climax, there's an answer, which is almost always "yes." Will the detective solve the crime? Yes. Will the lovers get together? Yes. Will the mountain climber reach the top? Yes. But since we don't learn the answers until the end, we remain interested in what will happen along the way and how the objective built into the central question will be accomplished.
After the setup, more information is necessary to orient us to the story. We need to learn more about the characters. We need to see the characters in action before we see them develop in Act Two. We might need to know more about a character's backstory (i.e., what took place in a character's life before the point at which the movie picked up his or her story) or physical situation. Where is the character coming from? What's motivating the character? What's the central conflict? Who's the antagonist? This is Act One development.
The word "beat" in drama tends to be somewhat vague. Actors sometimes use the term to designate a pause, as in "I want to take a beat after I pick up the knife but before going after my victim." Writers may use the term to define a series of events, big (a murder) or small (taking a tomato out of the refrigerator). For example, a writer might decide to create six beats to show a meeting between the two soon-to-be lovers: Beat #1: A cute guy comes into a café. Beat #2: A gorgeous waitress asks him if he wants a cinnamon cappuccino or a mint latte. Beat #3: She brings him his coffee. Beat #4: She knocks it over. Beat #5: They both jump to clean up the mess. Beat #6: They bang heads; their eyes meet under the table, and it's clear this is love at first sight.
Although twists and turns can happen throughout a story, in the three-act structure there are two turning points that must happen to keep the action moving—one at the beginning of Act Two and one at the beginning of Act Three. These help a story move forward by introducing changes from the expected, the norm: New events unfold. New decisions are made. As a result of these two turning points, the story achieves momentum.
Each accomplishes a variety of functions: It turns the action in a new direction. It raises the central question again and makes us wonder about the answer. It often requires a decision or commitment on the part of the main character. It raises the stakes. It pushes the story into the next act. It takes the audience into a new arena, where a character's actions may be seen with a new focus.
Act Two plays out the central action of the story. Act Two advances the story, develops the conflict, explores the theme, and builds the relationships before Act Three shows the consequences of Act Two's actions.
When a script is too vague about the journey ahead, the audience can only watch passively, without worry, anticipation, and anxiety about the final outcome.