Made of steel, an armored behemoth.

An impenetrable fortress of technological impossibilities. He stands powerful, facing his lifelong enemy. As old as time itself, woven in ink and silk, his enemy faces him back. These two, Screenwriting and Playwriting, have been locked in an endless battle for a hundred years. Screenwriting may be strong as iron, but cannot match the precision of the quick blade of Playwriting. Playwriting has lived eons longer than Screenwriting, and his evasive maneuvers barely get him out of the path of Screenwriting’s iron punch. Their battle is eternal and beautiful. They move almost as friends, so familiar in each other’s ways after years of conflict.

Movies were born with technology. They are fueled by technological advancements and improve parallel to technology. The birth of cinema is considered to be the 1891 Kinetoscope, but the Kinetoscope only allowed for one person to view at a time. Movies weren’t even shown before audiences until four years later. In the beginning, movies were short and had no synchronized dialogue. In fact, they rarely stood on their own and were produced alongside lectures and music and audience participation.

Then in 1906, color was introduced into movies and in 1927 sound was introduced. Movies reached a point where with both color and sound, they more closely resembled plays with a narrative structure. And with this development, Hollywood entered the Golden Age of the 30s (Science and Media Museum).

Today, we are seeing movies do something plays never could, with CGI and animation they are reaching a point of realism beyond plays’ capabilities. It almost seems as if money spent in editing is equal to success in the movie world. According to Jedinews, Avatar spent $237 million on CGI, and was the highest-grossing domestic film of all time. The most famously expensive movie to edit, The Avengers: Endgame, spent $356 million and broke a number of records, including highest opening weekend gross ($1.223 billion) and fastest to $2.5 billion (20 days). 

Theater has existed for as long as society itself. Unlike movies, theater was not sparked and lit aflame by technology, but by social instinct. The first recorded play was produced in Athens, called The Persians in 472 BC. Originally, Greek plays only had one protagonist with a singular problem and a chorus of people who helped them along the way. Medieval theater was mostly defined by the church, because it existed in a time where the church was the only stable government. Drama was used primarily in church services. As the church’s power weakened, so did its power over theater, and theater became more secular. The 17th century was a time of European military and political unrest, and that was reflected in the theater of the time. As societies became more free and complex, theater followed (Theater Seat Store). If movies were developed and made more global parallel to technology, theater is parallel to development of society. Movies often rely on advanced technology to be considered innovative and complex, whereas theaters rely on an advanced culture and society.

If we think about playwriting and screenwriting like this, two separately evolved art forms, we will become casualties in their battle. But if we instead recognize the benefits of both and agree upon their shared fundamentals, we can bridge the gap and create better entertainment for everyone. We have seen examples of work that heavily benefit from both a screenwriting and playwriting influence.

Fleabag, the critically-acclaimed 2019 TV show that follows a sexually-mischievous woman coping with the death of her best friend, originally gained popularity as a one-woman play. But before that, it was a standup set performed on a dare. The creator of the show and lead actress, Phoebe Waller-Bridge, wrote and starred in this play that went on to tour London, Australia, and South Korea and win the Edinburgh Fringe First award. From the beginning, the play was described as “side-splittingly funny,” and its direct commentary about things that often went undiscussed, like female sexuality, made “faces turn white” (Backstage).

Netflix’s sweetheart of the week, Baby Reindeer, is another beloved TV show that originated as a play. Following the protagonist, played by writer and creator Richard Gadd, the story shows his struggle with himself and his life as he deals with his “psycho stalker,” Martha. Based on Gadd’s real life experience, Baby Reindeer originally started as a one-man play by the same name. Instead of the audience viewing this experience like in the show, Gadd narrates his story and Martha is never seen, represented by a bar stool. The play is much less action-based than the show, and much faster paced, as it takes place in an hour while the show lasts about three and a half. But the themes and story are very similar, focusing on Gadd’s complex relationship with Martha and the comfort he finds in her (The Guardian).

But there are a lot of challenges of adapting a play into a television show. Had Gadd and Waller-Bridge kept their scripts the same, there is no way their shows would’ve found the commercial success they did in television. The relationship between on-stage characters and audience in plays is naturally much deeper than that of an on-screen relationship, so constant action and excitement is not as necessary to keep an audience’s attention. An hour-long monologue in a play can be beautiful and deep. On television, an hour-long monologue would just be boring. However, it is that connection and relatability with an audience that makes plays such a powerful form of entertainment. So when turning a play into a television show, it is essential to find ways to keep your imperfect characters and complex themes.

For example, Fleabag the show is notorious for its fourth-wall-breaking asides to the audience. But that actually was inspired by the fact that Fleabag in the play spoke primarily to the audience, only breaking away to talk to other characters. In Baby Reindeer, each episode opens with an image of one of the emails Martha sent Gadd’s character. The ending of the story brilliantly utilizes the voicemails Martha left to continue to remind the audience of her humanness. The play version of Baby Reindeer also featured the emails and voicemails, by playing voicemails throughout the show and by having the emails scroll on the ceiling of the venue. Both of these plays used common techniques to create more developed characters and an open relationship with the audience. But when adjusted to be used in television form, these techniques became revolutionary.

It is not only Hollywood that steals from plays. Plays steal plenty from Hollywood too. We’ve all heard of the exploding popularity of musicals based on movies, such as Legally Blonde, Mean Girls, The Notebook, and Back to the Future. So why are there so many musicals based on movies right now? Well, they’re popular. In one week of Broadway, movies turned musicals make up three of the top 10 highest-grossing shows, and musicals turned movie musicals make up another two (Playbill). Meaning that half of the top ten Broadway musicals that week have famous movie counterparts. So, some aspect of Hollywood has wormed its way into Broadway, and it’s clearly a profitable aspect. Is it familiarity?

Do we love remade movies as musicals because we love those movies? Well then what about all those middle-schoolers belting “Dead Mom,” despite not even knowing Beetlejuice was originally a movie? There is something inherent in these movies that makes us love them that translates over to musical-form. Something beyond familiarity, beyond name recognition. I believe that something is unadulterated entertainment. Funny, momentary, quotable entertainment. If plays make great television because of its character complexity and connection to the audience, movies make great musicals because they are flirty and engaging and overall fun.

But really, well all is said and done, those are just generalizations. There are movies that are emotional and dramatic, and there are plays that are just silly and feel-good. But in terms of rules of the genre, we heavily separate playwriting from screenwriting. Playwrights think of playwriting as the superior and more artful form, and screenwriting as the deformed, hunchback, cousin-uncle. Meanwhile, screenwriters view playwriting as convoluted and unprofitable.

Yet they both feel like the presence of one defeats the purpose of the other. These two allegedly completely different arts are vying for the same place in people’s hearts. And while I do agree that they both have their niches and specificities, the overall art should be similar. They’re both forms of dramatic writing and narrative storytelling, and they both exist for the benefit of people. So how has one become a sell-out and the other pretentious? Why do we view them as opponents, rather than brothers?

Well, many places don’t view them as separate. It’s becoming increasingly common for universities, such as New York University, SCAD, and Carnegie Mellon, to offer Dramatic Writing degrees, rather than a degree in just Screenwriting or Playwriting. At NYU, first years study playwriting, dating back to Ancient Greece, and study episodic and film writing in their second year. But in their third and fourth years, they pick an emphasis they want to focus on. The goal of this type of program is “cross-training the thinking writer” (NYU Tisch). 

I believe these colleges have the right idea of what screenwriting and playwriting should really be. Not two separate arts in eternal competition, but two branches of the same fundamentals. If every dramatic writer learned the basics of television writing, film writing, and playwriting, the entire entertainment industry would benefit. Because screenwriting and playwriting aren’t really in competition. They are two parallel art forms that grow and evolve together.

Bloodied and bruised, Playwriting releases its sword. Threatened, Screenwriting prepares for an attack. But instead, Playwriting bows his head, recognizing its equal. Screenwriting takes a step towards his former enemy and finally views him as what he really is: his brother. He holds out his hand. Playwriting takes it. Together, they walk off into the sunset, their battle finally over. The world rejoices.

I’m Zella Selvoy-Devan, and I approve this message.