David Mamet’s Memo

Following is a memo by David Mamet to the writers of the now-cancelled show The Unit. He writes to define what Drama is and why it’s an absolute necessity in Mamet’s inimitable way:

TO THE WRITERS OF THE UNIT

GREETINGS.

AS WE LEARN HOW TO WRITE THIS SHOW, A RECURRING PROBLEM BECOMES CLEAR.

THE PROBLEM IS THIS: TO DIFFERENTIATE BETWEEN *DRAMA* AND NON-DRAMA. LET ME BREAK-IT-DOWN-NOW.

EVERYONE IN CREATION IS SCREAMING AT US TO MAKE THE SHOW CLEAR. WE ARE TASKED WITH, IT SEEMS, CRAMMING A SHITLOAD OF *INFORMATION* INTO A LITTLE BIT OF TIME.

OUR FRIENDS. THE PENGUINS, THINK THAT WE, THEREFORE, ARE EMPLOYED TO COMMUNICATE *INFORMATION* — AND, SO, AT TIMES, IT SEEMS TO US.

BUT NOTE:THE AUDIENCE WILL NOT TUNE IN TO WATCH INFORMATION. YOU WOULDN’T, I WOULDN’T. NO ONE WOULD OR WILL. THE AUDIENCE WILL ONLY TUNE IN AND STAY TUNED TO WATCH DRAMA.

QUESTION:WHAT IS DRAMA? DRAMA, AGAIN, IS THE QUEST OF THE HERO TO OVERCOME THOSE THINGS WHICH PREVENT HIM FROM ACHIEVING A SPECIFIC, *ACUTE* GOAL.

SO: WE, THE WRITERS, MUST ASK OURSELVES *OF EVERY SCENE* THESE THREE QUESTIONS.

1) WHO WANTS WHAT?
2) WHAT HAPPENS IF HER DON’T GET IT?
3) WHY NOW?

THE ANSWERS TO THESE QUESTIONS ARE LITMUS PAPER. APPLY THEM, AND THEIR ANSWER WILL TELL YOU IF THE SCENE IS DRAMATIC OR NOT.

IF THE SCENE IS NOT DRAMATICALLY WRITTEN, IT WILL NOT BE DRAMATICALLY ACTED.

THERE IS NO MAGIC FAIRY DUST WHICH WILL MAKE A BORING, USELESS, REDUNDANT, OR MERELY INFORMATIVE SCENE AFTER IT LEAVES YOUR TYPEWRITER. *YOU* THE WRITERS, ARE IN CHARGE OF MAKING SURE *EVERY* SCENE IS DRAMATIC.

THIS MEANS ALL THE “LITTLE” EXPOSITIONAL SCENES OF TWO PEOPLE TALKING ABOUT A THIRD. THIS BUSHWAH (AND WE ALL TEND TO WRITE IT ON THE FIRST DRAFT) IS LESS THAN USELESS, SHOULD IT FINALLY, GOD FORBID, GET FILMED.

IF THE SCENE BORES YOU WHEN YOU READ IT, REST ASSURED IT *WILL* BORE THE ACTORS, AND WILL, THEN, BORE THE AUDIENCE, AND WE’RE ALL GOING TO BE BACK IN THE BREADLINE.

SOMEONE HAS TO MAKE THE SCENE DRAMATIC. IT IS NOT THE ACTORS JOB (THE ACTORS JOB IS TO BE TRUTHFUL). IT IS NOT THE DIRECTORS JOB. HIS OR HER JOB IS TO FILM IT STRAIGHTFORWARDLY AND REMIND THE ACTORS TO TALK FAST. IT IS *YOUR* JOB.

EVERY SCENE MUST BE DRAMATIC. THAT MEANS: THE MAIN CHARACTER MUST HAVE A SIMPLE, STRAIGHTFORWARD, PRESSING NEED WHICH IMPELS HIM OR HER TO SHOW UP IN THE SCENE.

THIS NEED IS WHY THEY *CAME*. IT IS WHAT THE SCENE IS ABOUT. THEIR ATTEMPT TO GET THIS NEED MET *WILL* LEAD, AT THE END OF THE SCENE,TO *FAILURE* – THIS IS HOW THE SCENE IS *OVER*. IT, THIS FAILURE, WILL, THEN, OF NECESSITY, PROPEL US INTO THE *NEXT* SCENE.

ALL THESE ATTEMPTS, TAKEN TOGETHER, WILL, OVER THE COURSE OF THE EPISODE, CONSTITUTE THE *PLOT*.

ANY SCENE, THUS, WHICH DOES NOT BOTH ADVANCE THE PLOT, AND STANDALONE (THAT IS, DRAMATICALLY, BY ITSELF, ON ITS OWN MERITS) IS EITHER SUPERFLUOUS, OR INCORRECTLY WRITTEN.

YES BUT YES BUT YES BUT, YOU SAY: WHAT ABOUT THE NECESSITY OF WRITING IN ALL THAT “INFORMATION?”

AND I RESPOND “*FIGURE IT OUT*” ANY DICKHEAD WITH A BLUESUIT CAN BE (AND IS) TAUGHT TO SAY “MAKE IT CLEARER”, AND “I WANT TO KNOW MORE *ABOUT* HIM”.

WHEN YOU’VE MADE IT SO CLEAR THAT EVEN THIS BLUESUITED PENGUIN IS HAPPY, BOTH YOU AND HE OR SHE *WILL* BE OUT OF A JOB.

THE JOB OF THE DRAMATIST IS TO MAKE THE AUDIENCE WONDER WHAT HAPPENS NEXT. *NOT* TO EXPLAIN TO THEM WHAT JUST HAPPENED, OR TO*SUGGEST* TO THEM WHAT HAPPENS NEXT.

ANY DICKHEAD, AS ABOVE, CAN WRITE, “BUT, JIM, IF WE DON’T ASSASSINATE THE PRIME MINISTER IN THE NEXT SCENE, ALL EUROPE WILL BE ENGULFED IN FLAME”

WE ARE NOT GETTING PAID TO *REALIZE* THAT THE AUDIENCE NEEDS THIS INFORMATION TO UNDERSTAND THE NEXT SCENE, BUT TO FIGURE OUT HOW TO WRITE THE SCENE BEFORE US SUCH THAT THE AUDIENCE WILL BE INTERESTED IN WHAT HAPPENS NEXT.

YES BUT, YES BUT YES *BUT* YOU REITERATE.

AND I RESPOND *FIGURE IT OUT*.

*HOW* DOES ONE STRIKE THE BALANCE BETWEEN WITHHOLDING AND VOUCHSAFING INFORMATION? *THAT* IS THE ESSENTIAL TASK OF THE DRAMATIST. AND THE ABILITY TO *DO* THAT IS WHAT SEPARATES YOU FROM THE LESSER SPECIES IN THEIR BLUE SUITS.

FIGURE IT OUT.

START, EVERY TIME, WITH THIS INVIOLABLE RULE: THE *SCENE MUST BE DRAMATIC*. it must start because the hero HAS A PROBLEM, AND IT MUST CULMINATE WITH THE HERO FINDING HIM OR HERSELF EITHER THWARTED OR EDUCATED THAT ANOTHER WAY EXISTS.

LOOK AT YOUR LOG LINES. ANY LOGLINE READING “BOB AND SUE DISCUSS…” IS NOT DESCRIBING A DRAMATIC SCENE.

PLEASE NOTE THAT OUR OUTLINES ARE, GENERALLY, SPECTACULAR. THE DRAMA FLOWS OUT BETWEEN THE OUTLINE AND THE FIRST DRAFT.

THINK LIKE A FILMMAKER RATHER THAN A FUNCTIONARY, BECAUSE, IN TRUTH, *YOU* ARE MAKING THE FILM. WHAT YOU WRITE, THEY WILL SHOOT.

HERE ARE THE DANGER SIGNALS. ANY TIME TWO CHARACTERS ARE TALKING ABOUT A THIRD, THE SCENE IS A CROCK OF SHIT.

ANY TIME ANY CHARACTER IS SAYING TO ANOTHER “AS YOU KNOW”, THAT IS, TELLING ANOTHER CHARACTER WHAT YOU, THE WRITER, NEED THE AUDIENCE TO KNOW, THE SCENE IS A CROCK OF SHIT.

DO *NOT* WRITE A CROCK OF SHIT. WRITE A RIPPING THREE, FOUR, SEVEN MINUTE SCENE WHICH MOVES THE STORY ALONG, AND YOU CAN, VERY SOON, BUY A HOUSE IN BEL AIR *AND* HIRE SOMEONE TO LIVE THERE FOR YOU.

REMEMBER YOU ARE WRITING FOR A VISUAL MEDIUM. *MOST* TELEVISION WRITING, OURS INCLUDED, SOUNDS LIKE *RADIO*. THE *CAMERA* CAN DO THE EXPLAINING FOR YOU. *LET* IT. WHAT ARE THE CHARACTERS *DOING* -*LITERALLY*. WHAT ARE THEY HANDLING, WHAT ARE THEY READING. WHAT ARE THEY WATCHING ON TELEVISION, WHAT ARE THEY *SEEING*.

IF YOU PRETEND THE CHARACTERS CANT SPEAK, AND WRITE A SILENT MOVIE, YOU WILL BE WRITING GREAT DRAMA.

IF YOU DEPRIVE YOURSELF OF THE CRUTCH OF NARRATION, EXPOSITION,INDEED, OF *SPEECH*. YOU WILL BE FORGED TO WORK IN A NEW MEDIUM - TELLING THE STORY IN PICTURES (ALSO KNOWN AS SCREENWRITING)

THIS IS A NEW SKILL. NO ONE DOES IT NATURALLY. YOU CAN TRAIN YOURSELVES TO DO IT, BUT YOU NEED TO *START*.

I CLOSE WITH THE ONE THOUGHT: LOOK AT THE *SCENE* AND ASK YOURSELF “IS IT DRAMATIC? IS IT *ESSENTIAL*? DOES IT ADVANCE THE PLOT?

ANSWER TRUTHFULLY.

IF THE ANSWER IS “NO” WRITE IT AGAIN OR THROW IT OUT. IF YOU’VE GOT ANY QUESTIONS, CALL ME UP.

LOVE, DAVE MAMET
SANTA MONICA 19 OCTO 05

(IT IS *NOT* YOUR RESPONSIBILITY TO KNOW THE ANSWERS, BUT IT IS YOUR, AND MY, RESPONSIBILITY TO KNOW AND TO *ASK THE RIGHT Questions* OVER AND OVER. UNTIL IT BECOMES SECOND NATURE. I BELIEVE THEY ARE LISTED ABOVE.)

I have no idea if it’s real, but it sure does sound good.

Building Tension

I've just read a wonderful one-page article on writing SciFi by a Wen Spencer about building tension in which the author recommends a gradual build to action that is sure to create a sense of impending calamity instead of the staid and all too normal “suddenly”.  Suddenly is a shortcut—the author says—that doesn't work well.

Giving the reader clues to what is coming works best because they (the audience, really) can start building an image in their minds what is about to come.  Setting up a flow of action then breaking from it in a jarring manner and the true action of suddenly is there without resorting to the packaged, freeze-dried word.

His (or her) example:

Rainlilly drew her sword and crouched into readiness. Instantly all the other sekasha went tense, hand to their weapons, pulling in tighter around Tinker.

“What is it?” Pony scanned the thick underbrush that Rainlilly faced.

“Something is going to attack,” Rainlilly whispered. “Something large.”

“?” Pony spoke a word that Tinker didn’t recognize in question.

Rainlilly nodded.

“What does she see?” Tinker whispered.

“What will be,” Pony made a gesture to back the way they had come. “We’re in an position of weakness. We should retreat to —”

Something huge and sinuous as a snake flashed out of the shadows. Tinker got the impression of scales, a wedge-shaped head, and a mouth full of teeth before Pony leaped between her and the monster. Pony shouted the deep guttural command to activate his magical shields. Magic spilled out of the cobalt blue stones threaded into this hair, traced down the blue tattoos on his arms and flared into a shimmer blue force that encompassed his body.

The creature struck Pony with a blow that smashed him back into Tinker, his shields flashing as they absorbed the brunt of the damage.

I'm not normally a fan of fantasy and SciFi, but I take the point, don't you?

Agon (ἀγών)

Following up on my last post about argumentation, I'd like to explore a concept known as agon.

Agon is a Greek word meaning contest or challenge or race (I prefer debate or argument) and it's the root word for two terms that are indispensable to drama: protagonist and antagonist.  It shouldn't be too much of  a stretch to instantly grasp that the protagonist is the character in the drama that takes the “for” or “pro” side of the agon, argument.  Naturally, the antagonist takes the opposite or the “anti-” or, to push the limits of English grammar, the “ant” side of the agon.

To my mind, these terms instantly throws light on the essence of drama.  One side proposes, the other counters and so on, until the resolution occurs, hopefully after a great climax.  It's a clash of ideas manifest through action.  An even more interesting way of looking at this is that each side attempts to answer the Major Dramatic Question of the drama.  The protagonist in the positive and the antagonist in the negative.

Drama is not classical argumentation per se, it's more of a debate in which persuasion plays a large role through the attempted manipulation of emotion.  Usually, the audience will act as judge, deciding who wins and loses.  Both the protagonist and antagonist attempt to persuade us that their view of events is the correct one and, using a combination of logic and rhetoric (again made manifest through action) attempt to persuade us of the correctness of their action(s).

Because debate is a broader form of logical argument, both the protagonist and antagonist are allowed the use of fallacy.  In logic, committing a fallacy is grounds for instant loss.  The bell is rung (ding!) and it's over.  Life's not like this, fallacies or errors in logic are permitted and what's more, committed every day.  Both sides of the debate have to be careful nevertheless, that while fallacious argumentation is allowed, not to commit too obvious a fallacy or they will lose the audience and thereby the debate.

However, fallacious thinking carries with it not only the risk of losing the game and/or the audience, it also carries a more dangerous, inherent risk.  To me, this is the basis of the dramatic concept of Fatal Flaws.  To my thinking, it is the gaping hole in the character's logic that will appear and cause his or her downfall.

Before the tale of the particular drama the audience (judge) is now witness to, the Fatal Flaw has so far not been a factor.  In fact, the character may have even used that flaw to advance.  Hans Gruber in Die Hard is a money grubbing villain who has, until he walked into Nakatomi Plaza, obviously been successful.  His Fatal Flaw is put to the test by the protagonist and it causes Gruber's downfall.

Louise's illogic in choosing not to go through Texas, an action that could have resulted in a positive answer to the Major Dramatic Question in Thelma & Louise of “Will Thelma and Louise escape to Mexico?” results in her loss of the debate.  Her Fatal Flaw assures her downfall—I think she still “won,” but that's semantics.

Argument

Long ago, when men were men and women were won by those who deserved them, people who were considered well-educated studied under a medieval theory of education known as the Trivium. Forgive the somewhat chauvinistic beginning, that's a line from a boyhood favorite novel—The Passport of Mallam Ilia by the African writer, Cyprian Ekwensi.

The Trivium consists of learning three subjects: grammar, logic, and rhetoric. The word in Latin means “Three Roads” one each for the three subjects listed. The theory is a sound one and follows the general pattern by which human beings grasp knowledge.

Isn't it interesting that most things we do as humans involve patterns of threes? One is born, one lives then one dies. A beginning, a middle, and an end. The Trivium is also one of those “threes.”

First comes grammar, ostensibly the mechanics of language. Next is logic, the art of thinking and finally, the last and highest of the arts, rhetoric which is the use of language to persuade.

If one thinks about it, the way we learn a new skill follows the pattern of the Trivium. First we learn the grammar or mechanics of the subject. The mundane, everyday things we need to know about that subject. In language, it's first learning the alphabet then come words, sentences, parts of sentences, etc. We learn syntax, why words belong only in certain locations in a sentence, how to string them together to form something meaningful.

In, say, Tennis, the beginner learns the basic strokes, fixing muscle memory with how to actually hit a ball. The rules and so forth come in later, they don't form part of the mechanics of Tennis.

Thereafter, logic is the next station on the road to attaining knowledge. Now that we understand the basics of the subject, we need to put them in a form that makes sense. It is not enough to know the words and how to construct a sentence if that sentence doesn't make sense.

This sentence is grammatically correct: “The cat barked.”

While correct, it doesn't make sense, it's illogical. The study of logic teaches the student how to analyze the content of grammar for consistency and truth.

Finally, rhetoric—the one area with which screen and dramatic writing concerns itself—the high art of communication, the adaptation of language to circumstance. I call this a high art because it is the terminus, this is what we're all trying to achieve. This is what all that study is for, communicating our grammatically correct, logically consistent thoughts to others.

What does this hold for the dramatist? Plenty. First, it is imperative that as a dramatist, one grasps the fundamentals, the mechanics of drama. We first concern ourselves with structure and plot, narrative, premise and theme, character. We need to understand these in the “grammar” stage.

The dramatist next concerns himself with the logic of drama. There is a reason why the term premise is used in drama and what passes for formal logic. They both share that term because in both (with some variations), premise means the same thing.

The logician starts with a premise, something presumed true such “as all men are mortal.” In drama, premise refers to the fundamental concept that drives the plot such as “a small boy sees dead people.” Once the premise is in place, both the dramatist and the logician attempts to prove the truth of the premise and by so doing, teach us a lesson in humanity.

And how both the logician and the dramatist proves this premise is through the application of logic through rhetoric . The dramatist persuades the audience using rhetoric that the premise of the story is true and thus fulfills the theme of the argument or story (theme is what I take to be the moral of the story).

So drama is argument. As dramatists, we ask a question in the set up of the story. Some call this Act I. The second part of the story, the middle or Act II, consists of deliberating on the question, examining its every facet and finding logical holes. The third and final part, the end or Act III, finds us either answering the question or not.

In the case of not answering the question, we fail at proving the premise or, as logic would have it, we fail to reach a conclusion or we reach an illogical conclusion. Whatever the outcome, the theme of the story always teaches the audience a lesson.