I was once on the set of a short film, working as Production Designer, when I had a revelation about authors. The Writer/Director had pulled from his not-so-deep-well of character archetypes a gun-toting thug, played by an actor with a gravelly voice, and very little understanding of anything outside his immediate location.
In the scene we were about to shoot, he had to, essentially, look like a bad-ass and drop a match. He tucked his prop-weapon into his belt. Squinted his eyes to get into character, and grudgingly waited for me to give him the OK so he could dash out on set and look tough.
I took one look and stopped him in his tracks.
“What are you doing?” said I.
“This is a take.” replied the Tom Cruise wannabe.
“I know, but I asked what *you* are doing. Specifically, I want to know what ghetto-gansta rap video you learned that from.” I gestured to prop 9mm Baretta tucked into his jeans.
“What?” He looked stunned.
Just then, the AD was yelling for quiet on set and places and all the stuff they tend to yell before a take. I shook my head and pulled the pistol from Dong Johnson’s shorts and said “Look, you put a loaded gat in your boxers, and I guarantee you’ll shoot your shit off.”
“No way,” he scoffs, “they do it all the time on TV.”
The AD yells again, and I’m starting to loose my patience with Dong. “Look, Bucky, where the did your character learn to fight?”
He shrugs. “I dunno.”
“No, seriously, we need to know, and we need to know now. I didn’t read the whole script because I thought it stunk. Where did your character learn to use guns? The army? Is he an ex-cop? Is he just a street kid with a grudge? Is he ex-special forces? Is he some muddy-minded wiseguy? What?”
He shrugs at me. In my mind, I’m racing through all the slang terms we used in film school to take about actors. Goddamned Meat Puppets almost escapes my lips before I catch myself and ask, sharply “Who would know?”
“I guess the writer.” says Dong, still not convinced that a moron with a loaded pistol shoved down his pants is uncool.
The dilemma crystallizes when I realize the writer is also the director. Which means, right about now, he’s goddamned busy. But, I have a job to do, and I’m not going to let some stone-skulled meat puppet make the shot look bad if I can help it. So, I haul Dong Johnson and his faux-firearm over to the director, ignoring the AD’s protests and foul looks from the DP.
I said “Sorry to interrupt, but we need to know where this character learned to fight. What’s his background?”
The writer/director looks at me and shrugs. “I dunno.”
In my mind, I saw the stalled bus on the train tracks, the train rocketing towards it, the screeching of the wheels, the sparks flying, the screaming of passengers. In the sky above the moon swung to block out Brother Sun and airplanes fell from the sky.
“What?” I asked.
“I don’t know.”
I nodded my head slowly, shoved the prop-pistol back into Dong Johnson’s crotch and walked back to wardrobe staging opened a beer and lit a cigarette.
The moral of this sordid tale is know your characters. Inside and out. Know where they went to school. Know who their first crush was. Know if they like Chinese food. Know if they went to college. Know if they wanted a pony as a child. Know if they’ve ever broken a bone. Know if they like rough sex. Know if they hate dogs. Know if they like to dance. Know if they are allergic to peanuts. Know if they pee in the shower. Know if they clip their toenails daily. Know if they think it’s okay for a man to get a manicure before a date. Know if they are pot smokers. Know if they like fat girls. Know if they played fire as children. Know if they eat meat. Know if they love to eat shrimp because they like the feeling of power that comes from devouring a whole living creature in one bite. Know if they are a feminist. Know if they are the sort of feminist that doesn’t know anything about feminism. Know if they have tattoos. Know when the got them and where and with who. Know every goddamned thing there is to know about your characters, so you never, ever, have to be the douche-bag who shrugs lamely and says “I’m not sure where the person I invented was born. Or if they’re married. Or if they like to eat Cheetos.”
I know for some folks this seems like a tall order. What do you mean I have to be the biographer for all my characters? Well, I mean just that. That’s what writers do, what good writers do. They are thorough and understand their subjects, their topics, their pawns and players, on a fundamental level.
I was introduced to a surefire method in college. Dungeons and Dragons geeks know all about this one, though to be fair, you’ve got to swap the name of their warhorse or magic sword for something a little more tangible.
Describe your main characters bedroom, from floor to ceiling, without naming your character. Describe the carpet. The furniture, the bedside lamp, the books on the nightstand, the books hidden on the topshelf of the bedroom closet. Describe the things in the top drawer of their dresser. Describe the statues, trophies, knick knacks they have laying around. Describe their laptop computer’s screen saver. Describe their shoes, how many, what kinds, what conditions. Describe what they see out of their window every morning when they wake up.
Know you know everything there is to know about your character.