Let’s talk about dialogue in screenplays, because if there’s one thing that can make or break your script, it’s the words your characters spit out. Writing dialogue that pops off the page is damn hard. If the words spoken by your characters don’t pop, your script is doomed.

You might as well save the literary agents of the world the pain of reading it before you get a reputation as a crappy writer. Remember one thing always: The language of film is visual. It’s not a book, don’t kill your movie by making the script read like a book.

Outstanding dialogue writing is tricky, but when it works, it’s magic. When it doesn’t, well, you’re stuck with a snooze-fest that even a triple espresso can’t save. So, what’s the secret sauce? How do you refine it, trim it, or beef it up without turning your script into a hot mess? Grab a triple espresso, and let’s dive in.

First off, good dialogue sounds like real people talking, except better. It’s not about mimicking every “um” and “uh” from real life; nobody wants to watch that. It’s about capturing the rhythm of how folks speak, then sharpening it.

Think of Quentin Tarantino’s Pulp Fiction; those hitmen chatting about burgers before a job. “Royale with cheese” isn’t something you’d hear at the gas station, but it feels alive, quirky, and memorable. It’s got personality. Compare that to a rookie mistake: characters who sound like robots reading a manual. “I am angry because you betrayed me, John.” Yawn. Nobody talks like that unless they’re auditioning for a soap opera reject pile.

What works is subtext — saying more by saying less. People don’t blurt out every feeling like they’re in therapy. Take a scene where a wife finds lipstick on her husband’s collar. She doesn’t scream, “You’re cheating!” Instead, she smirks and says, “New shade? Doesn’t suit you.” Boom. Tension crackles, and we get it without the sledgehammer.

That, folks, is dialogue doing its job: showing character, hinting at conflict, and leaving room for the audience to connect the dots. What doesn’t work? On-the-nose lines that spell everything out. “I’m so sad because my dog died yesterday.” Ugh. Let her kick a chair or mutter, “Stupid mutt,” while her eyes well up. Trust your audience, they’re not dumb.

Now, how do you judge when to expand or cut? It’s a gut thing, but there’s a trick: every line’s gotta earn its keep. If it’s not revealing character, pushing the plot, or landing a laugh, it’s dead weight. Say you’ve got two buddies in a car chase, and one’s yammering about his grandma’s cookies. Cute, sure, but unless those cookies tie into the story — like they’re laced with the heist cash — snip it.

Expanding’s fine when it deepens the moment. In The Godfather, Michael Corleone’s quiet “I’ll take care of it” could’ve been a one-liner, but Coppola lets the silence stretch, and Pacino’s eyes do the talking. That pause says more than a page of chatter ever could. So, ask yourself: does this line move the needle, or is it just noise?

Cutting’s brutal, though. You’ve got that killer quip you love, but if it’s slowing the pace, it’s gotta go. I once wrote a scene where a detective rambled about his divorce for half a page. Funny? Maybe. Relevant? Nope. Sliced it down to “She kept the dog, I kept the scars.” Same vibe, less baggage.

Read your script aloud — if you stumble or zone out, it’s a red flag. Actors will thank you, too; they hate slogging through word soup. The goal’s a tightrope walk: enough meat to feel real, lean enough to keep the story humming.

So, when’s dialogue “perfect”? Perfection’s a unicorn, it doesn’t exist, but you know you’re close when it sings. It’s when you read it and think, “I can’t imagine this character saying anything else.” Take the last line in Casablanca. “Louis, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.” Simple, iconic, pure Bogart. It fits the moment like a glove.

You’ll feel it in your bones when the words lock into place — crisp, natural, and unforgettable. But don’t kid yourself; it takes drafts. First passes are clunky because everyone sounds like you, not them. Keep tweaking until each voice stands apart. A gruff cop shouldn’t talk like a jittery teen. Test it with friends; if they laugh or gasp where you want, you’re golden.

Pay close attention to how real people talk. If your character is a gruff cop, why not find a gruff cop and take him to lunch and have a couple drinks? Throw questions at him. Ask for stories related to his law enforcement career. Listen to what he says and how he says it. You’ll have thoughts flashing through your head about his style. Think about how you would describe him. Make notes about his style. Then use them.

Sometimes, though, you’re too close to see the cracks. That’s where a screenplay consultant swoops in to help. These folks have ears for dialogue. They’ll spot where it’s flat, bloated, or trying too hard. Say your hero’s monologuing about his tragic past for three pages. A consultant might say, “Cut it to two lines and let his limp tell the story.” Consultants are not cheap but if they improve your chances to get your script read, they’re worth it.

They’ve read a zillion scripts and know what sells. I had a buddy hire one who flagged his rom-com leads sounding “like they’re in a board meeting.” Reworked it, and suddenly the banter sparked. Consultants are your outside brain when you’re stuck in the weeds.

Ghostwriters Central, Inc., is a company that provides screenplay consulting services, as well as screenwriting and script doctoring, by experienced, vetted professionals under contract. You can buy a block of time with one. Click a link to talk to Michael McKown about one of his writers pulling you out of those weeds.

What happens when you don’t refine, though? Bloated dialogue sinks scripts faster than a rowboat hit by a torpedo. Imagine a heist flick where the crew explains the plan for ten minutes — every lock, every camera. Snooze. Audiences check out; producers toss it.

Or worse, excessive exposition. “As you know, Bob, we’ve been brothers for 30 years since Mom died in that fire.” It’s a dump truck of info nobody asked for. Look at Jaws. They don’t sit around saying, “Sharks are dangerous because…” Nope, Quint scratches that chalkboard, and we’re hooked. Overstuffed scripts scream “novice,” and in a stack of 50 submissions, they’re the first to hit the trash.

The flip side’s just as bad, dialogue so sparse it’s cryptic. If nobody knows what’s happening because you cut too much, you’ve lost the plot. Balance is key. Think of The Dark Knight. The Joker’s lines are wild, but they’re tight: “Do I look like a guy with a plan?” No fluff, all punch. That’s what you’re chasing: words that stick without overstaying their welcome.

Refining dialogue’s a grind, no lie. It’s rewriting until your fingers bleed, then rewriting again. But when it clicks, it’s like striking oil. Your characters breathe, the story flows, and readers lean in. Start by listening to movies, to people at the diner, to your own voice. Then sculpt it down to the essentials. Perfection’s a myth, but damn good is real, and that’s what’ll get your script noticed.

Tarantino is regarded as one of the best dialogue writers ever. His approach draws inspiration from real life. His conversations at the video rental store where he worked, in diners, or overheard snippets from strangers, all found their way into his scripts.Study conversation and the people talking. What’s your next line gonna be? Make it count.