I’ve been struggling to figure out the best way to work some scene description into the TV pilot that I’m writing. So I spent time over the last couple of days diving into some produced pilot scripts to see how the pros do it.
(I always think that just reading a script is education enough until I do a real deep dive, at which point I actually notice all sorts of cool stuff.)
And, because it’s always useful to define our terms, for the purposes of this exercise, I’m considering “scene description” to mean a description of the space itself and not the people or the things inside of it.
I’m trying to work out how television writers, specifically, give a sense of the setting.
Because I get the feeling it might be different than in film. I haven’t done the deep dive into those scripts for a comparison, but I have listened to all (obsessive? me?) of Scriptnotes, and John and Craig (who are both screenwriters, although Craig has now branched into writing for television as well) have stressed the need for specificity with regards to location on more than one occasion.
It also means giving yourself the space in your script to describe some of those things especially early on the script to give us a feel for the texture of where we’re at. And hopefully you’re not just flying by some of these places before you get to a real scene. Hopefully you’re setting some of your early scenes really in those places. So your main characters are moving through these locations and giving us a feel for what kind of Chicago we are seeing in this.
I get so frustrated when I read in scripts, you know, it just says, “Chicago,” but I have no idea of what just Chicago means.
John August, Scriptnotes episode 304
They bring up some great ideas about incorporating the colour and tone and feeling of a space. Which is largely what has led to my trying to work that into my own scripts. But I also never feel like there’s room for that in television. How do you do it without bringing the action to a screeching halt?
(And I’ve run into this issue with Scriptnotes before. When they talk about theme, they’re talking about how theme works in film. And it turns out theme in television works kind of differently. Which was a whole separate learning curve.)
Anyway. Hence the deep dive.
So how do you write description in a TV pilot, you ask…?
The short answer? It depends.
Everyone does it differently. Of course. And I think genre also plays a part. (More on this later.) There was huge variation over the handful of scripts that I looked at, and even within the scripts themselves.
Also, writing “rules” are bullsh*t, even in television. (More on this later too.)
But that being said, I did notice some trends that I’m basically looking at as helpful guidelines.
Trend #1: Description comes first.
For the most part, if you’re going to add description, it comes right after the slug line.
Which makes sense. This is where we are, now let’s see what’s happening.
INT. PERSONNEL OFFICE – MORNING
Your basic glass box.EXT. ROOFTOP GARDEN PATIO – MINUTES LATER – DAY
One of the modern “green spaces” on new high-rises.
INT. OLLY’S TAVERN – DAY
A skid bar, almost empty.INT. BETH’S BUILDING, PARKING LEVEL – DAY
A cavernous, echoing space, cars for miles.
INT. SEXY BATHROOM — NIGHT
The bathroom is softly lit, candles all over.
EXT. HAWKINS POLICE STATION – MORNING
An American flag flutters on a flagpole.
We are outside the LOCAL POLICE STATION. It is quaint. As in, really quaint. If the sign out front didn’t read “POLICE”, you’d probably mistake it for a gift shop.
INT. LOCKER ROOM – MINUTES LATER
A PRO LOCKER ROOM with TRAINING ROOMS, SHOWERS and WHIRLPOOLS.
No matter what form the description takes (and we’ll get into that in a minute), the top of the scene does seem to be the preferred placement.
Trend #2: Be brief.
If you look at the examples above, (with the exception of Stranger Things) they are incredibly concise. You get one sentence. A handful of words.
It’s an interesting challenge – how do you plant a concrete image of this space and a sense of its vibe in the fewest words possible?
If a location is going to be important to the series – somewhere we will be spending a lot of time going forward – then the description can be a little more generous. Maybe a couple of lines.
INT. FELIX’S LOFT – DAY
A dim, open warehouse, high windows, curtains drawn. Vague clutter, art and decay. Vague decadence: a line of coke snorted, clothing roughly removed.
Only Murders in the Building pilot:
EXT. NEW YORK STREET (UPPER WEST SIDE) – MAGIC HOUR, TODAY
…
Steve rounds a corner and looks up ahead to THE ARCADIA — gleaming in the last bit of sun — a stunning 27-story pre-war architectural landmark apartment building.
Trend #3: Very few locations described.
Leverage was better than most of the scripts I read in terms of actually providing descriptions for one-off locations, but even so, plenty of scenes conveyed all they needed to with the slugline only:
Elevator shaft, Belgrade slum bar, hospital emergency ward, supply closet, etc.
It’s not a perfect science, but I can see how the specific functionality of those particular kinds of spaces kind of puts some limits around what they’re going to look like. What I’m picturing and what you’re picturing may be aesthetically different, but they’ll probably have the same general shape.
Whereas “office” provides a much wider range of options. Is it in a warehouse? A glass tower? Does it have walls and a door? Open plan with a Foosball table? Cubicle farm? Does it signal corporate power or a life of drudgery?
“Your basic glass box” tells us what we need to know.
Also, the elevator shaft, supply closet and even the Belgrade slum bar came in the middle of a heist sequence built of quick cuts and intercuts. So I can see where the trade-off comes in here – unless something about the space is vitally important to the plot, it’s probably worth sacrificing description for pace.
So it seems like there’s some math involved in deciding which locations get descriptions and which ones don’t, though I’m betting it’s largely subconscious once you’re a writer with John Rogers’ experience.
Trend #4: Genre matters.
In all of the examples I used in Trend #1 above (with maybe the exception of Stranger Things?), the descriptions are written from a very neutral POV. Almost a camera POV.
Leverage used this technique almost exclusively. Which makes sense. It’s an ensemble procedural. We’re not embedded in any one character’s point of view. I’m guessing that scripts for the various Law and Orders, CSIs, and NCISs (particularly the original flavour of each), probably look fairly similar.
But while most of the other scripts I looked at did use this technique once in a while, for the most part they planted their description as part of their protagonist’s action or from their POV.
EXT. BETH’S BUILDING – DAY
On a wide, empty sidewalk. Sarah checks the address of the drivers license. Looks up at a sleek, high-end building. Nice.INT. BETH’S APARTMENT, LIVING ROOM – DAY
Holy shit, you can see for miles. A sweet pad, not rich, but art on the walls, styley, way out of her league.
INT. REBECCA’S TOWNHOUSE — NIGHT
Rebecca in her new place. Very little furniture.EXT. HOME BASE SPORTS FACILITY — DAY
Rebecca looks around. Astroturf baseball diamonds everywhere. She sees a sign that says: Home Base Sports Facility.
Only Murders in the Building pilot:
INT. STEVE’S APARTMENT – LATE DAY (CONTINUOUS)
Steve hurries into his bachelor abode — dominated by a poster of himself in BRAZZOS — overlooking the park on one side and the Arcadia courtyard on the other.INT. MABEL’S APARTMENT (MAIN/HALL/MASTER) – SAME
Mabel enters an almost empty eight-room expanse and passes vast rooms till reaching her bedroom, with only a big chandelier and her mattress on the floor.
EXT. HAWKINS MIDDLE SCHOOL – MORNING
Mike, Lucas, and Dustin ride their bikes past the high school, making their way toward Hawkins Middle School — a quaint one-story brick building tucked beneath a WATER TOWER.
INT. TED’S OFFICE – CONTINUOUS
Ted and Beard enter, it’s a simple office – TV, WHITEBOARD, ETC. There are TWO DESKS up against OPPOSITE walls.
Again, this makes sense. If a scene is lodged firmly in a character’s POV, then the description should be too. And it doesn’t have to be a single protagonist. Only Murders in the Building had description from the POV of all three of its leads.
Because these descriptions are doing double duty as action as well, they tend to be a little longer – but only a little. Still usually just a couple of lines. And they are still usually the first thing after the slugline.
Some Interesting Exceptions
So, as I said above, all writing rules are bullsh*t. These trends/guidelines are no exception, and every single one of them was broken at one point in at least one of the scripts I read.
But I want to take a second to look at how and why they were broken.
Exception 1: Ted Lasso
Ted’s new home is small, but not cramped. We start in the LIVING ROOM – a couch, side tables, an easy chair that faces a decent television. WET WIPES and a SMALL HUMIDIFIER sit on a coffee table, along with a gift basket of local fare. A card reads: “Welcome Coach Tim Lasso.” Ted pulls out a bag of CIRCULAR CHIPS, looks at the label:
TED LASSO (CONT’D)
“Hula Hoops”. Don’t mind if I do.Ted tries one. Yum! He mows through them as he enters the DINING ROOM. The table seats four but has a SINGLE PLACE SETTING. Ted flips another light switch, revealing the kitchen. It’s serviceable. Next comes a tiny hallway: To the right, the BATHROOM. To the left: the BEDROOM, which is actually quite nice: Decent closet space, a chest of drawers, and a comfortable mattress, thank goodness. There’s ANOTHER DOOR in the corner. Ted OPENS it and finds that it leads back into the living room. “Huh.”
This one obviously violates “Trend #2: Be brief.” But it also violates “Trend #1: Description comes first.”
In a script that contains, generally, very little description at all (I have, at this point, quoted pretty much all of it), these long paragraphs were a little surprising. As was the fact that they were in reference to Ted’s apartment and not some aspect of the football club, where we will be spending vastly more time over the course of the series.
And I think it’s to help ground the audience in the fact that the “why now” of this series is not that Ted got this job in the UK, but why he took this job in the UK. His marriage is falling apart. His wife asked for some space. And this was as much space as he could possibly give her.
(And I’m talking, of course, not just about the description here, but about Ted’s slow meander through this apartment where he will now be living. Alone. A meander which is eventually followed by a call home to his son and his soon-to-be-ex-wife.)
The writers are breaking the rules with intention here, because they want the audience to notice – there is something emotionally important about this space. Super interesting. (Also a great example of show-don’t-tell!)
Exception 2: Stranger Things
Stranger Things broke “Trend #2: Be brief” and “Trend #3: Very few locations described” into a thousand million pieces. It also violated “Trend #1: Descriptions come first” semi-regularly so it could stick extra description into the middle of scenes.
It had so much description I stopped taking notes halfway through.
And I’m guessing part of this is a genre thing. It’s a period piece. It’s a horror-fantasy show. They have worldbuilding to do.
I was also wondering if it had to do with being written for a streamer and not network, so maybe there were fewer people having kittens about page count? (Although maybe not, because page count affects budget as well?)
The script is on the long side at 64 pages (plus six pages of appendices!), with no act breaks, and no extra line break before scene headings. (I will have to remember that trick when I’m looking for ways to cheat my page count! Although it does make for some very dense-looking pages.)
It could have something to do with the fact that this is intended to be a show with a very cinematic feel, and the writers wanted that feeling literally from page one.
It’s also a show that has a slower build to it than something like Leverage, which launches right into a complex heist sequence, or Orphan Black, which slams out of the gate as a thriller-mystery.
But Stranger Things is also really good at using the description to create action and tension, as opposed to slowing it down:
INT. HAWKINS LABS – SUB-LEVEL CORRIDOR
We are now inside the laboratory… SLOWLY CREEPING down a long windowless corridor toward a STEEL DOOR. Fluorescent lights flicker… a SIREN WARBLES… And we continue to HEAR that LOW-END RUMBLE…EXT. FOREST ROAD – LATER – NIGHT
Will is now biking along an empty forest road. All alone. He lives much further out than the rest of his friends. It is even darker out here and quiet; unnervingly so. Only the SOUND of CICADAS and a gentle breeze to keep him company. He bikes past a LARGE METAL FENCE. A warning sign reads:HAWKINS NATIONAL LABORATORY.
RESTRICTED AREA. NO TRESPASSING.
So, really, anything is possible if you write well enough.
Exception 3: Phoebe Waller-Bridge
Hang on, you might be thinking, there haven’t been any examples so far from Phoebe Waller-Bridge scripts.
EXACTLY.
She doesn’t describe settings.
AT ALL.
Okay. I’m exaggerating. She did. Once.
EXT. VINEYARD. TUSCANY. DAY
…
She looks over at a huge, majestic, stone villa sprawled across the vista.
(A description which violated “Trend #1: Description comes first,” BTW.)
In addition to the pilot of Killing Eve, I read the pilot and the first episode of season two of Fleabag. And that was the one and only description of a place in all three scripts.
She describes the people IN places. She describes stuff. She does not describe the places themselves.
And it could be argued that Killing Eve is also fairly cinematic, so it turns out having the description on the page is not actually required to make that happen?
I kind of wonder whether this quirk of hers comes from a background in the theatre. Unless you’re working at a huge institution, there usually isn’t budget for much in the way of sets, particularly if your play bounces around to multiple different locations. A sense of place is created with a couple of bits of furniture and maybe a flat or two.
Stage directions are also strongly discouraged, and even the ones the playwright deems strictly necessary will usually be actively ignored by the cast and director.
So it could be that she internalized that kind of thinking? Either way, it certainly hasn’t done her any harm.
(I have to admit, this is my favourite of the “all writing rules are bullsh*t” examples. Phoebe Waller-Bridge is awesome.)
Wrapping Up
Finally! I feel like I’ve been banging on forever. Hopefully some of the above has been useful.
If you want to do your own deep dive with pilots you may be more familiar with, this is a great place to look for them.
The process has definitely been useful to me, and I feel a little more grounded in the forces at play when I’m making decisions about what to describe and when and how to do it.
I’m also hoping to do something similar with character descriptions sometime soon, because that’s another thing I often stumble over.
Feedback
Before I get to that one, though, I’d be kind of curious to hear whether having all the information in one long post worked well for you, or whether you might prefer something broken up into smaller chunks? Let me know!
a long way from the arctic fox 
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