Stanislavsky's Terms for Script Analysis: Vocabulary for Analyzing Screen Performances

Author(s): Cynthia Baron

Source: Journal of Film and Video , Vol. 65, No. 4 (Winter 2013), pp. 29-41
Published by: University of Illinois Press on behalf of the University Film & Video
Association
Stable URL: https://www.jstor.org/stable/10.5406/jfilmvideo.65.4.0029

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Stanislavsky’s Terms for Script Analysis:
Vocabulary for Analyzing Screen Performances
cynthia baron
alongside the field’s increasing inter-
est in research that uses “primary materials
other than films themselves” (Smoodin 2) to
investigate factors related to audience recep-
tion, regulatory systems (censorship), and the
material aspects of film and media production,
other studies continue to show the value of
analyzing films’ representational strategies. In
the work that explores the rhetoric of cinematic
representations, scholars consistently draw on
production terms such as “close-ups,” “jump
cuts,” and “point-of-view shots” to identify and
describe the meanings and ideological impli-
cations about race, gender, class, sexuality,
and so on that are conveyed by filmic choices.1
Stanislavsky’s terms for script analysis can con-
tribute to those studies. Script analysis terms
not only are used by actors and directors to cre-
ate performances; they also provide vocabulary
for discussing character dynamics in completed
films.2 As a look at scenes from the Coen broth-
ers’ black comedy Fargo (1996) and Kevin Mac-
donald’s epic biopic The Last King of Scotland
(2006) should suggest, Stanislavsky’s terms
for script analysis are well suited to ideological
studies of film because they facilitate analysis
of individual and social power relations. Built
as they are on established conventions of dra-
matic structure, scenes from these two films
cynthia baron is an associate professor in the
Department of Theatre and Film at Bowling Green
State University. She is coeditor of More Than a
Method: Trends and Traditions in Contemporary
Film Performance (2004) and coauthor of Refram-
ing Screen Performance (2008).
journal of film and video 65.4  /  winter 2013
©2013 by the board of trustees of the university of illinois
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show that characters with waning power might
resist succumbing to the desires of stronger
characters but that they are overtaken, in some-
times humorous, sometimes frightening ways,
by more dominant characters.3
The vocabulary actors consistently use to
ascertain and embody characters’ desires,
dilemmas, and interactions were established
by Konstantin Alekseev (1863–1938), who in
1884 began using the name he would come
to be known by, Stanislavsky. Synthesizing
the innovative acting approaches of his time,
Stanislavsky proposed that actors, working
in collaboration with directors, should build
their performances through a methodical pro-
cess of script analysis that reckoned with four
fundamental elements: the characters’ given
circumstances in each scene and at the outset
of the story; the objectives the characters seek
to achieve in each scene and by the end of the
story; the actions they will use to try to obtain
their objectives; and the “beats” or units of
action in each scene that reveal the series of
actions the characters employ to reach their
respective objectives.
Vocabulary for Analyzing
Performances Action-by-Action
When Stanislavsky’s terms for script analysis
are used in studies of completed films, perfor-
mances can thus be considered in light of the
following questions:
1. What are the given circumstances for each
character in the scene (or story)?
29
 2. What is each character’s objective in the
scene (or story)?
3. What are the actions each character/actor
uses to achieve that objective?
4. What physical/vocal changes convey shifts
from one unit of action to another?
In any scene, each character has one primary
objective, and it is often directly opposed to
the objective that the other character has set
out to achieve. Characters/actors then use a
series of actions in an attempt to reach their
respective objectives. In theater and film, ac-
tors use playable, goal-directed actions that
are designed to create a change in the other
character/actor. An abbreviated list of action
verbs offered by acting-directing teacher Ju-
dith Weston includes accuse, cajole, charm,
complain, compliment, dazzle, demand, flat-
ter, incite, knife, nail, persuade, pry, punish,
ridicule, scrutinize, seduce, soothe, stalk, and
warn (302–03). Acting-directing teacher Wil-
liam Ball emphasizes that “actable” verbs are
entirely distinct from intellectual, conditional,
existential, or adjectival verbs, such as atone,
fear, hope, and adore (85–88). His list of play-
able verbs includes hurt, inspire, suppress,
enlighten, crush, lambast, organize, destroy,
prepare, build, ensnare, reassure, justify,
mock, bombard, devastate, fascinate, sur-
round, overwhelm, conquer, possess, praise,
strengthen, fortify, exalt, lionize, and deify
(85–90).
In performances, actors change the quali-
ties in their movements, gestures, and vocal
expressions to communicate their characters’
shift from one action to another, as when one
character turns from warning to accusing the
other character. Laban Movement Analysis is
useful for identifying the qualities that infuse
actors’ performances as they change from one
goal-directed action to another. In any scene,
actors’ shifting series of movements, gestures,
and physical/vocal expressions can be ana-
lyzed in the following terms:
1. Spatial aspects: for example, is a particular
movement direct or indirect?
30
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2. Temporal aspects: for example, is a vocal
expression sudden or sustained?
3. Weight/strength: for example, does a cer-
tain gesture have a strong or light quality?
4. Energy flow: for example, does a move-
ment have a bound or free-flowing quality?
The continually changing spatial, temporal, and
weight/strength qualities that infuse an actor’s
gestures, expressions, and movements can also
be described in terms of eight “effort actions”
(Laban 71). Four of the effort actions are strong.
Pressing movements are strong, direct, and
sustained, yet thrusting movements are strong,
direct, and sudden. Wringing movements
are strong, indirect, and sustained, whereas
slashing movements are strong, indirect, and
sudden. In contrast to effort actions defined by
strong-weighted qualities, other effort actions
are distinguished by their lightness. Gliding
movements are light, direct, and sustained,
but dabbing movements are light, direct, and
sudden. Floating movements are light, indirect,
and sustained, whereas flicking movements
are light, indirect, and sudden. Thus, when an
actor goes from strong, direct, and steady vocal
expressions to suddenly thrusting words at the
other actor, audiences infer that the character
has changed actions and perhaps concludes
that there has been a shift from persuading to
demanding. The second actor might have com-
municated his or her character’s resistance to
the first actor’s steady persuasion by choosing
physical and vocal responses that were colored
by a light teasing quality. However, in response
to the first actor’s turn to a thrusting vocal at-
tack, the second might defend against it and
convey that change in action by infusing his or
her vocal expressions with a strong but indirect
wringing quality.4
Consistently looking at performances through
the lens of script analysis, which calls our atten-
tion to the actions that characters/actors use
to achieve their objectives, it is possible to see
that players’ actions often belong in one of two
categories. In any unit of action, threatening
actions make one character succeed at the ex-
pense of the other (Cohen 72–74). Threatening
journal of film and video 65.4  /  winter 2013
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actions identified by acting-directing teacher
Robert Cohen include the following:
1. Take charge—issue commands with confi-
dence
2. Overpower—raise volume of voice, draw
self to full height, and so on
3. Observe intently—watch the other charac-
ter/actor closely, investigate for clues
4. Conclude discussion—communicate that
there is nothing more to be said
5. Attack the conversation—seize the floor,
call the other character by name
6. Demand a response—demand it explicitly
or give up the floor and watch for the an-
swer
7. Imply a hidden arsenal—physical or psy-
chological weapons (e.g., information)
8. Scream or throw tantrum—show that the
character is beyond restraint/reason
By comparison, in any unit of action, inducing
actions create the possibility for both charac-
ters to succeed (Cohen 76–79). Cohen identi-
fies the following inducing actions:
1. Confirm the other character/actor—nod,
smile, express agreement
2. Disarm—shake hands, bow head, give al-
luring glance
3. Lull—use gentle sounds or soft motions
that soothe
4. Amuse—use jokes to let shared values
emerge
5. Inspire—make an earnest appeal to the
other’s ideals and shared goals
6. Flatter—discover the best parts of the other
character/actor and praise them
7. Be frank—confirm the other’s maturity,
intelligence, and so on
8. Seduce—initiate behavior that you want
the other to adopt
Gestures and expressions marked by strong
and direct qualities frequently color actors’
performance of threatening actions. There
are, of course, exceptions. An actor might use
light, gliding movements to threaten another
journal of film and video 65.4  /  winter 2013
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by observing intently or by using light, flicking
gestures to imply a hidden arsenal. Conversely,
inducing actions are generally colored by light
qualities, but they can involve physical expres-
sion that is strong and direct. To show that a
character is amusing another, an actor might
use a strong, punching vocal expression. There
might be a strong, pressing quality in an actor’s
gestures that lets us know that his or her char-
acter is being frank with the other character.
The variables to consider in screen
performances can be overwhelming. But
Stanislavsky’s script analysis terms—given
circumstances, objectives, actions, and units
of action—provide a conceptual lens that can
capture and clarify the logic of actors’ numer-
ous performance choices. Originally designed
for actors and directors to use in building char-
acterizations, they can be used to describe and
analyze film performances because in much the
same way editing terms (fade, dissolve, match
cut) facilitate analyses of shot-to-shot relations,
script analysis terms provide a way to examine
screen performances action-by-action.
Playable, Goal-Directed Actions
Stanislavsky’s terms for script analysis high-
light the fact that players’ actions are entirely
distinct from activities or “stage” business.
As Stanislavsky emphasizes, actions tied to
characters’ objectives should not be equated
with incidental activities. In film or stage pro-
ductions, doing the dishes, reading a news-
paper, crossing a room, looking in a mirror, or
having sex are activities or “stage” business.
By comparison, actors’ playable actions com-
municate the subtext or underlying meaning
and significance of characters’ interactions. A
scene might show performers peeling potatoes,
but the qualities infusing the actors’ gestures,
movements, and physical and vocal expres-
sions will communicate the fact that the actors
are performing actions such as convincing,
teasing, encouraging, or belittling one another.
In any scene, the selection and combination of
the actors’ goal-directed actions thus contrib-
ute a great deal to the inferences audiences
31
make about what the characters need or want
from one another and how those objectives
are related to larger moral, philosophical, and
ideological positions.
The distinction between activities (or “stage”
business) and actions such as goading or coax-
ing that are designed to bring about a change
in someone else is basic to the craft of acting.
Yet many of us are not familiar with principles
of acting because of factors that have amplified
what Jonas Barish refers to as the anti-theat-
rical prejudice in Western thought. With that
prejudice dominant, suspicions about actors
and acting have caused the craft’s workmanlike
aspects to be obscured by the idea that acting
is natural behavior or that acting depends on
esoteric principles or special gifts that audi-
ences cannot grasp. Yet Stanislavsky’s terms
for script analysis make it possible to see that
stage and screen acting is a craft that is both
more complex and more prosaic than non-
actors often realize.
Whether working in theater or film, since
Stanislavsky’s time, actors in the West have
been trained to see playable action as “the
soul of acting” (Moston 2). As Doug Moston
proposes, since “acting is doing . . . the ac-
tor’s maxim should be ‘Do, don’t show.’ In
other words, don’t illustrate, narrate, indicate,
or pretend. Really do it!” (2). To follow up, he
explains, “What to do comes from your charac-
ter’s objective, that is, what you want from the
other character(s). As for when you do it, the
answer is always. You are never on stage or in
front of a camera doing nothing” (2, emphasis
in original).
In addition, actors approach character por-
trayal with the understanding that they do not
perform one action over the course of a scene
but instead shift from one action to another. As
Moston notes, “if your objective is to propose
marriage to your lover, your first beat might
be to impress, then to charm, then to tease,
then possibly to seduce” (19). Emphasizing the
“homework” that stage and screen actors do
on their own, Moston explains that most actors
“plot out in their scripts the beginning and end
of each action and make personal notes on the
32
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transitions from one action to another” (48;
see also 178). Underscoring the importance of
that practice, Cathy Haase contends that film
and television actors in particular must prepare
a scene-by-scene “log” of the character’s ac-
tions and needs, for in contrast to stage actors,
they are required to perform subtext illuminat-
ing actions with little or no rehearsal, in shoot-
ing environments filled with distraction, and
when scenes are shot out of order (136). Put-
ting the points made by Moston and Haase in
his own terms, Jack Nicholson notes, “The first
thing I do with a script is divide it up into beats
and measures—a measure being a sequence
of beats—to get at the fundamental rhythm of
the part before playing it in rehearsals” (qtd. in
Barton 127).
Film actors’ use of Stanislavsky’s terms did
not begin with actors (rightly and wrongly) as-
sociated with the Actors Studio in New York.
Instead, actors have been relying on those
terms to create screen performances since at
least the 1930s and 1940s (see Baron). Using
Stanislavsky’s vocabulary to elaborate on ac-
tors’ “first principles,” studio-era player Hume
Cronyn explains that to build characterizations,
film actors, often working without the benefit of
formal rehearsals, had no choice but to study
scripts on their own to establish the fictional
but nonnegotiable facts about their characters’
circumstances, actions, and objectives (qtd. in
Cardullo et al. 197). In his widely read 1949 The-
atre Arts essay “Notes on Film Acting,” Cronyn
discusses the goal-directed actions (pleading,
punishing, soothing, goading, and so on) that
players perform to make visible what fictional
characters do to achieve their objectives. Cro-
nyn explains that script analysis allows film ac-
tors to locate the actions they should perform,
and decisions about actors’ activities (setting
the table, packing bags for a trip) often emerge
from the “collaborative effort of actor and direc-
tor [to find] a perfect reflection of, or delicate
counterpoint to, the all important ‘action’” that
is revealed by the actor’s and director’s close
study of the script.
Information about the way screen actors
have approached their performances sug-
journal of film and video 65.4  /  winter 2013
©2013 by the board of trustees of the university of illinois
gests one reason for seeing terminology from
the craft of acting as valuable for analyses of
completed performances. If actors’ preparation
consistently leads them to perform recogniz-
able actions to show audiences what charac-
ters really want from one another, then taxono-
mies such as Stanislavsky’s can facilitate our
understanding of the meanings conveyed by
screen performers’ actions. For those of us writ-
ing about film and media, acting manuals rep-
resent useful resources, for they consistently
emphasize that the “bottom line” of any scene
is what the actor must do to accomplish the
character’s objective (Barr 66). Robert Bene-
detti’s book explicitly highlights the importance
of actions by playing on the double meaning in
its title: Action! Acting for Film and Television.
William Ball’s guide succinctly states that direc-
torial questions such as “What are you trying
to get him to do?” have value insofar as they
lead actors to responses that include a verb,
as in “I am trying to convince”; a receiver, as
in “I am trying to convince him”; and a desired
response, as in “I am trying to convince him to
go with me” (91, emphasis changed from caps
to italics).
Although practitioners’ familiarity with terms
such as actions and objectives suggests that
audiences should at least be aware of them,
analyses of screen performances can proceed
without reference to the specific techniques
the actors in a film might have used. Instead,
in the same way that borrowing production
terms helps audiences identify and describe
meanings created by certain high angles or
tracking shots, script analysis terms offer a
coherent way to identify and reflect on players’
actions, which are the building blocks of any
performance—for in film and theater produc-
tions, character interactions are not conveyed
symbolically through words on a page but
instead are made visible by the actions players
perform, which audiences interpret in relation
to the observable details of other performances
and surrounding filmic choices and in light of
various extratextual factors.
Interpretations of an actor’s slightly raised
eyebrow, for example, will depend on a com-
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plex array of factors, including concomitant
choices about the lighting, framing, and sound
design; the narrative context; viewers’ under-
standing of the social, aesthetic, or generic
conventions in play; viewers’ personal associa-
tions with a gesture; and their sense of the
picture personality generated by an actor’s ap-
pearance in a series of films or the image that
has arisen from publicity surrounding a star.
Yet in addition to considering those factors,
there is value in close analysis of actors’ goal-
directed actions, for in cinema, like theater,
audiences encounter performers’ observable
actions, and these form a substantial basis for
inferences about the meaning and ideological
implications of a narrative.
Inducing Actions:
One Way to Understand
the Quirky Quality of Marge’s Success
Terms such as given circumstances, objec-
tives, actions, and units of action highlight the
culturally recognizable and connotatively rich
human actions conveyed by actors’ gestures
and expressions. Those terms also can help
us articulate what makes a film such as Fargo
seem quirky, offbeat, and appealing, for a close
look at performances in the film reveals that
acting choices confound many audience expec-
tations. The film swept the 1997 Independent
Spirit Awards, was chosen for the National Film
Registry in 2006, and led to Frances McDor-
mand winning numerous best actress awards,
including an Academy Award and a Screen Ac-
tors Guild Award.
The two scenes between police chief Marge
Gunderson (Frances McDormand) and finan-
cially desperate car dealer Jerry Lundegaard
(William H. Macy) show how performance
choices can twist and thus enliven familiar
genre formulas, for although Marge is just an-
other police officer trying to solve a crime, and
Jerry is just another criminal trying not to get
caught, the scenes between them are comical
because the characters’/actors’ actions do not
fit generic conventions. In both scenes, Marge/
McDormand breezes into Jerry’s office and
33
induces, rather than threatens, Jerry/Macy to
cooperate. She cheerfully notes that he won’t
mind if, as a very pregnant woman, she sits
down. Instead of using threatening actions or a
conventional “female” inducing action such as
seducing, Marge/McDormand confirms Jerry’s/
Macy’s shared, neighborly civility—of course he
would want a pregnant woman to have a seat—
and throughout their encounters, she continu-
ally returns to the action of confirming him by
nodding, smiling, and expressing agreement
whenever possible.
In their first encounter, Marge/McDormand
lulls Jerry/Macy into believing she can be dealt
with easily. She grins broadly, sits straight
in her chair, and exits with a friendly knock
on his desk and a neighborly “okey, dokey.”
These actions go against expectations. McDor-
mand’s open smiles are a significant departure
from usual portrayals of police in pursuit of a
criminal. Moreover, McDormand’s plucky, free-
flowing gestures and expressions also func-
tion as performance choices that “Lawrence
Shaffer has called ‘appliquèd’ expressions”;
in a momentary shift in performance choices,
McDormand communicates that Marge’s “os-
tensible innocence” is a mask because we are
“allowed” to see the determination in McDor-
mand’s eyes (Naremore 76).
The second encounter between McDormand
and Macy takes up where the first left off, with
Jerry stalling and Marge borrowing the self-
deprecating act Peter Falk made famous in his
34
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portrayal of Detective Columbo. McDormand
then moves beyond the more familiar Columbo
act. Infusing her physical and vocal expressions
with schoolgirl enthusiasm, Marge/McDor-
mand inspires Jerry/Macy to acknowledge the
coincidence between the car dealer’s license
plates showing up on the kidnapping suspects’
car and the phone call to Jerry’s dealership
from the town where the kidnappers had been
seen. Next, while being cordial but increasingly
determined, she strongly encourages him to
give her answers about inventory records and
routines. Her shift to the more direct and po-
tentially threatening action makes Jerry/Macy
fight back. He raises his voice and cuts her
off with a curt “ma’am.” Undeterred, Marge/
McDormand stares back, and then, using an
action that represents another significant de-
parture from conventional portrayals of police
officers, she instructs him that he need not be
“snippy.” Continuing to take the initiative, and
with the studied patience of a veteran school
teacher, Marge/McDormand insists that she
speak with Gustafson, the dealership owner
and Jerry’s disapproving father-in-law. Finally
overwhelmed by her wide-eyed, earnest deter-
mination, Jerry/Macy escapes on the pretense
of doing an inventory. The scene’s offbeat
humor arises from the unconventional actions
that Marge/McDormand uses to persuade
Jerry/Macy to share her goal of finding the an-
swers to routine questions. Here, the criminal’s
resistance is worn down not by the “smooth”
Photo 1: In Fargo
(1996), the light,
direct qualities in
Frances McDor-
mand’s performance
contribute to
creation of an un-
usual and amusing
situation—for here
a police officer tries
to inspire a suspect
to help her solve the
crime.
journal of film and video 65.4  /  winter 2013
©2013 by the board of trustees of the university of illinois
threatening actions of a hardboiled detective or
the “alluring” inducing actions of a femme fa-
tale, but instead by the kind of chaste, “uncool”
inducing actions some might associate with
elementary schoolgirls and their teachers.
Acting Choices as One of Films’
Interlocking Representational
Components
Integrating script analysis terms into studies of
filmic choices illuminates the complex interplay
between performance and nonperformance ele-
ments. It also facilitates ideological analyses,
especially when the characterizations are partic-
ularly complex, as in the case of Forest Whitak-
er’s portrayal of Ugandan dictator Idi Amin in The
Last King of Scotland. Whitaker received more
than twenty-five best actor awards, including the
Academy Award, Golden Globe Award, National
Society of Film Critics Award, and Screen Actors
Guild Award. Whitaker’s performance has been
lauded for making audiences “see how the mer-
curial Amin could so smoothly pull the wool over
the eyes” of Nicholas Garrigan (James McAvoy),
“not to mention an entire nation” (Taylor).
Writing about Whitaker’s “wonderful, horrify-
ing performance,” one reviewer notes, “Whita-
ker doesn’t take the easy way out by playing
Amin as a killer clown, a treacherous buffoon
[but instead] vests Amin with winking intelli-
gence: We see him constantly reading the peo-
ple around him . . . calculating what he might
be able to get out of them” (Zacharek). Another
review highlights Whitaker’s contrasting series
of actions, in explaining that Whitaker “endows
Amin with quicksilver mood changes, turning
on a sixpence from terrifying bluster to grinning
seduction and wheedling charm, and then to
childlike paranoia and fear” (Bradshaw). Com-
ments such as these provide a useful point of
departure for they call our attention to the goal-
directed actions Whitaker performs to com-
municate the dictator’s complicated thoughts,
feelings, intentions, and actions.
The core relationship of the narrative is be-
tween Amin and Garrigan, the latter a composite
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character invented by Giles Foden, whose novel
was adapted for this film. On the level of repre-
sentation, performance and nonperformance el-
ements work in concert to convey the dictator’s
increasing control over the cocky, naïve young
doctor from Scotland. For example, the initial
encounters between the two characters/actors
are staged in settings that suggest openness
and possibility. In their first meeting, Whitaker
starts off using a weighted posture, bound
gestures, and truncated physical and vocal
expressions to convey the dictator’s wariness.
But then, turning to performance choices better
suited to the wide earthen road bordered by col-
orful fields, Whitaker infuses his gestures and
line-readings with light, free-flowing qualities
to communicate that his character is impressed
by Garrigan’s/McAvoy’s brazen, lightning-quick
decision to lift the pistol from his holster to put
an injured cow out of its misery.
Similarly, during their second meeting, in
a hospital office in Kampala, the light-blue
wall panels illuminated by soft, high-key light
parallel the congenial tone and collegial feel-
ing created by the direct but relaxed qualities
in the actors’ gestures and expressions, which
Whitaker uses to depict Amin’s soft-pedaled
order that Garrigan become his personal physi-
cian and that McAvoy employs to reveal Gar-
rigan’s rapidly dissolving resolve to resist. A
focus on nonperformance elements might lead
to the conclusion that audience impressions
depend solely on lighting and set design.
However, looking at the performances through
the lens of script analysis, it becomes appar-
ent that the connotations suggested by the
sustained, free-flowing qualities infusing both
actors’ gestures and expressions in their series
of disarming, amusing, and inspiring inducing
actions play an equally important role in audi-
ence interpretations. The scene thus exempli-
fies the larger point that is often illuminated
by studies of film performance, which is that
in a composite art form such as film, meaning
becomes legible to audiences through inter-
locking combinations of lighting choices, shot
selections, vocal inflections, costumes, actors’
35
poses, and so on that together reinforce some
connotations over others.
Performance and nonperformance elements
also combine to suggest that the characters’
next meetings are much more dangerous for
Garrigan. In one scene, Garrigan is called to
Amin’s low-lit bedroom late at night to remedy
the president’s stomach pain. Here, Whitaker’s
and McAvoy’s movements are weighted, and
McAvoy’s sudden jerking gestures to relieve
the dictator’s stomach pain are followed by
Whitaker’s tense burst of laughter. Rather
than creating a sense of intimacy, the room’s
darkness becomes a setting for the characters’
isolated experiences of desperation, for in this
scene, the light gliding and dabbing gestures
central to the earlier exchange when Amin
invited Garrigan to be his physician have been
replaced by strong, weighted wringing and
slashing gestures.
The actors’ performance choices commu-
nicate the idea that the characters’ shared
problem of isolated desperation is escalating.
In a subsequent scene, they speed down a
road into an ambush that they quickly escape.
However, Amin/Whitaker becomes so furious
that Garrigan/McAvoy gets a glimpse of the
tyrant’s truly frightening nature. Here, both
actors’ gestures and expressions are sudden
and marked by irregular shifts in tempo and
energy. But Whitaker’s threatening actions—he
takes charge, overpowers everyone, observes
intently, attacks the conversation, demands a
response, implies a hidden arsenal, screams,
and concludes the discussion—so dominates
Garrigan and the other characters in the scene
that Amin is now a threatening figure who over-
whelms even physical spaces.
The subsequent transformation of the
film’s narrative world into a dark and danger-
ous environment shaped by the dictator’s
threatening actions is made visible by filmic
and performance choices in the pivotal scene
when Garrigan raises doubts about the loy-
alty of the dictator’s longtime advisor, Jonah
Wasswa (Stephen Rwangyezi). The scene’s
low-key lighting and wood-paneled walls along
with McAvoy’s dark-green silk shirt reinforce
36
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­ cAvoy’s performance of Garrigan’s anxiety
M
and uncertainty. In this scene, McAvoy’s
pauses, downward glances, and muffled vocal
expressions and the sustained, indirect, wring-
ing quality that infuses his physical and vocal
expressions have paramount importance. In
a parallel way, the potentially sinister quali-
ties of the physical space also support the
threatening qualities communicated by Whita-
ker’s goal-directed actions, for once again, he
observes intently, demands a response, and
implies a hidden arsenal.
The off-balance combination of Whitaker’s
threatening actions and McAvoy’s inducing
action (he tries to be frank with Amin) com-
municate the idea that the awkward exchange
between the two characters is decisive for
Garrigan. On a narrative level, Amin has
brought the young doctor into his burgeoning
brutality by tacitly forcing Garrigan to expose
a potential traitor in the hope of proving his
own loyalty. The performances, supported
by filmic choices, effectively convey Amin’s
increasing power and Garrigan’s waning in-
dividual agency. The strong, sustained, and
direct qualities that infuse Whitaker’s bound
gestures and steady vocal expressions contrast
sharply with the light, indirect, jittery qualities
in McAvoy’s performance to make the point
that Garrigan is now simply a puppet operating
under Amin’s control.
Threatening Actions:
Overwhelming When Combined
with Idi Amin’s Charm
Garrigan’s attempt to regain agency takes place
in the next scene between the two characters/
actors, when Garrigan/McAvoy comes to tell
Amin/Whitaker that he is leaving Uganda. Once
again, setting, costuming, and lighting work in
concert with acting choices to convey the char-
acters’ intense emotional bond that is shaped
by the dictator’s charismatic ability to make the
young doctor submit to his will. For example,
although the scene begins in the open foyer
of Idi Amin’s mansion, for most of the scene
Garrigan is confined in a den/office in Amin’s
journal of film and video 65.4  /  winter 2013
©2013 by the board of trustees of the university of illinois
mansion. The noir-like shadows cast by the
venetian blinds in the windows contribute to
the sense that Garrigan is trapped. Both actors
wear brown, with the darker shade of Amin’s
clothing paralleling Whitaker’s more substan-
tial size and suggesting Amin’s greater corrup-
tion and responsibility for the government’s
abuse of power.
Shot selection and editing patterns also
convey the increasing intensity of the conflict
between the two characters. The opening units
of action have wide shots and longer takes.
Units of action in the middle part of the scene
are shown in combinations of medium long and
medium close shots. The final units of action
cut quickly between close-ups of Whitaker’s
and McAvoy’s expressive faces and then cut
between images of McAvoy’s arm stretched
around Whitaker’s huge back and McAvoy’s face
nestled into Whitaker’s ample shoulder. Yet the
scene’s dramatic complexity makes analysis of
performance choices especially important.
In this scene, Whitaker’s extreme shifts of
goal-directed action contribute to the critical
perception that his performance communicates
Amin’s quicksilver mood changes. Here, the
overwhelming power of Whitaker’s distinctive
repertoire of threatening and inducing actions
becomes especially apparent because they are
thrown into relief by the more often inducing
actions McAvoy uses to communicate Garrigan’s
increasingly weaker resistance to Amin’s con-
trol. The discrete stages of the dense emotional
contest between the two characters made visi-
ble by the sequence of Whitaker’s and McAvoy’s
interconnected goal-directed actions become
more legible when studied through the lens
provided by Stanislavsky’s script analysis terms.
Although there will be different impressions
about the actions and beat changes in the
scene, the actions communicated by the play-
ers’ shifting physical and vocal choices argu-
ably transition through twelve units of action.
Yet to suggest that the scene features a certain
number of beat changes and to characterize the
units of action in specific ways is simply to pro-
pose that a series of interlocking actions forms
the building blocks of the actors’ performances.
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One way to characterize those building blocks
is as follows:
1. Garrigan/McAvoy challenges Amin/Whita-
ker.
2. Amin/Whitaker stalks Garrigan/McAvoy.
3. Amin/Whitaker scrutinizes Garrigan/Mc­
Avoy.
4. Amin/Whitaker orders Garrigan/McAvoy.
5. Amin/Whitaker threatens to use a hidden
arsenal against Garrigan/McAvoy.
6. Amin/Whitaker accuses Garrigan/McAvoy.
7. Amin/Whitaker confides in Garrigan/Mc­
Avoy.
8. Amin/Whitaker directs Garrigan/McAvoy.
9. Amin/Whitaker admonishes Garrigan/Mc­
Avoy.
10. Amin/Whitaker nails Garrigan/McAvoy.
11. Amin/Whitaker beguiles Garrigan/McAvoy.
12. Amin/Whitaker soothes Garrigan/McAvoy.
The first unit of action seems to be the only
time Garrigan/McAvoy initiates the action.
Speaking first, he sets things in motion by chal-
lenging Amin/Whitaker, who deftly dodges his
curt farewell. After the long expository opening,
unit two begins when Whitaker slowly and qui-
etly closes the doors of the den. Here, Amin/
Whitaker stalks Garrigan/McAvoy, who ma-
neuvers for position as he reminds Amin that
he has always respected him for speaking his
mind. In unit three, which starts with Amin giv-
ing Garrigan permission to speak, Amin/Whita-
ker scrutinizes Garrigan/McAvoy, who com-
plains that “this business with Wasswa stinks”
and that he has to go home. This leads to a
pivotal fourth unit of action: Amin/Whitaker
issues the order that Garrigan cannot go home,
and the young man battles back, figuratively
knifing Amin by kneeling in close and adding
a sharp “eh” to his statement that the oath he
has taken has nothing to do with Uganda.
Unit five begins with Whitaker seated in
profile. A bit surprised by the strength of Garri-
gan’s/McAvoy’s resistance, Amin/Whitaker col-
lects himself before taking up another threat-
ening action, that of alluding to the hidden
power he has over Garrigan/McAvoy because
37

he knows the young man’s thoughts. McAvoy’s
eyes dart about, and his eyebrows furrow in
question as Garrigan/McAvoy grapples with
Amin’s uncanny insight into him. But before he
can get his bearings, Amin/Whitaker launches
into his next threatening action. In unit six,
Amin/Whitaker accuses Garrigan/McAvoy of
being like other Englishmen; Whitaker empha-
sizes his attack by standing up and walking
steadily toward McAvoy, who backs away, stop-
ping at the other side of the room and finally
negating the charge by jerking his shoulders
forward as if to say, “That’s not true.”
McAvoy’s simple but expressive gesture
leads Amin/Whitaker into unit seven, as the
camera tracks to reframe the actors so that
Whitaker is on the weighted left side of the
frame, with McAvoy on the right. Here, Amin/
Whitaker confides in Garrigan/McAvoy, telling
him that he is like a son. Garrigan/McAvoy re-
sists, reminding Amin/Whitaker that he is Nich-
olas Garrigan from Scotland. Garrigan’s/Mc­
Avoy’s challenge sparks another beat change.
Amin/Whitaker quickly moves into unit eight,
directing Garrigan/McAvoy to concede that his
home is in Uganda. Weakening, in response
Garrigan/McAvoy can only beg to go home. This
plea prompts Amin/Whitaker to switch actions
again: unit nine opens with Amin/Whitaker
admonishing Garrigan/McAvoy not to be “a
silly boy,” for people will assume the doctor is
responsible for Wasswa’s death if he leaves the
country. In response, Garrigan/McAvoy sum-
38
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Photo 2: In The Last
King of Scotland
(2006), Forest
Whitaker’s intense
embodiment of
Amin’s astounding
repertoire of threat-
ening and inducing
actions works in
concert with the
meaning created by
shot selections, cos-
tuming, and so on.
mons the courage to contradict Amin/Whitaker,
insisting that he told the dictator to talk to Was-
swa, not kill him.
This final act of resistance prompts Amin/
Whitaker to switch actions. Moving into unit
ten, Amin/Whitaker nails Garrigan/McAvoy,
shaming him into admitting that he cannot
pretend he did not know what would happen
if he questioned Wasswa’s loyalty. Recogniz-
ing that Amin/Whitaker is right, Garrigan/
McAvoy mounts only the weakest resistance,
quibbling that he did not want Wasswa to die.
Seeing that Garrigan/McAvoy is beaten, Amin/
Whitaker shifts action again. In unit eleven
he beguiles the young man, asking him if he
wants to know why he suggested that Wasswa
was disloyal. When Garrigan/McAvoy sur-
renders, nodding his head as if to say, “Yes,
tell me why,” Amin/Whitaker keeps the young
man mesmerized as he explains, “You did it
because you love me.” With Garrigan/McAvoy
now completely under his control, Amin/Whita-
ker moves into the last unit of action, soothing
the young man by hugging him as he tells him
that what he needs is a little fun.
A look at the scene’s content and even filmic
choices might lead one to believe that Garrigan
simply wants to tell Amin he is leaving, and
Amin just wants to convince Garrigan to stay.
However, the blocking and the performers’ ac-
tions show that the characters’ objectives are
far more complex. The evolving steps in the
scene reveal that Garrigan needs Amin to ab-
journal of film and video 65.4  /  winter 2013
©2013 by the board of trustees of the university of illinois
solve him of responsibility for Wasswa’s murder
and that Amin needs Garrigan to approve of his
behavior, no matter how horrible.
A provisional look at the scene might suggest
that both characters achieve their objectives.
Garrigan gets his pardon because Amin tells
him that he betrayed Wasswa out of love for
the dictator. Amin seems to secure proof of
Garrigan’s devotion because he is once again
able to bedazzle him into submission. Yet the
players’ concluding actions suggest that per-
haps both characters have failed to achieve
their objectives. Being excused for his complic-
ity because he is seduced and overpowered
by Amin does not clear Garrigan’s conscience.
Getting Garrigan to back down in this exchange
does not ensure the young man’s approval or
loyalty—and so Amin must buy his love with the
promise of additional pleasure and affection.
The possibility that both characters achieve
their objectives and, at the same time, on a
deeper level fail to achieve their objectives
makes the scene an especially intriguing case
and one that reveals the value of examining
scenes through and in terms of dramatic struc-
ture grounded in actions and objectives.
Script Analysis Terms: Another Tool
for Analyzing Representations of Power
Complex interactions such as those found in
scenes from The Last King of Scotland almost
require action-by-action analysis. Yet Stan-
islavsky’s terms and concepts can be used to
discuss any performance. Films that feature
long takes, whether by Jean Renoir, William
Wyler, Jim Jarmusch, or Richard Linklater, lend
themselves to analysis of performers’ actions
and the transitions from one action to another.
Films based on the same source also offer use-
ful material for studies of acting. For instance,
Richard III can provide the basis for work that
examines the play, Olivier’s 1955 adaptation,
the 1995 production with Ian McKellen, and Al
Pacino’s Looking for Richard (1996), which af-
fords a rare glimpse into actors’ “search to dis-
cover the inner lives of their characters” (Haase
141; see also Churcher 71–72 and McKellen’s
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screenplay). Equally important, in any film—
from Douglas Sirk melodramas to John Woo
blood operas—terms from the craft of acting
facilitate description of the physical and vocal
expressions that belong to the sign-complexes
that audiences encounter; for example, a vocal
inflection, a turn of the head, a change in the
music, and a camera’s movement can function
as a cluster of signs operating in concert.
Regardless of how performance details are
combined with filmic elements, Stanislavsky’s
taxonomy gives us terms for identifying the
goal-directed actions in screen performances
and the meanings those actions might suggest.
By providing a coherent rubric for analyzing the
myriad impressions created by acting choices,
script analysis terms offer a way to discuss sa-
lient performance details that exist in relation-
ships of parallelism, contrast, subordination,
and equilibrium with filmmakers’ choices about
lighting, setting, and so on.
Importantly, though script analysis terms
address just a fraction of the forces that shape
audience interpretations, like other craft vo-
cabulary, terms from the craft of acting can
deepen analyses of films’ representational poli-
tics. Stanislavsky’s terms make it possible to
identity which character/actor tends to initiate
the action in a scene and which character/actor
generally resists. Significantly, these decidedly
different roles invariably disclose the individual
or societal structures of power underlying the
film’s narrative.
Studies of film performance have increased
scholars’ appreciation of individual stars and
performances.5 However, analyses of screen
performances can also facilitate insights into
films’ representations of race, gender, sexuality,
and so on. Ideological studies already depend
on production terms to unpack films’ implicit
meanings. Although use of script analysis terms,
which so effectively illuminate the battles for
power at the heart of comedic and dramatic
scenes, will generally confirm analyses that
show how filmic choices consistently sustain the
status quo, vocabulary from the craft of acting
can enhance inquiries into the way films repre-
sent power struggles and structures of power.
39
notes
1. It is possible to overlook the degree to which
production terms are used to describe nonperfor-
mance elements in film. Vocabulary drawn from the
field of cinematography allows scholars to discuss
depth of field, camera angles, and camera height;
to discuss framing choices as long shots to extreme
close-ups; to discuss camera movement as pans,
tilts, crane shots, and so on; and to discuss lighting
choices as high-key or low-key and varied in terms of
the quality, direction, source, and color of the light.
Terms borrowed from postproduction are the basis for
discussions about shot duration: for example, long
versus short takes and changes in tempo of editing.
They also provide vocabulary for discussing shot-to-
shot relationships (e.g., cross-cutting, insert shots,
cutaways, and shot-reverse-shots). Sound design
terms facilitate analyses of sound-image relationships
and include terms such as ambient sound, sound dis-
solve, and sound perspective.
2. The glossary in Sharon Marie Carnicke’s Stan-
islavsky in Focus provides the most comprehensive
definition of terms pertinent to Stanislavsky’s vision
of script analysis. An application of Stanislavsky’s
script analysis terms can be found in Baron and
Carnicke (208–31). To supplement insights gained
through use of script analysis terms, one would want
to consider the influence of genre conventions, time
period, production regime, surrounding aesthetic
movements, cultural traditions, and directorial
choices about the presentation of performance. Look-
ing at films through the lens of script analysis terms
also does not account for the extratextual factors
that color audience interpretations, which include
people’s familiarity with the conventions that govern
filmic and acting choices, viewers’ interest in and
exposure to material about film stars, and personal
or cultural experiences that make some physical and
vocal choices resonate more strongly than others.
3. Although the case studies are character-driven
pieces, script analysis terms can facilitate analysis
even in action films when performances seem to play
a secondary role. That option was suggested early on
in the 1931 essay “An Attempt at a Structural Analysis
of a Dramatic Figure,” by Prague School theorist Jan
Mukarovský, which outlines the many ways that act-
ing details can be combined with other filmic and nar-
rative elements. Richard Maltby’s discussion of film
performances in Hollywood Cinema also highlights
the fact that analysis is warranted in performances
that range from those that emphasize performers’
skill, grace, beauty, or physical prowess to perfor-
mances that are integrated into the narrative and are
designed to reveal character.
4. Variations of the eight effort actions include
crush, cut, squeeze, shove, punch, poke, pull, pluck,
stretch, beat, throw, whip, smooth, smear, smudge,
40
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pat, tap, shake, strew, stir, stroke, flip, flap, and jerk.
One of the most concise accounts of Laban effort
actions and their variations can be found in Newlove
(105). An application of Laban Movement Analysis can
be found in Baron and Carnicke (188–207).
5. For example, Martin Shingler’s work on per-
formances by Bette Davis features exceptionally
nuanced analyses of performance choices and the
connotations they carry. An example of his work
can be found in Screen Acting, edited by Alan Lovell
and Peter Krämer. Charles Affron’s Star Acting: Gish,
Garbo, Davis represents an early detailed study of
individual performances. Andrew Klevan’s Film Perfor-
mance: From Achievement to Appreciation is a more
recent example of work that explores individual per-
formances. James Naremore’s landmark study, Acting
in the Cinema, features informative close readings of
star performances.
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Baron, Cynthia, and Sharon Marie Carnicke. Refram-
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