A. GOOD DIALOGUE IS OFTEN INCOHERENT (This Example is From the Movie, Topsy-Turvy):
(1) Kitty: [sitting in her bed, looking at Gilbert] “Did you dine at the Beeksteak Club?”
(2) Gilbert: [sitting in a chair alongside Kitty’s bed, looking straight ahead] “Yes...somewhat unsatisfactorily.”
( 3) Kitty: “Oh! You missed Mrs. Chad’s rarebit curry.”
( 4) Gilbert: “One gets the impression that everyone is snickering behind one’s back”
( 5) Kitty: “Perhaps you could have some for tomorrow’s lunch.”
( 6) Gilbert: “‘The King of Topsy-Turvydom!’ It’s humiliating!”
( 7) Kitty: “You look a little uncomfortable.”
( 8) Gilbert: “I’m comfortable enough. [pause] I watched a bit from the wings.”
( 9) Kitty: “Oh, did you?”
(10) Gilbert: “First Act. Seemed to be going rather well, surprisingly.”
(11) Kitty: “There, you see. [pause; looks toward the foot of the bed; then she looks at a book she holds in her hands] Would you like me to read to you?”
(12) Gilbert: “No, thank you. I’ll leave you. You must be tired.”
(13) Kitty: “No, I’m not in the slightest.”
(14) Gilbert: “It’s wrong for me to unburden myself on you.”
(15) Kitty: “Don’t be silly. That’s why I’m here. [pats the bedcovers with her hand] Come and talk to your Kitty.”
(16) Gilbert: [rising from his chair; looking off into space] “Sometimes one wonders why one bothers. They say jump; you jump. [turning toward Kitty] Good night, my dear.” [Gilbert exits the room]
B. COMMENT: Real dialogue often does not follow previous statements in a way that would imply that one statement is linked to another with some linguistic or logical necessity. Instead, one might notice an abrupt disconnect between statements, as in the sample of dialogue above. I use the word “statement” here to mean any verbal utterance by either party in the dialogue.
In this scene, William S. Gilbert, the lyricist of those redoubtable Gilbert & Sullivan works, is seen sitting on a chair in his wife’s (“Kitty”) bedroom. He has just returned from the opening performance of one of his newest operettas. He is rather distraught by the uncharitable comments of a newspaper critic about his work. Kitty, however, true to her depiction in this movie as a rather flighty person, begins by asking a highly irrelevant question. She does not ask about the performance of the operetta; instead she asks about something much more prosaic. She asks about his supper.
Kitty’s straightforward question in statement, (1), “Did you dine at the Beeksteak Club?” is answered in a logical and linear manner by Gilbert in statement, (2), “Yes...somewhat unsatisfactorily.” Then Kitty adds a slight irrelevancy, (3), “Oh! You missed Mrs. Chad’s rarebit curry.” Gilbert’s response, however, pertains to comments made in a newspaper about his latest operetta, (4), “One gets the impression that everyone is snickering behind one’s back.” His remark does not respond to Kitty’s comment about Mrs. Chad’s rarebit curry. The screenwriter uses this bit of misdirection in the dialogue to reveal aspects of Gilbert’s and Kitty’s personalities that could not be given by other means: the two have a tendency to talk past one another and to ignore the other’s statements. Kitty continues her statement, (5), “Perhaps you could have some for tomorrow’s lunch.” Gilbert counters with, (6), “‘The King of Topsy-Turvydom!’ It’s humiliating!”
This incoherent dialogue results from incoherency of agonistic concerns. As long as the speakers have exactly similar interests, the dialogue is coherent. But when the speakers do not share the same interest, the dialogue slips into the incoherency of divided interests: she speaks about the things that most attract her interest, and he speaks about things that concern him. As a result, they “talk past each one another.”
Artistically speaking, it would not be wise to allow an incoherent dialogue to continue apace. Appropriately then, the screenwriter nudges the dialogue back into a fleeting coherency with Kitty stating, (7), “You look a little uncomfortable”, with Gilbert replying, (8a), “I’m comfortable enough.” But then things slip back into incoherency with another burst of irrelevancy: Gilbert adds, (8b), “I watched a bit from the wings.” His statement does not follow the previous comments about looking “a little uncomfortable.” He has steered the conversation back to one that should be expected of a man returning home from a premier of his operetta.
Even so, Gilbert’s statement, (8b), “I watched a bit from the wings,” introduces a new coherent dialogue, when Kitty replies, (9), “Oh, did you?”, and he responds with, (10) “First Act. Seemed to be going rather well, surprisingly.” Kitty approves by saying, (11a), “There, you see.”
Then the dialogue collapses into incoherency once again when Kitty says, (11b), “Would you like me to read to you?” Of course he doesn’t want her to read to him: he wants her to engage in a dialogue with him about his operetta. Instead, she asks such an irrelevant question that he decides to terminate the conversation, (12), “No, thank you. I’ll leave you. You must be tired.” She replies (coherently, by the way), (13), “No, I’m not in the slightest.” He slides off into another incoherent response, (14), “It’s wrong for me to unburden myself on you.” She replies (coherently, again), (15), “Don’t be silly. That’s why I’m here. Come and talk to your Kitty.” Gilbert answers her with a non sequitur by saying, (16a), “Sometimes one wonders why one bothers. They say jump; you jump. And then he adds the most incoherent statement of all, (16b), Good night, my dear,” and the scene ends.
In my opinion, this is a brilliant piece of dialogue.
C. PRINCIPLES: Authentic dialogue is often non-linear and incoherent. This is reflected in the fact that segments of dialogue do not always follow each other in the way that we would expect. Instead, dialogue is frequently disjunctive and incoherent. Stylistically, the artist properly utilizes this aspect of dialogue to flesh out his characters in a story and to give them definition.
Authentic dialogue reflects the concerns of the speaker. That is, the character speaking a line of dialogue usually expresses the things that concern him and not the things that concern others. At its most extreme case, such a dialogue may appear as two separate, parallel arguments that intersect only briefly - if at all - and then only temporarily. At the other extreme, the dialogue may be completely coherent. In fact, we have a term of art for a person who is unusually good at engaging in a conversation: we say that he is “a good listener.” What we really mean, however, is that such a person follows the expressed concerns of the other so well that no incoherency can occur. The “good listener” adopts the concerns of the speaker so completely that no disjunction is possible. Since there are agonistic characters in a story - characters who “fight each other” - their dialogue must be agonistic at times.
Authentic dialogue utilizes just enough incoherency to make things interesting. Just as a small amount of spice can enliven food, an over-abundant use of spice - or incoherent dialogue - can ruin the product. A measured amount of incoherent dialogue gives stylistic strength to a story. But, dear friends, all things in good measure.
(1) Kitty: [sitting in her bed, looking at Gilbert] “Did you dine at the Beeksteak Club?”
(2) Gilbert: [sitting in a chair alongside Kitty’s bed, looking straight ahead] “Yes...somewhat unsatisfactorily.”
( 3) Kitty: “Oh! You missed Mrs. Chad’s rarebit curry.”
( 4) Gilbert: “One gets the impression that everyone is snickering behind one’s back”
( 5) Kitty: “Perhaps you could have some for tomorrow’s lunch.”
( 6) Gilbert: “‘The King of Topsy-Turvydom!’ It’s humiliating!”
( 7) Kitty: “You look a little uncomfortable.”
( 8) Gilbert: “I’m comfortable enough. [pause] I watched a bit from the wings.”
( 9) Kitty: “Oh, did you?”
(10) Gilbert: “First Act. Seemed to be going rather well, surprisingly.”
(11) Kitty: “There, you see. [pause; looks toward the foot of the bed; then she looks at a book she holds in her hands] Would you like me to read to you?”
(12) Gilbert: “No, thank you. I’ll leave you. You must be tired.”
(13) Kitty: “No, I’m not in the slightest.”
(14) Gilbert: “It’s wrong for me to unburden myself on you.”
(15) Kitty: “Don’t be silly. That’s why I’m here. [pats the bedcovers with her hand] Come and talk to your Kitty.”
(16) Gilbert: [rising from his chair; looking off into space] “Sometimes one wonders why one bothers. They say jump; you jump. [turning toward Kitty] Good night, my dear.” [Gilbert exits the room]
B. COMMENT: Real dialogue often does not follow previous statements in a way that would imply that one statement is linked to another with some linguistic or logical necessity. Instead, one might notice an abrupt disconnect between statements, as in the sample of dialogue above. I use the word “statement” here to mean any verbal utterance by either party in the dialogue.
In this scene, William S. Gilbert, the lyricist of those redoubtable Gilbert & Sullivan works, is seen sitting on a chair in his wife’s (“Kitty”) bedroom. He has just returned from the opening performance of one of his newest operettas. He is rather distraught by the uncharitable comments of a newspaper critic about his work. Kitty, however, true to her depiction in this movie as a rather flighty person, begins by asking a highly irrelevant question. She does not ask about the performance of the operetta; instead she asks about something much more prosaic. She asks about his supper.
Kitty’s straightforward question in statement, (1), “Did you dine at the Beeksteak Club?” is answered in a logical and linear manner by Gilbert in statement, (2), “Yes...somewhat unsatisfactorily.” Then Kitty adds a slight irrelevancy, (3), “Oh! You missed Mrs. Chad’s rarebit curry.” Gilbert’s response, however, pertains to comments made in a newspaper about his latest operetta, (4), “One gets the impression that everyone is snickering behind one’s back.” His remark does not respond to Kitty’s comment about Mrs. Chad’s rarebit curry. The screenwriter uses this bit of misdirection in the dialogue to reveal aspects of Gilbert’s and Kitty’s personalities that could not be given by other means: the two have a tendency to talk past one another and to ignore the other’s statements. Kitty continues her statement, (5), “Perhaps you could have some for tomorrow’s lunch.” Gilbert counters with, (6), “‘The King of Topsy-Turvydom!’ It’s humiliating!”
This incoherent dialogue results from incoherency of agonistic concerns. As long as the speakers have exactly similar interests, the dialogue is coherent. But when the speakers do not share the same interest, the dialogue slips into the incoherency of divided interests: she speaks about the things that most attract her interest, and he speaks about things that concern him. As a result, they “talk past each one another.”
Artistically speaking, it would not be wise to allow an incoherent dialogue to continue apace. Appropriately then, the screenwriter nudges the dialogue back into a fleeting coherency with Kitty stating, (7), “You look a little uncomfortable”, with Gilbert replying, (8a), “I’m comfortable enough.” But then things slip back into incoherency with another burst of irrelevancy: Gilbert adds, (8b), “I watched a bit from the wings.” His statement does not follow the previous comments about looking “a little uncomfortable.” He has steered the conversation back to one that should be expected of a man returning home from a premier of his operetta.
Even so, Gilbert’s statement, (8b), “I watched a bit from the wings,” introduces a new coherent dialogue, when Kitty replies, (9), “Oh, did you?”, and he responds with, (10) “First Act. Seemed to be going rather well, surprisingly.” Kitty approves by saying, (11a), “There, you see.”
Then the dialogue collapses into incoherency once again when Kitty says, (11b), “Would you like me to read to you?” Of course he doesn’t want her to read to him: he wants her to engage in a dialogue with him about his operetta. Instead, she asks such an irrelevant question that he decides to terminate the conversation, (12), “No, thank you. I’ll leave you. You must be tired.” She replies (coherently, by the way), (13), “No, I’m not in the slightest.” He slides off into another incoherent response, (14), “It’s wrong for me to unburden myself on you.” She replies (coherently, again), (15), “Don’t be silly. That’s why I’m here. Come and talk to your Kitty.” Gilbert answers her with a non sequitur by saying, (16a), “Sometimes one wonders why one bothers. They say jump; you jump. And then he adds the most incoherent statement of all, (16b), Good night, my dear,” and the scene ends.
In my opinion, this is a brilliant piece of dialogue.
C. PRINCIPLES: Authentic dialogue is often non-linear and incoherent. This is reflected in the fact that segments of dialogue do not always follow each other in the way that we would expect. Instead, dialogue is frequently disjunctive and incoherent. Stylistically, the artist properly utilizes this aspect of dialogue to flesh out his characters in a story and to give them definition.
Authentic dialogue reflects the concerns of the speaker. That is, the character speaking a line of dialogue usually expresses the things that concern him and not the things that concern others. At its most extreme case, such a dialogue may appear as two separate, parallel arguments that intersect only briefly - if at all - and then only temporarily. At the other extreme, the dialogue may be completely coherent. In fact, we have a term of art for a person who is unusually good at engaging in a conversation: we say that he is “a good listener.” What we really mean, however, is that such a person follows the expressed concerns of the other so well that no incoherency can occur. The “good listener” adopts the concerns of the speaker so completely that no disjunction is possible. Since there are agonistic characters in a story - characters who “fight each other” - their dialogue must be agonistic at times.
Authentic dialogue utilizes just enough incoherency to make things interesting. Just as a small amount of spice can enliven food, an over-abundant use of spice - or incoherent dialogue - can ruin the product. A measured amount of incoherent dialogue gives stylistic strength to a story. But, dear friends, all things in good measure.
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