Short Film Script Examples

Below are three short film scripts written from start to finish, and each one shows a different way to build a short: “Light” is told entirely through behaviour, without a single line of dialogue (3 pages); “The Radio” moves through subtext between two people in one location (5 pages); “Take a Number” is a comedy set in a waiting room (4 pages). All three are in standard screenplay format and you can read each one in full on this page.

What does each example teach?

• Light — Storytelling without dialogue. A habit is set up (a lamp that flashes twice every night), then broken. All the feeling is in behaviour: putting a coat on and taking it off again, pulling a chair up to the window.
• The Radio — One location, two characters, subtext. The siblings talk as if they're dividing up belongings, but the real subject is who stayed with their father. The key piece of information only arrives in the final scenes.
• Take a Number — Comedy and character change. The impatient young man accepts, at the end, the tea he turned down at the start. The change is shown not with a line but with an object.

How should you read the examples?

• Read the logline first, then the script. Does the script keep the promise the logline makes?
• Stop at the end of each scene and ask: if this scene went, what would be lost?
• Put the ending next to the opening. In a good short film, the ending changes the situation of the first scene.
• Read aloud and time it. It should come out at roughly a minute a page.

The rules all three examples share

• Three locations at most: all of them can be shot inside a real home or building.
• No more than two or three speaking characters.
• No inner thoughts on the page: there's no “Hilmi feels sad”, there's “he hangs the coat back on the hook”.
• The ending arrives through an action, not a line.

1. Light — a short film script without dialogue

Short film script without dialogue · 3 pages ≈ 3 minutes

A lonely pensioner who says goodnight every night to a window across the street by switching a lamp on and off discovers what that silent habit means to him when, one night, no answer comes.

INT. HILMI'S FLAT – LIVING ROOM – NIGHT

A narrow living room. The wall clock ticks. On the table:
one plate, one fork, one glass.

HILMI (70s, cardigan, glasses pushed up on his forehead)
rinses the plate, dries it, puts it away. He turns the
glass upside down on the tea towel.

The clock says ten.

Hilmi goes to the window and parts the net curtain with
two fingers.

Across the street: an old block of flats. On the third
floor, a desk lamp in a window comes on. Off. On. Off.

Hilmi reaches for the switch of the lamp by his window.
On, off. On, off.

The lamp opposite comes on once more and this time stays
on. A few seconds. Then it goes off.

Hilmi lets the curtain fall. He lowers his glasses, winds
the clock, turns off the light.

INT. HILMI'S FLAT – LIVING ROOM – NIGHT

Another night. The same single plate, the same single
glass. Ten o'clock.

Hilmi goes to the window. Parts the curtain.

The third floor opposite is dark.

Hilmi waits. The minute hand moves on a notch. Another
notch.

He switches the lamp on, off. On, off.

No answer.

Hilmi takes his coat from the hook. Gets one arm into it.
Looks at the door. Stops.

He takes the coat off and hangs it back up.

He carries the chair from the table to the window. Sits.
Looks at the dark window.

INT. HILMI'S FLAT – LIVING ROOM – MORNING

Hilmi has fallen asleep in the chair. His glasses have
slipped into his lap. The lamp is still on.

Outside, the warning beep of a lorry reversing.

Hilmi wakes with a start and leans towards the window.

EXT. THE BUILDING OPPOSITE – MORNING

A small removal van pulled up at the kerb. Two MOVERS
carry boxes.

NAZ (20s, backpack, messy hair) comes out of the front
door. On top of the box in her arms sits a desk lamp, its
cable wound round it.

Naz hands the box up into the back of the van. Then she
lifts her head and looks across the street.

On the second floor, a net curtain is parted. Behind it,
Hilmi.

Naz takes the lamp off the box. Raises it in both hands —
as if raising a glass.

At the window, Hilmi's palm presses against the pane.

Naz puts the lamp back on the box, pulls the van's door
shut, climbs into the front seat. The van drives off.

INT. HILMI'S FLAT – LIVING ROOM – NIGHT

One plate. One glass. Ten o'clock.

Hilmi goes to the window. Taped to the third-floor pane
opposite, a sheet of paper in big letters: TO LET.

Hilmi switches the lamp on, off. On, off.

He waits.

Then he switches the lamp on — and this time he doesn't
turn it off. He doesn't close the curtain.

He leaves his chair facing the window, sits, takes a book
from the shelf and opens it. The light falls across the
street onto the building's empty window.

                                                 FADE OUT.

2. The Radio — a single-location short film script

Single-location short film script · 5 pages ≈ 5 minutes

Two siblings meet after years to clear out their father's flat; when Umut, the one who lives abroad, goes after a broken radio, he learns the weight his sister has been carrying for years.

INT. FATHER'S FLAT – LIVING ROOM – DAY

A half-packed living room. Pale rectangles on the walls
where frames used to hang. Words in marker pen on the
boxes: KITCHEN. BOOKS. CHARITY.

SELIN (40, hair in a bun, sleeves rolled up) tears the
packing tape with her teeth and seals a box.

The doorbell rings. Selin doesn't get up.

                    SELIN
          It's open!

UMUT (35, wet coat, wheeled suitcase) comes in. An airport
tag on the suitcase handle.

                    SELIN
          Don't bother with your shoes. The rugs
          are gone.

Umut takes them off anyway. There's a hole in the toe of
one sock. He notices, and tucks that foot behind the
other.

                    UMUT
          I'm late.

                    SELIN
          For today?

Umut doesn't answer. He looks at the bare walls.

                    UMUT
          Already?

                    SELIN
          The landlord gave us till the end of
          the month. I've been packing for three
          weeks.

Selin takes a folded sheet of paper from her pocket and
holds it out. A handwritten list.

                    SELIN (CONT'D)
          Tick what you want. The rest goes to
          charity.

Umut reads the list. Selin tosses him a pen; he catches it
in the air.

                    UMUT
          The watch?

                    SELIN
          I've taken that.

                    UMUT
          Fine.

Umut runs the pen down the page. He ticks nothing. He caps
the pen.

                    UMUT (CONT'D)
          I don't want anything. I came to help.

Selin gives a short, silent laugh. She holds out the tape.

                    SELIN
          Books.

INT. FATHER'S FLAT – LIVING ROOM – LATER

Umut empties the shelves, stacking books into a box. In
the kitchen area, Selin wraps plates in newspaper.

On the top shelf, behind the books, an old transistor
radio. Its cable wound round the handle.

Umut lifts the radio down. Wipes the dust off with his
sleeve. Turns the knob. Nothing.

                    UMUT
          The radio's not on the list.

                    SELIN
               (without turning)
          It's broken.

                    UMUT
          Since when?

                    SELIN
          Don't know. A year. It just stopped
          coming on.

Umut opens the back of the radio. Two batteries inside,
their ends crusted with white powder.

                    UMUT
          The batteries are just dead.

                    SELIN
          Then take it. It's yours.

Umut holds the radio as if weighing it.

                    UMUT
          Every Sunday when I called, this was
          on in the background. The match. Dad
          never turned it down, so I'd end up
          shouting.

The plate in Selin's hands stops inside the newspaper.

                    UMUT (CONT'D)
          These last months he always sounded
          far away. I thought he had me on
          speaker.

                    SELIN
          He couldn't hold the phone.

Umut looks at her.

                    SELIN (CONT'D)
          I held it. Next to the radio. So he
          wouldn't have to turn it down.

Silence. Umut slowly sets the radio down on the lid of a
box.

                    UMUT
          Why didn't you tell me?

                    SELIN
          I would have, if you'd asked.

Selin finishes wrapping the plate and puts it in a box.
She opens a kitchen drawer. It's full of battery packs
held together with rubber bands.

                    SELIN (CONT'D)
          He hoarded batteries. Like there was a
          war coming.

She takes out two and slides them along the counter
towards Umut.

INT. FATHER'S FLAT – LIVING ROOM – LATE AFTERNOON

Umut fits the batteries, closes the back, turns the knob.
Static. He slowly turns the tuning dial.

Out of the static, a COMMENTATOR's voice emerges.

                    COMMENTATOR (ON RADIO)
          ...wins it in midfield, and he's
          driving on towards the box...

Selin comes over from the kitchen and sits on a box. Umut
sits on the floor beside her. Both of them look at the
radio.

                    COMMENTATOR (ON RADIO)
          ...and it's off the post!

An involuntary “ah” escapes Umut. Selin turns to him. She
smiles.

                    UMUT
          You take it.

                    SELIN
          I listened to it for twelve years.

Selin picks up the marker and writes on an empty box in
big letters: UMUT.

She puts the radio in the box without switching it off.
Closes the flaps. The match plays on, muffled, inside the
cardboard.

Umut takes the tape and seals the box. Selin reaches for
the next shelf.

                                                 FADE OUT.

3. Take a Number — a comedy short film script

Comedy short film script · 4 pages ≈ 4 minutes

An impatient young office worker, desperate for his number to be called at the ID office, waits beside an odd old man who gives his ticket away to everyone who comes in — and forgets what he was in such a hurry to get back to.

INT. ID OFFICE – WAITING ROOM – DAY

Rows of plastic chairs. A radiator ticks. Red digits on
the screen on the wall: 097. A beep.

ONUR (27, shirt, tie loosened, work lanyard stuffed in his
pocket) looks at the ticket in his hand: 148.

His phone buzzes. On screen: ERCAN – WORK. Onur declines
it. The phone buzzes again at once.

In the next chair sits HAYRI (75, flat cap, a thermos in
his lap). Between his fingers, a ticket: 101.

                    ONUR
          Sir, would you swap with me? I'm on my
          lunch break, I've got half an hour.

Hayri looks at his ticket. Looks at Onur's. Looks around
the room.

                    HAYRI
          Everyone's got half an hour, son.

He nods at the row opposite: WOMAN WITH PRAM (30s). The
baby in the pram has started to squirm.

                    HAYRI (CONT'D)
          Hers, for one. That one'll be hungry
          in twenty minutes.

Hayri gets up and goes over to the woman. They swap
tickets. She's baffled but grateful.

Hayri comes back and sits down. He shows Onur his new
ticket: 131.

                    ONUR
          What did you do that for?

                    HAYRI
          Baby.

Screen: 098. Beep.

Hayri unscrews the thermos, pours tea into the cap. Holds
it out to Onur.

                    HAYRI (CONT'D)
          Tea?

                    ONUR
          No thanks, I'm fine.

Hayri drinks the tea himself. With relish.

INT. ID OFFICE – WAITING ROOM – LATER

Screen: 112. Beep.

One row ahead, Hayri is swapping tickets with a STUDENT
buried in lecture notes. In return, the student hands over
half a sesame bagel.

Hayri comes back. He breaks the bagel in two and leaves
one half on Onur's knee. His new ticket: 156.

                    ONUR
          What are you even here for? What's it
          for?

Hayri takes his old ID card out of his wallet and hands it
over. In the photo: a young man with thick black hair and
a moustache.

                    HAYRI
          Renewing it. The photo's got old.
          Nobody recognises me.

                    ONUR
          At this rate you'll be here till
          evening.

                    HAYRI
          Evening comes at home too.

Onur hands the card back. The phone buzzes: ERCAN – WORK.
This time Onur declines it without looking.

Screen: 131. Beep. The woman with the pram goes to the
counter, turns and waves at Hayri.

INT. ID OFFICE – SERVICE COUNTER – LATER

Screen: 148. Beep.

Onur shoots up, all but runs to the counter, slides his
ticket and ID under the glass.

The CLERK (50s, reading glasses) looks at the ID, then at
Onur.

                    CLERK
          Biometric photo?

                    ONUR
          Was I supposed to bring one?

                    CLERK
          They do them downstairs. Then you'll
          need a new number.

Onur looks at his ticket. At the room behind him. His
shoulders drop.

INT. ID OFFICE – WAITING ROOM – LATER

Screen: 152. Beep.

Onur comes back holding a passport photo that isn't dry
yet and a new ticket: 203. He slumps down next to Hayri.

Hayri's ticket is now 199. In his lap a tangerine, a
ballpoint pen and a child's drawing have piled up.

The phone buzzes: ERCAN – WORK.

Onur looks at the screen. He turns the phone face down on
his knee.

Hayri fills the thermos cap. Holds it out without a word.

                    ONUR
          Go on, then.

Onur drinks from the cap. There's only one cup; Hayri
drinks his share straight from the thermos.

Screen: 153. Beep.

They both look up at the screen. Neither of them moves.

                                                 FADE OUT.

Checklist

• Does your short film have a single core (a moment, a decision, a feeling)?
• On the first page, is it clear who, where and what's wrong?
• Does every scene move the story one step forward?
• Does the ending change the situation at the opening?
• Can you shoot your script with the locations and actors you have?

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Last updated: September 27, 2026