Ripley on Netflix: A Masterclass in Copywriting Techniques

I’m binging the limited series Ripley on Netflix right now. 

Actually, the proper description would be “double-binging” since I watched 7 of 8 episodes last week. 

I couldn’t bear the thought of it ending, so I went back through and am now watching the same seven episodes AGAIN before finishing. 

(Also, because I had to abandon my snoozing wife back in episode 2 on the first go-around and I’m trying to make it up to her lol.)

If you haven’t watched it yet, fear not – I promise not to spoil any storylines. 

(Although the 1955 Patricia Highsmith novel, The Talented Mr. Ripley, has been adapted for film twice, each take offers unique choices.)

Being immersed in a really good series binge is a real gift, don’t you think? 

Once you’re locked into the show, it becomes part of your “waking DNA” for the duration. 

The characters take up residence in your mind. 

The aesthetic influences your eye. 

The story nags at your curiosity. 

In the case of Ripley, it’s the cinematography, as much as anything else, that I want to hold onto so tightly. 

Shot in stunning black-and-white throughout Italy, every single frame of the show is composed like a carefully planned photograph. 

Lots of wide establishing shots and artful close-ups on ominous objects like paintings, statues, elevator shafts, even a cat… that draw you hauntingly into the moment. 

The action is slow-moving and builds with intensity as the story unfolds. There are no chase scenes, no pulsing soundtrack numbers to manipulate your senses, no quick cuts to cover up bad takes by the actors. 

Every scene, every shot, every performance, is painstakingly executed to transport you to Italy in the 1960s. Back when people smoked without remorse, sipped no-foam espresso in cafes, read newspapers, wrote letters, rode in taxis, and took the stairs… lots and lots of stairs. 

It’s one of those shows you want to talk about with people, but also, you don’t, because if someone doesn’t “get” what’s so moving about it they’ll instantly drop a few notches on your cool factor. 

Plus, when a show really speaks to you, it’s personal. Some things are better savored internally. 

As writers, we’re on the perpetual hunt for inspiration for better ways to execute ideas. 

A few I took from double-binging Ripley…

First, the idea of drawing your prospect in.

What do you want them to see and feel when they read your copy? My friend Parris often asks copywriters, “If I was watching what you’re describing on a screen, what would I see?”

This doesn’t mean you need to write your copy like narrative literature, but, the question is, can you see what you want them to see in your mind?

If you can’t then they won’t. And you should not leave that to chance. 

Second, what things do you purposely not include?

One choice in Ripley that I’m currently obsessing over is the lack of food in scenes. I can’t think of a single time where any of the characters consume a bite of food. 

It’s Italy for crying out loud! There are scenes that take place in restaurants, but no one ever eats. So, eliminating food has to be a conscious choice. 

It could be a simple matter of practicality, like… food looks gross in black-and-white, or the production budget didn’t allow for it.

Or… maybe the lack of food is an integral storytelling device? Depicting that the characters are experiencing life on a plane where trivial things like consuming calories are sacrificed for ulterior agendas? Or, they want the viewer to feel each character’s desperate hunger for acceptance, and seeing them satiate themselves would diminish the effect?  

I don’t know, and may never know, unless I find myself in a room with writer/director Steven Zaillian, or it shows up in an interview (nothing yet).

Regardless, it’s about creative choices.

Sometimes the things we purposely avoid including in our copy are as powerful as those we do include. 

Finally, does your copy stick?

If I’ve done my job here, you are prioritizing Ripley in your Netflix queue. Or, maybe you’ve dismissed it as “not for me.”

Either way, when you see it pop up in the “Trending on Netflix” list, you’ll likely think of this piece. 

If you trust me, you’ll watch, and have your own experience with it. Maybe even write to me afterward to share your thoughts. 

That’s stick. 

We had a little moment together that took your mind somewhere different from where it was when you started reading. 

This kind of bonding can only happen when the writer is in the moment of the piece. 

If we write with concern only to attention spans, or cognitive biases, or (God forbid) cleverness… we are clamoring for attention and will lose the stick factor.

Build trust, set the scene, and make your case. 

That’s the writing part of copywriting.

And why we will never get bored with it.