Evolution of a Story - Stage to Screen

The topic for week #1 couldn't be more apropos, as I've just spent the last half-fortnight whittling, polishing, revising, re-imagining, and just generally adapting. That's the best word for it. Adapting.

Separation Anxiety, as John and Cole mentioned, first met the public eye as a stage play in early 2008. But in the beginning, it was something else. There are moments in the play and film scripts which echo their common ancestor, "A Kick to the Stomach"—a short piece of fiction written in 2002 by a young man coping with sudden tragedy. That piece served its purpose and then one day, I realized I could do something more with it.

And that's what I love about writing—there are so many way to express an idea. An emotion. And in each medium, they come through in different ways. That was evident in the early drafts of the film script, which echoed and mirrored its older sibling in length and verbosity.

I talk a lot—and so, apparently, do my characters—with a fast-paced, adapted English (I like to verb nouns, sue me), that rolls off of my tongue like silk and yet might discombobulate the most veteran of thespians. Intentionally exaggerated, that last bit, but a good rendering nonetheless.

First lesson of adapting a play to the big screen: learn to shut up.

One of the key difference, and advantages of film is the ability to tell a story with moving pictures. Visuals. Those shots that win people awards. If a picture's worth a thousand words, just imagine what it's worth when it's in motion.

When I saw the stage play, I knew that there were still scenes that would be trimmed and it could be crisper overall. The actors did a great job with what I gave them, allowing me to hear the dialogue spoken in real time, by real people. And that made a difference.

After filming the trailer for the film, and watching these little scenes take shape from what I thought were drastically abbreviated moments, I realized that the film script was way too wordy and I pulled out the blade of my pen and went to work.

The most recent draft of the script tightened it down and trimmed out nearly 30 pages. And the fun fact is, it doesn't feel like it's missing anything. I just discovered new ways to tell the same story... showing, not telling. Which is amusing because that's still a tenet of the stage. And I have learned quite a bit about the economy of words and that sometimes it really is about the things we don't say.


Second lesson of adapting a play to the big screen: Evolution is adaptation, not translation.

Too often, and John touched on this, films that stem from books or plays can end up flat and disappointing on film because they're being translated. It's like listening to a Frenchmen tell you the story of Le Petit Prince in broken English rather than his mother tongue.

In approaching the film version of Separation Anxiety, I found the most effective way to get a film scene written was to write it from scratch. To adapt, not retell. I know the story. I know the characters. I know the play script by heart and can recite you their lines.

The story has been fleshed out. Decisions were made. And as it adapts, the characters continue to grow. Or, more accurately, they continue to evolve and like a sculptor with his marble, I've chiseled away the bulk and waste to find the essence of the character within.


Third lesson of adapting a play to the big screen: Technically speaking, it's like capturing snowflakes.

Plays don't do this. Aside from a playwright's note and some stage direction, there is little for anyone producing a play to go on. Even set designs in the back of scripts get tossed out because every stage is different. The same script can be presented any number of ways over time and even the same production can see itself tweak and change mid-performance because it's live and thus the show is never the same twice.

In bringing the show over to film, I realized it was being locked down. Yes, there's fun with editing and music and all sorts of post-production, but eventually, the film will lock and be forever in one form. And to achieve that, the writer needs everyone on the same page. Thankfully, film scripts are very clear cut about how to make that work.

So, I had to reach back to my days as a film major at Notre Dame and learn to write both visually AND technically.

When do you cut to verses fade to? How about those slug lines? INT./EXT.? Time of day? Overall, formatting is paramount because unlike theatre where a director and his team assemble everything in one place for a continuous block of time, in film there's a team of people mapping out a filming schedule.

And every time we move to a new place, that's a new set-up, a new call-sheet, a new everything, and so things have to match. A film script is a blue-print with pretty exact specifications open to artistic license.


Over the past couple of years I have seen living room readings and more organized feedback sessions for the play, followed by its staging at Curtain Players last January. Each time, there was a jump forward. Characters stripped out and replaced. Motives changed. Tones shifted. The story itself never changed, but the means by which I told it did. The trailer created new moments in my head and pushed it along the track. And each draft from here until production will only get better.

I'll be back next week with a new topic. For now, I've got to go work on the next draft.