By Tom Vaughan in Scene Work — Mar 4, 2025

Know the mini-story of the scene.

At its core, screenwriting is scene work. And like everything else, scenes have a story.

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Scenes are the most fundamental element of the screenplay.

At its core, screenwriting is scene work.

You can get everything else right, but if you cannot write great scenes, you're sunk. And like everything else, scenes have a story.

The scene's story is its purpose.

Just like the larger story the scene is in, it is only when you identify the story that the real work begins.

Story structure is fractal.

A few weeks back I wrote about how a story structure is fractal.

Beats make up the structure of scenes.
Scenes make up the structure of sequences.
Sequences make up the structure of acts.
Acts make up the structure of the story.

Part of the reason why I say it's fractal is that each of these elements has the same two questions as the whole screenplay:

What is the story?
What is the dramatic question?

What is the dramatic question?

This is the drama. Who wants what, why it is hard to get, and what are the stakes?

Will this character get what they want?

This is the outcome that we, the audience, have a vested interest in.

We are usually rooting one way or the other. At a minimum, we want to know what happens next.

What is the story of the scene?

This is the scene's outcome. The change that happens. What is true at the end of the scene that wasn't true at the beginning?

What new understanding is there for the characters and for us?

"What change needs to happen?" is the most elemental question of all.

It tells us why the scene is part of the larger story.

You must know how this scene pushes characters toward their ultimate destination, creates resistance for them, or tempts them in another direction.

Of course, some scenes are more crucial than others, especially as the story progresses, but every scene needs to add value to the story.

The story of the scene is what I often call the intention of the scene. That intention becomes our goal when we write, and the thing we protect when we rewrite.

This mini-story has its own structure.

It has a beginning, a middle, and an end.

The beginning is the ordinary world. This is what it is like before the change.
The middle is where the change happens.
The end is the consequence of the change.

Look familiar? Do you see what I mean by story structure is fractal?

Too many think of just plot.

We focus too much on the events of the scene. This is the most basic level of approach.

We ask ourselves, "What event needs to happen?", rather than, "What changes?" When we focus solely on plot, we risk getting locked into our first idea.

But if we know where we end up first, we can then explore what might be the best, most compelling way to get us there.

Just as important, it gives us guidance in the rewrite.

Enter late and leave early.

We all know to enter a scene as late as possible, and leave as early as possible. This is, of course, very good, long-standing advice.

The issue is how exactly we interpret "... as possible."

If we're focused on the emotional journey of the scene, we are likely to get a different answer than we would if we're focused on just plot.

But plot serves the story. The story does not serve the plot. So the emotional journey should win this battle every time.

I saw A COMPLETE UNKNOWN this weekend.

And so it is, of course, on my mind. It's a great film and well worth seeing.

I want to focus on the subplot with Sylvie Russo, played by Elle Fanning, and Bob Dylan, played by Paul Muad'Dib Atreides, Duke of Arrakis.

Their relationship ends with a final moment that concludes their final scene, their final sequence, and their whole subplot.

A structure, inside another structure, inside another structure.

Let's examine the structure of the last sequence first.

Act 1 of the sequence. Where is starts.

Bob parks his motorcycle outside Sylvie's apartment and asks her to join him for the Newport Folk Music Festival (This scene itself has its own structure, but we don't have time to dig into all that.)

She agrees to go with him.

We now have the dramatic question of whether they will get back together.
The story of the sequence is how Sylvie finally realizes that no matter how hard she tries, she doesn't want to be a satellite in Bob Dylan's world.

Act 2 of the sequence. How and why it changes.

Things are looking good for Bob and Sylvie as they make the trip and have fun together. Once they arrive, however, it starts to get awkward. Dylan is a star and everyone wants a piece of him.

He expects Sylvie to stay back at the hotel when he sings a song with Joan Baez, but Sylvie insists on coming.

At the festival, Dylan plays the song with Joan and their chemistry is undeniable. Bob is totally focused on Joan, the song, and the 1000s of fans. Sylvie watches. She knows there's no place for her, and even if there was, she's not up for it.

She leaves.

Act 3 of the sequence. The consequences of the change.

Sylvie runs into Dylan's friend on the way out. She can express some things to him that she probably can't express to Dylan himself. She jumps in a cab and heads to the ferry.

The setback: When Dylan arrives back at the hotel, he discovers Sylvie is gone and he gets on his bike to try to stop her.

Dylan gets Sylvie's attention before she gets on the ferry. She tells him why she's leaving and it's heartbreaking for both of them.

They love each other, but they want different things and must go their separate ways.

This sequence covers about 10 minutes of screen time.

It's simple and it's elegant. A classic 3 part structure. It admittedly stands out as a little forced in the story, but that's okay. That's why I noticed it and why it makes an excellent teaching tool.

Now inside this structure are a bunch of smaller scene structures. Because I'm not writing a book here, we will only focus on just the last scene:

Act 1 of the scene.

Bob races to the ferry, and finds Sylvie in line.

We have the dramatic question of whether he will change her mind.
The change here is that she leaves and Bob has to accept this as goodbye. Both to her, and that part of his non-famous life.

Act 2 of the scene.

She approaches him. They share a cigarette like they've done so many times before. And she tells him, "It was fun... but I got to get off."

She tells him why she needs to leave: "I'm sure it's fun to be the guy, Bob. But I was the plate."

And this is when he accepts it.

Act 3 of the scene.

She touches him through the fence. This is goodbye. The Ferry blows. And the crowd recognizes him. Sylvie disappears from view.

This is a 1-page scene.

You can read the scene here.

Scene 120 A Complete Unknown.pdf

From a writing perspective, we have two things at work.

The dramatic question: Will Bob get her to stay?
The story: Bob understands why she is leaving and accepts it. Even if he doesn't like it.

Like the screenplay itself, as soon as you establish these things, any rewrites you perform are looking to maximize or at least play within these two parameters.

We can actually find some examples of this in the final cut of A COMPLETE UNKNOWN.

While the screenplay says "shooting draft" there are some "rewrites" from the page to the screen.

In the screenplay, the scene starts from Sylvie's point-of-view. The film wisely tells it from Bob's perspective instead. This scene is his story, not hers.
The film also pushes harder on Bob trying to get her to stay as well, focusing more on his want.

Both these adjustments emphasize the dramatic question and the story.