The Iceberg Theory of Screenwriting and How Great Screenwriters Use Subtext [Podcast]

This week on the Kinolime Podcast, John and Danny dive into one of the most important and most misunderstood ideas in screenwriting: Hemingway’s Iceberg Theory. What makes a story linger long after it ends? Why do some scenes feel loaded with meaning even when so little is being said? From subtext and omission to internal wounds, hidden arguments, and writing what your story is really about, this episode explores how great scripts create depth beneath the surface. Using films like No Country for Old Men, Zodiac, and The Black Stallion, John and Danny break down practical ways to move beyond exposition and write with more intention, restraint, and emotional power.

Full Transcript: Kinolime Podcast Episode 44: The Iceberg Theory of Screenwriting and How Great Screenwriters Use Subtext

Participants

• John Schramm - Head of Development, Kinolime

• Danny Murray - Creative Executive, Kinolime

John: I know where to start. Tom, sit down, sit down, we’re rolling. Sit down, Tom.

Hey everybody, welcome to the Kinolime Podcast. I’m John Schramm here today. As always, my, I don’t want to call you sidekick, because you’re not a sidekick

Danny: Thanks so much. I’ve been promoted from… what am I? Co-host?

John: I don’t know. Like riding in the little motorcycle sidecar.

Danny: Yeah yeah, Robin.

John: Yeah, you’re Robin.

Danny: I’ve always wanted one of those, really badly. They do exist. You can get one. I’ve seen them once in a while.

John: I can’t stop laughing because your lav mic looks like it’s about to drill into your neck.

Danny: It is. I can’t even see it through all this.

John: It’s hitting against your J.Crew sweater.

We have a very heady podcast today, so I want everyone to get a cup of coffee, maybe an espresso shot. I just had a ginger shot to wake myself up, because today we’re getting into some really theoretical screenwriting advice.

Danny: This is our Tenet episode.

John: This is the Tenet of the Kinolime Podcast.

We’re going to talk about icebergs. I don’t know if you all have heard of iceberg theory, so I’m going to let Danny explain it.

What Is Iceberg Theory?

Danny: Yeah, it’s essentially a writing theory devised by Ernest Hemingway. It’s also called the theory of omission.

I’ll explain it with a one-sentence quote that says everything without really saying it which is fitting for this theory:

“The dignity of movement of an iceberg is due to only one-eighth of it being above water.”

So the whole episode today is going to be about what that means for your story and for writing with theme.

John: When we were chatting about what to talk about, especially with our screenplay deadline approaching for the Third Annual Feature Film Competition, we were thinking about what could really help people.

I remember seeing one of those screenwriting posts online years ago, usually with Christopher Nolan in the background even though he definitely never said the quote.

Danny: I love those.

John: It wasn’t said by him, but I still love them.

What always stuck with me was this image of the iceberg and Hemingway’s quote. The way I interpreted it was this: above the water, you have the tip of the iceberg, the thing that sank the Titanic. But underneath is this huge, massive body.

That’s how I think about story. The surface level, plot, characters, dialogue, that’s all the top. But what makes a great movie, to me, is what’s underneath. The things that aren’t said.

And I find that in a lot of current filmmaking, or in scripts we read, you get the situation, you get the plot, but it’s lacking that deeper layer. What is this really about?

This is something I had to learn as a screenwriter, so I’ll make a confession here.

Finding What Your Story Is Really About

John: When I was writing professionally, what I struggled with most was figuring out what the story was about. I could come up with great plots, great premises, great characters, but what are we actually trying to say here?

Where I learned this most clearly was working with Oliver Stone. Everything he does is intentionally about something. He doesn’t just want to tell a story, he wants to teach you something about life. And I love that in a filmmaker. They have a worldview, and it permeates the entire story.

Danny: Yeah, it’s beautiful.

The thing I think about a lot is that when I watch a great movie with friends in a theater, the really great ones are the ones we talk about for hours afterward - without even really bringing up the plot.

When the theme is so clear without ever truly being stated, every person can come away with their own interpretation of it. And then you end up talking with real soul about the movie, because it actually connected with you.

It’s the kind of movie that stays with you without you necessarily remembering every detail of what happened.

Know the Backstory, But Don’t Show It

John: Part of the theory of omission is that you should be able to strip away so much dialogue and so much explanation because you, as the writer, know your world so well.

Every move your character makes, every little thing, has meaning and subliminal purpose.

I know I’m getting tired here, my brain is running in overdrive, and some of you are probably like, “What the hell are these guys talking about?” But let’s break it down.

I want to start with a tip I really believe in: know your backstory, but don’t show it.

It sounds so obvious. Of course you should know your backstory. But if you truly know your characters, their internal wounds, what they’re struggling with, what shaped them, it will permeate the writing. It becomes subconscious. It will come out on the page through their choices.

Cormac McCarthy, who is my favorite author, talked about writing from a place where it becomes second nature, like it just pours out of you.

That’s what I mean here. Know your backstory. Know your protagonist’s internal wound. Know what they’re afraid of. Know what they’ve been through. But don’t necessarily show it all.

Danny: It makes total sense.

That’s one reason I love Twin Peaks. And I actually have a David Lynch quote that ties into all of this. Why do people love David Lynch so much? Because his films are uncanny, creative, emotional, strange, and layered.

He always said you can’t really have a wrong interpretation of one of his films. There are so many layers of thought and feeling in them.

They’re like open tables. You take from them what you want.

He’d also talk about transcendental meditation, the fish in the sea, and where ideas come from. He was great.

Before we move on from this, I want to give an exercise: give your character a secret, but don’t reveal it.

What’s a secret they carry that’s interesting to you? Keep it in your head while you write. Don’t reveal it. Just let it shape the character.

That’s a cool exercise. Try it.

John:
A hundred percent. Give somebody a secret.

Danny: It’s like what Greta Gerwig says, all her characters need a want, a need, and a secret.

John: Yes. Exactly.

Build Toward Meaning Without Beating the Audience Over the Head

Danny: What we’re laying out here is that you want to create the strongest dramatic or central argument you can without beating the audience over the head with it.

You want to lead them, as subtly as possible, toward the same realization that inspired you to write the story in the first place.

John, is there a film that really uses omission in a way that stuck with you?

No Country for Old Men and Minimal Dialogue

John: Yeah. I brought up Cormac McCarthy already, so I’ll say No Country for Old Men. Even though he wrote the book, the Coen brothers adapted it and made one of my favorite films of all time.

That movie is incredibly subtle. There’s not a lot going on in terms of dialogue. Which brings me to another tip I really care about:

Stop explaining your feelings.

We read scripts all the time where characters say, “I feel this way because you did this.” Stop. Back in the day, no. Don’t do that.

I really think it’s useful as an exercise to write your scenes without any dialogue at all. Try to convey the emotion through character action. Of course dialogue matters. I’m not saying it doesn’t. Look at Aaron Sorkin - he’s a dialogue machine. But start with action and purpose first.

Hitchcock used to do that all the time. He’d write the screenplay, and then in the last draft, add the dialogue.

Let’s stop over-explaining feelings. Try writing a zero-dialogue scene. See what happens. Make the character express themselves physically. Maybe they pick up a glass and throw it against the wall. I don’t know, that’s your character.

But if you rely too much on dialogue, it can become a crutch. It can block the more creative, instinctive choices from coming out.

Danny: And it’s harder to have characters make defining choices when they’re talking. You still can, but it’s more difficult.

Also, from an actor’s or director’s perspective, a character who evokes emotion without needing to explain themselves is often much more interesting than someone you only understand through what they say.

John: Exactly. There are certain writers, like Aaron Sorkin, who are just such lyricists that the words themselves become music. But that’s a rare, almost otherworldly talent.

For most scripts, people want to see what the character does, the contradictions, the movement, the physical behavior.

I took an acting class in college here in New York, and one of the exercises was just to wake up in the morning and walk around your apartment as the character. What do they do? How do they move? It’s fascinating.

So if your character is saying something directly on the nose, just try cutting it. Write a two-, three-, four-, or five-page scene with zero dialogue and see what comes out.

Danny: A hundred percent.

The Gas Station Scene and Subtext

John: That’s why I picked No Country for Old Men. The minimal dialogue, the way the characters move through scenes, how the Coens focus on eye-lines and behavior, it’s all so subdued, but it says so much.

Danny: I always think of the coin toss scene at the gas station. That’s this theory at its best. Not much is said. We don’t fully understand the stakes in a direct way, but your mind is racing. You’re just thinking, “What is this monster going to do?”

John: I’d actually say a lot is said there, philosophically. It starts as a guy casually talking at a gas station, and suddenly Javier Bardem’s character turns it into a life-or-death coin flip.

That moment reveals the antagonist’s entire worldview. He sees life as chance. He’s going to leave your fate up to a coin toss. It’s sick, but it’s also such a clear expression of how he sees the world.

So that brings us to another tool: subtext.

We’ve talked about building a backstory and then forgetting it. We’ve talked about writing behavior before dialogue. But now we have to talk about how to write dialogue that means more than what is literally being said.

Subtext is the iceberg.

What’s being said on the surface might be, “I want to go to the supermarket.” But the real meaning underneath is, “I’m pissed at you because you were watching the Dodgers until three in the morning.”

You want to try rewriting scenes without actually saying what the character is trying to say. That’s hard. But if you can master subtext, it blows us away every time we read a screenplay.

Danny: A hundred percent.

A great example is the basement scene in Zodiac. They’re talking, but you’re barely even processing the literal words. What matters is the tension underneath. It’s one of the most horrifying scenes ever, not because of what is explicitly said, but because of what your mind is doing with it.

John: Exactly. That’s the theory of omission. Pulling back. Letting the audience sit in the horror of the moment instead of spelling it out.

Jake Gyllenhaal’s character realizes, “Oh shit, this might be the killer’s house.” Nothing violent has happened. Nothing overt has been said. But you feel it.

That’s because the writer knew the characters so well, knew the want, created the situation, and then just let the fireworks go off.

Exercises for Writing Subtext

Danny:And again, it’s not something you have to do in every scene, but if you want characters with restraint and subtext, Zodiac and No Country for Old Men are great movies to study.

Watch how that restraint builds until, at a certain point, you’re almost watching a different movie in your own head than the one literally on screen.

John: An exercise you can try at home is to have two people argue over dinner, but not about the real issue.

Maybe they’re arguing about the mashed potatoes, but really they’re arguing about something much deeper. Maybe it’s a huge issue in the relationship. Maybe it’s something political, personal, or emotional.

That’s the point: we almost never say what we really mean. If you’re fighting with a friend, a parent, or a partner, you’re rarely saying the actual thing. You’re talking about the dishes, or the laundry, or who forgot to call.

So write a scene where the real issue is never named. Force yourself to stay on the surface issue while the deeper one drives the tension underneath.

That will train your muscle for subtext.

Danny: And another good way to think about it is that omission doesn’t always mean silence. It doesn’t mean the characters can’t talk.

They can talk a lot. The point is just that what they’re saying shouldn’t be purely functional or obvious.

A great example is Preston Sturges. His characters babble and babble and talk and talk, and it’s hilarious, but most of what they’re saying isn’t directly about the story. Then every so often, you get one line that reveals exactly what they mean.

That’s also a form of subtext.

Hidden Arguments Inside Every Scene

John: Another tip: try thinking about the hidden argument in every scene.

A lot of writers rush from plot point to plot point. They’re trying to move the story forward. But you have to sit back and ask: what does each character want here? What is the intention? What is the obstacle?

And beyond that, what is the hidden thematic argument of the scene?

Let’s go back to that dinner scene. Maybe on the surface they’re arguing about abortion. But what’s the deeper argument underneath that? Is it really about parenthood? Identity? Fear? Power? Love? Commitment?

What is the scene really about?

That’s the question I ask about every movie. If you’re asking us for two hours of our lives and fifty bucks to see your film, what are you saying about life?

Take Wall Street. What is it really about? Greed. Capitalism. Ambition. Flying too close to the sun. Oliver Stone knew that, and because he knew it, every character, every scene, every setting carries that charge.

Danny: That connects to what Craig Mazin and the Scriptnotes guys talk about all the time: your film needs a strong central dramatic argument.

If you know what it is, you can bleed it into every scene, every encounter, every character beat.

John: I agree, though I do think it can be dangerous to start too abstractly. I don’t think Oliver Stone begins by saying, “I’m going to make a movie about capitalism.” I think he starts with characters.

That’s my advice: start with the character. Start with the world. Figure out who they are, their internal wound, their secret, their want. Then the theme will rise out of that.

I wrote a coming-of-age screenplay once and couldn’t crack it. Then I finally realized the central argument was about identity. I put a Post-it next to my laptop that said “identity,” and suddenly every scene, every action, every conversation sharpened.

Once I knew what it was really about, I hammered it. And it became the best thing I’d written.

That’s what I mean. It’s okay not to know yet. Start with the character. Once you realize what it’s really about, then go hard.

Kelly Reichardt and The Power of Restraint

Danny: A filmmaker who operates with restraint in an incredible way is Kelly Reichardt.

She has a western that looks, on the surface, like it’s about people moving through the Oregon Trail. But the dramatic argument underneath is really about who you give power and trust to, and why.

It omits almost every trope you’d expect from a western. There’s almost no exposition, barely any dialogue, and it leaves so much open to interpretation.

You go in expecting an adventure through the West, and instead you get this eerie, paranoid, destabilizing experience about uncertainty, trust, and survival.

It doesn’t tell you any of that directly. It just leaves space, and that space forces you to do the work.

John: That’s the beauty of knowing your world and your characters and then letting the iceberg do the rest.

I’ll give you a less obscure example: The Black Stallion. I watched it recently. Have you seen it?

Danny: No, I haven’t.

John: It’s about a kid and a horse, and the first hour is some of the best filmmaking I’ve ever seen. There’s barely any dialogue.

A boy is shipwrecked with this horse on an island, and the film is just about their bond. No dialogue, really. Just images, action, feeling.

And you’re completely invested because the filmmakers knew exactly what emotional journey they wanted to create.

So go watch The Black Stallion. I highly recommend it.

A Checklist for Writers

John: Let’s give people a quick checklist to use when they go back to their screenplay.

First: Know your backstory, then erase it. Get it into your DNA, but don’t dump it onto the page.

Second: Does your protagonist have a clear internal wound? That wound is what drives what they’re afraid of, what they avoid, and what they need to confront.

Third: Are your scenes driven by behavior or exposition? Are characters doing things that move the story, or are they just explaining themselves?

Fourth: Have you cut the obvious exposition? If they’re saying exactly what they feel, try cutting it.

Fifth: Does each scene contain an underlying emotional argument? Even if you’re not being clinical about it, the scene should carry emotional pressure under the surface.

These are just tools to help shift your thinking and help you level up.

Danny: And what that last point really leads to is this: what do you actually have to say about the human condition? What about your life, your experiences, your emotions, do you want to share?

That’s the exciting part.

John: Kevin Smith said something like this too, your currency is your voice. You’ve only lived your life. That alone makes your perspective unique.

Use what motivates you. Use what pisses you off. Fred LeBeau, who’s been on the show, always says: write down fifty things that piss you off and fifty things that make you incredibly happy.

That helps you find what you’re trying to say.

Because every great movie is trying to say something.

Bonus Exercise - Write Without Intention

John: Here’s a bonus tip:write without intention.

Create your character, sit down at the laptop, and just let them move. Clark walks over here. Clark opens the door. Clark sits down. Clark picks something up.

Let them play. Let them surprise you. Maybe they throw a glass against the wall. Maybe they do something totally unexpected. The point is to get what’s inside you out onto the page.

That’s where the good stuff comes from.

Danny: A hundred percent. And once you do that, you start tapping into emotions other people have also felt, even if they got there differently.

And that’s what’s great about art. If you can layer in subtext and write characters with real inner conflict, it will stay with people long after they’ve forgotten the plot.

You can do that in a drama, a comedy, an action movie, even a kids’ movie.

John: Exactly. Spielberg is a great example. He makes what some people would call popcorn movies and I mean that in the most complimentary way possible, but they’re always about something.

Every movie is about something.

Now, figuring out what your movie is about is hard. Greta Gerwig has talked about writing huge, sprawling first drafts just to discover what the story really is.

So I can’t tell you exactly how to do it. But hopefully these exercises help it bubble up.

We’d love to hear from you. Hit us up in the comments. Did any of these techniques work for you? Are there exercises we missed? Are there ways you find theme in your own work?

Some filmmakers, like Taika Waititi, have said they find the theme in the editing room. That’s another path too.

The point is: explore. Play. Have fun. Let your characters do things. Don’t lock yourself up too early.

I’ve heard professional writers say the sad part of getting paid is that sometimes they stop having fun. They stop writing their weird spec scripts and start writing to pay the bills.

If you’re not there yet, enjoy this stage. Go write the crazy sci-fi space opera. Go experiment.

Final Advice

John: I was also listening to Matt Johnson, who wrote and directed Nirvanna the Band the Show the Movie and he said something that reminded me of what Christopher Nolan has talked about too: if you want to learn to direct, maybe don’t just study directing. Study English. Study writing. Learn how language teaches you where to point the camera and what emotional truth to focus on.

That matters for writing too. Whatever helps you focus emotionally, whether it’s film, books, music, memory, art, lean into it. Put it on the page.

That’s our parting advice.

We’re super pumped. We can’t wait to hear from you. Hit us up in the comments and let us know what worked for you, what you liked, and what techniques you use to find theme in your own writing.

We are definitely not the smartest people in the room.

Thank you so much for listening.

I’m John.

Danny: Danny.

John: See you later and don’t write exposition.