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Behind every movie is a script – a combination of scene description, or visual tips for the director to consider when filming the written scenes, and the spoken dialogue. Unlike other forms of prose such as a novel or a poem, a screenplay follows a series of rules – they must be structured like so:

If a screenplay doesn’t follow the above format, production companies are highly unlikely to even look at what’s written on the page, as this format is integral to facilitating the filming process. Moreover, there are a number of other rules that go along with screenwriting. Scene description, for example, must be a succinct summary of visual actions that would be seen on-screen. Unlike text from a novel, which offer an inside look into the characters’ minds, scene description is meant strictly to describe actions and images – no more, no less.

Another important aspect of screenwriting for Hollywood is the structure and thematics of the content itself. Screenplays must be 90-110 pages long, must have a clear act 1, act 2, and act 3 (beginning, middle, end), must have a psychologically defined protagonist (a main character who wants something badly), and an antagonist (something that gets in the main character’s way of getting what they want).

All of these structures and rules feel stifling and formulaic – it’s almost like the act of screenwriting is no different than writing a really long essay. Is screenwriting a technical craft rather than an inspired art form? This is a question I, as a screenwriting sub-concentrator pondered when I began my intro to screenwriting class last year. So I read successful screenplays that went on to become movies, and what I discovered is that the screenplays that inspire a company to put in the effort to transform script into film are something really special. They’re an opportunity for a skilled craftsman (and craftswoman) to breath some artistic vision into a classic storytelling formula

Let’s look at Shane Black’s debut script Lethal Weapon

A classic action movie which catapulted Mel Gibson’s career, created a prolific career for the writer, and started a million dollar franchise. I want to look at a piece of scene description from a major fight sequence, in which Riggs, the protagonist, takes on a horde of evildoers:

“Okay. Okay. Let’s stop for a moment. First off, to describe fully the mayhem which Riggs now creates would not do it justice. Here, however, are a few pointers: He is not flashy. He is not Chuck Norris. Rather, he is like a sledge-hammer hitting an egg. He does not knock people down. He does not injure them.
He simply kills them. The whole room. Everyone standing.”

He directly addresses the reader, like he himself has been telling us this story all along. He openly acknowledges an action scene from a film should not be described, but observed on-screen. Instead of a series of visual directions, Black opts to describe the feeling of the fight, giving the director free reign to choreograph the fight as long as they understand Riggs’ efficient and lethal fighting style. And the pace of the writing has a beautiful flow – quick, punctuated, action-oriented sentences, written with such confidence and wit. Lethal Weapon exemplifies a fresh take on a formula, its an inspiration to screenwriters everywhere to take on the challenge of expressing themselves in their manuscripts, give Hollywood the same old formula…only with a unique, personal spin.

So, below is the exhibition proposal I submitted to the Robert Rauschenberg Emerging Curator Competition. Just wanna share with you guys–

The exoticness of foreign cultures never fails to fascinate and inspire artists. The incorporation of Asian elements in the artworks by Western artists is not an innovative one, the most noteworthy movement being the phenomenon of Japonisme in the nineteenth century France—the influence of Japanese art on the aesthetic styles of impressionists. Cross-cultural borrowings have been more commonly observed in artworks ever since—the American Pop artist, Roy Lichtenstein made a series of Chinese-style landscapes, whereas the Japanese artist, Taraoka Masami shows the fusion of Eastern and Western cultures by juxtaposing a blonde woman consuming ramen and a geisha eating hamburger. Oriental Encounter: More than a Craze explores how the cultural exchanges between American and East Asia have fostered cross-fertilization among postmodern and contemporary artists.

The exhibition features nine works by the American Neo Dadaist, Robert Rauschenberg. By using the technique of assemblage in most works, Rauschenberg includes Chinese images like the flying roof of a Chinese pavilion, the lotus,hanzi (Chinese characters), and Chinese fans. The artist also draws upon Japanese elements, such as the koinobori(Japanese carp-shaped kites) and Japanese screen. In Ethnic Cultures (Tribute 21),Rauschenberg expresses his admiration for the Tibetan religious leader. The artist traveled to Japan in 1982, and during his two visits he experimented with the Japanese clay and made sixteen works with this new medium.

Also included in the exhibition are Mao by Andy Warhol, and Multicolored Robe by Jim Dine. By portraying the Chinese political ruler, Mao Zedong, in his signature blotted-ink style, Warhol satirizes the personality cult of Mao in the mid-twentieth century China. Dine’s work, on the other hand, conveys a more friendly message. It was commissioned by the 1988 Seoul Olympic Committee, and through this painting we can see the artist’s interpretation of Korean culture from his American perspective.

The exhibition concludes with two works by the contemporary Chinese artist, Ai Weiwei—Han Jar Overpainted with Coca-Cola Logo, and the triptych ofDropping a Han Dynasty Urn. The artist comments on how China loses its cultural and historical identity in the process of westernization. These two pieces, therefore, deliver a different response regarding the fusion of cultures.

Nothing seems really real until I see time have its way with it.

There was a moment, this past summer, where I was walking around in Seoul. In front of me was a large shopping mall, and it looked like the most alien thing ever. Essentially the shape of a large box, the shopping mall also had a long stairway leading up to the railway station that was in the middle of the mall.

It was almost depressing. It was a kind of feeling that I can only describe as the same feeling I get when I stare too long at a linoleum floor. There is just something inexplicably revolting.

But that doesn’t really describe how I felt in the most lucid manner. So let me provide a counterexample.

When I am at my apartment in Ann Arbor, and I see dishes that are drying in the rack, or a pile of newspapers strewn about, or an old book that I had been reading on the side for the past week, a sense of familiarity arises because I have lived with these items for a good chunk of time. But this feeling of familiarity doesn’t attribute itself to everything that looks old. If I were to go into an antique shop and see an old coffee table for sale, despite the fact that it is an antique, it is still alien to me, because I myself did not live with it.

In that sense, that is why the shopping mall was off-putting for me. To be honest there may be many other factors…but I won’t go into them.

But this does not mean that I hate that which is new and unfamiliar. There is some part of me that wants to take that which is strange, and make it my own. In fact, in the long run, comfort through familiarity is indeed what I prefer. But consciously, there is a part of me that yearns for the weird.

A shopping mall is not one of those things. It was just an example for the sake of starting this post. Cause…fuck shopping malls. No amount of time will make me like those fucking things.

Why is ambiguity missing from our culture? In films and television, writers and directors feel it necessary to spell out every action, motivation, and history of every major character on screen. Sure, a character’s backstory might be interesting, but a mystery can be just as compelling. “Hollywood” is taking away our fascinating fear of the unknown so that they can provide cheap twists and shocking revelations within the first season of a television show, or the first hour of a movie.

The enduring interest of a character I can’t quite comprehend will always be more interesting to me than a character with a tragic backstory. Their motivations should be somewhat murky, their history should not be completely open for everyone and their actions should be sometimes confusing for the audience. This is especially true of villains. Too much history and they become sympathetic and no longer intimidating. If we know their exact motivations, then they become predictable. And if their actions are completely explainable, then we lose any interesting mystery.

Perhaps the reason why ambiguity is so fearsome is that it is so difficult to handle. If too many questions are raised, then the creators are left with handfuls of frayed strings to try and cleanly knot together. An obvious example is Lost, which dealt with too many questions that most viewers weren’t satisfied being left without answers. But there are many examples where it can work incredibly. My personal favorite is Slade, from Teen Titans, and I am not even kidding. The identity of Slade was a prevailing mystery throughout the first two seasons of Teen Titans and it created a sinister air to a character that was already intimidating.

Using these two examples, a rudimentary framework for an interesting mystery can be created. The rules, as I see them, are:
1. Ambiguity works better on characters than on plot.
2. Plot based mysteries should be given answers. (Answers can lead to more question, though.)
3. A character’s mystery can remain unanswered.
4. If a character’s mystery interacts with a plot mystery, then the character mystery should be answered, so that rule 2 is not violated.
5. Don’t create too many plot mysteries that must be answered by the end, otherwise end up with an ugly knot for an end.
6. Plot mysteries should be staggered and ones should be answered while others are being investigated or are staring up.
7. Character mysteries can be continuous and grow on one another. (Though, if there are too many mysteries for a character, it can have the same problems as a plot mystery.)

We shouldn’t be afraid to use this powerful tool in our creative endeavors, but we should also be wary of the messes it can make. I will continue to believe that “Hollywood” is making huge mistakes by ignoring this device and I will continue to view it this way until I start seeing interesting ambiguity being used in mainstream productions.