You thus have a concept that brings your neurons to life. When the script is eventually finished, then it will be time to persuade decision-makers. Step one: how the filmmaker executes it appropriately. This is your compass on set and pitch. Get it wrong, and you get silence. Get it right; then doors open directors treatment template.

Generally, a director starts off his treatment with a personal statement where you can see him pour out his heart. Think of it as a sort of cinematic love letter.
Why you? Why this story? You insert your personality; you don’t need to get poetical for three pages. Explain how the project took you by the lapels and wouldn’t let go. Explain a reminiscence anecdote. Perhaps you were introduced to this world on a bus trip in rain. Small things cut through blandness; producers would have smelled “Template” writing from a mile away. The visual approach follows.

Your playground here is Show, don’t tell, whenever at all possible. Use reference images, mood boards, color palette breaks. No one expects you to be a fine artist; a couple of film stills, paintings, or magazine cuttings will suffice to establish your vision. Adjectives strong really do work. “Moonlit and claustrophobic; bathed in golden nostalgia; or as if Wes Anderson were unleashed on a haunted mansion.” Most important is to move away from the vanilla. Don’t overlook the tone and pacing. Perhaps your comedic pings land with the nervous restraint of a Hitchcock moment or the screwball banter of Hepburn and Grant. If it would be helpful, add examples of dialogue. Your words will set the rhythm. If you get the edit points correct, audiences almost can feel them. Normally, this leads to crew and casting inspiration. Avoid laundry list; choose a few fantasy actors, tell us how you’d draw them out to performances, even perhaps indicating a specific scene from their past work that would be best suited to express the feeling you’d want. Horse around with some art-making collaborators. “If Emmanuel Lubezki shot twilight, or with a prop master able to manifest hope in an old bike.”

Sometimes treatments fail on the nuts and bolts—locations, costume, sets. Short them, but make them alive. One good paragraph per subject. “Lantern-lit alleys hidden beneath neon laundromats.” “Live-in, but not downbeat; wardrobes of frayed denim and faded plaid.” Get the reader to see it, not read it.

More than you’d think, music and sound make a difference. Skip the band names, authors, or even weird noises that resonate with you personally. Perhaps the whistle of the kettle shatters your scene rather than a John Williams crescendo. Occasionally a single line— “each close-up breath scored by the hush of city rain”—better describes your story than the middle of half a playlist.

Close with tying everything together. How well-suited to a particular audience is your vision? Do you see audiences yearning for an improbable hero or a little less alone during credits? Nail it, but cut the hard sell; sincerity over flamboyance. No dirty tricks in a mic-drop conclusion to seal.

There are samples, but a great treatment never reads like it was composed from numbers. Use them as framework to bring out what only you may have to bring to life on screen. breathe in life, humor, and meticulous detail. You will be well advanced if you can make a cynical producer laugh—or cry a couple of tears.