If you’ve been around the block, you’ll know screenwriting is all about efficiency – doing the least to say the most. This balance plays into what distinguishes good from great and also makes it easy to see when a script has been slapped together.
One of the tricks is cutting out every unnecessary word, action and scene. It’s about delivering impact with the least amount of material, allowing room for subtext and imagination.
The short film Good Boy was written with this in mind. It was inspired by a moment where a runner stopped to witness a man losing his temper with his dog. Hinging on this moment of indecision about whether to intervene or not, the fleeting interaction turned into the basis for a psychological drama about generational trauma.
The film journeys with a cantankerous old man who is struggling under the weight of repressed trauma from his childhood. Having passed the mantle onto the next generation, he now finds himself alone. Triggered by his own anger and stress, he yells at the dog – a phrase that takes him back to unresolved issues and feelings from his own childhood.
The script centres on “naughty boy” as a retort, which echoes in the old man’s mind. Though there’s very little dialogue, the visuals drive the narrative forward, giving the audience a clear picture of how this old man lives. Reveling in the “show, don’t tell” domain, much of the story is conveyed through symbolism and visuals.
A dog’s favourite ball, pills, a photo and how these elements intersect give nuance to Good Boy. As the old man’s stress levels shoot through the roof, the inner voices torment him to the point of meltdown. As the torch is passed on, a pivotal moment invites the cycle of generational trauma to play out. Most of the revelation is through action and performance, reducing the dialogue to convey mood with silence there to build tension and convey emotion with limited speech.
It helps to focus on a single, clear objective for the protagonist. In this case, the old man wants to control his seemingly disobedient dog. Not getting what he wants, he spirals, leaving the dog to its own devices. Being the glue, the schnauzer is a vessel for the trauma as well as the healing. In this channel, framing and composition become even more critical in translating emotion and information to the audience.
Every character has a purpose, from the jogger who represents an unbiased viewpoint to the young boy who triggers the potential for the cycle to repeat. In this sparse place, every scene is crucial to driving the story forward and revealing character detail. Even the action requires economy, opting for verbs over adverbs.
Keep the dialogue lean, write for efficiency, manage the white spaces of your script and rely on all the other filmmaking departments to add to the story. This will ensure every second counts and that you arrive at a nuanced film that speaks volumes. Just remember to provide enough footholds for the story to retain its essence without losing its overall meaning.