In my current online screenwriting class, we have a thread going about poetic or ‘imagematic’ writing, as reflected in scene description — tight, lean, vivid — and the use of objects as metaphors that convey deeper levels of meaning. One student asked for my opinion about two scripts she liked particularly well — American Beauty and The Sixth Sense. Here are my comments:
Like you, I think American Beauty and The Sixth Sense are excellent screenplays. Specifically in terms of their scene description, one aspect that’s impressive is how restrained they are, especially notable because each is writing in genres that invite OTT (Over The Top) writing: Satire and Thriller.And yet as restrained as they are, both screenwriters make maximum visual and emotional impact with a minimum of words. Here’s the very first scene in
The Sixth Sense:
INT. BASEMENT – EVENINGA NAKED LIGHTBULB SPARKS TO LIFE. It dangles from the ceiling
of a basement.LIGHT, QUICK FOOTSTEPS AS ANNA CROWE moves down the stairs.
Anna is the rare combination of beauty and innocence. She
stands in the chilly basement in an elegant summer dress
that outlines her slender body. Her gentle eyes move across
the empty room and come to rest on a rack of wine bottles
covering one entire wall.She walks to the bottles. Her fingertips slide over the
labels. She stops when she finds just the right one. A tiny
smile as she slides it out.Anna turns to leave. Stops. She stares at the shadowy
basement. It’s an unsettling place. She stands very still
and watches her breath form a TINY CLOUD IN THE COLD AIR.She’s visibly uncomfortable.
Anna Crowe moves for the staircase in a hurry. Each step
faster than the next. She climbs out of the basement in
another burst of LIGHT, QUICK FOOTSTEPS.WE HEAR HER HIT THE LIGHT SWITCH.
THE LIGHTBULB DIES. DRIPPING BLACK DEVOURS THE ROOM.
CUT TO:
“A naked lightbulb sparks to life.” That right there – poetry. And much like a poem that can take a moment — a butterfly on a flower, an old man nodding off asleep on a front porch, the drip of an icicle — and find a universe of meaning in it, this scene does as well. External World: Anna gets a bottle of wine. Internal World: She gets spooked — by the darkness, being alone, her breath. Of course, it’s a simple little way of framing the tone and genre of the movie, but also tips off something of the danger lurking inside their house that very night.
Likewise
American Beauty and its use of poetic language. Here’s where we meet the Protagonist Lester Burnham:
FADE IN:EXT. ROBIN HOOD TRAIL – EARLY MORNING
We’re FLYING above suburban America, DESCENDING SLOWLY toward
a tree-lined street.LESTER (V.O.)
My name is Lester Burnham. This is
my neighborhood. This is my street.
This… is my life. I’m forty-two
years old. In less than a year, I’ll
be dead.INT. BURNHAM HOUSE – MASTER BEDROOM – CONTINUOUS
We’re looking down at a king-sized BED from OVERHEAD:
LESTER BURNHAM lies sleeping amidst expensive bed linens,
face down, wearing PAJAMAS. An irritating ALARM CLOCK RINGS.
Lester gropes blindly to shut it off.LESTER (V.O.)
Of course, I don’t know that yet.He rolls over, looks up at us and sighs. He doesn’t seem too
thrilled at the prospect of a new day.LESTER (V.O.)
And in a way, I’m dead already.He sits up and puts on his slippers.
INT. BURNHAM HOUSE – MASTER BATH – MOMENTS LATER
Lester thrusts his face directly into a steaming hot shower.
ANGLE from outside the shower: Lester’s naked body is
silhouetted through the fogged-up glass door. It becomes
apparent he is masturbating.LESTER (V.O.)
(amused)
Look at me, jerking off in the shower.
(then)
This will be the high point of my
day. It’s all downhill from here.EXT. BURNHAM HOUSE – MOMENTS LATER
CLOSE on a single, dewy AMERICAN BEAUTY ROSE. A gloved hand
with CLIPPERS appears and SNIPS the flower off.CAROLYN BURNHAM tends her rose bushes in front of the Burnham
house. A very well-put together woman of forty, she wears
color-coordinated gardening togs and has lots of useful and
expensive tools.Lester watches her through a WINDOW on the first floor,
peeping out through the drapes.LESTER (V.O.)
That’s my wife Carolyn. See the way
the handle on those pruning shears
matches her gardening clogs? That’s
not an accident.Lester doesn’t just “turn off” the alarm — he “gropes blindly” for it, an apt description of his current life-condition, his mid-life crisis.
Then “Lester thrusts his face directly into a steaming hot shower.” Compare to the lifelessness of the previous scene. These words are enlivened:
thrusts, directly, steaming, hot. Those sound sexual, yes? Of course, they frame the irony of Lester “jerking off” in the shower, the routine nature of it, lifeless, joyless. But these words suggest an angle into Lester where he could still have some life — sexuality. And, indeed, that is where and how he does come to life – through his obsession with his daughter Jane’s friend Angela.Beyond the poetic approach to scene description — strong visual words and imagematic writing –
American Beauty makes great use of objects as metaphors to deeper meaning. Take roses:* The title of the movie is the name of a type of rose, but that is metaphorical for suburban life, Carolyn’s dreams of herself and success, Lester’s faded dreams of amounting to anything, etc.
* Carolyn is a good gardener and knows how to prune rose bushes to produce flowers; and in her very first scene, we see her in action — “SNIPS off the flower.” Contrasted to Lester masturbating, that is a demasculating image.
* And what do roses mean to Lester? They become the bed upon which he fantasize Angela frolicking naked, so whereas Carolyn has a controlling power over her flowers, Lester’s sense of roses is freedom, sexual and otherwise.
So yes,
American Beauty and The Sixth Sense are great reads in part because the writers, Alan Ball and M. Night Schyamalan, write so well — tight, clean, vivid, imagematic writing, reflective of a ‘poetic’ approach to language.
What other scripts have you read that strike you as particularly ‘poetic’ in the writer’s approach to language / scene description and metaphors?


My biggest question with “poetic” scripts, like these two, is how much is intentionally metaphorical and how much naturally metaphorical? What gives a writer the ability to assemble sentences that are poetic descriptions rather than merely structural blueprints?
To me, intention indicates significant preplanning for the use of particular words and phrases; whereas natural means that in the course of writing, the writer used the particular phrase or word because he subconsciously knew it would be the right choice, even if he only changed it on the tenth pass; if it’s a combination of the two, to what degree?
I believe writing like this can be taught, and perhaps mastered; but a good verbal vocabulary, exercised regularly, combined with wit that appreciates puns, double entendres, innuendo and onomatopoeia is what makes certain writers stand out. Shakespeare used thousands of puns in his writing.
In M. Knight Shyamalan’s first draft of Sixth Sense, did he write “The light bulb comes to life” or simply “The light comes on” and then go back and change it; or where his first words “A light bulb sparks to life.” Did he later add the word “naked” to heighten to the sensuality of the scene, which makes it just that much more intriguing for the reader? Was “sparks” used because that’s the sound that light bulbs seem to make?
Was Alan Ball’s first choice to describe cutting a rose really prune? Or on his rewrite did he change it to SNIP when he couldn’t hear the rose being cut? Did he consciously know that he was comparing the rose to Lester? He chose to use the American Beauty variety of rose for the title, why not the Feminine Wiles variety of iris? (Okay, I had to search for a good flower variety, and I’ve never heard of spreading iris petals on a bed as a touch of romance – but I have seen irises during funerals and Lester’s opening words end with “In less than a year, I'll be dead,” and feminine wiles seduce us through out the script.)
And I’m not saying that they didn’t work damn hard writing the outlines, treatments and scripts. But it is easier than using the thesaurus every five sentences.
I guess the way to find out would to be to ask these writers just how intentional the choice of those particular words really was. Or was it the natural poetic selection of gifted writers?
Scott, any chance you could find out?
Good questions, Tom.
I think strong writing like this comes naturally. The speed with which such writers can craft evocative sentences without constant revision and thesaurus-hunting is inherent, not learned. The same effect can be achieved by anyone willing to put in the time, but the advantage clearly belongs to those writers to whom it comes with ease.
You raise a critical point and it's one I think about often when watching a movie. When I see some thematic element playing out in this way or that, I wonder if (A) the filmmakers were conscious of what they were doing or (B) it was serendipity at work.
Of course, to say 'serendipity' is to suggest complete chance, when I think that's generally not the case. Because when the writer and director so immerse themselves into the story world, I believe connections and elements start to emerge whether conscious or not.
So a better choice of words would be "synchronicity" ala C.G. Jung, that almost mystical connection that can occur when we open ourselves to the possibilities that our stories carry.
Did Alan Ball intentionally put that image of Lester masturbating followed directly by Carolyn snipping the rose with her shears? Or did it just 'happen'? In either case, the connection of the two images conveys something symbolic and visceral. Some eyes see it, others don't on a conscious level. But what about on the subconscious level?
Over time, I have come to perceive 'story' as an organic entity. And our relationship to 'story' is not an I / It one, but rather I / You. I posted about this here.
So a long-winded non-answer to your question. Perhaps there is no answer. Perhaps it's simply an act of faith. Just like my son Luke suggested: "Go into the story, and find the animals." We commit to the first, and if we trust the process, we find the 'animals' called themes, motifs, symbols, dialogue, subtext, etc.
One of my favorite scripts is The Squid and the Whale by Noah Baumbach. It starts like this:
**
BLACK
FRANK (V.O.)
Mom and me versus you and Dad.
**
He's literally talking about the tennis game they're playing, but figuratively talking about the sides Frank and his brother will take when their parents split up.
Every scene in the script is about the tension between the two sides. Very effective, IMHO. Some people don't like the script or film, but it worked well for me. I read the script once every 3 or 4 months for pleasure. How many scripts can you say that about? Not many – here's my short list of favorite scripts: Adaptation, Michael Clayton, Little Miss Sunshine and The Birdcage.