The Sticking Place

Step Outlines

In his book On Film-Making, Mackendrick writes:

To help you develop your skills at plotting, the step outline form is well worth studying. A step outline is a working document, often prepared at an interim stage in a screenplay’s development, meant to be read only by people who are already involved with a project. It can function as the rough sketch made when writers and producers are confronting the problems of adapting a novel, a play or property that is not yet organised as screen material. It can also be made at a stage when drastic reconstruction and revisions have to be made to an early draft of a screenplay. What it is not, however, is the form in which the story idea is first put down. In the context of a dramatic construction class we shall make use of the step outline form to analyse completed films. By doing so we will retrace the history of some of our favorite stories and uncover the skeletons under the skin and flesh of these completed works.

So what exactly is a step outline? It is a brief analysis of plot-structure of an already existing feature film, a bare synopsis of the steps of a story, a tool with which to dismantle and expose the dramatic narrative structure and mechanisms at work. It is a list of the basic steps in the progression of a film narrative as one scene (meaning an episode that often has its own internal structure, minor crisis and peripety) moves to the next. It is nothing but plot mechanics, the bones of the narrative stripped of flesh and nerve, and should be as short as possible while still containing everything essential to the structure of the story. Length will vary according to how dense the plot in question is. An outline may be only three or four pages in length, or it may take up to fifty pages if it is important to explain a complex plot.

It is useful to set down the steps in numbered paragraphs. These usually represent scenes, a unit of dramatic action. One is apt to think of a scene as being an event that takes place in a single geographical location, but a more useful way is to consider it as an incident or confrontation that contains within it the action/objective dialectic of narrative progression (the dramatic event) as seen in the larger shape of the story as a whole. A scene is a section of a narrative in which there is one clearly defined purpose and intention, the space occupied by a single predominant episode of dramatic tension, though contained within the scene might be a series of smaller steps or story beats. The idea is that each character is likely to have not only a central objective to his or her behaviour but also minor and incidental activities that are necessary to achieve en route to this main objective.

Analogies with literature are not always accurate, but you might think of the way a writer breaks up a book into chapters, a chapter into paragraphs, paragraphs into sentences, sentences into clauses or phrases, each having individual structure and meaning. Thus a story beat might be a sequence of several lines of dialogue or certain actions prompted by a single identifiable intention. It might even be something as simple as the articulation of discrete feelings and thoughts. When a story is looked at in this fashion, you have to be very clear in your analysis of what actively occurs in every scene (especially if it takes place in more than one location) and your story as a whole. You have to recognize where the story has just come from and how every particular step effects what may, or may not, happen next.

In this respect a step outline is not just a list of scenes – it is a chain of events. As you number the scenes, keep in mind that each should read as a progressive move, a step in a cause-and-effect chain. Think, for instance, of beginning each new paragraph with the unwritten phrase, ‘So the consequence of this is…’ This should help you recognize the need for the drive that gives continuous energy and tension to a story. After each paragraph of a step outline the reader should know why he is still sitting here, wondering and waiting for what happens next. Remember: ‘expectation mingled with uncertainty.’ Both factors are necessary. The anticipation is our sense of expectancy about what has just happened and how it is likely to produce a new event we suspect is likely to follow. The uncertainty is our sense that even though we have an idea as to what will happen next, we cannot be sure of precisely how it will turn out. We anticipate but are still ready for surprises. The task of the storyteller is thus often the invention of a structure along the principle of Chinese boxes. A situation is created where our curiosity is whetted by the desire to uncover or disclose a solution, or to unravel a knot of tension, but when the discovery is made or the knot unravelled, it shows only another box, another hiding place.

In order to concentrate on plot structure, I suggest you provide at the start of an outline a list of the story’s principal (and important subsidiary) characters alongside a couple of lines describing their age and relationships to each other. (Don’t bother about physical appearance unless it is significant to the story and the action. Some years ago, a student produced an outline of Bad Day at Black Rock. It is a number of years since I saw this film and was puzzled by the feeling that something was missing. Then I realized that the synopsis did not mention that the central figure is a war veteran who has only one arm. Since this small detail is quite central not only to the character but the plot too, it was a curious omission.) When writing about the principals be sure to emphasise their interrelationships only so far as this defines their motivations and hence actions. This might mean putting down something about their past history, information that provides the character with a purpose and dramatic intention in their present action.

An outline contains no unnecessary descriptions written for atmospheric purposes. It will also generally ignore aesthetic qualities of the work. Hamlet, for example, has a plot that, when read in the step outline form, is not all that interesting compared with the extraordinary depth and resonance of the true genius of the work expressed through its poetic language. The outline is concerned primarily with action, which means there should be no explicit explanation of character or motive, no intrusion of the writer’s opinion. Inevitably, because an outline concentrates on plot, it has no space for exploration of nuances of meaning and provides little comment on the story’s theme or the characterisation developing within that structure. When writing a step outline a good writer can, in the minimum of words, set down the beats of a story that will describe the character-in-action with utmost clarity and that will in turn imply character and theme.

A step outline need not be tedious to read. Though it is a working document, it should be interesting and exciting. The need for economy and simplicity does not mean it should be merely a list of incidents and events full of abbreviations and disconnected phrases. It should have its own narrative drive and momentum. Expert journalists are apt to have this knack, the ability to set down information that has force and clarity in its emphasis on the cause-and-effect momentum. Be sure to write in sentences with subjects, verbs and objects. This has the advantage of disciplining you to write in the language of action and reaction rather than static conditions and ongoing, continuous activities that do not involve much tension and that tend to be overly descriptive and explanatory. It has been interesting for me to appreciate that from the very grammar of the sentence structure in which an outline is written, I can sense whether or not the student has got the hang of cinematic narrative progression.

It is a good idea to pick for your first step outline a film you find interesting and dramatically rewarding. At the same time do not forget that some of the films particularly exciting to students are very difficult to vivisect in this way. The step outline, as we have said, strongly emphasises plot. When a film has a very strong and obvious plot structure it can be relatively easy to put into outline form. But plot is in some ways the least interesting aspect in many superb films. Contemporary cinema is apt to depend on values that are much more subtle (even impossible) to communicate in an outline. So I advise you to start with a film that has a single and strong narrative line. Watch the whole film through. On the second viewing make notes on each scene. These initial notes can be very cryptic: a list of the characters, sometimes a key dialogue phrase, no more. Once you have memorised (internalised) the sequence of story events, you are ready to start on the outline proper. The real task at this point is to eliminate everything that is not a step or move in the narrative. The great temptation is to interpret, to write in a way that communicates the qualities of the film. But remember that the purpose of the step outline, as distinct from most other forms in which a film story can be written, is to reduce the plot mechanism to its bare bones, to strip it of all its other values.

Here are thirteen step outlines, as written by Mackendrick throughout the 1970s and 80s for his film students at the California Institute of the Arts, most of which do not include “a list of the story’s principal (and important subsidiary) characters alongside a couple of lines describing their age and relationships to each other.” If, as is likely, you find Mackendrick’s re-telling on paper of each of these stories different from how you would do it yourself, isolate what you don’t like about his approach and write your own versions.

The Maltese Falcon (1941), by John Huston, from the novel by Dashiell Hammett,
is here

Epstein, Epstein and Koch’s Casablanca (1942), from the play by Murray Burnett and Joan Alison, is here

Bicycle Thieves (1948), as written by Vittorio De Sica et al., is here

Contained in Mackendrick’s lengthy handout for The Third Man (1949), written by
Graham Greene, is a step outline.

The Man in the White Suit (1951) from a play by Roger MacDougall and written by MacDougall, John Dighton and Mackendrick, is here

Shane (1953) by A.B. Guthrie, Jr. and Jack Sher, from the novel by Jack Schaefer, is here

On the Waterfront (1954), by Budd Schulberg, starts on page 6 of the handout
on this page

Here for Them! (1954), written by Ted Sherdeman (a film referenced by Mackendrick in On Film-Making)

Mackendrick created this (incomplete) step outline of his 1957 film Sweet Smell of Success, written by Ernest Lehman and Clifford Odets

3:10 to Yuma (1957), scripted by Halsted Welles from a short story by Elmore Leonard (remade fifty years later by Mackendrick’s CalArts student James Mangold), is here

The Hustler (1961), written by Sidney Carroll and Robert Rossen, from the novel by Walter Tevis, is here

Mackendrick’s incomplete step outline for Woman in the Dunes (1964), by Kôbô Abe, from his novel, is here

Finally, here is a step outline from Mackendrick based not on a film, but a play: Richard Brinsley Sheridan’s The School for Scandal, which Mackendrick frequently referred to as containing a good example of dramatic irony (the so-called “Screen Scene”). Here for William Archer on Sheridan.

Here are a further baker’s dozen step outlines. All but the final one were written for this website. You are again encouraged to write your own versions if – as is to be expected – you consider these to be lacking.

Here for Unseen Enemy (1909), written by Edward Acker

Here for The Last Laugh (1924), written by Carl Mayer

Here for Le jour se lève (1939), written by Jacques Prévert, from a story by Jacques Viot

Here for The Lavender Hill Mob (1951), written by T.E.B. Clarke

Here for John Steinbeck’s Viva Zapata! (1952)

Here for another version of Them! (1954)

Here for Paris, Texas (1984), written by L. M. Kit Carson and Sam Shepard

Here for Homicide (1991) by David Mamet

Here for Toy Story (1995), as written by Joss Whedon and Andrew Stanton et al.

Here for writer/director Mike Leigh’s Topsy-Turvy (1999)

Here for Spartan (2004) (a film which its writer/director David Mamet has described
as having “no narration”)

Here for Abbas Kiarostami’s Like Someone in Love (2012)

A step outline based on one of Alexander Mackendrick’s unproduced scripts about the life of Mary Queen of Scots is here

And finally, as taken from the film’s post-production script:

Here for The Maggie (1954), the only film directed by Mackendrick based on his own original story (screenplay by William Rose)

The value of creating a step outline – a succinct distillation of the all-important story beats into a few paragraphs – cannot be overstated. (Mackendrick actually selected students for his writing classes based on their ability to write a quality step outline of a film of their choice.) After writing one, you should be able to explain precisely how by the close of every sequence the plot has been moved forward and how each character has been developed. What has changed for them? What are their new needs and wants? What decisions did they just make? How have they responded to choices made by other characters? What decisions are they likely to make in the near future and how are other characters likely to respond? What traits have been revealed that might create or impact upon later action? What previous obstacles have characters succeeded in overcoming? What new obstacles have been placed in their path? What function does each and every sequence of the story serve? In short: why (from the audience’s point of view) does this scene exist? In answering such questions, in deciding what should be included in your step outline and what unnecessary details must be left out, you will likely find yourself emphasising certain things over others, and by so doing reveal your biases and interests. In other words, your sense of a story’s “theme” is made clear through your own particular telling of it. (If this is the case when writing a step outline based on someone else’s story, consider how pertinent it is when you create your own treatments and screenplays. As Mackendrick writes in his book, “Character and situation is the best place to start digging into. Examine them and you’ll find that you yourself bring the theme, which you can almost afford to ignore because every theme is your own point of view, your attitude to life and sex and religion. So the theme will out because it cannot stop. It’s your biases and temperament at work.”)

The writing of a step outline will hopefully also bring with it the important realisation that in a well-crafted narrative, every element of the story is somehow connected. When obliged to look closely at the mechanics of plot and create what is essentially a skeletal outline, it is immediately noticeable how and when characters, objects, lines of dialogue and themes appear and (subtly) re-appear. At all times ask yourself: What is each character doing at any one moment? What specific actions are taking place? How do these actions contribute to the overall information flow offered the audience? How are things happening now going to connect to previous and future incidents? What fuses are laid in minute 12 that pay off in minute 112? What characters, elements, ideas and incidents that appear early on are later reincorporated (much to the audience’s delight)? Narrative filmmakers in complete control of their craft will casually offer up something to the audience that reappears an hour later, at which point we come to realise just how important it is to the storyline.

The precision – and, very often, simplicity – of good storytelling quickly reveals itself as you create a step outline. This is, in fact, an exercise in minimalism (Antoine de Saint-Exupéry: “Perfection is achieved not when there is nothing more to add but when there is nothing left to take away”). The final result is something that could be read publicly to an audience (“the art of the raconteur,” as Mackendrick called it, is a vital skill, not unlike the ability to make a pitch to a producer), which is one reason why all step outlines should be kept as spare as possible. A film, writes David Mamet, “may, perhaps, be likened to a boxer. He is going to have to deal with all the bulk his opponent brings into the ring. Common sense should indicate he had better not bring one extra ounce of flab on him – that all the weight he brings into the ring had better be muscle.” Consider this when writing a step outline, and by so doing keep on your side a vital ally, what Mamet calls the audience’s “uncritical, which is to say, engaged, participation.” Explains Mamet: “The best way that I know to see if your story works: Tell it somebody else. ‘I’ve got this great idea.’ Watch at which point their eyes glaze over.” And take a look at this, a recording of one of Mamet’s favourite performers, able to juggle with fourteen balls but aware that sometimes it’s better to KISS everything (Keep It Simple, Stupid).

Keep your step outlines to the point. Ideally it should take no more than fifteen minutes to read one out loud. Remember that you don’t have to offer up every single scrap of information. Interesting nuances and chunks of excellent dialogue will inevitably drop away (though everyone will likely have thoughts about which pieces of dialogue should be included and which discarded). For our purposes, such things just aren’t important. Perhaps the most useful way of approaching this exercise is: describe everything and explain nothing. The idea here is nothing more than to tell a compelling story and keep the audience involved. Recall Aristotle, who wrote: “the plot should be so constructed that even without seeing the play a man who hears of the sequence of events will shudder with fear and pity at what happens.” Aspire to that and you can’t go wrong.

A step outline, as Mackendrick tells us, is a structural breakdown of a film that already exists. The analogous process as applied to stories that you create yourself is the writing of a treatment, which in some ways is the exact opposite of a step outline and largely requires different skills. It’s all about conceiving anew, from scratch, instead of finding something and pulling it apart to see how it was made. Go here for Mackendrick’s thoughts on this.

Finally, linked to the fact that an on-screen story lasting two hours can be stripped down to the bare basics into a summary of only a few pages is the notion that what counts just as much is, of course, the filmmaker’s craft and all that goes with it: camerawork, editing, acting, music, etc. Hence Mackendrick’s On Film-Making is divided into two separate but strongly interconnected sections: dramatic construction and film grammar.

© The Estate of Alexander Mackendrick