Mental health professionals agree: isolation is bad for your emotional well-being. But dramatic isolation is very good for your screenplays. Pick a movie, any movie – old or new, comedy or drama. Its structure is almost certainly comprised of a process of dramatic isolation.

Dramatic isolation can be expressed in many forms. Physical isolation can be central to a movie’s design, as in the recent Oscar contenders “The Revenant” and “The Martian.” Often more than one sort of isolation is at work in a movie, although the different forms are often interwoven in the service of theme.

For example, when Sandra Bullock finds herself alone in “Gravity,” her sudden physical isolation takes on special poignancy when we learn that she has also isolated herself emotionally when her daughter died some years previously. Thus her superhuman efforts to return to Earth reflect her drive to recommit to a fuller, healed Self.

Similarly, James Franco’s character in the true story “127 Hours” spends his time trapped alone in a crevice ruminating on the cost of the emotional and spiritual isolation in which he has lived his life. The poignant coda of “127” hours reveals how Franco’s real-life counterpart, Aron Ralston, did choose to pursue a more emotionally-fulfilled life.

Perhaps the most fundamental use of isolation is simply to scare the hell out of audiences. “The Shining,” “Alien,” “The Evil Dead,” “Cabin In the Woods,” “Paranormal Activity,” “The Babadook,” “The Witch,” – and pretty much every slasher movie ever made – all rely on the isolation of their victims to create suspense, dread and, ultimately, terror.

Isolation as a structural tool is not unique to movies.

The works of William Shakespeare abound with its use. As Romeo and Juliet fall more deeply in love, we can only appreciate the life-and-death stakes as, one-by-one, they lose their relationships with their friends and families. MacBeth, Lear, Hamlet, Richard III – each of these legendary characters, in their own ways, finds themselves increasingly alone before meeting their fates.

Even movies crowded with characters can create – are required to create – an atmosphere of emotional isolation to successfully convey their stories. The journalists of “Spotlight” have no intimate experience of sexual abuse by Catholic clergy, but even so their relentless pursuit of the story threatens them with increasingly painful consequences that are expressed by isolation. Thus the relationship between Rachel McAdams’ character and her grandmother comes under intense pressure. Michael Keaton’s character risks the loss of lifelong friends in the Boston establishment.

Many of cinema’s greatest masterpieces don’t merely hinge on this dynamic process of isolation – they are “about” isolation. This subtext has a profound influence on how the story is told – on what scenes are about, even the structural purpose of secondary characters.

Why is Kay in “The Godfather,” if not to mark for us Michael Corleone’s slide into spiritual isolation and emotional oblivion? Indeed, when the 3-film saga of “The Godfather” is viewed as a single narrative, we can trace isolation as its most central theme.

In Part One, Michael becomes the Don – literally shutting the door on his wife Kay, who represents a life away from the Corleones. In Part Two, Michael’s determination to protect his family leads him – ironically – to destroy it. In Part Three, Michael’s purpose is to repair his fractured relationship with Kay and their children once and for all – thus ending the isolation he chose in Part One. This simply-articulated goal of Michael’s becomes the seed from which all subsequent creative decisions grow.

This design is not limited to dramas. “Bridesmaids” certainly made lavish use of its R-rating. But all the fun was rooted in a very simple, well-designed structure that saw Annie (Kristen Wiig) lose her job, her apartment, her good-guy boyfriend, and – most crucially for this story – her best friend.

And the list goes on. Jailed for murder, Gustav H. loses his privileged life at “The Grand Budapest Hotel” and must fight to regain it (and his innocence). The hapless actors of “Tropic Thunder” find themselves in a very real jungle fighting a very real war. “Inside Out” kicks into high gear when its hero, Riley, runs away from home – beginning a process that threatens her memories and her emotions.

The uses of isolation as a dramatic strategy, as a construct, are limited only to the writer’s imagination. But its purpose is always the same – to create (or aggravate) stress and therefore ratchet up tension – and hence increase engagement – for the writer’s desired audience.

MICHAEL COLLEARY is a screenwriter and producer. His produced credits include “Lara Croft: Tomb Raider” and “Face/Off,” which the New York Times named as among “the 1000 Best Movies Ever Made.” He received his MFA in screenwriting from the prestigious UCLA film school, where he is now a frequent lecturer and instructor. In addition to teaching UCLA’s famed “434” screenplay workshop, Michael also consults with aspiring writers for the acclaimed CineStory Foundation, and has mentored veterans via the Writers Guild Foundation.

“Isolation” appears here as a preview chapter of Michael’s up-coming book, “Screenplay DNA.” You can find Michael at MichaelColleary.com, follow him on Twitter, Facebook and/or opt-in to his Hollywood Insider newsletter.

It’s no secret that every script that makes it to the screen gets rewritten multiple times.  In an informal poll I took at a WGA conference on rewriting, most screenwriters (among them Oscar, Emmy, and Golden Globe winners) said it took an average of 25-30 drafts before the script reached the stage floor.  So, you know you have some work ahead of you after you reach that glorious moment when you first type FADE OUT.

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But then what?  There are few courses in rewriting and fewer books (Yes, I do have one – “REWRITE, A Step-by-Step Guide to Strengthen Structure, Characters, and Drama in Your Screenplay,” but we’re not talking about that here.) on how to approach this sometimes daunting task.  You might have the guidance of your trusted advisors or your writing group when it comes to what’s wrong, but who do you turn to to figure out how to fix that?  Or even how to go about fixing that?

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That’s why I created the residential workshops I’ve been giving in Europe for the past few years.  Here’s how it works.  Eight writers who have completed at least a year in the UCLA Professional Program for Screenwriting or the MFA in Screenwriting program, or have reached an equivalent level in their writing, gather in a villa (yes, a real villa) with me in a remote part of a friendly host country.

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The Villa There we live and work for two weeks, most meals provided, and we dig into their screenplays and figure out what to do about them.  We meet for three hours a day in a seminar format, we talk at meals, we have informal seminars during long walks in the countryside, and I meet one on one with everyone in “office hours.”

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In my way of looking at things, writers usually lose their way from first draft to rewrite because they don’t know their character well enough or their structure needs strengthening.  The first thing we do, then, is focus on the character’s flaw.  From the flaw comes the necessity for change.  From the necessity for change come the goals – the inner and the outer – that drive the story.  So we must know the character inside and out so that we know how that character must change and what he or she must do to achieve his or her goals.

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Then we take a look at the overall story in its most basic form – what I call the seven points of the story.  For the seminar, we send these story points out to each other before we arrive in Europe (this year it’s Spain, last year it was Italy) so that we can discuss them during the first seminar meeting.

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The seven points all have something to do with the flaw – in the ordinary life (1) we see the flaw and how it affects the person’s life – the necessity for change; in the inciting incident (2) we see something happen that will eventually cause the protagonist to want to change now; at the end of act one (3), we learn of the goal and plan to bring about that change; at the midpoint (4), the character shows us a change in that goal as well as a realization of his flaw; at the low point (5), we see the character as far from that goal as possible; in the final challenge (6) we see the character overcome his flaw and reach his/her goal; and in (7) the return to the now changed forever normal life, we see the character enjoy the fruits of his/her labor in the new life.

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You can see how the whole story is flaw and goal oriented, but sometimes, in the original writing process, you lose track of that.  Following up on clarifying these essential ideas, we write a new beatsheet and discuss it at length in seminar, private meetings, walks, trips to town, whenever.  We’re always talking about food (we have a cook or a special deal with a local restaurant), movies, or our scripts.  We’re unhindered by interruption from work, friends and family calling (though there is cell reception), or annoying phone solicitors.  We do have wi-fi this year, but it will be on a limited basis.

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As the first week progresses, the story blooms in sometimes unpredictable ways, but always improves.  Then we begin rewriting scenes, adding new scenes, taking away old scenes that don’t move the story or have been superseded by new directions in the story.  This is a very exciting time as we read portions of new work in the seminars so we can hear if the dialogue works in the mouth and feel the pacing of the scene.  We also work on scene structure and scene dynamics so that writers can get the best out of their pages.

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Did I mention that we get two days off during the two weeks so that people can travel, rest, write, whatever they want to do?  This year we’ll be within an hour’s train ride from Barcelona, forty-five minutes by car to the beach, and ten minutes from Gerona, a lovely old city dating from the middle ages.  Rewrite Retreat in Spain.

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Then it’s back to work.  We usually schedule things so that both night and morning writers can get their work done in time for all to read it before the afternoon session.  I have found that when all eight (plus me) participants in a seminar are familiar with everyone’s work, great things can come of the ping-ponging of ideas.  I’ve found seminar participants to be very generous with their thoughts and very supportive both in and out of the workshops.  It’s one of the things I nurture as much as possible because, while I do contribute my own ideas, I’ve found that nine people working on the same story together can come up with things that nine people working separately cannot.  It’s one of the great things about the workshop.

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And did I mention the food?  Spain has some of the best seafood in the world, and we’ll also be in the middle of their cava region – cava is what they call their sparkling wine, very much on a par with Champagne in my book.

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By the end of the workshop you can have, with diligence, a completed draft or, at the very least, a very good roadmap to your next draft.  You will also have had a heady creative experience with your peers (which is why there are always several people repeating from the year before).  And, surprisingly, little change in your weight since anything you may have added from the food is usually subtracted by the long walks after lunch and dinner.

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For more information, visit the site http://rewritementor.com/retreats/spain.html or contact me directly at [email protected].