On Subtext: “Mildred Pierce’s” Secret Formula
Subtext is hard to write. Mildred Pierce makes it look easy.
“What's great about writing a screenplay is that the subtext of the scene, what is not said, can sometimes be more important than what is said. Again, dialogue serves two basic functions in the scene: Either it moves the story forward or it reveals information about the character.”
That was Syd Field, the quintessential screenwriting guru for any pretentious college student writing for a personal blog about screenwriting. His work has truly broken ground.
Field's seminal novel “Screenplay” is now slightly lambasted for producing a generation of formulaic films, but the novels’ supposed inevitable outcome of generic, boring movies cannot supersede the truly valuable information Field crams into his book, like that glowing piece of wisdom that has racked my mind since first falling in love with film.
Characters are made from conflict, and intrigue is born from mystery. In every good story, these elements work in tandem to produce a set of scenes with a surface level text, and then what’s really happening. This hidden meaning is the fabled subtext that fulfills one of dialogue’s two main purposes: to reveal character.
“Reveal.”
What makes subtext so important is that it’s subtle, something that must be searched for and found by the audience. The more nuanced the character, the more potential for subtext, and as a result, the more an audience member will have to investigate, and the more they will be engaged with the scene. If one becomes an active participant in deciphering character’s, they will undoubtedly find themselves more invested in the action, even if that action is just a talk over coffee. Subtext is thus crucial because, plain and simple, it makes scenes more interesting. Nothing is as it seems. Characters never say what exactly they mean. They will fight, argue, and chase goals for reasons they will never explain until the film’s climax. Unless, of course, they’re missing subtext, in which case everything will be laid out for the audience as plainly as possible. In this way, every scene in a film is a crime where the viewer investigates each character for their true desires and intentions. To hide detail, characters involve themselves in action that reveals character, both in what they decide to hide, and how they choose to do so. Thus, solid subtext combines mystery and conflict for increased audience intrigue by hinting at something hidden under the surface that the viewer is prompted to decipher.
One problem that I’m sure Field could have written a chapter on: Subtext is hard. Really hard. It necessitates a dual understanding of the character’s, their contrasting wants and needs, how those are expressed, the purpose of each scene in the narrative, etc. To know how a character hides their inner desires, one must have a complete understanding of their character. From here, you can see how writer’s view their characters as people. To write meaningful subtext necessitates psychological questioning. “How would an anxiety riddled man hide his fear when presented with a challenge he doesn’t want to face, but must?” “How would a middle aged single mother feel about her daughter usurping her social status in a wealthy, judgemental community?” Characters are layered, and they hide those layers, sometimes from even the writer themselves. So, knowing that subtext is crucial for interest, and also that it is really, really hard to write well, I’ve tried to develop any sort of practice to help facilitate effective subtext, and I think I may have made progress.
Picture this: A man comes home to his wife in 1940s L.A. The man, as indicated by his wife’s comments, is jobless. He’s cold, responding to his wife’s “hello dear” with an even drier equivalent of “I wish you’d leave me alone.” The wife works tirelessly throughout the house as the two squabble, and the man follows the woman all the while. The woman opens a package she received: a dress for her daughter bought with the money she saved selling pies out of her kitchen. The man says she’s making him look like a bad father incapable of running his family. Just then, a ring. The woman picks up the phone. She calls the woman on the other line by her last name. The man does not. The woman hesitantly stands up to the man, who relents, asks the woman to say goodbye to their children, and leaves.
Now, does this scene sound interesting? I mean, I suppose. You have conflict between two characters with opposing beliefs, a less than subtle hint at the husband’s scandalous double life, and some light movement to keep the visuals dynamic. It’s serviceable, but I wouldn’t say it's interesting. There’s nothing to parse through, nothing to learn, nothing to become invested in because everything is presented as transparently as possible. The scene’s meaning is apparent: to show the wife’s oppressive domestic life. We know exactly what the characters want, their singular approach to achieving it, and it concludes in a relatively predictable fashion once the affair is introduced as a conflict device. So, how do we liven up this scene? How do we make this situation more interesting?
Add subtext.
Give the character’s something to hide. Give them underlying motivations and desires, because once this is established, the audience will have something to look for beyond the conversation. Suddenly, with the addition of subtext, the scene has a second meaning that the viewer is now tasked with finding. When subtext is rich, one isn’t just watching a scene, they’re investigating. The viewing journey transforms from passive to active, thereby making for a more enjoyable and engaging filmgoing experience through multidimensional writing.
How to add dimensionality? Luckily, I’ve read a couple screenwriting books and therefore have absolute authority to give advice on the practice!
It begins with knowing the scene’s narrative purpose. If you know what purpose the scene serves in a story, you can establish the text, AKA what’s happening on the surface. What’s the purpose of the aforementioned scene? Well, within the context of the rest of the film, Mildred Pierce, and its nuanced characters, we can see how text and subtext blend together to make a simple scene, nuanced.
The 1950s noir classic follows ultimate girl-boss Mildred Pierce as she is interrogated by the police for the murder of her ex-husband. The film works in flashbacks, depicting Mildred and her struggles in satisfying the infinite desires of her wealth obsessed daughter, Vera, and being a perfect mother. The aforementioned scene takes place near the film’s beginning and is the film’s first flashback, indicating that the scene’s purpose is to get a glimpse into the character’s normal life. The leading lady, Mildred Pierce, is a housewife that has never not known the painful heat of an oven, chemical burns from cleaning supplies, and hand cramps from washing dishes. The scene’s purpose is to display this oppressive domestic lifestyle and characterize the protagonist, as evidenced by the voice over leading into the flashback and placement in the film. At only twenty minutes, we are still learning about these characters and Mildred’s past life.
Now knowing the scene’s role in the story, we can establish the text. The purpose is to display Mildred’s oppressive domestic life with her then husband, Bert, to the audience, which manifests in a heated debate that escalates to revealing Bert’s affair. My previous description of the scene describes this surface level text, the on page action void of its deeper meaning. To break through the surface and truly understand the character’s, we continue to part 2 of the formula: ask why the characters act as they do in the scene. If the answer is the same as that to our previous question, “what is the scene’s text?”, then the scene lacks subtext. To demonstrate this, let's return to Mildred Pierce’s excellently written first flashback and apply the framework.
We open on Bert walking into the home he knows will be lost in due time because of his unemployment. Meanwhile, Mildred informs the police, and audience, of her status quo via voice over: she married Bert at 17 and never knew a life outside of the kitchen. Mildred has two daughters, Veta and Kay, that act as her main motivation, indicated by a push into a framed photo of the two. Mildred, ever the caring wife, says she pressed Bert’s pants for a potential job interview. Reading the newspaper, Bert says “It might be nice, Mildred, if you left me alone for five minutes. When the time comes I’ll get a job.” Just then, a package arrives and Mildred answers the door. Suddenly, Bert is a private eye as he interrogates Mildred: “What’s that?” “Where’d you get the money?” “That’s right, throw it up to me I can’t support my own family?” “Maybe we wouldn’t have so many bills if you didn’t raise them like their father was a millionaire.” The barrage of insults and assumptions is brutal, and all Mildred can do is hesitate in Bert’s looming stance.
Pause. These beats clearly satisfy the scene’s narrative purpose. In fact, Bert is almost comically evil. With not even a greeting to his wife who has been working all day, Bert chooses to lambast Mildred for holding down the fort while he’s middling away at his doomed career. Why? Well, when applying the formula we can see how in a lesser film the answer would be the same as that to “what is the scene’s text?” For example, “what is the scene’s text?” Bert is berating Mildred for working outside of her “role” as the housewife. “Why is Bert acting this way?” Again, in a lesser film the answer would just be “because Bert is angry that Milred is working outside of her ‘role’ as housewife,” but to inject nuance into the scene, the writer’s chose to give Bert a different motivation: to protect his fragile ego as the man of the house.
So far, Mildred has been seen washing the dishes, ironing Bert’s clothes, answering the door to pay for her own goods, and actually supplying her children with their desires. She is a perfect mother, and in many ways, stepped on Bert’s toes for the historical period the film is set in. Mildred is the breadwinner and leader of the household, which makes Bert feel weak, and as a result, he overcompensates. He claims Mildred’s kindness and perfect execution in her role as a parent is making Veda selfish, when in reality it only damages his ego by not being able to provide the same. He threatens to slap Veda for acting like a brat. It’s vile, but the subtext is why the villainous behavior seems fitting instead of unnaturally evil: because it’s a projection, not genuine emotion. Bert grows angrier not because of the text, not because he’s upset at Mildred for simply acting outside of her socially determined role, but because he feels lesser than her. Less of a man. A father. A competent member of society. Bert is deeply insecure, and Mildred’s strength exposes that sensitivity. Let’s continue to see how the subtext progresses with the scene.
Mildred leads the conversation into the kitchen. Bert follows, and says that Mildred tries too hard to buy their love. He pulls out a cigarette and lays in on Mildred: she’s training the kids to respect money more than their parents, she’s forcing her desires onto them to feel proud of herself, she’s compensating for her own lacking lifestyle. Instead of confronting the vapidness deep in his own soul, Bert shifts his insecurity onto Mildred to appease his ego. The entire time, Mildred simply continues to work, cooking and cleaning at the same time, saying she will do anything for her family. Because the scene has the added subtext of Bert trying to defend his masculinity, this only aggravates him further. If there was no subtext, the scene would essentially end here, as Bert would only be repeating the same points over and over for no apparent reason. However, with the added layer to his character, Bert’s repetitious insults become revealing of his true self.
Just then, the phone rings. Notably, Mildred answers, it’s Mrs. Nottingham, or “Maggie” to Bert. Clearly, they have history, a past that is too close to the present for comfort. Obviously, Bert defends himself, he is the perfect father after all. Mildred accuses him of having an affair, Bert puffs his chest and leans over Mildred, dominating the frame. Mildred tells Bert that the children come first, and if he can’t agree, then it’s time for him to leave. Once again, Bert’s fragile ego has to heal itself from this blow: “Well I’m fed up, let’s see you get along without me for a while. If you want me you know where to find me.” He states this loudly, angrily, as if Mildred hasn’t been doing all of the household work for the entirety of the scene as he limply followed. Mildred tells him to leave, and Bert turns somber, an indication that his tough facade has finally cracked. He’s not strong. He knows Mildred will be fine without him, and that’s the final straw. Instead of staying with his family, he goes to where he feels desired, where he feels like a man, because here, Mildred is in control, and Bert’s subtextual ego simply cannot handle that shift in power.
Hopefully this formula helps inform how subtext can be applied through dialogue. By establishing what is the text and why characters act as they do within that text, one could give character’s life by providing subtextual motivation. While the subtext in Mildred Pierce is revealed via over-compensatory dialogue along with clear shifts in character behavior and personality, it is also visually displayed through the actor’s performances and blocking. For example, Bert only rises from the sofa when Mildred gets a package, or rather, he only inserts himself into the scene when his power and ego are challenged. From here, he never controls the frame. Bert is always in a passive position, following Mildred from the background as she physically leads the house and conversation. Bert doesn’t even walk up the stairs to continue his insults as Mildred places Veda’s new dress on her bed. I can only imagine how this burned him.
Once reentering the kitchen, Mildred still dominates the frame by standing in the foreground. Notably, the camera is placed in the kitchen as well, a space established as Mildred’s from her previous voice over and physical presence in the scene. Bert resides outside of the space until lighting a cigarette, symbolically trying to take over Mildred’s space with the cigarette itself acting as a pathetic, phallic assertion of masculinity. Mildred doesn’t even look at him as he puffs away.
The phone rings. Of course, Mildred answers, and once the truth is revealed, Bert finally makes his way to the foreground. The aforementioned puffed chest and looming stance acts as a threat, a dominant challenge to Mildred’s clear position of authority in the house despite Bert’s compensatory and oppressive behavior. However, this doesn’t shake Mildred, who stares straight ahead while Bert is captured in profile, visually communicating that one character is completely present, while the other is losing ground in the scene. The audience literally only sees half of Bert’s real personality. Finally, when Bert realizes his tough guy act isn’t convincing Mildred, he returns to his docile state. Shuffling to the background, his hands limply hold his cigarette. The man looks like a child as he turns somber when speaking of the kids. He trails Mildred one last time, and when she denies him, he leaves.
This analysis of the blocking and performances shows how subtext is communicated holistically through a variety of scenic elements. Lighting can express mood or subconscious desires, actor performances demonstrate who is in control, musical cues can inject life into a line; the subtext is rich because every element of the scene works towards demonstrating the hidden layers of the characters without being too obvious.
Meaning, the final formula is this: Ask yourself “What is the text?” + “Why are the characters acting as they do in the text?” + ensure the answers are different + “How is this communicated through cinematic elements?” = subtext.
Don’t just have characters sitting across from each other when even a simple cigarette or changed demeanor can reveal everything about their inner selves. Don’t use flat writing if it's not in service of disguising hidden motivation. Finally, don’t let that motivation be plastered on the scene’s surface for all to see. Hide it. Make audiences investigate, and therefore, become invested in your story.
I find subtext to be one of the most difficult aspects of screenwriting. Everyone always says there is a deeper meaning behind a character's actions, but rarely do I see practices that actually help writer’s create meaningful subtext. Hopefully this formula has any basis and helps some aspiring writers out there struggling with subtext.