Thursday Talkback: your favorite emotional scenes

I've chimed in a lot these last few days with examples of how it can be more effective to use restraint when dealing with charged emotional scenes rather than simply writing a two-page crying breakdown for your main character. What are your favorite scenes?

What scenes made you cry and what can you learn from how the writer and director evoked that response in you? What techniques do you use when you need to show a character going through a very emotional moment?

Buffy The Vampire Slayer's "The Body" - how to write a crying scene, part II

How to write a crying scene - part I

Picking up from where we left off yesterday, Act II of Buffy the Vampire Slayer's "The Body" picks up with Buffy's sister Dawn crying in the girls room at school, saying she can't believe it. In characteristic Whedon misdirection, we quickly discern that Dawn is actually crying about some petty teenage crisis and still hasn't learned of her mother's death.

Hitchcock used to say that it was much more effective to show an audience that there was a ticking bomb under the table that the lead characters were seated at, rather than merely shock the audience by setting the bomb off without any warning. Basically, his reasoning was that the anticipation of the bang was worse than the bang itself. In the case of this script, that "bang" is the moment where 15 year-old Dawn learns that her mother is dead. It hangs over every single beat in this act, which is filled with a mix of typical teenage drama and a few nods to how Dawn is regarded by her peers.

It takes nearly four minutes until Buffy walks into Dawn's class and says she needs to speak to her. Buffy is wearing a face that really tells the whole story. If your sister interrupted your class looking like this - especially if your mother had been recently treated for a brain tumor - you'd know what was up. And on some level, it's pretty clear that Dawn intuits what Buffy is there to tell her.

Dawn says she's in the middle of class and asks if it can wait. They walk into the hall and Dawn demands to know what's going on. Buffy will only say, "It's bad" and tries to usher Dawn away. Students in the halls stare at them and the classroom Dawn just left has a large glass window that's looking right out on the two of them in the hallway. The whole class watches as Dawn's voice breaks and she asks, "Where's Mom?"

Buffy tries to explain that something happened while Dawn keeps insisting, "But she's okay, right? It's serious, but she's okay?" Buffy interrupts, "Dawn...."

And at this point our perspective shifts to inside the classroom looking out on Buffy and Dawn. Buffy's back is to us, but Dawn is facing in our direction. We don't hear what's said, but we see Dawn's face crumble, then sob. After screaming "No!" a few times (which we only faintly hear through the glass) she falls to her knees, and this act ends.

So here we don't actually hear the moment, or even much of Dawn's anguish, but we see it. We're a witness too it much as we would be if we were there in real life, voyeurs to their private grief. Somehow that makes it more real and more agonizing.

To be fair, this isn't the first time this technique has been done. Heck, it's not even the first time Whedon used it. A similar staging was used in Season Two's "Passion" with Angelus watching through an outside window while Buffy and Willow got a call informing them Angelus killed their teacher and friend Ms. Calendar.

The first time I saw this sort of direction was in a season one episode of ER called "Love's Labor Lost." Dr. Greene spends the entire episode dealing with a pregnant woman whose labor has gone horribly awry. At one point he delivers the child and then sends the father to go be with the baby, promising he'll take care of the mother.

He doesn't. She dies on the table and Dr. Greene has to go upstairs to a nursery room to inform the now-widowed husband that the baby will grow up without a mother. The camera stops outside the room as Greene enters. Through the glass pane of the door, we see the father rocking his new son while sitting in a rocking chair. Green enters and takes a seat across from him. Like Buffy, his back is to us. We don't see his mouth move or hear the dialogue. We just sit and wait. When the moment comes, Bradley Whitford - playing the father - doesn't over do it. He reels back, casting his head up, eyes to the sky.

Restraint can be a lot more powerful for the audience. And as much as writers are told not to direct in the script - this is the sort of staging that a writer can get away with.

Buffy The Vampire Slayer's "The Body" - how to write a crying scene, part I

After yesterday's post, I decided it would be a good idea to pick another scene featuring a character dealing with high emotions. Because I like punishing myself, I chose one of the most depressing and intense episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, "The Body." This is the season five episode that deals with the death of Buffy's mother, Joyce. I picked it in part because it's available via Netflix Instant Viewing, so many of you should be able to get it. It's on Disc 5 of season 5 and was written and directed by Joss Whedon.

The episode opens as Buffy comes home and finds her mother dead on the couch. Her first reaction is to become very agitated, bordering on hysterical as she shakes her mother, saying "Mom? Mom!" A call to 911 offers little help beyond walking her through CPR and when it has no effect other than the Slayer's strength breaking her mother's breastbone, the dispatcher advises Buffy that the paramedics are on their way. Clearly in shock at this point, she calls Giles and asks him to come immediately.

And again, Buffy's still not crying at this point. Just numb shock.

Then, despite a truly evil tease showing a fantasy where Joyce Summers is miraculously revived (Screw you, Joss), the paramedics can't do anything for her. "I'm sorry," the paramedic says, "But I have to tell you that your mother's dead." (Yes, I know this is completely not the way it would go in real life. Paramedics don't stop until an MD takes over for them.) Worse, they get a call that pulls them away, leaving Buffy alone with her mother. Their last words to her are "Try not to disturb the body."

Through all of this, Buffy doesn't yet cry. This actually has the effect of making the scene even more agonizing for the audience because they - and Buffy - are denied that emotional release. Gellar's portrayal of Buffy in shock is truly unsettling to watch. Buffy wanders down the hall, then drops to her knees and vomits. The ambient sound of wind chimes outside is disturbingly loud, making the whole scene feel eerie.

And still she doesn't cry.

Giles comes in and finds Buffy in shock, muttering about how she should go to school to tell Dawn - her sister - what happened. Unable to make sense of this, Giles casts an eye to the living room and spots Buffy's mother, "Oh my god, Joyce!" He moves to help her as Buffy says, "No, it's too late.... We're not supposed to move the body!" Her voice at last breaks with emotion, and Gellar again proves that she was robbed of at least one Emmy as we see Buffy process how she just referred to her mother.

Now it hits her, and just as it hits us, Giles is across the room in a shot, taking the Slayer in a hug. Eyes wide, Buffy sobs - no tears - and we go into commercial.

That is how you construct an emotional release. That's how you handle a crying scene. Show the character fighting the emotion, denying the emotion, unable to feel the emotion - then really kick them in the gut and go out on that release.

Don't make a scene of someone crying - make a scene of someone about to cry, or trying not to cry.

Tomorrow - another act of "The Body" features a different technique.

Hold the tears, trust the audience

I've talked before about how crying scenes in scripts can often come off as overwrought and melodramatic. It's something that crops up a lot in screenplays and I can understand how it happens. Writers are told to show, not tell - so when it comes to someone's emotional state - why wouldn't you have them break down in a crying fit to demonstrate that they're sad?

One reason not to do so is that with film, the audience can be manipulated into a position where they'll project their own emotions onto the character. Thus, the character doesn't need to oversell the emotion - all they have to do is provoke the emotion in the audience.

In re-reading The Making of Star Wars by J.W. Rinzler, I came across an excellent example of this theory. On p. 149, the scene where Luke returns to his uncle's farm to find his aunt and uncle killed by stormtroopers is discussed. It's noted that Mark Hamil wanted to play the scene with him falling on his knees sobbing in despair upon discovering the corpses. Director George Lucas insisted on a more neutral performance. "Lucas knew that later he would edit the sequence in keeping with the art of montage as explained by early Russian filmmakers such as Sergei Eisenstein and Lev Kuleshov, in which the juxtaposition of shots would arouse emotion rather than just the actor's performance."

You can find more about the Soviet montage theory here.

Now, as writers we're not supposed to call out each shot, doing the directors job for them. However, in writing the description you can subtly suggest the imagery and editing. For example, the description for the scene in question might read:

Luke's speeder arrives at the Lars farm. Luke gets out, rushing towards the homestead.

Smoke rises from the enclosure.

Luke runs closer than stops, frozen with surprise.

Two corpses lay sprawled amid the carnage, their skin burned completely off.

As the smoke continues to rise in the sky, Luke casts his gaze downward, processing his loss.

It's easy not to overwrite dialogue, but not overwriting emotion takes a defter touch.

Crybaby crying

One of my big pet peeves is when a writer has their characters - usually female, but not always - cry at the drop of a hat. It feels like too easy a way to show emotion, especially when an entire scene is spent showing a character break down. Be aware that though it might not play so on the page - such extreme emotion can often feel overwrought on screen.

I once read a script where the female protagonist broke down in tears three times in the first act. That's a bit excessive, and I couldn't help but feel that on-screen she'd come off as a crybaby. I think it's more interesting to show a character trying NOT to cry. In real life, people try hard not to show their emotions like that for fear of seeming weak. The phrase "Jenny fights back a tear" always is more effective for me than, "Jenny's eyes fill with tears and she loudly sobs as she collapses to the floor."

Here's the thing - crying often looks awkward on screen. No one looks good when they cry and there are many actors who are TERRIBLE criers. Some scrunch their face too much, some have a hard time producing tears, and some have awkward things happen to their voices when they try to speak and cry.

If you are going to have your character suffer a breakdown like this, try to have it happen later in the script. This way, we've gotten a feel for that character's emotional range so that breakdown will mean something. It'll play as a chink in their armor. Even so, less is often more. An actor can convey a lot with body language and physical acting, so give them the chance. Maybe play them as more numb and stunned than truly overwrought. Or perhaps whatever upsets them causes them to tap into their anger, or take their frustrations out on someone or something near them.

Never write "They fall to the floor and sob" until you have exhausted every alternate possibility.