Microblogging is Screenplay Writing One Line at a Time
In previous articles, I talked about basic narrative structure and how Microblogging feels like CB radio communications in the present.
Building on that foundation is what leads to the topic here: Microblogging, when done right and viewed sequentially is essentially a screenplay. Especially in Twitter and identi.ca. This is what I think makes microblogging so seductive to writers and early adopters from all walks.
Originally, I thought this was a function of the medium itself, but the more I explore the different platforms, the more this seems a combination between the interface design and the platform.
Plurk, by contrast, has a truly non-linear user experience to it by way of the interface. It feels a lot like using a non-linear video or audio editor.
But before I can tell you that story, I have to tell you this story:
It’s widely known that one of the fundamental elements to Twitter (or any microblog) is the 140 character limit. Being a good citizen in microblog world ultimately means creating a collection of 140-character entires that weave together a personal narrative. Each tweet is another literary brush stroke.
Collected on the Web page, they create a story made of moments that run the gamut: setting a scene, describing an emotion, marking a point in time at which something happened. This creates a complete perceptual persona. Twitter isn’t so much about “What I’m doing right now,” as it is “How I want you to perceive what I’m doing right now.” The cumulative effect of microblogging then is the creation of a context, subtext, and all as a function of that mircoblogger’s narrative.
So what makes good screenwriting?
1: Every line of the script must attempt to accomplish moving forward:
a) Character
b) Story
c) Subtext
d) conflict
2: Every line of the script must have at least one “beat” or emotional change.
3: Every line must be as short as possible. Ruthlessly short.
Complementing this is the concept that great theater is made of entrances and exits.
In a great screenplay, no words are wasted, and every one is adding meaning to the context and the subtext. As an example, let’s take a look at one of Buck Henry’s truly remarkable scripts: The Graduate.
To set the scene: Ben has just driven Mrs. Robinson, a friend of his parents, home alone on the eve of his college graduation party. Mr. Robinson won’t be coming home for hours. She corners Ben and tries to seduce him into having sex with her. As he is trying to reject her, Mr. Robinson pulls into the driveway. Ben races frantically down to the sunroom to make it look like he just drove her home, and is waiting for Mr. Robinson to arrive before he leaves.
Mr. Robinson, completely unaware of what has just transpired, thanks Ben for “guarding the castle,” and invites him to have a drink. He goes on to explain that as Ben’s Dad’s business partner, he feel’s like Ben is a son to him. Here’s a page of this perfect script with the ensuing conversation:
Whew. Rich and delicious as a piece of chocolate layer cake. Every word evokes emotion, propels the story, character, conflict, and subtext.
Now look again at the screenplay in the context of microblogging. None of these beats exceeds 140 characters. In fact, I don’t think any of them go past 120.
Take a look at the sentences. As Jared Spool said in a presentation I saw some 10 years ago, the perfect, memorable, usable text link length is 7-12 words. I once had a Creative Director when working in local TV who’s rule was, “No lines greater than eight words.” In this Graduate script excerpt, Henry adheres to this principal of brevity beautifully. The first line is twenty words, but then he creates a wonderful rhythm of sentence lengths that vary between three words and 13 words.
The same kind of exchange of sentence lengths that makes microblogging narratives so seductive. It’s the same structure. To prove my point, I recreated these characters in Twitter. Here’s the scene again as seen in the timeline:
Wow. It’s an interesting dynamic, right? In the printed script we have some direction in terms of staging and action. But we don’t really lose any of the emotion, meaning, or conflict. The writing stands up.
And we get a few new twists. First, check out Ben’s current status, “Oh no.” It clearly illustrates the subtext that Buck Henry has created in the film script.
Even more interesting is how the characters are not in the same physical space.
Who knows where any of them actually are? Ben and Mr. Robinson are both tweeting from the Web interface, while Mrs. Robinson is chiming in from Hahlo, the iPhone client for Twitter. Even though these characters are now separated in physical space, the narrative created on the Web page of the timeline is equally compelling and effective. Maybe even more so.
We’ve stripped away all the “plastics” from the scene and are left with only the relationship between these three. But that is the crux of what makes this exchange entertaining.
And it’s what makes good microblogging so intriguing. You’re watching this dynamic story unfold between a number of people with whom you share a common interest: this particular platform, at this time, in your space. Wherever and whenever that is. Lots of entrances and exits.
Here’s another twist I’ll throw your way. The entire experiment up to this point has been within a linear, three-act narrative convention. As a Twitter user, the timeline is actually circular. What Twitter means in terms of emotion, context, and subtext is built between all the people in your timeline.
Best of all, it’s built around your individual experience.
So whether you Twitter or Plurk or identi.ca or Pownce… or hate the idea of any of them, I hope you can see the promise microblogging as a technology holds.
As dynamic a medium in terms of manipulating narrative, space and time as any film or TV show, you may not like one interface or another. But the platform and premise of microblogging holds vast potential as we move towards ubiquitous computing.
What do you think? Leave a comment here or let me know @mleis on Twitter
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