Interview: Seth Lochhead — Part 5

Seth Lochhead’s original screenplay Hanna made the Black List in 2006 and was produced, then released in 2011, the movie starring Saoirse Ronan, Cate Blanchett, and Eric Bana. Seth’s background is an interesting one, so I was pleased when he agreed to do a Q&A with me. I was even more pleased by Seth’s responses which I am sure you will find both entertaining and informative.

Today in Part 5, Seth talks about the craft of screenwriting:

How do you go about developing your characters?

It starts with behavior. Specific ticks and eccentricities. We all have them and we can all relate to them (no matter how specific, we’ll always find a corollary to our own experience). These, as well as appearance, build up the outward persona (and the outward persona is truly how we get to know each other — the only way, in my opinion, you can understand someone — people telling you who they are on the inside parts is boring, if you give me enough time, I’ll figure out who you are just by watching you… that sounds creepier than I intended… so be it!!).

The character’s depth comes as you begin to layer in these specific traits and from these traits, as you get to know your characters, you, as the writer, can anticipate how they will react to certain stimuli. Action, reaction. Cause, effect. A fireman will put out a fire a lot differently than a waitress. A schizophrenic, as R.D. Laing would say, can see the cracks in reality the rest of us are unwilling to see. And from understanding this, you can build an entire world through their eyes.

What about dialogue? How do you go about finding your characters’ voices? How can a writer develop their ability writing dialogue?

You find their voice as you find them. I know, not helpful. But it’s true. Human language is a finite spectrum. There are only so many ways to communicate something and most of us learn from an early age to communicate in a way that other people can understand us. It’s social programming with, of course, variation. Like Hanna, we’re all clay. The outside (language in this instance) pushes in on us, forms us. But that doesn’t mean we’re not pushing back. It comes down to the character you’re writing. How did he/she push back? How did his/her language become specific (subjective) as they were exposed to different stimuli? There is variation and, of course, there is innovation (I always think of Milch or Mamet) but it is all based on a core (objective) idea of communication (I may or may not be alluding to Plato right now… mother fuckers). Start with simplicity (communicate what needs to be communicated or what’s trying to be communicated). Each character might have his or her own way of saying the same thing, like us all.

How would you define theme? How important is it? Do you start with themes or do they arise in the context of developing and writing the story?

I leave theme to my subconscious (I’ll let it come out as I pursue the more tangible elements of the story — although according to my previous answers, tangible doesn’t seem to be one of my writing pursuits). If I’m obsessed with something, if I’ve noticed something, some illness in the world, some crack in reality, I let it in and if it wants to come out in my work so be it.

What do you think about when writing a scene? What are your goals?

My main goal is to get it all down. In any shape or form. David Milch uses this writing exercise (one of the few I still use on regular basis): You take two voices and you start a clock for 20 minutes, and you write a dialogue. At the end of the 20 minutes, you seal the dialogue in an envelope. There’s only two hard rules: 1. Do not think about what you’re going to write before you write it and 2. Never ever open the envelope. There’s a few things at work here. Milch is compulsive. Left on his own, he can spend months revising a single page. So he does a few things to remedy this — he doesn’t write alone or with a keyboard or pen (things he can fiddle with), he narrates to an audience while a fellow writer types up his work, and he works to a hard, no look back deadline (up until the crew is sitting and waiting to shoot the scene). He controls his compulsiveness by being forced to let go. As for the rest of us, we have the symbolic envelope. That’s how I write a scene. I write it like it’s going to be shot in 4 hours and when those 4 hours are up I seal the envelope and don’t look back. Or, like all good religious folk, I try to be good, but the demons come and I am forced to grab my letter opener and, sometimes, I get sucked into the fire pit of hell. A good example of this would be this here Q and A. I’ve been working on this section for three weeks. :/

When you finish a first draft, you are faced with the inevitable rewriting process. Are there some keys you have to rewriting your scripts and if so what are they?

Once I write the end, it’s the end for me. I follow my instinct, I seal the envelope, I open the envelope, I lose months, and then I write ‘the end.’ From there, I find it hard to even think about the script. I have a physical revulsion to it. If it’s commissioned work and people read it within a week of me finishing it and they have “thoughts”, I’m fucking useless. I need time away. Months in some instances. Luckily, I’ve worked with a few busy cats with schedules that accommodate my queasiness (whether they’re aware of it or not). Once I have the distance, I get “audience eyes.” I’m not quite objective, but I’m also not nauseous anymore. And that’s the trick to rewriting I think. It’s to get yourself into a state where you can approximate the emotional journey of someone who has never experienced this story before. And based on that, your best instinct of what fresh eyes might see, subjective objectivity, you get to work. Someone told me once, in regard to Sitcom writing, to mark down where you laughed. That’s pertinent to the rewrite process (not only for the writer but for his and her collaborators who will be reading the script dozens of time). Mark where you laugh (cry, get angry, aroused, intrigued, etc.) and, at all cost, protect the laughs (even 12 reads in, when it all feels crusty and everyone who’s read it 12 times thinks it’s stale, it’s your job to protect the laughs).

What is your actual writing process? Every day? Sporadic bursts? Work in private? Go out to coffee shops? Music? Quiet? How do you write?

All of this. Tony Gilroy said it best, be able to write anywhere (and if you can’t, and you’re David Milch, figure it the fuck out).

What is your single best excuse not to write?

Going to the gym. I work out a lot.

What do you love most about writing?

Writing is the closest I’ve ever got to ecstatic trance. It asks you to be extraordinarily present. You have to concentrate so hard, sometimes, that all else (worries, loved ones) falls to the wayside. It’s oddly primitive. Fight or flight, baby. It’s like you’re a tiny monkey being chased by a jaguar and you’re leaping through the trees and you feel like you’re going to die and two hours later, sweating, having escaped that bastard jaguar, you realize your four shot latte has gone cold and you have to go and get another one. And a muffin while you’re at it (to reaffirm life!!). And then, when you’re full of espresso and chocolate chips, and you’re sleepy, and you’re having a hard time remembering what that bastard jaguar looked like, and all you can remember is the hard work and the sweat and the disappointment of that cold latte and the exertion it took to get another one, you do your best to avoid the ecstatic trance and, instead, watch movies or surf YouTube or stare at a light bulb (to reaffirm life!!). That’s writing in a nutshell.

Where do you see yourself in 5–10 years? In an ideal word, what are you doing?

Living in Vancouver or LA or Paris or New York or Berlin, writing shit, eating muffins and drinking lattes, working out, watching an over abundance of good TV (it’s getting to the point now that I can’t keep up… and I love it!), experiencing new shit, walking off cliffs, buying shoes (I have a problem), did I mention eating muffins? Hot air balloons!

Finally what advice can you offer to aspiring screenwriters about the learning the craft and breaking into Hollywood?

Try.[1]

1 Damn, son! Profundity…. Did I ruin it?

For Part 1, go here.

Part 2, go here.

Part 3, go here.

Part 4, go here.

Please stop by comments to thank Seth and ask any questions you may have.

Will is repped by WME.

Twitter: @SMLochhead.

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