This is a bit off track, but do you think, Scott, that given the way scripts continue to evolve into a more literary art form, that one day we will do away with all references to the camera/audience? By that I mean something like, "we can hear ..." and "we can see ..." kinda comments in description. Also, do you think we'll one day do away with the INT./EXT aspect of scene headings (or a modification there of)?

Sean, back in the not too distant past, scripts written by the likes of Lawrence Kasdan and Francis Ford Coppola used to be far more literary in style: you often see description blocks take up a huge chunk of a page. Nowadays, you'll see that style used by writers who already have a go on a project. For instance, Cormac McCarthy's script for The Counselor is available online and reads like a short story with screenplay formatting for dialogue. I urge you to check it out. I thought it was great.

EXT. COURTHOUSE STEPS - DAY James Taggart, 63, a lanky Vietnam vet reeking of booze and sporting a 3-day old thriftstore suit leans against one of the massive Corinthian columns at the top of a grand set of steps just outside the courthouse doors. He takes a long, shaky drag from his cigarette before flicking it down the steps where it lands on the curb just as a shiny black town car pulls up. He sees the car and nervously perks. His hands begin to tremble and he shoves his right one into a pocket for a reassuring feel of what's inside. Just then the doors to the courthouse swing open and out walk three suits - the white collar hobnob types carrying thousand dollar briefcases. Taggart slinks around the column, slyly checks their faces, and comes to focus on the old man in the middle, Albert Mack a.k.a Devil Mack to his old squadron in 'nam. Devil Mack, 68, is former military turned politico with a shit ton of skeletons in his closet. Taggart just so happens to be one of them. As Mack and his two hotshit Harvard interns scurry past Taggart's column, Taggart accidentally locks eyes with Mack. He quickly retreats back behind the column and nearly chokes on nerves while Mack doesn't miss a step... even though his heart just skipped about twelve beats. Mack plays it cool and continues down the steps with the boys where he shakes their hands and bids them farewell. As he opens the car door, he pauses... Taggart, still behind the column, peeks around, takes an apprehensive breath and heads for the steps. Mack, having anticipated this, gives "the eye" to some distant rooftop and nods towards Taggart, who sees this and nearly buckles midstep. He stops and scans the rooftops in the same direction Mack just looked. His face goes pale - he knows what's coming. Taggart goes for his right pocket and starts to say something when ZZZIP! .50 cal to the chest. Taggart falls straight back into a contorted mess on the steps. He's toast. Mack's car peels out. Pedestrians shriek and scatter like roaches. Taggart grasps for air and pulls out his right hand holding a crumpled blue ribbon with a gold star medallion attached - a Medal of Honor, now bloodied.

utter crap. can i delete and do over?

Despina, we only improve by trying.

Apologies if this is a little long.. ---------------------------------------------------------- EXT. MAIN STREET - NIGHT Misty night. Fog hangs in the air and the rain has stopped. Multicolored light show from street lights and storefronts reflects off the slick street. Speed limit sign says 30. We hear the powerful roar of German engineering as Mike Johnson's black BMW bursts into view... just bookin' it. Couple of hundred yards back, pair of Mustangs growl in hot pursuit like a pair of hungry cheetahs. INSIDE BMW Speedometer says 80 mph. Mike checks his rear view mirror, then the phone of the passenger seat. A stopwatch is running, 2 minutes and counting. The radar detector chirps quietly, but Mike ignores it on account of the people behind set on killing him... getting closer by the second. Their high-beams, full-on as if trying to blind him. Chirps get louder and louder, almost screaming. Ahead maybe 300 ft, a feint yellow beam of light emerges from an alley way. Mike's eyes widen. INSIDE COP CAR Cop is eating, sips coffee. Dashboard radar issues it's own warning beep -- Cop sits upright to attention. From the left, sound of a car rapidly decelerating, as Mike's BMW passes by -- Radar says 28 mph. INSIDE BMW Mike makes eye contact with the traffic cop, who stares daggers back. STREET Two Mustangs pass slowly in front of the CHP cruiser -- Normal headlights, 27 mph. Two blocks down, Mike hits the gas -- His car accelerates rapidly. In front, a road sign indicates the airport is the next left. Mike makes a 90 degree, hand braked right turn, as the Beemer's back end slides across the wet road, sending up a spray of dirty water. Wheels squeal as he accelerates down the service road. INSIDE BMW Mike checks the stopwatch as it just crosses the 30 second barrier. Pistol shots ping off the passenger side -- Mike's face says it all... Fuck! In the rear, his hoodied assailant leans out of the same side. Ahead, Mike sees a Laker's shirt tied to a lamp post like a flag and as he passes it, makes another squealing high speed 90 degree turn, enters an open gate to his left and straight for the runway. Mike hits his horn, flashes his high-beams and a nightwatchman goes scurrying. Mike checks the stop watch 3... 2... 1... 0. -- Goddammit! AIRPORT A Lear jet taxis on the runway -- starts to move forward. Mike's car races across the grass onto the runway's tarmac -- runs level with the moving Lear's cabin door to his right. The door opens and a tall man stands in the door way -- Bullets now ping off the jet. Mike grabs a red and white bag -- skyhooks it like Kareem -- over his car into the tall man's hands. Good hands! Mike peels off, as the tall man gives a little salute while the door closes. Jet speeds down the runway, chased by the two Mustangs -- No good -- The plane takes off.

There's a typo...sorry. I hit send before I meant to. In front, a road sign indicates the airport is the next *right*.

Sean, I've actually done a fair bit of thinking about this very subject. Screenplay format and style is an organic thing, ever changing. It's always been a kind of bastard child in terms of format because it evolved as a simple shot list in the earliest days of film, then into a production guide. As sound entered the scene in 1927 and dialogue with it, we began to see the influence of stage plays. And for many decades, a script was more or less a blueprint for production. But it has been evolving all these years and in the last few decades escaping much of its historic trappings, most notably camera shots and directing lingo, into a more 'literary' form. I've actually toyed with the idea of starting an interactive series in which we consider each screenplay element and ask, "Is this necessary? Can we do better? What would look and read better on the page?" Basically start from scratch and see if we could come up with a form that suits what we try to do as writers -- tell a good story -- yet serves as a guide for production. Perhaps we've hit on it nowadays with basically slug lines, character names, dialogue margins and a few other elements. But as anyone can see, scripts today are much more readable as a literary form than they were 50-75 years ago.

That's the feel of it, pliny. I'm just now teaching the Core IV: Style class and decided to scan about a dozen spec scripts that have sold in the last 2 years, just to see how they handle action, and most writers do subscribe to the one paragraph = one shot approach.

This was a cool exercise. Action scenes are so hard to write and have the action pop off the page. Moreover, even Swetnam would have spent than a hour doing this.. I might let it rest for a few days and try a rewrite, see how much better I can make it.

EXT. SPACE - OUTER QUADRANT - UNKNOWN Captain JOHN BARROW, full space suit on, still holds tight onto his ship the 'Galapagos'. Smaller red fighter ships fly all over preventing any chance for him to escape. A few hundred meters away, the Ukrainian ship 'Palinka' opens its canon gates, ready to fire. Above the Captain's head, his ship's secondary hatch opens. He smiles with hope. MALGUIRE, the traitor, the ugly son of a witch Lieutenant walks out, laser gun in hand. There is nowhere for him to go. He looks around and spots a hole in the upcoming set of red fighters' formation. Without hesitation, holding onto the hull with one hand and his jet-pack's remote in the other, he squats and waits for the right moment, looking back and forth between fighters and Malguire. GO. He fires the pack missing in extremis a shot from his pursuant. He passes right behind the closest red fighters group and lands in a matter of seconds on the 'Palinka'. Behind him, Malguire aims but new sets of fighters cover his target. He puts his gun in a satchel and gets ready to jump as well, jet-pack's remote in hand. Captain Barrow is already on the move, using his pack to jump between the different parts of the ship, looking for cover. Malguire JUMPS and lands on the 'Palinka' far away from the Captain. A laser beam HITS the ship a few meters away from him. He looks around for the shooter. Three squadrons of blue fighters all missiles out to prevent the 'Palinka' to fire. The Ukrainian ship blast its thrusters forward. Malguire uses his pack to move quickly as laser beams blast through the whole side of the ship. He reaches cover and gets HIT hard. He loses grip on the ship and his pack's remote, although attached by a string, flies around him out of reach. CAPTAIN BURROW, responsible for the hit, fires his pack towards Malguire who picks up his gun, trying to shoot towards the Captain while spinning out of control. He fires one time, twice. Once more. BANG. Captain Burrow hits his hand as he swooshes past and the gun in gone, flying in space with nothing to stop it. Malguire finally reaches out for the pack's remote, pulling on the string but as he turns around, Captain Barrow is far ahead, almost back to the 'Galapagos' and a squadron of blue fighters face him. On the opposite, a squadron of red fighters going for a face to face combat. From afar, shots of red and blue lasers produce a giant mayhem. In the middle, a tiny light escapes upwards.

Thanks Pliny. I'll try and track it down later and have a lens.

I think this is an excellent idea for a series, Scott. I was just thinking that perhaps different genres may actually need references to the camera and whatnot. For example, found footage films may need to make more references to hard cuts, camera movements and the like (just had a look at the script for Cloverfield, and it does seem to do this).