Specificity
I read something just the other day that gave me pause. In fact, it triggered this article.
The writer wrote something like this:
INT. PETE’S CAR – DAY
Pete eats a sandwich while he makes a phone call.
Okay, so what’s wrong with that? It paints a picture. We can see the action, right? Sure. But could it be better? Does it make the most out of its word choices? Not really.
What kind of car? A fancy $125K Range Rover? A beat-up ’74 orange Beetle? A bumpin’, bouncin’ low rider?
Bit of a difference, no? Whatever choice the writer makes makes will tell us more about Pete.
If the writer makes no choice, well, that tells us about the writer.
What about the sandwich? PB&J on white with no crust? A petite English cucumber tea sandwich? Or maybe a sloppy New Yawk meatball sub dripping down his shirt?
As Reacher might say, details matter.
Which brings us to the whole point of this screed: specificity is your friend. It is the easiest and fastest way to show script readers you’ve got the goods. Because scenes written with specificity feel lived-in and realistic.
Details = verisimilitude.
Here are two fine examples which should light a fire under everyone’s buttocks. Let’s start with Reacher.
DUFFY
Remember that Menjivar kid? Four years old, disappeared from his backyard, everyone figured some chomo did him in.
VILLANUEVA
Mija, this is a different kind of case.
DUFFY
Bullshit. Missing’s missing. No one in Boston PD thought that kid was coming home in anything other than a box. By Thanksgiving, the news stopped covering it, the parents gave up, had a funeral with an empty coffin at St. Joachim’s. Then what happens?
VILLANUEVA
Connor Lafferty.
DUFFY
Old man f*cking Lafferty walks little Marco Menjivar right into Salesbury’s for an ice cream, like any other day. I still remember the order: rocky road and a Diet Dr Pepper.
+++
Note how the details make the scene. It’s not just a church — it’s St. Joachim’s. It’s not just an ice cream shop. It’s Salesbury’s. And to ice the cake: rocky road and Diet Dr. Pepper.
This scene could have been lame exposition. But the lived-in details delivered by talented actors sells it and elevates it.
And now, the piece de resistance of all detail-infused dialogue: ladies and gentlemen, Mike Ehrmantraut’s epic “No half measures” speech from Breaking Bad.
MIKE
I used to be a beat cop a long time ago. And I’d get called out on domestic disputes all the time, hundreds probably over the years. But there was this one guy, this one piece of shit, that I will never forget. Gordy, he looked like Bo Svenson, you remember him? Walking Tall? You don’t remember? Anyway, big boy. 270, 280. But his wife, whatever she was, his lady… was real small. Like a bird. Wrists like little branches. Anyway, my partner and I got called out there every weekend, and one of us would pull her aside and say, “Come on, tonight’s the night we press charges.” And this wasn’t one of those deep-down he-loves-me set-ups — we get a lot of those — but not this. This girl was scared. She wasn’t going to cross him, no way, no how. Nothing we could do but pass her off to the EMTs, put him in a car and drive him downtown, throw him in the drunk tank. He sleeps it off, next morning out he goes. Back home.
But one night, my partner’s out sick, and it’s just me. And the call comes in and it’s the usual crap. Broke her nose in the shower kind of thing. So I cuff him, put him in the car and away we go. Only that night, we’re driving into town, and this sideways asshole is in my back seat humming “Danny Boy.” And it just rubbed me wrong. So instead of left, I go right, out into nowhere. And I kneel him down, and I put my revolver in his mouth, and I told him, “This is it. This is how it ends.” And he’s crying, going to the bathroom all over himself, swearing to God he’s going to leave her alone. Screaming … as much as you can with a gun in your mouth. And I told him to be quiet. ‘Cause I needed to think about what I was going to do here. And of course he got quiet. Goes still. And real quiet. Like a dog waiting for dinner scraps. And we just stood there for a while, me acting like I’m thinking things over, and Prince Charming kneeling in the dirt with shit in his pants. And after a few minutes I took the gun out of his mouth, and I say, “So help me if you touch her again I will such-and-such and such-and-such and blah blah blah blah blah”. Just trying to do the right thing.
Two weeks later he killed her. Of course. Caved her head in with the base of a Waring blender. We got there, there was so much blood you could taste the metal. The moral of the story is: I chose a half measure, when I should have gone all the way. I’ll never make that mistake again.
No more half measures, Walter.
+++
The base of a Waring blender. Get it yet, folks?
Get to it. And may we all have actors the caliber of Jonathan Banks perform our memorable, incredibly specific dialogue one day.