From Words to Images
This is a transcript from Visium: The Secret Language of Images. Listen to the episode below:
There’s one question that always seems to make student filmmakers nervous: What’s your story?
You’d think it would be an easy one to answer—we’re visual storytellers, after all. But story isn’t just what happens on the surface. It runs deeper, and that’s where things get tricky. It’s easy to confuse story with plot, and if you don’t know your story, you can’t create the right images to tell it.
A common mistake filmmakers make is focusing on the plot instead of the story. Part of the problem comes from how we’re taught.
My name is Tal Lazar, and this is “Visium”, where we explore images, and figure out what makes them work. In this first series, we focus on images in movies.
A visual story takes us on a journey, expresses a character's internal transformation and reflects a bigger idea. Last episode, we broke that down and showed how it applies to movie images. I also mentioned that a director needs to find the visual story—almost like it’s something lost.
But what does it really mean to find the story? To explore that, let’s look at a specific scene. I like using the classic fable of The Scorpion and the Frog because it’s short, simple, and fun.
A scorpion and a frog meet on the bank of a stream.
The scorpion asks the frog to carry him across on its back. The frog replies, “How do I know you won’t sting me?”
The scorpion says, “Because if I do, I will die too.”
The frog is satisfied, and they set out. In midstream the scorpion stings the frog. The frog, in pain, starts to sink, but has enough time to gasp “Why?”
Replies the scorpion: “It’s my nature...”
That’s our script. Now, I want you to list the key events—anything important that happens is an event. You can rewind if you need to hear it again. Keep that list handy, because soon, we’ll compare ours and discover where the story has been hiding.
Ready? Here’s my list. Listen closely and compare it with yours—see if there are any key differences.
- Frog and scorpion meet
- The Scorpion asks to be carried
- The Frog hesitates
- The Frog replies with hesitation
- The Scorpion assures the frog he will not sting him
- The Frog decides to agree
- The Frog and scorpion set out
- The Scorpion stings the frog
- The Frog feels the pain
- The Frog starts to sink
- The Frog asks why
- The Scorpion replies it’s his nature
- The The Frog understands his mistake
Did our lists match exactly? Maybe. Or maybe one of us included a few extra details. But after 15 years of teaching cinematography and using this same fable, I’ve noticed some differences that comes up again and again—most people don’t list the frog’s hesitation or his decision to trust the scorpion as separate events. That’s because they’re only implied in the script. But they’re still there, and that might be the most important lesson in cinematography.
Think about it—all the other events, like the frog and scorpion meeting, their conversation, setting out, the sting—those all make the plot. If you needed to show them in a movie in the most efficient way, you could show them all in a single wide shot. But hesitation? Decision? Those need something more. That’s where the story lives.
What’s interesting is that the entire fable depends on this unspoken part of the story. If the frog didn’t hesitate at all, the entire thing loses its weight—it’s not as tragic. But if he really considers it, then his mistake feels real, and the meaning of the fable hits harder.
Plot is what happens on the surface, while story runs underneath—that’s why it’s called subtext. And here’s the interesting part: the plot could change completely while the story stays the same. This fable could be about a cat and a mouse trying to cross the road, or a person in an orange jumpsuit hitchhiking outside a prison. The circumstances shift, but the core arc remains.
This is especially useful for independent filmmakers, since in low budget movies things constantly change because of limitations. If you understand your story, you can still tell it even when the locations or schedules shift.
A common mistake filmmakers make is focusing on the plot instead of the story. Part of the problem comes from how we’re taught. Early on, filmmakers worry about clarity. We want to make sure the audience gets everything, so we prioritize delivering information over emotion. In film school, we’re told to always use an establishing shot, to cover dialogue scenes with two close-ups from one side of the 180-degree line, so things stay clear. But none of those techniques guarantee a good film. An audience can understand everything perfectly and still feel nothing.
So here’s my challenge to you: Instead of making movies everyone understands but no one feels, try making movies that no one understands, but everyone feels. You’ll discover that it’s actually hard to confuse an audience that’s emotionally engaged—even without an establishing shot.
So where’s the screenplay in all of this? The actions and dialogue we read in a script make up the plot. The definition of plot is "A series of events which make the story and are connected through cause and effect.”
The real driving force behind a plot isn’t just cause and effect, though, it’s the story. Story is what gives those events meaning—it’s the journey of a character’s internal transformation and the expression of a bigger idea.
If we think of plot as text, then story is subtext.
And finally, underneath both story and plot is the theme—the central idea or message a film conveys. Filmmakers sometimes describe their movies in terms of theme, saying things like, My film is about how life was difficult during the Great Depression. But unless it’s a straight news report, even a documentary filmmaker would look for characters that embody the ideas the story aims to deliver.
Themes are just too abstract to communicate directly. The good news? Most filmmakers don’t need to stress about theme too much—it naturally emerges from who we are, what we care about, and how we tell our stories. If you focus on a meaningful story and a strong plot, the theme will take care of itself.
Let’s go back to Irving Penn’s quote: “A good photograph is one that communicates a fact, touches the heart, and leaves the viewer a changed person for having seen it. It is, in a word, effective.”
My friend and colleague, cinematographer Hana Kitasei made a great connection between this idea and the relationship between plot, story, and theme. When Penn talks about communicating a fact—that’s plot. Touching the heart? That’s story. And leaving the viewer changed? That’s theme.
Every good movie has a story. Every scene has a smaller story. And since story is tied to a character, each character has their own story. Think about a scene where a couple argues about their relationship. If you sum up the story as simply a couple arguing, you miss something important, since each character has a different perspective. That’s what creates the conflict in the first place.
Give it a try. Pick a movie scene that really hits you emotionally. Finding the story starts with one question: Who is the main character? There can be more than one, and if that’s the case, you’ll have to look at each separately. Another thing to consider is that the main character in a scene can be different than the main character in the whole film.
Once you have the character, try summarizing the story by starting with the character’s name or a very brief description. For The Scorpion and the Frog, I’d begin my description of the story with The Frog, and think about how I need to continue describing his story. This method forces us to see things from that specific character’s perspective.
But stories can be difficult to pin down. There are some ways around this. For example, since transformation is at the heart of every story, we can look for anything that changes. At first, you’ll probably notice external shifts—like the Frog moving from the riverbank to underwater, or being alive at the start and dead at the end. But we’re after something deeper—internal transformation.
A good way to spot it is by asking: What can this character do at the end that they couldn’t do at the beginning? Imagine the Frog surviving this experience. If he found himself in the same situation again, how would he handle it differently? He’s learned an important lesson, and that shift in understanding is his transformation.
Cinematography serves the story—that’s the whole point of lenses, cameras, and lighting. Everything else is secondary. And since story is about transformation, cinematography should reflect that too.
If you look closely, you’ll notice how cinematography emphasizes important moments and how editing stretches or shortens sequences to shape an emotional response. Once you understand the story, these choices start to feel more intentional.
This idea should also make us question filmmaking conventions that are often taken for granted. An establishing shot? Only if it serves the story or reveals something essential beyond just the scene itself. In fact, wide shots can be much more difficult to execute than close-ups because they include a lot more of the environment, which needs to be lit or blocked. A large city street is much more tricky to shoot than a corner in an alley.
The more complicated a scene gets, the harder it is to stay focused on the story.
Take a nightclub scene, for example. The producer might insist on filming the wide shots first because they involve extras, and the entire club needs to be controlled. This can all be expensive and tricky to coordinate. So you spend most of your day setting up and filming wide shots that look great but won’t be on-screen for long. Then, towards the end of the day, you’ll rush through the part of the scene that matters the most.
As a director, you’re the guardian of the story. You’re the one who sees the bigger picture. Your core team—like a cinematographer, assistant director, or creative producer—they can help, but in the end, it’s your responsibility to keep your focus on what really matters. This is especially important in technically complex scenes.
But wide establishing shots and complicated scenes are not the only traps we meet. Filmmaking conventions like coverage in dialogue scenes is a big one. Think about it, in a standard film—how much screen time is devoted to dialogue between characters? Sometimes most of the movie is dialogue. And what is the common way to film dialogue scenes, which most YouTube videos teach? Two close-ups, or over-the-shoulders, and a side wide shot—this is coverage. But, if this is so simple, and there is a formula for shooting dialogue scenes, why do we even need a director? In reality, even dialogue scenes have a story, and knowing it well makes all the difference.
Watch a great dialogue scene closely, and you’ll notice subtle shifts in the visual language. Maybe one character is framed slightly wider than the other, or maybe the there is a hint for a perspective and an emotional shift. These decisions aren’t random—they serve the story.
One of the scenes I usually show to demonstrate this is from Once Upon a Time In Hollywood. Hollywood star Rick Dalton sits in a restaurant with bigtime producer Marvin Schwarz. Schwarz talks about how much he enjoyed Rick Dalton’s movies, but very quickly we get the sense that Dalton is not proud at all… he’s actually kind of embarrassed by his own work. That is all subtextual. Look at the scene closely, and you’ll see visual choices—like the fact Rick Dalton, played by Leonardo DiCaprio, is always shot in a tighter close-up than Marvin Schwarz, played by Al Pacino.
To study cinematography in scenes like this one from Once Upon a Time In Hollywood, we need to go back to Irving Penn’s advice: look for effect. Always start with the questions that matter. Who is the main character? What’s their story? And only then, ask: How do I know? What visual choices make that story clear?
As we get closer to the end of this episode, the original question still stands: Why is story hidden? Why don’t screenwriters—who probably have a pretty strong vision themselves—just write it more explicitly?
Think back to the list of events from The Scorpion and the Frog, which I shared earlier. One event at the end stood out, maybe you caught it: The Frog understands. But in the original fable, there’s no mention of the Frog understanding anything. He simply asks, Why? The Scorpion answers “it’s my nature”, and that’s it. So who decides if the Frog really understands? That choice is left to the director.
Screenwriters are a bit like composers. If you’ve ever heard multiple orchestras play Beethoven or Mozart, you’ve probably noticed that the same piece can sound very different, even while staying true to the composer’s intent. Musical notation can indicate something should be played softly (piano) or forcefully (forte), but there’s still room for interpretation. That’s why a Beethoven symphony will sound one way with one orchestra and completely different with another. In the same way, if Spielberg and Tarantino directed the same scene, you’d get two entirely different films.
Interpreting a written scene is part of the director’s job—just like actors are expected to bring their own interpretations to a role. Young screenwriters sometimes struggle with this idea, but it’s simply how filmmaking works. In fact, it’s generally considered bad form for a screenwriter to include specific shot instructions for the cinematographer or direct actors through the script, even if they have a strong vision. Instead, they rely on more subtle ways to guide the reader, shaping the story so that certain interpretations feel almost inevitable.
The screenplay for Denis Villeneuve’s film Arrival opens with a simple description of a lake house:
"EXT. Lake house, sunset. A modern home built on the shore with a large deck."
There’s no need for camera directions—we immediately imagine a wide shot. Still, a director might decide that a wide shot isn’t necessary, either during filming or in the editing room. They might even change the time of day. That’s their right, because their job is to interpret the story, and that interpretation might be different from what the screenwriter originally envisioned.
In Arrival, the first shot is from inside the lake house, not necessarily what we imagined when reading the first line in the script.
Some screenwriters carefully weave their vision into the script, making certain choices feel inevitable. Others leave more room for interpretation. Take Fight Club, for example. The script starts with:
"INT. Top floor of High-Rise - Night. Tyler has the barrel of a handgun lodged in Jack’s mouth."
Is that a wide shot? A close-up? The script doesn’t say. But the way it launches straight into the action sets a tone—it carries its own kind of vision.
One thing to keep in mind: when we look at screenplays online, we usually find shooting drafts—the final versions used during production. These usually include notes and directions added by the director, making them more like blueprints for how scenes will be filmed rather than just the writer’s original vision.
Before the shooting draft, when directors and cinematographers first approach a screenplay, they need to break it down. This process extracts all the elements needed to shoot the film, and by definition, that requires interpretation. A cinematographer can’t do this alone—they need the director’s vision to create an effective visual strategy.
Breaking down a script means identifying key characters and their journeys within each scene, and also mapping how they evolve across the entire story. As you break down a screenplay, the more concise your description of the story, the better. In fact, a single sentence is often enough, and sometimes even two words can capture a character’s experience.
Take The Scorpion and the Frog: The Frog goes from trusting to betrayed. That’s a clear transformation, and we can express it visually. But just knowing what changes isn’t enough—we also need to pinpoint when it happens. There’s an exact moment where the transformation occurs, and that’s where cinematography plays a big role in emphasizing the internal shift.
But we’ll keep that for the next episodes. If that sounds interesting, please consider subscribing, leaving a review, and joining me as we continue exploring storytelling and the many ways visual artists bring it to life through images.
If you have any thought, an example that wasn’t mentioned or a question, feel free to reach out—just email [email protected] . You can also check out my book at TheLanguageofCinematography.com.
Thanks for spending time with me today. Goodbye!