Sceneplay – “a screenwriting project of non-compliance”.

A project submitted in fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy

Christine Karen Davey

MA (screenwriting) Victorian College of the Arts – University of Melbourne

School of Media and Communication

College of Design and Social Context

RMIT University

November 2021

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Declaration

I certify that except where due acknowledgement has been made, the work is that of the author alone; the work has not been submitted previously, in whole or in part, to qualify for any other academic award; the content of the project is the result of work which has been carried out since the official commencement date of the approved research program; any editorial work, paid or unpaid, carried out by a third party is acknowledged; and ethics procedures and guidelines have been followed. I acknowledge the support I have received for my research through the provision of an Australian Government Research Training Program Scholarship.

Christine Davey

1 November 2021

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Acknowledgements

I wish to thank my supervisors, Dr Stayci Taylor and Professor Dan Harris for their constant support, vigilance and encouragement. Their help, expertise and calm reassurance helped me through all areas of research and practice within this work. I also wish to thank Dr Peta Murray and Professor Craig Batty for their guidance through the initial stages of this PhD. I thank the members of review panels who provided feedback throughout the process. I give a special mention to the staff of the Colac Regional Library for their unwavering companionship and assistance. Finally, I thank my friends and family who have put up with my late-night ramblings and absences from functions, and, most importantly, cheered me every step of the way. I dedicate this PhD to my mother, Joyce Mary Davey, who would have loved this surprising, complicated and remarkable journey.

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Contents

Declaration p. i Acknowledgements p. ii Contents p. iii/iv Abstract p. 1 Introduction p. 2

• Sceneplay nuts and bolts p. 3 • Chapter breakdown p. 5 • Parameters of study p. 7 • The script artefact p. 11 • Script as landscape p. 12 • Traditional screenplay language p. 14 • In summary p. 16

Prologue – backstory matters p. 17 Chapter One – the multilayering of sceneplay p. 22

• Academic versus industry screenplay p. 22 • A playful escapade p. 24 • The difficult, older female character p. 25 • The concept of age p. 31 • Strident feminism in the midst of change p. 34

Chapter Two – sceneplay for television stories p. 39

• From free-to-air to on demand p. 41 • Central characters as flawed p. 41 • Central characters as female p. 45 • Central characters as mothers p. 47

Chapter Three – interrogating the script as document p. 50

• From magic lantern show to blueprint p. 50 • Poetics and complex texts p. 53 • Moving the goalposts – screenwriters

challenging tradition p. 55

Chapter Four – creative beginnings of sceneplay p. 70 Chapter Five – Dawn – experiments on the creative artefact p. 96 Chapter Six – creative artefact – Dawn p. 141 Reflection on creative artefact p. 271 Epilogue p. 277 List of references p. 283 Appendix One – Dawn – Draft One sceneplay examples p. 292

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Appendix Two – Dawn – scene breakdown p. 296 Appendix Three – Dawn – series bible p. 303

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Abstract

This PhD explores a new creative practice methodology in which the script (screenplay

document) is refashioned into a liberating development tool within the early stages of

drafting. This practice-led study applies a feminist framework to screenwriting in order to

challenge traditional forms of script presentation and character representation. Entitled

sceneplay, the process reconfigures the script as an ever-evolving artefact leading to a

nuanced journey for the writer as well as the characters she creates. Onscreen stories are, by

definition, visual. Sceneplay suggests that visual interventions in the burgeoning phases of

script development can assist the writer to gain a sense of freedom while building a script.

Through the addition of visual stimuli such as notes, suggestions, questions, self-reflections,

reminders, pictures, memes, tweets, screenshots and quotes, the script becomes a living

document rather than adhering to a constrictive set of rules and principles. Thus, the script

takes shape as a creative entity, positioning the writer’s contemplations alongside established

structural elements to form a multifaceted approach to onscreen storytelling. To establish the

user-friendliness of this methodological form, sceneplay employs an under-served character

as test case – the difficult, older female as central character. By concentrating on such a

rarely positively represented character, the project narrows focus in an attempt to prove

efficacy. The female character is written into the central space of the story – highlighting a

conscious feminist intent that speaks to critical and creative decision-making. This creative

practice methodology evolves through a ‘down-the-rabbit-hole’ system of trial-and-error,

script-based experiments. Through its research, this PhD has the potential to improve

approaches to early stages of script development, particularly with regard to creation of

under-represented characters in onscreen stories. The PhD will be of interest to screenwriters,

creative writers, teachers, and those positioned within the field of screenwriting research, thus

contributing new knowledge to both industry and academic spheres.

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Introduction

Sceneplay – “a screenwriting project of non-compliance”.

This PhD is a feminist-inspired interrogation of the screenplay as development document that

asks, ‘how might redefining the document structure of the screenplay propose a new

methodology that invites a redesigned journey for the writer as well as the characters she

creates?’

The findings from my research are evidenced by a screenplay and accompanying dissertation.

This practice-led PhD is conducted through a creative practice methodology with an

emphasis on screenwriting. The research contributes to the scholarly fields of screenwriting

practice research (Batty, 2019; Taylor, 2021; Sawtell, 2020; Sculley, 2017; Maras, 2009;

Price, 2010; Bolland, 2021; Nelmes, 2010) and screen production research (Millard, 2010;

French, 2012; Jacey, 2010), and takes an overriding feminist positioning within these

intertwining research streams (Ahmed, 2017; Halberstam, 2012; Gay, 2014).

As a result of the concentration on these areas of enquiry, an interrogation of onscreen

gender and age representation becomes the core of the creative project, particularly with

regard to older female characters taking central positioning within onscreen storytelling. As

Helen Marie Lucas proposes, ‘if women’s lives are to be valued, they must be put at the

centre of a narrative, not on the periphery’ (2019, pp. 103-4). Sceneplay presents a model of

performative storytelling that intervenes upon the traditional structure of a script document in

order to invite an improved journey for the writer and the character she creates. Following

Ross Gibson’s suggestions in regard to the scope of research, the new knowledge evoked by

this methodological pathway and resulting script artefact performs thus:

Using evidence to back up […] contentions, using written language as well as evidence from the delivery of the creative – or practice-based investigation to show that some significant new knowledge or understanding has been attained and made explicit and communicable through the creative as well as the theoretical, historical and analytical processes (2010).

I begin this Introduction by asking a question that screenwriters may grapple with during

research and/or practice: what is storytelling? The contention of this PhD is simple: if the

writer is permitted a sense of freedom while creating a story, then that story may benefit in

terms of implicit and explicit worth.

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It is important to pay homage to other writers, creators and researchers also interrogating

the script document as changeable artefact. Margot Nash (2014) advocates for a more

experimental and organic approach which, she suggests, can create work not constricted by a

set of rules. Siri Senje (2017) advances the cause of alternative script development methods

as experimental basis for creativity. Stephen Sculley, in discussing the writing of his screen

novel, Coyne, (2017), argues that his research allows the creative artefact to ‘operate as a

method of research inquiry, reflected upon and contextualised within existing knowledge’

(2017, p. 3). Louise Sawtell takes what she terms a fictocritical approach to script

development. Her research contributes to the field by using the margins of the document as

symbolic and literal space to reclaim for feminist purposes through a screenplay which ‘blurs

the boundaries between creative and critical’ (2019, p. 55). My project acknowledges these

considerable contributions and hopes to take them a step further by submitting a new

methodological mechanism to the field of screenwriting in the early stages of script building.

Sceneplay, as an interventionist approach to script document, attempts to enhance the

discussion around what a script looks like, can look like and will look like in the future. This

study posits that there is no set or standard outcome; the process is quite literally about the

process. As such, the process concentrates on the writer and the story. First, however, it is

helpful to investigate the concept of sceneplay more closely.

Sceneplay – nuts and bolts

Sceneplay as methodological approach provides room on the page for visual cues and clues

such as notes, pictures, quotes, memes, tweets, screenshots – image-based layering in

addition to traditional script language. In this way sceneplay allows a subversion of

established screenwriting techniques by challenging standard script elements such as 12-point

Courier, headings, action, dialogue and directorial parentheses,1 all elements discussed at

length in a later section of this Introduction. Such work highlights the idea, as Caitlin

Newcomer argues, that ‘we are in the midst of a particularly rich moment for expanding,

combining, recombining and rethinking creative possibilities’ (2019, p. 225). As subversive

writerly tool sceneplay attempts to answer Joshua McNamara’s question as to ‘how we

capture in writing the practices of writing, with all their palimpsestic echoes, while resisting

the seductions of retreating to the authority of the ‘final draft’’ (2021, p. 134) Through visual

1 Sternberg’s notion of scene language is discussed later in this Introduction.

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interventions the growing artefact reveals a creative poetic sensibility within these beginning

stages of script building.

Concentrating research and practice upon the early stages of script development, as

Hazel Smith and Roger Dean propose, ‘allows for entirely new ideas to spring from any stage

or aspect of this experimental process’ (2009, p. 7). Kathryn Millard states that script

development can be presented as movable creative feast: ‘the very notion of what it means to

write is shifting’ (2014, p. 7). She also advises that script development dispensing with ‘pre-

existing templates’ (2010, p. 14) allows a bolder approach to storytelling. Nash adheres to

such advice, adding that conscious deviation from the prescribed industrial model of

presentation is beneficial to innovation in practice:

Rather than following a predetermined shape, I try to let structure emerge out of the material and be a response to the ideas […] I strongly suggest that the mysterious and often messy process where ideas need time to ferment be valued, and that the formulas and rules with their neat answers, which are held up as the secret to success, be questioned – particularly during the initial creative process (2013, p. 150).

Sceneplay’s amalgam of visual clues continues this theme of challenging the traditional

script document. If the writer feels less controlled by the prescribed document structure and

emboldened by artistic licence, the characters she creates may be more representative of an

authentic 21st female character. Through sceneplay the addition of writerly thoughts and

images to early script drafts allows the writer unfettered permission to be creatively

experimental from page one. I present the sceneplay experiments and creative artefact in this

PhD in Chapters Five and Six. I content that these progressing scripts are early drafts of what

may become a future substantive work. In essence, the drafts move beyond first and second

draft but continue to grow in depth, content, experimentation and worth. Thus, the drafts are

not fully formed or finalised; they remain, throughout the work, as emerging creative entities.

In this, I define ‘early phase’ as drafts that are in process and progress and still some creative

distance from tangible implementation as a final product.

As such, the writer is the intended reader and audience, the important factor at the

coalface of early script building. I clarify, then, that sceneplay as a methodological approach

is not meant for external presentation, except as writerly tool or example of what could be

possible through this writerly tool. The goal of sceneplay is a personal one for the writer, thus

representing a new script format on an individual creative level. A core element of this study

then, is that the traditional industrial screenwriting model can be simultaneously retained and

altered within a script document.

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Michael Taussig asks ‘who is telling stories nowadays? And who is telling the story

about the stories?’ (2015, p. 17). Sceneplay attempts to tell the story about the story and, as a

consequence, create new knowledge around how a script document’s purpose can be

redefined. Sceneplay aims to become, as Sawtell advises, ‘a new model of screenwriting

[that] can include many different narratives, reflections [and] images’ (2019, p. 1). I move

now to a chapter breakdown in order to contextualise the work and segment its specific areas

of examination.

Chapter breakdown

The research and practice of this study is delivered via this Introduction, a Prologue, six

chapters, an Epilogue and Appendices. The structure is organised into three sections: research

(Prologue, Chapters One, Two and Three), creative artefact/s (Chapters Four, Five and Six),

and Epilogue with Conclusion, References and Appendices. Section One outlines research

and findings, Section Two presents the creative artefact arising from research findings, and

Section Three provides reflection upon the whole as well as additional material supporting

sceneplay as practice-based journey.

The first section lays out the ways in which this PhD has been formed, interrogated and

completed, thus presenting a linear examination of the ground, both academic and discovery-

led, to which the project tethers. As such, the discussion is imbued with a dissection of how

reading feeds into research, thus functioning as the review of literature as well as acting as

‘an expression of a mode of existence that illuminates the artefact from a variety of

observational vantage points, not only discipline-specific observations’ (Vincs, 2014, p. 362).

It is also important to state then that the research and practice is influenced by material from a

range of sources outside the academic sphere such as tweets, memes and non-screenwriting-

specific literature.

The second section presents the creative output through early sceneplay experiments

(Chapter Four), early sceneplay experiments on the burgeoning artefact (Chapter Five) and

completed artefact – Dawn – (Chapter Six), delivered as response to research and articulated

learnings. The final section reflects upon research and practice and includes an appendix of a

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television bible2 and scene breakdown. Such early script-allied supporting material is

provided to enhance learnings from previous chapters and discussions.

I begin with the Prologue, outlining my background as practitioner and its influence upon

the path to research. Chapter One speaks of methodology and academic versus industrial

screenplay. This section then examines the concept of ‘difficulty’ as a character trait before

moving to discussions of ageing, the influence of ‘play’ upon research and practice, and the

decision to explore the older female central character as test case for the methodological

approach. The chapter concludes with an interrogation of the feminist ramifications this work

embraces and entails.

Chapter Two presents the decision to place the project within the framework of

television writing. Thus, it adds to the investigation of sceneplay as methodological pathway

in theory, practice and implementation. The chapter moves to a discussion of further

definitions of central character and central characters as mothers.

Chapter Three examines the validity of the script as blueprint for production and the

break-away from this concept through sceneplay interventions. The chapter then discusses

the implementation of poetics upon research and practice within a complex textual setting.

Exploration then takes place upon the notion of moving goalposts with regard to script

development and the situating of sceneplay as further challenge to traditional presentation.

To assist this conversation, I examine the work of other writers in the television and film

screenwriting sphere who have experimented and continue to experiment with the form and

content of traditional script presentation. To conclude, I present the ways in which sceneplay

acts as writerly attempts to further the conversation around experimentation by creating a

new pathway toward script development.

Chapter Four begins the creative section of the work, exploring the emerging sceneplay

experiments. These tentative forays into script intervention examine the ongoing successes

and failures of the experiment in action. The chapter closes with a reflection on the

burgeoning creative practice, and suggested modifications and amendments leading into the

final script artefact. It should be reiterated, however, that the final script artefact within the

context of this study does not mean an artefact ready for production. Rather it is a final script

artefact that can lead to the next stage of script building.

2 Linda Aronson suggests that as well as functionary information such as synopsis, characters, pilot episode scene breakdown and future episodes, the TV bible should cover ‘what you have to get in each episode’, and it covers specific character interaction, type of structure, style etc – all in one sentence grabs’ (2012).

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Chapter Five continues the creative exploration of early drafts of the growing artefact –

Dawn – which will eventually become the final script of this study. The chapter concludes

with further reflection on the investigative process with regard to script presentation.

Chapter Six submits Dawn, the final script artefact with accompanying sceneplay

interventions. This script is the first one-hour episode of a prospective five-part television

dramedy. The choice of five episodes aligns with the notion of five acts across the series, one

dedicated act per episode. This is a deliberate decision to place the first episode (artefact of

this project) as the first act of the narrative. The chapter concludes with an exploration of the

efficacy of sceneplay interventions upon the script artefact and ongoing questions and self-

advice as to how sceneplay can function in future script drafts.

The Epilogue then reflects upon the challenges that have influenced and benefited the

work throughout research and practice. I explore issues surrounding the implementation of

sceneplay as methodological tool and the efficacy of using the difficult, older female central

character as a test case for framing the study. A further exploration of how research has

joined forces with methodology in an attempt to create new knowledge within a

screenwriting chorography completes this section. Ultimately the reflection circles back,

responding to the original research question – how might redefining the document structure

of the screenplay uncover a new methodology that invites a redesigned journey for the writer

as well as the characters she creates? This chapter, then, aims to reiterate the reason for

sceneplay’s existence, as effective storytelling and story writing mechanism at the early

stages of script building. The final section of the document presents references used within

the work and supportive material – TV bible and a script scene breakdown – attached as

appendices.

Before delving further into the methodological decision-making behind sceneplay, I take

a moment to establish definitions around sceneplay as a methodological approach. This ring-

fencing with regard to terminology and presentation facilitates a necessary framework within

which to understand the work, the research feeding it and the result rising from it.

Parameters of study – ring-fencing research and practice

Sceneplay as neologism arrives through the simple conjoining of the words – ‘scene’,

representing the components involved in the construction of stories, and ‘play’, evoking a

sense of creative frolic within that construction. Millard (2014, pp. 4-5) states that early

definitions of what we now know as ‘screenplay’ encompassing both visual and written

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presentation include ‘photoplay’, ‘cinemaplay’ and ‘kinescope’. This demonstrates that such

descriptions are ongoing and permissible. I veer away from terms such as ‘screenplay’ or

‘teleplay’ and refer to the onscreen story document as a ‘script’. This generic reference

allows for ease of use and consistency, as well as presenting a clear visual differentiation

between the words, ‘screenplay’ and ‘sceneplay’.

This functional choice also serves to visually separate the sceneplay components from

other elements of the script such as scene headings, scene directions, parenthetical directions

and dialogue.. These elements are discussed at length in a later stage of this Introduction.

Suffice to explain here, however, that via this questioning of traditional script presentation

sceneplay facilitates a conversation between existing script language and the new, added

elements. Hence, the writer provides new meaning to the document, layer by layer, with

scope, as Sawtell attests, ‘to experiment and play, while encouraging the reader to experience

the story in development’ (2015, p. 2). As sceneplay denotes that the reader at early stages of

script building is also the writer, the process becomes personal as well as functional.

As mentioned earlier in this Introduction, in this burgeoning draft phase, the visual cues

within the document can manifest as notes, suggestions, questions, self-reflections,

reminders, pictures, memes, screenshots and quotes – bespoke, craft-related components that

allow the script to become a developing document while adhering to traditional presentation

standards. Such manifestations speak efficiently to screenwriting scholar Ian Macdonald’s

idea of the script under ‘a process of construction’ (2013). These added components can be

presented in a number of ways, depending on the visual impact the writer wishes to explore. I

use3 breakout boxes, variances in shapes, colours and fonts as they provide effective visual

signposts to help me think organically about the story rather than the traditional confines in

which it is placed.

For the benefit of clarity, I acknowledge the existence of varying types of script industry

standard, such as scripts written for cinema as opposed to television, or for American, British

or Australian audiences. Global variance in script presentation feeds into a study paving the

way for experimentation within script creation. This embrace of script variance is an

important factor in the development of sceneplay – providing specific alternatives to script

development that also speak to the validity of traditional script formula. In terms of

3 As evidenced in the creative Chapters Four, Five and Six.

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narrowing the focus upon traditional screen language, I refer to Claudia Sternberg’s

explanation of scene text as:

The scene text [containing] relatively long passages written in prose form. These scene or character descriptions are supplemented by scene headings (or slug lines), character names, personal directions (e.g., dialogue cues) and technical additions (camera/sound cues, transitions). [...] If dialogue is then added, the screenplay contains all the modes of presentation – description, report, comment and speech – employed in prose fiction without losing its status as a text substratum (1997, p. 66).

With this definition firmly in place, I continue positioning the scene text and dialogue upon

the page in traditional form, clearly demarcating these established elements from the

sceneplay additions.

One of the first tasks of the research is to identify a framework within which to test

sceneplay as a methodological tool. As creative practitioner, I am drawn to television writing

for this purpose. The choice to position the project within television writing speaks to the

exponential reach and influence of the medium that is arguably altering the face of

storytelling for onscreen purposes. This decision and its ramifications for the implementation

of sceneplay are further discussed in Chapter Two.

At the heart of the project is an examination of the role and presentation of the central

character within an onscreen story. It is appropriate, then, to settle upon a definition of

‘central character’ and her place within the narrative. Linda Seger suggests that character is

the key to a workable story, stating that ‘if the characters don’t work, the story and theme will

not be enough to involve audiences and readers’ (1990, location 99). This, however, does not

distinguish central characters from other characters within the narrative.

Aronson takes the definition further, arguing that the central character is vital to narrative

structure and the story cannot start until that character has been ‘identified and shown in their

normal life’ and the story itself cannot move until the central character is forced ‘into a

course of action’ (2010, location 1547). For consistency, I define the central character as the

character around whom the narrative unfolds and without whom the narrative would not

exist. This notion adheres to what Jack Halberstam calls, ‘an improvisational feminism that

keeps pace with the winds of political change’ (2011, p. 6). Halberstam’s theory of Gaga

feminism4 invites a sense of creativity arising from the ‘unexpected and the unanticipated’

(2011, p. 27). In this call to action, Halberstam asks feminist thinkers to consider how in the

4 Halberstam’s concept of ‘Gaga Feminism’ is discussed at length in Chapter One.

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‘here and now, our reality is being rescripted, reshot, reimagined, and if you don’t go gaga

soon you may wake up and find that you missed the future and became the past’ (2011, p.

30). This strident approach to feminist practice feels a natural fit for a study of the

unexpected and unanticipated journey of a script document.

I also find cogency and creative encouragement from the work of Sara Ahmed. Her

investigation of the ‘killjoy feminist’ speaks to a notion of conscious insubordination, ‘a way

of going one’s own way, a way of going the wrong way’ (2017, p. 65). Following this

thought, the process involved in sceneplay is by design a wilful process, as Ahmed attests, a

situation existing in close relationship to ‘other words such as stubborn, obstinate and

contrary’ (2017, p. 65). It is the reiteration of this concept of non-compliance in both feminist

thought and implementation that positions sceneplay as a pathway towards purposeful

creative feminist practice. At its essence the methodology provides a way of creating female

characters of resonance while continuing to question what resonance means in a creative

practice landscape.

The concept of what it is to be a woman and how to write a woman forms an important

part of the research. As Roxanne Gay suggests, ‘the standard for the right way to be a woman

and/or a feminist appears to be ever changing and unachievable’ (2014, p. 309). Such a

moveable theoretical feast fits within a study dedicated to challenging the status quo of

storytelling and, in particular, women at the centre of storytelling. In this, I align with

Catherine Dale and Rosemary Overell’s suggestion that:

feminism also investigates how feminism moves – how it refuses that “thingifiction” so often demanded in, and by, academic and political discourse. In other words, one of the best traits of feminism is that it never stands still (2018, pp. 12-13).

According to Millard, ‘the word text derives from the Latin word textus, to weave’ (2010, p.

2). Taking this notion further I submit sceneplay as an accessible way to provide concerted

agency for female characters and the writers who build them. Peter Bloore argues that the

overriding experience of the telling of stories is that ‘we respond to stories’ (2013, p. 2,

original emphasis). Sceneplay, as a non-compliant screenwriting project fulfils this job

description while disseminating new knowledge through a feminism-inspired ‘make-reflect-

repeat’ model of early-stage script building that redefines what a script is and can be. In this,

the PhD and its findings inhabit a space between feminist creativity and final script artefact.

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To further exemplify the feminist positioning of the methodological approach I present

the difficult, older, female central character5 as test case. In this choice I focus the creative

microscope on a purposefully non-generic, underwritten, and historically sidelined character.

By adhering to what Steven Maras describes as ‘interconnection, resonance and counterpoint

between elements…as a means of transmission’ (2004, p. 92), sceneplay privileges the kind

of methodology that, as Newcomber describes, is ‘attuned to both the world before it and the

world around it’ (2019, p. 225). In other words, sceneplay as writerly tool acknowledges

archetypal age and gender positioning within stories and questions whether such positioning

is viable for a 21st century storytelling landscape. The sceneplay experiments become

conscious creative feminist interventions because of my decision to write a particular female

character into the picture, into the literal frame of the story. It is important, then, to discuss

the story itself in more depth and how its construction forms the creative basis of this PhD.

The script artefact – Dawn

As previously mentioned in this Introduction, the script artefact resulting from sceneplay

experiments is Dawn, an hour-long dramedy (of a five-episode series) presented in the

creative section (Chapter Five) of this document. As guideline, I explain that Dawn is the

story of an angry, unhappy, often obnoxious 60-year-old Centrelink worker whose husband

leaves her on the eve of her retirement causing chaos for all involved. Here then is the

practical test case – a difficult, older, central female character – needing, for narrative’s sake,

to confront the issues and problems of her own life in order to achieve some kind of personal

trajectory. Whether or not that trajectory is growth or stasis depends upon the level of

complexity I bring to the script.6 Dawn as narrative driver of the script artefact is the creative

seed strewn upon the furrowed ground of creative practice research.

As such the project aims to become, as Graeme Harper argues ‘an art of making the

extraordinary and artistic from the functional and commonplace’ (2013, p. 16, original

emphasis). By using sceneplay as screenwriting tool, the difficult, older female character

becomes both instigating test case of the concept and ultimate result of the concept. The

5 A decision discussed at length in the Prologue as well as evidenced through creative practice in Chapters Four and Five. 6 This discussion impacts upon the validity of sceneplay as a methodology, in part, of character non-compliance.

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project thus adheres to the thoughts of Estelle Barrett and Barbara Bolt in that the potential of

practice-led research lies in:

its capacity to generate personally situated knowledge and new ways of modelling and externalising such knowledge while at the same time, revealing philosophical, social and cultural contexts for the critical intervention and application of knowledge outcomes (2012, p. 2).

Due to my age, gender, creative background, ongoing creative/career trajectory and thoughts

pervading all, the PhD interrogates the place and power of difficult, older female characters

within the framework of story. Thus, I conform with Ross Gibson’s suggestion that artist-

researchers live and practise within two channels of knowing, the implicit and the explicit,

both having the chance to ‘entwine the insider’s embodied know-how with the outsider’s

analytical precepts’ (2010, p. 11). The exploratory and practice-based rabbit holes down

which I go in the building of Dawn as character and Dawn as artefact are dependent upon my

personal history and individual mode of artistic endeavour. For purposes of academic clarity,

I use the term ‘rabbit hole’ as an accessible reflection of the experimental, iterative approach

to my research problem, rather than as a term that in any way diminishes investigation. As

much of the creative experimentation of the PhD invests in visual images as cues for further

exploration, I feel the visual impact of the term assists my inquiry and practice. Such

practice, of course, requires positioning at some designated point along the screenwriting

landscape.

Script as landscape

Craig Batty argues that ‘there are those who undertake research to generate new ideas and

concepts that either change the way in which they practise (process), or that change the fabric

of their practice (content)’ (2017, p. 2). As I come to the academy with a practitioner’s

viewpoint and with industry-based experience steering the way toward research, this PhD

challenges both practice and scholarship, aiming to contribute new knowledge by developing

an innovative and accessible tool for screenwriters. Within this intersection between research

and production, as Batty and Marsha Berry suggest, is the space where ‘practices, methods

and understandings meet and shape new methodologies’ (2016, p. 182). Gibson attests that

‘setting out to know the world better with art, we need definitions. We need first to define

“knowing” and “art”, so we can have convictions and debates’ (2010, p. 4) Following this

theme, Macdonald, argues that the sum of parts added to the whole becomes ‘a process of

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construction’ (2013, p. 1). Sceneplay, as a way of recalibrating the script into an ultra-visual

and creatively beneficial document adheres to this notion of reshaping in order to reach new

understanding of academic research and creative practice. With development comes further

development. With experimentation comes further thought around how a script document

may appear and operate.

Sceneplay arises as a screenwriting aid that defines “knowing” and “art” through

dedicated and experimental script construction. My argument is further informed by Jen

Webb’s observation that ‘reflective practice involves concentration, a conscious act of

drawing on established knowledge; time spent evaluating and testing the alternatives; and

thinking consciously about your own process’ (2015, p. 120). Akin to this, Pier Paolo

Pasolini advises that techniques involved in development of script for screen best succeed

when ‘alluding to meaning through two different paths, simultaneous and converting’ (1997,

p. 55). Sceneplay as methodology follows such tenets, allowing the writing to enhance

process and in turn allowing process to enhance writing. This amalgamation of creative

practice and creatively inspired research challenges the perception, as stated by Senje, that

‘we habitually speak of new screenplays as if they were industrial products, far removed from

any process in which the originator invents or creates’ (2017, p. 269). Sceneplay provides a

return to the original concept of the script as document for developing ideas, images and

stories.

I argue that the development of onscreen stories can be open to an organic sensibility. In

this I align with David Bordwell’s suggestion that ‘screenwriting is clearly about the process

of construction, but what the “finished” work is, is open to question’ (2008, p. 12). The

research, methodology, methodological pathway and resulting script of this work join forces

to protest the mandates by screenwriting gurus Robert McKee (1999), Blake Snyder (2005),

and Syd Field (2003), that writers should only present what we see and hear. McKee goes

further, advising that we ‘pity the poor screenwriter for he [sic] cannot be a poet’ (1999, p.

194). Contrary to this, Aronson states that we as screenwriters ‘need to be masters of linear

narrative forms and pioneers in experimental story structures. We can see that the world of

the screenwriter is changing, and we know that the old maps don’t help us anymore’ (2010,

location 177). I proffer that as writers we are at the coalface of script development, and

therefore best placed to promulgate screenwriting developments. It seems reasonable then

that we be permitted to write what we think, feel and question, adding a poetic consciousness

to script creation.

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In this work, the feminist approach and creative enterprise join forces, adhering to Helen

Jacey’s statement that ‘the creation of a screenplay, provides new areas of knowledge about

gender and screenwriting by privileging the feminist intention of the screenwriter in creating

meaning’ (2010, p. 14). Presenting the difficult, older female central character as test case for

the sceneplay interventions fits such a definition of creative illumination, developing a

nuanced interplay between writer and artefact, between character and story.

Traditional screenplay language

It is helpful for context to hark back to earlier discussions of traditional scene language and

provide examples of the screenwriting format I wish to subvert through the sceneplay

intervention. Steven Price, summarising Sternberg, gives an accessible inroad into traditional

screenplay language, breaking up the elements into ‘scene text […] and dialogue text

whereby the scene text is everything bar the dialogue text’ (2010, pp. 112-14). Adding to this

definition, Macdonald suggests that ‘the screenplay [...] is the record of an idea for a

screenwork, written in a highly stylized form. It is constrained by the rules of its form on the

page and is the subject of industrial norms and conventions’ (2004b, p. 81). Traditional script

documents abide by a strict set of criteria such as:

• the use of Courier font • the use of 12-point font size • black text as a constant • positioning of scene headings (slug lines) and action to the left of the page • positioning of dialogue in the centre of the page • provision of white space around dialogue to allow (for possible future

production purposes) writing of notes/revisions • positioning of character name in the centre of the page • positioning of parenthetical directions under character name.

According to Millard, traditional screenwriting became prevalent in the early twentieth

century as the new medium infiltrated the public imagination (2014, p. 4). Although

historically some screenwriters have changed the format and contemporary screenwriters

continue to do so7, the general document structure remains unchanged. Strict formatting

protocols are accepted and promoted by the screen industry, presented as de rigueur for

screenwriting submissions to industry bodies and competitions, and touted by some

7 Evidence of screenwriters adopting such a creative operating procedure is discussed in Chapter Three.

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screenwriting gurus (McKee, 1999; Field, 2003; Snyder, 2005), as imperative to professional

development and potential industry success. The esteemed Nicholl Fellowship, as an

example, sponsored by the US Academy of Motion pictures, warns that writers can ‘create a

negative impression of [their] script, if they fail to adhere to screenwriting protocols’

(Millard, 2010, p. 15). As I identify as an Australian researcher and creative practitioner, it is

worthwhile noting the advice from screenwriting bodies closer to home. Screen Australia’s8

suggested script layout for screenwriters is provided in a template for potential funding

applicants or those seeking advice about craft and/or industry:

Visually this presentation is readable, accessible and utilitarian. It is also, arguably,

unimaginative – function over form. In alliance with this thought, sceneplay welcomes the

existence of traditional presentation while signposting a way to move the script document

beyond traditional presentation, thus adding to and embracing the existing lexicon. Senje

suggests that ‘the screenplay has a relatively strict framework within which there is some

flexibility’ (2017, p. 232). As methodological challenge, sceneplay tests the parameters of

such flexibility.

By allowing the inclusion of visual and textual elements, the script document can

progress in a more creatively holistic fashion, concentrating on the storytelling journey rather

than the destination. Price advises that a script for screen is ‘not a novel, stage play, or poetry,

but instead merely a stage in the creation of another artefact in a different medium’ (2010, p.

8 Screen Australia (www.screenaustralia.gov.au) is the national governing body for screenwriting funding in Australia.

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44). Although onscreen scripts have an anticipated possibility of life beyond the page, I

submit that it is the script’s seeming intransigence that makes it a suitable vehicle for this

study. Life begins with the first page. This is thus relevant in the early stages of script

building when ideas are forming yet not solidified. Stories, according to Millard, ‘are not a

set of rules. We live with stories, adapting them as we go’ (2014, p. 13, original emphasis).

Sceneplay is a methodological tool that promotes, as Sawtell, proposes, a ‘subjective

experience as author and researcher of the creative work’ (2021, p. 224). Scripts are by nature

and design entities of growth and change. Sceneplay is by nature and design a conduit of

growth and change.

In summary

The project at the centre of this PhD has the potential to explore ways to liberate writers,

amplify the voices they create and position research and practice within a creative feminist

paradigm. Such a concentration on early script building situates the writer as the prime reader

of the adapted script document. Discoveries are made in these early creative explorations

which in turn re-inform the burgeoning artefact, leading to further discoveries and further re-

informing of product. This is a project with an indefinable end game. In practice, I discover,

as exemplified in Chapters Four and Five, that the process is, was and always will be slow

and meandering, often presenting creative cul de sacs if not outright dead ends. Far from

being a detriment to methodological efficacy, the slow, plodding progress benefits the

storytelling transaction (in action) by allowing room for demiurgic breath and space for

writerly rumination. Andrew Metcalfe and Anne Game caution that it is easy to become

attached to the concept and/or importance of goals:

Goals promise certainty, and the anxiety they induce only makes their achievement seem [sic] more meritorious. The trouble is goals, even worthy ones, remove our sense of proportion and our sensitivity to what is happening around us (2002).

The work of this PhD joins effectively with Dallas Baker’s statement that a ‘text can still be

studied as an artefact that evidences specific creative writing practices that explore specific

themes and produces and disseminates new knowledge’ (2013, p. 7). In this way sceneplay

attempts to dispense with the need for performance-based or production-based goals in

favour of organic and poetic interventionist development.

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Prologue – backstory matters

Introducing the difficult older woman

This prologue places an individual and personal perspective upon research and creative

practice involved in this PhD project. My creative and feminist practices reach a

synchronicity of purpose here as the elements that have formed my work and thoughts cannot

be separated from my age, creative experience and identity. Bell A. Murphy offers that

‘storytelling is one of the most powerful ways that human beings decipher the world’ (2018,

p, 106). If so, then such deciphering is served by becoming more intricate and reflective.

My creative writing career began three decades ago, and I work as playwright, actor and

theatre director, venturing into screenwriting in the last six years. I have received awards,

scholarships, fellowships and residencies, teach script writing at Deakin University and

RMIT, and have had three plays published. My Masters (VCA) continued this investigation

of onscreen storytelling. I state this potted history in order to contextualise the fact that my

practice, particularly over the last decade involves the placement of marginalised and

historically omitted women at the centre of the narrative.

As a case in point, I introduce another older woman, Annie Edson Taylor, the 63-year-

old widow who, in 1901, became the first person to go over Niagara Falls in a barrel and

survive the experience. In the book, Over the Falls, Edson Taylor describes the consequences

of her efforts:

I did not say, like Dante, on entering the barrel, “Who enters here leaves all hope behind,” but as I faced the inevitable, life or a horrible death in 50 minutes, my courage rose (1902, p. 126-7).

Edson Taylor performed this feat for money and acclaim as she wished to avoid starvation

and a life of penury. According to those who knew her9 she was a complex woman who

courted fame and notoriety, not letting the facts get in the way of a good story. Edson Taylor

is not a household name. She has been sidelined to a section of history where ‘unacceptable’

women are expected to reside. Because of her flaws she challenges the perception of

9 In Edson Taylor’s book, Over the Falls (1902), the author admits to embellishing parts of her life story and experiences.

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traditional womanhood within theatrical/storytelling representation. She is the hero of her

own story, yet not heroic. She is funny, yet tragic, triumphant, yet a failure.

In 2019 I wrote a hyperbolic theatrical reimagining based on Edson Taylor’s life and

adventures entitled Queen of the Mist. The play has had two productions and been selected,

as one of eight Australian works, for presentation at the International Women’s Playwriting

Conference in Montreal, 2022. I mention the play’s trajectory to highlight the story’s

resonance as performative art, written to provide a non-traditional female character with a

multilayered and central positioning within the narrative.

My work in this PhD is a continuation of this quest to exhibit such stories as valuable

creative artefacts in an approach that is both feminist and functionary. The notion of the

difficult woman as agent of change is an overriding theme in my creative practice. Past work

has included a reimagining of Jane Eyre10, and an adaptation of My Brilliant Career11 – both

theatrical vehicles examining the place of non-compliant women in historical settings not

conducive to this non-compliance. Future scheduled work includes an investigation of South

Australian spy, Anne Neill, Melbourne-born racing car driver, Joan Richmond, and an

imagined conversation during a flight involving Amelia Earhart and Eleanor Roosevelt.12

My creative output attempts to replicate the socio-political positioning of various types

of female characters as well as inform ongoing practice and research. As Gerry Kroll and

Harper argue, the role of the individual within an academic research landscape ‘is paramount

to the evolution of creativity as well as enquiry’ (2012, p. x). Feminist principles influence

my work on all levels, exemplifying how feminist creative practice can be administered to

creative product. Gay adheres to the label of ‘bad’ feminist, reclaiming that word ‘bad’ to

exemplify adaptability and individuality within a socio-political positioning:

I am messy. I am not trying to be an example. I am not trying to be perfect. I am not trying to say I have all the answers. I am not trying to say I’m right. I am just trying – trying to support what I believe in, trying to do some good in this world […] (2014, p, 139).

10 Original novel by Charlotte Bronte, published 1847. 11 Original novel by Stella Miles Franklin, published 1901. 12 Anne Neill was a woman from Adelaide who infiltrated the Australian Communist party at the behest of ASIO (Australian Security Intelligence Organisation). Joan Richmond was a race car driver and animal activist from Melbourne. After a dinner at the White House in 1933, Amelia Earhart and US First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt took a flight together to Baltimore and then back to Washington.

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As an older, feminist screenwriter I embrace this version of ‘bad’ feminism as a reasonable

and fitting approach. I am trying, within a changing and chaotic creative space, to transform

vested personal and professional interest into script experimentation and resulting scripts of

value. As a researcher, I have the platform to blend analysis with content and arrive at

conclusions beneficial to both. I am, personally, an older woman who has never been

comfortable on the sidelines, who has been called ‘difficult’, ‘troublesome’, or ‘loud’ so

many times the words have lost meaning. The thoughts of Dale and Overell resonate here.

‘Feminism turns up as numerous commodities with slogans – “FEMINIST AF”, “I’M A

FUCKING FEMINIST” and “THIS IS WHAT A FEMINIST LOOKS LIKE”.’ (2018, pp.

12-13 capitals in original). At 60, with creaking knees, here I am, representing what this

feminist looks like, and how this feminist writes – for those with whom she identifies and

wishes to see replicated in storytelling.

‘Young people are celebrated, reviled, documented, envied and seen,’ suggests Carrie

Cox, while the elderly are ‘measured, pitied, mocked, visited and seen’ (2021, p. 66). Gay

argues that ‘womanhood feels more strange and terrible now because progress has not served

women as well as it has served men’ (2014, p. 132). This is pertinent when speaking of age

and gender representation within onscreen stories. It is this notion of under-serving and what

can be done to challenge it that feeds this PhD. Sceneplay as methodological writerly tool

aims to divest the script document of creative tumbleweed and permit the older woman a

place at the centre of the narrative. Eva Cox speaks to the lack of nuance in socio-political as

well as creative representation of women:

A visit to a public library and a quick scan of the biographies of notable women revealed an interesting common descriptor. Many of them were talked about in early chapters as being ‘difficult’ women [… [. I decided then that to be successful female agents of change, by definition, we needed to be stroppy, enraged and engaged, and that this might mean that these women were too atypical from ‘feminine normality’ to be respected (2021, p. 163).

A further reason for concentrating on older female characters as test case for the sceneplay

methodological tool is my cognisance of the fact that as an older, female creative practitioner

my socio-economic situation is precarious. In a mid-COVID context, older Australian women

are being left out of the conversation on a number of fronts such as housing, work, education,

health, superannuation and broader economics. As Jane Caro states, women of similar age

(she is 63), confess their fear of homelessness and potential poverty:

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They tell me of the indignities and humiliations they suffer at the hands of a punitive and indifferent welfare system, and they whisper dark stories of domestic violence, neglected health and isolation (The Guardian, Monday 23 November, 2020).

Storytelling, as means of communication has always been political, even when standing on a

domestic stage. Millard suggests that stories are ‘ways of remembering the past and

imagining a shared future. They help individuals and groups create a sense of meaning and

continuity’ (2014, pp.120-1). In this, my lived and living experience as an older female writer

and researcher allows an obvious empathy for those about whom I write and research. I am,

as Carrie Cox advises, armed with ‘a weather front of purpose’ (2021, p 67). Because of this

expression of personal preferences, I raise (within industry and academia) relevant questions

of age and gender representation within script development. Jill Dolan writes that ‘we’re

collectively called to see what and who is stunningly, repeatedly evident and what and who is

devastatingly, obviously invisible in the art and popular culture, we regularly consume for

edification and entertainment’ (2013, p. 20). It is a focus of this PhD to celebrate the creation

of older, female characters of substance while testing their capacity to remain relevant and

entertaining.

This is a version of creative feminist practice that, in alignment with the thoughts of

Halberstam, ‘looks into the shadows of history for its heroes and finds them loudly refusing

the categories that have been assigned to them’ (2011, location 84- 90). Halberstam’s

presentation of Gaga feminism is discussed further in Chapter One of this document, but it is

reasonable to introduce the concept here as applicable to sceneplay as script intervention of

non-compliance. In providing ‘Gaga feminism’ as life implementation, Halberstam describes

it as ‘anarchic feminism [gesturing] towards new forms of revolt’ (2011, location 84-90).

This is a feminist approach, Halberstam adds, that is focused upon ‘improvisation,

customization, and innovation’ (2011, location 90). Such thoughts align effectively with a

project dedicated to improvisational, customised and innovative interventions upon a script

document and the centring of underserved characters within a screen story. Sceneplay

adheres to and celebrates Halberstam’s notion of:

a politics of free-falling, wild thinking, and imaginative reinvention best exemplified by children under the age of eight, women over the age of forty-five, and the vast armies of the marginalized, the abandoned, and the unproductive (2011, location. 110).

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This creative journeying cannot fail to spread into the actual and storytelling world in which I

find myself. Jason Lee argues that all writers, whether consciously or subliminally, draw a

conjoining of experience and imagination: ‘The psychology of screenwriting involves in

many respects the psychology of the screenwriter and characters we create are going to

contain elements of ourselves’ (2013, p.13). We should, as writers be allowed to live, as

Halberstam advises, ‘in between the “what” and the “if”’ (2011, p. 8). The characters we

write should not have to play nice. They should be allowed to be liars and frauds who court

fame and notoriety. They ought to be heroes of their own stories, yet not heroic, capable of

being funny, tragic and triumphant through failure.

In such intertwining elements of storytelling, I see a direct line from Edson Taylor to

Dawn – the central character of the script artefact created through this PhD. Both women are

not confined to traditional presentations of womanhood. Both women fight against

expectations and perceptions of age and gender. Both women adhere to Seger’s sentiments

about worthwhile characters who, in effect, ‘touch us, lead us, guide us, and, when done well,

tell us something about who we’ve been, who we are, and where we’re going’ (Jacey, 2010,

p. 150). The next chapter continues the investigation of the trajectory of this PhD by moving

to a concerted discussion around the positioning of screenplays within industrial and

academic spheres and the consequences of such positioning.

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Chapter One

The multilayering of sceneplay

In this chapter I interrogate the concepts of meaning and purpose within my burgeoning

script document. I begin with a conversation around the place and importance of the

academic and industrial screenplays. I then move to discussions of the essence of ‘play’

within the methodological approach. The chapter continues on to an exploration of the

placement of the difficult, older female as central character within the study. The overriding

feminist intention of the work is then presented to round off the chapter.

Academic versus industry screenplay

Sceneplay as writerly intervention attempts to celebrate diversity within a developing script

document that informs research and practice. Such an attempt springs from a rich and

textured history as McKee explains:

Through tens of thousands of years of tales told at fireside, four millennia of the written word, twenty-five thousand years of theatre, a century of film, and eight decades of broadcasting, countless generations of storytellers have spun story into an astonishing diversity of patterns (1999, p. 79).

It is important then to contextualise what kind of pattern is suitable for the sceneplay

experiments. There is much lively discussion surrounding the difference between an

academic and industry screenplay (Batty, 2012; Baker, 2016; Nelmes, 2007; Price, 2010;

Taylor, 2016; Maras, 2009; Sawtell, 2019; Bolland, 2021; Tindale, 2021). Academia suggests

that one way the writer can approach creative practice research is through the work as

interrogation rather than enhancement of practice – as Batty and Stayci Taylor argue, seeking

‘to test, experiment with or expand existing practices through the development and/or writing

of an original screenplay’ (2016). In this way the script for screen can effectively embrace

and resemble Sternberg’s idea of ‘literature in flux’ (1997, p. 28).

Macdonald, in his helpful instigation of the term ‘the screen idea’, more closely defines

the complexity of the screenplay as:

Any notion held by one or more people of a singular concept (however complex), which may have conventional shape or not, intended to become a screenwork, whether or not it is possible to describe it in written form or by other means (2013, pp. 4-5).

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Nita Cherry and Joy Higgs attest that the strategically positioned screenplay within an

academic setting invites the practitioner to ‘bring multidisciplinary perspectives and creative

research strategies to bear on issues and possibilities, and often to think outside the existing

boxes’ (2011, p. 13). Such a position allows me, as creator within a defined setting, to play in

the space. Sceneplay fits into an academic screenplay framework due to its concentration on

creative evolution irrespective of potential industrial placement – a lack of creative inhibition

leading to furthered creation rather than a final result.

The visual interventions upon early phases of the script document are influenced by

arguments such as Sawtell’s, which suggest that in script development, ‘it can be more

important to flesh out the ideas in many different ways, rather than restricting the natural

flow of the story by conforming to the industrial model’ (2015, p. 4). Batty et al define

screenwriting research as:

[...] a practice in which the screenwriter makes use of the intellectual space offered by the academy and those within it to incubate and experiment with ideas, the intention being that their processes or screenplays – or both – change as a result (2015, p. 3, original emphasis).

In this way sceneplay exists as evidence that the academic screenplay can be presented as

effective research methodology while also advancing creative possibilities for theoretical

placement within industry once further drafts of the script are completed. The project is, as

Senje proposes, ‘energised and renewed by tools and methods other than those offered by the

conventional development field’ (2017, p. 270). The intellectual space offered by the

academy also provides creative breathing space for experimentation.

As practitioner I write primarily to create work in an artistic sphere that hopes to also

engage in scholarly discussion. As researcher I submit the creative work to scholarly testing.

This project proposes the ability for sceneplay to thrive in an environment that is subversive

and playful, tying in with Tony Garnett’s thoughts on the function of the screenwriting

process, in which he argues that ‘representational art, like life, should be a little rough round

the edges. The only perfection is in death. Life is not perfect’ (2016, p. 141). Akin to this,

Mattie Sempert advises a ‘stitching together of methods, practice, reflections, and creative

and critical outcomes’ (Sempert et al 2017, p. 219). Thus, amalgamating research and

creative output arising from this study and resettling the final script artefact upon an

exploratory landscape offers, as it should, both challenges and revelatory discoveries.

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A playful escapade

Understanding how play, as creative apparatus, can be implemented is a vital component of

this PhD; an exploration aiming to challenge the traditional formulation of a script document.

Julienne van Loon identifies positive ramifications for creative practice when play as tool is

applied ‘where form, genre and sub-genre might be thought of as loosely containing the set of

rules or limitations that work to enable new invention’ (2014, p. 5). In developing sceneplay

as a methodological device I give myself permission for the work to flounder, to not be

whole, to be something other than perfect or at least less than perfectly constructed. In such a

situation, play, as a device of creative frolic encourages a lack of attachment to the outcome –

imagination without inhibition.

Thomas Malaby argues that play ‘becomes an attitude characterized by a readiness to

improvise in the face of an ever-changing world that admits of no transcendently ordered

account’ (2009, p. 206). Such thoughts and approaches speak cogently to a study involving

development of storytelling and storytelling techniques. Subversion through play is a core

goal of this non-compliant approach to story building. The development of a script can be

enjoyable, playful, experimental. Screenwriters aim for a fuller life for their characters, plots,

narrative structure and thematic integrity.

A sense of play can invade and pervade early drafts of story construction. Storytelling is

the device and instigator of make believe and make believe, particularly at its birth, requires

freedom to grow into something worthwhile. This permission to indulge in playful expression

forms the basis of the sceneplay approach and resulting artefact. Play invites play. Play

allows connection. Play, particularly as a feminist innovation within sceneplay, aims for an

original contribution to knowledge.

It is the aim of this project to explore creative development rather than concentrate solely

on final result; an investigation of means to end, adhering to Van Loon’s theory that play is at

the heart of the creative research process, becoming the seed that germinates an idea and

provides the impetus for the idea to grow through experimentation (2014, p. 9). It is

suggested (Pellis, et al, 2011) that play has a specific role within brain function dependent

upon synapses and integrated connections.

Such concepts are helpful to a study investigating script building as organic, non-

prescriptive enterprise. As the sceneplay interventions influence the script and ultimate

trajectory of the narrative, the sense and essence of play remain imperative ingredients. This

is exploration through practice that embraces missteps, that invites and anticipates a certain

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amount of creative failure through creative frolic. Play, and its influences upon the

burgeoning sceneplay artefact, is in part the answer to such a complex question.

The difficult, older female character – methodologically and practically speaking

As critical and creative choice-making, a central aim of this project is to interrogate how

underserved characters can be elevated within a script by challenging the appearance and

function of the script document. It is with the word ‘discovery’ in mind that I use the

difficult, older female central character as a measurement of the efficacy of sceneplay as

methodological approach. By privileging a feminist intention with the creation of such a

character the project narrows focus in order to exemplify that dedicated character placement

can lead to more cogent representation.

Sally Chivers attests that such an onscreen representation ‘offers a potent site for

production of cultural knowledge and requires critical attention because it has a strong

influence on popular thinking’ (2011, p. 176). Older women on screen need to fight for

central positioning. Such a fight can be instigated and orchestrated by the writer. Gay states

her belief that this ongoing battle for effective representation in onscreen stories must come

at the expense of the traditional focus on male characters:

As if men’s stories are the only stories that matter. When women are involved, they are sidekicks, the romantic interests, the afterthoughts. Rarely do women get to be the center of attention. Rarely do our stories get to matter (2014, p. 119).

McKee suggests that an active central character must attempt, in the course of the journey, to

struggle ‘against primarily external forces of antagonism, to pursue his or her desire, through

continuous time, without a consistent and causally connected fictional reality, to a closed

ending of absolute, irreversible change’ (1999, p. 45). There is nothing in this descriptor to

indicate such a character must be likeable, happy, moral, ethical, empathetic or reliant upon

any combination of such traits in order to fulfil the necessary requirements of being ‘not

difficult’. Certainly, the central character is our entrée into the narrative, and we need to

identify, on some level, with their ambitions, flaws, adventures, aspirations and/or problems.

If we do not see ourselves mirrored in some way or at some point through that character, we

run the risk of remaining outside of and uninterested in the story.

The character journey, however, can surely involve a ‘difficult’ character who operates

outside the realms of consistent likability, happiness, morality, ethics and empathy. In other

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words, a ‘difficult’ character is still capable of presenting identifiable behaviours, whether or

not they are perceived as admirable. John Yorke, when speaking of definitions of character

traits informs that ‘“care” is often translated as “like”’ (The Guardian, Saturday 16 March

2013). Why do we need to care only about those we like or dislike? Gay asks, ‘why is

unlikability even a question? Why are we so concerned with whether, in fact or fiction,

someone is likeable?’ (2014, p. 84). The central character’s journey is about change rather

than exhibited personality trait. As such, the journey can be made richer by a more nuanced

presentation of character as representative of the whole – good, bad, ugly, rough and smooth.

I pause here to contextualise my terms. For the purposes of my practice-led research and

ensuing artefact, I define ‘hero’ as the central character who drives the action, appears in

most scenes, and without whom the story could not take place. I also ask that the ‘hero’ is, at

times, empathetic enough to garner potential interest and maintain that interest throughout the

narrative. Although these terms are further investigated in this PhD, an early clarification is

helpful. In discussing characters who do not exhibit traditional elements of likeability,

‘niceness’, ‘womanliness’, et al, it is also important to examine the term ‘anti-hero’ and why,

in the instance of this creative artefact it does not pertain to my central character – Dawn.

Ryan Castillo and Katie Gibson write that the anti-hero is often written and viewed as

‘morally conflicted […], doomed to be a victim of [her] own demise’ (2014, p. 80). This

definition does not sit well with the character I wish to create. Dawn, even at these early

stages of creative exploration, need not be a victim of her own demise. She can be a person,

flawed and yet triumphant. Her ‘difficulty’ need not be a hindrance to her efficacy as a

character of worth.

The positive aspect of ‘difficult’ fictional characters, argues Gay, is that they ‘won’t or

can’t pretend to be someone they are not […]. They are, instead, themselves. They accept the

consequences of their choices, and those consequences become stories worth reading’ (2014,

p. 95). Screenwriter Frank Cottrell Boyce supports this idea, claiming that likability is less

important than relatability:

Sympathy is like crack cocaine to industry execs. I've had at least one wonderful screenplay of mine maimed by a sympathy-skank. Yes, of course the audience has to relate to your characters, but they don't need to approve of them. If characters are going to do something bad, Hollywood wants you to build in an excuse note (The Guardian, Saturday 16 March, 2013).

Humans are flawed. Good stories aim to reflect those flaws back to us to build empathy for

our frailties and to highlight the intriguing nature of the human condition. To deny a

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character the ability to exhibit these flaws because of a pursuit of some kind of unrealistic

perfection seems counterproductive to potent storytelling. Screenwriting as an artform has the

potential to represent those sidelined by traditional Western storytelling methods – people of

colour, women, non-westerners, those identifying as queer, those identifying as disabled,

those identifying as non-binary. Jacey addresses this idea of visibility and viability within

onscreen storytelling:

There are still some grossly underrepresented women in film and TV, such as lesbians, disabled women, women of different ethnic groups, and older women. As Whoopi Goldberg once joked, Tiana, the animated African American princess in The Princess and the Frog is black, but she spends 70% of the film as a frog, so that’s okay (2010, p. 179).

Murphy reinforces the dilemma, stating that ‘some women’s efforts to be seen as

“empowered” agents are shored up by race and class privilege while others must tirelessly

work against negative stereotypes and structural disadvantages’ (2018, p. 101). Such an

acknowledgement needs to be made and is, in essence, an important thematic thread within

sceneplay. By choosing, in this instance, to platform the difficult, older female as central

character, I aim to keep the investigation robust, highlighting this particular underserved

character. I hope, then, to provide a tangible echo of socio-political realities within the

developing script by exacerbating such a character. Gay attests that these conscious echoes

are needed within onscreen stories:

The moment we see a pop artifact [sic] offering even a sliver of something different–say, a woman who isn’t a size zero or who doesn’t treat a man as the center of the universe – we cling to it desperately because that representation is all we have. There are all kinds of television shows and movies about women but how many of them make women recognizable? (2014, p. 58).

In alignment with proposed notions of a reflected, represented socio-political reality, French

highlights a history of women insisting on being regarded as people, rather than as women –

‘perhaps for fear that acknowledgement of gender will prevent them from claiming a place as

a creative person on their own terms’ (2007, p. 14). This PhD argues that sceneplay as a

methodological approach allows the writer further control over the conversation surrounding

representation of female characters on screen.

My goal is to produce a script that provides an act of resistance. Statistics, as well as

lived experience, denote such resistance is timely. According to Screen Australia (2015) 51

percent of film and television audiences are women, while the Motion Picture Association of

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America suggests similar figures for the United States and Canada (2018). If older women

make up the majority of viewers, it seems logical that stories of older women be reflected

within onscreen stories to a commensurate level. Even with the exponential growth of

storytelling on streaming platforms13 women’s stories are not keeping pace with those of their

male counterparts.

Susan Liddy suggests that the pattern of placing older females as ‘marginal characters or

as abject pathological figures, has become a globalized cinematic practice’ (2015, p. 600). In

an Australian context the Gender Matters document (2015, p. 3) further indicates that, while

recent Australian drama series provide more diverse representations of women than in former

years, few have central female protagonists over the age of 47. Such a situation falls short of

societal realities and expectations, a point made by Seger:

During the last fifty years, almost every aspect of society has been affected, in one way or another, by the Women’s Movement. Yet characters in film have been slow to reflect the many dimensions of the changing identity of women. Characters in modern film usually have more shading than the stereotypical dumb blonde or the aggressive female boss, but large chunks of female dimensionality are still missing (in Jacey, 2010, location 144).

Older women onscreen who do not fit into perceptions of archetypal representation are a rare

commodity. As Liz Byrski notes, older female characters are usually presented as negative,

stereotypical, as ‘bossy, interfering mothers-in-law, nosy neighbours, crotchety spinsters,

pathetic empty nesters, or feeble and demented burdens, hampering the lives of the really

important people; men, young women and children’ (2010, p. 2). The dismissal of female

characters because of age or concepts of less likable character traits seems a wasted

opportunity. Surely the difficult, older female character could be valued because of the

potential for onscreen diversity. Jacey continues the thought arguing that aspirations for

perfection for characters within a multilayered narrative are counterproductive:

She [the female central character] needs to be complex but not necessarily nice. Think about all the complex, dark, male heroes that have entertained and compelled millions to watch them in recent years. The more complicated, wounded, and alienated the

13 There were, in November 2019, over 600 million subscribers to streaming services worldwide – cited – The Gruen Transfer, ABC TV, Wednesday, November 20, 2019. As of October 2021 (canstarblue.com.au) there are 26 streaming services available for Australian viewers – Netflix, Stan, Disney+, BINGE, Apple TV+, Foxtel, Hayu, Amazon Prime, Fetch, YouTube Premium, Kayo Sports, Paramount +, Telstra TV Box Office, Docplay, Britbox, iwonder, Shudder, Acorn TV, Funimation, Kanopy, Tubi, ABC iView, SBS on Demand, Tenplay, 9Now, 7Plus.

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better when it comes to men, it seems. The perennial problem for writers is fear the audience won’t like the heroine (2010, pp. 24-5, original emphasis).

This then is a vital issue for investigation – whether a character’s propensity to be likable,

malleable, accessible, socially acceptable is more important, in a narrative sense, than

complexity. I submit that it is not and concur with Norma Jones, Maja Bajac-Carter and Bob

Batchelor in that the worth of watchable older female characters lies in that character’s ability

to ‘navigate the tensions between unique and familiar, individual and collective, erotic and

chaste, masculine and feminine, work and family, and public and private’ (2014, p. 4). Jacey

believes the writer’s voice serves a crucial role in society’s representation of itself, adding

that ‘a first step screenwriters might usefully take is to define their authorial intentions and

what might largely be termed as their “subjective value system”’ (2014, p. 241). My authorial

intentions, therefore, centre on creative feminist principles that speak to and from lived

experience. To co-opt the catch phrase of the Geena Davis Institute on Gender in Media, ‘if

she can see it, she can be it’,14 even at 60 years of age, if I can see it, I can be it and write it.

Although there has been growth in the representation of older female characters on our

screens: Moira Rose in Schitt’s Creek (Dan Levy, 2015 – 2020); Grace and Frankie in Grace

and Frankie (Marta Kauffman and Howard J. Morris, 2016 –); Mare Sheehan in Mare of

Easttown (Brad Ingelsby, 2021); and Hope McRae in Virgin River (Sue Tenney, Jackson

Rock, Patrick Moss, Jackson Sinder, 2019 –) are five examples, yet the difficult, older female

remains a rarity within the screen story. These characters may appear throughout the

narrative, yet their eventual place within it often requires them to become less difficult before

the story ends, fulfilling the archetypal notion of redemption within the hero’s journey15 in

returning home having learned something from the journey, become better people because of

it.

Older male characters are permitted the luxury of being difficult while maintaining

central positioning within the narrative – think mafia boss/murderer/adulterer Tony Soprano

(The Sopranos, David Chase, 1999 – 2007), or Walter White, the murderous, duplicitous

meth-cooking science teacher (Breaking Bad, Vince Gilligan, 2008 – 2013). Such characters

navigate the storytelling landscape with impunity within long running and award-winning

episodic television series, yet commensurate onscreen women are often less fortunate. Gay

laments the notion that ‘women moving through the world as freely as men should sell itself

14 www.seejane.org 15 A full discussion of Campbell’s theory of the hero’s journey does not appear in this PhD.

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[…]. Unfortunately, this is not the case; (2014, p. 15). Feminist author, Clementine Ford,

suggests that the concept of a ‘difficult’ woman is hard for some to accept in storytelling

because such women have the potential to exhibit traits of rage and anger and such potential

is, within a patriarchal reality, unexpected and unwanted:

To a world that instructs women to be passive and conciliatory, anger is a terrifying thing…people are afraid of women’s anger because they are afraid of confronting its source – inequality, violence, degradation, dehumanisation, misogyny. If you don’t want to accept these things exist, you won’t want to accept the validity of women’s feelings of rage (2016, p. 265).

Virginia Woolf writes that men’s stories resonate because, to an audience ignorance of

women’s experience, ‘a scene in a battlefield is more important than a scene in a shop’ (1928,

p. 108). In a more contemporary response Carrie Cox suggests, ‘the historical narrative of

humankind has been shaped by angry men. The wars, the revolutions, the genocide, the

coups. All that blood in the water’ (2021, p. 67). We can arguably lay the blame for such

inequality in gender and age representation at the door of the patriarchy, the upholders of

which have, through centuries of imposed power structures, made the rules of who and what

is acceptable – rules that have been transported to creative onscreen expression.

The 21st century creative sensibility, however, is a landscape influenced by feminist

activist movements such as #MeToo16 and Women’s Marches on a state, national and global

scale. Acceleration of, as well as accessibility to such platforms is, as Melinda Bufton states,

‘closely associated with the amplification of feminist movements via mainstream and social

media’ (2013, p. 29), where, according to Kira Cochrane, ‘thousands of women can be

involved in a single conversation’ (2013, p. 583). Women, even women who are fictional

characters, deserve more stringent action with regard to ending gender and age disparity

within storytelling. In the wake of such notions, it is timely to reconsider the positioning of

difficult, older women, giving them a front seat at the show.

Support exists within the screenwriting conversation for allowing characters to deviate

from one-dimensional ideals of onscreen likability. Yorke advises that permitting characters

to be difficult, unruly, awkward, un-pin-downable is of benefit to storytelling. ‘Much more

16 In 2006 Tarana Burke began the ‘Me Too’ movement, a space for survivors of sexual violence to speak up about their experiences. More than a decade later the phrase continues to be used ‘as a slogan of the anti-sexual harassment movement’ (Chicago Tribune, 2019). A Women’s March most recently (within the timeframe of this PhD) took place in the Australian capital, Canberra, in March 2021.

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interesting are the rough edges, the darkness – and we love these things because though we

may not want to admit it, they touch something deep within us’ (The Guardian, Saturday 16

March, 2013). If Yorke’s thoughts ring true, and if feminist activism is changing the socio-

political landscape, then why do we not see a commensurate reflection of difficult, older

women as central characters on our screens? Bell A. Murphy continues the theme, arguing

that female onscreen representation in general is lacking in nuance and reflectivity:

While the recent proliferation of super-human women depicted in popular culture may be a refreshing change from the old damsel in distress story, neither extreme represents a realistic script for everyday women and girls’ own resistance. This lack of believable narratives limits our imaginations of what is possible (2018, p. 106).

Sceneplay as weapon in the writers’ armoury centres the difficult, older female character by

concerting efforts (both writerly and functional) on her multilayered representation within a

script. This allows a consciously constructed feminist framework to define the terms and

conditions of a new and specific style of script development. Feminism, as Gay attests, ‘may

be flawed, but it offers, at its best, a way to navigate this shifting cultural climate’ (2014,

location 109). A feminist approach to positioning a difficult, older female as central character

adheres to such navigational potential.

The concept of age

Commentary around what defines the older woman is fraught with speculation. Carrie Cox

broaches the subject with lyrical playfulness:

Middle-aged is the least defined of all life stages. Its edges are blurred beyond visibility, its span as hard to estimate as any stretch of the Nullarbor. Search online for ‘middle age’ and the first result you land upon is ‘the period between early adulthood and old age’, which is a little like asking someone where the nearest toilet is and their response being to point to the ocean (2018, p. 65).

There is no simple definition of middle to old age with which to go forward. All such

attempts at construction can be accepted as fluid and changeable. This, however, permits

further food for thought surrounding what age means for women and, as a consequence, what

representation of age means for female characters and the writers who create them. As

literary gerontologist Kathleen Woodward argues, ‘our disregard of age is all the more

curious because age – in the sense of older age – is the one difference we are all likely to live

into’ (2011 p. 217). Imelda Whelehan bemoans the lack of older women on screen due to

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preconceived notions of a woman’s place within the world. ‘Post-menopausal women’ she

argues, ‘are assumed to disappear into a dismal neutered future or else the kind of femininity

available with age remains unutterable in contemporary popular culture’ (2014, p. 17). Where

and how do older women successfully take up creative space?

Judith Butler proffers that within a patriarchal framework ‘performing one’s gender

wrong initiates a set of punishments both obvious and indirect, and performing it well

provides the reassurance that there is an essentialism of gender identity after all’ (2014, p.

303). This thought leads, as Gay states, to a theoretical feminist dilemma, ‘this tension – the

idea that there is a right way to be a woman, a right way to be the most essential woman – is

ongoing and pervasive’ (2014. p. 303). Can we easily categorise what a ‘good woman’ looks

and acts like? In turn, can we easily write what a ‘difficult woman’ looks and acts like?

Where do the demarcation points lie? Gay goes further in the discussion of what character

traits have, within patriarchal landscapes, been promoted as acceptable for women:

Good women are charming, polite and unobtrusive. Good women work but are content to earn 77 percent of what men earn or, depending on whom you ask, good women bear children and stay home to raise those children without complaint. Good women are modest, chaste, pious, submissive. Women who don’t adhere to these standards are the fallen, the undesirable; they are bad women (2014, p. 303).

Is representation of older women within onscreen stories any closer to effectively reflecting

social realities? Whelehan and Joel Gwynne suggest a lag, arguing that ‘portrayals of a

woman having hot flushes or a middle-aged man astride his motorcycle often evoke laughter,

and laughter is a good strategy to deflect fear or prevent further analysis of the preponderance

of such representations’ (2014, p. 3). As Simone de Beauvoir argued almost 50 years ago, a

lack of reflective age and gender representation is detrimental to individual and collective

self-worth and self-identification:

If we do not know what we are going to be we cannot know what we are: let us recognise ourselves in that old man or that old woman. It must be done if we are to take upon ourselves the entirety of our human state (1972, p. 187).

Ahmed returns to a contemporary feminist discourse, advising that in terms of creative

representation we can gauge feminism and the feminist act ‘as poetry; we hear histories in

words; we reassemble histories by putting them into words’ (2017, p. 12). Through the

sceneplay script interventions, such histories can also include the older, the female and the

‘difficult’ as essential components of creative reality.

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In Australia, recent television offerings seem, at least in part, to be embracing the

possible validity of the older woman’s presence. Stories such as Fisk (Kitty Flanagan, Penny

Flanagan, 2021) present a middle-aged woman as central character. As portrayed by Kitty

Flanagan, Fisk is an uneasy, socially awkward character – dishevelled, disassociated from her

comfort zone, fish out of water, flawed. In an indication that older women’s stories resonate

with an audience, the six episodes of the series rated strongly for the ABC.17

It seems feasible then to tell an older woman’s story onscreen in the knowledge that an

audience can respond favourably. My contention is that we go further and present characters

who embrace the notion of ‘difficulty’, while not shying away from such terms. In the spirit

of recognising ourselves, I submit that a strong sense of character as driver of the story,

however flawed that sense of character may be, is beneficial for worthwhile progression of

the narrative process. This notion evidences the difficult, older female character as a suitable

test case for the sceneplay methodological approach.

A resonant theory among screenwriters is that character choices drive the narrative.

Yorke overlaps the thought into other areas of performative writing. ‘All enduring drama is

character-based, all popular drama is character-based, and all plausible drama is character-

based. Without credible, vibrant, exciting, living, breathing, empathetic characters, drama

simply doesn’t work’ (2013, p. 123). As an intervention based on individual choices,

sceneplay has the potential to explore specific character-based elements for specific

purposes. What then, can the term ‘difficult’ mean, with regard to character and character

journey?

Older female characters are mothers, non-mothers, lovers, sisters, daughters, friends,

workers, community members, sportspeople, trans, representative of a vast array of human

experience. Having to fulfil a charter of being less problematic in order to exist on the page

feels unsustainable and short-sighted. Addressing these challenges, as Jones, Bajac-Carter

and Batchelor suggest, can ‘shift values and norms as our societies experience economic,

social, and other changes’ (2014, location 47-53). Sceneplay, as storytelling approach,

attempts to build the script in a measured yet non-traditional manner and, through script-

based experiments, the difficult, older female character has the potential to undergo

creatively forensic investigation.

17 Fisk launched with 532,000 viewers. Its highest rating episode was Episode Three with 594,000 viewers (www.mediaweek.com.au, 31 March 2021).

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Strident feminism in the midst of change

As a writer I observe and track the ways in which my storytelling, and sceneplay as

methodological approach, are influenced by evolving feminist thoughts and practices. Such

influences are to be expected in a rapidly altering world. My personal version of feminism, in

a post-Trump, mid-COVID world, is in flux. This seems a plausible proposition in an

environment in which the socio-economic and political realities form a difficult, often

slippery landscape to navigate. As Lisa French argues, feminist discussions provide a ‘useful

discursive space – rather than a paradigm – one where a conversation or critique of the ideas

of both in relation to each other is possible’ (2007, p. 19). Feminism itself, like any social,

political or ideological movement, needs to adjust to the chaotic nature of this uncertainty.

This state of theoretical disorder, however, is beneficial to a study that is about disorder, and

dedicated to development rather than end product.

There are, of course, many types and levels of feminist participation, especially when

applied to creative practice. As suggested in the Introduction, my way forward in establishing

the feminist umbrella under which my investigation sits, is to present a viewpoint forged by

changing ideas in a changing world. Gay provides a definition of feminism as ‘offered by Su,

an Australian woman who, when interviewed for Kathy Bail’s 1996 anthology DIY

Feminism, said feminists are “just women who don’t want to be treated like shit”’ (2014, p.

303). Taking this a step further, feminists are also women who want to be themselves and

seen to be portrayed as themselves. Annette Kuhn argues that ‘feminism presents itself as a

process’ (1982, p. 3). Storytelling and the building of story present themselves as processes.

Analysing the place of female characters within the story requires an investigative dive into

the influences of feminist theory upon development of that story.

The ramifications, in feminist terms, of situating an older female at the centre of the

narrative are integral to the project, not only as social activism but as socially inspired act of

script-based non-compliance. De Beauvoir’s 71-year-old argument still speaks to a

complicated discussion around gender representation. ‘Is this attribute [of womanhood]

something secreted by the ovaries? Or is it a Platonic essence, a product of the philosophic

imagination? Is a rustling petticoat enough to bring it down to earth?’ (1949, p. 2). Do we,

within the subjective confines of a patriarchal society, still cling to the notion of women as

‘other’?

Contemporary feminist writers Suzy D’Enbeau and Patrice M. Buzzanell continue the

through line of female ‘otherness’ suggesting that in terms of representation within

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storytelling ‘women are expected to be passive, cooperative, emotional and caring. Men are

rewarded for their initiative, competitive spirit and rational-logical decision-making. The

feminine attributes are devalued while masculine characteristics are privileged’ (2016, p. 7).

Byrski argues that ‘to write about women’s everyday lives is to write about the tangled webs

of marriage and families, of work and money or the lack of it, sexual politics, and the

political reality of women living in a world defined by men, for men and to accommodate

their preferences’ (2014, p. 15). Theories such as this reinforce the idea that women will

always be ‘the other’ as long as the patriarchy deems it necessary.

Here then, I reintroduce and reiterate the wilful feminism of Ahmed and the Gaga

feminism of Halberstam, both avenues of thought and activism feeding into sceneplay as

methodological writer’s tool. These theorists support a non-compliant approach to gender

politics, in turn, guiding my research into a non-compliant approach to storytelling. The

adherence in this PhD to a fluctuating feminism is invigorated by the concept of the ‘killjoy

feminist’, a theory espoused by Ahmed (2017). The killjoy feminist evokes a way of

presenting gender roles and representation that challenges the status quo of socio-economic

and political realities.

This is a reinforcement of the essential tenet of my project – a new form of script

development, challenging the old, and dedicated to the placement of underserved characters

in a storytelling setting. This is an incitement to riot against traditional storytelling by

troubling those traditional means and operations. ‘You can become a killjoy just by saying

life does not have to be like this, or to be this’, Ahmed argues. ‘Feminism is wherever

feminism needs to be, feminism needs to be everywhere’ (2017, p. 4). The constant evolution

of a script document and, as consequence, the evolution of character is wilful feminism in

real time and application. I think of feminism as a fragile archive,’ Ahmed adds, ‘a body

assembled from shattering, from splattering, an archive whose fragility gives us

responsibility: to take care’ (2017 pp. 17-18). Sceneplay as experiment and the difficult,

older female protagonist as test case of the experiment are exemplars of shattering,

splattering and fragility in action, joining forces to rejuvenate the concept of what a script

document can look like. So too, Halberstam’s theory of Gaga feminism proffers an invitation

to:

go gaga, to give up on the tried and the true, the real and the authentic, the proven and the tested, and instead encourages a move toward the insane, the preposterous, the intellectually loony and giddy, hallucinatory visions of alternative futures (2011, pp. 25-26).

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Here, the ‘otherness’ interrogated by decades of feminist analysis gives way to a reinvention

of the concept of the foundations of femaleness and specifically femaleness in present tense,

in action. Gaga feminists, in Halberstam’s view, are tackling gender and gender

representation from more nuanced angles:

These feminists are not “becoming women” in the sense of coming to consciousness, they are unbecoming women in every sense—they undo the category rather than rounding it out, they dress it up and down, take it apart like a car engine and then rebuild it so that it is louder and faster (2011, location 84-90).

This is a version of feminist practice that has room for women who are difficult, older,

flawed and form part of a feminism that, as Halberstam suggests, is grounded in ‘destruction

and refusal rather than creation and acquiescence (2011, location 97). Homing in on character

traits that would otherwise preclude such a character from central positioning within the story

is, in my belief, a way to eliminate the concept of ‘otherness’, to challenge its viable place

within an adapting 21st century storytelling landscape. Byrski argues that explorations of age

and gender representation are vital to a bone fide socio-political reflection:

While shopping centres thrive on the custom of older women, the wallpaper within them is tediously youthful and excludes old and ageing women as consumers. There are no billboards of feisty, wrinkled old women choosing an outfit for a special occasion, a bathing suit, or a track suit for their morning walks. Ageing and old women are cast as outsiders, unacceptable or wrong, fragile, dependent, or as the carers of other old people (2014, p 18).

Feminists such as Ahmed call for a counteraction to this concept of older female as outcast,

or incorrect, or addition to someone else’s existence. She recommends that ‘when we refuse

to be women, in the heteropatriarchal sense as beings for men, we become trouble, we get

into trouble. A killjoy is willing to get into trouble’ (2017, p. 225). In a similar vein,

Halberstam advocates a “monstrous outgrowth”, a celebration of the ‘refusal of the mushy

sentimentalism that has been siphoned into the category of womanhood’ (2011, location 71).

This idea of the value of changeability within gender politics nourishes my research and

practice, underlining a notion of creatively implementable feminism.

Dawn, as a character, is the epitome of “monstrous outgrowth”, an annoying, rude,

obnoxious woman actively fighting against the storytelling traditions that have been

historically assigned to her. The Gaga feminist, as Halberstam attests, thrives in this

environment of patriarchy-inspired confusion as she ‘cannot settle into the house that the

culture has built for her. S/he has to tear it down, reimagine the very meaning of house in

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form of function’ (2011, location 97). Perhaps Dawn is a Gaga feminist or, at least a

character who has the potential to be a Gaga feminist, even if she does not recognise it within

herself.

The sceneplay experiments as analogy, resemble such a house that needs to be torn down

and reimagined before it can be rebuilt with new, bespoke design and function. Dawn, as

character, needs to be the hero and centre of her story not because she happens to be a

difficult, older woman, but because she is a difficult, older woman. Within the burgeoning

creative experiments and script artefact (presented in Chapters Four and Five of this

document), Dawn is presented as a changeable, growing, learning, developing character,

again, fitting a framework of the reimagined – a new presentation and situating within the

storytelling space.

Jacey adds to the exploration of the complexities of gender representation by arguing that

straightforward storytelling solutions are at best illusory and, at worst, redundant:

We continue to ask: “Is she just like a man, but she looks different?” Or is there something different operating because of her different physicality and different social influences? If so, what does she look like? Act like? What are the challenges, obstacles, and metaphors that govern her psychology and behaviour? (2010, p. 150).

If, as Halberstam states, waves of feminism have stood for tangible goals, ‘women’s suffrage

and temperance movements in the first wave, equal rights and abortion rights in the second

wave; and equal opportunities in the workplace and in education in the third wave’ (2011, p.

3), then perhaps the fourth wave will be about survival, or further adaptation, or preparation

for extinction. Perhaps all of the above. These are the challenges taken into the sceneplay

experiments and evolving script which in turn create new challenges as the process continues.

Such permission to indulge in creative chaos provides fodder for the character

experimentation involved in sceneplay – characters who take risks, who may not put home or

family first and are not arbitrarily punished for those decisions or relegated to the narrative

sidelines. These are not traditional female characters we have come to expect on our screens,

which is all the more reason why they should exist there. This disobedience allows the

existence of characters like Dawn, who understand the way things should work but choose to

question the appropriateness of that word ‘should’.

I am drawn to the phrase ‘conscious wilfulness’ and ‘bearable worlds’ in Ahmed’s

conversation (2017, p. 78). In the midst of global upheaval, riots, climate changes events,

growing civil disgruntlement, it seems all the more important to present characters who are

far from perfect but who represent the new ‘us’, the imperfect ‘us’ who wade through these

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‘bearable worlds’ with whatever weapons we have at hand. Perhaps this is the beginning, or

at least the skerrick of thought before the beginning, of the 21st century’s version of

‘everyman/woman’ storytelling. The assent provided for women to be whatever they wish to

be, in spite of historical and patriarchal constraints, is the ongoing message. It is exemplified

by Ahmed’s prescient analogy:

Let’s think […] about the experience of going the wrong way in a crowd. Everyone seems to be going the opposite way than the way you are going. No one person has to push or shove for you to feel the collective momentum of the crowd as pushing and shoving. For you to keep going, you have to push harder than any of those who are going the right way (2017, p. 82).

This is my methodological reasoning to choose Dawn as test character for that approach –

pushing against traditional expectations of what a character should be, could be, and is

required to represent in order to operate as effective central character. In line with this, I

borrow Sarah Franklin’s evocation that ‘we need to become a “wench in the works”’ (2017,

p. 158). The feminist influences upon this methodological approach represent, as Ahmed

purports, ‘loud acts of refusal and rebellion as well as the quiet ways we might have of not

holding on to things that diminish us’ (2017, p.1). The aim of this study and ensuing creative

practice is to prove that the effort of the push is worthwhile, resulting in a multidimensional

character capable of a complex narrative adventure

The following chapter continues the examination of feminist creativity, script

development and the representation of onscreen age and gender by focusing on the PhD’s

positioning within television writing. In doing so it attempts to further contextualise the

efficacy of sceneplay experiments within a particular onscreen storytelling framework.

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Chapter Two

Sceneplay for television stories

The box filled with magic

This chapter explores the positioning of the sceneplay interventions within the field of

television writing. It examines the methodological approach to screenwriting practice with

regard to this placement within television writing. The chapter concludes with a further

examination of central characters as flawed, multilayered and mothers, adding to the

exploration of onscreen age and gender representation introduced in the preceding chapter.

When I was in grade three the teacher asked the class what we thought was the most

beautiful thing in the world. I mustered courage and answered, ‘television’. When pressed to

explain, I said something along the lines of ‘because it is a box filled with magic’. Although

50 years later I understand the intricacies of that box a little more, and consider it magic a

little less, I still attest to television’s ability to convey complex stories more effectively than

any other onscreen medium. G.K. Chesterton suggests that, ‘art, like morality, consists of

drawing the line somewhere’ (1908). Situating sceneplay within television writing draws this

line somewhere, aiming to strengthen the experiment by allowing a focus upon one specific

area of potential screen practice. Positioning sceneplay within television writing also permits

the test case subject – the difficult, older female – to be presented within a concentrated area

of creative intent.

Roland Barthes poses that the text ‘is experienced only in an activity of production’

(1986 p. 157). My contention is that as ever-evolving entity, the text is capable of being

experienced at all levels of development, irrespective of activity heading to potential

production. In this, television writing is the chosen vehicle in which the sceneplay

experiments can play and play out.

Television writing is also chosen as vehicle for research and practice as it is arguably the

most ubiquitous onscreen reflection of contemporary cultural practices. According to Jason

Mittel, increasing numbers of television writers are embracing the creative possibilities in

long-form series as ‘extended character depth, ongoing plotting, and episodic variations are

simply unavailable options within a two-hour film’ (2015, p. 24). Batty and Taylor suggest

that such a trend is to be expected due to innovations in digital technology, and new and

networked platforms paving the way for an opening up of ‘new possibilities for practice’

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(2021, p. 1). Pamela Douglas adds to the theory, arguing that such socio-political resonance

is a result of technological advances changing the way a television story is told, while

maintaining the basis on which that story is predicated:

The technology makes for short-term changes, but we’re still doing what Chaucer was doing a thousand years ago. [sic]. I think we are structured in such a way that we’re interested in people, and we’re interested in hearing their stories and metaphors for their own lives and going through cathartic experiences. That hasn’t changed (2011, p. 10).

What has changed in the last two decades of onscreen storytelling is the ways in which

stories are presented, watched, marketed and controlled. Mike Van Esler states that the rise of

streaming services has expanded the influence of television networks by giving consumers

‘greater choice in the type of content they watch, as well as the ways in which they watch it’

(2020, p. 947). Van Esler goes on to add that streaming services influence the viewing

experience by collecting ‘immense amounts of data on every viewer, including how long

viewers watch a program, when they pause the program, and when they stop watching.

(2020, p. 954). The possibilities of television writing in a post-network world of streaming

services are enticing. Such a world of adapting screenwriting conditions allows the concept

of sceneplay to exist and grow and provide potential for future positioning.

According to Mittel, while such technological advances and alterations to viewing

practices have not been solely responsible for the rise of multilayered television stories, they

have ‘served as enabling conditions, helping to shape these storytelling strategies that have

become more prevalent’ (2015, p. 24). Mittel further asserts that such gathered information

changes the field of storytelling opportunity and sparks innovation in style and content

creation. ‘Expectations for how viewers watch television, how producers create stories, and

how series are distributed have all shifted’ he argues, leading to a new mode of television

storytelling he terms ‘complex TV’ (2015, p. 3). Through the aforementioned global

expansion of streaming services18 as well as influence upon traditional forms of presentation,

new possibilities have arisen for story builders providing what Mittel calls ‘a broader

approach to television as a cultural phenomenon, where form is always in dialogue with

cultural contexts, historical formations, and modes of practice’ (2015, p. 6). For further

18 Netflix (fifty-five million US subscribers), Hulu (twenty million US subscribers), and Amazon (ninety million US subscribers) (Van Esler, 2020)

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investigation, it is helpful here to provide a brief background to the advent and importance of

streaming services upon the trajectory of storytelling.

From free-to-air to on demand

Although cable systems have been in operation in the US since the late 1940s,19 the

contemporary proliferation of streaming services speaks to the success of the mechanism. In

reference to the US-based streaming service HBO, Dean J. DeFino argues that the platform

has provided a legacy to contemporary television through innovations in delivery such as

subscription and satellite services, branding strategies and ‘its fostering of creativity in a

medium notoriously averse to risk’ (2014, p. 3). DeFino goes on to define television as a

platform offering storytelling that ‘includes verisimilitude, moral ambiguity, psychological

realism, and narrative irresolution’ (2014, p. 10).

This shift in the storytelling paradigm, including elements such as non-linear scene

presentation and innovate expressions of thematic intent and character presentation, feeds

into the sceneplay arbitration upon the growing script document. Television writing in the

digital era, in Mittel’s view, is made up of an ‘intertextual web that pushes textual boundaries

outward, blurring the experiential borders between watching a program and engaging with its

paratexts’ (2015, p. 5). Sceneplay as experimental device and enabler of change is therefore

best positioned within a medium that promotes experimentation and change.

Dawn, the artefact, as developing document is created through the sceneplay

experiments and situated within a television storytelling landscape that is in constant

fluctuation and open to playful interpretation in terms of structure. Character, however,

remains at the core of the study.

Central characters as flawed

19 When cable entrepreneur, Chuck Dolan, launched HBO in 1972, it became the first successful commercial venture in “pay” television, though the idea for subscription-based programming had been around since the earliest days of television, and several experimental systems had been tried over the previous three decades. Commercial cable systems had been in operation since the late 1940s, delivering broadcast signals to customers outside of the signal range, but HBO’s success would significantly increase the value of these existing systems by allowing them to offer exclusive content. (2014, p. 4).

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Aristotle is adamant that the role of central character can never be filled by a woman. ‘Even a

woman may be good, and also a slave; though the woman may be said to be an inferior being

and the slave quite worthless’ (2016, p. 19). I ask myself whether this attitude jars for me on

a personal level because as screenwriter and screen watcher I consider it a situation still

playing out today. Eva Cox speaks to the perception, suggesting that ‘women are still seen as

Other, and defined by powerful male criteria’ (the Conversation, 2018, July 4). Such a

biologically essentialist relegation seems counter-intuitive to cogent storytelling. It fights

against McKee’s advice that ‘STORYTELLING is the creative demonstration of truth. A

story is the living proof of an idea, the conversion of idea to action’ (1999, p. 113, original

emphasis). The creative demonstration of truth on screen surely needs to make reasonable

efforts to represent as many diverse sections of the population as possible.

Applying this logic to sceneplay and the early stages of script development seems a

reasonable first step toward such a goal. The structure of the burgeoning script is thus more

capable of being, as Maras attests, ‘an idea-matrix that in turn develops and forms part of the

conceptual practice and poetics…’ (2009, p. 92). D’Enbeau and Buzzanell argue that the

portrayal of female characters within popular culture has ‘fascinated communication, gender,

and media scholars because media has the power to both perpetuate and challenge dominant

gender norms and expectations’ (2014, p. 3). In a landscape full of multilayered, complicated

story ideas it is valuable and forward-thinking to redefine the concept of a heroine as a

character.

In the development of Dawn as central character, I continue to take cues from other

television writers specifically investigating the notion of ‘difficulty’ as a character

component. Selina Meyer (Armando Iannucci/David Mandel – Veep, 2012 – 2019),

Catherine Cawood (Sally Wainwright , Happy Valley, 2014 – 2016) Alex Irving (Pip Karmel,

Total Control, 2019 –), Moira Rose (Dan Levy, Kevin White, David West Read, Michael

Short, Amanda Walsh, Schitt’s Creek, 2015 – 2020) Olive Kitteridge (Jane Anderson, Olive

Kitteridge, 2014) and Mare Sheehan (Brad Ingelsby, Mare of Easttown, 2021) are such

examples, characters who exist outside the realms of a traditional character remit – older

women allowed to be funny, rude, acerbic, ridiculous, obnoxious, wrong and violent.

Ahmed argues that such feminist ideas within creativity ‘are what we come up with to

make sense of what persists’ (2017, p. 12). The question remains as to whether these

characters are only permitted to be difficult to a certain degree. Does their ‘difficult-ness’

interfere with potential or prescribed character redemption? If we do not like these

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characters, are we banned from participation in their personal journey? In citing the Roman

writer, Ovid, DeFino highlights his pertinent theory of storytelling:

When he [Ovid] set about compiling the myths of the ancient world in Metamorphoses he organized them around the theme of change, or metamorphosis, because in the end that is what all stories are about. Something changes. A cause leads to an effect (2014, p. 3).

In using a specific character type as test case for the sceneplay interventions, I believe that

change brought about by cause and effect within the television story narrative is not

dependent upon the perceived ‘easy-ness’ of that character. She can remain difficult, angry,

annoying, or any trait that does not traditionally fit the perception of acceptable older

onscreen women. She does not have to conform or repent.

The point arises, then, as to the difference between change and redemption in terms of a

character’s narrative arc. Does Dawn, as a dedicated ‘difficult’ character, need to follow

traditional notions of conformity, or is conformity what she will ultimately fight against? Is

the need for conformity in any sense important in the early stages of script development? Ken

Dancyger and Jeff Rush expand the discussion by introducing the concept of the restorative

model of three-act structure (2007, p. 17). According to Dancyger and Rush, when this

structural model is applied, ‘the clear-cut pattern of transgression and recognition (the Act

One and Act Two plot points) is followed by sufficient opportunity for the character’s

redemption and restoration’ (2007, p. 19). Perhaps the opportunity for change is what matters

in the construction of Dawn rather than the implementation of that change. Dancyger and

Rush go on to suggest that the restorative model helps us (the audience) keep ahead of the

action because it is:

as if the character is running away from her history, her background, her circumstances with a rubber band tied to her waist. The character doesn’t see the rubber band, but we do. We wait for the band to be stretched to its limit and snap her back (2007, p. 23).

It is, therefore, existing in this process of ‘snapping back’ that I as writer have the chance to

explore Dawn’s responses to change as well as her actions leading to any form of

redemption. In the early stages of script development and character development, such ideas

form a basis from which to investigate further.

Shinoda Boden defines the female central character as someone making good decisions

in the face of external and internal obstacles:

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To be a heroine on her own heroic journey, a woman must begin with the attitude (or even at first act ‘as if’) that her choices do matter. In the process of living from this premise, something happens: a woman becomes a choice-maker, a heroine who shapes who she will become. She either grows or is diminished by what she does or does not do and by the attitudes she holds (2004, p. 279).

Precedents exist within television offerings of characters who sacrifice their ‘difficultness’ in

order to achieve traditional redemption. Catherine Cawood, the police officer in Happy

Valley solves the crime while simultaneously addressing her role as nurturer, sister, lover,

grandmother, police officer and friend. Alex Irving, the Indigenous politician in Total

Control is a renegade politician who stands as beacon for truth, justice and a representative

voice in government. Moira Rose, the matriarch in Schitts Creek is an eccentric, ego-driven

diva, yet grows into a caring and wise elder within the rural community she despises at the

beginning of the story arc. Olive Kitteridge, the central character in Olive Kitteridge is

belligerent and blunt but ultimately settles into a traditional, heteronormative love story,

belying her original character arc of headstrong woman determined to reject the norm. Mare

Sheehan, the police detective in Mare of Easttown is an angry mother, grandmother and

police detective yet finds a murderer while making peace with family members and the

townsfolk who have shunned her. Even Selina Meyer, the self-serving, ethically ambiguous

Vice President/President in Veep is presented as intelligent and witty and retains a sense of

self-deprecation. It seems that these women can be funny, acerbic, rude, ridiculous,

obnoxious, wrong and violent providing that, at some point, they see the error of their ways

and, to some extent, become better people.

If women are capable of heroism, bravery and complexity, they should presumably not

need to compromise these character traits for the benefit of effective storytelling. Sceneplay,

as storytelling tool positioned within television writing provides the chance to experiment

with multifaceted representation. My aim with Dawn as central character is to explore and

present a woman who does not have to be ‘nice’ to remain marketable as a character. Dawn

does not have to express herself in terms of subjective ethics, morality or a societal

expectation of sacrificial self-awareness. If, as Katie Snyder attests, ‘we define a heroine as a

central female character who acts courageously for the sake of others’ (2014, P. 17), then

how do we respond to a character such as Dawn who acts courageously or otherwise for the

sake of herself?

The early development of sceneplay arises from my search for the writerly ammunition

to question the idea that difficult, older women must conform in order to be accepted. As

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Ahmed argues, the difficult female is capable of existing as ‘the wrong sort, or bad sort…the

one who raises her arm in protest’ (2017, p. 6). Sceneplay highlights this protest by

exacerbating the very traits that make the character difficult. A character could be permitted

to be emotionally distant. A character may have a dislike for motherhood or nurturing in

general. A character may be lazy or non-committal or unfaithful or disloyal or untruthful.

These traits should not have to be hidden or resolved in order for the female character to take

up central positioning within the story.

By providing a means, through the sceneplay interventions, to explore the intricacies of

underserved characters’ development in the early life of the script, I challenge Aristotle’s

edict that the hero (central character) needs to be good but not so good that they are not

relatable. ‘Thus, the reason why men [sic] enjoy seeing a likeness is, that in contemplating it

they find themselves learning or inferring, and saying perhaps, “Ah, that is he”’ (2016, p. 6).

My choice to use the difficult, older female character to test this hypothesis is a designated

way of adding to the screenwriting conversation in a tangled and forward-moving fashion.

Radha O’Meara theorises that ‘the very fact that character change can engage audiences

demonstrates the significance of its meaning’ (2015, p. 133). Even if the early audience

member is the writer herself, the discussion interlaces with the application of sceneplay to the

script document. It forms a creative springboard for general questioning of process and

specific addressing of the intricacies of screenwriting practices. In other words, the dynamic

tenor of storytelling invites the dynamic tenor of story development.

Central characters as female

Writers who create female central characters, particularly with a television setting as

framework, continue to question the perception and presentation of heroism. A. Bowdoin

Van Riper argues that representations of female heroism can be dated back to the 1990s and

the action heroes who were established through intellectual, emotional and physical

toughness:

What set them apart and made them appealing fantasy figures for audiences was an exuberant physicality that women heroes had rarely, if ever, displayed before. Rather than resort to traditional “womanly” strategies of subterfuge, misdirection, and indirect attacks, they confronted their enemies head on, confident in their ability to absorb punishment, shrug off pain, and, whether with bare hands or weapons, decisively defeat whoever stood against them (2014, p. 193).

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Although I do not intend to subject Dawn, as character, to feats of physical prowess in order

to prove her worth, I investigate what makes her a hero, asking questions around concepts of

heroic positioning within a storytelling narrative. Aronson states that within contemporary

screenwriting there is no longer a reason the central character needs to ‘improve or be

redeemed (although usually the protagonist does need to undergo change)’ (2000, location

1040). I argue that this change does not have to be in the form of personal growth or self-

awareness. Well-written and presented central characters confront the definition of the word

‘hero’ by exacerbating McKee’s ‘creative demonstrations of truth’ (1999). Sceneplay

attempts to establish that the journey towards a heroic and self-edifying conclusion can be

less of a one-size-fits-all approach to storytelling.

DeFino reassures that while television writing still elevates the beautiful, the kind, the

rich, the teaching moment and the ‘wacky domestic sitcoms where the dads are lovably

oblivious and moms and kids roll their eyes with tolerant affection (The Middle;

Suburgatory)’ (2014, p. 6), there is a growing number of less sympathetic characters whose

stories are compelling because they ‘reflect (albeit in extremis) the frustrating messiness of

real life’ (2014, p. 6). Characters such as aforementioned Selena Meyer, Catherine Cawood,

Moira Rose, Alex Irving, Olive Kitteridge and Mare Sheehan epitomise this messiness of life,

thus inviting our visceral response to it.

The development of Dawn as central character continues in this vein, adding to the

growing number of effective and/or resonating female central characters within the television

writing setting while providing a new mechanism to experiment with how such characters

can be presented within the early building phases of story. The sceneplay interventions aim to

experiment with a difficult, older character who remains difficult and dismisses narrative

impositions of age or redemption. Jacey suggests that ‘by putting her under pressure, your

heroine will learn which aspects of her personality help her and which aspects hold her back’

(2010, p. 26). I wish to put Dawn under pressure and learn which difficult aspects of her

personality can be intensified and used as narrative fuel. Sceneplay aids in this quest by

allowing these difficult aspects to be enhanced and nurtured during the early stages of script

building rather than modified or curtailed. In this, the interventions upon the page help create

a character unrestricted by traditional perceptions of acceptable traits and behaviours. Jacey

advises that the hero’s journey ‘accurately describes, among other things, the process of

making a journey, the necessary working parts of a story, the joys and despairs of being a

writer, and the passage of a soul through life’ (2010, p. 21). I submit that such a passage of a

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soul through the life of character within a script document does not have to be smooth or

calm or subject to traditional preconceptions of what it is to nurture.

Central characters as mothers

The decision to present Dawn as a mother allows a further narrowing of focus upon the

potency of this character as test case of the sceneplay approach within a potential television

framework. Drawing on Adrienne Rich’s still relevant suggestion that motherhood ‘is one

part of female process; it is not an identity for all time’ (1976, p. 37 original emphasis), I

wish to investigate how to create a female character who is conflicted about her role as

nurturer.

For many years I was a foster parent, a life situation that has textured my attitude

towards caregiving and the way it is portrayed on screen and in reality. Through this

experience I come to motherhood as someone who has not given birth and therefore brings no

empirical knowledge to the subject matter. By presenting Dawn as foster mother as well as

biological mother I expand the debate of representative motherhood in 21st century

storytelling. Toril Moi’s 1999 statement continues to resonate as she contends that ‘the kind

of essentialism that feminists usually worry about is the kind that claims that women’s bodies

inevitably give rise to and justify specific cultural and psychological norms’ (1999, pp 36-

37). Brenda Daly and Maureen Reddy’s definition of motherhood is useful in attempting to

discuss motherhood in a screenwriting sense:

We also see it [motherhood] as a choice essentially separate from biology, drawing a distinction here between the ability to give birth and the decision to care for children. Although giving birth is indeed a part of mothering, it is care giving that defines the act of mothering, and care giving is a choice open both to those who give birth and those who do not (2010, p. 3).

By depicting Dawn as having given birth as well as providing care to a child not of her body,

I hope, within the early script building stages, to circumvent preconceptions of accepted

cultural barometers. She is a mother to one child at least because of the conscious decision to

fill the role rather than any biological imperative forcing her into the role. Amanda Greer

states that challenging reductionist theories of motherhood is vital to the ongoing

conversation around onscreen gender representation. ‘Women are not necessarily mothers.

Women, even when adopting maternal roles, embody far more identities than that of maternal

caregiver; women cannot and should not be reduced to their reproductive ability’ (2017, p.

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332). bell hooks proposes that a woman’s role should no longer be determined by whether

‘she birthed or raised children’ (2015, p. 81). I follow these thoughts and pockets of advice in

the creation of Dawn. I give her children (both biological and chosen) as an avenue of

playing with assumptions of female identity and whether, as a character, she can break away

from perceptions of what it means to nurture. In this I adhere to Jacey’s argument that female

identity requires conscious positioning within the story:

thoughts about female identity; the reality of growing up as a female; female biology; whether any of these “eternal” truths of drama actually change when a female character leads the story; and our fears of unwittingly recreating a stereotype or softening a character to make her “more sympathetic” (2010, p. 186).

The depiction of motherhood on television has a long history and one that continues to

influence contemporary practice and thought. Katherine Kinnock, while acknowledging the

importance of this history, calls for a move beyond gender archetypes and toward a more

complex reflection of the human condition:

The media idealise and glamorize motherhood as the one path to fulfilment for women, painting a rosy, Hallmark-card picture that ignores or minimizes the very real challenges that come along with parenthood. Media narratives often cast motherhood in moral terms, juxtaposing the “good mother” with the “bad mother”, who frequently is a working mom, a lower-income mom, or someone who does not conform to traditional gender roles of behaviour, ambition, or sexual orientation (2009, p. 12).

Since the invention of the medium, mothers have become a commonplace part of the

narrative fabric. We may have grown up with Mrs Brady from The Brady Bunch, (Sherwood

Shwartz, Larry Rhine, Elroy Schwartz, 1969 – 1974), or Mrs Keaton from Family Ties (Gary

David Goldberg, Alan Uger, Michael J Weithorn, 1982 – 1989), or Marge Simpson from the

animated sitcom, The Simpsons (Matt Groening et al, 1989 –). We may have found parallels

with our own mothers, borrowed for our own ways of mothering, or witnessed mothers we

wished were real. Whatever mothers we have watched, in whatever capacity we have

watched them, they have undoubtedly influenced our ideas of what mothering is or could be.

Rebecca Feasey believes that the depiction of television motherhood has changed with the

perception of what motherhood entails in reality. In other words, television mothers are

adapting in order to represent their real-world counterparts with relative speed and cogency:

While Leave it to Beaver, The Donna Reed Show (1958-66) made it clear that women were entirely satisfied with their role as full-time wife and mother, and I Love Lucy (1951-6) offered a partial challenge to traditional gender roles, the impact of the

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second-wave feminist movement encouraged such titles as Maude (1972-8), Murphy Brown (1988-98), and Roseanne (1988-97) to depict more controversial issues of divorce, single parenting, and the working mother (2017, p. 22).

More recently other, nuanced and multilayered mothers have begun to take up onscreen

space. Mothers such as the drug-peddling Nancy Botwin in Weeds (Jenji Kohan, Stephen

Falk, Carly Mensch, 2005 – 2012), and the acerbic widow Jen Harding in Dead to Me (Liz

Feldman, Rebecca Addelman, Kelly Hutchinson, 2019 –) exemplify the ever-changing

ideation of female identity. Sceneplay attempts to continue as well as alter the course for

such creative evolution. Jacey claims that ‘whoever she is, and wherever she is from, your

heroine will reflect what you want to say about femininity, whether you are saying this

consciously or unconsciously. You will define her character, choices, and journey according

to these decisions’ (2010, p. 2). In the creation of Dawn, such decisions are predicated upon

the character’s age, gender and the concept of ‘difficultness’. As creator, what I am

examining about femininity is a moveable and uncertain feast. Jacey provides her definition

of the functioning screenwriter in such circumstances:

Your aim is to create a heroine who will launch thousands of viewers to their screens and will keep them there, gripped and entertained. They want to see a memorable character telling a story that might be true to life, but that is portrayed in a unique way (2010, p. 17).

By helping to develop such a character in the early phases of script building, and with

television writing as a potential framework, sceneplay further explores the possibilities of

Dawn’s role as mother. As part of her positioning as difficult, older, female central character

more questions arise. Are such characters allowed to be difficult and retain central narrative

positioning? Is the patriarchal system so entrenched in storytelling that audiences balk at a

difficult woman in charge of children? The sceneplay experiments provoke such issues by

developing a script within a television story setting that is ripe for nuance. How this script

artefact can further interrogate and alter traditional modes of storytelling in terms of visual

interventions is the subject of the next chapter.

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Chapter Three

Interrogating the script as document

This little clicking contraption

This chapter continues the discussion of how visual interventions into the script document

can create a redesigned journey for the writer and characters she creates. I do so with an

examination of the concept of ‘blueprint’ as attachable term to the script document while

sidestepping into the origins of screenwriting and the ramifications of those origins for

current screenwriting innovation. I then explore poetics as a contextual framework through

which to navigate the changing mood of narrative form. Finally, I present a creative analysis

of other writers who push against the traditional form of scripting and investigate how such

innovation propels my thoughts surrounding a script development process of non-

compliance.

From magic lantern show to blueprint

Discussing the invention of film as medium for storytelling, novelist Leo Tolstoy has this to

say:

this little clicking contraption […] will make a revolution in our life – in the life of writers. It is a direct attack on the old methods of literary art. […] A new form of writing will be necessary […] But I rather like it. This swift change of scene, this blending of emotion and experience – it is much better than the heavy, long-drawn-out kind of writing to which we are accustomed. It is closer to life. In life, too, changes and transitions flash by before our eyes, and emotions of the soul are like a hurricane. The cinema has divined the mystery of motion. And that is its greatness (1908).

Although Tolstoy was yet to discover the ‘mystery of motion’ in relation to television

writing, the sentiment remains viable. Two decades into the 21st century, filmmaker and

illustrator, Shaun Tan, has similar thoughts regarding onscreen creative practice. ‘At every

step, my concern is to involve the reader by the use of their own imagination, in trying to

make sense of the “unfinished” stories that I’m presenting to them’ (2014, p. 88). Onscreen

stories attempt to divine and define the mystery of motion.

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Onscreen storytelling, from its beginnings to contemporary practice, has revolutionised

the art of narrative expression, expanding possibilities and parameters. Sceneplay aims to

continue this contribution to the revolution. Adding visual elements to screen text such as

pictures, photographs, varying fonts, colours, bubbles and breakout boxes follows Millard’s

suggestion that ‘as writing becomes a process that involves creating and combining images,

sound and words, the practice of composing becomes more and more relevant to

screenwriting’ (2014, p. 136). At the centre of this study is the belief that a script can be more

than merely text on a page.

It is useful, then, to briefly discuss the history of screenwriting in order to further

contextualise the conversation around script development and its influences upon sceneplay

as apparatus of script building. Millard provides an accessible perspective on the beginnings

of screen stories:

It is generally agreed […] that cinema first made its way to audiences in the late nineteenth century. The beginning of cinema is usually considered to be one of two dates: 1894, when the Edison Company held their first public screening of the Kinetoscope or, alternatively, 1895 when the Lumiere Brothers shot and projected their Cinématographe films (2014, pp. 4-5).

Pat McGilligan states that the term ‘screenwriter’ was not commonly used until the late 30s.

‘Even in 1938 Frances Marion refers to the ‘scenario writer’ alongside the ‘screen writer’

(two words) (1938b, pp. 32-33). Cinematic stories, and as flow-on, television stories, are only

the latest in a long line of storytelling techniques that have adapted across centuries – from

oral histories told around campfires, to morality tales delivered from the back of carts, to

digital and binge-worthy narratives served up on multi-platforms in split screens and/or real

time. Onscreen storytelling is a medium that relies on changing techniques and practices in

order to survive and thrive.

Alternative methods for script development have been and continue to be used in order to

produce entertaining and socio-politically reflective content. As Millard argues, ‘cinema can

be seen as a continuation and transformation of screen practices including the magic lantern,

photography and the slide show’ (2014, pp. 178-9). Screenwriting can link back to 6th century

picture storytellers of India and shadow playwrights of 12th century Egypt, (Millard, 2014,

pp. 178-9). In addition, Adam Ganz theorises that storytelling is ‘more improvisatory,

adaptable and collaborative as opposed to the model of the screenplay-as-a-text’ (2014, p.

12). If contemporary screenwriting and screen stories can trace lineage back through

millennia, then contemporary screenwriting is capable of carrying change forward.

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Ted Nannicelli suggests that scripts can identify as ‘ontologically autonomous works that

are finished texts in and of themselves and read as such’ (2013, p. 135), yet the term

‘blueprint’ is often applied to denote a script’s primary function as leading to production and

therefore less worthy in any former state. The term derives from the cyanotype photographic

process developed by John Herschel in the 1930s when he coated paper with photosensitive

compounds and exposed it to strong light (Millard, 2014, p. 10). Millard attests that given the

‘blueprint’ definition still carries a ‘residue of technical drawing and specifications rather

than fluidity and flux, it seems a less than ideal metaphor for the screenplay (2014, p. 11).

According to Paul Mazursky, a ‘screenplay is a blueprint for the house that you eventually

see. It is not the house’ (in Sternberg, 1997, p. 50), yet this is to ignore the notion that

through the developing script document, the house-as-script is a framework from which to

expand. As such I propose that the term ‘blueprint’ dismisses the importance of the script in

early building phases as well as the concept of writer as reader in those phases.

As this PhD investigates the script in early draft stages, my research pinpoints a specific

advantage to viewing the script as something other than formulaic document. I steer the topic

towards a creative practice research goal, agreeing with Maras’s view that, ‘…the idea of

scripting allows a broader understanding of screenwriting because it assists in thinking about

screenwriting in non-normative ways’ (2009, p. 2). In this, the writer as reader within

sceneplay interventions also benefits in non-normative ways. Television creator Beth

Sullivan suggests the objective ‘is to challenge not just the emotions, but the mind. In fact, I

coined a motto for the writing staff to follow: “In through the heart and out through the

brain.” That’s our guiding force in terms of what premises drive our stories’ (1996, p. 230).

As experimental approach to script evolution, sceneplay interventions support the view that

storytelling need not be regarded as successful or unsuccessful on the basis of one process or

outcome.

As a consequence, the importance of ‘blueprint’ although acknowledged, can be situated

at the forward planning stage of a script rather than the early, organic creation of a script.

Nash argues that ‘the pressure to follow a market-driven development process has led many

aspiring screenwriters to embrace the script rules and structural templates without question,

rather than embrace a discovery-driven uncertain process, in search of originality, story and

meaning’ (2014, p. 99). Accordingly, Sternberg advises the blueprint terminology is best

used as metaphor submitting it as ‘a more nuanced and discriminating way that clarifies and

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expands the usefulness of the term’ (1997, p. 45).20 Perhaps this is a reasonable middle

ground upon which to plant a flag of practice-led research.

Blueprint in architectural terms denotes the necessity for structure. Sceneplay within a

script document pays homage to this necessity for structure in the early phases of building a

script, while simultaneously calling for accompanying adaptation. In this, the study aligns

with Murphy’s theory that permutation in screenwriting ‘comes not from ignorance of

narrative […] conventions but from being able to see beyond their limitations’ (2007, p. 6).

Sceneplay thus attempts a layer-upon-layer process, allowing early drafts to influence later

drafts.

Poetics and complex texts

Development work upon a script document fits with notion of poetics as a contextual anchor

for a discussion around narrative form (Bordwell, 2015, p. 8). It is pertinent, then, to

investigate the influences of poetics upon a developing script document within a television

screenwriting setting. Kim Lasky asks how writers can ‘articulate the strange symbiotic

relationship between practice and theory, between process and outcome’ (2013 p. 14). The

solution, as she suggests, is through the study of poetics. Script development provides the

chance to examine methods of textual practices and how the evolution of such practices may

become, as McNamara argues, ‘texts as restless objects that resist closure’ (2021, pp. 137-8).

In his seminal work, Poetics,21 Aristotle begins by proposing:

to treat of Poetry in itself and of its various kinds noting the essential quality of each, to inquire into the structure of the plot as requisite to a good poem; into the number and nature of the parts of which a poem is composed; and similarly, into whatever else falls within the same enquiry (2006, p. 3).

Senje claims that the contemporary screenplay typically incorporates the same six dimensions

touted by Aristotle in Poetics; ‘mythos, ethos, dianoia, lexis, opsis and melopoeia correspond

20 Sternberg suggests three stages of script progression – only to the second, intermediate ‘stage’ through which the screenplay passes. This comes between the first or ‘property’ stage (when a writer, agent, or producer attempts to market what is often termed a ‘selling script’ to a readership of pre-production industry insiders, such as story analysts), and the third, ‘reading material stage’, when it may be read by ‘critics, (film scholars and the public who see and read the (published) screenplay as written literature. (2010, p. 140. 21 Published in 335 BC, Poetics is the earliest surviving work of dramatic theory and first extant philosophical treatise to concentrate upon and discuss the various elements of literary theory.

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to what we would today call plot, character, thought (content/theme), dialogue,

cinematography/visuals and music/sound design’ (2021, p. 7). This definition provides a

helpful springboard into the idea of poiesis, an idea Senje calls ‘the act of making, of

bringing something into the world that was not there before’ (2017, p. 268). In this, poetics

when applied to a script document does not enquire as to the proposed meaning or placement

of a text but rather how that text will function as it progresses.

It is helpful here to explore the difference between ‘poetics’ as a noun and phenomenon

of textual practice, and ‘poetic’ as adjective describing the poetic process. My definition of

‘poetics’ is in line with the aspects and tools of composition in a work of literature, thus

reiterating McNamara’s advice surrounding ‘text as restless objects that resist closure’ (2021,

pp. 137-8).

How, then, do the elements of sceneplay in a developing script work together to create a

new textual experience for the writer, and writer as reader? Senje advises that through the

influence of a poetic intention upon the script, the writer can move the growing artefact into a

‘world of art, in which concepts like creation and invention are paramount’ (2017, p. 268,

original emphasis). Such a focus speaks to sceneplay as interventionist methodological

technique rather than implementation for final onscreen product. Through visual additions to

traditional script presentation, poetics impacts the growing script document, interrogating

function and form.

Mittel defines poetics within television writing as a concentration on ways in which

‘texts make meaning, concerned with formal aspects of media more than issues of content or

broader cultural forces’ (2015, p. 6). He adds that the important question when investigating

the efficacy of poetics is ‘how does this text work?’ (2015, p. 6.) If poetics can lead to a more

nuanced approach to text and the place of text within a particular cultural setting, then its

influence upon sceneplay seems an effective fit. Poetics, as an articulation of the blending of

text, image and evolving thought has the potential to take the script document to new areas of

presentation. This is an area, Lasky argues, in which writers can:

formulate and discuss an attitude to their work that recognises influences, the traditions they write within and develop, the literary, social and political context in which they write and the processes of composition and revision they undertake (2013, p. 14).

Poetics within complex and burgeoning television scripts also has ramifications for the

feminist paradigms underpinning the work of this PhD. Bonny Cassidy and Jessica Wilkinson

state that the ‘inherent playfulness of poetic language offers to enact or embody feminist

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politics’ (2017, p. xi). By applying a poetic sensibility to a developing script document that

positions the difficult, older female as central character, sceneplay performs, as Mittel

advises, as a work that ‘transforms norms and possibilities’ (2015, p. 7). My approach to

poetics within this research is to examine how and how much it alters storytelling practice in

the early stages of script creation and thus challenges technical form and visual presentation

upon the page.

I aim to demonstrate that poetics and technical aspects of script creation are not mutually

exclusive. Senje writes that within script development, the endangered species ‘appears to be

the poet, not the technician’ (2017, p. 283). If the poet can also be the purveyor of poetics

within a script document, then the sentiment stands. McNamara advises, an ‘entanglement of

subjects and objects, texts and contexts, stories that tumble into stories’ (2021, p. 146).

Sceneplay aims to enhance such a tumbling into stories as well as provide both poet and

technician with equitable creative standing.

Moving the goalposts – screenwriters challenging tradition

Television writers who embrace non-traditional storytelling such as Sally Wainwright,

Phoebe Waller-Bridge, Armando Ianucci, David Mandel and Craig Mazin are producing

diverse and thematically risk-taking scripts. Works such as Wainwright’s Happy Valley and

Last Tango in Halifax (2012 – 2020) Waller-Bridge’s Fleabag (2016 – 2019) and Killing Eve

(2018 –),22 Iannucci/Mandel’s Veep, (2012 – 2019) and Mazin’s Chernobyl, (2019) question

assumptions of standard script presentation. I choose these writers as exemplars because they

invest in stylistically spearheading creative devices such as breaking of the fourth wall and

multilayered screen text descriptions.

Learning craft through the craft of others is not exclusive to screenwriters and, as Paul

Williams attests, ‘the richness of fictional discourse compared to conventional literary

criticism creates layers of complexity that mirror [the] subject matter’ (2013, p. 253). These

writers also add to the script in visual terms, exploring the importance of white space as well

as non-script related writerly comments within the scene text. The dissection of others’

creative output adds, rather than detracts, from my own.

22 Season Two was written by Emerald Fennell. Season three was written by Suzanne Heathcote.

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At any stage of development, screenwriters and researchers have the opportunity to

revoke traditional perceptions in favour of an ongoing, creative benefit. Poetic aspects of the

script – those outside the realms of traditionally-accepted scene text – are precisely the

aspects sceneplay explores. Stories are not static. They live, breathe, activate and evolve.

Seger advises to ‘begin with an image, a feeling, a sense of where we are, a sense of pacing

[…] Tell us as much as you can with this image. Get us into the mood of the piece’ (1987, p.

6). Abraham Polonsky contends that screenwriting leans towards ‘compression, density,

structure, elegance, metaphor, synthesis, magnitude and variety all held within a unified

verbal structure’ (2010, p. 33). Sceneplay experimentation in the early drafting phases allows

such a multilayered process to gather strength and efficacy. A rethinking of the rules adheres

to Maras’s view that:

we have been bombarded with manuals outlining formulas and structures for screenwriting for so long that there is now general understanding that there is no magic formula for good scriptwriting. There is a recognition that every project is challenging in its own way… (2009, p. 9).

The onscreen script continues to stand testament to the potential flexibility of the form as

creative pursuit even in early script building phases. ‘Like jazz,’ Phillip Pullman suggests,

‘storytelling is an art of performance, and writing is performance, too’ (2014, p. 2). It is

helpful to observe that different onscreen storytelling cultures have different relationships to

innovation and risk, including bigger budgets to enable innovation and risk to take place. It is

also beneficial to acknowledge the existence and importance of writers’ rooms within

industrial screenwriting practices. Noel Maloney and Philippa Byrne describe the writers’

room as ‘a place where story developers, script editors, script writers and script producers

gather to create stories, devise character arcs and plot episodes. (2021, p. 185). In an

Australian context, writers’ rooms operate within many production houses.

This study then inspects examples of screenwriters, whether operating as individuals or

within teams, who diverge from traditional script formulas allowing the document to inhabit

a space of writerly malleability. I enter this discussion with the understanding that it is

difficult to examine other writers’ work in early developmental stages. All I have at my

disposal is the finished product of a shooting script.23 I can, however, use this shooting script

23 The final draft of a screenplay before going into production is known as a Shooting Script. This is the script that has been accepted by all personnel involved, such as the director, producers and executives. It contains scene numbers and possibly camera cues and other visual references that do not exist in early drafts of the script.

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to explore a similar impact of visual interventions upon my script document as developing

entity.

These writers introduce poetic sensibilities to the text and add writerly interjections to

otherwise traditional script formatting. Such experimentation feeds into the sceneplay

interventions by providing further clues as to how the methodological approach of this PhD

can operate as visual redefinition of the script artefact. Sceneplay counteracts the advice of

craft discourse as well as the pervasive nature of scriptwriting manuals that call for strict

adherence to traditional script presentation. Taylor argues that mainstream models of

screenwriting, including seemingly ubiquitous ‘how-to’ manuals, ‘inform the culture of script

development practices’ (2016, p. 12). It is such practices that I attempt to challenge,

providing evidence that script development need not be a ‘one-size-fits-all’ proposition.

Even though the established writers discussed here are already deviating from the

formula, sceneplay has the potential to move the discussion further because of who is

allowed to be playful and subversive in the space and when. Through sceneplay additions,

the script becomes creatively expansive from the first page of life. The writer does not have

to wait until a shooting script exists before this multilayered process of story building takes

shape. The writer does not have to wait for another audience or reader in order to have the

script be proven as worthy.

I now move to a close analysis of a number of script excerpts in order to demonstrate the

creative innovations of screenwriters and the influence of such innovations upon my research

into script building. I begin with four feature film screenplays ranging from 1941 to 2013. I

then move to screenwriters in the television sphere exploring three screenplays ranging from

2014 to 2019. The examination of such scripts and their forays into challenging traditional

presentation clears the way for sceneplay to burrow further into the landscape of script-based

non-compliance and create new knowledge for screenwriting research and practice.

First, I present a scene description from Quentin Tarantino’s The Hateful Eight (2013).

The writer ignores advice to only include the leanest elements of scene text. The description

contains the occasional spelling error, and a great deal of non-essential information including

components of backstory that we, the readers/viewers could not know, or need to know:

EXT – MINNIE’S HABERDASHERY – DAY (CONT’D)

It sells a few hats, and gloves, and snow shoes for the stagecoach passengers. And

supplies for the mountain folk. And it received special packages for people in Red

Rock. Like say when Carlos Robante (Pedro Gonzalez-Gonzalez) in “Rio Bravo”

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buys those red bloomers for his wife Consuela (Estelita Rodriguez), but doesn’t want

everybody in town to know about it. If he lived in Red Rock, he’d buy them through

the mail, have them sent to Minnie’s, and when they arrived, Minnie would get word

to him, and he’d ride out there and pick them up. Minnie’s was also a good place to

hold up during a storm. This wasn’t the first time a group of passengers from the stage

had to sit out the snow. Minnie and her partner Sweet Dave also traded goods. In fact

the only stuff in their store of any interest is the stuff they acquired in trade. If that

makes them a trading good store, then their [sic] a trading goods store.

This descriptive scene text (including spelling mistakes and grammatical errors) appears

more closely related to prose than screenwriting. It is rich, effusive and the characters’

backstories are irrelevant in terms of what is necessary in a final shooting script. Components

involving mood and contemplation of theme cannot, arguably, be replicated in a final

artefact. Tarantino’s descriptions here lean toward exposition, elements not required with

regard to technical purposes. Tarantino explains the reasoning behind his departure from

traditional advice:

It’s your voice that’s important and I see absolutely no reason why a screenplay can’t be the same... my scripts are getting published now, this is gonna be the fucking document. I’m not writing novels, these screenplays are my novels, so I’m gonna write it the best that I can. If the movie never gets made, it’d almost be okay because I did it. It’s there on the page (2015, p. 23).

It could be suggested that if the voice didn’t come from Tarantino it would not necessarily be

heard, produced, or published. It could also be argued that those who direct their own

screenplays automatically create a different level of power to those who do not. There is a

privilege in white, patriarchal positioning and established credentials that allows such

sentiments to be aired. That said, this is a script that presents a movable feast in terms of

presentation and therefore remains relevant to my study of similar creative pursuits. In 1929,

Sergei Eisenstein, in reference to film, saw the attractiveness of progressive adaptation

through the writer’s lens:

And the scriptwriter is right to present it [the script] in his [sic] own language. Because the more fully his intention is expressed, the more complete will be the semantic designation. Consequently, the more specific it will be in literary terms (1929, p. 135).

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This semantic designation takes place in the next two script snippets I investigate. Sunset

Boulevard (Billy Wilder and Charles Brackett, 1950), and Citizen Kane (Orson Welles and

Herman J Mankiewicz, 1941) provide further evidence of provocative script formatting and

the busy use of typography upon the page. The following is from Sunset Boulevard, Scene

Seven.

The opposing visuals of dialogue and scene directions on the page at first glance seem to be

almost impenetrable. The dialogue is not centred in the page as per traditional formatting

advice. The dialogue is not separated from the scene directions as per traditional formatting

advice. This detailed scene language creates a complex yet compelling read – an experience

not in line with the final onscreen result, which involves a voice-over blending with visuals;

distinct creative entities build a cohesive film story.

The script presentation breaks rules of traditional layout encroaching upon the white

space on the page. The writers situate themselves within the work, dispensing with the tenets

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of notions of blueprint in favour of a complicated visual presentation. Sternberg states that

the traditional remit of scripting for screen has included the view that the typewritten page

‘clarifies the relationship between speech and non-speech elements by the continuous

alteration between dialogue and other instructions’ (1997, p. 65). In Sunset Boulevard,

Wilder and Brackett disregard this advice, opting for a non-conforming approach to story

building that speaks directly to the potentiality of sceneplay – a vehement and visual impact

upon the script. In terms of content the Sunset Boulevard script also innovates by questioning

the identity of the central character – whether it is the would-be screenwriter, Joe Gillies or

tormented former star, Norma Desmond. As such it continues the challenge to perceptions of

age and gender representation providing clues for the sceneplay experiments in pursuit of

similar goals.

The set-up/establishment scene from Citizen Kane is a second example of a script

diverging from the traditional document path. This lengthy, verbally extravagant scene seems

out of kilter with screenwriting advice to be sharp, succinct, and cut to the chase of visual

imagery and thematic intent:

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This prologue is rich in prose, imagery, metaphor and detail. The time it takes to read these

scene directions is not commensurate with the time it takes for them to play out on screen in

the final film product. The screenwriting is beyond the expectations of the ‘what we see and

hear’ principle of screenwriting advisers. It is slow and ponderous, akin to a visual poem,

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creating stark and grotesque images before any characters are introduced or themes

established.

The scene also contains expository information that is not relevant to the reader or

viewer and cannot be replicated on screen. The innovative elements of script, however, do

not stretch to addressing the representation of underserved characters. This is the story of a

rich, white, heterosexual male who falls because he cannot address the faults in his character,

thus attempting redemption according to traditional narrative advice.

Chronologically closer in terms of contemporary screenwriting, the shooting script for

Taxi Driver (Paul Schrader, 1976), experiments with character introduction and presentation

and in doing so provides a character description that defies traditional screenwriting

document structure. At the beginning of the script, before any scene headings or scene

directions take place, Schrader writes a sultry, prose-laden preamble for the central character

– Travis Bickle:

There is so much in this dense language that cannot be replicated by an actor on screen or

justified as directions outfitted for the purposes of a technical document. The lengthy back

story and poetic intrusions provide a lush and variegated inner life that contains the seeds of

growth and development, whether for actors, directors or technical crew. Although once

again highlighting the story of a heterosexual, white male, the character is disenfranchised,

supporting the theory that such artistic departure adds to the discussion around the benefits of

circumventing the notions of traditional script presentation. Such innovations in scripting

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provide further precedents for sceneplay to look beyond expected and traditional norms of

character presentation and representation.

I add the caveat that these screenplays often exhibit male characters with the privilege to

be playful. My aim is to move the process of character presentation and representation to new

territory. In the hands of the underserved character, and in the early stages of script building,

the script document becomes, as Millard suggests, a developing entity that can ‘slip between

words and images and production specifics’ (2010, p. 13). Maras discusses the ‘exciting

possibilities in the realm of screenwriting practice [that] are pre-positioned in the space of the

‘alternative’’ (2009, p. 171). Sceneplay attempts to further inhabit this alternative space by

questioning and circumventing traditional screenplay formats.

In terms of television writing Mazin’s Chernobyl further experiments with the blending

of prose and screenwriting within a script that challenges what a television script can be. I

provide an example from this script because of its clarity, narrative cut-through, and the

manner in which Mazin adds his own writerly voice to the script language. Via the insertion

of personal reflections, whether from character, or omniscient viewpoint, Mazin presents the

script as performative artefact irrespective of final production. These personal and visual

interventions give me further clues as to how the sceneplay experiments can operate upon the

developing script. This except from Episode Three indicates this innovation. The scene text is

streamlined and contains little fat, yet it is not merely a ‘what happens next and why’ edict:

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Such use of language and manner of delivery within the script document evokes an inner

world that cannot be reflected onscreen. The change of tense also highlights the

disconnection between traditional script presentation and creative writerly licence. This is

personal thought, inviting us into the story and readjusting our place within it. Visually,

Mazin’s authorial interjection blends with the scene language. In such a manner Mazin shuns

McKee’s suggestions for eliminating ‘all metaphor and simile that cannot pass this test’

(1999, p. 396). Mazin’s central character, Valery Legasov, as middle-aged white male is,

however, not representative of a traditionally sidelined character. He is conflicted, and at

times ethically compromised, but the ‘call to adventure’ ‘quest’ and ‘redemption’ themes are

evident in his character trajectory. In a challenge to such a trajectory, the placing of the

difficult, older female at the core of sceneplay interventions borrows from Mazin’s example

of a character in conflict while opposing Mazin’s example of a character treading a

traditionally redemptive path.

As two final examples of writers using script as vehicle for innovation, I present the

work of screenwriters Phoebe Waller-Bridge and Sally Wainwright. These creators

experiment with form, content and transmutation of both within artistic practice. They (both

female) also examine the representation of female central characters within their artefacts.

In the dramedy, Fleabag, Waller-Bridge (who also performs the central role) breaks the

fourth wall, allowing her character to speak to an unseen audience with quips, asides,

gestures and winks. This deliberate ploy to maintain a connection with, to quote cinema’s

hyperbolic diva, Norma Desmond ‘those people out there in the dark’,24 is nothing new in

terms of performative expression. Characters such as Shakespeare’s Richard the Third

(Richard The Third, circa 1593) Macbeth (Macbeth, circa 1606) and Iago (Othello, circa

1603) employ this technique, eliciting audience complicity by sharing details of their regrets,

revenges and plans. Television stories such as Ally McBeal (David E Kelley, 1997 – 2002)

and United States of Tara (Diablo Cody, 2009 – 2011) also utilised the ‘to camera’ device in

order to create connection with viewers.

Where Waller-Bridge and Fleabag innovate is in the nuance. The character is boorish,

selfish and emotionally distant yet keeps the viewer beside her throughout the 12 episodes

and two seasons of this story. The unfolding narrative arc is a slow burn of character

24 Sunset Boulevard 1950 co-written by Billy Wilder and Charles Brackett features the larger-than-life character of Norma Desmond, an ‘ageing’ star attempting to maintain her status as both star and as representative of relevant ‘femininity’.

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development. Waller-Bridge uses the camera as both confidante and enemy. As evidenced in

the following extract (Series One, Episode One), the scene text leans toward brevity, yet the

dialogue is rich and fast-paced:

In this opening scene Waller-Bridge establishes the tone and mood for the piece, initiating the

overriding poetic conceit of the story – ‘she turns to the camera’. Fleabag, as a character uses

the camera/viewer as sounding board, self-reflection, even at times as vehicle for self-

loathing. From the outset the writer demands the need for her character to be witnessed

without filter. In the final moments of the final episode (Season Two), Fleabag waves the

camera away. She no longer needs the audience as accomplice. Waller-Bridge argues that

initiating this centuries-old device within her script is, non-paradoxically, an essential

component of contemporary storytelling. ‘In some ways, the presence of the camera is

society pressure to be something all the time. And so, she [Fleabag] had the hair, the coat and

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the lipstick, and she was sorted all the time. It follows you everywhere’ (2019). In visual

terms, the scene text is also methodically positioned, playing with pace and mood by

presenting almost staccato scene directions and white space that effectively contrast with

lengthy, crowded dialogue.

Fleabag, the character, is a young, attractive woman. She is by no means an onscreen

representation of an underserved character. She takes advantage of the privileges (whiteness,

heterosexuality and economic prosperity) of her position. In this, while Waller-Bridge

initiates thought in terms of performative script development, the central character adheres to

traditional storytelling structures, exhibiting a final redemption as she literally walks away

from the camera as a changed woman.

Jacey states that such a decision in the final moments of onscreen narrative dealing with

female protagonists is due to preconceived notions of what an audience may think of our

heroine if she takes another route. ‘If your heroine is too wounded or complex’ she suggests,

‘she might share some traits that we are used to seeing in a stereotypical character. She’s

entered the forbidden zone of our unconscious, and we fear everyone will hate her’ (2010, p.

181). By using the difficult, older female central character as test case for the methodological

approach, sceneplay attempts to use the script document as conduit for change on multiple

levels, including the possibility that the central character may, indeed, be disliked.

Sally Wainwright’s two-series police procedural series, Happy Valley centres on the

divorced mother of two, grandmother of one, 47-year-old police sergeant, Catherine Cawood.

This character is front and centre of this socio-economically disadvantaged world in which

the title Happy Valley is chosen as ironic moniker. Kristyn Gorton argues that ‘Wainwright

takes her viewers on a journey that begins with the anger and injustice resonant with the male

protagonists of social realism, but as women, this anger and injustice is worked through in

terms of the family’ (2016, p. 73). It is Wainwright’s ability to adhere to the tenets of the

crime genre while adding a convoluted family dynamic that makes her work a suitable study

for this PhD.

Wainwright provides a female perspective that circumvents the concept of the traditional

role/representation of mothers on screen. She presents a trajectory for the central protagonist

that is shaped by obstacles of a personal, professional and community-based nature. Cawood

is thorny, obstructionist, and yet remains the undisputed centre of the story. In the first

minute of the first episode (Series One, Episode One), she is introduced in the line of duty,

dealing with a man threatening to set himself on fire. Wainwright’s scene directions establish

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the world, mood, and the woman who inhabits the core of the narrative. These directions

exemplify Wainwright’s willingness to move beyond traditional script language:

SGT. CATHERINE CAWOOD (47, unassailably pleasant) strides into the shop. She’s all tooled up; truncheon and cuffs hanging off her belt, radio, bullet-proof vest. We see the three stripes. She looks like she’s made of gadgets. Robocop. But there’s something calm and reassuring and feminine about her manner, despite her striking no-nonsense appearance.

Wainwright imbues the scene description with elements that do not fit within the precepts of

what we can see and hear. Components of the description are vague and presumptive. We

cannot know there is something ‘calm and reassuring and feminine’ about this character if it

is not demonstrated on screen. Wainwright continues this challenge to standard operating

procedure within a script document by providing extended monologues that circumvent the

advice of screenwriting gurus such as McKee who advises that ‘if a screenwriter fails to

move us with the purity of a dramatized scene, he [sic] cannot, like a novelist in authorial

voice, or the playwright in soliloquy, hide behind his words’ (1999, p. 6). In the following

monologue (Series Two, Episode One), Cawood describes the technical and logistical

difficulties of killing a sheep:

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Sternberg argues that in screenwriting ‘a surplus of dialogue, caused by such passages which

substitute action (‘talking plot’) or explain the backstory or motivation of the characters

(‘functional dialogue’), is considered dramatically awkward’ (1997, p. 91). This monologue

not only goes against such advice but provides complex parenthetical instructions within the

monologue ignoring further advice to keep such instructions brief.

Cawood is a character defying the preconceptions of what an onscreen woman could be.

She is physically intimidating, quick to anger and slow to apologise. Greer suggests she is

‘the complex embodiment of motherhood’s many contradictions. Catherine [Cawood] cannot

be pigeonholed as…a self-sacrificing mother: she is selfish, aggressive, and stubborn’ (2017,

p. 344). Wainwright gives the character permission to be violent, vengeful and unapologetic

about either. As she explains, ‘if your head is smacked against the wall, you bleed. It’s life ...

Drama is about the dark side. How bad things happen to good people’ (2016, p. 80). This is

dialogue written by a creator who wants her material and subject to be viewed differently.

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Despite such an innovative approach to age and gender representation, Cawood, as a

character, still follows the tenets of the hero’s journey. Whatever complex qualities she

possesses are supplanted by her desire to manoeuvre around narrative blockages and return

renewed and with the elixir – in this case a personal ideation of happiness through healing of

family rifts. She defeats the antagonist (rapist, Tommy Royce), saves her grandson and leaves

us with the sense that in future she will exhibit fewer of the elements that made her unique in

the first place. Although Wainwright explores risk-taking within her text and presentation of

text upon the script page, she ultimately sacrifices her potentially ground-breaking female

character to a familiar storytelling geography.

These existing scripts from both film and television are indicators of metamorphoses

taking place within screen documents and screen story evolution. Ranging from examples

across decades, from Citizen Kane to Fleabag, the innovations of screenwriters support my

argument that more steps can be taken in the script development process, particularly in the

early stages of drafting when creative exploration is to be expected and encouraged. My aim

is to move this process to new territory in the hands of an underserved character and within a

writerly methodology that welcomes visual additions to text. The difficult, older woman can

indeed inhabit the complexity of Cawood, the nuance of Fleabag, the gravitas of Legasov, the

raw energy of Travis Bickle, or the madness of Norma Desmond while not sacrificing her

will to remain unredeemed within the narrative. Similarly, the script can evolve through

visual interventions that sit alongside traditional text presentations.

The central purpose of doing this creative practice research PhD is to look beyond the

limitations of accepted screenwriting document structure and reconceptualise the script as

ever-changing artefact. Distilling this thought, Millard suggests that stories ‘are adapted in

each new telling’ (2014, pp. 14-15). If a script contains elements of ‘new telling’ through the

progressive stages of drafting it cannot help but challenge the perception of a static document

fit for purposes of future production. It introduces a script that is a malleable screenwriting

mechanism capable of adapting form and content through ongoing avenues of composition.

As methodological pathway, sceneplay investigates the social reality that storytelling can

represent. As demonstrated through the creative explorations and final script artefact outlined

in the next two chapters, Tolstoy’s idea of a new kind of writing is embraced, evidenced and

taken further. The influence upon the lives of writers by the little ticking contraption

continues. The following chapter, therefore, begins the process of sceneplay in earnest,

presenting the first forays into script intervention and experimentation.

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Chapter Four

Creative beginnings of sceneplay

This chapter deals with how sceneplay appears and operates in early iterations and how, as

researcher-practitioner, I tweaked the form and content of the experiment along the way. In

this, I attempted to establish ‘what can be’ before going on to present ‘what is’. First, I

investigate an episode of Dr Who (Chris Chibnell, 2018) and explore ways to impose

sceneplay notes upon it. I then move to an existing script of Veep (Armando Iannucci/David

Mandel, 2012 – 2019) to further the experiment with annotations upon content and form.

Next, I add sceneplay interventions to an existing script of Succession (Jesse Armstrong,

2018 –) in order to again expand the parameters of what this methodological approach can

be. Finally, I place sceneplay interventions into my own burgeoning script artefact – Dawn.

Here at the beginning of my inroads into screenwriting research via creative practice, I

introduce a series of interventions into the scripts of existing screen works so as to understand

how traditional script language can be altered for my benefit and characters I create. I

discover that, although rudimentary, the experiments helped me dive further down the rabbit

hole of exploration. This led me to expanding the interventions by adding colour, notations,

and images, once again, allowing a layer-upon-layer approach to play out on the growing

script artefact. Finally, I was able to place sceneplay interventions upon my own script

Dawn.

This section, then, moves from research to creative expression of research, exploring the

journey of sceneplay from tentative experimentation upon established scripts through to the

creative object of this PhD. It culminates in a reflection upon the various steps of this process

and involves discussion of both form and content. As sociologist Arthur Frank writes, ‘stories

are the ongoing work of turning mere existence into a life that is social, and moral, and

affirms the existence of the teller’ (2014, p. 13). The existence of the teller is precisely the

reason sceneplay hopes to evolve as an effective script development tool. The teller, the

writer, the creator is permitted to play and experiment within the confines of accepted

document structure.

The idea to challenge the format of a traditional script document first emerged as I

watched the Dr Who episode, ‘The Woman Who Fell to Earth’ (Chris Chibnell, 2018). This

episode features a character named Grace O’Brien. Grace is an older woman of colour,

overweight, funny, fearless, irascible and – spoiler alert – she dies at the end of the episode.

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My reaction was fundamental: why did Grace have to die? Why couldn’t this eminently

watchable, flawed woman continue throughout the series as reflection of a socio-political

reality? Her husband Graham, an older, white male, not only lived, but also became a

recurring character, enjoying adventures through space and time with the Doctor. The

concern that sprang to mind, was why, in this instance at least, age and gender seemed a

barrier to character longevity? In this, the idea of challenging the format of the traditional

script document arose. How could I impact upon this existing script by altering dialogue,

scene directions, character traits or narrative? How could simple, yet tangible interventions

alter the fate of Grace O’Brien?

Since its inception in 1963 Dr Who has foregrounded diverse characters, both human and

non-human, and tackled contemporary issues through metaphor and analogy, yet a character

such as Grace O’Brien was not permitted a screen life beyond this episode.25 A reasonable

follow-up query then is why, in a 21st century storytelling landscape, are onscreen stories

veering away from genuine onscreen representation of those who make up our society?

Difficult, older female central characters seem a rarefied species because of conscious

decisions not to position them at the centre of the narrative. Wendy Aarons and KJ

Dell’Antonia take up the cudgels of this issue, writing in The New Yorker, tongues planted in

cheeks:

“Middle-Aged Women Can Do Anything” This children’s book celebrates the bountiful career options available to middle-aged women in America, such as senator-not-President, First Lady, mother of the bride, empty-nester, and enrolled in a dermatology office’s wrinkle-treatment clinical trial. In this charmingly illustrated book, if you can dream it, you can most likely not do it because you’re considered past your prime (21 August, 2019).

To start the exploration, I began with the aforementioned Dr Who episode in order to

illustrate how a script could be altered for the specific purpose of questioning traditional

script presentation and character representation. First, I presented a snippet of the original

scene to establish the premise of narrative and script layout. This section of the storyline

occurred toward the end of the episode, in which the characters enter the final battle with a

malevolent alien:

25 The character appears in other episodes as an apparition and dispenser of wisdom but remains on the periphery of the narrative.

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GRACE has climbed the ladder where the CREATURE is swarming over the structure. She has two electrodes in her hand. She looks up to the swirling creature - - She looks back to GRAHAM - - He gives her the thumbs up. GRACE O’BRIEN

Put a bomb in me, would you? She places one electrode on to one tentacle - - and the other on to another - - the creature starts to thrash angrily - - GRACE O’BRIEN (CON’T) Now Graham! INTERCUT: Graham slams down the lever at the substation. Sparks at his end where the clips hit the substation - - ON THE CRANE: THE CREATURE writhes, shudders and vibrates that’s almost a scream – it’s in pain - - shrivelling, tentacles glowing red, and cracking - - Grace sees one of the clips coming loose – she shoves it back on - - The Creature screams - - GRACE O’BRIEN (CON’T) (yells to Graham) It’s working! And the dying creature BLASTS GRACE with a bolt of pure nebula Energy - - like a dying bee using its sting - - it HITS GRACE DIRECT IN THE CHEST - - SLAMS her off the ladder - - And she falls - - ten feet off the ladder - - INTERCUT: Graham horrified - - run towards her - - Grace SLAMS to the ground, the impact knocking air from her - - but it’s the blast from The Creature that’s hit her worst - - INTERCUT: The shrivelled dying creature falls to the ground some distance away. Screaming, dying, dead. Totally still. Grace, short of breath, on the ground, unable to move - - Graham arrives at Grace’s side - - she stares up - - and she knows - - GRACE O’BRIEN (CON’T)

Don’t be cross with me.

GRAHAM O’BRIEN I’m not cross baby, I’m not cross!

GRACE O’BRIEN (fading) Promise me you won’t be scared - -

GRAHAM O’BRIEN What? What do you mean?

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GRACE O’BRIEN Without me - - GRAHAM O’BRIEN Grace, Grace. She exhales – her eyes close, her head lolls. On Graham - - as he holds her, her body goes limp. Stoic, the pain only in his eyes. For now. Hold on that - - Graham alone, holding Grace. Looking at her. The quiet. Graham alone. RYAN comes running over - - followed by YAZ - - He looks to Ryan. It’s like there’s only the two of them in the world, eyes locked on each other. Graham, almost imperceptibly, shakes his head. She’s gone. On Ryan. The heartbreak in his eyes. The two men. THE DOCTOR runs in, clocks the creature on the ground some distance away - - heads straight to Grace, checking her. Yaz stops. Looks up. To Ryan and Graham. Broken men. WIDE: on the characters around Grace’s body. Stunned shock.

As a woman, screenwriter and screen watcher, I asked why Grace has to be the character

sacrificed on the altar of narrative structure. Her dialogue is witty, and she is capable of

moving the narrative forward. Thus, the first attempt at sceneplay intervention upon the script

document was a functionary challenge to this character’s death, using this established script

to gauge what such a challenge would entail. At this stage in sceneplay’s evolution there

were no interjections with regard to additions to text, or interjection of visual stimulation

upon the document.

This was a hijacking of the established script in order to test boundaries and see, on a

fundamental level, what was possible in terms of script circumvention. These early comments

and notations altered the narrative, as I changed the script in order to let Grace live. There

was no thought of experimentation with colour at this beginning stage of the sceneplay

iterations. I did, however, use italics and bold text to differentiate my sceneplay notations

from the original script:

GRACE has climbed the ladder where the CREATURE is swarming over the structure. She has two electrodes in her hand. She looks up to the swirling creature - - She looks back to GRAHAM - - He gives her the thumbs up.

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GRACE O’BRIEN Put a bomb in me, would you? She places one electrode on to one tentacle - - and the other on to another - - the creature starts to thrash angrily - - GRACE O’BRIEN (CON’T) Now Graham! INTERCUT: Graham slams down the lever at the substation. Sparks at his end where the clips hit the substation - - ON THE CRANE: THE CREATURE writhes, shudders and vibrates that’s almost a scream – it’s in pain - - shrivelling, tentacles glowing red, and cracking - - Grace sees one of the clips coming loose – she shoves it back on - - The Creature screams - - GRACE O’BRIEN (CON’T) (yells to Graham) It’s working! And the dying creature BLASTS GRACE with a bolt of pure nebula Energy - - like a dying bee using its sting - - the bolt heads for GRACE This time Grace dodges it. She takes evasive action because it’s not her time to die. If she lives, how does this influence the scene? The narrative arc? Who will I sacrifice in her stead? The bolt travels downward to earth, hits GRAHAM in the chest – slams him right off his feet. He slumps to the ground. GRACE horrified, jumps off the ladder and runs towards GRAHAM. INTERCUT: The shrivelled, dying creature falls to the ground some distance away. Screaming, dying, dead. Totally still. GRACE, short of breath on her knees next to GRAHAM. He’s unable to move. He knows - - GRACE O’BRIEN (CON’T)

Don’t be cross with me. For what? Now that the narrative has changed so has the dynamic intention of the line. As a section of dialogue, it becomes more layered, complex and thought-provoking. Is it ‘don’t be cross’ for disobeying the doctor’s orders and running toward trouble? For dodging the bolt of energy that hits Graham? Is it guilt? Is it ‘don’t be cross’ because I am living and you are not? Is it something we don’t quite know about or understand yet? The line has more gravitas and depth now. It contains more nuance.

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GRAHAM O’BRIEN I’m not cross baby, I’m not cross! (fading) Promise me you won’t be scared - - GRACE O’BRIEN What? What do you mean? Yes, what does he mean by this line? Is it an odd thing to say on a deathbed? Does the dialogue switch work in this situation? Is it a last-ditch attempt to gain control of an uncontrollable situation? Now that Graham is the one speaking the line it means more – dying yet thinking of others with his final breath – a selfless act. It provides his character with heart and spirit. It provides Grace’s character with more emotional baggage to carry forward. GRAHAM O’BRIEN Without me - - GRACE O’BRIEN Graham, Graham - - She shakes him gently as his eyes close and his head lolls. On GRACE - - as she holds him his body goes limp. Stoic, the pain only in her eyes. For now. Hold on that - - Grace alone, holding Graham. Looking at him. The quiet. Grace alone. Now that Grace lives and Graham dies her ‘aloneness’ means more. Because she is a mother, grandmother, keeper of the watch, the fact that she has to do it alone, without support, without the propping up by the patriarchy, is a more intriguing narrative prospect. With the death of her husband, she has more to recover from. Our expectations, as viewers, are also raised. Her continuing journey as a regular character, now that she is permitted to live and become such a character, is a multi-faceted decision.

Although this intervention upon script development was simple and simplistic, it was a start.

This first foray into sceneplay experimentation relied on repositioning the character within

the story arc and discussing that repositioning in terms of its benefit for the scene and overall

story. According to Batty and Bridget Conor, ‘creative story development […] needs to be

flexible and responsive, embracing a diversity of tools and approaches that will enrich and

focus the creative vision at the heart of a story’ (2017, p. 2). Sceneplay as a methodological

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intervention upon the script document is designed to contribute to this diversity of writerly

tools.

At this stage, the sceneplay interventions attempted a reiteration of the essential premise

– the possibility of a new kind of script development to favour a new kind of character. The

next step involved stretching the methodological approach by examining how sceneplay

could alter content and challenge the placement of characters within that altered content. In

other words, I began to present my narrative slant on an established script with accompanying

annotation and commentary. These early iterations were, in a creative practice sense, the eggs

broken to make the omelette.

As seen in the next example, an intervention into a scene from Veep, the application of

sceneplay manifested in an annotated dissection of a script and its inherent screenwriting

tropes – a call to examine ‘best practice’ within the script document. Sceneplay was thus

starting to take shape as a challenge to traditional script presentation and in turn a call to arms

for the test subject – the difficult, older female central character.

Veep is a half-hour comedy across seven seasons. The narrative centres on Selina Meyer

– the self-absorbed US Vice President/President. The following flashback scene, (Season Six,

Episode 10, Scene 18), exemplifies Selina’s approach to motherhood. I chose this scene for

the next phase of my sceneplay interventions as it is pure theatre in the absurdity and

hyperbolic presentation of its central theme. This largeness of theme and execution of theme

helped further define what sceneplay was capable of. In other words, the script provided a big

and obvious creative canvas upon which to place sceneplay explorations.

Its fast-paced dialogue, pithy scene descriptions and use of flashback technique also

made it effective fodder for script document investigation. The sceneplay interventions upon

this scene became a close, textual analysis in order to demonstrate the efficacy of the

sceneplay methodology upon a script that was already well written. In essence, I took a step

back from altering form and content to focus on the ingredients of form and content. Through

such an inspection I hoped to find out more about the inner workings of an effective scene

and how, once understood, I could apply these learnings to sceneplay interventions upon my

own creative artefact. In other words, I used the scene as a vehicle for craft and creative

annotation.

I was also fascinated by the presentation of motherhood in this scene. The portrayal of a

new mother, immediately after the birth of her baby, with this amount of emotional

detachment is potentially risk-taking storytelling. The examination of such elements fed into

my inquisition surrounding underserved characters at the core of the narrative. In terms of

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older female representation, the script provided an interrogation of the archetype of woman

as ‘natural’ mother/homemaker/nurturer. Selina is a nurturer, but the object of her nurturing

is herself. The sceneplay applied to this scene, then, also attempted to inspect and comment

upon Selina’s role as mother. Again, sceneplay appeared in bold and italics. In this example,

for the sake of brevity, I omitted the original scene and moved straight to my interpretation of

it:

INT. HOSPITAL – FLASHBACK – DAY 24 years ago. SELINA in labor. A pretty NURSE is looking at a monitor. ANDREW is a renowned womaniser – hence the existence of the pretty nurse. He is also a ‘get rich quick scheme’ sheister, hence the chat on the phone. SELINA Oh my God, I need some ice chips. ANDREW (into phone) Todd I’m telling you, they’re genuine pieces of the wall! German spraypaint, the works. They’re gonna move fast so, ...

SELINA Tell him it’s a piece of history, (then) Jesus fucking Christ, it’s happening! She uses vulgar language. This is not Call the Midwife. The idea of her difficulty as a character isn’t in question. We know and accept that she is difficult. Her difficulty is the point. I get the sense that Selina would hate being liked, consider it a personal insult. She wishes to be adored and obeyed but being ‘liked’ is too prosaic for someone so complex. Anyone can be liked. Anyone can be easy-going. She is not anyone. DOCTOR The baby’s crowning. ANDREW (into phone) I should go. FYI there is some wiggle room on those numbers. SELINA Is he going to buy it?

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And in the midst of childbirth, she is multi-tasking. We are asked to simultaneously admire her tenacity and question her moral compass. We also (if across other episodes and plot lines) understand that ANDREW is the type to leave his wife as she gives birth – especially if there is a financial deal or attractive woman in the offing. NURSE (looking at monitor) She’s going to be a big one. SELINA Oh God, I’m going to have a vagina the size of a windsock. She is selfish and vain and that’s part of her charm. The ownership of her hideousness enhances her watchability. SELINA never asks the viewer to see her as anything other than herself. She never seeks approval. She rejects approval.

ANDREW Don’t worry sweetheart, there are simple surgeries. It’s like a face lift. We’ll get you tight like a teenager. SELINA Sign me up. ANDREW Lee, do you remember when this Little treasure was conceived? We were in the Bahamas? For that condo limited partnership thing? SELINA Oh, and your partner turned out to be that drug guy? ANDREW Drug lord. He thought you were hot. SELINA I left my stupid diaphragm in Maryland… ANDREW And here we are. She moans with a big contraction.

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SELINA (crazy in pain) I wish I’d let you do anal. It couldn’t have hurt more than this. And in the midst of this ‘natural’ moment of perceived universal womanhood comes this remarkable piece of funny, wicked, gross-out humour dialogue. She is honest, not afraid to speak her mind or suffer the consequences of same. She is not a character searching for acceptance or redemption. She is searching for power and laughs and the killer come-back line. Of course, as a white, privileged woman she is allowed the killer come-back line without ramifications.

NURSE Let me up the dosage on your spinal. SELINA Oh, I like her. NURSE Have you decided on a name yet? SELINA No, we only picked out boys’ names. What’s your name? NURSE Sandra. SELINA Yeah, not that. SELINA is always ‘on’. The dialogue is whip-smart and difficult to categorise – part stand-up, part farce, part absurdist, part satire. It is almost Vaudevillian at times in its pace and tone. SELINA invites us to admire her because she is, ultimately, unadmirable. ANDREW Can we get some ice chips? A young male candy striper - - GARY with long hair - - rushes over with a cup of ice chips and spoons one into her mouth. GARY I ground these chips myself. The ones the hospital makes are too big.

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SELINA Thank you. (big contraction) Oh my God, Doctor... GARY Sengupta. SELINA ... Sengupta, it’s happening! It’s happening! GARY exits. With a giant final PUSH and MOAN, SELINA gives birth to baby CATHERINE. The doctor holds her up. They cut the umbilical cord, etc. The baby starts to cry. The scene text and dialogue race each other to the finish line, reflected in the final product on screen. Every moment is fast, even the birth of the baby. No line, beat or pause is wasted. SELINA (CON’T) That crying’s really loud. In this line SELINA provides her statement on motherhood – it’s not for her. She is honest in this. Her aversion to motherhood is never disguised yet is made sense of in other episodes centring on the strained relationship with her own mother. Here is a middle-aged female protagonist looking back on the moment her life began as a mother and proclaiming that it wasn’t special or earth-shattering. Other episodes deal with motherhood in terms of abortion. We are asked to disregard myths surrounding motherhood narratives on screen, and question whether these myths hold up in a 21st century socio-political storytelling reality. The nurse wraps the baby and hands it to SELINA, who cuddles it. DOCTOR Congratulations Mommy and Daddy. You two are gonna have your hands full for the next eighteen years! SELINA Her hair’s gonna get better, right? She is already criticising CATHERINE – a narrative trend that continues throughout the plot. The idea that a mother would criticise her own daughter, purely for the sake of comedy, is a risk, but it works.

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ANDREW Actually, I travel a lot for work. ANDREW is a manipulative and ambivalent father throughout the series – a trait less explored in the original script due to patriarchal social norms suggesting that fathers don’t need to be nurturing in the first place. The father’s role is ‘different’, ‘hands off’, centring on patriarchal provision, ‘hunting and gathering’ rather than emotional support. NURSE Will you be nursing? SELINA/ANDREW No. In one word the tone of the relationship between all three is established as well as SELINA and ANDREW’S attitude to parenting. SELINA What am I, a goat? Actually Sandra,

can you write your number down in case we have any questions about the baby? Just give it to my husband.

White, upper class, privilege raises its head again, but she is also practical and straight forward. She won’t be cruel to this child and will give it the best possible advantages in life but is happy to outsource the rudimentary mechanics of doing so, she is unapologetic about her role – a mother under sufferance. We gain little sense that she will love this child. The nurse writes her phone number on a piece of paper and gives it to ANDREW.

ANDREW Lee, what do you think about the name Catherine? After your mother? Make sure it gets us in the will. SELINA (cooing to the baby) I think I want to run for Congress. (sniffs) She needs changing. SELINA hands the baby to the nurse. A world contained in two lines. Such a small amount of dialogue containing such a large amount of narrative

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trajectory. In this single moment SELINA displays her political ambitions, ability to multi-task, distaste at the thought of the day-to-day drudgery of motherhood, and her immediate and instant decision to outsource nurturing. So much about her character is contained in this beat of dialogue. The sceneplay applied to this scene demonstrated, in empirical terms, that the process needed

a deeper dive in terms of application and could go beyond a perfunctory annotation as

addition to scene text. At this stage of experimentation, it lacked creative and research

sophistication. It lacked a comprehensive challenge to old knowledge and as consequence the

presentation of new knowledge. The takeaway from this stage of exploration was that

sceneplay could delve more effectively into the adaptability of the script document and how

that adaptability might benefit underserved characters, thus going beyond annotation of

existing creative output. Jerome McGann argues that ‘to study texts and textualities […] we

have to study […] complex and open-ended histories of textual change and variance’ (1992,

p. 9). Following this line of thought, the growing sceneplay experiments, although

progressing, need to move to a more multilayered interrogation of traditional script and how

it can be adapted.

The burgeoning work also raised questions of class, race and privilege within a narrative.

Is a character such as Selina acceptable as protagonist over a character such as Grace O’Brien

because of colour, or socio-economic status? If, as Halberstam attests, the women’s suffrage

constituted ‘temperance movements in the first wave; equal rights and abortion rights in the

second wave; and equal opportunities the workplace and in education in the third wave’

(2011, p. 3), we surely need to enter the fourth wave with notions of intersectional feminism

leading the way. As Indigenous activist, feminist and playwright Nakkiah Lui (@nakkiahlui)

tweets, ‘If you’re [sic] opinions don’t attempt to be intersectional, you’re just copying toxic

power structure and capitalising on divisiveness. You’re just a shock jock and an identity

grifter’ (20 November, 2020). In terms of storytelling, these ideas take shape and gain

importance.

By challenging the perception and representational quality of underserved characters,

sceneplay even at this early stage, was beginning to allow such questions to become a vital

part of the storytelling discussion. As a white, middle-class woman of privilege, I cannot and

do not wish to bypass such vital points of discussion. I aimed to carry such notions forward

into the next phase of sceneplay interventions.

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This experiment, in a general sense, was also applied to a completed script and therefore

did not address the burgeoning phases of script drafting. This, then, was application after the

fact. The shortcomings of early iterations of sceneplay were welcome. As Macdonald states,

screenwriting is, ‘to those involved in it, a magic time, when it feels as if anything could

happen, when there seem to be no boundaries,’ (2015, p. 5). The experiment, however

embryonic, fed into my inquiry surrounding older women as multilayered characters and the

potential of their position at the centre of the narrative.

It also began the conversation with regard to the script document as movable feast, a

document not consigned to a rigid presentation style. The outcome provided a springboard to

the next possible layering of the sceneplay iterations and thoughts surrounding these

iterations. As creator I felt it was helpful to think about character analysis from other scripts

before examining such narrative components within my own. Other writers provide prescient

clues as to how script development can be approached and delivered with varying elements

of narrative in mind. Wim Wenders, for example, when writing Wings of Desire (1987)

began the creative thought process with a collection of photographs as inspiration:

On my wall in my office I just had lots of pictures, photographs and Polaroids of all the places that had to appear in the film and of all sorts of people I wanted to discover via these angels, and lots of ideas for scenes… (2014, p 138).

The goal for sceneplay in these early phases of experimentation was not signposted. It was

concerned with providing a space in which to play, a space forged by other writers and

established scripts, a place as yet unknown in terms of concise methodological direction. I

transplanted sceneplay into this play space in order to try out notions of script intervention

uncovered in my research, to make a foray into how a script document may be altered for the

benefit of my creation. I attempted to accommodate such strategies through a methodological

pathway that braided poetic sensibility with document structure and traditional script format.

The discoveries made through early interpretations of the experiment supported the initial

success of this pathway, even if it contained a few creative potholes. These potholes could be

fixed.

The final established script that I submitted to the burgeoning sceneplay process was

Succession. The narrative follows Logan Roy, an obscenely rich and powerful patriarch.

Across the first two seasons,26 the story arc presents Roy’s convoluted character journey as

26 In August 2019 HBO renewed the series for a third season. Shooting has been delayed due to COVID-19.

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well as that of his adult children as they vie to take over the company when he dies or retires

– whichever comes first. Steeped in layers of centuries-old storytelling tradition, Succession

is at once gothic, Shakespearean and overlaid with elements of classical tragedy. Tim Joseph

explains the thematic entanglements:

Dig even deeper into the show’s naming patterns and you’ll find a further layer of nomenclatural richness. Again and again, ancient Greek and Roman references bubble up in episodes and lurk behind the names of pivotal characters, adding to both the gravity and the humour of the show’s unfolding drama, while also pointing to where the show may be heading and how the succession in Succession might play out (www.vulture.com, 4 October, 2019).

The episode to which I applied creative sceneplay pressure was Season One, Episode 10, the

final episode of the season. It centred on the ramifications when Logan’s son Kendall drives

his car into a river killing the passenger. The sceneplay interventions in this scene went a step

further than the basal interpretation of the Veep or Dr Who scenes. Here I asked how the

narrative could be influenced, detrimentally or positively in a storytelling sense, if the gender

of the central character was altered. What would such a concentration on gender mean for the

screenwriter and as consequence the character?

The reason for this discussion around gender positioning was fundamental. Despite the

Succession script being a tautly woven narrative,27 Logan Roy is by no means representative

of an underserved character. He is a white, rich, privileged male. Three out of four of the

adult children are white, rich, privileged males. The vast majority of characters at all levels of

the story are white, rich, privileged males. As evidenced by statistics proffered by the Center

For the Study of Women in Television (2020), white males continue to predominate within

onscreen story structures. Although the following statistic address the US television industry

only, it is a fascinating starting point for debate:

• females comprised 44% of characters on broadcast programs, 45% of characters on cable programs, and 45% of characters on streaming programs

• females comprised 45% of major characters across broadcast network, cable, and streaming programs

• across platforms, 70% of female characters were White, 17% were Black, 7% were Asian, 6% were Latina, and 1% were of some other race or ethnicity

27 Evidenced (albeit subjectively) by the 2019 Emmy award for best screenplay.

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• overall, female characters were younger than males. The majority of female characters were in their 20s and 30s (56%), whereas the majority of male characters were in their 30s and 40s (59%).

The goal of the sceneplay experiments as applied to this scene, was whether Logan presented

as an older woman could inhabit a more multilayered character journey. Is a mother, rather

than a father, wilfully manipulating her son a more resonant (and narratively confronting)

creative expedition for a 21st century television audience?

Following on from lessons gleaned via the scene adaptation of Dr Who and the annotated

analysis of Veep, I furthered the layers of the experiment, adding aspects of ‘play’ within

scene directions and altering lines of dialogue, in an effort to allow the thematic nuances of

the scene increased organic free range. Bruce Kawin informs that with regard to

screenwriting ‘to show deliberately is to tell’ (1978, p. 14). The goal of sceneplay at this

stage of proceedings was to show deliberately in order to increase the reach and efficacy of

the methodological pathway.

Before presenting my imposed interventions upon the scene it was necessary, for reasons

of context, to include the ‘clean’ copy of the scene. As I was changing the gender of the

scene’s central character, it was beneficial to evidence how that character operated in the

original scene:

INT. EASTNOR CASTLE – LOGAN’S ROOM – DAY Colin shows Kendall in. Logan’s there. Marcia too. LOGAN Hey, son. KENDALL Hey. LOGAN Thanks Colin. Kendall watches him retreat. LOGAN (CON’T) Did you have an acceptable evening? Enough to eat? Drink? KENDALL Uh-huh. You know?

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LOGAN I was up all night organising my defence. KENDALL Right. LOGAN Look. So, um. I don’t know if you

know, but the caterer I had an issue with, he died last night?

Kendall can’t get his face right sufficiently quickly. He reacts not quite right. KENDALL Oh, that’s terrible. LOGAN Did you know? KENDALL I knew – I knew – I know, since, I just heard. But it’s a shock. If Logan had any doubts about his son being involved they’re over now. LOGAN Right. Well. Look. Our guys, one of our guys found a key card to your room near where this kid went into the water. KENDALL Oh? Maybe he – maybe – maybe he? LOGAN Uh-huh. And Amir saw you last night, Rather damp. The police officers are here with Caroline. MARCIA We just wanted to check if you had anything stolen last night? KENDALL Um – what as in? LOGAN Did you have anything stolen last night?

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KENDALL I don’t think so? MARCIA You might want to check again. KENDALL Um - - LOGAN This kid, I think he might be a thief. Who broke into your room and swiped your card? Right? KENDALL Right. LOGAN Let me handle this son. I know the guys. They know our guys. We can let them know what was taken. KENDALL Right... Dad - - LOGAN Look, this is all quite stressful. Why don’t you get in my car and we’ll drive you to the plane and you can just relax and maybe you should go and straighten out in the desert? KENDALL Um – I – I don’t know. LOGAN Yeah. I think that would be good. KENDALL Um. Right. I mean, nobody did anything Wrong and – you know. It sounds like. So? Logan nods and Marcia heads out. LOGAN Tell Sandy you’re out. Tell Stewy the thing looks like a shit show. Go to the desert. Dry out. You’ve been off balance.

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KENDALL There’s nothing – I don’t think. I wasn’t there. So? LOGAN This could be the defining event of your life. It’d eat everything. A rich kid kills a boy. You’ll never be anything else. Or - - Kendall looks at his Dad. LOGAN (CON’T) Or it could be what it should be. Nothing at all. A sad little detail at a lovely wedding where father and son were reconciled? Logan opens his arms. LOGAN (CON’T) You’re a good kid. You could still be a good kid. Kendall has an urge to get that embrace that is so rarely offered ... He looks around the room. Everything is too vivid. ‘My Heart belongs to Daddy’ by Ella Fitzgerald, live at Zardi’s plays.

In the iteration of the scene involving sceneplay I reinvented Logan as female. Now that

Logan was an older woman and a mother the enquiry into Kendall’s wellbeing had an

implied narrative double edge. We are taught/informed that mothers ‘should’ be concerned

about the welfare of their offspring. The historical precedence of mothers on television

suggests that the welfare of offspring should come before all else. Jacey suggests that the

perceptions of onscreen mothers no longer fit a 21st century reality of what motherhood can

and does entail:

The most obvious acceptable clichéd characters include good and happy mothers who never lose it with their kids, the fashionista who has to learn deeper values, the neurotic woman who has to be tamed through the love of a man, the nice girl next door, the mean girl, the career woman who learns to put others first, the supportive wife (not that wives can’t be supportive but when you only see… (2010, p. 30).

The sceneplay intervention in the scene aimed to go far beyond rudimentary annotation or

character adaptation to become a challenge to character preconceptions. What could transpire

on the page if this mother was not nurturing or caring? What could this inform about script

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development with a specific character at the centre of the narrative? What could happen when

this decidedly difficult and complex mother used concern as a weapon? Would we (the

reader) bristle at the thought of a mother playing games with her son’s mental health?

Catherine MacKinnon argues that sexuality is ‘a social construct of male power: defined by

men, forced on women, and constitutive in the meaning of gender’ (2014, p. 19). Jones,

Bajac-Carter and Batcheler state that writers should feel free to ‘poke much-needed holes in

the “shroud of motherhood” under which most women are still heavily encumbered’ (2014, p.

22). Motherhood as a character trait, then, could be irrelevant, or less consequential in

decision-making surrounding character creation. Such questions provided effective fodder for

this next phase of sceneplay experimentation.

For further ease of use and differentiation between elements of scene text, I began to

mark the added/altered lines of dialogue in red. This was the first use of colour in the

sceneplay experiments and the initial pathway toward presenting visual stimuli within the

script document against traditional formatting. The red was used as a simple delineation

between original (black) text and imposed (red) text. The sceneplay commentary remained in

bold and italics:

INT. EASTNOR CASTLE – LOGAN’S ROOM – DAY Colin shows Kendall in. Logan’s there. Marcia too. LOGAN Hey, son. KENDALL Hey. LOGAN Thanks Colin. Kendall watches him retreat. LOGAN (CON’T) Did you have an acceptable evening? Enough to eat? Drink? KENDALL Uh-huh. You know?

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LOGAN I do. Your welfare is paramount. As is mine. I was up all night organising my defence. I enjoy adding this line ‘as is mine’. KENDALL’S welfare is nowhere near as important as LOGAN’S. It is a rich line, full of venom. Is LOGAN as mother a contemporary, corporatized Medea preparing to metaphorically kill her child? Altering the gender, intent and potential complexity of this character feeds into the Greek mythology of the original script. This is love as war. KENDALL Right. LOGAN Look. So, um. I don’t know if you

know, but the caterer I had an issue with, he died last night?

And just like that the subject of the dead caterer is introduced – a right hook to the jaw. LOGAN’S lack of compassion regarding this death in the original scene is shocking but not unexpected. LOGAN as female recalibrates the angle of the story line into something much darker and thus a good potential for narrative thread. Kendall can’t get his face right sufficiently quickly. He reacts not quite right. KENDALL Oh, that’s terrible. LOGAN Did you know? KENDALL I knew – I knew – I know, since, I just heard. But it’s a shock. If Logan had any doubts about her son being involved, they’re over now. A mother using her son’s pain and anguish against him seems more tragically poetic and more in the vein of Greek drama. Perhaps it gives permission for the reader/viewer to hope that LOGAN will alter course, see the error of her ways, or even stop. She won’t. She can’t. Weakness would be her downfall – harking after another Greek myth – Achilles’ heel.

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LOGAN Right. Well. Look. Our people, one of our people found a key card to your room near where this boy, this poor boy went into the water. I introduce ‘poor boy’ to provide further pathos to the beat. The ‘poor boy’ who died in the river, and her own ‘poor boy’ who put him there. I like the unsaid in this moment – the minimalism providing intent. Everything at this point is implied, supplying a counterpoint to the elements of Greek tragedy where all is foretold and overtly spoken in the hope of redemption. I doubt LOGAN cares about redemption. KENDALL Oh? Maybe he – maybe – maybe he? LOGAN Uh-huh. And Amir saw you last night, Rather damp. The police officers are here with Caroline. LOGAN leaves no doubt that she knows KENDALL was involved and more than likely culpable. We get the sense that even if she knew he wasn’t culpable she wouldn’t acknowledge it. She plays everyone. She trusts no one. She has these traits in common with male LOGAN. Are these traits now more narratively intriguing because she is a woman? We are used to these characteristics in male characters, come to almost expect them. MARCIA We just wanted to check if you had anything stolen last night? KENDALL Um – what as in? LOGAN Did you have anything stolen last night, son? Think carefully. These things might be important. With these additions to the dialogue the language seems gentle, coaxing, loving. It is, of course, the opposite. It also sets the groundwork for the second series – using this information against her son, manipulating his responses, emasculating him on a metaphysical level. This woman would not hesitate to eat her own young. Medea acted from a sense of anger and revenge. LOGAN acts from a desire to win at all costs, just because she can. Nothing more nothing less.

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Winning doesn’t make her happy but it makes her life worthwhile. KENDALL I don’t think so? MARCIA You might want to check again. KENDALL Um - - LOGAN This boy, I think he might be a thief. Who broke into your room and swiped your card? Right? KENDALL Right. LOGAN Let me handle this. You’re my son. I want to handle this. I know the guys. They know our guys. We ... I can let them know what was taken. Added dialogue drives home the point. Could be delivered with a touch of hand to face, a finger tracing KENDALL’S cheek. Where the male LOGAN has often been violent with his children, it is a more multi-textual decision to have female LOGAN experiment with touch – a tactile means of enforcing power. To continue the theme, I add some possible scene directions – LOGAN walks to KENDALL, reaches out a finger, traces the line of her son’s jaw from eye to mouth. KENDALL flinches. LOGAN increases the pressure, jabbing her fingernail into the edge of her son’s lip. KENDALL can’t take it - - KENDALL Right... Mom - -

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LOGAN Look, this is all quite stressful. Why don’t you get in my car and we’ll drive you to the plane and you can just relax and maybe you should go and straighten out in the desert? The dialogue is gentle and nurturing and to purpose. In the original LOGAN uses the beat to establish control over the situation – exercising financial and patriarchal power. LOGAN as female plays a different power game, allowing the beat room for manoeuvre – a slow, narrative car crash. We see it coming but don’t wish to stop it. KENDALL Um – I – I don’t know. LOGAN Yeah. I think that would be good. I think that’s best. Mother knows best. No more needs to be said. KENDALL is destroyed. KENDALL Um. Right. I mean, nobody did anything Wrong and – you know. It sounds like. So? Logan nods and Marcia heads out. LOGAN Tell Sandy you’re out. Tell Stewy The thing looks like a shit show.

Go to the desert. Dry out. You’ve been off balance.

This refers to the take-over bid in which KENDALL has been involved. It is a pivotal moment as the reader/viewer understands LOGAN’S intentions. She is glad this tragedy has occurred, even if her own son is responsible, because it gives her leverage within this corporate fight. She is blackmailing her son and he knows it. KENDALL There’s nothing – I don’t think. I wasn’t there. So?

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LOGAN This could be the defining event of your life. It’d eat everything. A rich kid kills a boy. You’ll never be anything else. Or - - Undisguised extortion. I add extra scene directions here to enhance the situation, give it more breath and room to move. LOGAN as female is softly spoken in this moment - - LOGAN sits. KENDALL looks at his mother. LOGAN readjusts her skirt over her knees. This is now sexual. Oedipal. An extra layer of narrative complexity. LOGAN (CON’T) (voice just above whisper) Or it could be what it should be. Nothing at all. A sad little detail at a lovely wedding where mother and son were reconciled? LOGAN opens her arms. LOGAN (CON’T) You’re a good boy. You could still be a good boy. My good boy. It is horrific and fabulous (in a storytelling sense). A mother about to embrace her child for all the wrong reasons. As a female character I feel that LOGAN is richer and more watchable. She is a mother who does not love her children. A mother who would sacrifice every one of them for expediency, money, or just the art and act of winning. This game is now much darker. Kendall has an urge to get that embrace that is so rarely offered ... He looks around the room. Everything is too vivid. ‘My Heart belongs to Daddy’ by Ella Fitzgerald, live at Zardi’s plays. The sceneplay intervention upon this established script progressed the experiment to the next

level. By adding colour and altering form and content, the non-compliant script development

process began to take shape. The outcome of the sceneplay iterations applied to existing

scripts were varied, contained mixed creative results and provided a feast of thought going

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into the next phase of experimentation. The precarious nature of the process, far from being

detrimental to script development, fed into its efficacy.

At this point in the creative exploration the experiments were allowing me to burrow into

areas of developmental, creative occupation. I was learning, through these scene-based

iterations, that a structural story framework, although needed in a functionary sense, could

also be subjected to modification and play, particularly in the early phases of script creation.

There were no ‘rights’ or ‘wrongs’ at this stage of the process. In this I agree with Gibson’s

summation that ‘in this way you become not only a witnessing participant but also a diviner,

someone who begins to distil some brittle definitions about the tendencies that are pushing

through the system’ (2010, p. 9). There was an emerging multi-modal study dedicated to

creative and academic challenge to existing screenwriting norms. In such a study the writer

holds a valuable position – informing and infiltrating the creative practice research

experience. This position is further examined in the next chapter, as I moved forward with the

implementation of sceneplay upon the burgeoning script document – Dawn.

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Chapter Five

Dawn – sceneplay experiments on the creative artefact

Continuing with the evolving research and practice and interspersing of form and content, I

now came to the most prescient and creatively valuable step of sceneplay experimentation –

interventions upon my growing script, Dawn. It should be noted that these early experiments

take place on drafts that are further developed from draft one. To exemplify these

experiments at length on the first draft would, I believe, diminish the goal of sceneplay

interventions and create a large and unwieldy document without a defined purpose. In other

words, by concentrating on the first draft I would present scenes without merit, or valuable

content in terms of worthwhile investigation. To solve this problem, I include a sample of a

draft one scene with sceneplay interventions in Appendix One. Following on from the

previously evidenced additions to established scripts, this phase of the process delved deeper

into how sceneplay could operate in the early stages of script building. The first iteration of

this first scene had a specific focus – to establish Dawn as older, female, central character and

thus representative of underserved characters.

It was also vital to establish Dawn as difficult while examining, in a creative sense, what

that word might mean and look like. As part of formulating a definition of ‘difficult’ for the

purposes of practice and research, I initially proceeded along an intuitive root to see what I

could discover about how a difficult central character may operate on the page. In short, I let

myself write the character without constraint and or notions of ultimate character redemption.

By adding thoughts, questions and self-reflections I probed how I could present an older

female character who was unexpected, flawed, and intriguing. Who was Dawn? What does

she want from the scene? From the story itself?

Senje advises that screenwriting can take an ad hoc approach to creativity moving the

emphasis away ‘from technical terms like structure and development into the world of art, in

which concepts like creation and invention are paramount’ (2017, p. 268, emphasis in

original). The sceneplay here attempted such a departure, positioning Dawn within the story,

within a relationship with her husband, children and co-workers, and, as an overriding

consequence, within her life, thoughts and motivations. The working of the scene

experiments with Dawn as anti-archetype – an older woman who is loud, obnoxious,

annoying and foul-mouthed. I hoped to keep her that way and examine whether she could

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remain a viable and empathetic central character because of, rather than in spite of, these

traits.

At this stage I was still uncertain as to how sceneplay would influence the flow or

structure of the scenes and how this would in turn influence the future drafts of the script.

This was for my benefit. It was raw and unsettling, as it should be. As in previous

experiments I maintained additions in bold and italics. Here I presented the first three scenes

of the script – first draft attempts to evidence what sceneplay was capable of and how it could

evolve. In essence this was creativity in action, attaching itself to a working and workable

document:

Scene one – iteration one 1. EXT/INT - CONTINUOUS - MORNING Blackness. A rooster’s crow. Loud and glorious. Light rises revealing a handsome red and gold rooster perched on a wooden fence. NEVILLE - proud of all he surveys. He raises his head and CROWS in victory. Under this... PAT (O.S)

(Irish lilt) In the dick?

DAWN (O.S.) One foot, one dick. Not complicated.

We need to hear DAWN's harshness from the outset. Perhaps it's more that we need to hear her loud and clear in whatever form she is about to take. If character is the key to effective narrative, then allowing DAWN a broad spectrum seems appropriate. NEVILLE CROWS again. Thrilled with himself. The light rises on this new day. We travel past NEVILLE, across a tidy back yard to BRIAN, the pug, sleeping on his bed outside the back door. We travel through the open back door, into the house, past the nondescript lounge room, kitchen, upstairs into main bedroom. DAWN (60) and PATRICK (60) lie in bed awake, facing each other.

PAT

Just paedophiles?

DAWN Animal abusers, politicians who use the term 'Canberra bubble’/

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PAT

Or 'going forward'.

DAWN Noted. People who say, 'should of’, and finally, drivers who fail to indicate at round-abouts.

PAT Dick kicking sorts out 80 percent of the population, then.

DAWN

My foot is large and prepared for multiple offenders.

She's the funniest in the room. Does she always need to be? Is this only a position she enjoys with PAT? Is this ethical, intellectual or literal compensation? For what? Do we automatically assume DAWN is flawed because she is the funniest in the room? Would this one-liner response become tiresome? At the heart of DAWN being presented as a witty, powerful, yet annoying human being is the notion that this isn't how middle-aged women are supposed to act. Is DAWN already challenging the tenets of the hero's journey? PAT caresses DAWN's face. She smiles.

PAT Your foot is large and gorgeous.

DAWN You're legally obliged to say that.

PAT Thirty years, mostly good,

(playing with her) ...some of it good.

DAWN (horrified)

Holy crap in a canoe . . . PAT nods

DAWN (cont'd)

It's not that I forgot, it's just that...

NEVILLE CROWS O.S PAT

You forgot?

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DAWN

But you didn't, so yay team! Got me a present?

It seems in keeping with DAWN's presentation that she forgets the wedding anniversary. It's a more nuanced approach to allow PAT, as husband, an emotional intelligence and DAWN an emotional distance, or at least emotional difficulty. Giving DAWN this flaw allows for future growth, further flaws to develop. An older woman not altogether comfortable in her older skin makes for interesting character development.

PAT Apart from the twenty feckin thousand I've forked out on three weeks of gold-feckin-plated post-Soviet pretension on the Trans-Siberian feckin Railway?

(beat) Apart from that?

It's important for PAT to be likable, relatable at this stage. We need to believe in him, to be in his corner. If we don't like PAT, we won't care when he leaves the relationship. By creating a narrative where I ask the reader (me) to NOT be on DAWN's 'side' from the outset, am I telling a better story? Who do I want to win?

DAWN Something smaller? Diamondier?

NEVILLE CROWS O.S.

DAWN (CON’T) Jesus, Joseph and Mary, I'd sell my fucken soul for an axe!

DAWN attempts to get out of bed. PAT holds her a moment, brushes hair from her eyes.

PAT

She walks in beauty like the night, of cloudless climes and starry skies.

DAWN Careful there, Patrick, or you'll have me knickers off all by their wee selves.

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The beat allows PAT a moment of truth and beauty and DAWN ruins it with crassness. Creating a character who opposes the archetypal norm in the first scene of a script, has risks. Can I allow the central character to be cringe-worthy? Will I need to work harder in following scenes to regain empathy for DAWN?

PAT That is me evil intention.

DAWN shoves a hand under the doona. DAWN

Is this your evil intention? At attention?

DAWN needs to be proactive in the scene, sexually, verbally and in terms of character tone and pace. She needs to be the one with the power, in control. Establishing her as a strong, funny, sexually active woman provides a platform from which to destroy these perceptions in later scenes. I am setting her up for a fall.

PAT And all that's best of dark and bright meet in her aspect and her eyes.

A tender moment. They kiss. Too much? Is it viable to allow DAWN a moment of submissiveness/softness? Is that the danger with a character like DAWN? - that softness becomes a weakness and potential downfall? Are we conditioned to assume that softness in any narrative moment is giving way to something lesser? Are we taught to believe a central character must be always on alert when it comes to displaying fragility/vulnerability? Alternatively, if the character is female, are we taught to believe she must always be able and willing to display fragility/vulnerability? If DAWN is an older woman playing against type, how does she embrace this? Live it? Convey it in a method which resonates? NEVILLE CROWS. Moment ruined.

DAWN Neville, you have got to fucken go!

Maybe that's how she embraces her deficiency, by denying its existence. She is foul-mouthed. She has to be, surely. DAWN jumps out of bed, heads for the en suite, checks herself in the mirror, rubs eyes, grabs toothbrush.

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DAWN (CON’T)

(garbled) The neighbours aren't just complaining anymore. They're petitioning the council.

Pops her head around the corner.

DAWN (CON’T)

Neville's got us on a watch list.

DAWN disappears back into the en suite.

PAT He's just showing off his natural assets.

DAWN, trots back to bed, throws on dressing gown, slippers.

DAWN He's a rooster, not the avian representation of existential crisis.

PAT reaches out his hand. DAWN hesitates then takes it.

PAT It isn't against the law, love.

DAWN (genuine)

What?

PAT Happiness.

The vital beat of the scene and the moment leading to the 'what next' of the following scene. This is the moment when the characters display their intentions - the game is exposed. PAT is calling DAWN on her lack of emotional resonance. He's asking her to be still, accountable for the conversation not being had. DAWN can't reply. If she recognises her flaw in this instant, we have no story. DAWN also needs to be unconcerned about the effect her emotional distance has on PAT. It's enjoyable, from a narrative point of view, to place the central character in this unwinnable position. DAWN stares for a beat. Of course, it isn't against the law. What a dumb thing to say. DAWN heads out the door.

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PAT (CON’T) Happy anniversary, my Dawn of the day.

DAWN A fucking watch list, Patrick. Just let that sink in.

DAWN disappears down the stairs. PAT lies back in bed and listens to his wife's footsteps thud on the carpet. His smile fades. He stares at the ceiling as a tear runs silently down his cheek. This final moment of the scene is obvious exposition. Why is PAT crying? I am aiming to pose the question - is he unhappy enough to take action we don't see coming? Too much? Do I want to telegraph this so early on? Change to – He stares at the ceiling. The sceneplay in this iteration of the scene inspected Dawn as an older woman reacting

against traditional presentations and expectations. This seemed an effective, yet carefully

measured foray into narrative complexity. Through the process of experimenting on this

scene I realised several elements regarding adaptation of the script document:

• bold and italics helped differentiate sceneplay from scene text but perhaps this differentiation could go further – examining colour, changes to white space

• I had experimented with red in text, but other shapes/colours and fonts could draw attention to the sceneplay additions while not distracting from the scene text itself

• other interventions such as colour, variance in font and placement upon the page in text boxes or breakout boxes (or shapes) could further assist in providing visual stimuli while also adding further poetic interventions

• were various iterations of the same scene likely to end in a slow and unnecessary creative process? Did I need to speed this up?

• was time of the essence or was the slowness of the procedure a benefit of the process? • did allowing the space to breathe and write and think assist the process? • were the black, bold and italic text additions enough to differentiate sceneplay from

scene text?

With these questions in mind, I turned my attention to the next iteration of the same scene.

Here I implemented breakout boxes to separate sceneplay commentary from the scene text. I

also introduced colour to the breakout boxes to assist in further differentiation between

traditional scene text elements and added sceneplay elements. While presenting a visual

difference between scene text and additions, the boxes also drew the eye, evoking a

separation of creative artefact and notes/commentary upon creative artefact. As writer I was

still the intended reader and beneficiary of the scene iteration. The experimental process re-

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investigated the opening scene, exploring the expectations and presentation of Dawn’s role of

wife.

The first sceneplay iteration presented a confident, powerful, obnoxious woman with

obvious flaws, which may provide fodder for narrative progress, tension and resolution. What

would happen if Dawn is none of these things? What would happen if she was submissive in

this relationship, situation and scene and thus more amenable to narrative compromise? At

this point I did not need to understand why she was submissive or even to what degree,

because story arc and plot trajectory were still forming. The point was to apply sceneplay in

this version of the scene in order to readdress Dawn’s positioning as traditional representation

of older, compliant, onscreen wife:

Scene one, iteration two

1. EXT/INT - CONTINUOUS - MORNING Blackness. A rooster’s crow. Loud and glorious. Light rises revealing a handsome red and gold rooster on a wooden fence. Neville - proud of all he surveys. He raises his head and CROWS in victory. Under this...

DAWN (O.S) In the dick?

PAT (O.S.) (Irish lilt)

One foot, one dick. Not complicated.

By switching dialogue from PAT to DAWN and allowing DAWN the more traditionally submissive role, I enable her to follow PAT’S'lead in the first beat of the scene.

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NEVILLE CROWS again. Thrilled with himself. The light rises on this new day. Travel past NEVILLE, across a tidy back yard to BRIAN, the pug, sleeping on his bed outside the back door. Travel through the open back door, into the house, past the nondescript lounge room, kitchen, upstairs into main bedroom. DAWN (60) and PATRICK (60) lie in bed awake, facing each other.

DAWN Just paedophiles?

PAT Animal abusers, politicians who use the term 'Canberra bubble'/

DAWN Or 'going forward'.

PAT People who say, 'should of', and finally, drivers who fail to indicate at round-abouts.

DAWN Dick kicking sorts out 80 percent of the population, then.

PAT My foot is large and prepared for multiple offenders.

PAT caresses DAWN’S face. She smiles.

As consequence the mood and tone are altered. Do I need, in this first beat, to recognise the importance of dialogue within the script? The tone is established by the first snippet of dialogue. How does the new dialogue affect DAWN as a character? Does it make her more likable? By giving PAT the lead am I creating the perception that he is central character? How deeply is the idea of the central character bound up with patriarchal archetypes of who speaks first, loudest, longest?

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DAWN Your foot is large and gorgeous.

PAT You're legally obliged to say that.

DAWN Thirty years, mostly good,

(playing with her) ...some of it good.

PAT (horrified)

Holy crap in a canoe . . .

DAWN nods.

PAT (CON’T) It's not that I forgot, it's just that...

Keep this direction. Allowing PAT to caress DAWN’S face reinforces her position as object of scene rather than driver of scene. It provides a perceived softness for her character which can, if needed, be circumvented by later narrative events.

If DAWN is placed in submissive role it stands to reason that PAT is placed in role of dominant male with accompanying tropes - forgetful, lacking in emotional intelligence, the 'leader' not required to worry himself about inconsequential minutiae of relationships and communication.

It adds to DAWN’S motivation in later scenes when PAT abandons her. If submissive now, she can reflect later about the role her submissiveness played in the breakdown of the relationship. At present my thoughts are that this is a one-dimensional, overworked trope for an older, female character. Is this the benefit of sceneplay? Allowing ideas to unfold within a document without constriction?

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NEVILLE CROWS O.S

DAWN You forgot?

PAT But you didn't, so yay team! Got me a present?

PAT (CON’T) But you didn't, so yay team!

DAWN Got me a present?

PAT Apart from the twenty feckin thousand I've forked out on three weeks of gold-feckin-plated, post-Soviet pretension on the Trans-Siberian feckin Railway?

(beat) Apart from that?

DAWN Something smaller? Diamondier?

Neville CROWS O.S.

Does this snippet of dialogue now fight against the goal of the scene? If PAT is exemplifying (for benefit of narrative) leadership traits within the relationship, should it be DAWN asking the question about presents? Yes. At this stage and in this iteration, submission is key. The neediness in DAWN asking for a present brings a further element of ingratiation to this representation - which can be opposed or disrupted at a later stage. The dialogue now reads...

PAT's response about the Trans-Siberian seems harsher than the first iteration. He is harder, less funny. DAWN's response seems more cloying. Is it more multi-layered? I don't think so. DAWN is disappearing. I don’t like her much.

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PAT Jesus, Joseph and Mary, I'd sell my fucken soul for an axe!

PAT attempts to get out of bed. DAWN holds him a moment, brushes hair from his eyes.

DAWN She walks in beauty like the night, of cloudless climes and starry skies.

PAT Careful there, Dawny, or you’ll have me knickers off.

DAWN shoves a hand under the doona.

DAWN Is this your evil intention? At attention?

PAT And all that's best of dark and bright meet in her aspect and her eyes.

This is now redemptive dialogue. DAWN becomes the poet, capable of eloquence and thought. We know now that she reads Byron (even if not familiar with his poetry, we understand the sensibility). It is the first moment in the scene in which DAWN steps beyond role as 'wife' or 'partner'.

Now that PAT says this dialogue instead of DAWN it becomes a harsh/base counterpoint to her poetic intentions. PAT sexualises the transaction. Does this cheapen the moment? If so, the next moment allows DAWN to regain some control.

By allowing PAT to retain this dialogue, the beat reveals a turning point - PAT losing bluster and DAWN expressing playfulness. DAWN's submissiveness serves a specific purpose and could add an unexpected nuance to the scene.

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A tender moment. They kiss. Neville CROWS. Moment ruined.

PAT (CON’T) Neville, you have got to fucking go!

PAT jumps out of bed, heads for the en suite, checks himself in the mirror, rubs eyes, grabs toothbrush.

PAT (CON’T) (garbled)

The neighbours aren't just complaining anymore. They're petitioning the council.

Pops his head around the corner.

PAT (CON’T) Neville's got us on a watch list.

PAT disappears into the en suite.

DAWN He's just showing off his natural assets.

PAT trots back to bed, throws on dressing gown.

PAT He's a rooster, not the avian representation of existential crisis.

DAWN reaches out his hand. PAT hesitates then takes it.

DAWN It isn't against the law, love.

PAT (genuine)

What?

DAWN Happiness.

Swapping the dialogue here makes sense. I need to continue with PAT leading the scene and DAWN following. It makes DAWN even more submissive and that’s the point. Is she actually less difficult or is it just a different kind of difficult?

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PAT stares for a beat. Of course, it isn't against the law. What a dumb thing to say. PAT heads out the door. Stops. Turns.

PAT Happy anniversary my Dawn of the day.

DAWN smiles at this moment of softness from PAT. Then, it’s gone. PAT (CON’T)

A watch list, Dawn. Just let that sink in.

PAT disappears down the stairs. DAWN lies back in bed and listens to her husband’s footsteps thud on the carpet. Her smile fades. She stares at the ceiling.

DAWN lies back in bed and listens to her husband’s footsteps thud on the carpet. She smiles.

This dialogue must remain. Otherwise, I run the risk of losing empathy with PAT. For DAWN it provides the tender moment required toward the end of the scene.

DAWN

Too telegraphed? I want to present DAWN as happy and content. How can she be blindsided by PAT’S betrayal if she senses it is coming? Change this.

The end of the scene changes as a result of DAWN's submissive traits. If she cries it implies a difficulty in the relationship, or within herself. It becomes an altered story line and possibly too predictable. She may gain the empathy/sympathy of the reader in this scene, but is she multi-layered enough to maintain that empathy/sympathy over the course of five episodes? Is she telegraphing the wants/needs? If I expect her to 'find herself', or 'find her power' then shouldn't I be able to enjoy her journey in a more complex fashion? The thematic spine of the narrative has reverted to type.

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The object of this sceneplay iteration was the creative analysis of character, character trait

and levels of character operation within the dynamic of the narrative. I challenged myself

at this stage not to pre-empt the effects of sceneplay as methodological tool and allowed

them to unfold without creative pressure. Dancyger and Rush argue that, ‘any screenplay

that has life has to be invented from the ground up and has to discover its own rules’

(2006, 344). I have attempted, through these early scene interventions to present a journey

of rule-lessness, continuing an experimentation that is based in and dedicated to trial and

error. The justification for this kind of script development came from a basis of

experimentation for experimentation’s sake. Some reflection arising from this iteration of

the scene included:

• adding shapes, other rectangles provides further visual stimuli upon the document. It

seemed more interesting to look at. It was more aesthetically pleasing to the eye. It was more fun to play with

• other colours added to the sceneplay notations drew the eye away from standard scene text of black 12-point Courier. Could this become too much of a distraction for the reader? Did it matter at this stage? Was distraction the object?

• the use of Microsoft Word seemed the best option for sceneplay as it is simple to use, accessible and able to be moved to different areas on the page depending on preference. It did, however, tend to alter and move about on the page, depending on the ways it is saved – i.e. – to a Word document or PDF

• I needed to be careful in placement of breakout boxes upon the page to avoid the boxes overlapping or overwhelming the dialogue

• the sceneplay notations, even at this burgeoning stage of development, influenced the creative journey by providing space and time for writerly considerations

• the decrease in white space upon the page was a possible consideration. Did this decrease impact upon the visual poetics of the document?

• the process was slow, but it needed to be. Writing itself was a process. The slowness of the process allowed for thought and creative space.

I now moved to sceneplay iterations of scene two. These iterations continued to introduce

different shapes and text colours in order to expand the experiment. In terms of thematic

intent, the sceneplay as applied to this scene furthered the exploration of motherhood and

how Dawn, as central character, fulfils or reacts against perceived tropes of such a role. In

this first iteration, Dawn was a strong, nurturing mother displaying the accepted/archetypal

traits of her position within the household. By introducing her daughter, Lily, I added to the

breadth and complexity of character interaction while using the relationship as testing space

for Dawn as representative of underserved character:

Scene two – iteration one

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. 2. INT. BEDROOM ONE. DAY. DAWN walks to a bedroom door, enters. Posters of Frida Kahlo, Malala Yousafzai, Susan B. Anthony adorn the walls. The place is a mess - clothes heaped on the floor. LILY (22, cropped dyed red hair, makeup smudged) sleeps, spreadeagled on the bed, still dressed from the big night before - denim shorts, two-storey wedge heels, spaghetti strapped top. Doof doof emanates from the iPhone on the pillow. DAWN lifts the doona over LILY, kisses her daughter on the forehead. Picks up the phone, turns it off, puts it on the bedside table. DAWN moves to the desk - notices laptop open, sees LILY's last browse - pics of Iranian women in the 50s in Western clothing. DAWN smiles, closes the laptop. LILY (half asleep) Patriarchy isn't gonna smash itself. DAWN How about we smash it after breakfast?

Is Lily representative of Dawn's younger self? Is this a version of motherhood tinged with anguish? Jealousy? Can Dawn look at Lily without thinking of the person she used to be - brave, embracing the world? How can envy be presented as part of a motherhood trope in this scene? In movement? Lack of dialogue? Is Dawn's intent influenced by the multiplicity of her role as mother/watcher/protector?

Does Dawn always need to be the smartest in the room? What does this say about her attitude towards mothering? How does this influence her trajectory as a character?

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LILY No smashing on an empty stomach. DAWN Who is this philosopher and what have you done with Lily? LILY My eyebrows hurt. DAWN smiles doesn't answer. DAWN leaves, closes the door. We stay with LILY as she rolls over, back to sleep in a nanosecond.

Yes, she does need to be the smartest/funniest in the room. Is she likable? Does it matter?

LILY wins. Perhaps this is DAWN’S superpower - knowing when to let her child win. The best evidence of effective mothering? – The ability to let someone else claim victory.

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The sceneplay added in the second iteration of this scene continued to interrogate the

presentation of Dawn as ‘difficult’ mother – a mother not necessarily comfortable with her

role as nurturer. The goal here was to question how altering Dawn’s inhabiting of this role

influenced character development and overall script trajectory. How did this feed into my

writerly approach in the early stages of script development? By allowing Dawn an emotional

distance and/or detachment from her daughter I asked whether it was detrimental to the

notion of her ‘difficult-ness’ and whether ‘difficult-ness’ as a concept needed to come into

play? If so, how did this influence sceneplay within its inherent feminist paradigm?

Dale and Overell suggest that experimenting with feminism in a creative setting can

investigate ‘how feminism moves – how it refuses that “thingification” so often demanded in,

and by, academic and political discourse’ (2018, pp. 12-13 original emphasis). In line with

this thought, I was discovering, through these rudimentary sceneplay workings that Dawn, as

a character, could be represented through a multitude of lenses and this did not necessarily

impede upon her success as the vehicle for the methodological testing ground. If Dawn was

an older woman, a mother at odds with the role of nurturer, how would such character

ambivalence add texture to the scene? The aim was to represent Dawn as a resonating yet

conflicted mother, complex, imperfect and remaining central to the narrative.

Sceneplay in the second iteration concentrated on Dawn’s character flaws, her

motivations/cause-and-effect actions due to these character flaws, and intentions with regard

to her role as parent. This scene iteration delved more cogently into the possible permutations

of sceneplay as I began to add images. The reasoning behind the decision was

straightforward. These images could trigger ideas and represent characters, character traits

and the growing thematic ideas within the script. The visual cues upon the page were

becoming allies to the scene text, accompanying the creative journey. This was now

becoming an organic and layer upon layer approach to script building:

Why stay with LILY rather than leave with DAWN? The scene applauds the winner. DAWN begins the scene, but LILY finishes it. How does this alter perception of DAWN? The goal of the scene is to depict DAWN as sacrificial mother, willing to do anything to help her child and here she is - conceding. For someone like DAWN - complicated and prickly, it is apt.

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Scene two – iteration two

2. INT -- KITCHEN, BEDROOM ONE, BEDROOM TWO, LOUNGE -- CONTINUOUS - DAY. We travel with DAWN as she walks to a bedroom door, enters. Large posters of Frida Kahlo, Malala Yousafzai, Susan B Anthony adorn the walls. A mess - clothes heaped on the floor. LILY (22, cropped dyed red hair, makeup smudged) sleeps spreadeagled on the bed, still dressed from the big night before - denim shorts, two-story wedge heels, spaghetti strapped top. She's dead to the world. Doof-doof emanates from her iPhone on the pillow.

DAWN lifts the doona to cover LILY. She lingers for a beat, flicks a stray hair from LILY'S eyes. LILY bats away her mother's hand. Dawn stiffens. DAWN picks up the phone, turns it off, puts it on the bedside table.

Good move (in narrative sense). The relationship is now strained which creates nuance within the story arc. The scene becomes layered. Motherhood is difficult for Dawn. It's hard work. What happens to this scene if she reacts against motherhood? Is 'love' in this relationship having your hand batted away and not drawing attention to it? In this moment of action and reaction the trajectory changes, pace gains momentum, stakes are raised. We have a battle.

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DAWN moves to the desk - notices laptop open, sees LILY’S last browse - text of Iranian women's movement, pics of Iranian women in the 50s in Western clothing. DAWN closes the laptop.

LILY (half asleep)

Patriarchy isn't gonna smash itself.

DAWN How about we smash it after breakfast?

LILY No smashing on an empty stomach.

LILY reaches out a hand. DAWN walks to Lily.

DAWN holds LILY’S hand for a beat then lets go. LILY stretches her empty hand skyward. Used to this. A prayer to nobody.

DAWN Who is this philosopher, and what have you done with Lily?

DAWN doesn't kiss LILY. We expect her to. It's what mothers do to the sleeping children they care about. It would be easy to create this image - DAWN kissing her daughter's face. The moment calls for restraint. Perhaps DAWN doesn't trust herself to create the correct amount of love. Perhaps she has no love to give. Conflict is at the core of the beat - the hesitation is what matters most. DAWN fails to kiss another human being and that is a vital decision for future scenes.

Does DAWN take her daughter's hand? Yes, but it's perfunctory. There is no grace in the gesture. It's payback for the earlier incident. Dawn knows it. LILY doesn't care. DAWN wins.

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LILY Fuck knows. My eyebrows hurt.

DAWN Ah...there she is.

LILY rolls over, back to sleep in a nanosecond. DAWN walks to the door, opens it, stares at her comatose daughter for a beat, frowns. Because of the various incarnations and influences of sceneplay throughout these initial script interventions it was to be expected that the script remained in transition. The methodological tool was thus an ongoing proposition of call-and-response iterations, not right or wrong. The addition of images to the breakout boxes and other shapes provided further creative cues for the script as burgeoning artefact. Reflective thoughts arising from the scene two iterations included:

• adding visual aids such as pictures assisted in defining character and possible character journeys. The pictures provided a creative focus within the narrative of who I am writing and why I am writing them

• the use of colour deviated from the blandness of the black 12-point Courier • it was yet to be determined whether some box/shape colours or text colours were too

overbearing and distract rather than assist the process of script development • I needed to keep in mind that the script document is word-based and as such the

words needed to remain important. Possibly most important. Visual stimuli needed to be stimuli rather than didacticism. In other words, text and image needed to operate in tandem rather than fighting for creative supremacy

• the formatting did not suit conversion to PDF as images tended to skew over the page. This suggested that formatting through Microsoft Word or conversion to PDF would not be perfect and would not need to be.

Scene three of the script continued the investigation for Dawn as mother and how her

positioning within such a role translated with her foster child – 12-year-old Maron – a

Sudanese refugee who has been with the family for a year. He is traumatised, fragile, whip-

The final beat now works against DAWN as mother comfortable in her role. Why is she frowning? What conflict am I introducing?

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smart and suffers from OCD (obsessive, compulsive disorder).28 How would Dawn handle

these complex elements concerning someone under her care? By establishing that Maron is

not her biological child I aimed to explore elements of essentialism with regard to

motherhood. I was not suggesting that she cares for him less because of his position within

the household. I was inspecting the perception of the role within this specific onscreen

storytelling paradigm.

With the presentation of Maron the sceneplay application in this scene also investigated

representation of another underserved character in terms of ethnicity and disability. I also

now added further elements of sceneplay – quotes, thoughts, notes for future investigation

and discussion points. These additions continued the nuanced layering of script and

methodology surrounding the creation of the script:

Scene three – iteration one

3. INT. BEDROOM. DAY DAWN enters a second bedroom, opens the door. This bedroom is neat as a pin. No clothes in sight. Books lined up on the shelf, no posters on the wall – just a framed photograph of a Sudanese family smiling for the camera. MARON (12 Sudanese) lies in his bed, eyes wide open.

MARON She got home at 4.32 am.

(Grabs a notepad, reads) Crashed into stuff. Stumbled. Sang something. Possibly Drake. Made it to her room at 4.39.

(grave) She’d been drinking.

DAWN (sitting on bed)

28 OCD – Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, an issue that varies in magnitude. As a sufferer myself I feel comfortable in exploring its influences upon character.

By presenting MARON as a sensible, yet flawed child, it provides DAWN with an opportunity to react in a multitude of ways. How does she handle a kid like this? Is 'good' mothering about damage control?

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That's what's called a supposition.

MARON We need an intervention/

DAWN (smiling)

We? MARON puts the notepad back on the bedside table. He folds, unfolds the doona edge.

MARON Could have hit her head, bled out/

DAWN (takes his hand)

Maron, look at me.

Does every character in a narrative need a flaw and learn from it? No, but they do need to highlight the central character’s flaws. DAWN as central character needs to respond to the flaws in others in order to address her own.

A moment of connection. It's vital for the scene to work effectively. Without connection there is no reason for the scene to exist. Is DAWN a good 'connector'?

Is physicality an integral component of the nurturer's role?

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MARON looks at DAWN. He adores her. Confused by her sometimes, but adoration shines through.

DAWN (CON’T) None of that happened.

MARON What if it had?

DAWN What if the ceiling collapsed?

MARON is horrified. Hands in the air, struggling to control themselves.

MARON What's wrong with the ceiling?

If she was male would any physicality be misconstrued? Are we conditioned to think women need to be physical and men need to refrain from physicality?

I originally had the direction that he was 'frightened by her' and changed to 'confused'. I don't wish to present DAWN as potentially violent. It was an instinctive reaction to remove the word 'frightened'. Am I habituated as a female/female writer to avoid the notion of women being violent?

Can older, female characters be violent and still be heroes of their own stories?

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DAWN could slap herself. She knows better than to exacerbate this kid's anxiety.

DAWN Mate, the ceiling is perfect.

MARON (frantic)

What else aren't you telling me?

DAWN So, the ceiling is fine and here's what we do about Lily. Ready?

MARON nods, unsure.

DAWN (CON’T) We call an ambulance, and those fabulously efficient ambos would take her to hospital...

MARON raises his hand.

DAWN (CON’T) Driving according to speed regulations.

MARON relaxes a little.

DAWN (CON’T) Where she'd spend every second of the day giving nurses and doctors and orderlies and cleaners and food services assistants the absolute living shits until she was well enough to come home and do the same thing, every second of every other day - to us.

(pause)

Good to see DAWN make mistakes. Good to see her attempt to address and rectify those mistakes. Is this the difference between being a decent person (redeemable central character) and a lost cause? Do we always expect female characters to apologise?

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Right?

MARON No.

(beat) Yes.

DAWN gently pats MARON's hand.

DAWN Breakfast, big beast.

MARON smiles. For the first time since we met him, he's happy.

MARON Eggy bread? With honey?

DAWN Disgusting, but sure.

DAWN stands, heads for the door.

MARON Dawn...mum?

DAWN can almost hear her heart break. She loves it when he calls her 'mum'.

The physical connection is necessary. The kid is upset. Not to have DAWN touch someone in her care seems churlish. In a narrative sense, the moment allows pause, space between words, a second to breathe and control the pace and tone.

Helps to personalise DAWN and MARON. The connection is evident and enjoyable. They have an easy, relatable back-and-forth. How will this relationship change when DAWN is the sole carer after PAT's departure?

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MARON (CON’T) Will I always be like this?

DAWN A gigantic pain in my arse?

MARON You know what I mean.

Is it necessary for a boy to have a male role model? Are we

socially/politically/culturally conditioned to believe that without male role models boys are somehow 'less than' or deprived of growth?

As MARON is Sudanese am I leaning into cultural appropriation?

Not sure about this direction. I am exploring DAWN as nurturer. It seems appropriate that she 'feels' and provides a physical/emotional response, but it has complications. This is a difficult moment. MARON is a foster child and may be returned to his family or moved to another foster home at the whim of administrators. Can DAWN afford to become attached? How does a nurturer hold back from nurturing? Should the moment be more internalised? As MARON may well be removed after PAT's departure, do I need to make a more memorable beat here? Is it a point of resonance?

Is this action/reaction too likeable/accessible? It is too early for DAWN to elicit our

sympathy/empathy.

Why does DAWN need to deflect? Is this part of the need to keep a check on vulnerability? Would a traditionally presented onscreen mother deflect in this way?

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DAWN stays at the door. She'd love to rush back and fold this kid in her arms but knows better. MARON responds to words, logic. Physicality confuses him.

DAWN In the Bahamas there's a beach where you can swim with pigs.

MARON Yeah?

DAWN (nods)

They used to be wild and scratchy and full of/

MARON Fleas?

DAWN And worry. Full of panic about what would happen tomorrow, but now, because of all the tourists patting them and feeding them, they're just/

MARON Nice.

DAWN Exactly. They’ve learned to trust that everything is all right.

MARON But what if it isn't?

DAWN Then there's not a fucken thing they can do about it.

This passage reminds us that DAWN is funny yet capable of deep thought and response. She doesn't reassure with platitudes. She responds to MARON on his level, treating him with respect and dignity. The passage deviates from the narrative path - adding poetry, anecdote and metaphor to the ordinary moment.

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MARON My case worker says you swear too much.

DAWN (laughing)

Your case worker is a fuckwit.

DAWN exits. MARON sits up, reaches for the notebook, scribbles furiously.

The sceneplay in the second iteration of the scene continued previously posed questions

surrounding Dawn as mother not fully comfortable with her role. The iteration posed

questions around what would happen if our central character cared about this child yet did not

possess the emotional maturity or bravery/confidence to explore what nurturing means? What

would be the reaction to an older woman uncomfortable with the archetypal expectations? In

short, what if Dawn did not do what I thought she ‘should’?

Screenwriters have the capacity to, as Macdonald suggests, move ‘towards a

multilayered “impression” of a screen idea’ (2013, p 186). This version of the scene followed

this notion, allowing the narrative to venture further towards Dawn’s possible emotional

detachment in an effort to ‘see what happens’ when perceptions of behaviour are challenged.

And she's back to using shock tactics for self-preservation

Leave the scene focusing on MARON. After all the hard work of the scene does DAWN need to be the final image? Do we need to see DAWN in this moment? She is the central character. Am I giving too much power to MARON?

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By re-examining dialogue, pace, tone and scene text, the narrative began to address a further

level of character complexity and script development:

Scene three – iteration two

3. INT. BEDROOM. DAY DAWN enters a second bedroom, opens the door. This bedroom is neat as a pin. No clothes in sight. Books liked up on the shelf, no posters on the wall – just a framed photograph of a Sudanese family smiling for the camera. MARON (12 Sudanese) lies in his bed, eyes wide open. MARON She got home at 4.32 am. (Grabs notepad, reads) Crashed into stuff. Stumbled. Sang something. Possibly Drake. Made it to her room at 4.39. (grave) She’d been drinking.

DAWN

(sitting on the end of the bed) That's a supposition.

Yes, MARON is a sensible , yet flawed

child - Provides DAWN with an opportunity

to react in a multitude of ways

How does she handle a kid like

this? If she becomes more

dictatorial how doesthat influence her likability as central

character?

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MARON We need an intervention/ DAWN We? MARON places the notepad on the bedside table. He folds, unfolds the doona edge. MARON Could have hit her head, bled out/ DAWN (taking his hand) Maron, look at me. DAWN Maron, look at me.

By removing the parenthetical direction (smiling), the tenor of the beat changes. The power imbalance becomes stark. The tone is colder.

If DAWN is less compromising in this beat, is MARON'S OCD exacerbated?

Cause-and-effect through consequence of narrative trajectory

If MARON's OCD arcs up, does DAWN need to react accordingly? Reminder that a single direction can be powerful within the narrative framework.

What if DAWN doesn't take MARON'S hand? This physicality (or lack thereof) could be an important storytelling decision. If the parenthetical direction is removed -

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MARON looks at DAWN. He adores her. Confused by her sometimes, but adoration shines through. DAWN (CON’T) None of that happened. MARON What if it had? DAWN What if the ceiling collapsed? MARON is horrified. Hands in the air, struggling to control themselves. MARON What's wrong with the ceiling? DAWN could slap herself. She knows better than to exacerbate this kid's anxiety. DAWN Mate, I'm sorry. Stupid thing to say. The ceiling is perfect.

The moment of potential connection is lost. Are we more intrigued because DAWN is choosing the path less travelled – a mother and carer who doesn’t resort to the easy option?

Can MARON only adore DAWN because she is an ‘easy fit’ as a mother?

Does he adore her more because she doesn’t resort to ‘tactics’ as carer?

Does DAWN need to soften in this beat? Is using the term 'mate' enough to relax the situation? Is it too patriarchal?

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MARON (frantic) Lily falling down, the ceiling collapsing, what else aren't you telling me? DAWN So, the ceiling is fine and here's what we do about Lily. Ready? MARON nods, unsure. DAWN (CON’T) We call an ambulance quick as a wink, and those fabulously efficient ambos would take her to hospital... MARON raises his hand. DAWN (CON’T) Driving according to speed regulations. MARON relaxes a little. DAWN (CON’T) Where she'd spend every second of the day giving nurses and doctors and orderlies and cleaners and food services assistants the absolute living shits until she was well enough to come home and do the same thing, every second of every other day - to us. (pause) Am I right? MARON No. (beat) Yes. DAWN gently pats MARON's hand.

Why would she revert to physicality now? Perhaps the manner of DAWN's control of the dynamics of the scene – using intellect rather than physicality is what is needed. Remove this direction.

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DAWN Breakfast, big beast. MARON smiles. For the first time since we met him, he's happy. MARON Eggy bread? With honey? DAWN Disgusting, but sure. DAWN stands, heads for the door. MARON Dawn...mum? DAWN feels awkward when MARON calls her ‘mum’. She doesn’t hate it, just doesn’t understand it. DAWN smiles, hopes that’s enough. MARON is smart. He understands DAWN can’t reciprocate. He loves her anyway. MARON (CON’T) Will I always be like this?

Even though DAWN is more hands-off in terms of nurturing, the connection is still evident – different to the first iteration but existing nonetheless. DAWN's lack of physical connectedness with her children (biological and non-biological) plays into future beats. When PAT leaves does DAWN, as a character searching for growth, need to find that part of herself? Do we expect her to in order to remain a viable protagonist? Does she have to sacrifice her unlikability in order to achieve this?

Can DAWN still enjoy this moment if she doesn’t know how to express it? Isn’t this an example of a character confusing want with need? Is her journey more intriguing because of emotional deficiency/insecurity?

The perfect chance to increase her nuance through visual response.

Add new direction.

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DAWN A gigantic pain in my arse?

MARON You know what I mean. DAWN stays at the door. She'd love to fold this kid in her arms but knows better. MARON responds to words, logic. Physicality confuses him. DAWN stays at the door. She knows that MARON doesn't respond to displays of affection. She knows him well enough to understand he responds to reason, facts, discussion. DAWN In the Bahamas there's a beach where you can swim with pigs. MARON looks up, interest piqued. DAWN (CON’T) They used to be wild and scratchy and full of/

MARON Fleas?

Yes, DAWN needs to deflect. It is more than defence mechanism, it is survival. If she lets herself be seen as emotionally vulnerable, where will it end? If she is in alignment with her personal, physical and well-being, where is the drama? Where is the story? A woman not in synchronicity with her role as nurturer is still a woman and a more resonating character in socio-political/cultural terms.

Change to –

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DAWN And full of panic about what would happen tomorrow, but now, because of all the tourists patting them and feeding them, they're just/

MARON Nice. DAWN Exactly. They trust that everything will be all right. MARON But what if it isn't? DAWN Then there's not a fucken thing they can do about it. MARON My case worker says you swear too much. DAWN (laughing) Your case worker is a fuckwit. DAWN exits. MARON sits up, reaches for the notebook, scribbles furiously. DAWN exits. We stay with her as she closes MARON's bedroom door and stands for a beat, resting against the wall. She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath.

What happens if I leave the scene with DAWN? Surely because she has been passive in the scene (compared to first sceneplay iteration) I could allow her strength in her leaving of it.

This ending provides an extra moment of contemplation/ reflection in the scene. Closing eyes – being ‘unreadable’, taking a breath – testament to struggle. Does it matter that we don't, as yet know the origin or consequence of the struggle? This ending seems richer – allowing a through-line to the next scene.

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My goal throughout this PhD is to better understand the relationship between creative and

critical investigation while providing an intersection between research and creative

production. A large part of the interplay between research, methodology and resultant

practice is an understanding of how practice-enabled study operates not as single entity, but

as mutually inclusive streams of endeavour. As Gibson argues, ‘you need to step both outside

and inside the mystery. Not one without the other’ (2010, p. 4). Sceneplay experiments

attempted to step outside the mystery by a holistic challenge to script development while

stepping inside the mystery to concentrate on narrative trajectory. The learnings from these

early example scenes provided further options within the script document with regard to

character journey, interaction and the importance of onscreen relationships to the narrative

arc. Ideas and process continued to ferment. These scenes were not perfect or finished or

intended for anything other than being fodder for further scene examination.

The experimentations with various modes of script addition such as shape, colour, text

and image contributed to a new knowledge that was remaining open to organic

metamorphosis. The sceneplay methodological approach, by nature of its developmental

sensibility, took time, allowing thought, self-reflection and a dedicated and personal approach

to impact upon script creation. Far from being a detriment to the work, I believe it benefited

my research and practice aims, permitting me, the screenwriter and researcher, free rein

within both. Throughout the latter experiments, particularly with regard to my own script, the

addition of shapes, colours and images emerged as useful tools. These visual cues became the

essence of the growing efficacy of sceneplay – elements blended with text to create a new

kind of script and a new kind of script development.

Now as the experiment ventured firmly down the rabbit hole of research/practice,

heading toward the final script artefact, it was evident that sceneplay as methodological tool

was throwing up alternatives in terms of usage and presentation within a traditionally

formatted script document. This methodological approach was allowing the experiments

leeway to form an unfinished artefact, a product-in-transition. In other words, this burgeoning

script document was presenting a work-in-progress within a work-in-progress. True to its

research origins, sceneplay was investigating process rather than destination.

This chapter has attempted to identify what sceneplay set out to do throughout its

various, original incarnations, and how it grew an organic artefact while keeping that artefact

visually and literally separate from the rest of the scene text. It has also pinpointed elements

that could be improved upon and thought about more thoroughly in order for sceneplay

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additions to fully examine the hoped-for multilayering at the heart of this PhD. The learnings

from these early experiments were far-reaching and numerous and included:

• the need to establish the script document as movable creative feast • the need to establish the script document as a changeable artefact within the

storytelling landscape • establishing the organic nature of the sceneplay application within early drafting

phase of a script • establishing myself as the audience at this stage of the process • testing the boundaries of the developing script by adding components such as notes,

breakout boxes, images, colours, images and variations in text • evolving the sceneplay process through various experiments and iterations of scripts –

both established and original • establishing the difficult, older female central character as suitable test case for the

sceneplay methodological approach • creating sceneplay as separate to scene text is vital for purposes of clarity • allowing scene text to remain in traditional presentation of 12-point Courier provides

a framework around which to experiment. In addition, questions remained as to the effectiveness of the sceneplay interventions thus far. In response, I posed how such questions can be addressed:

• how could sceneplay better highlight the underserved character in a literal sense? • how could I more effectively tailor the methodological approach with a specific

character/character action in mind? • did the use of so many added elements swallow up the text? Did this matter? Does it

matter going forward? • did I strike the right balance between traditional script language and added sceneplay

components? • Was there a ‘right balance’? Was such a concept of balance an irrelevancy in this

creative practice research? • as this is work pertaining to early drafts of the script, did the visual/textual balance

matter? Was this a concern for later on in the process? • how many iterations of one scene were ‘enough’? Did it matter? Would it take as long

as it would take to create a script with sceneplay?

To attempt to answer, or at least contemplate, some of these questions, I end this chapter with

a template I constructed as a final example of how sceneplay emerged through a process of

trial and error. This template, while remaining non-prescriptive, provides a signpost towards

what could be possible through this methodological approach and how visual additions to

scene text could be implemented and presented upon the page. I applied this template to the

broader anxieties and questions around the whole of the PhD to see what would and could be

accomplished through a playful response. This template arose outside of the sceneplay

experiments upon any existing text and outside of my developing thoughts and final script

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artefact. It exists as a creative ‘go-to’ system, an accessible shorthand for me before moving

to the more comprehensive and intricate sceneplay interventions.

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THE CHOP THAT WAS A METAPHOR (A meaty non-romance)

By Christine Davey

EXT. DAY. BBQ – SAM’S BACKYARD. SAM, early 70s, well preserved, scruffy beard, aura of loveliness, stands at the Weber BBQ, tongs in hand, turning sausages, chops, long vegetarian blobs that resemble Bratwursts, but everyone knows taste like tofu-infested glue.

CHRISTINE, late 50s, aura of someone who spills food on her shirt, sidles up to SAM, smiling, holding out her plate.

SAM

Chop?

My first breakout box might point to the notion that my big print (scene directions) don’t adhere to the ‘what we can see and hear’ philosophy of screenwriting rules. It might be mentioned as a point to which to return, or

ignore, or expand.

I might include a picture here of what I think SAM looks like – or perhaps a quote of something that SAM

may say. These are triggers for creative thought.

Placing the sceneplay additions in Microsoft Word helps the writer move the images around on the page, playing with presentation, look, colour and font.

An image of CHRISTINE helps focus elements of character, both physically and thematically. I can also bold the font to create more impact. Or change to italics. Or change the font and size.

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CHRISTINE nods as SAM places an exquisitely burnt chop in the centre of her plate. CHRISTINE

Nice opening dialogue, but imagine if you had a breakout box to help.

SAM performs a quick scan for an escape route. None. Everybody’s moved inside. He’s alone with this woman. CHRISTINE steps closer.

CHRISTINE (CON’T) No use looking for the escape route. It’s just you and me now, lover.

(a thematic image may help here)

A breakout box like this could give a suggestion about effective dialogue. It may be a thought about set-up, brevity, a questioning of various elements to do with the words on the page. Of course, it shouldn’t have to look bland, so it’s a good idea to present in something other than black, Courier, 12 point – this way it serves a different purpose to the script – providing a stark and obvious visual cue. So, I could, for example, italicise, change the colour to green, or change the font entirely. The choice is mine and can always be altered and changed at any time throughout the process.

Here I could include a relevant quote about characterisation. This may help me question a character’s progress within the

narrative or remind me of the goal of the scene. I could place it in an oval shape, a triangle, a pyramid, whatever I feel is

visually helpful. Something like this – ‘If possible, characters should always resemble Sam Neill

because he is a nice person and that’s what’s needed in the first few pages of Act One’ – Florence Bloggs (2021).

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Yes, it’s Alex (Glenn Close) from Fatal Attraction. Maybe this image helps solidify the intent for the character of CHRISTINE. Maybe such an image helps me identify what I wish to investigate in terms of character, motivation, or essential flaw. Is Christine too one-dimensional? Is she ridiculous? Do we need to believe in her? Do we need to care about her? SAM tightens his grip on the tongs. CHRISTINE takes a slow, grotesque bite of her chop, chewing, ruminating. Juice oozes down her chin. She chews, munches, finishes the chop, throws the bones on the ground. SAM takes a deep breath, trying not to vomit, or cry, or both.

SAM

What’s a breakout box? I don’t remember inviting you/

CHRISTINE grabs the tongs from SAM’S hands, clacks them together once, twice.

Maybe I want to highlight this breakout box, in literal black and white, as a stark reminder of the power of visual images within a screen document. It’s a direct

contrast to white space. I could centre it on the page for maximum effect.

Perhaps this is also a good time for a comment on the

value of sound in screen stories. The chewing on the

chop, how does create imagery? Response?

Reaction

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CHRISTINE It’s a metaphor, Sam. Don’t you

know a metaphor when you hear one? You just put your lips together and/

SAM retreats, stumbling a little as he goes. CHRISTINE advances, clanging the tongs with one hand, smoothing her hair with the other. Chop juice settles on her fringe. SAM

I enjoy a good metaphor as much as the next man, but I just want to look after the BBQ. CHRISTINE (lowering voice) Is that all you want, Sam?

SAM stumbles over a garden gnome, falls to the ground. CHRISTINE stands over him, tongs clacking. SAM Yes. It is. Literally. All I want. SAM scuttles on his backside like a beetle, edging closer, ever closer, to the back door.

In this breakout box I could talk about being derivative or borrowing from other texts/screenplays. EG – I’ve borrowed from Lauren Bacall here (To Have, or Have Not, 1944), and maybe I need to reassess this. Will Sam (as character) understand the reference? Does it matter? Isn’t creativity one big free-for-all anyway?

In this breakout box I could have a discussion about craft – perhaps the opposing beats of a scene and whether they are working effectively to this point.

Perhaps I could italicise the text here to highlight the discussion.

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CHRISTINE grabs SAM’s foot, yanks on it, tries to stop him. SAM kicks away. CHRISTINE falls face down in the grass. SPLAT. SAM seizes his chance, jumps to feet, runs through the back door, slamming it shut. We hear the CLICK of the latch from inside. CHRISTINE rolls into her back, raises the tongs to the heavens and CLACKS them again and again in defiance of a god that doesn’t love her. CHRISTINE This isn’t over, Sam Neill! This metaphor has only just begun! Music rises (suggest I DID IT MY WAY, Sid Vicious) as CHRISTINE gets to her feet, dusts herself off, walks to the Weber and grabs another chop from the grill. She shrugs and munches down on the meaty goodness. The End.

Here may be a good a good point to discuss

tone and pace.

Here may be a good point to discuss a problem – maybe I want to create more nuance,

maybe I want to create empathy, maybe I want to create more

tension.

Here I may want to overlap the iconography to create a particular visual

stimulation.

Here is a good spot for final comments about the scene – perhaps I can reassess/rearrange or omit some dialogue. Perhaps I can think about making the scene longer, giving both characters a little more

backstory before the scene begins. Here I may ask questions such as – what is my thematic intent? What is the cause-and-effect element going into the next scene? Is there a next scene? Have I told the

story?

Here may be a good place for an appropriate industry or academy-based quote around an issue that has been raised.

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The next chapter of creative investigation and presentation continues the sceneplay experiments upon the burgeoning script artefact – Dawn. As such the interventions of the methodological approach attempted, in real (writing) time, to display the ongoing benefits and challenges to sceneplay as writer’s tool.

Of course, the idea of sceneplay is that the writer can insert as many icons, breakout boxes, pictures, quotes, inspirational notes, differentiations in

colour/text/shape as she likes. The object, ALWAYS is to add elements that assist the writer’s progression through the story, create more effective techniques

for storytelling and, ultimately, create better stories.

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Chapter Six

Creative artefact – Dawn

This chapter of creative work exhibits the culmination of sceneplay as methodological

approach upon the burgeoning script artefact. It examines the ways in which sceneplay

additions were implemented throughout the early phase of script building. This creative

artefact is not presented as final script product, but rather as evolving foray into the

construction of the onscreen story. As Frank states, ‘the value of stories is to offer sufficient

clarity without betraying the complexity of life-in-flux’ (2014, p. 89). Future drafts of the

script could continue with the sceneplay process, adapting the focus according to the needs

and requirements of each new draft and the individual concerns of the writer. These future

drafts do not form part of this PhD. I reiterate here that the sceneplay experiments are best

suited to early drafts of the script. Even though this creative artefact has advanced

considerably from earlier drafts (evidenced in Chapter Five), it is still not a final product. It is

a burgeoning creative artefact for the writer and writerly concerns.

The sceneplay interventions were beginning to change the outcome of the script in ways

I had not anticipated. Visual images were triggering dialogue and scene directions. In turn,

dialogue and scene directions were influencing the next set of visuals. Thus, the creative

artefact was stemming from the methodological approach in a genuine evolution of thought

and process.

There were also unexpected elements of document structure that came into play. The

sceneplay interventions upon the script document culminated in a lengthier script than would

otherwise eventuate under traditional formatting circumstances. This is expected and

welcomed. The average 55-minute script would run to approximately 55 to 60 pages.29 This

script artefact, with sceneplay additions, ran to 127 pages – a number that could grow or

decline according to the number of additions, as well as placement of those additions upon

the page. Using extra space (pages) in order to keep traditional script language and sceneplay

additions separated visually on the page became advisable. It made for easier reading and

easier access to the script as storytelling mechanism. It also utilised the white space of the

script document for a different purpose – allowing the space to be sequestered for other visual

cues. For accessibility, I also began each scene on a new page. This assisted continuity of the

29 A page of script is advised to take a minute of reading/playing time.

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narrative as well as readability. Such a decision added to the length of the script document

but also benefited the script document in terms of clarity and presentation.

A reflection on the process of sceneplay and its implementation upon this creative

artefact follows this chapter. This reflection investigates the worth, value and benefit of such

a methodological storytelling tool, particularly with regard to its promulgation of the

difficult, older female as central character.

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DAWN

The first episode

DAWN – A HERO’S STORY – EPISODE ONE

The sceneplay goal in this first draft of the script is to establish DAWN as protagonist. Her ‘difficultness’ needs to be tested. The script begins to examine how to present DAWN as older female character who is flawed and intriguing – a character who evolves with narrative efficacy and exemplifies the tenets of the research

What does DAWN want from this first scene? What do I, (as writer) want to gain from this first scene? This sceneplay is also about positioning DAWN in the relationship – with husband PAT, children, her life and motivations.

Who is DAWN?

This tweet from ‘The Feminist Next Door’ in 2020, is the perfect place to begin an investigation an exploration of DAWN – an older woman, mother of two, about to retire, and go on the trip of a lifetime with her husband of 30 years, PATRICK. After saying goodbye to colleagues, she tolerates and the job she despises, she arrives home to find a note from PATRICK. He’s gone. There is no trip. All the money is missing. DAWN is a woman becoming the hero of her own story.

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1. EXT/INT. BACK YARD/HOUSE - MORNING - CONTINUOUS Blackness. A rooster’s crow. Loud, glorious. Light rises revealing a handsome red/gold rooster perched on a wooden fence. This is NEVILLE - proud of all he surveys. He raises head, CROWS in victory. Under this...

PAT (O.S) (Irish lilt)

In the dick?

DAWN (O.S.) One foot, one dick. Not complicated.

LET THE GAMES BEGIN

The beauty of the beginning of the day and the crassness of the language. Not what we expect. Establishes precarious nature of the narrative.

‘Character development is an ongoing process that should occur simultaneously with structural planning. It takes time. It is often only after a couple of drafts that a character’s motivation will be entirely clear or you will fully understand the human foibles that are being depicted in the script’ – Linda Aronson

We need to hear DAWN's harshness from the beginning. Is harshness the right word? Perhaps it's more that we need to hear her loud and clear in whatever form she is about to take. This is establishment. A setup of character.

An image of DAWN helps here. It focuses on what she might look like, on how she may behave. Even if DAWN ultimately looks nothing like this, the image helps solidify the fact that this person on the page will eventually be a character. This image helps to

bring her to life.

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NEVILLE CROWS again. Thrilled with himself.

NEVILLE CROWS again. The light rises on the crisp day. Travel past NEVILLE, across a tidy back yard to BRIAN, the pug, sleeping on his bed outside the back door. Travel into the house, past the tidy lounge room, tidy kitchen, up the tidy stairs into the main bedroom. DAWN (60) and PATRICK (60) lie in bed, facing each other.

Scene directions and expectation of

delivery. Can they effectively convey

emotion? Is this okay? Why wouldn’t it be?

If character is the key to good narrative, or at least the basis for good narrative, then allowing DAWN a broad spectrum seems appropriate. Her ‘difficultness’ – can it creep up or need to be established from the outset?

Even though I enjoy the notion of stepping beyond accepted terms of reference for scene directions to include elements that are not seen or heard, I’m not sure it is appropriate or helpful just yet. In response, I have amended the direction to fit traditional remit of scene directions.

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PAT Just paedophiles?

DAWN Animal abusers, politicians who use the term 'Canberra bubble'/

PAT Or 'going forward'.

DAWN Drivers who fail to indicate at round-abouts and most importantly, people who say, 'should of’.

PAT 80 percent of the population, then.

DAWN My foot is large and prepared for multiple offenders.

This line is time-specific and may not translate effectively. It remains for now.

She's the funniest in the room. Does she need to be? Is this ethical, intellectual or literal compensation? Do we automatically assume DAWN is flawed because she is the funniest in the room? Will this one-liner response become tiresome? At the heart of DAWN being presented as a witty, powerful, yet annoying is the notion that this isn't what middle-aged women are supposed to be. Is DAWN already circumventing or at least challenging the archetype?

Are women funny? Of course. But are

women allowed to be funny?

PAT needs to look kind and trustworthy. We need to believe in him so that when we lose faith in him it is an unexpected blow.

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PAT caresses DAWN's face. She smiles.

PAT Your foot is large and gorgeous.

DAWN You're legally obliged to say that.

PAT Thirty years, mostly good,

(playing with her) ...some of it good.

DAWN (horrified)

Holy crap. It's today? I...as in today?

PAT nods.

DAWN (COT'D) It's not that I forgot, it's just that...

NEVILLE CROWS O.S

PAT You forgot?

Opens a wider discussion as to whether women are supposed to be/allowed to be funny. Is providing DAWN with a sharp, caustic sense of humour as a dominant character trait already establishing her as unlikeable? “Every single interviewer asked, ‘Isn’t

this an amazing time for women in comedy?’ People really wanted us to be openly grateful – ‘Thank you so much!’ – and we were like, ‘No, it’s a terrible time.’ If you were to really look at it, the boys are still getting more money for a lot of garbage, while the ladies are hustling and doing amazing work for less.” -Tina Fey

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DAWN But you didn't, yay team! Got me a present?

PAT Apart from the twenty feckin thousand I've forked out on three weeks of gold-plated Bolshevik bliss and post-Soviet pretension on the Trans-Siberian feckin Railway?

(beat) Apart from that?

It's important for PAT to be likable, or at least relatable. We need to believe in him, his humanity, to be in his corner, shaking heads at DAWN's treatment of him, wishing she was more in tune with his state of being. If we don't like PAT, we won't care when he leaves. If we don’t like PAT, we may anticipate his betrayal. By creating a narrative in which I ask the viewer

to NOT be on DAWN's 'side', am I telling a better story? Am I challenging the tenets of the hero's journey? Who do I want to win? DAWN (as script) needs narrative obstacles for its central character in order to convey a multilayered screen story. DAWN (as character) needs to grow and learn. PAT being the likeable one in the relationship provides a solid and essential obstacle. DAWN has to fight for us to be on her side. ‘The cave you fear to

enter holds the treasure you seek’ – Joseph Campbell

It is in keeping with DAWN's character that she forgets the wedding anniversary. It's a more nuanced approach to allow PAT, as husband, to exhibit emotional intelligence and DAWN an emotional distance/difficulty. Giving DAWN this flaw allows for further flaws to develop. An older woman not comfortable in her older skin makes for interesting character development.

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DAWN Something diamondier?

NEVILLE CROWS O.S.

DAWN (CONT'D) Sweet Jesus, I'd sell my soul for an axe!

DAWN tries to get out of bed. PAT holds her, brushes hair from her eyes.

PAT She walks in beauty like the night, of cloudless climes and starry skies.

DAWN Careful there, Patrick, or you'll have me knickers off.

What is our reaction to a swearing woman, especially when she is middle-aged and a mother?

Is it problematic, given the feminist tenor of the project that I reference problematic patriarchal

figures such as Hemingway and Campbell? Where the words come from influences the

value of the words. In the second draft I could find better representation from female writers. Or at least challenge the words from men like

these? Discussion around areas of difficulty with Campbell's appropriation of myth and attachment of the hero's journey concept to Western culture.

‘Womanhood feels more strange and terrible now because progress has not served women as well as it has served men’ –

Roxanne Gay

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PAT That is me evil intention.

DAWN shoves a hand under the doona.

DAWN Is this your evil intention? At attention?

PAT And all that's best of dark and bright meet in her aspect and her eyes.

Tender. They kiss.

DAWN needs to be proactive here – sexually/verbally. She sets tone and pace – the one with the power, the one in control. Establishing her as strong, funny woman provides a platform from which to destroy these perceptions in later scenes. Is it possible to have an effective narrative without presenting the central character with obstacles to overcome? Are the narrative obstacles for men and women narratively different?

I am setting DAWN up for a

fall. Without a fall can we have

story?

‘Characters make spontaneous decisions each time they open this [sic] mouths to say “this” not “that.” In each scene they make a decision to take one action rather than another. But Crisis with a capital C is the ultimate decision’ – Robert McKee

‘The only thing that one really knows about human nature is that it changes. Change is the one quality we

can predicate of it’ – Lajos Egri

Discussion – difficult, flawed characters already existing in screen stories – e.g., Succession, Breaking Bad, The Sopranos, The Good Place – but they are rarely women, rarely older women, and difficult women are expected to ‘reset’ by show’s end – redemption.

The beat allows PAT a moment of truth and beauty and DAWN ruins it with crassness. Creating a character who opposes the archetypal norm in the first scene of a script has risks. Can I allow the protagonist to be cringe-worthy? Will I need to work harder in following scenes to regain empathy? If DAWN were male would I be asking these questions?

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NEVILLE CROWS. Moment ruined.

DAWN Fuck that fucking rooster! Neville, you have got to go!

DAWN jumps out of bed, heads for the en suite, checks herself in mirror, she’ll do, rubs eyes, grabs toothbrush.

DAWN (CONT'D) (garbled)

The neighbours are petitioning the council.

Pops her head around the corner.

Do characters need to be empathetic?

‘she’ll do’ – it’s a scene direction that amplifies the character as well

as writerly voice.

Is it valuable to allow DAWN a moment of softness? Is this the same as submissiveness? Is that the danger with a character like DAWN? That softness becomes a weakness and avenue of potential downfall? Are we conditioned to assume that softness in a narrative moment is giving way to something lesser? Are we taught to believe a protagonist must be always on alert when it comes to displaying vulnerability? Alternatively, if the character is female, are we taught to believe she must always be willing to display vulnerability? If DAWN is an older woman playing against type, then how does she embrace this? Live it? Convey it in a method which resonates?

Maybe that's how she embraces or advances her deficiency, by denying its existence. She is foul-mouthed. She has to be, surely. Is there anything more (perceptively) objectionable than a ‘foul-mouthed’ woman?

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DAWN (CONT'D) Neville's got us on a watch list.

DAWN disappears back into the en suite.

PAT He's just showing off his natural assets.

DAWN, trots back to bed, throwing on dressing gown.

DAWN He's a rooster, not the avian representation of existential crisis.

PAT reaches out his hand. DAWN hesitates then takes it.

PAT It isn't against the law, love.

DAWN (genuine)

What?

PAT Happiness.

I don’t want DAWN to fall into the trap of requiring/needing/seeking physical touch. Maybe she doesn’t like physical touch. Perhaps she is fine with sex because it is about functionary pleasure. Intimacy might not be something with which she is comfortable.

Discussion point – intimacy within a feminist approach, storytelling and the possible bridge between – physical need versus physical desire.

‘We live in a world that still controls girls and girl sexualities within a rigid system of blocks, taboos, and prohibitions. And we still expect boys to punish each other into “normal” forms of masculinity and then compete and agitate for female attention in ways that make women into killjoys, moral arbiters, and passive bystanders at the prom, still waiting to be asked to dance’ – Jack Halberstam

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DAWN stares for a beat and heads out the door.

PAT (CONT'D) Happy anniversary Dawn. My Dawn of the day.

DAWN A fucking watch list, Patrick. Just let that sink in.

DAWN disappears down the stairs. PAT lies back in bed, listens to his wife's footsteps thud on the carpet. His smile fades. He stares at the ceiling as a tear runs silently down his cheek.

The vital beat of the scene and moment leading to the ‘what next’ of following scene. The moment when characters display their hands – the game is exposed. PAT calling DAWN on her lack of emotional resonance/availability. DAWN can't reply. If she recognises her flaw in this instant, she has no potential, and we have no story.

No. She can’t respond. If she does, she answers the unspoken question PAT is posing – ‘why aren’t we happy?’. By not responding, this hangs in the air, lingers as a possible thread. The obstacles are beginning to pile up.

Vital moment

alert!

DAWN also needs to be unconcerned about the influence her emotional distance has on PAT. It's enjoyable, from a narrative point of view, to place the central character in this unwinnable position.

This is too much? Does a character have to cry in order to convey adequate sadness? Perhaps it is enough that his smile fades. Crying denotes some kind of trauma. Change.

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DAWN disappears down the stairs. PAT lies back in bed, listens to his wife’s footsteps thud on the carpet. His smile fades.

CUT TO:

DAWN is loud, obnoxious, annoying, and foul-mouthed. A good beginning. Thus, ending the scene with a quiet moment, PAT in contemplation/perplexed/ troubled, makes good narrative sense.

Play as integral to sceneplay

Paring back dialogue that could/should be represented via visual means, the image is the strongest conveyance of emotion/intention/narrative beat/narrative trajectory. The fading smile is enough. It concludes the scene with a strong opposing beat and transitions to next scene with essential problem intact.

This final moment of the scene is exposition. Why is PAT’s smile fading? I am posing the question – is he unhappy enough to take action we don’t see coming?

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2.INT. BEDROOM ONE. DAY.

DAWN walks to a bedroom, enters. Posters of Frida Kahlo, Malala Yousafzai, Susan B Anthony adorn walls. A mess - clothes heaped on the floor. LILY (22, cropped dyed red hair, makeup smudged) sleeps spreadeagled on the bed, still dressed from the big night before - high cut denim shorts, two-storey wedge heels, spaghetti strapped top. She's dead to the world. Doof-doof emanates from her iPhone on the pillow.

The scene explores presentation of DAWN as 'difficult' mother – not comfortable with role as nurturer. Does this notion of difficult mother add to DAWN’S unlikability?

DAWN’s character flaws, and her cause-and-effect actions due to these flaws. I introduce daughter, LILY, a 22-year-old baby feminist as counterpoint to DAWN’S life experience and attitudes.

How does character ambivalence add texture? If ‘the difficulty of love’ is the overriding issue of the scene how can it be effectively presented? Aim is to show DAWN as multidimensional, an older woman conflicted about her abilities to nurture. DAWN is complex, imperfect, yet remaining central to the narrative.

Does LILY represent DAWN’s younger self? Is motherhood such a dichotomous state of being for DAWN that it can’t be enjoyed? Is it endurance rather than essentialist bliss? Can she look at LILY without thinking of the person she used to be – brave, embracing the world? How can jealousy be successfully presented as part of the motherhood trope in this scene? Is it lack of specific actions that denote perceived nature of motherhood as all-embracing biological fortification? In short, is Dawn a good or bad mother? Does it matter? Do we care?

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DAWN lifts the doona to cover LILY. She lingers for a beat, flicks a stray hair from LILY'S eyes. LILY bats away her mother's hand. DAWN stiffens.

DAWN lifts the doona to cover LILY. LILY, still half asleep, holds out her hand. DAWN ignores it, picks up the phone, turns it off, puts it on the bedside table.

Good move (in narrative sense). The relationship is now strained, creating nuance and uncertainty within the story arc. Scene is becoming layered. Motherhood is difficult, hard work for DAWN. Is unlikability related to relatability? What happens to this scene if she reacts against being a mother? Is ‘love’ having your hand batted away and not drawing attention to it? In this moment of action/reaction the trajectory changes, pace gains momentum, stakes are raised. We have a familial/feminist battle on our hands.

What happens if action is reversed?

‘The Virgin Mary was divine, Mary Magdalene a sinner. Eve was the passive victim, Lilith the vicious child-killer. The Egyptian cat-goddess Bast represented love and fertility, while her lioness counterpart Sekhmet was wrath personified’ – Valerie Estelle Frankel.

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DAWN moves to the desk - notices laptop open, checks LILY’S last browse - Iranian women's movement, pics of Iranian women in the 50s, Western clothing. DAWN closes laptop. Notices a small, vintage Glomesh purse. DAWN frowns.

DAWN doesn't kiss LILY. It’s what mothers ‘should’ do. It would be easy to create this image – DAWN leaning in, kissing her daughter’s face. Moment calls for restraint. Perhaps DAWN doesn’t trust herself to express the right kind or correct amount of love. Perhaps she has no love to give. Conflict is at core of the beat – pause, hesitation is what matters most. DAWN fails to kiss another human being – possibly a vital decision for future scenes.

Walter White Tony Soprano Logan Roy

‘The audience is bored. It can predict the exhausted UCLA film-school formulae – acts, arcs and personal journeys – from the moment that they start cranking. It’s angry and insulted by being offered so much Jung-for-Beginners, courtesy of Joseph Campbell. All great work is now outside genre’ – David Hare

A mother ignoring the outstretched hand of her child! Would a male central character get away with this? A mother performing such an action is automatically questioned in regard to fitness for the role. DAWN not taking her daughter’s hand is a jolt to the narrative – a visual gesture with enormous ramifications.

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LILY (half asleep)

Patriarchy isn't gonna smash itself.

DAWN How about we smash it after breakfast?

Does DAWN need to be the smartest, funniest in the room? What does this say about her attitude towards mothering? Compensation? Is her love so couched in one-liners that anything else is painful? Literally?

In next draft it may be fun to play with LILY as representative of her generation – perhaps with the inclusion of an SMS conversation, or an Instagram account or TikTok entry. These elements could help

solidify LILY as a character.

LILY’S flaw – she steals things – or has stolen things in the past. Is it happening again? Is this a recurrence of that behavioural pattern? I want to explore flaws that seem small but could grow or seem inconsequential but could become large and concerning. This situation will be dealt with in episode two. For now, it is enough to introduce the idea. It also presents a narrative complexity within the relationship between mother and daughter.

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LILY No smashing on an empty stomach.

DAWN Who is this philosopher and what have you done with Lily?

LILY My eyebrows hurt.

LILY notices DAWN’s holding the purse. LILY (CON’T) Someone gave it to me last night. DAWN is sceptical. DAWN That someone got a name?

LILY Annalise from step class. Borrow it if you want.

LILY yawns, stretches arms above her head, rolls over, letting DAWN know that the conversation is finished. DAWN heads to the door.

DAWN I could make you breakfast this morning. Special treat.

LILY Dad’ll have it covered.

DAWN’S suspicion or anguish at the thought that LILY may be falling back into old bad

habits. She can’t ask her daughter if she stole the purse. She must try to be subtle – BUT subtlety

isn’t DAWN’S strong point.

DAWN isn’t good at apologising, but she can try appeasement.

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DAWN knows she’s beaten. She slips out, closes the door. We stay with LILY as she rolls over, stares at the purse.

CUT TO:

Boom! The narrative

momentum has shifted.

DAWN doesn’t win. The scene ends on note of possible/future conflagration. If DAWN doesn't have the last word, she gives away her power – whatever that power may be. Do flaws leave a character vacuum?

This scene feeds the notion of who DAWN is, exhibits her as character of flaws, vulnerability, depth. It’s nice that strong characters are exposed and tested. It’s nice that the testing comes from her daughter – in this scene – DAWN’S challenge/resistor. Also introduces who LILY is or may be.

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3. INT. BEDROOM. DAY DAWN enters a second bedroom, opens the door. This bedroom is neat as a pin. No clothes in sight. Books line the shelves, no posters on the wall – just a framed photograph of a Sudanese family smiling for the camera. MARON (12 going on 40, Sudanese) lies in his bed, eyes wide open.

MARON She got home at 4.32 am.

MARON grabs a notepad, shows it to Dawn, reads… MARON (CON’T)

Crashed into stuff. Sang. Drake. Made it to her room at 4.39. (grave) She’d been drinking.

The scene continues questions surrounding DAWN as mother. I introduce her foster child – 12-year-old MARON – a Sudanese refugee, been with the family for a year. He is fragile, but whip smart. How does DAWN handle complex elements concerning someone in her care? It is vital to the narrative that MARON is not her biological child as I wish to explore elements of essentialism with regard to motherhood. I am not suggesting that she cares less about him because of his position within the household. I am examining the role of perception regarding the idea and onscreen presentation of motherhood. Do we assume, or have we been conditioned to assume that biological motherhood as an inherent storytelling trope?

Motherhood in a storytelling landscape.

By presenting MARON as a sensible, flawed child, it provides DAWN with opportunity to react in a multitude of ways. How does she handle a kid like this? Is ‘good’ mothering about damage control? The story beat allows DAWN to approach the situation with a character gradation.

I am also exploring notions of DAWN’S white privilege. I don’t know how this will

play out yet but it’s important to note.

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DAWN sits on the end of the bed.

DAWN That's called a supposition.

MARON We need an intervention/

DAWN (smiling)

We? DAWN takes the notebook, puts on bedside table. MARON folds, unfolds the doona edge.

MARON Could have hit her head, bled out/

DAWN Maron, look at me.

MARON looks at DAWN. He likes her. Confused by her sometimes, but the liking shines through.

Does every character need to face that flaw and learn from it? No, but do need to highlight the central character’s flaws. DAWN as central character needs to respond to the flaws in others in order to address her own deficiencies.

Character flaw as vital ingredient of

narrative structure.

Introducing an element of OCD. How far to go with this? Does every character in a narrative need a flaw?

Use of the backslash / (as in stage directions), indicates overlapping of dialogue. I also use as an interrupter

between sections of dialogue.

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DAWN What if the ceiling collapsed!

MARON is horrified. Hands in the air.

MARON What's wrong with the ceiling?

DAWN could slap herself. She knows better than to exacerbate this kid's anxiety.

DAWN The ceiling is fine and here's what we do about Lily.

MARON nods, unsure.

DAWN (CON’T) We call an ambulance, and those fabulously efficient medical professionals would take her to hospital...

MARON raises his hand.

Where are the volatile female central

characters? Do they always need to seek

redemption?

Originally the direction was ‘frightened by her’. I don’t want to present DAWN as potentially violent. Why? Was an immediate, instinctive reaction to remove the word ‘frightened’. Am I habituated as a female and female writer/viewer to avoid the notion of women being volatile? This may be something to return to in later scenes. Question – can older female central characters be violent (without redemption) and still be heroes of their own stories?

Good to see DAWN make mistakes – big or small. Good to see her attempt to address, rectify. Is this the difference between being a decent person (redeemable protagonist with flaws intact) and a narcissist? Do we always expect female characters to apologise? Does she apologise?

164

DAWN (CON’T) Driving according to appropriate speed regulations.

Question answered, MARON drops his hand.

DAWN (CON’T) Where she'd spend every second of the day giving nurses and doctors and orderlies and cleaners and food services assistants the absolute living shits until she was well enough to come home and do the same thing, every second of every other day - to us.

(pause) Am I right?

MARON No. (beat) Yes.

DAWN hesitates, pats MARON's hand.

I like this beat. DAWN displays her understand of this child – able to anticipate issues, attempting to address them. She is intuitive at this moment. It’s a trait that can work for or against her in coming scenes. It’s a display of emotional intelligence not connected to the physical or intimate.

DAWN likes to express herself with words. Her weapon. Women have been historically silenced. In archetypal terms a ‘mouthy’ woman is not to be applauded. In this beat DAWN is gentle, kind. No bluster. It is a calm response to a situation that could easily turn to panic if not handled delicately.

165

DAWN Up and at ‘em, big beast.

MARON smiles, genuinely happy.

DAWN heads for the door.

MARON Dawn...

DAWN turns, waits.

Personalising DAWN and MARON. The connection is evident/enjoyable. They have an easy, relatable back-and-forth. How will this relationship change when DAWN is sole carer? Are we socially/politically/culturally conditioned to believe that without male role models, boys are ‘less than’ or deprived of growth? As MARON is Sudanese am I treading into dangerous waters of cultural appropriation? Do I need to ask why I want to tell this part of the story? Is it mine to tell?

The physical connection is necessary in this beat. The kid is upset. Not to have DAWN attempt to comfort him seems churlish and abrasive. In a narrative sense, the moment allows pause, space between words, a second to breathe and control the pace and tone. Perhaps it is made more effective because we (reader/viewers) won’t expect it. If we are used to DAWN being uncomfortable with physicality, then it is a vital moment – DAWN expressing intimacy. Perhaps she only feels comfortable holding MARON’S hand (as opposed to LILY’S) because the stakes are higher. These complex elements are vital for the scene to work effectively. Without connection, or its possibility, there is no point for the scene’s existence. Is DAWN a good ‘connector’? Is physicality an integral component of the nurturer’s role? If she was male would any physicality be misconstrued? Are we conditioned to think women need to be physically available and men need to refrain from intimacy?

I want to make it clear that DAWN notices when MARON doesn’t call her mum. I want to indicate that she is fine with it – not just pretending to be fine with it – actually fine with it. Not sure how to convey this yet. Perhaps in the second draft I will investigate ways for DAWN to make it easier for MARON with such behaviour.

166

MARON (CON’T) Will I always be like this?

DAWN A gigantic pain in my arse?

MARON You know what I mean.

DAWN stays at the door. She knows better than to provide physical affection. MARON responds to words, logic. Physicality confuses him.

DAWN In the Bahamas there's a beach where you can swim with pigs.

Concepts of storytelling

verses truth/reality

This is a difficult moment. MARON as a foster child may be returned to his family or moved to another foster home at the whim of administrators in system. Can DAWN afford to become attached? How does a nurturer hold back from nurturing? Should the moment be internalised? As MARON may well be removed after PAT’s departure, do I need to make a more memorable beat here? Is it a point of resonance?

Why does DAWN need to deflect? Is this a need to keep a check on her vulnerability? Would a traditional onscreen mother deflect in this way? How does this influence her status as likeable/unlikeable character? At this stage I am exploring her methodology – and to create a sustainable narrative it needs to be continually tested. I enjoy her deflection. It’s real. It’s not necessarily admirable, but it’s real.

This scene direction lends toward prose. I’ll leave it in for now as it helps investigate DAWN’S mindset. As it is outside the tenets of ‘what we see and hear’ it may not remain in future drafts. For now, it helps navigate DAWN’S changing character trajectory. It’s also time for DAWN to shine. She’s a storyteller and here it comes.

167

MARON grabs back his notebook and writes this down. Too good not to document.

DAWN (CON’T) They used to be wild and scratchy and full of/

MARON Fleas?

DAWN Also panic, full of panic about what would happen to them at the end when they couldn’t do it all anymore, find food, or outrun the enemy, but now, because of the tourists patting them and feeding them, and keeping them clean and healthy and safe they're just…

MARON Nice.

DAWN Exactly. They trust that everything will be all right.

MARON But what if it isn't?

DAWN Then there's not a fucken thing they can do about it.

This beat reminds that DAWN is capable of deep thought and response. She doesn't reassure with platitudes. She responds to MARON on his level. She treats him with respect and dignity. The passage deviates from the narrative path – adding poetry, anecdote and metaphor to the mundanity of this ordinary moment. It’s important that she swears in front of MARON. Perhaps this is her most honest relationship. Perhaps she feels comfortable letting her guard down in front of this child.

168

MARON My caseworker says you swear too much.

DAWN Your caseworker is a fuckwit.

MARON (smiles)

Says the same about you. They both laugh – a good moment.

DAWN exits the bedroom. MARON sits up, reaches for the notebook, scribbles furiously.

CUT TO:

It’s the most honest beat of the script so far. Joyous. Two funny, flawed people enjoying each other’s company. I like that DAWN has an ally who is straightforward. Although she uses shock tactics (your caseworker is a fuckwit) and this may be resulting from a need for self-preservation, it’s a compliment for MARON – she knows he can take it.

We leave the scene focused on MARON. It is his reaction that is important. After the hard work of the scene does DAWN need to be part of the final image? Why not end the scene with DAWN closing the door and reacting to all that has happened? Do we need to see her in this moment? Am I giving too much power to MARON?

169

4. EXT. STREET. DAY

DAWN and BRIAN the pug walk down the driveway, between a red Audi sports car and white Golf parked. Brisk morning. The air puffs in clouds. DAWN shivers, finds gloves in her jacket pocket. Woman and dog turn right, walk along the footpath. DAWN practises her Russian phrases as they pass neat, middle-class houses, trimmed lawns. BRIAN snuffles and bum wiggles his way across the concrete.

DAWN (in Russian)

My idem (in English)

We walk.

BRIAN stops, cocks a leg, pees on a tree.

DAWN (CON’T) (Russian) Gde Tautelay

(English) Where are the toilets?

BRIAN stops, squats, takes a dump on the grass.

DAWN (CON’T) (Russian)

Spasiba za vash biznes. (English)

Thank you for your business.

DAWN hears CLOP of footsteps, looks up, sees SAM (60s, neatly dressed) walking his well-behaved golden retriever on the other side of the street. DAWN stands in front of BRIAN's deposit, hiding evidence.

Scene four continues DAWN’S trajectory of the difficult, smart, flawed woman fighting her way through her day. When faced with opposition (in the form of SAM), DAWN responds with intellectual aggression. She does not hold back. Too much? Too alienating?

A device of exposition to remind us (viewers) of the impending trip. It also helps exemplify that DAWN is capable of learning this language – taking this trip seriously. This isn’t just an overseas jaunt, it’s dedication to the task.

170

DAWN (CON’T) Great day for the race.

SAM What?

SAM Great day to pick up your mess.

DAWN The human race/

Is important that DAWN consider herself a revolutionary? It may present her as less amenable now but will make her more intriguing in future scenes. It is playing with the notion that she is fighting a hidden enemy and that in psychological and storytelling terms the enemy is herself, may never be defeated, and is constantly changing, thus making the fight all the more impossible to control or categorise.

Her mechanism for self-protection – get in first, make a joke, ignore the horror of the universe as it descends – is again on display. Such a response also creates strength for DAWN – are middle-aged women supposed/permitted to make jokes with strangers in the street?

It’s important to establish that DAWN and SAM don’t know each other. Perhaps they’ve seen each other on the morning dog walk but this is their first conversation.

‘As screenwriters, the challenge is to make what characters say sound realistic, whilst carefully plotting and crafting dialogue so that it fulfils a number of functions – advancing plot, defining character, revealing relationships, hinting at themes, referring to the story world, etc. It’s about being naturalistic, not realistic – an illusion of reality, brought about by dialogue that’s naturalistic yet highly polished’ – Craig Batty

171

SAM What? DAWN Soz. SAM What?

DAWN Sorry. It's sorry, shortened. My daughter/

SAM Why not just say 'sorry'?

DAWN Language, an evolving thing.

SAM Mess isn’t picking itself up.

DAWN (loud, on purpose)

Forgot my poop bag. Soz.

I enjoy that DAWN is a know-it-all. Defence mechanism – usually attributed to male characters. DAWN is a know-it-all of the highest order who also needs the last word. Does being annoyed at her take away from the nature of journey or add to it? We are yet to learn that she works at Centrelink in an administrative role. We are yet to learn that she gave up a chance of higher education (examined in episode two) to look after her disabled sister. These are all beats in later scenes and later parts of the narrative thread. Again, what we WILL know is as important in this moment as what we see and hear in this moment.

Oh no, this calls for defiance. As if DAWN is going to let a comment like that go unchecked. The childishness of DAWN is delicious and awkward. We know she's heading for a fall with this attitude but isn’t that the art of good drama? Don’t our characters have to head for a multitude of falls?

172

SAM Tell that to the planet.

DAWN LAUGHS. It's hollow and forced. It’s too early for this stuff and she's getting cold here on this footpath.

DAWN Give me the planet's number. My people can call his. Or hers. Or is the planet non-binary?

DAWN LAUGHS again. SAM doesn't. He stares her down. DAWN checks herself. Is it an instant of sexual attraction?

Doesn’t everyone from Aristotle to Campbell, Vogler, McKee, Snyder and every Western, traditional storytelling/screenwriting guru reiterate the importance of falls in order to test character as well as provide the chance for characters to make adjustments and return, refreshed and with new knowledge?

DAWN must fall more times than she rises in order to adapt and develop and survive.

Must DAWN fall in order to

gain our respect?

Vonnegut’s ‘man in hole’ diagram seems appropriate here. But does the ‘man’ need to be better off for the experience? Can DAWN be worse off for the experience?

173

SAM Do you require medical assistance?

DAWN stops LAUGHING.

DAWN It's okay to laugh at nothing.

SAM Why?

DAWN Are you a psychopath?

SAM No.

DAWN Need a kick-starter for giggles?

SAM Yes. (to his dog) Sit Margaret.

The golden retriever sits, literally smiles at DAWN. BRIAN circles round and round on the spot.

SAM (CON’T) Tell me a joke.

This beat may seem out of kilter. Does she need to be sexually attracted to SAM? What does this say about her relationship with PAT? I'm attempting to display DAWN as multifaceted. Why is it okay for a male character (Tony Soprano, James Bond, thousands more) to be sexually attracted to multiple women and remain unjudged, remain the central character, yet a similar trait is frowned upon when displayed by an older woman? Sexual attraction doesn’t necessitate acting on that sexual attraction. I want DAWN to be as much as she can be, which includes sexually active and possibly exploring her options.

DAWN is also capable of readjusting her attitude and questioning herself. Because she's multifaceted doesn’t have to mean she is lacking in self-awareness. A snippet of self-awareness may be the way to creating and maintaining empathy for her character.

Love and love interests within a

narrative.

174

DAWN (challenge accepted)

Horse walks into a pub and the barman says/

SAM Why the long face. Next time bring a poop bag.

SAM (CON’T) (to dog)

Forward, Margaret.

DAWN watches SAM and the dog stride in harmony down the street. She calls after him.

Even though this section of dialogue is long, I'm leaving it in for now. The building of this relationship is important. The opportunity for DAWN to make a fool of herself is important. I also need to promote the sense that she is actually trying to communicate, however badly, with SAM. The final line of dialogue brings us back to the opening narrative gambit – the lack of poop bag/responsibility/adult and proper behaviour. For DAWN, it’s another call to insurrection.

This is an important response from SAM. While I am experimenting with traditionally acceptable female characters it would be remiss not to do the same to male characters. Why does SAM respond with reasoned calm? We learn more about DAWN by SAM’s lack of predictable response.

175

DAWN I won't bring a bag next time. I never bring a bag! I just let my dog shit wherever the fuck he wants, because there are more pressing matters for the planet than pug poo on a nature strip, you know, like the decline of democracy and...it's a magnificent morning and I'm heading towards it like a fucking comet!

DAWN stares down the street. SAM and Margaret are long gone. Who cares? She's on a roll.

DAWN (CON’T) And Margaret's a stupid name for a dog!

DAWN retrieves the plastic poop bag from her pocket, the one she’s had all along, and picks up BRIAN's deposit.

It’s a longish monologue. My intention is to allow DAWN her rant. Yes, it’s a gut reaction to her own sense of helplessness in the situation but it’s also giving her strength and sense of purpose – however unreal/misguided. DAWN is angry. Maybe she’s angry all the time but has learned to push it below the surface.

The goal of the scene allows her to convey this anger any way she chooses. Anger is good for the scene. Anger is interesting to watch. Anger allows a space after the anger has subsided. Anger, however, is also only beneficial (in a narrative sense) if it is followed by some kind of remorse. DAWN needs to learn something from her fall. But maybe not quite yet...

The angry female character.

The crux of the scene. The beat she doesn’t win. Bluff. Of course, she has the poop bag. The risk-taking is not real. It never is. Perhaps this is DAWN's ultimate flaw – the desire to be recalcitrant, revolutionary, extraordinary when her entire existence points to a great deal of ordinariness. Is this a desire for freedom?

‘Let us go forth with fear and courage and rage to save the world’ – Grace Paley

176

DAWN (CON’T) (in Russian) Pognali...pogna

(in English, frustrated she can’t quite remember)

Home. From the backyard NEVILLE CROWS. BRIAN farts.

DAWN raises eyes to the lightening sky. Then looks at BRIAN. They head for home.

FADE TO:

Her life is not exotic or remarkable and neither is she. A rooster crows, the kids need assistance, the house is a mess, she’s managed to alienate the neighbour, she’s a coward in the truest sense of the word, and she forgot her own wedding anniversary. By opposing the expectations of the middle-aged female and mother, DAWN appears more intriguing, maddening and watchable.

This scene sets up necessary elements. Introducing SAM as neighbour/love interest/adversary/friend. Investigating DAWN’S belligerent streak, what she’s capable of when pressed. Exploring her vulnerabilities, even when expressed as aggression. The scene also moves the story along exponentially – allowing the narrative a new pace and feel.

Difficult – a great place for DAWN to

be.

177

5. INT. KITCHEN. DAY. DAWN walks into the kitchen - a hive of activity. PAT (still in pjs) is at the stove, eating the last dregs of crunchy pancakes. The room is filled with the scent of milk, eggs, warmth and camaraderie.

LILY, yawning, sits at the kitchen island, checking her phone. MARON (dressed in school uniform) plunges schoolbooks into backpack, LAUGHING at something hilarious PAT has just said. None of them notice DAWN's entrance.

DAWN unleashes BRIAN, walks to PAT, busy at the stove. There’s nothing left in the pancake pan.

PAT I can make more.

DAWN checks her watch.

I enjoy DAWN walking in on

this scene. She’s missing out.

It’s important that nobody notices DAWN. She needs to understand/recognise the dynamic that occurs without her. She needs (in later scenes) to understand how to attain a place within the new dynamic created by PAT’S departure.

This scene presents DAWN as out of her depth as nurturer yet trying to redress the balance. Or is she? Is she happy to let PAT take the lead? Is she lazy?

In this scene I examine DAWN’S role within the family compared with PAT (family centrepiece both metaphorical and literal). As a flawed, multidimensional woman can she fit into this secondary position? What happens when PAT is the ‘go-to’ character of the family unit? Where does that leave DAWN? I introduce MARIBELLE – wheelchair-based to examine further elements of multidimensionality for female characters. DAWN possibly needs an adult ally going forward. The narrative trajectory can’t sustain her without an ally, even a possibly reluctant one.

178

PAT (CONT'D) It's your last day. Be late.

PAT raises his whisk in triumph.

PAT Solidarity, sister!

LILY Stick it to the man!

MARON

(confused) What man?

LILY God, could you be more of a dick?

PAT LAUGHS. DAWN double-takes.

DAWN Play nice.

Exposition and reiteration of basis of PAT’S character – calling shots in some respects. Yet he’s also passive-aggressive in this beat. He knew how many pancakes to make. He didn’t make enough for DAWN.

Is it by accident or design that there are none left for DAWN?

Families are families. It’s important to add texture to the LILY/MARON relationship. In forthcoming narrative trajectory, this relationship needs space to change and adapt, so I’m making it a tiny bit fraught now so it can be strengthened later.

She knows PAT will take the lead.

The gang is established. and DAWN isn’t part of it. Does she notice? Has she noticed for a long time? How does a strong character deal with such treatment? Maybe this DAWN decides to ignore it to keep the peace? To bring up later and store as ammunition? It’s odd that she doesn’t try to insert herself. Perhaps there just isn’t time in the pace of it.

179

LILY picks up a slice of bread from the countertop.

LILY Here's fucken nice!

LILY hurls the bread at MARON. He ducks. PAT rushes in between them, holding hands aloft.

PAT Heeeeyyy, I've just cleaned this floor!

MARON Sorry Dad.

DAWN winces at that word ‘dad’.

PAT walks back to the kitchen island, grabs the packet of flour.

PAT Because if anybody's going to start a food fight in my kitchen it's going to be me.

PAT throws handfuls of flour at LILY and MARON and finally DAWN.

Rising conflict – through, silence, the the ‘not’ said.

DAWN is making an effort to gain authority in this situation. She’s so used to playing ‘funny/cynical/sarcastic cop’ that stamping authority has become difficult, possibly pointless.

Dawn is finally ‘allowed’ in.

Throwback to the scene in MARON’S bedroom. Perhaps the effect is heightened here. I’ve established the behaviour in the previous scene and continued in this scene. Perhaps each jab hurts DAWN more. If she makes a fuss, she looks bad. If she doesn’t nothing is gained. It’s lose/lose. Again, in the interests of narrative trajectory, DAWN later ‘becomes’ mum to this child. This is solid narrative fodder – protagonist facing obstacles, overcoming obstacles, winning the trust and respect of the village.

180

Everyone squeals with delight. Everyone races around the kitchen grabbing wads of butter, apple peels, bread. It's loud and silly and wonderful...

…until LILY hits MARON in the eye with an apple core. Everybody stops. Watches. Waits to see the boy's reaction. MARON's lower lip quivers as a drop of blood appears on his cheek.

PAT First aid kit.

DAWN moves towards the cupboard, LILY beats her to it retrieves the first aid kit, hands it to PAT.

DAWN It's all right mate.

PAT must start the food fight. He not only takes control as authority figure, but as fun instigator. DAWN is bereft of meaning and purpose in this beat. She can only come in off the bench and into the already-existing activity. I dislike PAT in this moment. He’s being petty.

DAWN has a moment of nobility – she puts up with this for the sake of her family.

PAT reacts first. Is this muscle memory? Does it affect our attitude towards DAWN if she isn’t the first to react? Are we so used (in a fictional/storytelling sense) to women being first to react to situations of potential drama/injury that when a female character doesn’t react immediately, she is somehow ‘lesser than’? Is she unlikeable because she doesn’t respond quickly?

DAWN does make an effort. She isn’t heartless, just not used to this. It’s also important for LILY to react and attempt to redress the consequence of her actions. It’s her fault MARON is hurt. It’s a nice, image-based, action-based way of making amends.

181

PAT rips open a Band-Aid, places it on the tiny injury. Ruffles MARON'S hair. LILY hovers nearby.

PAT Okay champ?

Everybody waits. This could go either way.

MARON (Slowly smiling)

Boy beats apple core.

DAWN moves to hug the boy. He dodges out of the way. DAWN considers for a second then brushes it off.

This idea fits into reading of GaGa feminism and post-COVID feminism. Rules have and continue to change. Notions of social accessibility continue to change.

DAWN is no second-wave

exponent investigating the

‘want it all’ methodology.

She is the living embodiment of uncertainty – which is fine. It’s important that the character isn’t vilified for being realistic and honest about her life and life choices.

This must be subtle. This is a point that needs to be established in MARON’S bedroom scene – so I'll need to go back and work on that. HIs

This is a benefit of sceneplay – ability to add to script document with notes that influence the already written as well as the yet-to-be written.

‘No, this version of feminism looks into the shadows of history for its heroes and finds them loudly refusing the categories that have been assigned to them: these feminists are not “becoming women” in the sense of coming to consciousness they are unbecoming women in every sense – they undo the category rather than rounding it out, they dress it up and down, take it apart like a car engine and then rebuild it so that it is louder and faster’ – J. Jack Halberstam

She means well. She loves this kid and wants to care for him. She’s sensible enough to know that PAT does this better. Perhaps that’s an avenue of exploration about DAWN – the wisdom to know what she’s not good at, to not want it all.

182

LILY grabs her phone and heads towards the stairs.

LILY Next time, duck.

PAT returns to the kitchen sink, his back to DAWN. His face drops.

DAWN fastens MARON's backpack over his shoulders.

DAWN Be legendary.

Does this character prefer not to have physical contact?

In my experience as a foster carer, this is a common behavioural trait.

Perhaps this is something to investigate, and refit into previous scenes. It will also add to the narrative trajectory. Perhaps as DAWN finds her new role within the family after PAT’S departure, she also finds new ways to approach her foster child.

It’s a tactile, caring thing to do without being threatening. DAWN needs to show she cares.

The concept of play continues.

‘Heartfelt’ apology from

LILY!

Keep in mind previous scenes. Establishing PAT as unhappy is vital. I don’t want his departure to come from nowhere, but it can’t be signposted in neon. Images allow this thought process to germinate.

183

MARON opens the front door, runs into MARIBELLE (DAWN'S sister, late 40s, in a wheelchair). He waves, rushes past, down the driveway gone.

MARIBELLE wheels into the house as if she owns it. She holds a bundle of large envelopes.

MARIBELLE looks at the retreating MARON. MARIBELLE He's walking? It's 15 Ks!

PAT It’s two Ks and he's got legs.

MARIBELLE lifts a middle finger to PAT. PAT returns the favour.

The presentation of MARIBELLE as a disabled character is to exemplify not only her multidimensionality as a character, but to provide her future growth within the narrative arc. Here sceneplay can investigate another underserved character. Can MARIBELLE be disabled without an explanation? Do we always need backstory for underserved characters?

As Dawn’s sister she is ally but perhaps this assistance is a reluctant role. Not sure yet.

Establishing strained relationship between MARIBELLE and PAT wasn’t in the original scene breakdown but seems to fit. PAT can’t have it all his own way. It’s nice to establish the collegiate relationship between MARIBELLE and DAWN.

Why does DAWN use such terminology? Is she trying to be mysterious? I need to explore this further. It may also be an element that becomes clearer as her backstory is revealed throughout the course of the narrative. Why does her dialogue need to contain a sense of ‘immenseness’?

184

MARIBELLE throws the envelopes on the kitchen counter.

MARIBELLE Found these falling out of the mailbox. No need to thank me.

PAT collects the envelopes, displays that they’re already open.

PAT Okay, I won’t. MARIBELLE Try that shit with the Russians and they’ll throw you in train

jail. (to DAWN) Does the train have a jail?

DAWN sends them both a look, grabs handbag.

DAWN No time for this today.

PAT returns to the sink.

PAT Hey, I’m just washing pans!

MARIBELLE rolls eyes, turns wheelchair to face the door.

MARIBELLE I'll come with.

MARIBELLE and DAWN head out the front door. DAWN stops, turns to PAT.

DAWN Back around 5.30 and there better be bubbles.

PAT faces her, all brightness.

How to introduce characters without reliance on backstory that muddies narrative.

It’s nice to have aggression between MARIBELLE and PAT. It is a good dramatic tension as ingredient for the scene and future scenes. It puts DAWN nicely in the middle. She is ‘wanted’ by both parties.

185

PAT Bubbles and diamonds and your big feckin feet!

DAWN blows him a kiss.

DAWN (Russian)

Yavaş Lublu.

DAWN closes the door behind her. PAT listens to the women chat as they recede down the driveway.

MARIBELLE (O.S.) What's that gibberish?

DAWN (O.S.) I love you.

MARIBELLE (O.S.) Thanks sis love you too.

DAWN (O.S.) Patrick, you fuckhead. I love...

They are gone. PAT turns back to the sink, rubs at the pancake pan then drops it in the water. He surveys the kitchen, the mess, all of it. Upstairs, LILY'S doof-doof music rises, thudding through the ceiling. PAT stares out the window, watches a crow land on the mailbox. The bird preens itself, flapping wings. PAT copies, flapping his arms.

The Russian is handy for DAWN. Helps her (unconsciously) gain cognitive dissonance. She is play acting. She’s safe there. Another form of deflection.

The show is on again. PAT smiles, DAWN joins in the fun without knowing what we know. We’ve seen PAT. We’ve seen his sorrow. We are conspirators, in on this awful game. This helps DAWN as a character – she will be caught unawares when PAT leaves. She will be a position of potential growth, or failure or tragedy or all of the above.

186

CUT TO:

Discussion point – dramatic conflict

Ending the scene with PAT rather than DAWN. Is it a risky move? Is it telegraphing PAT’s intent and deviating too far from DAWN’s place in the story? It is scene five. It’s time to rise the dramatic intensity. PAT is the character who has to do this.

187

6. EXT/INT. STREET/TRAM. DAY - CONTINUOUS.

DAWN and MARIBELLE wait at the tram stop. DAWN shudders against the chill and conversation, both of which been going for some time.

MARIBELLE …It's the pyjamas I can't abide. Even a

(air quotes) ‘stay-at-home dad’ can put on a pair of dress pants now and again.

I like MARIBELLE’s sarcasm. It obviously runs in the family. It’s nice that DAWN doesn’t immediately defend PAT. Is this about loyalty? Blood relative verses marriage?

This scene deals with the relationship between DAWN and MARIBELLE. As older sister, DAWN has kept an eye on MARIBELLE, especially after she was diagnosed with MS four years ago. We discover this in episode two. I am toying with the idea of MARIBELLE having estranged children, to add to the nature and exploration of a flawed middle-aged character. She may, however, have no children as a counterpoint to DAWN’s issues with motherhood. The vital ingredient in this version of the scene is to establish the bond between the sisters. Whatever happens they have each other’s back. The experiment also deals with how to convey elements of backstory in less telegraphed ways. Does MARIBELLE’s medical condition affect the storyline? Does a character in a wheelchair have to have a backstory?

DAWN and MARIBELLE as

difficult/problematic allies.

The happy bond between siblings, and MARIBELLE’s antipathy toward PAT. It’s nice for DAWN to have someone on her side – even if she doesn’t know she needs it yet. Interesting to set up backstory between PAT and MARIBELLE that isn’t spelled out. Do we need to know why there is bad blood? Can it be as simple as a personality clash? Is it better (narratively speaking) to present this as slow burn?

188

DAWN cranes her neck to see if the tram is coming any time soon. It isn't.

MARIBELLE (CONT'D) Does he own adult clothes?

DAWN grabs her sister's hand, holds it tight.

DAWN I adore that you care, or whatever this is, but my husband's fashion sense isn't at the top of the priority list.

MARIBELLE He's just not/

DAWN Any of your business.

Beat.

MARIBELLE So, what you're saying/

DAWN I'm saying, princess Maribelle, that this…

(Circles arms indicating world)

Doesn't revolve around this... (points at MARIBELLE)

MARIBELLE Think you'll find it does.

Overstepping the line

DAWN lays down the law. A joke is one thing, continued disparaging of PAT is not allowed. It’s the turning point/beat of the scene – could go either way. If MARIBELLE objects, we have conflict. If she doesn’t, we have conflict. It’s a good, narrative moment.

What if MARIBELLE is the only character DAWN feels physically comfortable with?

189

They turn heads at the sound of the approaching tram. MARIBELLE takes DAWN'S face in her hands, kisses her.

MARIBELLE Stick it to the man.

DAWN Who is this man everyone is on about today?

DAWN jogs to the middle of the road as the tram slows. She waits for doors to open, trots up the stairs, yells to MARIBELLE.

DAWN Wish me luck!

MARIBELLE You’re not wearing pyjamas, so halfway there!

Is this true love? Is this stronger than DAWN’S love for

PAT?

When in doubt, joke.

And just like that MARIBELLE wins the beat – diffusing the moment and bringing DAWN back on side. These two will always respond to ‘underplay’, sarcasm, and will always have each other. Will it be difficult to break this partnership? Should I try?

190

DAWN holds up both middle fingers.

DAWN Fuck you!

MARIBELLE returns middle finger salute.

MARIBELLE Fuck you first, you fucking fucker!

DAWN LAUGHS as the tram moves off. She swivels to see the other PASSENGERS glaring at her. She pushes past her fellow commuters with a short 'excuse me', 'sorry', until she finds a seat at the back of the tram. She shuffles her arse into position, glances left to see who she's sitting next to.

DAWN Jesus Christ on a bike.

It's SAM from this morning’s street debacle. He wears headphones, classical music seeping through. Too loud for DAWN. All those strings at this hour.

DAWN (CON’T) Can you turn it down?

DAWN doesn’t care? DAWN

doesn’t seem to care?

Swearing in public – loud and proud. Is DAWN happier when she has an audience? Stronger? Appearing to be stronger? Is this an unlikeable quality? Is she immune to the reaction of others?

191

SAM ignores her, nods to the music.

DAWN purses lips.

DAWN (CON’T) (starts to sing)

'The sun will come out tomorrow, bet your bottom dollar that tomorrow, there'll be sun'...

PASSENGERS turn to stare. Someone is singing on the tram. God, Melbourne can be annoying.

SAM turns up the volume. DAWN keeps singing. A musical war breaks out on the 109 from Mont Albert.

DAWN (singing)

'Just thinking about tomorrow, clears away the...

(can't remember the words)

A YOUNG MALE PASSENGER chimes in.

YOUNG M PASSENGER Cobwebs and the sorrow.

DAWN Thank you.

Why can’t she let this go? Does she constantly want to battle? The justice warrior, even when it doesn’t matter? This is like home to me – as writer. I find it hard to let go. Like to fight all the battles. All of them.

Is this just to cause trouble? Attract attention? This could end badly for her. What is it about DAWN that she can’t just sit and be and let the world go on? She is an agitator. Why? What does she fear will happen if she stops? Thinks?

192

(Resumes singing) 'Clears away the cobwebs and the sorrow, till there's none'.

SAM removes headphones, lets the music float throughout the tram. Puccini's La Boheme rises along the aisle. SAM lifts hands as if conducting the orchestra.

DAWN won't be beaten. She lifts her volume. The sounds battle. Most PASSENGERS pretend nothing is happening. YOUNG MALE PASSENGER loves it, sways against the safety pole he’s clinging to.

DAWN (Still singing)

'Tomorrow, tomorrow I'll love ya tomorrow, it's only a day away...tooooomorrow'

SAM rises, turns off his music.

DAWN abruptly stops singing.

This is a joyous moment. People on the tram may be annoyed but they’ll let it slide. It is a moment of potential connection between DAWN and SAM. The YOUNG MALE PASSENGER acts as conduit. He lightens the mood, carries it forward. Is DAWN this open to possibility? Is DAWN a singer on a tram?

This is in her. It has to be. Otherwise, how can she rise when PAT leaves? We need to witness the spark that could ignite, the spirit that could see her through her coming ordeals.

DAWN is a survivor

I like SAM’S calmness in opposition to DAWN’S fraught and scattered behaviour. Is he too calm? Would DAWN be easily bored of him?

SAM wins.

193

SAM This is my stop.

PASSENGER#1 (O.S)

Thank fuck for that. PASSENGER#2 (O.S) Fuck you, I was enjoying it. PASSENGER#1 (O.S) Okay boomer. PASSENGER#2 (O.S) Okay, influencer.

SAM shuffles past DAWN with a short 'sorry' and 'excuse me’, makes his way to central exit doors. He turns, smiles at DAWN.

SAM Great day for the race.

Suddenly DAWN doesn’t hate him quite so much.

YOUNG M PASSENGER What race?

SAM/DAWN

The human race.

The tram stops. SAM exits. The tram moves on. YOUNG PASSENGER sits next to DAWN.

YOUNG M PASSENGER (Singing)

‘When I’m stuck with a day that’s grey and lonely…’/

DAWN Mate, read the room.

YOUNG MALE PASSENGER humbled, stops singing.

The ultimate beat in the second part of the scene – after the potential for rising conflict, the see-saw of opposing goals, SAM diffuses the situation. He also does it in a way that is not confrontational. Will he be a good match for DAWN in whatever capacity that may actuate?

194

DAWN looks out the window, watches SAM stride up the street. She smiles as the tram jigs along.

CUT TO:

I like that DAWN isn’t cocky about this encounter. Has she been humbled? Is this the first time since we’ve met her that she isn’t attempting to win something? Am I mellowing her in order to make it easier to crush her in later scenes?

Why am I so keen to introduce a potential love interest? Isn’t this the most overdrawn narrative trope in the history of storytelling? Why does she need this? Why not? Is an unlikeable middle-aged woman not worthy? At this point in development, I want to give her options. Perhaps one option is sex with someone other than her husband.

Is DAWN allowed to be

open to possibilities?

This scene allows DAWN to grow into her character outside of the home. In public she seems fearless, even if it is a façade. She seems reckless on this last day of work. She’s rude, obnoxious and funny. Maybe she’s also capable of being sneaky and disloyal. The flaws are becoming wide and interesting.

‘The heroine [can be] absorbed by finding love or experiencing problems in her relationship. Love problems can range from anything as big as war to her own unresolved fear of abandonment (e.g., When Harry Met Sally, Sex and the City: The Movie). Sweeping epic love stories, such as The English Patient and Cold Mountain, fall into this type, as do intense dramas such as The Edge of Love’ – Helen Jacey

What is she smiling at? SAM? Herself? The ridiculous

encounter?

195

7. EXT. CENTRELINK OFFICE. DAY. The single level Centrelink office in baby poo-brown-brick glory. If this building were a song it would be a dirge by Coldplay. Cars fill the parking lot to the left, industrial fencing surrounds vacant land to the right. A suburb where enthusiasm goes to die. DAWN stands a few metres from the entrance, staring at the double-glass doors, willing herself to go in one last time.

DAWN

(singing quietly) ‘It’s only a day away.’ She takes a deep breath, steps towards the doors. A dollop of bird shit lands on her shoulder. She checks the white goop dripping down her shirt front. She walks through the doors as they slide to admit her and shut to trap her in. On the roof of the building a crow preens, flaps its wings.

CUT TO:

This scene explores DAWN at work, interacting with colleagues, continuing the trend of ‘difficult’ woman. It’s her last day. Last days can be difficult. Will she go with a fight?

Without a fight?

She is never perfect. She can’t ever be perfect. She needs to fight continual obstacles. This will make or break her. The bird metaphor is beginning to become a theme – what does it mean? At this moment? Freedom? Uncontrollability? Human uselessness in the grand scheme of things?

With regard to structure it’s important to have a small

transitional scene here. It is a breath in the narrative. It also

provides a break from DAWN’S relentless smart-aleckness (is that a word?)

196

8. INT. CENTRELINK OFFICE. DAY BARB, late 40s, one-woman tornado, looks up from reception desk as DAWN enters. BARB taps pen on the counter, nods at DAWN’s soiled jacket.

DAWN

S’posed to be good luck.

BARB Seems bad luck to have bird shit all over you.

DAWN

Yep. BARB

Good luck’s more like finding two Tim Tams joined together/

DAWN Point made, Barb/ BARB Barbara/ DAWN Don’t give a fu/

New characters – work colleagues, new space – the office. The scene continues DAWN’S trajectory as

difficult. She is hard to deal with. Hates her job. Can’t wait to leave. She’s also possibly not good at it. When did she give up trying? Did she ever have enthusiasm

for this task?

Is it important to visualise these

characters for my (writer’s) benefit?

BARB BARB is not rounded as a character yet. She has no

backstory. Work on this for future drafts. How does BARB

fit into the fabric of the narrative?

197

BARB Or three Tim Tams joined together

in a packet you find in the cupboard when you thought you didn’t have any packets of Tim Tams, but there it is, in the cupboard on the left, nudged between cans of tuna you saved for the rapture/

DAWN

(loud) Michael in? Barbara? They look down towards an imposing, closed red door at the end of the corridor. BARB Since 7. DAWN (rolling eyes) Of course, since 7. DAWN walks to her desk, slumps into swivel chair, faces workstation – computer, files piled high and messy, pictures of PATRICK, LILY and MARON in various stages of activity. She turns on her monitor. An exaggerated COUGH arcs up on her left. COLLETTE, 30s, poster child for energy sapping, hovers from the desk next door. COLLETTE’s desk is littered with her collection of Bratz dolls – 33 of them – beady eyes staring at DAWN.

Important to establish the strained relationship between DAWN and her colleagues. If I intend to distance her from sympathy for a few more scenes yet it must be done. I want to hang her out on the ledge for as long as possible.

Introducing COLLETTE – the energy-sapper. DAWN needs a definite ‘enemy’ to fight against, rail against. COLLETTE

represents one devil on DAWN’s shoulder. COLLETTE needs to be pathetic, but I don’t want to ‘punch down’. In

later episodes COLLETTE can have the opportunity to redeem herself, become heroic.

198

COLLETTE I’ve been in since 7.30.

If anyone cares. DAWN Lizards in the Gobi Desert

don’t care.

COLLETTE grabs a Bratz doll, plays ventriloquist. COLLETTE (high-pitched) I care, Collette. I wuve you.

BARB Collette, put down the doll. COLLETTE (still with silly voice) Who’s Collette? I’m Diana and I like pedicures and spa days/

I like that DAWN is awful in this moment. We don’t know the history between these characters. It’s nice (in a narrative sense) that DAWN can

be cruel. Does she have to redeem this?

Perhaps this action helps us (viewer/reader) to understand DAWN’s actions/motivations.

COLLETTE is no hero.

Does COLLETTE need a backstory? How much do I need to inform about

peripheral characters? Can COLLETTE remain in this state for now? Peripheral and one-dimensional? This is DAWN’s story so how much weight do I need to

give to others?

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BARB Ten, nine, eight/ COLLETTE And sushi on a stick/ BARB Seven, six, five/ COLLETTE

And martinis with little olives in the/ BARB Four, three, two/ DAWN charges to COLLETTE, grabs the Bratz Diana doll, rips off its head. She turfs both body parts back to COLLETTE, returns to her desk, sits, gives herself a chair swivel.

COLLETTE SCREAMS, hugs the doll and head to her chest, runs to the toilet. Muffled SOBBING pulses through the wall.

BARB glares at DAWN.

An act of violence. An act of cruelty. Do we hate DAWN in this

moment? Nasty woman Does it feel

good/satisfying to hate the central

character? Powerful

‘Ah, anger. I know a bit about that. Where do I start? And more pressingly – where do I finish?’

– Victoria Midwinter-Pitt

200

DAWN Had to be done.

BARB continues the glare. DAWN doesn’t feel so much like chair swivelling now. She’s about to apologise when JAYDEN, 20s, smart suit, slick hair, reeking of IPA and sycophancy, jogs through the double doors, speaking loudly into his phone.

This moment of silent intent – BARB cautioning DAWN with a look. It’s important. DAWN needs to recognise her mistakes even if she doesn’t do anything to correct them.

Is it cliched to present a young, misogynist male? Perhaps, but JAYDEN also represents someone we can (hopefully) all grow to dislike. It’s also nice for DAWN to have someone to

‘fight the good fight’ against. COLLETTE is no challenge to her. Is JAYDEN enough of a challenge? Does he need to be?

201

JAYDEN (into phone)

Of course, Minister. 2pm. I’ll be there to pick you up personally. I wouldn’t trust anyone else with such an important job. Send a man to do a man’s job, eh Minister!

JAYDEN LAUGHS, ends the call, spots DAWN, grabs his crotch theatrically.

DAWN

Jesus. BARB

He’s not arriving until 3. Unexpected.

DAWN You made a joke! BARB Consider it your going away

present.

JAYDEN sits at his desk in front of DAWN, manspreading.

JAYDEN

I’ll give you a present you’ll dream about for weeks. DAWN What a lot of words for ‘I’ve never seen a clitoris’

Nice moment of solidarity

202

JAYDEN You are!

BARB What did we say about sexual harassment in the workplace, Jayden? JAYDEN Do it as much as possible?

BARB picks up her phone, jabs a number. COLLETTE runs back from the toilet carrying dismembered doll in one hand, head in the other. The doll body is dropping wet. COLLETTE stands behind DAWN, the body raised. COLLETTE Ask yourself why Diana is wet.

Is it from the toilet or just the tap?

DAWN jumps up, backs away, COLLETTE and the dripping doll in pursuit. DAWN

Nobody needs to do anything rash.

It’s possibly politically off-colour but I want to leave it for now. It displays DAWN’S disdain for Jayden’s sexism and casual attitude towards his harassment in the workplace. Surely, I can present DAWN as difficult while still presenting her as possessing a tangible value system…

Even difficult characters need moments of honour.

203

JAYDEN films on his phone. BARB (into phone) Incident in front office. I

repeat, incident in front office.

COLLETTE pins DAWN to a desk, hovering with the wet doll centimetres from DAWN’s head. COLLETTE

Toilet or tap? Toilet or tap? Toilet or tap?

DAWN (pleading) Think of Diana . . .what would

Diana do? JAYDEN What a lot of words for,

‘I’m fucked’. BARB (into phone) Escalating! COLLETTE rubs the wet doll over DAWN’s face. DAWN YELPS, wriggles away, trips, falls on her arse on the carpet. COLLETTE YELLS in triumph, drops the doll’s head into DAWN’s lap. JAYDEN circles, filming the scene. JAYDEN Smile for Insta, ladies.

DAWN as cowardly. Can a coward become a hero? Is it necessary tor a hero to

begin as a coward?

‘The heroine gives herself a quest or mission or is given one by an external factor or person. She spends her time pursuing the quest, even if it ends up having a different outcome than she expected’ – Helen Jacey

‘Human nature being what it is, a character is always more than just a set of consistencies. People are illogical and unpredictable. They do things that surprise us, startle us, change all our preconceived ideas about them’ – Linda Seger.

204

DAWN Fuck you, Jayden. COLLETTE Fuck you, Jayden!

BARB clears her throat. All become silent, turn to stare at the man standing in front of them. MICHAEL, 60s, combover, certainty for Liberal Party pre-selection when he retires, if not before. He walks to DAWN, towers over her.

The pace in these beats is important for narrative trajectory. Movement. Visual flow. DAWN in the midst of chaos that we assume she’s exacerbated throughout her working life at this office. The conflict doesn’t come from nowhere.

Two women physically fighting – does it automatically go against empathy for

either character? Are we conditioned to find female physicality distasteful? Are we

conditioned to find female physicality as less threatening than male

physicality?

Even difficult characters need enemies. MICHAEL represents DAWN’s enemy in this workplace. I want everyone to fight against MICHAEL and what he represents. It provides a moment of empathy and sympathy for DAWN. Still, she’s no hero here. She obviously hasn’t ever confronted him or attempted to address issues. She is weak in this moment of the story. She is weak in order to gain strength later on.

Will I have to change this image? I don’t

want to – is creativity the same as poetic

licence?

‘All these women idolising the words of men: what a waste’ –

Nadine Brown

205

MICHAEL

(flat, foreboding) This is going to be a fun

last day. (pause)

For me, I mean. For you it’s going to be a nightmare.

DAWN tries to smile, raises the doll’s head as a peace offering.

CUT TO:

We (viewer/reader) know DAWN has to create havoc in office-based scenes to make the final scenes worthwhile. It’s humiliation that requires extra dollops of humiliation established here. How she deals

with it is the question – DAWN is not yet a hero.

206

9. INT. CENTRELINK OFFICE – MEETING ROOM. DAY. DAWN sits behind a table in the meeting room, laptop in front of her. An empty chair opposite, other side of the table. Series of intercutting moments – empty chair is filled by clients – DARYL, 30s, mullet, missing teeth, scowls at DAWN, arms folded. DAWN

One more failure to show up to work for the dole and we’re done, Daryl. It’s a beautiful friendship, but it will end.

DAWN stamps a form and hands it over. DARYL scowls harder. DAWN alone. Rings PATRICK’S phone. No answer. Next client in the chair. SHARON, 20s, arm sleeve tattoo, blonde hair piled high, make-up applied with a trowel. DAWN I can’t give you benefits

for a service guineapig, Sharon. (pause)

Also, there’s no such thing as a service guineapig, Sharon.

DAWN stamps a form and hands it over. SHARON rolls her eyes. DAWN rings PATRICK’S phone. Still no answer. Through to voicemail. DAWN (CON’T) (into phone) Hey, champ. Fourth call of the morning, but okay. Wanna grab lunch?

My treat. Well, your treat because I forgot my wallet. Good thing you adore Me. Thai on Wilson Street? Midday? Yay!

DAWN ends the call. Frowns.

Next client in the chair.

207

MAUREEN, 70s, platinum blonde hair, drawn-on eyebrows, dressed in faux leopard skin top, smiling to burst.

MAUREEN

I just need a/ DAWN holds up finger to stop MAUREEN mid-sentence. DAWN dials PAT’s number on her phone. No answer. MAUREEN (CON’T) It’ll only take a sec/ DAWN holds up a second finger, dials PAT’s number. No answer. She drops the phone to the table.

Pace – forward movement in the narrative. Establishing DAWN’s work ethic. She’s been here so long she doesn’t care anymore.

DAWN hates this job. She can’t wait to leave. We need to see her as lazy and uncaring – with regard to the work and the

clients.

MAUREEN is the saviour. She just doesn’t know it yet. DAWN is being

given a lifeline through this character. She just doesn’t know it

yet.

Where is PAT? Doubt begins.

A moment for us to remember PAT in the bedroom, PAT in the

kitchen. Slow burn about to come to fruition.

Is DAWN about to

be betrayed?

208

DAWN Go. MAUREEN (waving a form) I’ve filled out my info,

like the nice lady at reception told me to, so when do I get it?

DAWN What? MAUREEN A job. When do I get a job? DAWN gapes. Is this woman insane? MAUREEN (CON’T)

I’m happy to take anything. I mean I doubt I’d be suitable for Prime Minister ...

(LAUGHS loudly) but I’ll give it a crack! (LAUGHS loudly) Any Prime Minister jobs goin’? DAWN stares in amazement. She always heard they existed – job seekers who believe there are jobs to be sought. DAWN picks up her phone.

DAWN Do you mind?

MAUREEN shrugs, ‘sure’.

DAWN takes a photo of this miraculous MAUREEN.

DAWN (CON’T) Thing is... DAWN checks form to find name MAUREEN jabs a fake fingernail at the relevant spot.

Cynicism is healthy. It’s funny. Is it unlikable? Sustainable?

209

MAUREEN Maureen...Maureen Palmeri/ DAWN Thing is, Maureen, it’s an

urban and/or regional myth. There are no jobs for anyone over 45. None. Nada. Zip. Zero. And you’re...

DAWN checks form to find age. MAUREEN jabs a fake fingernail at the relevant spot. MAUREEN 72. Next birthday. Sagittarius.

Cusp. DAWN Thing is, Maureen, Sagittarius,

cusp, it’s a young person’s game. MAUREEN Game?/ DAWN holds up her finger for MAUREEN to be quiet. DAWN Here’s how the system works. DAWN gestures MAUREEN forward. MAUREEN leans in, listening. DAWN (CON’T) Fill in the form each fortnight. MAUREEN nods.

DAWN (CON’T) Turn up for appointments.

MAUREEN nods.

DAWN (CON’T) You get your payments, little

effort on either side and you know what everybody does then, Sagittarius, cusp?

MAUREEN shakes her head. DAWN (CON’T) Wins, Maureen. Everybody wins.

210

MAUREEN But/ DAWN holds up her finger, dials PATRICK’s number again. No answer. MICHAEL stops at the open door, glowers at DAWN. MICHAEL Coven not answering? DAWN drops the phone on the table. DAWN Sale on broomsticks at Bunnings.

MICHAEL

Sad you won’t be able to join Them, working through lunch.

DAWN raises eyebrows. What’s he talking about? MICHAEL (CON’T) I’ll need your paperwork. All of

it. You’ve heard of paperwork, Dawn. It’s that thing you haven’t done for the last three months.

DAWN

Joke’s on you, champ. It’s that thing I haven’t done for the last SIX months!

Entire sequence is establishment for final scenes of the episode – or how I think the final scenes will play out. Of course, this can all change in following drafts. DAWN will change her attitude towards work but not necessarily change her character. Will this character experiment work effectively?

Being a smart aleck is second nature. Of course, that’s just an excuse to

not address behaviour

211

MICHAEL clicks fingers. JAYDEN enters, pushing a trolley laden with two huge boxes heaving with files. He empties the boxes on the table, files spill everywhere.

JAYDEN Sucks to be you, Dawn. MICHAEL and JAYDEN exit, steps ECHOING down the corridor. MAUREEN (CON’T) (smiling) So, not quite everyone winning. DAWN stamps MAUREEN’S form, hands it over.

CUT TO:

Question – does she present dialogue like this because she always has or because it’s her last day? People don’t seem surprised, so perhaps this is her default setting. Again, her actions are causing her situation. DAWN is not self-aware in this setting. DAWN is the means of her own destruction.

Scene must end on DAWN losing. It’s imperative. I hope she gains a moment of empathy here. Not too much. She’s lost this round to MICHAEL. She’s been humiliated in front of a client. She isn’t winning at life. Her attitude creates the notion of unlikability... She’s a middle-aged woman – that ‘variety’ of human is supposed to be caring, helpful. DAWN counteracts that perception. She is lazy, annoying and violent in this scene.

The stones being thrown are getting bigger. She’s heading for a huge fall.

212

10. INT. CENTELINK OFFICE, KITCHEN. DAY

The staff gather in the kitchen for a ‘celebration’ of DAWN’s last day. DAWN slumps against the fridge, wanting it to be over. COLLETTE, clasping her Bratz doll body sits at the table, staring daggers at DAWN. BARB places a single cupcake on a plate in the middle of the table, sticks a candle in the centre, brings out a box of matches. LORETTA from HR, 40s, Nigerian, appears from nowhere, grabs the candle from the cupcake.

LORETTA

Sorry ladies, O,H and S stipulates no naked flames. I’m pooping this party.

DAWN Loretta, this party pooped itself.

A short scene of DAWN being ungracious. At her own little party, she can’t be kind. She can’t just say ‘thank you’. She needs to make a fuss, even though the people she wishes to rant at – MICHAEL and JAYDEN aren’t there. She’s a coward. A vital scene – telling. If she can’t be gracious in a situation like this how can she be gracious when the stakes are really high?

I want to investigate representation of diversity. LORETTA may become an ally. Sceneplay is presented in this script as dedicated to presentation and representation of underserved characters. Here I am challenging the perception, by way of LORETTA as a woman of colour, that those in positions of power within a work situation need to be white and male. Here is a challenge to perception. LORETTA, as in the case of MARIBELLE, doesn’t require exposition within the narrative for her gender or colour.

213

BARB smiles, raises her hands for everyone to join as she starts singing. BARB (singing) ‘For she’s a jolly good

fellow’... She raises hands again. COLLETTE and LORETTA don’t join in.

BARB (singing) ‘For she’s a jolly good fellow’ For she’s a jolly good fellow...

BARB pauses for effect. Everyone glares at her. BARB nods to LORETTA who takes up the challenge.

LORETTA

(singing) ‘And, so say all of us’. BARB Hip Hip! LORETTA Hooray!

All turn to DAWN. She shucks away from the fridge. DAWN

As you all know, I hate it here. I’ve hated it here for... hang on, I’ve written it down,

(brings out paper, reads)

Twenty-nine years, three months, ten days, six hours and

(checks her watch), thirty-two minutes.

LORETTA Always admired your...honesty/ DAWN

Not finished. LORETTA nods – go on.

DAWN (CON’T)

I leave today happy in the knowledge that I’ll never have to see any of you again, for as long as I live.

214

q quote

BARB LAUGHS. Nobody else does. DAWN grabs the cupcake, shovels it into her mouth. DAWN (CON’T) (chewing) This cupcake, however, is

delicious! COLLETTE SCREAMS, lunges at DAWN, throws her to the ground. LORETTA can’t look away. BARB grabs her phone, dials a number. BARB (into phone) Incident in the kitchenette. This

is not a drill! COLLETTE and DAWN wrestle all over the kitchen floor, SCREAMING, YELPING as BARB and LORETTA look on, transfixed. On the table, DAWN’s phone buzzes with a call from PAT.

DAWN doesn’t hold back. Of course, she thinks it’s her last day and she can get away with it, but is it harsh enough? For now, yes. It is enough tone. Any more and it is no longer funny. Reminder –

this is a dark comedy.

Comic characters and difficulty? Do we have to

like comic central characters in order to find

them funny?

215

CUT TO:

Fun juxtaposition at the end of the scene – from the violence and silliness of DAWN’s going away party to the phone buzzing with a call from PAT. It’s a traditional storytelling trope but works here. Also, nice to continue DAWN’s trajectory of a difficult person, grumpy, annoying, not what we expect in a central character.

Storm clouds brewing…

216

11. INT. PAT AND DAWN’S BEDROOM. DAY. PAT sits on the bed staring straight ahead, phone in his hand. He ends the call to DAWN, opens fingers, lets the phone drop to the floor. We see the screen saver pic – DAWN eating a donut, her face covered in chocolate.

CUT TO:

I don’t want the reader/viewer to know yet – to know that he is about to leave. I also need to be careful that PAT is still

seen as the ‘good guy’ in this family, in this relationship. It’s a fine balance – between telegraphing character intent and

engendering questioning around action/motive. Short scene – the shorter the better here. This is about pace as well as

character presentation. It’s also only one of a few scenes without DAWN in

it. Central characters need to be central.

217

12. INT. CENTRELINK OFFICE. DAY. DAWN at her now-bare desk, a box filled with photos, stapler, pens at her feet. She watches the clock on the wall behind BARB at reception. The clock hands move, we hear the TICK, TICK, TICK as time edges closer to 4.45pm. The time reached, DAWN jumps to her feet, grabs her handbag and box of goodies and sprints through the doors, gone.

BARB, COLLETTE and JAYDEN look at each other for a beat and return to their work. DAWN charges back through the doors, puffing with the effort.

DAWN (yelling) Bye, bye suckers! BARB Best of luck. JAYDEN Care factor. COLLETTE Fuck off, and when you get

there, fuck off again.

DAWN walks out through the doors again.

BARB, COLLETTE and JAYDEN look at each other for a beat and return to their work.

DAWN charges back through the doors, puffing even harder.

This scene may end up being shortened – is it going over old ground? Do I already have enough character ‘ammunition’ for DAWN to operate? The next

script draft will involve such decisions.

It’s nice that COLLETTE has her moment, and that DAWN lets her. Is it enough for difficult characters to be difficult in sections? DAWN doesn’t retaliate. Does she need to? Aren’t we moving on to a new sequence? COLLETTE can win this round.

218

DAWN

(yelling) Hey, Miiiiicccchhhheeeelllll,

you shitguzzling piece of shitguzzle!

Okay, now she has everyone’s attention. All turn to watch the big red door. It opens. MICHAEL walks down the corridor into the office.

MICHAEL Something I can help with,

Dawn? DAWN didn’t think this through. DAWN (quietly) No.

MICHAEL nods at the stapler protruding from DAWN’S possession box.

MICHAEL I’ll need that. Government

property.

This beat has to happen. DAWN needs to regain central position in the scene. She can’t go without some kind of fight/attention-seeking/difficult behaviour.

Is it fair to call DAWN a coward? Don’t we often buckle under circumstances? This is a

likable quality, she’s fumbling, unsure of herself, lost bluff and bluster. Difficult

characters can also be likable???

219

MICHAEL clicks fingers. JAYDEN runs to DAWN, retrieves the stapler, hands it to MICHAEL who gives it a CLICK-CLICK for good measure and walks back towards his big, red door.

DAWN Give it back. MICHAEL stops, turns. MICHAEL Excuse me? DAWN The stapler. MICHAEL (smiling) The stapler stays.

DAWN Rihanna.

MICHAEL stiffens. BARB, COLLETTE and JAYDEN notice. MICHAEL What?

Michael needs to be more here. I need to work on making him the enemy in earlier scenes. I don’t dislike him enough yet. He

doesn’t have enough ‘character ammunition’ yet. He is the antagonist in the scene (although not the narrative).

Perhaps DAWN is self-antagonist. PAT? Perhaps rather than antagonist he is

catalyst?

What is the essential

quality/qualities of the

antagonist?

‘Antagonists of all sorts always cause the protagonist trouble. That’s their job: they are antagonistic’ – Linda Aronson.

220

DAWN

Think you’ll find the word you’re looking for, is ‘who’.

MICHAEL

Don’t know what you’re implying, but/

DAWN steps closer, courage returning.

DAWN Rihanna. 24. Does yoga with

your wife who, correct me if I’m wrong, is unaware that Rihanna, 24, is shagging you every Tuesday afternoon behind the Bunnings in Johnson Street.

MICHAEL staggers a little.

MICHAEL You’ve got no/ DAWN Proof? DAWN holds up her phone with a picture of MICHAEL kissing a blonde in a bright pink yoga top.

Blackmail – why is DAWN using it now? Why not before? Is this a point of empathy for her? She couldn’t use the proof of MICHAEL’s affair before this moment because of her decency? Why now because of a stapler? Of course, the stapler is a metaphor – an emblem of power. Is she using the information to humiliate MICHAEL? If so, what does this say about DAWN? I’m not sure yet.

From coward to extortionist.

Where did she get the photographs? Did she spy on him? Explore this in the next

draft.

221

BARB Dark horse, Michael. COLLETTE Not following.

JAYDEN grabs his crotch in COLLETTE’s direction.

COLLETTE Oh. MICHAEL

How? DAWN My favourite spot to buy brooms.

DAWN swipes the phone, more pics of MICHAEL and the blonde – a variety of kissing poses and yoga tops.

MICHAEL (CON’T)

It’s not what it looks like. None of these pictures are what they look like!

DAWN walks a step closer to MICHAEL, smiles.

DAWN

15 years you’ve been my boss. I’ve put up with your digs about my weight and my/

BARB Hair.

COLLETTE Shoes. JAYDEN General fashion sense.

Sitting on this information – is this

credible? Does it have to be?

The action/intent of the beat helps DAWN regain power and with it, regain central positioning within

the story.

222

DAWN

And my work ethic. And sure, you might have a point about the work ethic thing, but still, you’re a massive, steaming turd and right now, all I want from you is that stapler.

DAWN swipes the phone again, showing a pic of MICHAEL with his hands on the blonde’s backside.

DAWN (CON’T)

What’s it to be, Bunnings boy? MICHAEL nods at JAYDEN who collects the stapler, hands it back to DAWN. She CLICK-CLICKS it for good measure before dropping it back in her box of belongings. DAWN (CON’T) Dawn out. DAWN strides through the doors, gone. BARB, COLLETTE and JAYDEN turn to MICHAEL. He runs a hand through his hair. MICHAEL (quietly) She’s 26. He walks down the corridor, opens the big red door and disappears inside his office. The big red door closes. CUT TO:

Is DAWN always honest? Is this what makes her an effective central character despite being unlikable?

Honestly as a concept and character trait – is it

most important?

Can we cope with anything DAWN does or says as long we she

is honest?

A scene that shifts perspective for DAWN and about DAWN. She moves from selfish person to coward to brave woman standing up for herself. She is not consistent or steady. This unpredictability helps build her as a character who is complex and flawed – and again – the stones continue to be thrown and the dramatic tension/conflict of the story arc accelerates. DAWN heads towards her fall.

223

13. EXT. OUTSIDE CENTRELINK OFFICE. DAY. DAWN strides, box under one arm towards her car. Queen of the world.

DAWN

(singing) ‘Tomorrow, tomorrow, you’ll

love ya tomorrow, it’s only a day away’.

DAWN smiles at nothing and everything. A crow watches her from the roof of the office. DAWN hears it before she feels it – the dollop of bird poo landing on her other shoulder. SPLAT.

Too much of this now – leave the singing. Change to –

What is the purpose of this scene? Do I need it? Do I need a transitional moment for DAWN? I may cut this scene OR find another use for it. In the next draft script, I will investigate the scene’s worth within the narrative.

‘Creative story development involves art, craft and heart. It’s a process that needs to be flexible and responsive, embracing a diversity of tools and approaches that will enrich and focus the creative vision at the heart of a story so audiences will be engaged and entertained across a variety of delivery platforms. We therefore encourage you to design a bespoke approach to development that will keep the project’s momentum up, its purpose alive and the audience in clear view’ – Screen Australia website

224

CUT TO:

225

14. EXT/INT. STREET/HOUSE. DAY – CONTINUOUS DAWN walks towards home, headphones on, practising Russian.

This is the scene that matters in terms of build-up and narrative importance. I want the reader/viewer to feel for DAWN here – in her anguish. How DAWN reacts to this scene defines her.

‘Characters are more interesting if they are made of mixed stuff, if they contain warring elements. To create these warring elements, you begin by establishing one, and then asking, ‘Given this element, what elements are there in the same person that would create in that person a kind of conflict?’– Leonard Tourney

Seger, Linda. Creating Unforgettable

Characters: A Practical Guide to Character Development in Films, TV

Series, Advertisements, Novels & Short Stories (Kindle Locations 599-

601). Henry Holt and Co... Kindle Edition.

This scene constitutes the midpoint of the script. As Blake Snyder states ‘the break into Act One, the midpoint, and the break into Act Three are the major turns of a script […] These are also the places that need to be paid the most attention’ (2005, p. 182).

‘I want to be in the moment of this story. Stepping in and out of the scene. Ideas are made whole by the research’ – Louise Sawtell

226

DAWN (speaking with lesson)

Spasiba, thank you. U nas kapitalisticheskiye prazdniki, we are on capitalistic holidays. Yavas Lu Blue... (smiles) I love you.

DAWN walks up the driveway, keys door, steps inside. Takes off headphones, coat, ditches the lot.

DAWN (CON’T) (calling) Stick a fork in me cos I’m done!

No answer. DAWN moves to the lounge, nobody there. To the kitchen, nobody there.

DAWN (CON’T) (calling) Ready for those diamonds!

She moves to the fridge, retrieves a champagne bottle, places on the kitchen bench. She collects two glasses from the cupboard, pops open the champers, pours.

DAWN (CON’T) Chillin’ like a villain!

Sips the champagne. Sips again. And again. DAWN (CON’T) Oh, God that’s adequate. (louder) Who’d a thunk 3.99 could buy booze

that only slightly tastes like soap, (takes another sip) and cotton balls.

I want this beat of dialogue to resonate. Who is she saying ‘I love you’ to? I think she’s saying it to herself but assuming she’s saying it to PAT.

227

Silence. DAWN frowns. DAWN (CON’T)

You’re missing choice material here, Patrick!

Nothing.

DAWN grabs her glass, wanders into the back yard. Nobody. Not even BRIAN. She trots upstairs to the bedroom. Nobody. Back down to the kitchen, about to refill her glass when she spots a note on the kitchen table. Before she can grab it to read, a text message arrives from MARON Reads – ‘basketball practice until 7.30. Pick-up at 7.35 please, Maron’. DAWN (CON’T) I might arrive at 7.33 and blow your mind, little man. She’s about to grab the note again when a second text message beeps in from LILY Reads – ‘Brian and I at park watching stupid boys play stupid frisbee. Home when home, Lil’. DAWN (CON’T) Brian, you traitor. DAWN takes another swig of champagne, grabs the note and reads… grabs up the note. Reads – ‘Sorry’. DAWN recognises PAT’s handwriting. She turns the note over. Nothing. Picks up phone, dials PAT’s number – to voicemail.

These beats of the scene are all about flow and mood – creating the time for DAWN to be blindsided and for the viewer/reader to question events, possibilities. I want DAWN to be presented in a playful mood. She’s home, it’s her anniversary, this should be a night of celebration.

228

DAWN (CON’T) (into phone) So, we’re a couple that riddles

now? DAWN ends the call, checks the note again. Realisation. She runs up the stairs to the bedroom, opens PAT’s closet – empty. She checks the bathroom – PAT’s stuff – toothbrush, deodorant, fungus cream – all gone. She sits on the bed for a moment, hardly breathing. She dials PAT’s number again.

DAWN (CON’T)

(deadly serious) You’ve got five minutes to

return this call. Make it three.

PAT needs to show his hand. We absolutely need to be on DAWN’s. side in this moment. This is an awful note to leave. It is cowardly and cruel. Are the tables turning? Our judgement of PAT must begin, otherwise we don’t care enough about DAWN.

Is it clear enough that PAT has gone? Does it need to be crystal clear?

Quiet betrayal.

DAWN doesn’t cry. She doesn’t get angry. She also doesn’t indulge in disbelief. Has she somehow seen this coming? She doesn’t yell. She begins to calculate possibilities. It’s interesting in a narrative sense. She is being practical.

How will we know she knows this is PAT’s handwriting? It is bad exposition to present this in dialogue. For next draft think about how this can operate on a logistical level. Is it enough that she rings PAT. We know then by action.

229

She ends the call, runs downstairs. Picks up champagne glass. Drains it. Fills and drains again. Picks up phone, dials a number. DAWN (CON’T) Maribelle, need you to pick up Maron from basketball at 7.30. DAWN ends the call, dials another number.

DAWN (CON’T) Hey, Kylie, it’s Dawn O’Brien. INTERCUT: KYLIE WALTERS, 30s, impeccably dressed, at her desk. Scene cuts between DAWN and KYLIE.

KYLIE So great to hear from you!

How can/ DAWN The tickets. KYLIE What’s that now? DAWN Please Kylie, dear, darling

Kylie tell me you have the tickets.

She needs to check on MARON. If she didn’t, she is unredeemable. Perhaps it’s her first step toward accepting responsibility about her life – what is happening to her life.

230

KYLIE taps at her keyboard, waves at CLIENT coming in the door. KYLIE Where would you like to go? DAWN

Where the tickets are taking me. On the train ...the Russian... the Trans/

KYLIE

Trans-Siberian? KYLIE taps at her keyboard, waves at another CLIENT exiting.

DAWN (calmer) Thank God! KYLIE taps away. DAWN downs another glass of champagne. KYLIE When would you like to go? DAWN spits out the champagne. DAWN Kylie, I need you to answer yes or no. Can you do that? KYLIE stops tapping. KYLIE Yes. DAWN

Do I have two tickets booked by Patrick, through you, for a three-week trip on the Trans-Siberian railway leaving a week tomorrow?

Bye, bye train trip

231

KYLIE taps at her keyboard. Stops tapping. KYLIE No.

DAWN drops the phone to the floor. DAWN I have to be sick now, Kylie. DAWN rushes outside. We stay on the phone. We hear KYLIE.

KYLIE (O.S)

I can book you in for two weeks in February, Moscow to Vladivostok. It’ll be cold, but spectacular. Hello? Dawn? Dawn, are you still there?

We hear DAWN THROWING UP

Why does DAWN immediately suspect PAT has stolen the money for the trip? Naturally suspicious, or is there backstory that could provide answers in

future episodes? DAWN is no fool. She’s not a child. We also assume now that this is HER money…

Train trip synonymous with the death of a dream. Was it more DAWN’s dream? Even more

betrayal.

Gone. Game over. Dream

ended.

232

FADE TO:

Make or break scene for DAWN. She can be difficult and gain sympathy. She cannot cower. She cannot triumph. She cannot remain in stasis. This is obviously the informative scene, creating

cause-and-effect for following scenes and DAWN’s journey in general.

Being sick is a visceral reaction. Other women might weep or scream. DAWN literally expels her emotions.

233

15. INT/EXT. DAWN’S HOUSE/STREET. NIGHT – CONTINUOUS. LILY sits on the kitchen bench, fiddling with an earring. The front door opens. LILY shoves the earring in her pocket.

MARON (in basketball uniform) and MARIBELLE enter, head to the kitchen. They find LILY arms folded, frowning.

MARIBELLE

Where’s your mother?

LILY (points upwards) Won’t let me in.

MARIBELLE rolls to the bottom of the stairs, looks up.

MARIBELLE What do you mean? LILY

She keeps singing that song from Annie and she won’t let me in.

MARON Tomorrow. LILY Huh?

A transitionary scene to help propel DAWN into further problems – the fallout begins. Reaction? What do we think

DAWN will be doing?

First sign of something not right – DAWN upstairs in the bedroom, not letting the others in. How does DAWN handle problems? How does she handle offers of help?

Also, a reminder of LILY’S flaw – she’s started stealing again. All is not well.

234

MARON/MARIBELLE The sun will come out tomorrow. LILY She’s nuts.

MARIBELLE slides out of her wheelchair and moves up the stairs, bum first.

` MARIBELLE (calling to DAWN) What’s going on, honey?

LILY and MARON grab MARIBELLE’s wheelchair and take it up the stairs. At the top of the stairs MARIBELLE gets back in the chair, just as DAWN begins singing. Very loudly.

The early rivalry/antagonism between

mother and daughter – coming back into play.

Logistical considerations as well as narrative decisions – MARIBELLE isn’t the type of character to rely on other people. MARIBELLE’s disability is

not an impediment to her character journey. Does it even matter if we know the

nature of her disability?

Do we need to know why a character is in a wheelchair? It is valuable to investigate the presentation of other underserved characters.

The banding together to help (collect and move the wheelchair) is second nature and doesn’t require discussion. This is a tight family unit. Will it remain this way? Is DAWN the broken spoke in the wheel of this family?

235

DAWN (O.S)

(singing) ‘I stick out my chin and

grin and saaaaaay, ooooooh’

MARIBELLE knocks on the bedroom door. DAWN stops singing. MARIBELLE You’re scaring the kids. DAWN (O.S) I’m staying in here forever. LILY Nuts.

MARIBELLE knocks again.

MARIBELLE Let us in, Dawny. DAWN (O.S) I’ve got champagne. I can last a year. MARON I’m calling Dad.

DAWN opens the door. Eyes red, hair a mess. DAWN Dad’s gone.

DAWN moves to the bed. MARIBELLE, LILY and MARON enter, horrified at what DAWN’s been doing.

On the bed lies an effigy – pyjamas stuffed with underpants, socks and a sheet of paper on its head - PRICK.

DAWN doesn’t rail against PAT. She isn’t seeking revenge at this point. Is this a sign of good mothering? Shock? DAWN’s essential character traits?

DAWN doesn’t ‘bad mouth’ PAT in front of the family members – is

this a moment of likability?

236

DAWN stuffs another sock into effigy’s head.

DAWN (CON’T)

He forgot these – set aside for mending. Seriously, who mends socks? Who did he think was going to mend his socks? The fucking sock fairy?

DAWN stuffs another sock into the effigy’s leg. DAWN (CON’T) Needs shoes. DAWN rummages underneath the bed, comes up with a slipper. DAWN shoves the slipper onto effigy leg. It won’t stay. She shoves and shoves. MARIBELLE takes the slipper from DAWN’s hand, gives it to LILY who gives it to MARON. MARIBELLE What’s going on, Dawny? DAWN lies on the bed next to effigy, reaches under the pillow, produces PAT’s note. LILY passes it to MARON who passes it to MARIBELLE.

MARON Why is he sorry? LILY (to DAWN) What did you do?

DAWN needs a strong reaction. She needs to DO something in order to emote – this seems fitting. She

doesn’t weep, or scream – she creates an effigy of PAT. Doing is

action

Pivotal beat in the scene – assumption (by LILY) that it’s DAWN’s fault – plays into narrative trajectory. DAWN is secondary to LILY’s life. PAT was primary. In LILY’s mind it must have been something DAWN did that caused PAT to leave.

237

DAWN LAUGHS loudly, can’t stop. MARIBELLE rolls to the bed, takes DAWN’s hand. MARIBELLE We’ll find him, Dawn. DAWN LAUGHS louder. DAWN And the money. LILY What money? DAWN Dasvidanya twenty thousand dollars.

MARIBELLE (getting it) Oh god. MARON What’s happening? LILY The train.

(pause) There is no train.

DAWN stops LAUGHING, starts WEEPING.

Fitting that LILY reaches this conclusion first – should she try to deny it for longer? Is there something in this that tells us PAT’s actions aren’t completely unexpected?

For future episodes – ideas about backstory for PAT – other moments of betrayal? Other signs that all was ‘not right?

Exposition? ‘Most dramatic fiction demands plausibility – for characters not to say things they wouldn’t say in real life’ – John Yorke.

238

DAWN stops LAUGHING. Silent. Staring straight ahead.

MARIBELLE, MARON and LILY look at each other, worried by DAWN’s silence. They climb into bed with her, not sure what to do. MARON rests his head in DAWN’s lap, MARIBELLE strokes DAWN’s head, LILY awkwardly pats DAWN’s hand.

MARON

(quietly) He’ll come back. He has to

come back. He’s ...

DAWN glares at MARON, then at LILY and MARIBELLE. DAWN jumps up, stares them down.

No. It doesn’t feel right. DAWN weeping isn’t right for her or for this moment. Weeping, if it occurs at all,

needs to come later. This is a sad moment made sadder because the

sadness isn’t expressed.

Change to –

Much better – now the moment is more poignant and emotional because it is presented as LESS poignant and emotional. I want the reader/viewer to feel with DAWN in this moment because we don’t

know what will happen next.

239

DAWN Oh, I get it. He’s the real parent and I’m just/ MARIBELLE Dawny, please/ DAWN The second string? MARIBELLE That’s not fair! DAWN What’s it to you? MARIBELLE Oh, forgot it’s none of my business. DAWN What happened to ‘he’s disgusting And never wears pants?’ MARIBELLE Never said he was disgusting. LILY Everybody’s nuts!

What is DAWN annoyed about in this moment? That they prefer PAT? She’s always known that. Is she annoyed that it’s out now, real, can’t be unsaid?

What does she expect? She’s been happy as the second string. It’s an interesting narrative mood – she’s moaning about something that she

always knew existed.

‘Women struggle with the ‘damsel in distress’ archetype because it perpetuates patterns of domination and submission, and can encourage a passive, victimised attitude. However, it is an easy archetype to identify and empathise with, presenting the feelings of anyone who has felt powerless, trapped or imprisoned...In Titanic the audience can both feel sorry for Rose in her imprisonment and enjoy seeing her become free and active as she tears away the ‘damsel in distress’ mask and grows into the role of Hero – Christopher Vogler

240

MARON Not helping. LILY Who asked you, doofus? MARIBELLE rolls between LILY and MARON, trying to keep peace.

MARIBELLE Hey, you idiots, bigger fish to fry here. DAWN You got that right. DAWN grabs the effigy and runs down the stairs. It’s a couple of seconds before the others realise and give chase. LILY and MARON run after DAWN. MARIBELLE remains at the top of the stairs.

MARIBELLE

You’re not thinking this through.

DAWN Thinking is overrated. DAWN grabs car keys, opens the front door, runs to her car, jumps in. LILY and MARON run after her, unsure of what to do.

MARIBELLE

(from top of stairs) Where are you going?

DAWN pops effigy on the passenger seat, winds down window. DAWN I’ve got an anniversary present to deliver.

DAWN holds up a cigarette lighter, keys ignition, drives away.

Scene needs to change – to move, to transition. Pace needs to do the same. DAWN doesn’t dwell in this

‘feel sorry for me’ space. She leaves it – on to the next moment of disaster. Do we go with her,

metaphorically?

241

MARON walks a few steps down the road, watching the car taillights recede.

LILY Nuts.

LILY walks to MARON and takes his hand. MARON fiddles with the buttons on his shirt. LILY notices but does not stop him.

CUT TO:

A moment of solidarity between LILY and MARON. They need it. Strength has to come from some members of this family.

DAWN is still reckless and impulsive in this beat. She is doing something stupid and

probably futile.

Problems escalating for DAWN. As they should. Her decisions will make or break our reaction to her as a character. Do we like her more in this beat because she is out of control?

Are older women allowed to be out

of control? ‘This ‘liking’ business has two

components: moral approval and affection’ – Lionel Shriver

242

16. INT. DAWN’S CAR. NIGHT

DAWN wide-eyed as she drives, checking every car she passes, peering into side roads for PAT’s red sports car. She taps on her phone app.

APP VOICE (O.S)

Dobro pozhalovat' v nash dom Welcome to our home. DAWN Welcome to our home. APP VOICE (O.S) Pozhaluysta, ustroytes' poudobneye Please make yourself comfortable. DAWN Orders are orders. DAWN turns down the volume on the app. It’s now a low, undiscernible mumble. DAWN flips open the glove box, retrieves a silver flask, opens and takes a big sip. She offers to effigy. DAWN (CON’T) No? Good decision. Don’t want to drink and effigy.

DAWN takes another big swig, checks left, spots a red car, squints to check if it’s PAT’s.

DAWN doing the best she can in this scene – I hope the reader/viewer likes her here, understands her, hopes she’ll be okay knowing she won’t be okay.

It’s convenient for DAWN to have ‘friends’ like effigy – easier than actual people friends.

DAWN likes to be in control of emotional situations. Now she is not in control, so the emotional situation can’t be shared with

another human. DAWN is often cowardly.

Is drinking a tired trope? Would not drinking be uninteresting? I want DAWN to be reckless and unthinking. Drink-driving helps advance her unlikability in this beat. She’s not being smart. We should be shaking our heads at this behaviour.

243

DAWN (CON’T) Too clean. (to phone)

What’s Russian for ‘the fucker couldn’t clean a car if his life depended on it’? APP VOICE (O.S)

Ty ochen' dobr. You are very kind. DAWN LAUGHS, turns off the app. Nods at effigy. DAWN Better off on our own, pal. (takes another swig) You’re right. This is pointless. DAWN looks to her right, slams on the brakes, idles the car in the middle of the road. A car drives by, TOOTS horn. DRIVER (O.S) Moron! We see what DAWN sees – a red sports car outside a drive-up motel – the GOLDEN PALMS MOTEL. DAWN Now that’s an unwashed, midlife crisis vehicle if I ever saw one. (to phone) What’s ‘bingo’ in Russian, comrade? APP VOICE (O.S) Bingo! DAWN smiles, holds up the lighter, flicks it on. CUT TO:

Danger – warning! It’s good in a narrative sense that DAWN seems to be about to do something reckless and possibly even violent. We should, by this time, expect nothing less. She is not meek. She is not mild. Dramatic tension on the rise, DAWN’S inner turmoil also on the rise. The situation becomes more complicated, as it should.

244

17. EXT/INT OUTSIDE MOTEL ROOM/INSIDE MOTEL ROOM. NIGHT – CONTINUOUS. DAWN holds effigy in one hand, knocks on motel door with the other. PAT opens the door, dressed in pjs and a t-shirt. He’s surprised for a beat, then resigned. PAT How’d you find me? DAWN (CON’T) Next time you leave your family

don’t park your filthy car in plain sight.

PAT steps back, motions DAWN inside. It’s all browns – double bed in the centre of the room, brown brick walls. The kind of place where you remove the bedspread with your elbows.

DAWN places effigy on the bed, sits next to it. PAT closes the door, leans against it. DAWN is quiet. Measured. Calm-raging. PAT Drink? DAWN Whisky PAT (laughing)

Best I can do is a tea bag and a biscuit.

In many ways this scene is about PAT and DAWN is just along for the ride. Whatever his reasoning it will not be enough. Will it? We need to know from the outset that this relationship is over.

Why has PAT chosen this motel? Does he think DAWN won’t find him here? Does he think this is all he

deserves? Is this some kind of self-flagellation? PAT being a martyr?

245

PAT heads to the kitchenette, plugs in the kettle. DAWN (quietly) When? PAT knows what she means. He puts tea bags into cups. PAT A year ago. DAWN doesn’t flinch. PAT (CON’T)

I was sitting in the back yard. And this crow flew in, landed on the fence near Neville’s pen. And I thought, can crows and roosters be friends? Do they discuss the dimensions of the sky? And right then, in the middle of my philosophising, the crow looked at me, straight in the eyes. It saw me like nobody’s seen me for years. That’s when I knew. I was already packing in my mind. Planning it all as the crow flapped its wings and took off. DAWN (almost a whisper) Into the dimensions of the sky.

PAT can’t hedge this response. It’s difficult – how to present PAT as antagonist without presenting him as ‘evil’. He is not evil. He is leaving a relationship – he’s leaving it badly, but without malice.

It’s a terrible reason, but it’s a reason. There is no betrayal as large as a betrayal over nothing. Is it worse to be unhappy over nothing?

It’s good that DAWN doesn’t get angry in this beat. I haven’t built her this way. DAWN will unpack this later, perhaps, but in this moment, she is taking it in, assessing…

Not sure about this. –Omit. Screenwriting

is visual. This dialogue is too

‘telling’.

246

The kettle boils. DAWN rises, moves to the kitchenette, unplugs the kettle. She pours the cups of tea, takes hers, returns to sit on the bed. DAWN Is there someone else?/ PAT No/ DAWN Jesus Christ on a bike!

Is she asking this for a reason? She knows this isn’t true, doesn’t she?

A tired trope? couldn’t possibly just want to leave! Is DAWN cloying in this beat? Defiant? Admirable? Maybe it’s a question that needs to be asked because she doesn’t feel comfortable asking the real question - - -

The more important questions – what is it about me that makes

you want to leave? What is it about you

that makes you want to leave?

Why would there have to be someone else? Is this a perceived female

trait to immediately involve another? Lay the problem at

someone else’s door? OR does PAT have a history?

247

PAT walks to her, tries to take her hand. DAWN pulls away. PAT Just me/ DAWN jumps up, agitated. DAWN But that’s just it, champ. It isn’t just you. It’s Lily and Maron and me. (nose to nose)

Am I so awful as a wife, a lover, a friend, a human being that a crow landing on a fucking fence is enough to make you leave?

(yelling) Did I tell too many jokes? Swear too much? Drink too much? You gotta give me (a clue)/

PAT

You don’t love me.

This response needs to contain so many layers – it can’t merely be screaming about unfairness. She needs to bring PAT down to earth, to reality. Is it too much that she brings the children into it? Is it right? It’s a circular argument that eventually comes back to her – DAWN is the cause, the reason, the centre of PAT’s departure. This way she bears responsibility as well as a pathway forward.

This is one of the most important lines of dialogue in the script. DAWN doesn’t argue. That’s one of the most important responses in the script.

‘The female complaint is a discourse of

disappointment…where love is concerned, disappointment is a

partner to fulfillment, not an opposite’ – Lauren

Berlant

248

DAWN can’t believe what she’s heard. DAWN

Fuck you swinging! PAT That’s not an argument.

DAWN runs to the bed, grabs effigy, brings the lighter out of her pocket, holds it close to effigy, ready to ignite. DAWN

This is you, btw, in case you hadn’t guessed. You in your ridiculous fucking pyjamas .

PAT raises hands in surrender, sits on the edge of the bed. PAT Do you remember our first date? DAWN flicks the lighter on and off. PAT (CON’T)

I wore my best suit, and a green tie because I thought you’d like it.

DAWN I did. PAT You didn’t even notice it. DAWN

Completely understand that you’re leaving because 31 years ago I didn’t notice a green tie. Would you also like me to donate a kidney to make up for it?

He’s right

Still, she doesn’t contradict him.

‘Marriage, the supposedly “big” event in the life of a young person, is, as so many feminists

have pointed out, as much of an ending as a beginning (as Jane Eyre quietly notes (?) at the

end of the famed eponymous novel about looking for love in all the wrong places:

“Reader, I married him.”’ – Jack Halberstam

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PAT And the laughs keep coming. DAWN Trust me, nobody’s laughing. PAT stands. PAT

I’m going because you don’t care if I stay.

DAWN So, it’s my fault? PAT It is what it is. DAWN Insane is what it is. PAT moves to his suitcase on the floor, retrieves a small box, hands it to DAWN. PAT Happy anniversary, my Dawn of the day.

She is deflecting. And still, she doesn’t contradict PAT’s assertion that she didn’t/doesn’t love him.

All she has to say is ‘you’re wrong, I love

you’ but she doesn’t/can’t/won’t.

SHE DOESN’T LOVE HIM.

Aren’t women supposed to be the appeasers? The peacemakers? DAWN challenges this – she isn’t after an ‘easy’ win. She’s happy to make it harder for herself.

PAT is a coward – maybe he’s always been a coward. He is a coward in this beat because he places all responsibility at DAWN’s door. I hope, in this moment, that he is unlikable. I want the tables to turn – I want DAWN to gain sympathy she has not possessed to this point.

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DAWN opens the box. Beautiful diamond earrings lie inside. DAWN hurls the box against the wall. PAT shrugs, walks to the door, opens it.

PAT The kids’ll be wondering where you are. DAWN Now you care. PAT Always will. It’s done. DAWN picks up effigy and walks through the door. She turns, faces PAT.

This moment of violence is necessary.

PAT is trying to buy her off, redeem himself. DAWN isn’t stupid.

DAWN’s action gives PAT the ‘out’ he needs.

I want the reader/viewer to hate PAT in this moment, in this physical shrug – this beat of pure gaslighting – ‘see, I was right all along and you’re crazy’.

All care no responsibility.

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DAWN What will you do with the money? PAT (half smile) Flap my wings.

PAT closes the door. DAWN squints her eyes, trying to cry. It doesn’t work. She walks back to her car, slides inside, pops effigy on the passenger seat, bangs her head again and again on the steering wheel. Suddenly she looks up. Fuck this.

She grabs effigy, charges back to PAT’S door, drops effigy to the ground, flicks on the lighter, torches effigy, knocks on the door. PAT opens the door, sees the effigy on fire.

I want this line of dialogue to impact upon the presentation of PAT. It is a foolish and emotion-driven line. DAWN finds it contemptable.

Exactly how I want the reader/viewer to

feel about PAT.

This is turning point for DAWN –

or at least the turning point of

how we feel about DAWN.

DAWN fights back. So far, it’s been jokes and denial and now it’s real. Perhaps this is the ACTUAL DAWN – the character we’ve been waiting for. Surely, she can be this person and remain unlikable. We can admire characters we don’t

like.

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PAT (CON’T) Jesus. He grabs the bedspread, throws it over effigy, trying to smother the flames. DAWN You nearly had me believing that crap. Pay back my money by

the end of the week or you’ll be flapping your wings in court. In the meantime, I’ll take some collateral.

PAT jumps up and down on the smouldering effigy as DAWN walks inside the room, grabs the diamond earring box, strides back to the car, smiling all the way. Diamonds Are Forever (Shirley Bassey) plays underneath. FADE TO:

Her world is on fire so his can be as well.

Taking back what is rightfully hers? Is she owed these diamonds? What will she do with them?

A trophy of war.

Reclaiming her power. Reclaiming her central positioning within the narrative. No word of love. No word of regret or sorrow. Just defiance. DAWN is a warrior.

Nice metaphor – PAT not only has to stamp out his own fire (mess) but stamp

upon himself (effigy) as he does it.

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18. INT. DAWN’S HOUSE. NIGHT. The front door bursts open. DAWN enters, moving like a zombie, carrying a Maccas bag. She chomps on French fries, takes off her coat, drops it on the floor, walks into the kitchen. LILY, MARON and MARIBELLE watch DAWN climb onto the kitchen counter, curl up in a ball and eat her French fries. BRIAN whimpers at the thought of a French fry landing his way. MARIBELLE Found him, then? DAWN (nods) In a motel with a brown bedspread and a dead effigy. (checks MARON) You should be in bed. MARON We all should be in bed. (reads from his notebook) 10 pm, rang your mobile. No

answer.10.15 pm, rang Dad’s mobile. Went to voicemail. 10.35 pm Dad rang to tell us/

LILY grabs the notebook, throws it in the sink. MARON (retrieves the notebook) Hey!

DAWN is in flux. She has lost her fight since she left the motel. She needs to go through a sense of denial before she can fight again. The scene sets up the family’s reaction to PAT’s departure.

They know. PAT rang them. They have HIS side of the story.

PAT exerting control by stealth.

DAWN losing power – stolen from her

without her knowledge.

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DAWN Anyone want a French fry? LILY grabs the bag and throws it in the sink. DAWN Hey! LILY (to MARIBELLE) Tell her what we’ve decided. DAWN looks up. Is this an intervention? MARIBELLE As Maron so accurately recorded,

Pat rang us. After you’d left the motel/ MARON (writing in notebook) With the brown bedspread and the dead effigy/ LILY Told us everything. MARIBELLE How he needed more time/ MARON (writing) Space/ LILY Away from you, basically. MARIBELLE

We’ve decided you should leave him alone for a while/ MARON (writing) And definitely stop burning effigies of him/ LILY And in a week or two he’ll be home cooking our morning pancakes again and everything will be back to normal.

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MARIBELLE Cunning plan?

DAWN slips down from the countertop, moves to the sink, retrieves her Maccas bag, pops a soggy French fry in her mouth. DAWN My fries are wet. LILY Why do you do this every fucking time! MARIBELLE (a nod to MARON) Small ears. LILY Oh, for fuck’s sake, he’s heard the word ‘fuck’ before. In this house it’s the first fucken language. DAWN (chomping on another French fry) That’s fucken true. MARON (writing) 11.33 pm. It is fucken true. MARIBELLE

Get some rest. In the morning all of this seems a whole lot better.

DAWN No. LILY Listen, mum/

Is there anything a woman like DAWN dislikes more than people making decisions for her? This seems like the worst kind of betrayal.

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DAWN walks to the centre of the room and spreads her arms wide.

DAWN You listen, daughter. (to MARON) And son. (to MARIBELLE) And sister. (to BRIAN, sleeping on the rug)

And dog. Dad’s gone and he’s not coming back so here’s what happens. We become a single parent household. We keep going. As a family. As functioning adults and children and dogs and I learn to make the damn morning pancakes because despite your cunning plans and your ‘wait a week or two for the return of the indispensable, perfect, golden-haired king’, there’s one thing you’ve forgotten. I’m the hero of this story.

DAWN shovels a French fry into her mouth. DAWN (CON’T) And that is the last fucking word. MARON (writing in notebook) 11.34 pm. Dawn has last fucking word. DAWN drops a French fry to the ground. BRIAN snaffles it up and chews LOUDLY, head tilting to the side.

The well-positioned monologue – DAWN’S defining speech. She’s finally on her way to becoming a hero. She is, however, still unlikable – she is still selfish. She is still challenging the perception of the jilted middle-aged woman. She’s going down swinging.

This is the moment we cheer DAWN. We can still

dislike her. We can still find her annoying. Heroes

are not perfect.

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FADE TO:

Scene ends on a light note. It has to, yes? We know DAWN isn’t really strong and cannot remain strong. We know she will continue to crumble.

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19. EXT/INT. BACK YARD. DAWN’s BEDROOM. DAY. CONTINUOUS.

Blackness. NEVILLE crows. Loud, glorious. Light rises revealing NEVILLE on his fence proud of all he surveys. He crows again in victory. Under this...

PAT (O.S) (Irish lilt)

In the dick?

DAWN (O.S.) One foot, one dick. Not complicated.

NEVILLE CROWS again. The light rises on the crisp day. Travel past NEVILLE, across an untidy back yard, through open back door to BRIAN, the pug, sleeping on the couch. Travel into the house, past the messy lounge room, messy kitchen, up the messy stairs into the main bedroom. DAWN and PAT lie in bed, facing each other.

PAT Just Karens?

DAWN Anyone who delivers a political diatribe while buying a chain saw at Bunnings, anyone buying a chain saw at Bunning without delivering a political diatribe, and anyone who films any of the diatribing or chain saw buying on their iPhones with the express purpose of posting to Facebook.

Circular theme – back to the beginning of the episode – but we have changed. DAWN has changed. Each new day is now coloured by PAT’s departure and DAWN’s reaction to that departure

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PAT 80 percent of the population, then.

DAWN My foot is large and prepared for multiple chain saw diatribers.

PAT (smiling) And your mouth. DAWN What? PAT (smiling, grotesque) Your mouth is large and should

Be shut. Shut. Shut. Shut. Shut. Shut.

DAWN stares horrified at PAT as he morphs into the effigy she left burning outside the motel. All becomes loud and red. PAT SCREAMS.

Blackness. DAWN’s eyes snap open, she sits up in bed, looks to her left. Nobody there. It’s been a dream. O.S NEVILLE crows. It’s dawn. Time to face the day. DAWN gets out of bed, still in the clothes from the night before. She trudges to the en suite, looks in the mirror. A sight. Bags under eyes, hair all over the place. She zooms in on her reflection.

DAWN How hard can pancakes be? She pushes her fingers to the sides of her mouth and forces herself to smile.

The dream sequence – a well-used trope but suits the moment. It is a realisation for DAWN – the world slamming into her. This new dawn (of the day) and this new DAWN as character must deal with it. Nobody there. It’s been a dream. Get up and face the new.

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CUT TO:

I like this throwback to women putting on a ‘happy face’, being pleasant, smiling through adversity. There’s a 50s feel to it – grin and bear it…

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2O. INT. KITCHEN. DAY DAWN at the stove, stirring pancake batter with a knife. It looks disgusting but she’s made the effort. She tastes. It’s not great, but okay. She flips the pancake into the sky. It sticks to the roof.

CUT TO:

Do I need this scene? Cut? Is it too predictable? Does DAWN need to undergo a lot more obstacles before she can enjoy a scene like this? Is it necessary? Or is it needed to demonstrate that DAWN is capable of change? In next draft will cut or alter.

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21. EXT. STREET. DAY. DAWN and BRIAN walk along the pavement. BRIAN crouches, leaves a deposit on the grass as SAM and MARGARET come around the corner on the other side of the street. SAM stops, watching. DAWN waves a plastic bag in the air.

DAWN Planet saved! SAM You going to sing about it? DAWN (shakes head) Save that treat for trams. SAM (smiles) Glad to hear it.

DAWN shovels BRIAN’s poo into the plastic bag, holding it high above her head as if she’s carrying nuclear fallout.

DAWN

My singing is loud and prepared for a multitude of occasions. SAM No doubt.

(to dog) Forward Margaret.

DAWN renewing – regenerating. It’s a new day, a different day, an unexpected day. SAM’s introduction into the scene is on purpose – building the relationship (whatever it turns out to be) between him and DAWN.

Something new – does something new always have to be something wonderful?

DAWN is back to deflecting by being funny, cracking jokes, putting on a façade. Can she keep this up now that things have changed?

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SAM and MARGARET walk on down the street and around the corner out of sight. DAWN (calling after them)

I stand by my decision! Margaret’s a stupid name for a dog!

SAM throws her a middle finger salute as he walks away. DAWN stares at her house. Through the kitchen window she sees MARON and LILY, arms waving, squabbling. Tears roll down DAWN’s cheeks. Her sobs ECHO down the street in the crisp air. BRIAN looks at his noisy mother, tilts his head. FADE TO:

Important that DAWN and SAM don’t bond too early. This story isn’t about sex or sexual relationships. It’s about the self. DAWN isn’t a hero because she finds another bloke – she’s a hero because it doesn’t matter if she does or not.

The first time DAWN cries. She’s on her own. She’s looking at her family. The accumulation of events coming down on her at last. Her reaction in this beat is genuine. Perhaps this is the only truly genuine moment we have with DAWN. She’s quiet, still, vulnerable.

DAWN is vulnerable. Is this a trait that makes a character

likable?

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22. INT. CENTRELINK OFFICE. DAY.

BARBARA is behind the reception desk, working away. COLLETTE, surrounded by twice as many Bratz dolls since yesterday, at DAWN’s old desk, reading a file. LORETTA walks through the office to reception, checking a document with BARBARA. A few CLIENTS take up chairs in the waiting area, focused on their phones. JAYDEN and MICHAEL sit on a desk. JAYDEN finishes a jam donut, jam dripping down his chin, while MICHAEL shows pics on his phone.

MICHAEL

Here’s Rihanna in purple yoga pants.

JAYDEN (approvingly) Dude.

DAWN has to get her old job back. It’s simple economics. How does such a character handle this situation? She has left on bad terms. How does she return?

This is not a character comfortable with being humble – not her default

setting.

COLLETTE usurping DAWN’s space is fitting.

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MICHAEL (swiping, swiping) Yellow, red, and

(swipes to new pic) I’m going with magenta/

JAYDEN Dude. The front doors slide open. ALL look up to see who is entering. DAWN walks into the office, carrying her box of possessions including the stapler. She moves to the centre of the room. DAWN Morning. Silence. DAWN (CON’T) Seems that my plans have changed and I won’t, in fact be heading off on the Trans-Siberian railway, and I

won’t, in fact, be retiring and I will, in fact, be returning to work forthwith, so

(notices COLLETTE at her old desk)

if someone could direct me to a new desk I’ll make myself at home. (to BARB) Looking good, Barb. BARB Barbara. DAWN (to COLLETTE)

Collette, I see the collection groweth.

COLLETTE Fuck you. DAWN (to JAYDEN) Jayden – JAYDEN grabs his crotch in DAWN’s direction.

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DAWN (CON’T) Moving on. (to MICHAEL) Michael, I hope we can allow comments of yesterday, made, of

course under duress and emotional panic to float under the bridge of forgiveness and waft away in the rivers of humanity and that being the bigger person you will, let, as they say, bygones be bygones?

DAWN holds out the stapler. MICHAEL takes, clicks it in her face, drops it to the floor and walks down the corridor to his red door, opens it and SLAMS it shut.

DAWN (CON’T) Fair enough. (to LORETTA) Loretta, there will be some

HR forms for me to sign. In triplicate, I believe?

LORETTA smiles awkwardly. LORETTA You’re back? As in . . .

for good?

DAWN’s concession speech – I like it. I think she’s likable in this moment. She doesn’t grovel. She doesn’t apologise. She tells the truth (well, except for info about PAT). She is forthright. This must hurt.

Scene’s now set for future conflict throughout future episodes. DAWN has returned to the landscape of dramatic conflict – here at the office. It can, of course, also be the landscape for a narrative rise. DAWN can now control the narrative of her work environment as well as her life.

DAWN is in charge now. Like it or not. Like her or not.

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DAWN retrieves yesterday’s birthday candle from her box of possessions, holds the candle aloft. DAWN Surprise! COLLETTE SCREAMS, flings herself at DAWN throwing her to the floor and choking her.

CUT TO:

The scene must end in conflict. DAWN cannot win, even if she is getting closer to winning.

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23. INT. INTERVIEW ROOM. DAY. DAWN sits in the interview room behind the table. Her clothes dishevelled, a black eye beginning. COLLETTE obviously won the fight. MAUREEN sits opposite, dressed in a faux tiger skin top. She frowns, all vim and vigour gone. MAUREEN finishes filling out a form and slides it across the table to DAWN.

MAUREEN Little effort on either side. DAWN Everybody wins. MAUREEN stands and heads to the door. DAWN (CON’T) One more question, Sagittarius cusp. MAUREEN turns. What? DAWN (CON’T) What if nobody wins? MAUREEN sits down, smiles fit to burst. MAUREEN I’m listening. DAWN tears up the form on her desk. Then another and another. MAUREEN joins in, and it’s on – forms torn, paper flying. DAWN And that is how we stick it

to the man! MAUREEN LAUGHS, rips up another form, sends the pieces flying.

Time for the revolution to start. DAWN understands that in order to change herself she must change her environment.

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MAUREEN

Now do I get a job? DAWN rips up a form. DAWN Not even remotely. Do you speak

Russian? MAUREEN Not even remotely. DAWN Geroy sdelan, a ne rodilsya.

A hero is made, not born. MAUREEN (rips another form) Let’s stick it to the man! DAWN Let’s stick it to the man, comrade! DAWN LAUGHS and rips a form. The room fills with flying pieces of paper as ‘Tomorrow’ from Annie plays – ‘I’ll stick out my chin and grin and say – the sun will come out tomorrow’ FADE OUT on music. End of episode.

Underserved characters are uniting. It’s fitting that MAUREEN is the catalyst for change here. DAWN’s accomplice has to accept DAWN for who she is. It’s hopefully a moment of triumph for both of them. DAWN remembering why she

began working here in the first place, all those years ago. Passion returns. Purpose returns.

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Scene and episode end on a high for DAWN. She is reclaiming power and possibly even happiness. She is the hero of her story – for now.

‘We are, I know not how, somewhat double in ourselves, so that what we believe we

disbelieve, and cannot rid ourselves of what we condemn’ – Michel de Montaigne

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Reflection on creative artefact

Throughout the writing of the creative artefact – Dawn – the sceneplay additions changed in

content as well as form. As I played with the notes, memes, pictures, images and quotations

pertaining to the growing script, the text altered, the story grew, and the characters developed

into multidimensional representations. A story theoretically always grows through the act of

the writing of it, but sceneplay allowed me to stop, think, assess and reassess aspects of the

narrative as I proceeded. It provided a writerly ownership of the early phases of script

building. As I became more confident with the evolving document, I gained further incentive

to build the script piece by piece, layer upon layer and arrive with a first draft of substance

that departed from principles of traditional screen language. Sceneplay permitted me, via this

intervention upon the script document, to do exactly what the name suggests – play with the

scene in a variety of visual ways without a definite or dedicated goal in mind.

As an example of this playfulness, I draw attention to p. 268 of the script. In this final

scene and image, the characters (Dawn and Maureen) throw paper into the air as music plays.

My aim with both a visual and sound cue was to experiment with the writerly experience.

Whether either of these devices continued to the next stage of script drafting was, at this

point, irrelevant. It was the aspect of unfettered and open-ended play that remained helpful to

sceneplay interventions.

In this, sceneplay fulfilled its role of presenting a new way of developing a script and, as

a consequence, presenting new knowledge within creative practice research. Harper attests

that ‘screenwriting has not always found a home as easily in the community of creative and

critical writing discussion as poetry or prose writing’ (2014, p. 10). I believe that adding a

visually poetic component to this development script went some way in challenging this

perception. A script for onscreen purposes, even in early phases of development, can find a

solid home within creative and critical examination. As Baker and Batty argue, such study

‘functions to probe, explore, expose and test out propositions about the world (society,

culture, politics, etc.) that encourage audiences to think’ (2017). Sceneplay, as a

methodological exercise, encouraged me to write with emboldened purpose.

By using the difficult, older female protagonist as test case for this emboldened purpose,

the sceneplay interventions highlighted and enhanced the creation of an underserved

character, giving that character the full weight of attention. On P. 251 of the script, Dawn

burns an effigy of her husband in a carpark outside a hotel. This act of aggression, violence

and revenge, is attention-seeking in the truest sense – centering Dawn in the scene, the

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moment and the emotion. This intentional positioning of the character within the

concentrated focus of the scene was a direct yet creatively playful response to Ahmed’s

notion of the ‘wilful feminist’. As Ahmed, suggests, the potent feminist is the one who ‘raises

her arm in protest’. (2017, p. 6).

By adhering, in part, to the presentation of traditional script language in the form of

Courier 12-point black text, the sceneplay additions became more visually impactful on the

page, creating strong and solid stimuli. I found the use of colour and shapes helpful in

identifying elements of the narrative that needed ongoing work, or consideration. I added my

own handwriting to the page to further place ownership upon the process. This was a

somewhat time-consuming, cumbersome exercise via the Microsoft Word program, but it

provided me with an extra level of personal investment in the process and project. I also

experimented with icons, arrows, coloured underlining of text to highlight sections I could

possibly come back to in the next read, or the next draft. These simple, yet layered

interventions were beneficial for me to concentrate on the minutiae of the script such as:

• specific snippets of dialogue • specific snippets of action or movement • specific areas that required work due to previous sceneplay interventions

within the scene • specific areas that required attention such as typos, repetitions, errors in

placement • specific reminders of technique, craft or structure • specific notations of questions that still needed to be addressed • specific areas and sections of a scene that required further concentration.

The use of images of various forms was exponentially helpful in an aesthetic as well as

functionary and visually influential sense. These images assisted the formation of the script in

a number of ways such as:

• helping to focus on the way a character may look, walk, respond • helping to concentrate on what dialogue a character may use and how they

may use it • helping to form scene directions through a clear sense of what the scene may

look like in terms of imagery, character and character trajectory • providing definite and concise visual posts upon which to hitch ideas • providing a visual difference to scene text and thus allowing the eye and mind

to travel between the two.

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The sceneplay interventions informed my writer’s journey, the character’s journey and the

story’s journey. The character was given a sense of freedom within the building of the script

– freedom not to conform to traditional perceptions of representation, presentation or

narrative trajectory. Sceneplay components allowed the character more nuance investigated

within an organically creative setting. Without limitations the character had the chance to be

richer, more multilayered and more reflective of society. For example, on p. 265 of the script,

Dawn acts spontaneously and arguably outrageously in a workplace situation. She is neither

appropriate or necessarily in the right, but she is human, responding as a flawed, vulnerable

and ultimately damaged woman to a situation of stress. Such a response aligns with

Halberstam’s thoughts of ‘what has changed and what remains the same, what sounds

different and what is all too familiar, and we can go deep into the question of new

femininities’ (2011, location 65). Field advises the screenwriter that ‘the more you do it

[writing] the easier it gets’ (1984, p. 10). Sceneplay, as implemented upon this script draft,

added to this notion of continued and dedicated practice by providing me with further

creative licence in how such practice is performed and why.

My hope throughout this PhD and allied creative project was to highlight the

functionality of a developing script document while investigating the worth and resonance of

underserved characters within that document. This is not to suggest that sceneplay did not

present ongoing issues of formatting, implementation and general application. It is an organic

and personal writerly tool and therefore such issues were to be expected and encouraged. The

Dawn script attempts to display the feasibility and accessibility of the methodological

approach in the early phases of script building. Through this experimentation I learned that

multilevel script creation is open to interpretation and not easy to pin down. That is as it

should be. Failure, at all stages of the process, was welcomed. Failure meant that

experimentation could continue, and lessons could continue to unfold.

Macdonald suggests that a script for an onscreen story is ‘constrained by the rules of its

form on the page, and is the subject of industrial norms and conventions’ (2004B, p. 81). I

have argued through the presentation of this script artefact that sceneplay emancipated the

rules of its form on the pace and used industrial norms and conventions to do so. Again, this

is not to say that such a methodological approach was without fault. In response to the

various sceneplay experiments involved in this study, I found areas in which the approach

required further scrutiny, such as:

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• the formatting required further adjustments in terms of placement on the page. At times it felt overwhelming, and the scene text (directions/dialogue) became lost in the colour and movement of the sceneplay additions

• did I need to decide which is more important? Traditional scene language or added sceneplay elements? How could I strike an even balance?

• The slow burn approach of sceneplay interventions may not suit all writers or circumstances in which a writer finds herself. For example, inserting handwriting through the Microsoft Word program was laborious but, for me personally, beneficial. The pathway towards script creation needed to be understood as one that was lengthy, multilayered and individual.

The use of the difficult, older female protagonist as test case for the sceneplay interventions

was a resonant and logical decision on a personal level. To create a character who challenged

traditional and archetypal preconceptions was a liberating and enjoyable experience. In terms

of professional creative practice, the decision also made sense in that I could confront and

interrogate the work of other writers who are interested in similar themes of age and gender

representation and take these theories a step further in my own endeavours.

I subjected Dawn, as a character, to sceneplay experiments, allowed these experiments to

ferment in an atmosphere of creative play and in response to conscious and wide-ranging

research. I realised, however, that applying sceneplay to a less defined character could

require further delving into the essential elements of sceneplay. Could the methodological

approach be just as effective when applied to, for example, a male, cis, heterosexual,

privileged, middle-class, able-bodied character who was well-served and common place

within onscreen stories? This may be thoughtful fodder for further drafts of the script in order

to examine other characters within the narrative structure. Suffice here to say that an aim of

sceneplay interventions throughout these experiments was to become a universal tool for the

writer, which could include characters of all descriptions. Following in this vein, sceneplay

interventions could be introduced to any area of the script building process such as:

• dialogue • character creation • narrative arc • beats • scenes • sequences • act structure • structural turning points • midpoints • resolutions • relationships

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• genres • tone • pace • mood • world building.

Just as the additions themselves were at my writerly discretion, so too the ways in which they

were applied. Kirin Narayan believes that ‘thought does not advance in a single direction,

rather aspects of the argument are interwoven in a carpet’ (2014, p. 26). Sceneplay

interventions upon a script arrived from various points on the story-making map to eventually

form a single artefact.

Harking back to the discussion on the benefits of play, this experiment evidenced the

long game, the intricate game and, as consequence, the worthwhile game. By interrogating

the manner in which a character could be presented through visual stimuli as well as

traditional text sceneplay attempted to reflect a multilayered rendition of a 21st century

storytelling reality. Liza Bakewell suggests that images are powerful storytelling tools in that:

we employ them regularly to do many things: to make promises, issue commands, or simply state. We use them to establish group solidarity, give visibility to our opinions, and create boundaries around ourselves and others. We use them in ways that reveal much about who we are: our class, gender, culture, age, personality, temperament, mood, and morals […] if images are actions, it follows that images must have an effect on us (2014, p. 101).

In alignment with such thought sceneplay, in accordance with Anne-Marie Lomdahl’s

argument, incited ‘new techniques, processes and creative expansions that are demonstrated

in the creative outcome of the practice’ (2016, p. 5). As drafts progressed sceneplay additions

altered, took different shape, and the script became more nuanced and multidimensional. The

artefact improved in terms of narrative strength, thematic intent and effective character

representation.

The final draft of the artefact presented here built upon the previous draft taking lessons

learned from early, rudimentary scene experiments. Ideas formulated into the next phase of

creative practice. Sceneplay interventions upon the script document going forward may

increase, decrease, or be moved around the page in alignment with the writer’s preferences.

In other words, with each new draft a new sceneplay iteration could be imposed and used to

the benefit of creator and characters she creates. Having finished this draft with sceneplay as

storytelling mechanism of intervention, I found there was work still to do regarding character

creation. Such considerations include:

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• investigating further ways to create a difficult character. Was Dawn difficult enough? Did I need to dive further into elements that would make writing her a more challenging experience and make her a more challenging character? In short, could I make her more unlikable, more emotionally distant, less empathetic?

• investigating further ways to create flaws/problems for the characters in general and the central character specifically

• investigating further ways to implement act turning points without allowing such implementation to impede upon organic creation of character

• investigating ways to play further with sceneplay elements in terms of size, font and placement

• investigating ways to add other elements such as links and music cues.

At the end of the sceneplay experimentation upon the creative artefact I also asked myself

logistical questions. Again, due to the developing nature of project I view such questions as

beneficial to research and practice:

• was the Microsoft word program best suited to sceneplay? Could other, more sophisticated programs be more effective with regard to providing and presenting elements such as shapes, colours or graphs?

• would more sophisticated programs be a detriment to the creative artefact? • was it advisable to change the standard 12-point Courier font within scene text to 14-

point Courier font? Such a change could help further differentiation between traditional script language and sceneplay additions

• were some colours or shapes too distracting? • did the placement need to become more sparsely laid out in order to create space for

the eye? I did not look for or require answers to these questions. The ongoing sceneplay experiments

and resulting script drafts were answers in themselves. This is a project that embraced

uncertainty. Paul Abbott believes that drama should reflect society in all its facets and

failings. He argues that ‘we need more drama that unpeels society, that roots through the

cubbyholes to fetch us nuggets of human behaviour that open our eyes a bit. Not just the dark

stuff. Wondrous fragments of ordinary people that can take our breath away’ (2016, p. 79).

This is the aim of sceneplay – to create characters worthy of such a description within a script

document of equal substance.

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Epilogue

Concluding the efforts of practice-led research

This final section of the PhD examines how sceneplay as methodological tool was applied to

the creative artefact and attempted to present new knowledge for screenwriters and

screenwriting researchers. This chapter reiterates the ways in which sceneplay operated and

enhanced the creative adventure by centring upon process rather than product, journey rather

than destination. Intention within script development was the goal of sceneplay, presenting a

transtextual manner in which the script document can be reconstructed as elements of

writerly consideration are added. Millard argues that ‘contemporary shifts in our

understanding of literacy underpin any discussion of screenwriting’ (2014, p. 2). Such a

concept can be effectively attached to sceneplay – an approach suited to onscreen writing and

the study of onscreen writing because of its adaptability and movable place within the

screenwriting world.

With the inclusion of visual cues and clues the script document has stated the case for the

formation of a growing script that does not rely solely on traditional presentation. The script

artefact was permitted, through this ontogenetic approach, to take a shape not weighed down

by structural edicts, thus allowing the process to be figuratively and practically about process.

Bloore states that storytelling is not a ‘single moment of ‘telling’ [but] is an interaction

between a narrator and an audience, because above all we respond to stories’ (2013, p. 2,

original emphasis). Senje suggests that storytelling can be ‘translated into actions, images

sound and emotional subtext on the screen’ (2019, p. 272). Following this notion, sceneplay

script interventions have the potential to act as conduit between the textual and the visual.

By using an underserved character as test case for the interventionalist experiment, I

examined sceneplay’s general and specific outcomes in highlighting character irrespective of

traditional perceptions of character. Through the addition of notes, quotes, memes, images

and a range of other visual stimuli, I attempted to create a script dedicated to the ‘difficult-

ness’ of an older, central character, allowing this trait to drive the narrative. Sceneplay

became, through these script-based experiments, a transferrable approach, which can be

applied to any character, situation, theme, mood, place or world pertaining to onscreen

storytelling. This evidenced sceneplay as a user-driven and accessible methodological tool

and one that adds to and accelerates the conversation about the value and implementation of

screenwriting as research and practice.

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Through experimentation and interrogation upon the developing script I contend that

sceneplay is no quick-fix design mechanism for script development but does not need to be.

Not being able to predict the ultimate narrative or thematic trajectory of the script allows an

evolution of uncertainty, which, in itself, becomes the prize. With uncertainty comes freedom

of expression and a clear thoroughfare to advancing praxis. Gibson speaks to the concept that

art and the practice of art are conducted with heart, mind and in search of purpose:

Artist-researchers have the chance to woo two modes of knowing: the implicit and the explicit. They have the chance to entwine the insider’s embodied know-how with the outsider’s analytical precepts. The attraction between these two modes of knowing must be both felt and spoken. And as the world blooms in the artist’s consciousness, the mutual commitment of the two modes can abide and provide (2010, p. 11).

This PhD has attempted to submit a specific journey from ideation to artefact, encouraging

the growth of poetic sensibilities while contributing to the ongoing discussion around

screenwriting, script development, and age and gender representation within an onscreen

storytelling paradigm. I have argued that additions to traditional script language contribute

new knowledge to both industry and academia by examining the way a screen story can be

anatomised and advancing the findings into further practice innovation.

Such a technique grants screenwriters the ability to proceed with less caution and more

freedom throughout the early script building phases of the writing journey. In this fashion, I

can concentrate on organic and poetic sensibilities within story creation as well as building

characters who better represent a 21st century storytelling reality. To reiterate the original

research proposition, sceneplay invites a practice-led interrogation of the screenplay as fit-

for-purpose developing document. It is the form of the script document as well as enhanced

content that is presented through sceneplay interventions. Siobhan Jackson demonstrates the

value of this amalgamation of vital screenplay elements:

Alfred Hitchcock is famously quoted as saying, “To make a great film, you need three things: the script, the script, and the script”. I tend to agree with this famous mantra, but with a small addendum: “To make a great film, you need three things: the script, the script, and the script, in whatever forms it takes” (2021, p. 239).

The project has examined, questioned and redefined the document structure of a screenplay

in order to build a new and potent journey for me and the characters I create.

Through sceneplay experiments first upon other writers’ scripts, then on my own

burgeoning creative practice, and finally upon the resulting creative artefact – Dawn – I

examined and presented the ways in which sceneplay could support my practice by allowing

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a more composite inspection of character and, in turn, the world in which the character lives.

The project has evolved through a ‘down-the-rabbit-hole’ system of trial-and-error, script-

based experiments that ally to the concept of developing creative artefact – a practice

Bordwell refers to as ‘preliminary and concentrated exposition’ (1985, p. 56). Millard calls

this creative adventure ‘a process of gathering, evaluating and piecing together elements,

materials, emotions and desires, as a way of giving expression to the world of the story’

(2014, p. 8). Sceneplay has attempted to act as a staging post for such a gathering of essential

story components, offering an organic and ever-evolving way of creating a non-compliant

screenwriting technique based on textual and visual images.

This document has examined the situating of the PhD within feminist principles. As

such, the focus was consciously personal as well as professional. To live a creative feminist

life is, according to Ahmed, ‘to make everything into something that is questionable’ (2017,

p. 2). Sceneplay, as writerly tool, attempts to add to the discussion around feminist incursion

into traditional and patriarchal styles of storytelling. For a feminist writer and researcher such

as myself, the questions never end. Halberstam similarly advises that, in a crisis, we should

‘GET AGGITATED AND ADD TO THE CHAOS’ (2011, p. 132 capitals in original). This

seems a reasonable stance for a work of practice-led research celebrating chaos through the

agitation of the script document.

I also explored television writing as a vehicle for the interrogation of underserved

characters within the early stages of script building. The framework of this type of onscreen

presentation provided a solid base from which to explore the tenets involved in the study.

Such positioning permitted me to further inspect the notion of the difficult, older female

central character as part of traditional story structure, and as challenge to traditional

representations of older women as central characters on screen. As such it has attempted to

contextualise the study as well as evoke further questions leaking out from the study.

The sceneplay process permitted me as screenwriter to invest in subjects close to

personal and professional practice, responding to the research by presenting a variegated,

difficult, older female character without whom all the other storylines could not exist. I agree

with Melissa Mesman Griffith in that ‘I’ve grown up, and I no longer need my heroes to be

immortal. I’m more inspired by scars, mistakes, and reinvention than youth, beauty, and

bravado. I need heroes I can grow into’ (2016). Sceneplay as concept has allowed this

creation of flawed characters to become actuality. It has attempted to provide the motivation

to see beyond traditional formatting and toward a script capable of ongoing mutability.

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Throughout this study I have explored how sceneplay could effectively facilitate the

formation of flawed central characters by allowing those flaws to guide and influence

character creation rather than hold it back. I proposed that by highlighting the underserved

character through the sceneplay additions within the script, the character could have free rein

to develop into a multilayered representation within a realistic socio-political geography. In

terms of gender and age representation on screen, such creative decision-making became an

essential part of a process that attempts to reflect a 21st century socio-political geography. As

Jacey argues:

First, rational notions of what women should and shouldn’t be affect all women’s lives. We reject these notions, uncomfortably collude with them, or see them as normal. It can be hard to distinguish between acceptable cliché and what we really believe women can relate to (2010, p. 31).

Sceneplay as a methodological tool and practice rejected this notion of comfort, allowing the

difficult, older female to claim and maintain her space on the page and within the story for

who she is rather than who she may become once she has discovered the ‘error of her ways’

and sought character redemption. As evidenced throughout this study, for much of onscreen

storytelling history (and storytelling in general), women have been sidelined, reviled, laughed

at, and omitted from multilayered presentation and representation. Jacey again supplies a

suitable definition:

The ongoing existence of stereotypes is evidence of centuries-long strictly defined masculine and feminine roles. This flipside of soft heroines is the range of negative stereotypes of women – the nag, hag, evil stepmother, ugly sister, evil witch, vulturistic seductress – and their film and TV manifestations – femme fatale, bunny boiler, MILF, black widow, raving nympho, axewielding lesbian, welfare queen, difficult diva, and blonde bimbo (2010, p. 181).

The design of this study has exhibited the belief that female central characters need not fall

into stereotypical roles within screen stories. These characters can be front and centre of the

narrative while maintaining nuance and a trajectory not necessarily in line with perceptions of

what onscreen women ‘should’ be. These characters can be permitted to remain heroes of the

story while not being heroic. Through additions to the script dedicated to her journey this

central character is permitted to be difficult. Further, her ‘difficult-ness’ is permitted to be the

driving force of the story building. Visual notations upon the page have, through this

document, attempted to amplify this ‘difficult-ness’ by adding heft to the text, supporting it,

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and building a multilayered document based on a sense of play, experimentation and organic

creativity in these early stages of the script drafting process.

The final PhD – sceneplay experiments, arising dissertation, resulting first episode of TV

script (Dawn) and bible – have intended to inform existing script practices, while advancing

new ways of investigating the place, worth and future of the script as document and vehicle

for change within storytelling. I align with Smith and Dean in that ‘as well as considering

how creative practice can revolutionize academic research, [I] wish to ponder how academic

research can impact positively on creative practice’ (2009, p. 1). The process (research,

scene-based experiments and burgeoning creative artefact) evolved as a self-supplementing

proposition based on trial-and-error and forged by the concept of creativity as an ongoing

prospect.

The aim of this PhD has been to advance the tenor and width of screenwriting

conversation and open discoveries to screenwriters, creative writers and those positioning at

any level within the field of screenwriting research, thus contributing new knowledge to both

industry and academia. Going forward I encourage various options to consider with

sceneplay at the base of enquiry and implementation. The pathway to further application of

this research and practice methodology could lead to sceneplay as important aid in teaching

settings, as well as fodder for writers, researchers and creators in both industrial and scholarly

spheres. Sceneplay may also be a methodological tool suitable for writers’ rooms, or

individual writers at any stage of their journey toward potential onscreen production.

As to the methodological approach itself, there is scope for further exploration of how

script interventions could operate upon the page. In such a notion, technology is the creator’s

friend and could steer the way toward more script-based innovation. Writers, for example,

could embed video or sound links into the growing document, or add hyperlinks to other

commensurate scripts or notations. Such links could provide added stimuli in the early stages

of script building as well as permit a shortcut to corresponding ideas, in essence, linking ideas

to one, singular document. These are thoughts for the future and the next phase of the

sceneplay process. The concept of sceneplay arose as a challenge to traditional script

presentation and as such should be seen as dedicated to change and adaptability.

My aim has been that sceneplay can contribute a new, transferable methodological

approach, and critically and practically engage with as well as recalibrate existing

screenwriting methods and screenwriting practice research. In relation to script process and

progress Macdonald asks, ‘what determines development, and where is the creativity in this?’

(2013, p. 81). This project has attempted to answer that question by providing an exploration

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of what a script could resemble through visual interventions upon a traditional script, and

with a particular character at the forefront of narrative trajectory.

Sceneplay as tool of creative practice methodology has acted to present the findings of

this PhD by formulating an accessible addition to the screenplay lexicon, a compilation of

creative ‘what ifs’ in its forage along the road of the complicated and multilayered scripting

process. In this it has aimed to fulfil Wolfgang Iser’s notion that effective practice-led

research exists ‘somewhere between two poles: the artistic (created by the author) and the

aesthetic (a realization accomplished by the reader) …[situating] gaps in the text which allow

the use of imagination’ (1974, p 274). In terms of efficacy for both writer and story,

sceneplay has been dedicated to providing the creative bridge between ‘what is’ and ‘what

can be’.

Finally, as a testament to the circular notion of process, I arrive back at Millard’s idea of

a guiding ‘constellation of stars’ (2014, p. 8) introduced at the beginning of this document.

We trace invisible lines from thought to idea from idea to implementation. We form images

to tell stories and draw on experiences in order to disseminate these stories. Words on a page,

if the page is adapting as ever-evolving document and accompanied by effective images,

have the ability to morph into a rounded, multilayered narrative entity. It is hoped that

sceneplay as screenwriting tool can assist in the journey from here to there, redefining what a

script can be and what kind of characters can inhabit it. Tan, when speaking of his role as

writer and director of The Lost Thing (2010), views the essential tenet of screenwriting to be

‘a series of often accidental and mysterious ideas’ (2014, p. 17). It is these accidents and

mysteries that this PhD has embraced and celebrated.

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Appendix One

Dawn – draft one sceneplay interventions – beginning of first scene

Note: instead of scene directions in the first draft I supply notes pertaining to what I’m

thinking scene directions may eventually look like and how they may eventually operate

within the script document. I do, however, retain the presentation of these notes and thoughts

in Courier 12 pt.

1. EXT/INT - CONTINUOUS - MORNING Are we in black? Is this a good way to begin? The visual impact of nothingness? A rooster crows. Yes. Loud in the blackness. Then we rise and see the rooster, bright and glorious in the morning sun. How to travel to PAT and DAWN in their bedroom? Is it a quick transition? Not sure yet. Let’s hear their voices for now and work on the transition later. PAT (O.S)

(Irish lilt) In the dick?

Why is Pat Irish? Maybe because perceptions of the Irish are soft and gentle. Is this a cliché? What if PAT is Australian? PAT (O.S) In the dick?

DAWN (O.S.)

One foot, one dick. Not complicated.

Sceneplay intervention here – do we need to hear DAWN's harshness from the outset? Do I jump straight in? What if she’s less harsh and it creeps up? Try this… DAWN (O.S) (giggles) Pat, that’s terrible. Decorum, if you Please… PAT (O.S) Decorum, my arsehole. This isn’t progressing anything. It’s also cliched. The male is harsh, the woman is conciliatory.

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Sceneplay intervention – do I need to make Dawn loud and clear from the outside – whoever and whatever she is? Is character key? Then does character need to begin immediately? Should Dawn be the first to speak? Somehow, (not sure how yet) we travel to the bedroom and finally see PAT and DAWN next to each other in bed. How do they look? What are they wearing? DAWN (60) and PATRICK (60) lie in bed awake, facing each other.

PAT

Just paedophiles? Or others too?

DAWN Animal abusers, politicians who use the term 'Canberra bubble’, people who don’t wear their masks properly

How would this work if we are no longer in covid protocols? If I introduce mask wearing now, I’ll have to continue the practice. Do I pretend covid doesn’t exist or has never existed? Try again. DAWN

Animal abusers, politicians, people who say ‘should of’ PAT Or fail to indicate at round-abouts. DAWN Yep. PAT Gotcha. DAWN Yep. PAT Dick kicking sorts out 80 percent of the population, then.

DAWN

My foot is large and prepared for multiple offenders.

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They’re talking too much. This is a visual medium. Do I need further visual interventions? If so, I’ll need to know what these people look like. Sceneplay intervention – I want Dawn to be funny, not just crude. Is this her flaw? Crudity? PAT caresses DAWN's face. She smiles.

PAT Your foot is large and gorgeous.

I need a visual response to this. Words are a cop out. Maybe she remembers that it’s their anniversary.

DAWN

(horrified) Holy crap in a canoe, it’s our anniversary!

That’s terrible! It’s a terrible bit of exposition. Work on this.

PAT nods

DAWN (cont'd)

Sorry, I forgot.

PAT I know.

Fix this clunky dialogue.

DAWN

Got me a present?

Sceneplay intervention – I like that Dawn forgets the anniversary but it’s just churlish to demand a present. Does she have to be sorry, even if it’s only for a beat? Maybe I need to work on what her flaws are, or if they are fluid and ever-changing. NEVILLE CROWS O.S. I like Neville intervening in the scene, unseen but important.

DAWN (CON’T) I'd sell my fucken soul for an axe!

Sceneplay intervention – think I’m overcooking Dawn. She’s presenting as awful human being.

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Not sure where to go to now with this scene. I feel it needs reworking from the beginning. I need to do more work on the visuals, who these people are, and then I’ll know how to drive them towards the heartbeat of the scene. Now they’re floundering, which is fine for a first draft.

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Appendix Two

Dawn – scene breakdown

Open – we see the garden, the house, a red and gold rooster perched high on a fence. He’s a

handsome devil called NEVILLE. He cocks his head to one side and crows. It’s loud and

triumphant. We overhear a conversation between DAWN and PAT.30

Scene One

We meet DAWN and PAT – in bed. DAWN is 60, slightly overweight. PAT is 60, sprightly,

charming, shining eyes, Irish. It’s their 30th wedding anniversary. The couple are excited

about DAWN’S last day at work (Centrelink) and their impending trip of a lifetime on the

Trans-Siberian Railway. DAWN has forgotten the anniversary. DAWN seems emotionally

distant, a smart aleck, the joker, and PAT seems like the nicest man in the world – caring,

compassionate, thoughtful. But is all as it seems?

Scene Two

DAWN walks into her daughter’s bedroom. LILY, 22, is sprawled on the bed, still in her

clothes, makeup smudged, doof-doof playing on the iPhone – all signs of a big night out.

DAWN puts the doona over her, switches off phone, closes the laptop that’s full of images of

women’s movements, fighting the good fight, smashing the patriarchy before breakfast.

DAWN notices a vintage Glomesh purse she’s never seen before. DAWN is worried. Is

LILY falling back into bad habits? Is she stealing again like she did when she was a

teenager? DAWN decides not to push it. As always, DAWN steers clear of confrontation.

She offers to make pancakes, but LILY reminds her that it’s PAT who is the homemaker.

30 Here and in the development script, I ally with the convention of capitalising character names to differentiate from other aspects of scene text language.

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Scene Three

DAWN moves into her foster son’s bedroom. MARON, 12, is Sudanese and showing

obvious signs of OCD. He is upset at LILY’s late and drunken arrival home. MARON needs

to control the situation – every situation. DAWN tells the boy about a beach in the Bahamas

where pigs swim and are fed and kept safe by tourists. Telling stories is the only way she

knows how to give this kid comfort. She knows PAT is better at this stuff.

Scene Four

Heading for the street DAWN and BRIAN (the pug) walk down the driveway, between

DAWN’s silver Golf and PAT’s red Audi convertible. During the walk along the street,

while BRIAN snuffles, DAWN practises her Russian in preparation for the train trip. While

she’s going over her ‘nyets’ and ‘dasvidanyas’, BRIAN drops a ‘deposit’ on the footpath.

DAWN fishes in her pockets – can’t find the plastic bag she’s sure she always carries for

such eventualities. Across the street, the neighbour SAM walks his golden retriever,

MARGARET. He yells to DAWN that she should have brought a bag. DAWN knows he’s

right but pretends she hasn’t brought her bag. She enjoys a fight. She enjoys being a rebel.

She’s just not sure what she’s rebelling against.

Scene Five

DAWN returns home. The family is having breakfast – LILY, MARON and PAT eating

pancakes – all preparing for the day. Suddenly there’s a food fight on – all noise and laughter

until MARON is hit in the eye by an apple core. All rush to help, except DAWN who leaves

these duties to PAT. As PAT puts a Band-Aid on MARON’s eye MARIBELLE arrives –

DAWN’s sister. She’s a wheelchair user. She’s not PAT’s biggest fan. As the family head out

– MARON to school and DAWN and MARIBELLE to the tram stop – we stay with PAT. He

drops the act, faces the street. He watches a crow land on the mailbox and flap its wings. PAT

flaps his arms in unison with the bird.

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Scene Six

DAWN and MARIBELLE wait for the tram. MARIBELLE questions DAWN about her

marriage – is everything okay? DAWN explains that it is and even if it wasn’t it would be

none of MARIBELLE’s business. They hug, swear at each other (as is their custom) and

DAWN boards the tram. She sits next to SAM. She’d move but all the other seats are taken.

SAM is listening to classical music through his headphones. DAWN hates it. She starts

singing ‘Tomorrow’ from Annie – loud and off key. SAM rises, says it’s his stop. DAWN

stops singing. She’s lost this round.

Scene Seven

DAWN stands outside her suburban Centrelink office willing herself to go in one last time.

She takes a deep breath. A bird craps on her shoulder. Some say that’s good luck. DAWN

strides through the double doors and into the office.

Scene Eight

Inside the Centrelink office. We see the drudgery in clients, personnel and this dreary, beige,

soulless environment. We meet DAWN’s co-workers – irritable BARB, past retirement age

and waiting for death or a cruise, whichever comes first, JAYDEN, the 20-something go-

getter who believes he can rise to power within this bureaucracy, COLLETTE, the energy-

sucker, LYDIA the Nigerian IT expert, MICHAEL the awful boss. It’s a dreadful place and

DAWN can’t wait to get this final day over with.

Scene Nine

We meet a few of DAWN’s clients and finally – MAUREEN – the energetic 70-year-old who

is annoying, frustrating, but ultimately just wants a job. DAWN rings PAT. No answer.

MICHAEL informs her that he’ll need her to work through lunch. DAWN rings PAT again.

No answer. She isn’t worried – yet.

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Scene 10

It’s DAWN’s sad little going away party in the staff kitchen – a muffin with a candle in it –

no candles because O H and S negates the presence of flame. That is the kind of office it is –

all administrative form over human substance. She rings PAT again. Still no answer. BARB

sings ‘for she’s a jolly good fellow’ as DAWN delivers a speech declaring her hatred for

everyone in the office and her glee at never having to return. We see DAWN’s phone buzz

with an incoming call from PAT.

Scene 11

PAT sits in the bed, staring at the phone as it rings out. He drops it to the floor. He walks to

the cupboard, brings down a suitcase and places it on the bed.

Scene 12

4.45. Time to leave. On the way out, DAWN tells her boss where to go. She feels

unencumbered by propriety and doesn’t need to put up with it any longer. She even reveals

she knows that MICHAEL is having an affair with a 23-year-old yoga practitioner. If this

were a traditional narrative everyone in the office might clap, but it isn’t, and they don’t.

DAWN walks out accompanied by silence.

Scene 13

DAWN walks to her car, singing ‘Tomorrow’ as she goes. On the roof of the office, a crow

flaps its wings.

Scene 14

DAWN arrives home. Nobody about. MARON texts – he’s at basketball. LILY texts – she’s

at the park with BRIAN. There’s a note from PAT, propped up on the kitchen table. It reads

‘sorry’. DAWN rushes upstairs, most of PAT’s clothes are gone. Back downstairs, on

impulse DAWN rings the travel agent, KYLIE, just to check on the Trans-Siberian trip.

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KYLIE doesn’t know what DAWN is talking about. There is no trip booked. The money is

gone. PAT is gone.

Scene 15

MARIBELLE and MARON arrive home. They find LILY in the kitchen worried about

DAWN. They find DAWN in the bedroom cutting PAT’s clothes into strips and shoving all

the pieces into his suit. DAWN is making an effigy. They try to talk to her, but she storms

off, lugging the effigy under her arm. She jumps into her car and takes off to find PAT.

Scene 16

DAWN drives, looking for PAT’s car. The effigy of PAT sits beside her on the passenger

seat. She talks to it as she drives, practising her Russian, swearing in Russian, in English,

screaming into the steering wheel. Finally, she stops in the middle of the road. She sees

PAT’s red convertible parked outside a motel.

Scene 17

DAWN knocks on the motel door. PAT answers, lets DAWN in. He tries to explain why he

left – suggests that DAWN is lacking in emotion and he felt he was dying. Dead. He claims

it’s her fault and he had to leave in order to live, to feel worthwhile. He says she never loved

him. He gives her an anniversary present – diamond earrings. DAWN throws the present at

the wall and storms out. She’s almost to the car when she changes her mind. No. That will

not do. She grabs the effigy from the car, marches back to the motel room, knocks on PAT’s

door again and when he answers she tells him that he is the culprit here – he left because he

left, and the decision was his. She sets fire to the effigy and leaves PAT trying to put out the

flames with a cheap motel towel. DAWN, smiling walks away with the flames rising in the

distance over her shoulder.

Scene 18

DAWN arrives home. The family is gathered. They’re worried about DAWN and about

themselves. It’s an intervention. What will they do without PAT? He’s the lifeblood of the

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family unit. LILY’s life is a mess, MARON’s OCD is getting worse. MARIBELLE suggests

DAWN get a good night’s sleep and everything will be fine in the morning. The family asks

DAWN to talk to PAT again and beg him to come home. DAWN says no – there is nothing

to fear – she’s the hero of this story. She may not be the best hero for the job but she’s the

only hero they have.

Scene 19

Next morning – dawn. NEVILLE crows again. DAWN has a dream – PAT didn’t really

leave, and everything is as it was. Then she wakes, alone in bed. She stares at the ceiling,

flashbacks to yesterday and its horrors. It’d be so easy to stay here, throw the doona cover

over her face, wallow in her misery. No. That’s not how this works. She needs to get out of

bed and get going with this new life, no matter how hard or horrible.

Scene 20

DAWN is at the stove trying to make pancakes the way PAT makes them. She’s failing

miserably but at least she’s trying.

Scene 21

DAWN walks BRIAN along the footpath. SAM walks his dog. SAM asks DAWN if she’s

going to sing again. She says that she keeps such behaviour for trams. Oh, and she’s brought

her poo bag. SAM smiles. DAWN looks at her house, sees MARON and LILY through the

window, arguing about something. She begins to cry. It’s the first time she’s cried since PAT

left and, suddenly, she can’t stop.

Scene 22

DAWN walks back into the Centrelink office, swallows her pride and asks for her old job

back.

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Scene 23

DAWN sits with MAUREEN in the interview room. DAWN suggests that if they work

together, they can take down the system from within. We end the episode on DAWN and

MAUREEN ripping up Centrelink forms, laughing, and practising Russian phrases.

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Appendix Three

Dawn – series bible

When a difficult, middle-aged woman finds her husband gone, returns to a job she hates and watches the trip of a lifetime slip through her fingers she only has one choice – become the hero of her own story. Synopsis Dawn and Pat O’Brien have the idyllic life – married for 30 years, two relatively happy children, and about to embark upon the trip of a lifetime – three weeks on the Trans-Siberian railway. All Dawn has to do is get through her last day at the suburban Centrelink office she’s worked at and hated for 25 years, tell her boss where to stick his stapler, and saunter out of there and never look back. Simple. Or it should be. Dawn arrives home to find Pat gone. He’s packed a suitcase and left. She calls the travel agent. The Trans-Siberian tickets were never booked. Pat has stolen the 20 thousand and disappeared. Over the five hour-long episodes Dawn must come to terms with life on her own, discover how to look after her family and, most importantly, learn to traverse a world as an unlikable, middle-aged woman who can somehow come out on top. As she walks into the Centrelink office the next morning to get her old job back, Dawn knows that being the hero of her own story is no easy task. Characters

Dawn O’Brien

60, slightly overweight, slightly overbearing. Married for 30 years. Dawn is annoying, brash, likes to swear, wouldn’t know nurturing if it bit her and is tragically emotionally distant. She’s quick with a wise crack and slow with an apology. She could have done anything, had the brains for it, but a family situation made it impossible for her to go to university. Instead, she began working at Centrelink. She has hated every minute of it. Dawn has repressed so many emotions it’s a wonder they don’t pop out her ears. Pat O’Brien 60, charming, Irish. Married to Dawn. He’s been a stay-at-home dad for 10 years and loves it. He’s a great father and nurturer and the kids adore him and rely on him. He also loves Dawn, but he can’t compete – with her ego, her energy, her bigness. Pat is a coward. He leaves without saying a word. Sam Neill Sam is late 60s, quiet, reserved. He is neighbour to Dawn and Pat. He often sees Dawn walking her dog, Brian, while he is walking his dog, Margaret. They chat but it’s always

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perfunctory. He thinks Dawn is annoying. And a trial. Sam is a retired architect, enjoying his free time, classical music and walks in nature. He was married once, a long time ago. His wife disappeared and never returned. He sometimes worries about living with a famous name, but most of the time he enjoys the ‘fame by proxy’ it provides. Maribelle Watson 50, unmarried, Dawn’s younger sister. She has been in a wheelchair for 30 years due to MS. Maribelle is a librarian, lives two doors down from Dawn and doesn’t get along with Pat. She’s nosy and irritating. Lily O’Brien 22, Lily is Dawn and Pat’s daughter. She’s supposed to be at university but has conveniently forgotten to tell her parents that she’s dropped out. She’s also started sealing things again – just as she did when she was a teenager. Nothing big or expensive, just purses from op shops and jewellery from vintage stores. She loves her father. She puts up with her mother. She’s a young person without aim. Maron Nyadon Maron is 12, Sudanese and Dawn and Pat’s foster son. Maron’s is a great kid, but he’s been through a lot and it comes out in OCD. He feels the need to control his surroundings. He has a special bond with Dawn, even if she can’t give him the kind of nurturing he thinks he wants. Other characters Barbara – 30s/40s/50s the receptionist at the Centrelink office. Barbara is efficient, religious and doesn’t want any trouble. Collette – Dawn’s colleague at the Centrelink office. Collette is 35, collects Bratz dolls and is an energy sapper. Loretta – 40s, Nigerian, works in HR at the Centrelink office. She’s efficient and kind and tries her best not to do everything by the book. Michael – Dawn’s boss. He’s aiming for LNP selection. He’s risen to the top because he’s white, middle-class and male. He’s having an affair with a 23-year-old yoga instructor. Jayden – Dawn’s colleague at the Centrelink office – mid 20s, brash, misogynist, and will no doubt be in a leadership position within two years. Maureen – Dawn’s client at the Centrelink office – 72, keen as mustard to get a job and just as keen to understand why, at 72, she is unlikely to get one. Rachel – Pat’s girlfriend/real estate agent – 30s. Wendy – Sam’s wife – 50s.

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Faye – Op shop manager who works with Lily. – 80s. Episode One – Dasvidanya, comrade…

Neville the rooster crows and the day begins. We meet Dawn and Pat. It’s their 30th wedding anniversary. The couple are excited about Dawn’s last day at work (Centrelink) and their impending trip of a lifetime on the Trans-Siberian Railway. When Dawn arrives home, she finds Pat gone – a note on the table simply reads ‘sorry’. Dawn rushes upstairs, but it’s too late. Pat has packed his belongings and left. Dawn rings the travel agent only to find there is no trip planned. All her money is gone. The children, Lily and foster son, Maron and Dawn’s sister Maribelle try to convince Dawn that all will be well. Dawn isn’t taking any chances. Along with an effigy she has built of Pat made from shirts and newspaper, Dawn jumps into the car determined to find Pat. She discovers him at a motel. He explains that he had no choice, that he felt abandoned and alone. He says that Dawn never loved him. Dawn leaves quietly, wondering what she’s going to do. Suddenly she realises she isn’t to blame. Pat is the weak one, the coward. She strides back to the hotel, sets the effigy on fire and tells Pat to return the money by the end of the week. At home she tells the family that she’s the hero of this story and she won’t be bowed down. She won’t beg Pat to return. She won’t go quietly. Next day she returns to the Centrelink office and begs for her old job back. Episode Two – Do you love me? Neville crows and the day begins. Dawn looks at her wedding photos – about to throw them in the trash. Flash back to Dawn and Pat’s wedding day. Joyous. Dawn and Pat dance. Pat asks, ‘do you love me?’ Dawn doesn’t answer. Dawn and Brian on their morning walk – Sam the neighbour, and his dog, Margaret, walking too. Dawn tells him about her now-defunct travel plans. Sam explains that he hates trains because his wife was killed by a train. At the Centrelink office Dawn is with Maureen, a 72-year-old client looking for a job. Dawn is sending Maureen for a job interview – they both know she won’t get it but that’s the point now – subversion and taking the system down from within. Dawn receives a text message from Pat – he wants to talk. At the op shop, Lily looks around to see she isn’t being watched, then slips a small leather purse into her bag. At school Maron is being bullied about his OCD by a big kid called Tim. The big kid throws Maron to the ground and fights him. Dawn at Pat’s new flat – it’s nice. Pat gives her a cheque for 20 thousand. He sold his car.

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Dawn notices a woman’s bracelet on the table. She’s about to ask Pat about it when she gets a call from Maribelle – Maron has been taken to hospital after being beaten up at school. At the hospital Maron is okay but shaken up. Dawn is ropable. Maribelle tells her she needs to contact DHHS – Dawn says she’ll handle it in her own way. At the police station Lily has been arrested for shoplifting. Dawn at the door of Tim’s house. Dawn shows his mother a photo of Maron bandaged up. The mother says Maron started it. Dawn throws the mother to the ground and wrestles with her. At the station Lily calls Pat. No answer. Pat sits with a woman (Rachel) at a restaurant. Pat asks, ‘do you love me?’. The woman answers, ‘yes’. Both Dawn and Lily at the police station. Police officer says nobody is pressing charges, so they are free to go BUT one more step out of line and it’s straight to court. Maribelle, Maron, Lily and Dawn driving home. Dawn suggests they try to be better people. Maron and Tim make friends at school. Lily volunteers at the op shop. Dawn stands outside Tim’s mother’s house with a beautifully decorated box. She knocks on the door. The mother opens the box – inside is a dog turd. Dawn runs away like a naughty kid, laughing. She’s not ready to be a better person. V.O. – Maureen calls, says she didn’t get the job. Dawn says not to worry as she has an even better interview lined up to subvert the system. Flashback to Dawn and Pat’s wedding. They dance. Pat asks if she loves him Dawn says nothing but kisses him. Episode Three – I’ll do it myself… Neville crows and the day begins. Maribelle is at work – at the library. She and colleagues going to lunch. They all pile in the lift – no room for her. Flashback to a doctor’s waiting room 30 years ago – Dawn is with her as Maribelle receives the MS diagnosis. Doctor says she’ll need support. Dawn says – she has it. Back to today. Dawn and Sam sit in the park with the dogs. Sam asks Dawn out on a date. Dawn is about to say ‘yes’ when a woman appears – it’s Sam’s long-lost wife, Wendy. At the office Dawn is with Maureen again hatching a plan for Maureen to apply for a high-level position for which she is ridiculously unqualified. At school Maron stands in the middle of the basketball court. He can’t move. He says he loses count when he tries to move. Lily is at the op shop about to leave for the day. The manager, Faye, asks Lily to empty pockets. Lily hands over a bag of buttons, a brooch and a pen. Faye says she appreciates Lily’s honesty about being dishonest and that she’ll see Lily tomorrow for her regular shift.

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Lily walks down the street, sees Pat with a woman – they’re laughing, kissing, cuddling. Pat notices Lily and Lily runs away. Dawn flashes back to when she and looked after Maribelle and how hard it was. Back in the now Dawn receives a call… At Maron’s school they are all there surrounding him – Dawn, Maribelle, Lily, asking him to move. Pat arrives. He manages to talk Maron into moving. Pat says Maron should stay with him for a while. Lily spills the beans about Pat’s new girlfriend. Pat tells Dawn he’s met someone, Rachel – the real estate agent who rented him his flat. Pat wants a divorce. On the drive home Lily says she’s stealing things and that she dropped out of uni months ago. Maron says he hates school and wants to run away. Maribelle says she knows she’s made Dawn sacrifice everything and she’s sorry. Dawn says she wants to sleep with Sam. They all laugh. At Sam’s house Dawn tells him she wants to have sex. Sam says Wendy wants to come back. Dawn says it’s fine – he should do what he wants. Next day Dawn goes into the real estate agency to find Rachel. Dawn tells her to go for it. She can have Pat. As Dawn leaves the building a crow flaps its wings. Dawn smiles and runs down the street laughing. V.O. – call from Maureen – she didn’t get the job. Dawn says not to worry as there’s an even more ludicrous job she has in mind. Flashback to Dawn and Maribelle when young. Dawn struggles to get Maribelle in her wheelchair. They both hate this and not a word is said. Maribelle grabs Dawn in a hug. Episode Four – Sticking it to the man Neville crows and the day begins. Dawn on walk with Brian. Sam walks with Wendy. It’s pleasant but a passing conversation. Dawn is at the DHHS office with Maron’s caseworker. The caseworker thinks it’s best if Maron goes to another family. Flashback to Dawn having to give up university to look after Maribelle. She didn’t like giving up things then and she doesn’t like it now. Back in the present, Dawn says Maron is staying put. At the Centrelink office, Dawn gives Maureen a new job application that she’s not remotely suited for or likely to get.

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At the op shop Lily is reading a university brochure – she’s thinking about reapplying. Faye tells her to go for it. Says Lily only steals because she’s bored and nobody pays attention to her. Lily empties her pockets – today she hasn’t stolen anything. At a meeting with Maron, his caseworker, Dawn and Maribelle. Pat and Rachel arrive. Pat wants custody of Maron, suggesting Dawn’s influence is no good for the boy. Dawn storms out. Maron follows her, tells her he wants to stay with her. Dawn says she can’t promise anything. At home Lily explains that she’s going back to uni. She’s also going to leave home. Dawn realises that soon she might be completely alone. Dawn goes to Sam’s house. Wendy isn’t there. Dawn says she’s angry at everyone and everything. Says she just wants release. Dawn and Sam have sex. When Dawn arrives home – Maron’s caseworker there with a new foster mother. V.O. Call from Maureen – she didn’t get the job. Dawn tells her not to worry. She knows exactly what to do. Flashback to when Dawn had to leave university to look after Maribelle. Not today. Back in the present, Dawn runs into the new foster mother and Maron as they leave. She is screaming. She has lost and she knows it. Episode Five – There isn’t a train I wouldn’t be on… Neville crows and the day begins. Dawn packs Maron’s things. He’s gone. She walks into Lily’s room – all packed away. She’s gone. Dawn goes downstairs, sits with Brian. They are all alone. Flashback to when Dawn and Maribelle were kids – at their mother’s funeral – promising they’d look after each other, vowing to always be extraordinary. Dawn walks with Brian. No Sam and Margaret today. At home Maribelle is waiting for her. She reminds Dawn that she is the hero of her story. It’s time for Dawn to fulfil her promise and be extraordinary. At the Centrelink office Dawn tells Maureen she has one last job interviewer for her. It’s Dawn’s job. She’s going on the Trans-Siberian. Maron is gone. Lily is gone. Pat is gone. Sam is gone. Maribelle is fine. It’s time for her own adventure. Dawn packs her belongings again. This time she leaves the stapler on the desk. At home she finds Pat on the doorstep. He wants to come home. He says Rachel was a mistake. Dawn tells him to go. He’s made his choice and she’s making hers. A going away party for Dawn. She looks for Sam, but he’s not there. Just as she’s about to leave, Maron and his caseworker arrive. He’s been miserable and wants to come home. The caseworker admits it’s the best place for him. Dawn says she’s going away and she’s not

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changing her plans. All agree that Maribelle will move in to look after Maron and Brian and Neville until Dawn returns. Dawn is about to board the Trans-Siberian. Here is adventure. Someone calls her name. It’s Sam. He’s bought a ticket and wants to come with her. He asks, ‘do you love me?’. Dawn says ‘no, but does it matter?’. Sam says he’d rather be with her than not so who cares? Dawn reminds him that he hates trains. Sam says yes, but he doesn’t hate Dawn. She finally says ‘no’. It’s her journey. Sam stands in the middle of the train platform and says (in Russian) ‘s toboy v ney zhizn’ interesneye’. Dawn shrugs – what does that mean? A train guard translates ‘life is more interesting with in it, you’. Dawn waves ‘come on then’, Sam jumps onto the train and the whistle blows. V.O. – call from Maureen. She got Dawn’s job and starts at Centrelink in the morning. Neville crows. The story ends.