A Lesson On Characterization From "Lady Bird"

We should all make our characters jump out of the proverbial car.

Tall. Short. Rosy-cheeked. Freckled. Dimpled. Tan. These are ways to describe the characters in our stories—but maybe they aren’t the best ways.

One thing I love about reading screenplays is that dialogue is the primary mode of characterization. A great screenwriter doesn’t tell you who people are; she shows you. Later, the costume department will come in and paint these characters off the page, but in the script, the story is mostly conversations and actions. Someone moves. Someone speaks. The plot thickens.

Fiction writers could learn a lot from this constraint. And by "fiction writers," I mean this fiction writer. Me. I tend to get caught up in physical details, especially when I'm staring at the blank page. I want to describe the shirt someone's wearing or those aforementioned "rosy cheeks." It's a way of stalling if I don't know who my character is yet. 

I always remind myself that none of these details will matter—truly, none of them—if the reader doesn't understand who my characters are inside. And, in a strange human plot twist, we tend to show who we are inside by what we say (or don't say) aloud. 

The opening scene of Greta Gerwig’s Lady Bird is an example of how much characterization happens through dialogue and action. The film starts with Lady Bird (Christine) and her mother, Marion, sleeping forehead to forehead in a motel bed. The two are visiting a state college that Lady Bird may attend next fall, but there’s a problem. LB doesn’t want to stay near home for school; she wants to go far far away to where, in her words, “writers live in the woods.” (Same, LB.) 

This desire incites a verbal sparring match on the car ride home, and the fight tells us basically everything about their relationship in… THREE minutes.

Scene from Greta Gerwig’s Lady Bird, Source: Daily Script

The scene ends with Lady Bird becoming so angry that she throws herself out of the car to escape her mother. What does this tell us about her? Maybe that she’s theatrical, passionate, funny. Also, that she finds her mother’s love claustrophobic. It tells us one more thing, though—and it’s important.

This scene also tells us that Lady Bird is scared of her future, so much so that she’s willing to throw herself out of a moving vehicle to feel in control.

And just like that, we know Lady Bird.

Who cares that she’s wearing a blue polo shirt?!

Or that her hair is shoulder-length!

We know her, and we’ll only know her better as the movie plays on.

By the fourth minute, we’ve also gathered a few things about Marion. She has a gift for tough love, an overbearingness, and—beneath it all—a sweet desire for Lady Bird to be okay in the next chapter of her life. She’s a mom who’s doing her best.

Again, I’d like to emphasize that Gerwig communicates all of this in just three minutes. That’s the power of great dialogue (“I wish I could live through something.”) and action (“They slow for a stop light and Lady Bird dramatically opens the door and rolls out of the car. Marion screams.”).

None of this negates the power of physical details or the incredible work of costume departments. It simply shows that when you’re writing, there’s no substitute for letting your character use their voice. For letting them speak and react and jump out of proverbial cars. Lady Bird’s red hair is iconic, but what’s more iconic is her soul. She’s confused and hot-headed, artistic and desirous. She’s messy and real. And, god, isn’t it fun to hang out with messy, real people?

Writers, what character (from a book or a movie) feels the most real to you? And why?

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Re-Reading: Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, Annie Dillard

Writing: Something new

Watching: True Detective (Amazing! So good!)

Eating: A baguette broiled with olive oil

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This newsletter is written and edited by me, so please excuse the occasional grammatical error or spelling gaffe. My Very Talented Mother, Caitilin McPhillips, designed my logo for me. Thanks, Mom.