Screenwriting : Ambiguity in Screenwriting by Lee Matthias

Ambiguity is an element rarely found in films, especially today. Only a handful of filmmakers have ever used it, people like Luis Bunuel, Jean Cocteau, Alain Resnais, Michelangelo Antonioni, Roman Polanski, and David Lynch, to name a few. Consider...

INT. ANDY'S HOUSE - NIGHT

A swinging party is in progress at Andy's house - the man whose face we saw at the Luna Lounge with Renee.

ANDY, 37 years old, a slick guy, is seen moving through the crowd, making small talk, kissing and being kissed. The PEOPLE here are wannabe players, the men mostly shady, gold-chain-wearing, slightly unsavory types; the women dressed provocatively, big hair and skin-tight dresses. Through sliding glass doors we see nude and semi-nude people cavorting in a swimming pool. Everyone has a drink in his or her hand. Renee finishes her drink and hands the empty glass to Fred who walks away with it. Andy grabs Renee, and dances with her. They laugh and talk. Renee appears to be a bit intoxicated.

Fred, who appears less than thrilled with the carryings on, makes his way to the open bar where he orders two drinks. When the drinks arrive he drains one of them completely, then sets the empty glass down on the bar. Then he swallows the other drink, too, and sets down the glass.

A MYSTERY MAN, tall, well-dressed and groomed, older than Fred, approaches him.

               MYSTERY MAN

     We've met before, haven't we?

               FRED

     I don't think so. Where was it that you

     think we've met?

               MYSTERY MAN

     At your house. Don't you remember?

               FRED

          (surprised)

     No, no I don't. Are you sure?

               MYSTERY MAN

     Of course. In fact, I'm there right now.

                FRED

          (incredulous)

     What do you mean? You're where right

     now?

               MYSTERY MAN

     At your house.

               FRED

     That's absurd.

The Mystery Man reaches into his coat pocket, takes out a cellular phone and holds it out to Fred.

                MYSTERY MAN

     Call me.

Fred snickers, like this is a bad joke. The Mystery Man puts the phone into Fred's hand.

                MYSTERY MAN (CONT.)

     Dial your number.

Fred hesitates, puzzled.

                MYSTERY MAN (CONT.)

     Go ahead.

Fred shrugs, laughs, dials his number. We HEAR a pick up as we stay on FRED'S FACE.

                 PHONE VOICE OF MYSTERY MAN

     I told you I was here.

Fred, still holding the phone, stares at the man standing in front of him.

                  FRED

     How did you do that?

The Mystery Man points to the phone.

                  MYSTERY MAN

     Ask me.

Fred, mirthful at first, as if it is a party trick of some kind, suddenly turns serious - it's obvious he's thinking now of the videotapes. He speaks into the phone.

                  FRED

          (angrily)

     How did you get into my house?

                  PHONE VOICE OF MYSTERY MAN

     You invited me. It's not my habit

     to go where I'm not wanted

.

Fred looks at the man in front of him, but speaks again into the phone.

                 FRED

     Who are you?

The man laughs - identical laughs - both over the phone and in person.

                PHONE VOICE OF MYSTERY MAN

     Give me my phone back.

The man in front of Fred reaches out his hand for the phone.

Fred hears the line go dead, and he slowly passes the phone back to the Mystery Man who takes it, folds it, and puts it in his pocket.

               MYSTERY MAN

     It's been a pleasure talking to

     you.

The man walks away from Fred. Renee appears and comes up to Fred.

From LOST HIGHWAY, by David Lynch & Barry Gifford.

I’m a movie fan, but I am not obsessive about it to the point that I watch a film over and over. I know people who do that, and I admire their ability to enjoy something so thoroughly and so frequently. But for me, such single-minded attention to anything ends up making it something I eventually no longer ever want to see again.

I carefully manage my movie likes. I’ll avoid seeing a favorite for years so that it can get back as closely as possible to the experience it was when I first saw it. This, too, has its problems, however. I remember seeing Ken Russell’s THE DEVILS while in college. I came out of the lecture hall it was shown in by one of the film societies (remember those?) literally wiped out by it. It led to a session with friends and way too much beer, where we argued over it into the wee hours. Then I finally tracked down a copy on VHS a few years ago and watched it again. “What was the deal?” I kept saying to myself, as it droned on. You can’t go home again.

So films matter to me. Because I husband my interest in favorite films so, I suspect mine matter to me a good deal more than do others being re-watched for the 90th time in two years by most others. Am I being elitist? Let me explain. I like a well-done film just as much as anybody. But if it has shown me all it has, then the cute line or the clever reveal or the amazing car chase just aren’t enough reason to go back. Take, for example, THE SIXTH SENSE. This is a movie that is just about as clever as they get and yet, moreso than something like MEMENTO, it remains an audience favorite. It is a marvelously worked-out deception, and was a great first viewing experience. But, I’m sorry, it blew it all right there, and there’s nothing more. Believe me, I looked. I can’t go back except to study it in the clinical sense. And that’s okay. Me? I went back to MEMENTO.

The reason is that, intrinsic to the films I return to again and again, is an element of ambiguity. I didn’t initially realize this, but later, when I was examining my habits, I found the common element was that they all had a quality of ambiguity. Each of the films that drew me back had things about it that I couldn’t pin down, couldn’t understand, couldn’t solve. And when I watched them again I often found new things in them that led to even further mysteries. Now, before someone asks if I ever resolved some of these, I have to say that, yes, I have. And, once done, I find that, with rare exception, the films fall off my watch-again list, thereafter. This has happened with PULP FICTION, THREE DAYS OF THE CONDOR, THE BIG SLEEP, and THE PRIVATE LIFE OF SHERLOCK HOLMES (though I’m holding out hope for someday seeing the longer road-show version if a print is ever found). It has almost happened with MEMENTO. It has not yet happened with CHINATOWN, THE PARALLAX VIEW, WINTER KILLS, THE THIRD MAN, THE CONVERSATION, THE TENANT, or LOST HIGHWAY, to name a few.

Ambiguity is an element that, when present, provides the film with a density, a quality of reality, missing from most films. I liken it to reality because life always has unanswered questions lurking out there on the fringes, and occasionally right there in the room with you. If the film’s plot is the iceberg tip, then the ambiguous elements are the rest of the iceberg, the hidden part below the surface. Films without some degree of ambiguity aren’t just facile, they are artificial. They amount to pictures of life, rather than life, itself. Films utilizing ambiguity are far better facsimiles of life, because, like life, they offer the promise of more.

Even films that are hyper-realistic, fantastic, or completely artificial, yet present a consistent universe, nonetheless have, through the presence of ambiguity, the opportunity to gain a quality of verisimilitude, a quality of reality. This makes for a deeper engagement, a far stronger story experience. So, rather than tying up all loose ends, the wise filmmaker leaves some strings hanging, some doors closed, yet letting us hear the muffled talking from within. With it lives a universe of possibilities.