So dry, so earnest, so real.
It was interesting to have a chat in class about what is acceptable for a screenwriter in regards to how much they can include for actors and directors. In major productions especially, screenwriters to do appear to be the bottom rung of the creative process, only really there during its early stages until they sell of their work to be done with as others will. I definitely forgot that – not that it was a surprise (how many screenwriters are household names after all?) but it’s a little demoralising to hear about.
So it’s nice when you get to read a script by Billy Wilder who was at the absolute top of his game during The Apartment, already an established name with several classics under his belt. The script doesn’t feel like it’s written by someone quivering in their boots and as a piece of wrtiting, it’s put-together and reads like literature which makes it such a pleasure to read. The make or break for me lies in the “Action” paragraphs. I haven’t read many screenplays but the ones I have feel robotic or “too technical” – without personality and a chore to read through. It fills me with dread to write that way but reading The Apartment restores my faith in the art of screenwriting – or I could have resigned myself to unemployment/being “difficult to work with”. Either way, The Apartment inspires me to write for the screen and the formats of screenwriting freaks me out significantly less which is always a good thing.
The elevator doors open, revealing the operator. She is in her middle twenties and her name is FRAN KUBELIK. Maybe it’s the way she’s put together, maybe it’s her face, or maybe it’s just the uniform — in any case, there is something very appealing about her. She is also an individualist — she wears a carnation in her lapel, which is strictly against regulations.
Much of Wilder’s work seem to operate in the sphere of “can’t-put-my-finger-on-it”. It’s like he knows what’s great about it so he never has to say it. I also love the irony about her attempts at being an “individualist ” as well. Wilder could have left it at “A carnation is pinned to her lapel” but in a single line, he instead paints a character and the logic they live under. The world is characterized by ordinary people who are just trying their best to get through everyday and that line captures the world/tone perfectly. Screenwriters are writers and it’s good to remember that.
INT. TWENTY-SEVENTH FLOOR FOYER – DAY. It is pretty plush up here — soft carpeting and tall mahogany doors leading to the executive offices. The elevator door is open, and Bud steps out.
I felt a sigh of relief when I read this. You really get a sense that the mood has shifted from the stuffy, “antiseptic” lower levels which informs how you read the rest of the scene. The colloquial “pretty plush up here” also gives us some access into Bud’s thoughts. The mechanics of how the written setting affects mood is something I’d like to employ in my own writing.
SHELDRAKE
You know how it is — sooner or
later they all give you a bad time.
BUD
(man-of-the-world)
I know how it is.
Perfect acting note is perfect. Wilder uses them sparingly but to great, specific effect – the only kind of acting notes worth including. When the characters and emotions are strong, there is rarely a need for direction – but this sort of undercutting specificity earns the writer’s note. The dialogue is simple and Bud’s wanting to appear “cooler” is clear in the scene even without this direction but the extra nuance makes it. When I have the impulse to add a parenthetical element in the future, I’ll ask myself WHY it’s a) Neccessary for a certain effect, and b) Why I don’t think the actor will deliver it that way otherwise. It would force me to question how I’ve written the character or scene up to that point and what I think I want to achive.
