Chapter 13
Script Analysis: A Blueprint for Storytelling
In just about every introductory theatre text, the author will point out that the term “playwright” means “play maker,” not “play writer,” and that a playscript is “wrought” or “built” rather than written as other genres of literature are. The author will go on to point out that scripts are the blueprints of the play. I am sure that few playwrights would disagree. Just as an architect’s blueprints are two-dimensional renderings suggesting what a finished building might look like, so is a playscript, consisting principally of dialogue and limited stage direction, a two-dimensional rendering of what a mounted production might be like. The finished production is the result of many hands working in collaboration, and if that finished work is an artistic and/or commercial success, the credit must be shared. The point is that, like an architectural blueprint, a script is merely a springboard for the imaginative efforts of the actors, the director, the designers, and the rest of the production team, who are all trying to tell a good story.
Too often actors, especially young actors, forget this very basic piece of information. They can’t get over the idea that a play is not really just about the dialogue. After all, don’t we study Shakespeare and Tennessee Williams in English class? Didn’t Chekhov write short stories as well as plays? Wasn’t Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men a novel before it became a stage play? We’re talking literature here, and isn’t literature about words? That’s what dialogue is, right? Words, words, words!
Many fine plays are studied as literature, and they often contain a wealth of language and imagery worthy of such study. But the truth is that most plays are written in the hope that they will be produced for the stage. A playwright’s reward is to see his or her work performed on a lit stage by living, breathing actors. To be paid for one’s efforts is, certainly, a bonus. To have one’s work live on in a published record, especially in a literary edition, is a dream come true.
The fact is, however, that playwrights, if they are going to be successful, must write good stories—stories that an audience will find entertaining, compelling, and enlightening. Dialogue alone does not guarantee this. In fact, many fine plays, when examined for their dialogue alone, appear at first glance to be mediocre or, worse, boring. The character of Helen Keller in The Miracle Worker, for instance, speaks not a word until the end of the play, and even then her only dialogue consists of a valiant attempt to say the word “water.” Nonetheless, it is one of the great roles in contemporary American theatre.
Shakespeare wrote lines and handed them to his actors; only later were these assembled as playscripts. But embedded within the poetry of his written lines are stories bursting with interesting characters ready to fill a stage with action. Every speech in a play by Shakespeare contains action. There is the physical action—often implied action suggested through the dialogue—and there is the psychological action provided by what the characters say about their problems, desires, conflicts, and confusion.
Implied Physical Action
She speaks, yet she says nothing…
(Romeo in Romeo and Juliet, Act II, Scene 1)
Implied Physical and Psychological Action
This is most brave,
That I, the son of a dear father murdered,
Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell,
Must like a whore unpack my heart with words
And fall a cursing like a very drab…
(Hamlet in Hamlet, Act II, Scene 2)
These actions are the very things that help make a really good story. Shakespeare knew this. He was a consummate theatre professional. He just happened to be a literary genius as well. But Shakespeare’s focus was always on a good story and making sure that the story was well told.
Telling the best possible story is the job of the actor as well as the playwright. The problem is that most actors, especially beginning actors, don’t read a play for the story. They read a script in the same fashion that they read plays in a literature class. Unfortunately, most of us read literature passively. If we read actively at all, our focus is usually on the artistry of the language, imagery, or symbol. The story and character, for the most part, we intuit rather than analyze actively. If the writer is good, we get much of the story without heavy analysis.
But translating the story from the printed script onto the stage is a very difficult task. Before it can happen successfully, the actor must discover what that story is specifically, and then break it down into its working parts. This brain work is too often neglected by both trained and untrained actors. When this happens, the task of producing compelling, exciting theatre is made that much more difficult.
EXERCISE 13-1
Read several scenes from a volume of collected scenes, and do the following for each:
• Write a paragraph briefly outlining the story of each scene.
• Determine and write down the conflict(s) in each scene.
• Summarize in writing the events (specific things that happen) in each scene in chronological order.
• Write down the story of each scene from beginning to end focusing only on the dramatic arc (the cause and effect journey the plot takes).
• Make a list of the big events in each scene and detail those moments.
When I first began to study acting seriously, I could never find a scene that I liked. I would scour play after play after play. The two-character scenes from the plays that had been suggested to me always seemed boring. I spent far more time trying to find that “perfect scene” than I ever did rehearsing it once I thought I had found it. And even when I did find the “perfect scene,” it usually sank quickly in my esteem once I started rehearsing. It turned out to not be so exciting after all. I often wondered why the better actors in my class always seemed to find scenes that were far more interesting than my own. Then one day, two of the good actors in a class I was taking presented a scene I had just recently read and tossed into the “boring” pile. To my surprise and chagrin, the scene was not boring at all. In fact, it was a great scene, chock full of dramatic moments and interesting things to say and do. How could this be? How could I have missed all this? Then the answer rushed in upon me. It was the way I had been reading plays. In earlier days I had been an English major, and the literary way in which I had been trained to read simply did not work for me as an actor.
Whenever you begin your work on a scene, you must ask yourselves a series of questions that will help you recognize and define the story. Until you begin asking these questions and finding answers to them, it is very likely your work will remain hit-or-miss. Nicely acted moments that don’t connect and build will not make for good scenes, and actors completing these disconnected moments will never be consistently clear and compelling on stage.
Remember, choices about the actions you will play in a scene are critically important, but these choices cannot be effectively made until you have defined and broken down the story. It may also help you to keep in mind that all stories have beginnings, middles, and ends. If an audience is to get the story, each of its stages must be clearly presented. But that will only happen when each stage is clearly understood by the actors working on the play. First and foremost, that means that an actor must know and understand the entire play. Scenes will only make sense if they are seen in relation to the whole. It is imperative that you understand the overall play before you begin your work on a specific scene. We will take a closer look at play analysis in Chapter 21.
Here is a list of questions you might ask yourself before beginning to make choices about what you will do as your character in any given scene:
• What are the given circumstances that set up the scene? Who are the characters? Where are the characters? What is going on with the characters? When does this action take place? What are the characteristics of the society in which the play takes place?
• What actually happens in the scene? Literally, what are the story events, one by one?
• What are the conflicts in the scene?
• What are the most dramatic moments in the scene? What leads up to these moments of drama? Be specific.
• What is the climax of the scene? Why?
Once you can answer these questions, you have mapped out the shape of the story contained within the scene. It is important to remember that stories always start with conflict, and the more conflict you can find within a scene, the more interesting the story you’re telling will be. Most playwrights know this, even if they don’t hit you over the head with the conflict in their written blueprint. A playwright who spells the conflict out for you too specifically is really narrowing down the dramatic possibilities. In some cases that can be helpful, especially to untrained actors, but often this results in constricting the dramatic choices that the imagination can provide. Many playwrights don’t direct their own work for this reason. They prefer the input a director and actors can bring to it.
Once you have fully answered the preceding questions, you are ready to focus more specifically on your own character and how he or she will interact with the other character(s) sharing the stage. You are now ready to ask yourself the following questions:
• How does your character contribute to the conflict in the scene?
• What does your character need in this scene from the other characters?
• What actions does your character perform in the scene?
• What stands in the way of getting what your character needs?
• What does your character do to get around these obstacles?
• How badly does your character need what is needed?
• What is your character willing to do to get what is needed?
• What discoveries does your character make during the scene?
• How does this new information affect your character? Does it change your character’s behavior, way of thinking, or needs?
• Can you specifically identify the places in the script where your character receives new information? Do so.
• Does this information somehow change what your character thinks and/or feels? Does this news signal a victory? A defeat? A reason for reevaluation?
• What internal changes (changes in feeling, attitude, needs) does your character go through at these moments?
• Can you map a throughline of action for your character now that you have answered these questions? Do so.
Once you have answered both sets of these questions specifically, you will be able to begin rehearsing the scene with a strong sense of what the story is. Because you know how it develops and where the dramatic moments are, the moments will connect and build toward some dramatic climax. If your choices are big enough, the scene will provide you with more than enough material to keep your work clear and dramatically interesting.
Even after you have answered all the preceding questions, the dialogue trap remains. Don’t let the dialogue make your choices for you. Use the dialogue to get what you need in the scene. As I pointed out in previous chapters, “Go away” can sometimes mean “Come here and kiss me,” and “I hate you” can mean “I love you.” Most often, of course, you should interpret a character’s lines as true unless you know the character to be a liar, but people don’t always say what they mean or ask directly for what they desire. You will avoid any confusion if you make sure that your acting choices come out of your character’s needs (reflected through the dialogue’s context and subtext) rather than from what you think a specific line means. Never say a line in a manner inconsistent with the context of the situation as you have defined it.
Cold readings can provide an excellent way of developing your analytic skills. Whether or not you are familiar with the play from which you must read, you will need to make choices that are compelling, logical, and consistent with those of the other actor reading with you. It will be necessary to go through a process similar to the one provided in the earlier lists. If you do not do this, you will end up simply reading lines. There will be no story, no conflict, and no logic behind the moments you arbitrarily create. However, if you provide yourself with answers, even if they are not actually expressed in the play, you will find your work to be clear, exciting, and logical. This practice appeals to directors casting plays, by the way. They will think you are reliable, that you might even make them look good if they cast you.
EXERCISE 13-2
Select a scene to read with a partner from a book of collected scenes. Each of you should read the scene independently. When each of you has read the scene, determine for yourselves the story, the conflict, and the given circumstances. Then, without discussion, read the scene together for the class. Discuss the results. Was the story clear? Why or why not? Reread the scene after making the necessary adjustments.
Suggested Plays
Accelerando Lisa Loomer
Agnes of God John Pielmeier
The Agony and the Agony Nicky Silver
Ah, Wilderness! Eugene O’Neill
Album David Rimmer
All My Sons Arthur Miller
Almost Maine John Cariani
The Altruists Nicky Silver
Am I Blue Beth Henley
Amber Waves James Still
And Miss Reardon Drinks a Little Paul Zindel
Angels in America Tony Kushner
Animals and Plants Adam Rapp
Apartment 3A Jeff Daniels
As Bees in Honey Drown Douglas Carter Beane
Ascension Day Timothy Mason
August Osage County Tracy Letts
Aunt Dan and Lemon Wallace Shawn
Awake and Sing! Clifford Odets
Baby with the Bathwater Christopher Durang
Bad Seed Maxwell Anderson
The Baltimore Waltz Paula Vogel
Barefoot in the Park Neil Simon
Be Aggressive Annie Weisman
Becky Shaw Gina Gionfriddo
Beirut Alan Bowne
Betrayal Harold Pinter
Betty’s Summer Vacation Christopher Durang
BFF Anna Ziegler
Beyond Therapy Christopher Durang
Biloxi Blues Neil Simon
Birdbath Leonard Melfi
Blackbird David Harrower
Blood Knot Athol Fugard
Blue Denim James Herlihy
Blue Surge Rebecca Gilman
Blue Window Craig Lucas
Body Awareness Annie Baker
Boom Peter Sinn Nachtrieb
Boom Town Jeff Daniels
Boy Julia Jordan
Boy Gets Girl Rebecca Gilman
Boys’ Life Howard Korder
Brighton Beach Memoirs Neil Simon
Broadway Bound Neil Simon
Brooklyn Boy Donald Margulies
Bug Tracy Letts
The Butterfly Collection Theresa Rebeck
The Children’s Hour Lillian Hellman
Circle Mirror Transformations Annie Baker
The Clean House Sarah Ruhl
Coastal Disturbances Tina Howe
Come Back, Little Sheba William Inge
Come Back to the Five and Dime… Ed Graczyk
The Conduct of Life Maria Irene Fornes
Country Club Douglas Carter Beane
A Coupla White Chicks… John Ford Noonan
Crimes of the Heart Beth Henley
The Crucible Arthur Miller
Curse of the Starving Class Sam Shepard
Danny and the Deep Blue Sea John Patrick Shanley
Dark at the Top of the Stairs William Inge
Dark Matters Robert Aguirre-Sacasa
The Day They Shot John Lennon James McLure
The Days and Nights of Beebee Fenstermaker William Snyder
Dead Man’s Cell Phone Sarah Ruhl
Death and the Maiden Ariel Dorfman
Death of a Salesman Arthur Miller
The Death of Bessie Smith Edward Albee
Dinner with Friends Donald Margulies
The Distance from Here Neil LaBute
Dog See God Bert V. Royal
Doubt John Patrick Shanley
The Dumb Waiter Harold Pinter
Dying City Christopher Shinn
Eastern Standard Richard Greenberg
Educating Rita Willy Russell
The Effect of Gamma Rays on Man-in-the-Moon Marigolds Paul Zindel
Eleemosynary Lee Blessing
The Family of Mann Theresa Rebeck
Fat Men in Skirts Nicky Silver
Fat Pig Neil LaBute
Faulkner’s Bicycle Heather McDonald
Fences August Wilson
Fifth of July Lanford Wilson
The Film Society Jon Robin Baitz
Final Placement Ara Watson
Fit to Be Tied Nicky Silver
Five Women Wearing the Same Dress Alan Ball
The Flu Season Will Eno
The Food Chain Nicky Silver
Fool for Love Sam Shepard
For Colored Girls Who Have Considered… Ntozake Shange
Frozen Bryony Lavery
Fuddy Meers David Lindsay-Abaire
Getting Out Marsha Norman
The Gingerbread Lady Neil Simon
The Glass Menagerie Tennessee Williams
The Goat Edward Albee
God of Carnage Yasmina Reza
Greater Tuna Ed Howard, Joe Sears, and Jaston Williams
A Hatful of Rain Michael Gazzo
Hello from Bertha Tennessee Williams
Hold Please Annie Weisman
Hooters Ted Tally
The House of Blue Leaves John Guare
I Hate Hamlet Paul Rudnick
I Remember Mama John Van Druten
Impossible Marriage Beth Henley
Independence Lee Blessing
The Indian Wants the Bronx Israel Horovitz
Intimate Apparel Lynn Nottage
Invisible Friends Alan Ayckbourn
Isn’t It Romantic Wendy Wasserstein
Italian American Reconciliation John Patrick Shanley
Jitney August Wilson
Joe Turner’s Come and Gone August Wilson
The Kentucky Cycle Robert Schenkkan
Key Exchange Bernard Wade
Killer Joe Tracy Letts
Kimberly Akimbo David Lindsay-Abaire
Kindness Adam Rapp
Ladies at the Alamo Paul Zindel
Lakeboat David Mamet
The Land of Little Horses Rebecca Gilman
Laramie Project Moisés Kaufman
Later Corrine Jacker
Laundry and Bourbon James McLure
Lemon Sky Lanford Wilson
Life Science Anna Ziegler
Life Under Water Richard Greenberg
Lily Dale Horton Foote
Lips Together, Teeth Apart Terrence McNally
Living Out Lisa Loomer
Lobby Hero Kenneth Lonergan
Lonely Planet Steven Dietz
Loose Ends Michael Weller
Loose Knit Theresa Rebeck
Lou Gehrig Did Not Die of Cancer Jason Miller
Love Song John Kolvenbach
Love! Valor! Compassion! Terrence McNally
The Lover Harold Pinter
Lovers Brian Friel
Marvin’s Room Scott McPherson
“Master Harold”… and the Boys Athol Fugard
The Middle Ages A. R. Gurney
The Miss Firecracker Contest Beth Henley
Months on End Craig Pospisil
Moonchildren Michael Weller
The Most Fabulous Story Ever Told Paul Rudnick
My Sin and Nothing More Rebecca Gilman
Necessary Targets Eve Ensler
Nice People Dancing to Good Country Music Lee Blessing
’Night, Mother Marsha Norman
The Normal Heart Larry Kramer
Of Mice and Men John Steinbeck
Oh Dad, Poor Dad… Arthur Kopit
Oleanna David Mamet
On the Verge Eric Overmyer
Open Admissions Shirley Lauro
Orange Flower Water Craig Wright
Orphans Lyle Kessler
Other People Christopher Shinn
Other People’s Money Jerry Sterner
Our Country’s Good Timberlake Wertenbaker
Our Town Thornton Wilder
Out of Gas on Lovers Leap Mark St. Germain
Pavilion Craig Wright
Pen David Marshall Grant
A Perfect Ganesh Terrence McNally
The Piano Lesson August Wilson
Picnic William Inge
Popcorn Ben Elton
Porch Jeffrey Sweet
Proof David Auburn
Pterodactyls Nicky Silver
Rabbit Hole David Lindsay-Abaire
Raised in Captivity Nicky Silver
Reasons to Be Pretty Neil LaBute
Reckless Craig Lucas
Red Light Winter Adam Rapp
Refuge Jessica Goldberg
The Rimers of Eldritch Lanford Wilson
The Rise and Rise of Daniel Rocket Peter Parnell
Sarita Maria Irene Fornes
Satellites Diana Son
Savage in Limbo John Patrick Shanley
The Sea Horse Edward Moore
Seascape with Shark and Dancer Don Nigro
Search and Destroy Howard Korder
Seven Guitars August Wilson
The Shape of Things Neil LaBute
Shivaree William Mastrosimone
Sin Wendy MacLeod
The Sisters Rosensweig Wendy Wasserstein
Snakebit David Marshall Grant
Some Girls Neil LaBute
Someone Who’ll Watch Over Me Frank McGuinness
Somewhere in Between Craig Pospisil
Speed the Plow David Mamet
Spike Heels Theresa Rebeck
Spinning into Butter Rebecca Gilman
Spring Awakening Frank Wedekind, trans. Edward Bond
St. Scarlet Julia Jordan
Steaming Nell Dunn
Steel Magnolias Robert Harling
The Stonewater Rapture Doug Wright
Stop Kiss Diana Son
Streamers David Rabe
A Streetcar Named Desire Tennessee Williams
The Strong Breed Wole Soyinka
The Substance of Fire Jon Robin Baitz
The Sum of Us David Stevens
Sylvia A. R. Gurney
A Taste of Honey Shelagh Delaney
Third Wendy Wasserstein
This Is Our Youth Kenneth Lonergan
Three Days of Rain Richard Greenberg
Time Stands Still Donald Margulies
Top Dog/Underdog Suzan-Lori Parks
Top Girls Caryl Churchill
Trust Steven Dietz
Two Rooms Lee Blessing
U.S. Drag Gina Gionfriddo
Uncommon Women and Others Wendy Wasserstein
The Value of Names Jeffrey Sweet
Vanishing Act Richard Greenberg
Veins and Thumbtacks Jonathan Marc Sherman
The Wager Mark Medoff
A Walk in the Woods Lee Blessing
The Water Children Wendy MacLeod
Weekend Near Madison Kathleen Tolan
Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? Edward Albee
The Widow Claire Horton Foote
In my own acting classes I often give a cold reading exercise using part of a scene from Blue Denim, a play by James Herlihy written in the 1950s. It is contained in many scene study collections, so you may want to look for it. The play is seldom produced nowadays because it seems so cliché-ridden, especially after so many movies centering on teenage angst have since been produced. After the class has read the assigned pages from the play to themselves, I always ask how they liked it. Invariably the more literary-minded students in the class tell me they hate it. “The characters and dialogue are so dated and stereotypical,” they tell me. “Nothing happens.” The dialogue, as a matter of fact, is often described as “boring.” Then I have volunteers read from the scene between Arthur and Janet that comes early in the play. What is presented time after time is, indeed, a boring scene—one in which two kids, a boy and a girl, discuss their friends, their parents, and their dreams. There is no tension, little conflict, and zero story.
A careful reading of the scene fragment, however, strongly suggests the seduction that actually occurs by the end of the entire scene. It is amazing how students consistently get fooled by the dialogue. Because Arthur is nervous and unsure about his lovemaking abilities, he avoids Janet’s advances, at first by ignoring them, then later by physically avoiding them. Here, Arthur is his own obstacle. His desire for Janet is overcome by his fear of embarrassment. Janet, however, pursues her need for Arthur moment by moment, using tactic after tactic, until by the end of the scene she has Arthur just where she wants him. Sounds like an exciting scene, a great one to work on, right? Well, it’s just the kind of scene that I, years ago, would have thrown into the “boring” pile. You must learn to read for the story.
There is a wonderful storytelling moment midway or so through this Blue Denim scene, by the way—where Janet gets Arthur to dance. Janet pulls Arthur up, steps into him, and finally presses herself against him. Arthur’s next piece of dialogue is described by the author as spoken “breathlessly.” How could a reader miss this clue to the action of the scene? How could actors possibly, intentionally or unintentionally, fail to act out this moment, even in a cold reading? Playing out this wonderful little story within the story—where there is absolutely no dialogue—could get you the part! It gives a director or casting agent everything he or she needs to see in terms of your acting. It gives you the opportunity to do all you could wish for on stage. In fact, this little beat, fully realized, is worth more than pages of seemingly cliché dialogue. It instantly turns cliché into universal truth.
This example clearly demonstrates why scripts are merely blueprints of the story we see on stage. Only action, imagination, and good sense can transform the dialogue of a script into a successful production. This is why you must learn to develop the same kind of vision that architects possess. You must learn to imagine the completed building even as you metaphorically draw that first blue-penciled line on your script!
EXERCISE 13-3
1. Analyze a play you are currently working on or have recently read. Use the detailed questions concerning the overall play found in this chapter to guide you in your analysis. Be sure to write your answers to make certain that you are really doing the all the necessary work. Only by doing the head work first will you truly be prepared to analyze a scene.
2. Select a scene from the play and analyze it using the scene study questions found in this chapter. Put your answers in writing to ensure you have thought about the answers specifically.
3. Discuss your findings with your class.
Like an architectural blueprint, a script is a springboard for the imaginative efforts of actors, directors, and the rest of the production team, who are all trying to tell on stage the good story the playwright has provided. Focusing only on the dialogue is no guarantee that an actor will discover the story a script contains. Every piece of dialogue contains action—physical and psychological—that provides hints for unlocking that story. Actors must learn to read a play for that sometimes-hidden story. It is their responsibility to discover what the story is specifically, and then break that story down into its working parts. This is head-first work and must never be neglected. When it is, the task of producing compelling, exciting theatre is made that much more difficult. Invariably, it is the story of the play that holds the audience.