Writing coaching helps screenwriters master the use of dramatic irony in their work.

Dramatic irony is a narrative device where the audience possesses knowledge that one or more characters in the story do not. This asymmetry of information creates a unique kind of tension because we are aware of the truth behind actions or words that the characters are oblivious to. It can be used to generate suspense, amplify humor, deepen tragedy, or even make a moment feel uncomfortably poignant. What makes dramatic irony so powerful is that it turns the audience into an active participant, allowing them to anticipate the emotional fallout before the characters do. Screenwriters who want to learn how to use dramatic irony have the opportunity to experiment with it in writing coaching.

One of the most famous and enduring examples of dramatic irony is in Romeo and Juliet. The audience knows Juliet is not actually dead, but Romeo does not. His belief in her death leads him to take his own life, and Juliet awakens moments later, only to see her beloved dead and follow him. This tragic twist hits harder precisely because the viewer can see it coming and is powerless to stop it. That foreknowledge — watching Romeo step closer to doom despite the truth we hold — creates not just sadness, but a kind of gut-wrenching helplessness.

In Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho, dramatic irony is used with surgical precision. After Marion Crane is murdered in the infamous shower scene, the audience learns very quickly that Norman Bates is covering up the crime. However, Norman’s mother is referred to as if she’s still alive, and Norman claims she's the killer. The viewer, trying to make sense of what they’ve seen, suspects something is off — and when it’s finally revealed that Norman is the mother, the full weight of that irony collapses in a way that redefines the film’s entire narrative. Hitchcock often said suspense is about giving the audience information the characters don’t have. Dramatic irony is a fundamental part of that principle.

In television, Breaking Bad is a goldmine of dramatic irony. Consider the episode where Skyler is beginning to suspect Walt’s criminal activities, but he continues to present himself as an overworked, underappreciated teacher. The audience, of course, knows he’s already deep into the drug trade. The tension doesn’t come from whether Walt will break bad — we know he has — but from watching how long he can keep up the lie and how the people around him will react when they learn the truth. That slow burn of awareness versus ignorance powers much of the show’s early drama.

Another effective use can be found in The Office (U.S.), though in a very different tone. Much of the humor in the show relies on dramatic irony, particularly in scenes where Michael Scott earnestly says or does something wildly inappropriate or clueless, believing himself to be wise or kind-hearted. The audience, understanding the social norms and dynamics he constantly violates, cringes with anticipation — not because we’re in suspense, but because we’re in on the joke and he’s not. That’s dramatic irony used for comedic effect.

Dramatic irony works because it creates a dynamic interaction between storyteller and audience. It leverages our anticipation, empathy, and imagination, inviting us to project forward and brace for impact. Whether used to deepen tragedy, ramp up suspense, or drive humor, it’s one of the most enduring and effective tools in a screenwriter’s arsenal — and when handled with care, it can transform a good scene into an unforgettable one.

Screenwriters who want to use dramatic irony effectively can benefit enormously from working with a writing coach, especially because dramatic irony is as much about execution as it is about concept. At its core, dramatic irony is about managing information — who knows what, when, and how that knowledge impacts the unfolding of the story. That balancing act can be deceptively difficult, and a skilled coach can help a writer learn how to structure these revelations in a way that sustains audience engagement without confusing the viewer or telegraphing the twists too early.

One of the most immediate ways a coach can help is by offering an outside perspective. Writers are often so close to their material that they assume certain things are clear or impactful when they might not be. A coach can step in and ask essential questions: Is the audience truly aware of what the characters aren’t? Is the tension building appropriately? Are we emotionally ahead of the characters in a way that serves the theme? These questions help the writer check their blind spots and avoid unintentional ambiguity or missed opportunities.

Beyond structural input, a coach can also help the writer refine tone and pacing, two elements that dramatically influence how dramatic irony lands. For instance, in a thriller, the coach might help slow a scene down so that the irony creates dread — letting the audience squirm as a character walks blindly into danger. In a comedy, the coach might do the opposite, tightening beats to maximize the punchline of the irony. Because tone is so genre-specific, working with a coach who understands both the conventions of the genre and the mechanics of irony can elevate a script.

Another benefit of coaching is the opportunity to workshop scenes in detail. Dramatic irony often hinges on subtle clues — a glance, a word choice, a prop placed in the background. A writing coach can help the writer learn how to plant those elements with precision. They might also offer exercises or rewrites that challenge the writer to build scenes around different types of irony, encouraging flexibility and deeper mastery of the device.

And perhaps most importantly, a coach helps the writer stay emotionally grounded in the work. Dramatic irony is not just a trick of structure; it's most effective when it's rooted in character and theme. A coach can help the writer keep those deeper layers in focus, ensuring that the irony doesn't just serve the plot, but also deepens the audience’s understanding of who the characters are and what the story is truly about.

In this way, writing coaching becomes more than a technical tune-up — it’s a collaborative, developmental process that helps screenwriters stretch both their craft and their storytelling instincts. For writers drawn to the emotional and narrative power of dramatic irony, working with a coach can sharpen their ability to deliver those unforgettable moments when the audience knows just enough — and has no choice but to watch the inevitable unfold.