I want to start by saying that I hate genre. Or, I should say, I hate talking about and teaching genre. It’s not because I don’t think genre’s important. And it’s not because I don’t like films that use genre. It’s because it’s such a big and difficult topic, and everyone who writes about it says something different, even contradictory. Apart from the often-used, and somewhat meaningless, statement, ‘Genre is a French word meaning “type” or “form”…’, writings on genre don’t have that much in common. It means different things to different people, depending on their position in relation to film. Academics have certain views and delineations of genre. Financiers, marketers and distributors have different ones. Most writers have their own, devised to suit their practice. And some writers don’t even think about genre at all. That’s why I hate it.

But a screenwriting book that didn’t talk about genre would be silly. Probably laughed at. So I need to say something. And I will! I could write a whole book about genre – well, actually, no, I couldn’t, but someone else could – so to capture all that it is in one chapter is going to be hard. For that reason, I’ll just say what I think needs to be said, and angle it as much as I can towards the writer. After all, you’re reading this book because you want to write a screenplay. You want to sell it, too, of course, but first and foremost you need to write it.

WHO IS GENRE FOR?

Over the past few years, I’ve talked to many students about what they think genre is, and why it’s important for their practice. They usually come in thinking that genre’s really important – and that they know what it is. When they leave, they’ve usually decided that they don’t really know what genre is (apart from a French word meaning ‘type’ or ‘form’), and that they’re no longer sure how important it is to their writing (at least early drafts). I find this really interesting. And let me say that I’ve not pushed them to think this at all – it’s what’s naturally comes out of lively discussions and creative exercises.

One thing I do is split the class into three and ask them to consider what genre means for the following groups: audience; marketing and distribution; screenwriter. I assign one group to each third of the class, and ask them to consider questions such as: ‘What does genre mean to this person?’; ‘How does genre feature in this person’s daily practice?’; ‘How important is genre to this person’s connection to a film?’; ‘What elements of genre is this person working with, attaching themself to, or expecting?’. Broadly speaking, these are the results that come out every time:

Although I’m sure many people would disagree with what I’m proposing, there’s no denying that this is what came up. These are the results produced by screenwriters. And, if we look at the screenwriter list, we can see that much of it relates to the screenwriter’s ambitions – and fears – of getting their work produced. In terms of their actual writing practice, it doesn’t seem to feature so heavily. And this is where there’s a really interesting tension – between art and commerce; between process and practicality. Screenwriters feel that they need to hit certain genres in order to get produced – but are their senses of genre the same as those who produce and market the work, or is there still a frisson between the known and the unknown?

GENRE – OR STYLE, OR FORM?

Another dimension – or problem – of genre is the interchangeable terms that often accompany it, namely style and form. For example, we could argue that comedy isn’t a genre, but a form. It’s something that you add into or onto a type of story, such as a romantic comedy, or a comedy drama. Comedy as a genre in its own right might be problematic because, apart from humour, there’s nothing that binds all comedies together – there are no set character or story types. But this then assumes the definition of genre to be something that describes a type of story and a type of character used to tell that story. I actually think this is a useful definition (and more on this later), but not everyone will agree. This is especially the case for those marketing such a film, who might brand it as ‘This year’s best comedy’.

Listed below are some of the most common genres that we hear about, as categorised by screenwriting authors, screenwriting websites, film funding guidelines and screenplay competitions. Have a look at the list and see what you think – before I say something more on it.

What did you think? Are these genres? Or are they a mixture of genres and styles and forms? Would you put all of these into the same category – or should they be split into separate categories? Because genre has become a catchall expression, it’s easy to say, yes, these are genres. But if we think about them carefully, we can see that they’re very different entities. They’re all referring to different things – whether that’s theme, story shape, character types, visual tropes, artistic style or form. For me, the easiest way of breaking the list down, and any list like this, is into two parts: story types (genre) and execution (form). The story type includes the kind of story that’s being told (theme), the shape of the story (arc) and the type of characters we’d expect (cast). The execution includes everything else that’s specific to the film – including plot (specific structure), characterisation (execution, not archetype) and style (the way it’s told – with humour, through song, as animation, etc). In summary then:

With this in mind, is it right to call the musical a genre? Do all musicals have the same core story elements? Think about The Sound of Music (scr. Ernest Lehman, 1965), Chicago (scr. Bill Condon, 2002) and Nine (scr. Michael Tolkin & Anthony Minghella, 2009) – are they all connected by similar themes, story arcs and character types? Or are they all just executed in the same way – through song and dance? Similarly, does the mockumentary sit well as a genre? What do Drop Dead Gorgeous, Borat (scr. Sacha Baron Cohen, Anthony Hines, Peter Baynham & Dan Mazer, 2006) and Bruno (scr. Sacha Baron Cohen, Anthony Hines, Dan Mazer & Jeff Schaffer, 2009) have in common apart from that they’re a parody of a documentary? Do they, too, share themes, story arcs and character types? The answer, of course, is no. So I think we need to think about genre and form – about core story elements and execution – and how they work with and for each other, as opposed to merging them into one catchall phrase.

A good example of genre and form working together is the so-called road movie and rites-of-passage genres. To me, these are not two separate genres – they are a genre and an execution of a genre. Rites of passage is the genre, and road movie is the form. This is because rites of passage has clear genre elements in its fabric – the theme of transformation and being allowed to transform; a central character who needs to undergo a transformation in order to be cleansed or healed; and a central protagonist who usually has a mentor or series of mentors helping them. The road movie as a genre is difficult to grasp because, apart from the notion of someone travelling a road (or the land) to somewhere – execution – there’s little else that binds all other road movies together. In this way, the road movie is an execution (form) of a story and character type (genre). Examples here include Transamerica (scr. Duncan Tucker, 2005) and Due Date (scr. Alan R Cohen, Alan Freedland, Adam Sztykiel & Todd Phillipps, 2010). Understanding the road movie as a form rather than a genre explains why it also works well for the coming-of-age genre. Because it’s about execution and not core story elements, it’s flexible enough to cater for different character types and different themes. As execution, it works well as a metaphor for the notion of travelling somewhere and arriving at a different place, regardless of the genre using it. Good examples here are The Wizard of Oz and Stand By Me (scr. Rob Reiner, 1986), both of which see young characters learning valuable lessons about life and about themselves before they’re ready to go back home and face their families.

WRITING GENRE

Regardless of what you think genre is or isn’t, there’s one thing that remains constant – as a screenwriter, your job is to focus on the elements that you think make up your genre, and exploit them well. In doing so, you’ll also be selectively keeping out elements that you think belong to another genre, and might dilute your story. For example, if you’re writing a romance story, you probably won’t want to write anything that alludes to the thriller – themes, character types, world, visual iconography, etc. You might like to combine the two – as with the film Wicker Park (scr. Brandon Boyce, 2004) – but, if you end up doing that, it should’ve been your intention from the start. Otherwise, you’ll be taking all that you know about genre and applying it appropriately – bringing out the elements that will help your story, and taking away those that will make it lose focus and potential appeal to your target audience (if you have one).

That said, it’s really quite rare these days to assign just one genre to a film. Not only are screenwriters mixing genres – which create hybrid- or sub-genres – it can also depend on what you see as important in a film, and what you think it’s about. We all have different views and opinions, and this is no different when it comes to film. It’s perhaps what makes some films more memorable than others – the mixing of genres to give new insights and surprises to an audience who probably have clear expectations of what the film is going to be from the way it’s been marketed. Or is it the case that these films do still have one genre, and just different, innovative executions? Yes, that debate still goes on.

Let’s look at two examples of films with hybrid genres (or forms).

Hopefully, these examples give a clear sense of how and why genre is so difficult to grasp. And we must remember that genres change over time. Or at least their execution does. Some genres go out of fashion, and some genres come into fashion. Through hybridity, new genres or sub-genres emerge – depending on your definition of genre, of course. The way this comes about is through new things that occur in the world, which infuse the social and cultural consciousness. For example, would science fiction exist if it weren’t for technological advances and people’s experiences of them? Would we have biopics if the world of mass media and communication didn’t exist, and nobody knew anyone outside their own town or city? Again, though, this is where the idea of form comes in. With new screenplays, are we really seeing genres being pushed, or are we in fact seeing the same genres but dressed up in different guises? Are the same core elements of a story – theme, character arc and cast design – being used again and again, but executed in fresh and surprising new ways?

Creative exercise

How might you use the topic of social media to tell a story in the following genres?

Using the same genres, how might you use the topic of global warming to tell a story?

There’s no denying that, as a screenwriter, you’re going to come into contact with the notion of genre at some point. Whether that’s at the beginning or the end of the development process might depend on whether you’re writing the screenplay on spec or on commission, and will almost certainly depend on you and your preferred ways of working. All I’ll say here is that I think it’s a really good idea to sit down and write a good, truthful screenplay in the first instance. Don’t worry about genre – and maybe don’t even think of it. Tell your story and then turn to genre later, when you’re stuck or need someone or something to help you clarify exactly what it is you’re trying to do. If you’re lucky, you won’t even have to think about genre. The producer, director, financier or distributor might do all that for you. Then you can just concentrate on telling a good story and making the screenplay true to your intentions. But then what do I know? I hate genre!

Finally, let me recommend some books that talk about genre in more depth that you might find useful. Stephen Duncan’s Genre Screenwriting: How to Write Popular Screenplays That Sell (2008) is quite basic but useful nonetheless in identifying popular film genres and how to write them. Similarly, Ken Dancyger and Jeff Rush’s Alternative Scriptwriting: Successfully Breaking the Rules (2006) takes an in-depth look at genre, exploring how to work with and against it. Also, from a structural point of view, Stuart Voytilla’s book Myth and the Movies: Discovering the Mythic Structure of 50 Unforgettable Films (1999) examines how different film genres make different demands on narrative structure.