Example: Rewriting American Beauty


To begin to understand how much change can happen in the process of rewriting, compare the opening of the Oscar-winning script American Beauty in draft to final product. Everything in italics below was cut from the shooting script.

     FADE IN:     

     INT. JAIL CELL - DAY
     
     EXTREME CLOSE-UP on a DROP OF WATER, gathering at the tip OF
     a faucet, a FLASH OF LIGHT refracting through it just before 
     it FALLS.......
     PULLING BACK slowly, we see ANOTHER DROP OF WATER gather and
     FALL... and then ANOTHER... into a METAL SINK BASIN filled 
     with water, rippling in concentric circles with each DROP, 
     which we HEAR in a steady rhythm: DRIP... DRIP... DRIP...

                           RICKY (O.C.)
                   (singing in time to the water dripping)
               I'M FIXING A HOLE... WHERE THE RAIN GETS IN....
     
     REVERSE ANGLE on the face OF a YOUNG MAN with his hair cut
     short, military-style, watching the dripping water as if 
     hypnotized. We ZOOM slowly toward him...
     
     This is RICKY FITTS.  He's twenty, but his eyes are much 
     older. Underneath his Zen-like tranquility lurks something 
     wounded... and dangerous. He SINGS softly  to himself:
                           
                           RICKY (cont'd)               
               AND STOPS MY MIND FROM WANDERING...
 
     Through the bars OF his CELL we see RICKY is seated on the
     edge of a solitary cot in a JAIL CELL, staring intently at the 
     metal sink on the wall across from him..

                           RICKY (cont'd)               
               WHERE IT WILL GO...

     ON TELEVISION: INT. COURTROOM - DAY

     A sullen TEENAGE GIRL sits at a table in a COURTROOM, 
     surrounded by lawyers. SUPERIMPOSED across the bottom of     
     screen:  TEENAGE GIRL ACCUSED OF HIRING FATHER'S KILLER.  At 
     the lower right corner is the JUSTICE TV logo. In the upper 
     right corner: LIVE.

     This girl is JANE BURNHAM. Seventeen-years-old, with dark, 
     intense eyes. She stares blankly at the table in front of her.

                           D.A. (O.C.)
               Would you please tell the court 
               how long you and the defendant have been friends?

                           ANGELA (O.C.)
               Uh, we've known each other since 
               like, fifth grade? But we didn't 
               really become friends until this past year?

     Jane looks up, her eyes hostile, at:

     Seated on the witness stand is seventeen-year-old ANGELA
     HAYES. Strikingly beautiful, with perfect, even features, 
     blonde hair, and a nubile young body, she's the archetypal 
     American dream girl. She is being questioned by a DISTRICT ATTORNEY.

                           D.A.               
               During that time, did Jane ever 
               say she disliked her father?     

     INT. COURTROOM - CONTINUOUS

     We're now in the courtroom, where the JUSTICE TV CAMERAS 
     focus on Angela as the D.A. questions her.

                           ANGELA                
               Yes.

                           D.A.               
               Exactly how did she say it?

                           ANGELA (cont'd)
               Uh, she said she hated his guts, 
               and wished he was dead.                           

                           D.A.
               Did she tell you why?

     Angela hesitates, hot eager to answer this.  Finally:

                           ANGELA (cont'd)
               She said he was just too 
               embarrassing to live, okay?

     ANGELA looks at JANE, who stares at her with absolute hatred.

                           ANGELA (cont'd)
               She said both of her parents were 
               totally embarrassing, but her dad 
               was like, way beyond? And somebody 
               had to take him out. But she said 
               her mom was just pathetic and 
               probably didn't deserve to like, die.

     Elsewhere IN the COURTROOM, a very well-put-together WOMAN OF
     forty stifles a SOB. This is Jane's mother, CAROLYN BURNHAM.
     BACK on the witness stand, ANGELA looks contrite.

                           ANGELA (cont'd)
               I'm sorry, Mrs. Burnham, but she did.

     At her table, JANE buries her face IN her hands.

                           ANGELA (cont'd)               
               You did. You said it.

     INT. POLICE STATION - LOBBY - DAY

     A suburban POLICE station. PHONES RINGING, officers with
     clipboards, lowlifes being booked. The usual.

     The front door opens and COLONEL FRANK FITTS enters, carrying
     a MANILA ENVELOPE. He's fifty, quite handsome, his graying 
     hair cut short, military-style. He still moves like the 
     athlete he once was, but his eyes tell us he's not happy, and 
     hasn't been for some time. As he approaches the front desk, 
     the uniformed clerk behind it looks up at him impassively.

                           COLONEL               
               I need to speak to Detective 
               Fleishman.

     INT. POLICE STATION - DETECTIVE'S OFFICE - MOMENTS LATER

     DETECTIVE FLEISHMAN, paunchy and constantly exhausted, opens
     the door to his office and motions Colonel Fitts inside.

                           FLEISHMAN               
               Colonel Pitts.  How goes it?
                   (off his look)               
               Forgive me.  That was a stupid 
               question, after everything you've been through.

     He shows the COLONEL to a chair, then sits behind his desk.

                           FLEISHMAN (cont'd)
               So what can I do for you?

     The COLONEL sighs, looking at the MANILA ENVELOPE He holds.

                           COLONEL               
               I found something. I think you 
               should take a look at it.                           

                           FLEISHMAN
               Okay.     

     But the COLONEL just sits there, holding the envelope.

                           COLONEL               
               I don't want to do this.
                   (fighting back tears)
               But I was taught a little thing 
               called duty. Something I wasn't 
               able to teach my own son...

     He breaks down. FLEISHMAN crosses to him and places his hand
     on his shoulder. The Colonel shrugs it off, violently.

                           COLONEL (cont'd)               
               No.

     Respectfully, FLEISHMAN steps back. the COLONEL pulls himself
     together and hands over the envelope, without looking up. 
     Fleishman studies the envelope as he walks back to his desk, 
     then opens it and takes out an unmarked HI-8 VIDEOCASSETTE. He 
     looks at the Colonel quizzically.     

     INT. JAIL CELL - DAY

     RICKY sits motionless, still focused on the DRIPPING water.
                           RICKY                   
                    (singing softly)
               I'M FILLING THE CRACKS THAT RAN 
               THROUGH THE DOOR...     ON TELEVISION:

     A rapid-fire MONTAGE OF VIDEO IMAGERY taken from recent news
     footage, intercut with CELEBRITIES and scantily-clad 
     MODELS of both sexes, accompanied by HEADBANGER MUSIC. THE 
     REAL DIRT logo spins quickly into place, with exaggerated 
     SOUND EFFECTS.     

     ON TELEVISION: 
     INT. TABLOID news SHOW SET

     A telegenic ANCHORPERSON addresses us. SUPERIMPOSED at lower
     left is THE REAL DIRT logo.  Behind the Anchorperson is an 

     INSET GRAPHIC of Jane and Ricky.                            

                           ANCHORPERSON
                   (Australian accent)
               Lester Burnham.  Brutally murdered 
               in cold blood, allegedly the victim 
               of a teenage psychopath hired by 
               his own daughter, Jane.  The case 
               that has outraged America, has now 
               become even more shocking. Tonight 
               on The Real Dirt, we'll show you - 
               for the first time anywhere - an 
               astonishing videotape in which Jane 
               and alleged killer Richard Fitts 
               actually make their unholy pact.

     ON VIDEO: 
     INT. FITTS HOUSE - RICKY'S BEDROOM - DAY

     JANE is leaning BACK IN bed, naked, smoking a joint. still
     SUPERIMPOSED at lower left is THE REAL DIRT logo, and Jane's 
     breasts have been digitally BLURRED.                           

                            JANE
               I need a father who's a role 
               model, not some horny geek-boy 
               who's gonna spray his shorts 
               whenever I bring a girlfriend home  
               from school.
                   (snorts)               
               Like he'd ever have a chance with 
               her. What a lame-o. Somebody really 
               should put him out of his misery.

     A beat. JANE plays with her hair, lost IN thought.

                           RICKY (O.C.)
               Want me to kill him for you?

     JANE stares at the camera incredulously, then LAUGHS.

                           JANE               
               Yeah, would you?

     INT. COURT - DAY

     We're TRACKING slowly across the mesmerized faces of the jury 
     as they watch the videotape.                           

                           RICKY (O.C.)
               It'll cost you.                           
 
                           JANE (O.C.)
               I've been baby-sitting since I was 
               ten, I've got almost three thousand                
               dollars. 

     We see the tape as it plays on the VIDEO MONITOR SET UP IN
     the front of the courtroom.  This time there is no THE REAL 
     DIRT logo nor any digital blurring of Jane's nudity. 

     ON THE MONITOR: JANE sits UP IN bed, smiling.

                           JANE (cont'd)
               I was saving it for a boob job. 

     ON THE MONITOR: JANE stands and shakes her breasts.
     In the courtroom, Jane's mother Carolyn watches, stunned, 
     gripping the arm of a well-dressed, silver-haired MAN at her      
     side.

                           JANE (O.C.) (cont'd)
               But my tits can wait.

     Jane watches from her seat, her face a mixture of anger, 
     disbelief and helplessness. We ZOOM toward her slowly.

                           RICKY (O.C.)
               You know, that's not a very nice 
               thing to do, hiring somebody to                
               kill your dad.

     Tears spill from her blinking eyes, But she remains silent.
     ON THE MONITOR: Jane is back on the bed.                           

                           JANE
               Well, I guess I'm just not a very 
               nice girl, then, am I?

     ON THE MONITOR: she leans BACK and smiles dreamily at us.

     INT. JAIL CELL - DAY

     CLOSE on Ricky as he leans back on his cot, staring up at us, 
     the same dreamy smile on his face.                           

                           RICKY
                   (singing softly)
               I'M TAKING THE TIME FOR A NUMBER                
               OF THINGS... THAT WEREN'T IMPORTANT                
               YESTERDAY...

     FADE to BLACK.

     In darkness, we HEAR Vic Damone singing "I'M NOBODY'S BABY," 
     as the words "ONE YEAR EARLIER" 

     FADE IN AND OUT.     

     FADE IN:

     EXT. SUBURB - EARLY MORNING

     We're FLYING high above an upper middle class SUBURB.  The 
     wide streets are lined with stately elms and sycamores; the 
     homes are traditional and well-kept.  Coming closer to the 
     ground, we pick out a couple of male JOGGER.

     A DIFFERENT ANGLE on the Joggers. We're at level now, MOVING 
     alongside them. They're both in their thirties, athletic, 
     blandly handsome. They pass a STREET SIGN that  reads Robin 
     Hood Trail.

     Suddenly, a MAN comes into view, FLYING Superman-style about
     three feet above their heads. He's wearing old-fashioned 
     PAJAMAS, and a plaid flannel ROBE. As he passes overhead, the 
     Joggers look up and wave excitedly, like children. He flashes 
     them a grin and waves back, then he speeds up, leaving them      
     behind.

     As the MAN flies down the street, a BARKING DOG runs along
     beneath him, jumping into the air, trying to catch him. The 
     Man swoops and dips effortlessly, teasing the dog, then spots, 
     at the end of the street, a young boy on a bicycle tossing 
     newspapers onto people's porches, or as close as he can get. 
     Seeing the flying Man, the boy tosses a paper high into the 
     air. The dog tears off to catch the paper. The flying Man 
     LAUGHS and shoots upward like he's been blown out of a cannon, 
     grabs the paper, and swoops down, dropping it lightly on the 
     front porch of a well-appointed, two-story HOUSE with 
     distinctive CEDAR SHINGLE SIDING and a RED FRONT DOOR.
     The boy on the bike watches IN admiration. the MAN slowly
     floats by above him and tousles his hair. The dog BARKS. The 
     boy throws another newspaper into the air, this time even 
     higher than before, and the Man grins as he prepares to shoot 
     up after it: this is going to be fun... and we SMASH CUT TO:

     INT. BURNHAM HOUSE - MASTER BEDROOM - DAY

     We HEAR the harsh BUZZ OF an ALARM CLOCK. Vic Damone still
     sings "I'M NOBODY'S BABY" elsewhere in the house. Outside, a 
     dog is still BARKING

     The MAN we just saw FLYING Through the streets lies sleeping
     amidst expensive bed linens, wearing the same PAJAMAS. His 
     hand reaches over and shuts the ALARM CLOCK OFF; his eyes 
     remain clamped shut as he tries to hang onto his dream.... but 
     it's gone. He sighs and opens his eyes. 

     This man is LESTER BURNHAM, Carolyn's husband and Jane's 
     father. He's forty-two, with a wide boyish face that's just 
     beginning to droop around the edges.  He sits up in bed and 
     rubs his face.     

     We're in a large, comfortable bedroom that's tastefully 
     decorated but not overdone - it could be a spread from 
     Metropolitan Home. Lester gets out of the king-sized bed, 
     crosses to a bay window covered with stylish wooden blinds, 
     lifts one of the slats with his finger and peers through it. 
     His POV: A DOG - the same dog from Lester's flying dream -
     BARKS excitedly at us from behind a white picket fence 
     surrounding the front yard of the house across the street.

     EXT. BURNHAM HOUSE - CONTINUOUS

     The dog's POV: Lester looks down at us through the bay window 
     of the HOUSE from his dream - we recognize the distinctive 
     CEDAR SHINGLE SIDING. The dog continues to BARK.

                           LESTER (V.O.)
               My name is Lester Burnham. I'm 
               forty two-years old. In less than a 
               year, I'll be dead.

See what I mean when I say one of the important principles of screenwriting is "The chainsaw is your friend!" Compression, efficiency, focus -- these are what you want to give your script and more often than not, the rewriting process involves cutting things that are not essential to these high standards of efficient film storytelling.

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