Friday, July 29, 2005
Exposition: prioritizing information
After completing the main characters' biographies, the writer may have up to twenty or more pages of detailed histories and information. If she boils it down to ten-percent, the absolute essentials, that's still two pages of meaty exposition. The reader can't consume all of it at once. It has to be cut up into tiny bite-size pieces.
Which bite should the writer spoon to the reader first? Does the reader need to know the heroine's aunt is an ex-convict, or that she recently lost her job because she rejected the boss's immoral advances?
The first quarter of a story, especially the first fifty pages, are the most important to "hook" the reader and keep her reading. This is the time to raise questions, not answer them. Most expository information answers questions, and there are only three questions the reader needs to know answers to in the beginning of the story:
What does the main character want?
Why does she want it so strongly?
What's preventing her from getting it?
In other words--
Goal.
Motivation.
Conflict.
Filter expositional information accordingly. Information that applies to goal, motivation, or conflict belongs in the first fifty pages. Everything else may be reserved for use later.
For example, in Frank Peretti's Monster, the reader is introduced to the main characters, Reed and Beck. The Inciting Incident occurs a little while later, but the characters still have goals, motivations, and conflicts (GMC) heading into the story. To feel oriented for what's about to transpire, the reader needs to understand Reed and Beck's current GMC, and the GMC of other point-of-view characters.
Reed
Goal = affectionately bully his wife out of her comfort zone
Motivation = she's turning into a recluse
Conflict = she doesn't want to relinquish the security of civilization
Beck
Goal = prove she can hold her own as well as he can in the wilds
Motivation = Reed treats her like a child
Conflict = his gung-ho enthusiasm wears on her stretched nerves
Next, dramatizing exposition through internal thoughts.
(To be continued…)
Which bite should the writer spoon to the reader first? Does the reader need to know the heroine's aunt is an ex-convict, or that she recently lost her job because she rejected the boss's immoral advances?
The first quarter of a story, especially the first fifty pages, are the most important to "hook" the reader and keep her reading. This is the time to raise questions, not answer them. Most expository information answers questions, and there are only three questions the reader needs to know answers to in the beginning of the story:
What does the main character want?
Why does she want it so strongly?
What's preventing her from getting it?
In other words--
Goal.
Motivation.
Conflict.
Filter expositional information accordingly. Information that applies to goal, motivation, or conflict belongs in the first fifty pages. Everything else may be reserved for use later.
For example, in Frank Peretti's Monster, the reader is introduced to the main characters, Reed and Beck. The Inciting Incident occurs a little while later, but the characters still have goals, motivations, and conflicts (GMC) heading into the story. To feel oriented for what's about to transpire, the reader needs to understand Reed and Beck's current GMC, and the GMC of other point-of-view characters.
Reed
Goal = affectionately bully his wife out of her comfort zone
Motivation = she's turning into a recluse
Conflict = she doesn't want to relinquish the security of civilization
Beck
Goal = prove she can hold her own as well as he can in the wilds
Motivation = Reed treats her like a child
Conflict = his gung-ho enthusiasm wears on her stretched nerves
Next, dramatizing exposition through internal thoughts.
(To be continued…)
Wednesday, July 27, 2005
INTO THE WEST: history needs fascinating characters
Year: 2005
Genre: Western miniseries, made for television
Cast: Irene Bedard, David Paymer, Craig Sheffer, Chaske Spencer, John Terry, Sheila Tousey
Director: Jeremy Podeswa
Writer: William Mastrosimone
The sixth and final episode of Into the West, "Ghost Dance," reunites many (though not all) of the surviving characters around the tragic events at Wounded Knee. Jacob and Thunder Heart Woman return, enlisting Robert and Clara's help to search for Margaret, who begins photographically documenting the Indians' treatment on the reservation.
Meanwhile, a false Messiah spreads an intoxicating doctrine among the dispirited tribes, promising the white men will disappear. It's an indecipherable blend of Lakota spirituality, Christianity, and Eastern mysticism. One group of Lakota after another adopt the loud and distinctive Ghost Dance, and wear "bullet proof" Ghost Shirts.
Headline hungry journalists translate the Indians' peaceful discontent into war cries and bloodthirsty intimidation of the local authorities. As tensions escalate out of control and troops arrive, it seems certain that tragedy is only a matter of time.
Despite their personal goals and problems, the main characters are largely passive in relation to the major historic events portrayed in Into the West: Ghost Dance. For instance, when Robert recognizes the foreboding direction things are going, he protests to the Indian agent. But it's only words, not actions, born out of frustration more than courage. When Margaret begins photographing the Indians, it feels faintly courageous, because she acts furtive. But the audience is never shown her purpose (what does she intend to accomplish with the photographs?) or the conflict (are Indians forbidden from owning cameras?). Instead of impacting and developing interaction with a plotline, these sequences attempt to flesh out the characters. The problem is that when a story shifts between multiple main characters, it cannot focus on one long enough for these single-note sequences to build significance.
The main characters' presence at Wounded Knee serves merely as witnesses, rather than significant participants. They come across as somewhat weak, passive characters lacking strong goals hooking into the centerpiece event of the episode. If they were stripped out of the story, nothing would change. Even successful documentaries understand history is only compelling when it hooks into the goals, motivations, and conflicts of courageous and relevant persons. Ken Burns' overwhelmingly popular Civil War documentary leaps to mind as a prime example.
Courageous characters are fascinating characters. Audiences (and readers) can identify with them out of their wish to be like them. They are the kind of characters who reach for the unachievable, strive for the impossible, dare the forbidden, or flirt with catastrophe. Even if they fail, the fact they were brave enough to try is sufficient to capture the audience's interest. History is full of such people. It is unfortunate Into the West was not.
I began watching Into the West looking for another How the West Was Won or Centennial. After the series has ended, I'm still looking.
Genre: Western miniseries, made for television
Cast: Irene Bedard, David Paymer, Craig Sheffer, Chaske Spencer, John Terry, Sheila Tousey
Director: Jeremy Podeswa
Writer: William Mastrosimone
The sixth and final episode of Into the West, "Ghost Dance," reunites many (though not all) of the surviving characters around the tragic events at Wounded Knee. Jacob and Thunder Heart Woman return, enlisting Robert and Clara's help to search for Margaret, who begins photographically documenting the Indians' treatment on the reservation.
Meanwhile, a false Messiah spreads an intoxicating doctrine among the dispirited tribes, promising the white men will disappear. It's an indecipherable blend of Lakota spirituality, Christianity, and Eastern mysticism. One group of Lakota after another adopt the loud and distinctive Ghost Dance, and wear "bullet proof" Ghost Shirts.
Headline hungry journalists translate the Indians' peaceful discontent into war cries and bloodthirsty intimidation of the local authorities. As tensions escalate out of control and troops arrive, it seems certain that tragedy is only a matter of time.
Despite their personal goals and problems, the main characters are largely passive in relation to the major historic events portrayed in Into the West: Ghost Dance. For instance, when Robert recognizes the foreboding direction things are going, he protests to the Indian agent. But it's only words, not actions, born out of frustration more than courage. When Margaret begins photographing the Indians, it feels faintly courageous, because she acts furtive. But the audience is never shown her purpose (what does she intend to accomplish with the photographs?) or the conflict (are Indians forbidden from owning cameras?). Instead of impacting and developing interaction with a plotline, these sequences attempt to flesh out the characters. The problem is that when a story shifts between multiple main characters, it cannot focus on one long enough for these single-note sequences to build significance.
The main characters' presence at Wounded Knee serves merely as witnesses, rather than significant participants. They come across as somewhat weak, passive characters lacking strong goals hooking into the centerpiece event of the episode. If they were stripped out of the story, nothing would change. Even successful documentaries understand history is only compelling when it hooks into the goals, motivations, and conflicts of courageous and relevant persons. Ken Burns' overwhelmingly popular Civil War documentary leaps to mind as a prime example.
Courageous characters are fascinating characters. Audiences (and readers) can identify with them out of their wish to be like them. They are the kind of characters who reach for the unachievable, strive for the impossible, dare the forbidden, or flirt with catastrophe. Even if they fail, the fact they were brave enough to try is sufficient to capture the audience's interest. History is full of such people. It is unfortunate Into the West was not.
I began watching Into the West looking for another How the West Was Won or Centennial. After the series has ended, I'm still looking.
Monday, July 25, 2005
Exposition: How much is enough?
One of the most common beginner's mistakes is "information dump." That's when the writer floods the beginning of the story with information about the main character. Who she is, how she came to be the way she is, her likes and dislikes, etc. Usually the writer does this to make the character likeable and make the reader bond with her.
But expository passages are incapable of achieving this noble goal. It's not their function, like a hammer is incapable of tightening a screw. It can help the reader understand the character, but that's no guarantee she's going to like what she understands.
Exposition stops the story. Large passages of it--or, heaven forbid, an entire prologue or chapter--never lets it lift off the ground.
Generally, the reader doesn't need to know half of the information the writer thinks she does. But the writer needs to know it all before she can judiciously determine how much to feed to the reader.
One of the best ways to uncover necessary exposition is to write a character biography from birth to present story. Some authors write it in first-person in the voice of the character. RITA award-winning author Robin Lee Hatcher: "I write first person autobiographies of the main characters, from birth to the moment my novel begins. I do this so that I, the author, will know what has happened to them in their pasts. This helps me understand their motivations for all they will do during the course of my novel and makes it easier to know how they will react to any given circumstance. It isn't nearly as important for the reader to know most of this as it is for the writer to know it. Some things that I write in these autobiographies will appear in the story but only a small percentage."
Other authors conduct character "interviews" to ferret out the expository information they need to know. RITA award-winning author and writing instructor Alicia Rasley has created an outline of a sample character interview here.
Other authors discover all the expository information they need to know while writing their first draft, then go back and erase most of it. It's rare for any writer not to discover something she didn't expect about her characters or story while writing it, no matter how previously prepared.
Either way, the wise writer finds out everything she can about the main characters... then makes peace with herself that only ten-percent or less will make it into the finished story.
Next, what to tell the reader when?
(To be continued…)
But expository passages are incapable of achieving this noble goal. It's not their function, like a hammer is incapable of tightening a screw. It can help the reader understand the character, but that's no guarantee she's going to like what she understands.
Exposition stops the story. Large passages of it--or, heaven forbid, an entire prologue or chapter--never lets it lift off the ground.
Generally, the reader doesn't need to know half of the information the writer thinks she does. But the writer needs to know it all before she can judiciously determine how much to feed to the reader.
One of the best ways to uncover necessary exposition is to write a character biography from birth to present story. Some authors write it in first-person in the voice of the character. RITA award-winning author Robin Lee Hatcher: "I write first person autobiographies of the main characters, from birth to the moment my novel begins. I do this so that I, the author, will know what has happened to them in their pasts. This helps me understand their motivations for all they will do during the course of my novel and makes it easier to know how they will react to any given circumstance. It isn't nearly as important for the reader to know most of this as it is for the writer to know it. Some things that I write in these autobiographies will appear in the story but only a small percentage."
Other authors conduct character "interviews" to ferret out the expository information they need to know. RITA award-winning author and writing instructor Alicia Rasley has created an outline of a sample character interview here.
Other authors discover all the expository information they need to know while writing their first draft, then go back and erase most of it. It's rare for any writer not to discover something she didn't expect about her characters or story while writing it, no matter how previously prepared.
Either way, the wise writer finds out everything she can about the main characters... then makes peace with herself that only ten-percent or less will make it into the finished story.
Next, what to tell the reader when?
(To be continued…)
Friday, July 22, 2005
INTO THE WEST: passive characters
Year: 2005
Genre: Western miniseries, made for television
Cast: Irene Bedard, Keith Carradine, Tyler Christopher, Rachel Leigh Cook, Warren Kole
Director: Tim Van Patten
Writer: William Mastrosimone
Into the West: Casualties of War, episode five in the limited series, follows Jacob Jr. struggling with his assignment as a scout to General George Armstrong Custer until the massacre at the Little Big Horn. His story posthumously crosses Clara and Robert's, who get rich from the Black Hills gold rush and then poor from an ill-timed investment in buffalo hides.
Robert wrestles with finding purpose for his life. He expends his energy living out his father's dream as a successful shopkeeper and entrepreneur, but pays a high price internally and relationally with Clara. When his father's dream abandons him due to ill economic fortunes, he latches onto the dream of an ex-military officer named Pratt. Robert and Clara join Pratt in Pennsylvania to teach Lakota the white men's ways. As the young couple bonds with the children, especially rebellious "George," they grow increasingly disenchanted with both Pratt's personality and educational methods.
"Casualties of War" attempts to draw together the divergent Lakota and Wheeler story lines. However, the anticipated impact one has on another is at best a glancing blow. When the Battle of the Little Big Horn catches up with Jacob Jr., it's sad and faintly ironic, but ultimately lacks real emotional impact. For a story to make an impact on the audience (or reader), there must be intent on the characters' parts. Jacob Jr.'s fate is depicted as a random one. He himself lacks the kind of character goal to inspire intent in other characters. At one point a friend asks him why he stays with Custer, whom he despises. He says he wants to confound the devil's purposes, but without any supporting action toward this goal, it falls flat. Thus, a promising character goes nowhere, turned into an excuse for the audience's presence at a major historic event.
Robert and Clara's storyline fairs little better. They, too, are beset by internal conflicts and blown about by circumstances largely beyond their control--drought, renegades, and the economy. Again, the characters lack the intent to take command of their own storyline. It picks up a little when they piggyback on Pratt's goal to educate the Lakota children, but that is a story problem. It's Pratt's goal driving the plot, not the main characters. The major conflict is between Pratt and "George," through whom the Lakota children's plight is movingly depicted. Though strongly conflicted internally, Clara and Robert are largely passive and reactive externally. Plot events happen to them more often than they make plot events happen. It weakens the story, and at the end of "Casualties of War," I felt the characters had wandered about and the story traveled nowhere.
At the end, Robert makes a big decision. The audience is not let in on the particulars of the goal he has finally settled on for himself and his growing family. But one can hope it will be of a compelling nature to conclude the series on a satisfying note.
Genre: Western miniseries, made for television
Cast: Irene Bedard, Keith Carradine, Tyler Christopher, Rachel Leigh Cook, Warren Kole
Director: Tim Van Patten
Writer: William Mastrosimone
Into the West: Casualties of War, episode five in the limited series, follows Jacob Jr. struggling with his assignment as a scout to General George Armstrong Custer until the massacre at the Little Big Horn. His story posthumously crosses Clara and Robert's, who get rich from the Black Hills gold rush and then poor from an ill-timed investment in buffalo hides.
Robert wrestles with finding purpose for his life. He expends his energy living out his father's dream as a successful shopkeeper and entrepreneur, but pays a high price internally and relationally with Clara. When his father's dream abandons him due to ill economic fortunes, he latches onto the dream of an ex-military officer named Pratt. Robert and Clara join Pratt in Pennsylvania to teach Lakota the white men's ways. As the young couple bonds with the children, especially rebellious "George," they grow increasingly disenchanted with both Pratt's personality and educational methods.
"Casualties of War" attempts to draw together the divergent Lakota and Wheeler story lines. However, the anticipated impact one has on another is at best a glancing blow. When the Battle of the Little Big Horn catches up with Jacob Jr., it's sad and faintly ironic, but ultimately lacks real emotional impact. For a story to make an impact on the audience (or reader), there must be intent on the characters' parts. Jacob Jr.'s fate is depicted as a random one. He himself lacks the kind of character goal to inspire intent in other characters. At one point a friend asks him why he stays with Custer, whom he despises. He says he wants to confound the devil's purposes, but without any supporting action toward this goal, it falls flat. Thus, a promising character goes nowhere, turned into an excuse for the audience's presence at a major historic event.
Robert and Clara's storyline fairs little better. They, too, are beset by internal conflicts and blown about by circumstances largely beyond their control--drought, renegades, and the economy. Again, the characters lack the intent to take command of their own storyline. It picks up a little when they piggyback on Pratt's goal to educate the Lakota children, but that is a story problem. It's Pratt's goal driving the plot, not the main characters. The major conflict is between Pratt and "George," through whom the Lakota children's plight is movingly depicted. Though strongly conflicted internally, Clara and Robert are largely passive and reactive externally. Plot events happen to them more often than they make plot events happen. It weakens the story, and at the end of "Casualties of War," I felt the characters had wandered about and the story traveled nowhere.
At the end, Robert makes a big decision. The audience is not let in on the particulars of the goal he has finally settled on for himself and his growing family. But one can hope it will be of a compelling nature to conclude the series on a satisfying note.
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
Exposition: What is it?
Exposition is information that explains or describes:
Exposition is necessary for the reader to understand what's going on. It provides context to actions and events. However, it isn't self-revelatory to the reader through what's happening now in the story. That's precisely why exposition, written like the examples above, stops a story dead. It's the writer telling the reader everything, instead of showing the reader just enough to piece the puzzle together on her own, which is far more fun and engaging.
Exposition is told not shown, and therefore to be generally avoided. But the information it conveys cannot be avoided and the story still make sense. The trick is to translate exposition from the static past into the dynamic present.
But first, how much information is too much?
(To be continued…)
- Backstory -- She took in a stray kitten when she was twelve.
- Characters -- She had blond hair and flashing green eyes that could stop any man in his tracks.
- Conflict -- She loved Jack, but she hated cats and he lived with twenty of them.
- Psychology -- She was a soulful young woman, full of melancholy moods and capable of holding a grudge.
- Relationships -- Jack had dated her sister last year, until they had a big fight and hadn't spoken to each other since.
- Setting -- She lived on a Southern plantation that nudged the river.
- Tone -- It was a dark and creepy night, with an old moon that had seen too many hearts broken on the riverbank.
Exposition is necessary for the reader to understand what's going on. It provides context to actions and events. However, it isn't self-revelatory to the reader through what's happening now in the story. That's precisely why exposition, written like the examples above, stops a story dead. It's the writer telling the reader everything, instead of showing the reader just enough to piece the puzzle together on her own, which is far more fun and engaging.
Exposition is told not shown, and therefore to be generally avoided. But the information it conveys cannot be avoided and the story still make sense. The trick is to translate exposition from the static past into the dynamic present.
But first, how much information is too much?
(To be continued…)
Monday, July 18, 2005
New Book Analysis: "Monster"
In the wilderness of Idaho, the Hunter comes upon a logging camp and his prey's latest victim. Taking precious time away from the pursuit, he rearranges the corpse to make the violent death appear accidental. Then he melts back into the forest.
Reed and Beck hike into the wilderness to begin a week long vacation "roughing it" with another couple in the hills. Her husband's enthusiasm for the trip scrapes on Beck's nerves, but she can't resist relishing the fantastical beauty of their surroundings... Until things start to turn weird.
They find their destination cabin ransacked, their guide missing without a trace. When darkness falls...
Continue reading New Book Analysis: "Monster"
Reed and Beck hike into the wilderness to begin a week long vacation "roughing it" with another couple in the hills. Her husband's enthusiasm for the trip scrapes on Beck's nerves, but she can't resist relishing the fantastical beauty of their surroundings... Until things start to turn weird.
They find their destination cabin ransacked, their guide missing without a trace. When darkness falls...
Continue reading New Book Analysis: "Monster"
Friday, July 15, 2005
INTO THE WEST: emotional structure & transitions
Year: 2005
Genre: Western miniseries, made for television
Cast: Irene Bedard, Tom Berenger, Tyler Christopher, Rachel Leigh Cook, Lance Henriksen, Christian Kane, Warren Kole
Director: Michael Watkins
Teleplay: Kirk Ellis
Story: William Mastrosimone
The fourth episode of Into the West, "Hell on Wheels," focuses on the second generation of Wheelers and introduces another branch of the family in Omaha, Nebraska. There orphaned Clara begs a roof over her head from her uncharitable step-relatives led by ambitious, hard-hearted Daniel. His eldest son, Robert, comes to her aid and together they forge a promising friendship while Clara works and saves to recapture her shattered dreams.
Meanwhile, Margaret and her husband are abducted by the Cheyenne. The harrowing experience turns sweet when it affords her the opportunity to reconnect with her Indian heritage, but at a great price. A witness to peace treaties, broken promises, and haunting massacres, her heart overflows with bitterness, eroding the edges of her sanity.
Abe, adrift since the Pony Express faded away, finds renewed purpose in laying the tracks of a historic railroad. He befriends a Chinese, and together they struggle against nature and injustice to connect east with west.
Into the West: Hell on Wheels sets two of its main storylines against the backdrop of the transcontinental railroad: Clara's and Abe's. Margaret's storyline continues the Indian perspective of the west, and picks up Jacob Jr. late in the plot, possibly setting him up for his own storyline in the future.
Though this episode juggles about the same number of plotlines as the previous episode (#3 "Dreams and Schemes," see INTO THE WEST: multiple plots & subplots), it's harder to follow. The story structure is easy enough to keep up with, but the emotional structure falls down when it transitions between story lines.
Emotional structure deals with the universal pattern of human response to disaster or success. To advance a plot, most scenes end with the viewpoint character's goal being answered with--
According to writing instructor Jack Bickham, the natural human response to any of these scene endings is--
Maintaining the integrity of this response pattern is what builds the emotional structure of a story. When shifting between multiple viewpoints, as "Hell on Wheels" does, the pattern becomes even more important. Often years pass in "Hell on Wheels" between one storyline transition and another. For instance, the first storyline introduced in this episode is Clara's in 1863 Omaha when she moves in with the Daniel Wheeler family. The second storyline is Margaret's. When the story finally returns to Clara, it's 1866, three years later. The skipped years are fine as far as story structure goes. But the emotional structure falls apart because the audience left Clara in the grip of strong emotions, reeling from the murders of her adoptive family. When the story returns to Clara, she's taking action toward a new goal: convincing Robert to let her take advantage of the new job opportunities created by the local railroad construction. What happened to the necessary progression of thought and decision? It isn't there. And it's those kind of missed steps in the emotional structure that trip up audiences and readers, even when the rest of the story makes perfect sense.
When transitioning between viewpoints/storylines, time and place doesn't matter. The pattern of human response does, if readers or audiences are to keep up.
Genre: Western miniseries, made for television
Cast: Irene Bedard, Tom Berenger, Tyler Christopher, Rachel Leigh Cook, Lance Henriksen, Christian Kane, Warren Kole
Director: Michael Watkins
Teleplay: Kirk Ellis
Story: William Mastrosimone
The fourth episode of Into the West, "Hell on Wheels," focuses on the second generation of Wheelers and introduces another branch of the family in Omaha, Nebraska. There orphaned Clara begs a roof over her head from her uncharitable step-relatives led by ambitious, hard-hearted Daniel. His eldest son, Robert, comes to her aid and together they forge a promising friendship while Clara works and saves to recapture her shattered dreams.
Meanwhile, Margaret and her husband are abducted by the Cheyenne. The harrowing experience turns sweet when it affords her the opportunity to reconnect with her Indian heritage, but at a great price. A witness to peace treaties, broken promises, and haunting massacres, her heart overflows with bitterness, eroding the edges of her sanity.
Abe, adrift since the Pony Express faded away, finds renewed purpose in laying the tracks of a historic railroad. He befriends a Chinese, and together they struggle against nature and injustice to connect east with west.
Into the West: Hell on Wheels sets two of its main storylines against the backdrop of the transcontinental railroad: Clara's and Abe's. Margaret's storyline continues the Indian perspective of the west, and picks up Jacob Jr. late in the plot, possibly setting him up for his own storyline in the future.
Though this episode juggles about the same number of plotlines as the previous episode (#3 "Dreams and Schemes," see INTO THE WEST: multiple plots & subplots), it's harder to follow. The story structure is easy enough to keep up with, but the emotional structure falls down when it transitions between story lines.
Emotional structure deals with the universal pattern of human response to disaster or success. To advance a plot, most scenes end with the viewpoint character's goal being answered with--
- "Yes, but…" (he gets what he wants, but with a painful compromise attached),
- "No" (he doesn't get what he wants), or
- "No, and furthermore…" (he doesn't get what he wants, and is worse off for trying).
According to writing instructor Jack Bickham, the natural human response to any of these scene endings is--
- Emotion. The viewpoint character wallows in mixed feelings, and may discuss his feelings with a friend or trusted confidant.
- Thought. The viewpoint character reviews what's happened, analyzes the ramifications and implications, and tries to arrive at a new course of action.
- Decision. The viewpoint character decides what he's going to do next.
- Action. The viewpoint character strikes off in pursuit of his new short-term goal.
Maintaining the integrity of this response pattern is what builds the emotional structure of a story. When shifting between multiple viewpoints, as "Hell on Wheels" does, the pattern becomes even more important. Often years pass in "Hell on Wheels" between one storyline transition and another. For instance, the first storyline introduced in this episode is Clara's in 1863 Omaha when she moves in with the Daniel Wheeler family. The second storyline is Margaret's. When the story finally returns to Clara, it's 1866, three years later. The skipped years are fine as far as story structure goes. But the emotional structure falls apart because the audience left Clara in the grip of strong emotions, reeling from the murders of her adoptive family. When the story returns to Clara, she's taking action toward a new goal: convincing Robert to let her take advantage of the new job opportunities created by the local railroad construction. What happened to the necessary progression of thought and decision? It isn't there. And it's those kind of missed steps in the emotional structure that trip up audiences and readers, even when the rest of the story makes perfect sense.
When transitioning between viewpoints/storylines, time and place doesn't matter. The pattern of human response does, if readers or audiences are to keep up.
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
BAMBI: analysis of a Realization Story
Year: 1942
Genre: Children/Fantasy
Story Author: Felix Salten
Screen Story: George Stallings
Screenwriters: Perce Pearce, Chuck Couch, Larry Morey, Melvin Shaw, Ralph Wright
(Note: this analysis contains information about key plot points. If you haven't seen the movie, please be advised some info may be considered a "spoiler.")
Widely acclaimed as one of Walt Disney's finest masterpieces, Bambi is the simple yet profound coming-of-age story of a young deer. It begins with the birth announcement of a prince. All the forest animals welcome the title character as royalty because his father, the Stag, is the oldest and wisest animal in the forest. Nevertheless, the Stag is a distant and mysterious persona in the young fawn's life. He bonds closer with his mother, upon whom he depends for guidance and protection.
When Bambi is big enough, his mother introduces him to the wonders of the meadow. There he meets new friends and experiences genuine danger for the first time. When Bambi gets separated from his mother, and little animals are randomly shot all around him, he becomes frantic until the Stag appears and leads him to safety.
The danger came from man, and to little Bambi man becomes a type of god holding the power of life and death. After a hard winter, when he and his mother return to the meadow in desperate need of food, he encounters the danger again. His mother is shot, and now he knows man controls life and death.
Time passes, and Bambi grows up under the Stag's watchful eye. He falls in love with a childhood playmate, but before they can settle down to raise a family, man returns. Man's dogs attack his mate. Bambi successfully defends her, but is shot and lays helpless as man's fire spreads through the forest. The Stag again mysteriously appears to lead him to safety and a new life as King of the Forest.
To have a plot, a story must have characters with goals that come into conflict. Bambi lacks all of these vital ingredients, which sets it (along with all Realization Stories) at an inherent disadvantage.
Yet it succeeds as a story. The primary reason is that it is told beautifully. The dialogue is economical; nothing is told to the audience if it can be better shown through character action. The tone is precise and never stumbles. The tragic and comic scenes are balanced to give the audience breather spaces between heavier emotions.
Nevertheless, all those things, done as excellently as they are in Bambi, cannot take the place of a plot to create and hold interest. Instead, the story unfurls a subtle pattern of events that slowly weave together a belief system in the protagonist. For the most part, the events are unrelated by the cause-and-effect logic driving Opposition and Choice Stories. Their relevancy to each other is found in the part they play in shaping the character's beliefs.
Bambi is shot at in the meadow--by man. So he learns that danger comes from man. Then his mother is killed in the meadow--by man. So now he believes that death comes from man. Then his true love is imperiled--by man. So now it looks as though man is more powerful than love. Finally Bambi is shot and the forest set on fire--by man. For awhile it seems man has the power to destroy the whole world.
Man overshadows each of these belief-shaping events, but not because he's the antagonist. He is the center of the events because it is Bambi's beliefs about man and divinity that the story focuses on (instead of, for example, Bambi's beliefs about friendship). The impact, direct and indirect, man has on Bambi's life is not deliberate. Man is not in conflict with Bambi, he merely is a source of great pain and injury for the protagonist. When man kills Bambi's mother, it's not because it's Bambi's mother. She's a random, happenstance target.
The facelessness of man in Bambi blurs him from a specific character into a force of nature. The audience doesn't even see his shadow. Or hear his voice. The only evidence man exists is gunshots, a pack of dogs, and a campsite. The gunshots kill at random. Even the dogs act like a frenzied mob, without focused intent. The fire also is the result of carelessness rather than ruthless determination.
Conflict equals interest, and this is as true in Realization Stories as any other kind. But in place of an antagonist and story-length conflict, Bambi sustains interest through a series of self-contained sequences with mini-goals and mini-conflicts. For instance, there's the sequence where Bambi tries to walk and must overcome the opposition of his own inexperience and uncooperative legs. There's the sequence where he and his mother search for food during the hard winter. There's the sequence where he searches for his dead mother, and the impenetrable forest opposes him. There's the sequence where he and his friends determine not to fall in love, and then meet the most beautiful creatures in the forest. There's the sequence where Bambi fights another buck to win his mate. There's the sequence where he rescues her by fighting off the pack of dogs.
For the most part, the goals/conflicts from these and other sequences are unrelated. Even so, tiny patterns and echoes overlap, drawing the sequences together and creating a safety net protecting the story from descending into episodic storytelling. Like when Bambi first meets his future love and then later when they meet as adults, his feet tangle and he plops on his rear. It's a small piece of action reminiscent of the unrelated sequence where he learned to walk.
Naturally, the most powerful conflict sequence occurs at the end. The fire, which man is responsible for, devastates the forest. It is treated almost like a live force, leaping and grasping after the protagonist. It literally chases Bambi over a cliff. The fact man is destroyed in the fire brings Bambi to his big, life-altering realization: man is not God; there's Somebody bigger than man and everything else. As satisfying as this realization is, it's the big conflict sequence leading up to it that makes it memorable. This is the kind of high drama that elevates the story from "beautiful" to "classic."
Genre: Children/Fantasy
Story Author: Felix Salten
Screen Story: George Stallings
Screenwriters: Perce Pearce, Chuck Couch, Larry Morey, Melvin Shaw, Ralph Wright
(Note: this analysis contains information about key plot points. If you haven't seen the movie, please be advised some info may be considered a "spoiler.")
Widely acclaimed as one of Walt Disney's finest masterpieces, Bambi is the simple yet profound coming-of-age story of a young deer. It begins with the birth announcement of a prince. All the forest animals welcome the title character as royalty because his father, the Stag, is the oldest and wisest animal in the forest. Nevertheless, the Stag is a distant and mysterious persona in the young fawn's life. He bonds closer with his mother, upon whom he depends for guidance and protection.
When Bambi is big enough, his mother introduces him to the wonders of the meadow. There he meets new friends and experiences genuine danger for the first time. When Bambi gets separated from his mother, and little animals are randomly shot all around him, he becomes frantic until the Stag appears and leads him to safety.
The danger came from man, and to little Bambi man becomes a type of god holding the power of life and death. After a hard winter, when he and his mother return to the meadow in desperate need of food, he encounters the danger again. His mother is shot, and now he knows man controls life and death.
Time passes, and Bambi grows up under the Stag's watchful eye. He falls in love with a childhood playmate, but before they can settle down to raise a family, man returns. Man's dogs attack his mate. Bambi successfully defends her, but is shot and lays helpless as man's fire spreads through the forest. The Stag again mysteriously appears to lead him to safety and a new life as King of the Forest.
To have a plot, a story must have characters with goals that come into conflict. Bambi lacks all of these vital ingredients, which sets it (along with all Realization Stories) at an inherent disadvantage.
Yet it succeeds as a story. The primary reason is that it is told beautifully. The dialogue is economical; nothing is told to the audience if it can be better shown through character action. The tone is precise and never stumbles. The tragic and comic scenes are balanced to give the audience breather spaces between heavier emotions.
Nevertheless, all those things, done as excellently as they are in Bambi, cannot take the place of a plot to create and hold interest. Instead, the story unfurls a subtle pattern of events that slowly weave together a belief system in the protagonist. For the most part, the events are unrelated by the cause-and-effect logic driving Opposition and Choice Stories. Their relevancy to each other is found in the part they play in shaping the character's beliefs.
Bambi is shot at in the meadow--by man. So he learns that danger comes from man. Then his mother is killed in the meadow--by man. So now he believes that death comes from man. Then his true love is imperiled--by man. So now it looks as though man is more powerful than love. Finally Bambi is shot and the forest set on fire--by man. For awhile it seems man has the power to destroy the whole world.
Man overshadows each of these belief-shaping events, but not because he's the antagonist. He is the center of the events because it is Bambi's beliefs about man and divinity that the story focuses on (instead of, for example, Bambi's beliefs about friendship). The impact, direct and indirect, man has on Bambi's life is not deliberate. Man is not in conflict with Bambi, he merely is a source of great pain and injury for the protagonist. When man kills Bambi's mother, it's not because it's Bambi's mother. She's a random, happenstance target.
The facelessness of man in Bambi blurs him from a specific character into a force of nature. The audience doesn't even see his shadow. Or hear his voice. The only evidence man exists is gunshots, a pack of dogs, and a campsite. The gunshots kill at random. Even the dogs act like a frenzied mob, without focused intent. The fire also is the result of carelessness rather than ruthless determination.
Conflict equals interest, and this is as true in Realization Stories as any other kind. But in place of an antagonist and story-length conflict, Bambi sustains interest through a series of self-contained sequences with mini-goals and mini-conflicts. For instance, there's the sequence where Bambi tries to walk and must overcome the opposition of his own inexperience and uncooperative legs. There's the sequence where he and his mother search for food during the hard winter. There's the sequence where he searches for his dead mother, and the impenetrable forest opposes him. There's the sequence where he and his friends determine not to fall in love, and then meet the most beautiful creatures in the forest. There's the sequence where Bambi fights another buck to win his mate. There's the sequence where he rescues her by fighting off the pack of dogs.
For the most part, the goals/conflicts from these and other sequences are unrelated. Even so, tiny patterns and echoes overlap, drawing the sequences together and creating a safety net protecting the story from descending into episodic storytelling. Like when Bambi first meets his future love and then later when they meet as adults, his feet tangle and he plops on his rear. It's a small piece of action reminiscent of the unrelated sequence where he learned to walk.
Naturally, the most powerful conflict sequence occurs at the end. The fire, which man is responsible for, devastates the forest. It is treated almost like a live force, leaping and grasping after the protagonist. It literally chases Bambi over a cliff. The fact man is destroyed in the fire brings Bambi to his big, life-altering realization: man is not God; there's Somebody bigger than man and everything else. As satisfying as this realization is, it's the big conflict sequence leading up to it that makes it memorable. This is the kind of high drama that elevates the story from "beautiful" to "classic."
Monday, July 11, 2005
RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARK: analysis of an Opposition Story
Year: 1981
Genre: Adventure
Cast: Harrison Ford, Karen Allen, Paul Freeman, John Rhys-Davies, Denholm Elliott
Director: Steven Spielberg
Story: George Lucas and Philip Kaufman
Screenplay: Lawrence Kasdan
(Note: this analysis contains information about key plot points. If you haven't seen the movie, please be advised some info may be considered a "spoiler.")
When the story opens, archeologist Indiana Jones already has a goal: get a golden idol out of the South American jungle. His goal is quickly thwarted, first by his traitorous guides, then by his long-time professional rival, Belloq. Instead of getting away with the idol, he winds up barely escaping with his life.
The idol is quickly forgotten, however, when a new and much bigger goal presents itself, care of the United States government. Concerned with Hitler's interest in religious antiquities, specifically the Biblical ark of the covenant, they send Indy on a mission to find the ark first.
Strong external goal: find the ark of the covenant.
Motivation: Hitler could [possibly] manipulate its powers to defeat the Allies.
Indy's opposition is two-fold. There is the general opposition of the Nazis, who already have a head start on Indy. They have in their clutches the chief archeological expert on the ark. They are already digging in a prime spot. Two or three faces stand out from the crowd of bad guys in this group to give Indy and his friends an especially hard time upon occasion. But generally, the Nazis are background opposition.
Indy's chief opposition arises from his not-so-distant past, someone he already knows. (This is often the best kind of villain, because readers see him arising organically from the protagonist's life, instead of dropping in like a too-convenient plot device. It also adds cohesion to the story, linking the opening S. American sequence with the main plot via the protagonist-antagonist relationship.) Belloq is leading the Nazis' archeological dig for the ark. Though he is only one man, and the Nazis are many, he is still Indy's worst antagonist because he alone matches Indy strength-for-strength. The Nazis may outnumber and outgun Indy, but he can (and usually does) out-think them. Belloq, as a fellow archeologist who's fallen prey to the profession's strongest temptation--the pride of knowledge--knows Indy's weaknesses. He, of all Indy's enemies, has the best chance of anticipating or blocking Indy's efforts to capture the ark first.
When Marion, Indy's old girlfriend and mentor's daughter, enters the plot, it serves multiple purposes, all of which contribute additional conflict. She stirs up a romantic rivalry between Indy and Belloq. When the Nazis kidnap her, they try to use her to leverage information from her archeologist father that would help them find the ark first.
Indy and Belloq wrestle back and forth over the ark until the dark moment, when Belloq and the Nazis hold both the girl and the ark. Indy gets the drop on them, threatening to destroy the ark if they don't release Marion. But he sacrifices his advantage because he cannot go through with destroying his story-length goal, even for love. Belloq knows this, and uses the knowledge to ultimately gain the upper hand.
In the end, Belloq embraces his weakness and is destroyed, while Indy rejects his weakness, saving Marion and himself in the process. This climatic choice differs from the life-altering decision in a Choice Story. If Raiders of the Lost Ark were a Choice Story, Indy would have zigzagged between two decisions for the length of the story. Instead, Indy's climatic choice is a final triumph over the antagonist's most powerful weapon, the temptation of the pride of knowledge.
Like the best Opposition Story, Raiders of the Lost Ark is all about the protagonist in strongly motivated opposition with the antagonist over a specific goal. It succeeds as a timeless favorite among movie fans because it builds its characters with realistic internal frameworks. Indy is no cardboard character swinging from one heroic action to another. He is dogged after a goal, yes. But he also has strengths and weaknesses. He's made mistakes, and there's a greater than even chance he'll make them again. But he's the type of character who'll learn from them, change, and grow. And that's the kind of protagonist that makes the fictional ride worth taking.
Coming soon...another example demonstrating one of "The Three Master Recipes of Fiction."
Genre: Adventure
Cast: Harrison Ford, Karen Allen, Paul Freeman, John Rhys-Davies, Denholm Elliott
Director: Steven Spielberg
Story: George Lucas and Philip Kaufman
Screenplay: Lawrence Kasdan
(Note: this analysis contains information about key plot points. If you haven't seen the movie, please be advised some info may be considered a "spoiler.")
When the story opens, archeologist Indiana Jones already has a goal: get a golden idol out of the South American jungle. His goal is quickly thwarted, first by his traitorous guides, then by his long-time professional rival, Belloq. Instead of getting away with the idol, he winds up barely escaping with his life.
The idol is quickly forgotten, however, when a new and much bigger goal presents itself, care of the United States government. Concerned with Hitler's interest in religious antiquities, specifically the Biblical ark of the covenant, they send Indy on a mission to find the ark first.
Strong external goal: find the ark of the covenant.
Motivation: Hitler could [possibly] manipulate its powers to defeat the Allies.
Indy's opposition is two-fold. There is the general opposition of the Nazis, who already have a head start on Indy. They have in their clutches the chief archeological expert on the ark. They are already digging in a prime spot. Two or three faces stand out from the crowd of bad guys in this group to give Indy and his friends an especially hard time upon occasion. But generally, the Nazis are background opposition.
Indy's chief opposition arises from his not-so-distant past, someone he already knows. (This is often the best kind of villain, because readers see him arising organically from the protagonist's life, instead of dropping in like a too-convenient plot device. It also adds cohesion to the story, linking the opening S. American sequence with the main plot via the protagonist-antagonist relationship.) Belloq is leading the Nazis' archeological dig for the ark. Though he is only one man, and the Nazis are many, he is still Indy's worst antagonist because he alone matches Indy strength-for-strength. The Nazis may outnumber and outgun Indy, but he can (and usually does) out-think them. Belloq, as a fellow archeologist who's fallen prey to the profession's strongest temptation--the pride of knowledge--knows Indy's weaknesses. He, of all Indy's enemies, has the best chance of anticipating or blocking Indy's efforts to capture the ark first.
When Marion, Indy's old girlfriend and mentor's daughter, enters the plot, it serves multiple purposes, all of which contribute additional conflict. She stirs up a romantic rivalry between Indy and Belloq. When the Nazis kidnap her, they try to use her to leverage information from her archeologist father that would help them find the ark first.
Indy and Belloq wrestle back and forth over the ark until the dark moment, when Belloq and the Nazis hold both the girl and the ark. Indy gets the drop on them, threatening to destroy the ark if they don't release Marion. But he sacrifices his advantage because he cannot go through with destroying his story-length goal, even for love. Belloq knows this, and uses the knowledge to ultimately gain the upper hand.
In the end, Belloq embraces his weakness and is destroyed, while Indy rejects his weakness, saving Marion and himself in the process. This climatic choice differs from the life-altering decision in a Choice Story. If Raiders of the Lost Ark were a Choice Story, Indy would have zigzagged between two decisions for the length of the story. Instead, Indy's climatic choice is a final triumph over the antagonist's most powerful weapon, the temptation of the pride of knowledge.
Like the best Opposition Story, Raiders of the Lost Ark is all about the protagonist in strongly motivated opposition with the antagonist over a specific goal. It succeeds as a timeless favorite among movie fans because it builds its characters with realistic internal frameworks. Indy is no cardboard character swinging from one heroic action to another. He is dogged after a goal, yes. But he also has strengths and weaknesses. He's made mistakes, and there's a greater than even chance he'll make them again. But he's the type of character who'll learn from them, change, and grow. And that's the kind of protagonist that makes the fictional ride worth taking.
Coming soon...another example demonstrating one of "The Three Master Recipes of Fiction."
Friday, July 08, 2005
Protagonists and the Choice Story
Each type of character mixes naturally with a certain kind of story, like seasonings work best in certain dishes. For instance, cayenne pepper makes for a zesty main dish, but isn't most people's spice of choice for a dessert.
Just so, a certain type of protagonist fits naturally with a Choice Story. She's likely to be contemplative, rational, calm, and uncertain about what her personal yellow brick road looks like. She knows she needs to find it, because she's got a problem or need that's crying out for help. It's just that, like is so often common of the human condition, her reasoning is frustratingly beclouded with doubts and uncertainties.
She's bright and perceptive. These are the strengths that will ultimately illuminate the proper path for her to take. If she's slow to take action, it's because she wants it to be the right action. For example, Princess Ann in Roman Holiday (1953) is a brilliant young lady with a need to throw off the constraints of her exalted position. As she falls in love with reporter Joe Bradley, her ultimate choice becomes harder to make. She takes her time in long, lingering, and bittersweet scenes of parting. But the audience always has faith she has the brains, sensitivity, and ethics to make the right choice when the last second finally arrives.
An action-oriented, tough-minded, kick-butt protagonist may chafe in a Choice Story. While forcing this type of character to wait and sit out a decision may increase internal pressure, there are risks. Imagine, for a moment, such a protagonist in Roman Holiday. Someone like Dolly Levi (The Matchmaker and Hello, Dolly!) in the role of the princess. The character may burst out in action and wreck the story's structure. Readers may intuitively discern the character's potential for action, and build expectations the story cannot fulfill.
These observations are only generalizations. A skilled chef can create a delicious dish from untypical ingredients. But when building an audience, sometimes it's the familiar dishes prepared with excellence and a unique touch that please the greatest number of people.
Just so, a certain type of protagonist fits naturally with a Choice Story. She's likely to be contemplative, rational, calm, and uncertain about what her personal yellow brick road looks like. She knows she needs to find it, because she's got a problem or need that's crying out for help. It's just that, like is so often common of the human condition, her reasoning is frustratingly beclouded with doubts and uncertainties.
She's bright and perceptive. These are the strengths that will ultimately illuminate the proper path for her to take. If she's slow to take action, it's because she wants it to be the right action. For example, Princess Ann in Roman Holiday (1953) is a brilliant young lady with a need to throw off the constraints of her exalted position. As she falls in love with reporter Joe Bradley, her ultimate choice becomes harder to make. She takes her time in long, lingering, and bittersweet scenes of parting. But the audience always has faith she has the brains, sensitivity, and ethics to make the right choice when the last second finally arrives.
An action-oriented, tough-minded, kick-butt protagonist may chafe in a Choice Story. While forcing this type of character to wait and sit out a decision may increase internal pressure, there are risks. Imagine, for a moment, such a protagonist in Roman Holiday. Someone like Dolly Levi (The Matchmaker and Hello, Dolly!) in the role of the princess. The character may burst out in action and wreck the story's structure. Readers may intuitively discern the character's potential for action, and build expectations the story cannot fulfill.
These observations are only generalizations. A skilled chef can create a delicious dish from untypical ingredients. But when building an audience, sometimes it's the familiar dishes prepared with excellence and a unique touch that please the greatest number of people.
Wednesday, July 06, 2005
SLEEPLESS IN SEATTLE: analysis of a Choice Story
Year: 1993
Genre: Romantic comedy
Cast: Tom Hanks, Meg Ryan, Bill Pullman, Rosie O'Donnell, Rob Reiner
Director: Nora Ephron
Story: Jeff Arch
Screenplay: Nora Ephron, David S. Ward, & Jeff Arch
(Note: this analysis contains information about key plot points. If you haven't seen the movie, please be advised some info may be considered a "spoiler.")
When the story opens, Sam and Annie are both commencing new phases in relationships. Sam's relationship with his wife ended with her death; his need is to find perfect love again. Meanwhile, Annie's relationship with boyfriend Walter rises to a new level of commitment; her problem is nervousness about committing to a relationship that makes perfect sense but little else. For opposite reasons, both protagonists share the belief that the only love available to them is a logical meeting of the minds and personalities, instead of a magic tangling of heartstrings.
Neither suspects this belief may be flawed until the antagonist triggers the Inciting Incident. Sam's son, Jonah, is the antagonist with an external goal: he wants a new wife for Dad. This gives him an Opposition Story that is largely responsible for the forward momentum and drive in the movie.
The first action Jonah takes in pursuit of his goal is to call a radio show and ask for advice. This action simultaneously introduces Sam and Annie, though miles apart, to the big choice the movie is about. Should they--
A.) look for that perfect someone they think doesn't exist, or,
B.) settle for someone logically compatible?
Repercussions from the Inciting Incident build pressure (conflict) on Sam until he is compelled to make a decision. He begins dating again. The woman he picks is a logical, safe choice where his heart is concerned. His attempts to build a relationship with her don't require any resurrected faith in "magic."
The antagonist, recognizing this woman doesn't fulfill his desired goal, takes action to sabotage the relationship. But he doesn't just resist Sam this way. He fights back by trying to find the perfect soul mate for his dad. His belief in Choice "A" leads him to reply to Annie's letter.
This action builds even greater pressure on the protagonists, especially Annie. She tries to get her brother to talk her into staying with her original decision, Choice "B." But she keeps getting lured back to Choice "A"--listening to repeats of the radio show, talking it over with her girlfriend, and replying to Jonah's letter. Eventually, she makes a big attempt at Choice "A" during the story's midpoint and flies out to Seattle to meet Sam and Jonah. It jars Sam's commitment to Choice "B," because just when he's explaining to Jonah the perfect someone doesn't exist--he sees her. He feels the magic again. Then she disappears.
When Annie sees Sam with another woman, she turns and runs back home to Walter and Choice "B." She tells her girlfriend, "I'm finally happy. This is right, this is real." She chalks up her preoccupation with Sam to " completely loosing sight of what counts."
Still shaken by his close call with Annie, Sam makes a similar attempt to strengthen his commitment to Choice "B" by arranging a getaway weekend with the woman he's dating. This hurtles the story into Act Three, because it demands an equal intensity reaction from the antagonist, Jonah, which is to fly to New York City to meet Annie. This, of course, steers Sam into position for the resolution by forcing him to chase after his missing son.
During Valentine's Day dinner, Annie discovers she can't go through with Choice "B," and tells all to Walter. Her choosing "A" no longer depends upon Sam. This is about what she believes, regardless of loss or disappointment. She chooses faith in the magic of love, and in so doing sets Walter free to find that same magic with someone else.
She follows her heart to the Empire State Building, where the story tests her one final time. The empty meeting place challenges Annie's newly affirmed decision and proves to the audience the change in her character is real and lasting. She faces brief disappointment coinciding with the greatest disappointment to Jonah's goal, but her decision is fixed and certain.
The antagonist in this story plays a vital part in heaping pressure on the protagonists and kicking the story forward at key points. He does this by taking action against the protagonists' choices, and stimulating them to equal intensity action either in defense of those choices or changing their minds. He even rescues the happily-ever-after during the last seconds of the movie. But even so, he is a secondary character.
The real story belongs to Sam and Annie and the life-altering choice they make (particularly Annie) at the end. Sam had already experienced true love. He didn't require the burden of evidence Annie did in order to believe. So while he tried to retreat from the inevitability of his own faith, Annie made the longest journey, traveling from disbelief to conviction.
Coming soon…another example demonstrating one of "The Three Master Recipes of Fiction."
Genre: Romantic comedy
Cast: Tom Hanks, Meg Ryan, Bill Pullman, Rosie O'Donnell, Rob Reiner
Director: Nora Ephron
Story: Jeff Arch
Screenplay: Nora Ephron, David S. Ward, & Jeff Arch
(Note: this analysis contains information about key plot points. If you haven't seen the movie, please be advised some info may be considered a "spoiler.")
When the story opens, Sam and Annie are both commencing new phases in relationships. Sam's relationship with his wife ended with her death; his need is to find perfect love again. Meanwhile, Annie's relationship with boyfriend Walter rises to a new level of commitment; her problem is nervousness about committing to a relationship that makes perfect sense but little else. For opposite reasons, both protagonists share the belief that the only love available to them is a logical meeting of the minds and personalities, instead of a magic tangling of heartstrings.
Neither suspects this belief may be flawed until the antagonist triggers the Inciting Incident. Sam's son, Jonah, is the antagonist with an external goal: he wants a new wife for Dad. This gives him an Opposition Story that is largely responsible for the forward momentum and drive in the movie.
The first action Jonah takes in pursuit of his goal is to call a radio show and ask for advice. This action simultaneously introduces Sam and Annie, though miles apart, to the big choice the movie is about. Should they--
A.) look for that perfect someone they think doesn't exist, or,
B.) settle for someone logically compatible?
Repercussions from the Inciting Incident build pressure (conflict) on Sam until he is compelled to make a decision. He begins dating again. The woman he picks is a logical, safe choice where his heart is concerned. His attempts to build a relationship with her don't require any resurrected faith in "magic."
The antagonist, recognizing this woman doesn't fulfill his desired goal, takes action to sabotage the relationship. But he doesn't just resist Sam this way. He fights back by trying to find the perfect soul mate for his dad. His belief in Choice "A" leads him to reply to Annie's letter.
This action builds even greater pressure on the protagonists, especially Annie. She tries to get her brother to talk her into staying with her original decision, Choice "B." But she keeps getting lured back to Choice "A"--listening to repeats of the radio show, talking it over with her girlfriend, and replying to Jonah's letter. Eventually, she makes a big attempt at Choice "A" during the story's midpoint and flies out to Seattle to meet Sam and Jonah. It jars Sam's commitment to Choice "B," because just when he's explaining to Jonah the perfect someone doesn't exist--he sees her. He feels the magic again. Then she disappears.
When Annie sees Sam with another woman, she turns and runs back home to Walter and Choice "B." She tells her girlfriend, "I'm finally happy. This is right, this is real." She chalks up her preoccupation with Sam to " completely loosing sight of what counts."
Still shaken by his close call with Annie, Sam makes a similar attempt to strengthen his commitment to Choice "B" by arranging a getaway weekend with the woman he's dating. This hurtles the story into Act Three, because it demands an equal intensity reaction from the antagonist, Jonah, which is to fly to New York City to meet Annie. This, of course, steers Sam into position for the resolution by forcing him to chase after his missing son.
During Valentine's Day dinner, Annie discovers she can't go through with Choice "B," and tells all to Walter. Her choosing "A" no longer depends upon Sam. This is about what she believes, regardless of loss or disappointment. She chooses faith in the magic of love, and in so doing sets Walter free to find that same magic with someone else.
She follows her heart to the Empire State Building, where the story tests her one final time. The empty meeting place challenges Annie's newly affirmed decision and proves to the audience the change in her character is real and lasting. She faces brief disappointment coinciding with the greatest disappointment to Jonah's goal, but her decision is fixed and certain.
The antagonist in this story plays a vital part in heaping pressure on the protagonists and kicking the story forward at key points. He does this by taking action against the protagonists' choices, and stimulating them to equal intensity action either in defense of those choices or changing their minds. He even rescues the happily-ever-after during the last seconds of the movie. But even so, he is a secondary character.
The real story belongs to Sam and Annie and the life-altering choice they make (particularly Annie) at the end. Sam had already experienced true love. He didn't require the burden of evidence Annie did in order to believe. So while he tried to retreat from the inevitability of his own faith, Annie made the longest journey, traveling from disbelief to conviction.
Coming soon…another example demonstrating one of "The Three Master Recipes of Fiction."
Monday, July 04, 2005
New Article: "The Three Master Recipes for Fiction"
It's one of those questions that remain largely unsettled. How many types of stories are there?
Are there two? (Comedy and drama.) Or seven? (Man versus God / supernatural / himself / man / society / machine / nature.) Or twenty, as Ronald Tobias suggests in his book, Twenty Master Plots (And How to Build Them)? Or thirty-six, as defined by George Polti in his classic 1921 book, Thirty-Six Dramatic Situations? Or sixty-nine, as reported by Rudyard Kipling?
While each of these theories has merit, the real number of story varieties is virtually as boundless as one's imagination. Nevertheless, the question persists because the answer has practical and applicable value...
Continue reading the new article: "The Three Master Recipes for Fiction."
Are there two? (Comedy and drama.) Or seven? (Man versus God / supernatural / himself / man / society / machine / nature.) Or twenty, as Ronald Tobias suggests in his book, Twenty Master Plots (And How to Build Them)? Or thirty-six, as defined by George Polti in his classic 1921 book, Thirty-Six Dramatic Situations? Or sixty-nine, as reported by Rudyard Kipling?
While each of these theories has merit, the real number of story varieties is virtually as boundless as one's imagination. Nevertheless, the question persists because the answer has practical and applicable value...
Continue reading the new article: "The Three Master Recipes for Fiction."
Friday, July 01, 2005
INTO THE WEST: multiple plots and subplots
Year: 2005
Genre: Western miniseries, made for television
Cast: Matthew Settle, Tonantzin Carmelo, Matthew Modine, Sean Astin, Skeet Ulrich, Tyler Posey
Director: Sergio Mimica-Gezzan
Teleplay: Craig Storper
Story: William Mastrosimone
The third installment of Into the West spans the years between the California gold rush and the American Civil War. Thunder Heart Woman watches her family slowly fracture and come apart one member at a time. Margaret relocates to San Francisco in search of her father and falls in love with an English photographer. Jethro, Jacob's brother and now Thunder Heart Woman's second husband, catches gold fever and becomes a drug addict. Abe, her eldest son, flees home to escape Jethro's murderous rages. Eventually, Jethro's lust for gold brings about his own destruction, and Jacob's eventual return reunites [most of] the family for the first time in years.
Another branch of the Wheeler family is introduced in this episode. Samson Wheeler stands strong with his family against slavery in Kansas. But Quantrill's bloody threats seed storm clouds over their heads that promise tragedy and suffering.
Meanwhile, the Lakota sign a peace treaty with Washington, DC. When it is broken through misunderstanding, betrayal, and arrogance, the Indians return to the path of war, but find themselves (along with the Pony Express) in retreat before the advance of industrial miracles like the telegraph.
In this episode, Into the West finally begins to hit its stride as a satisfying story. "Dreams and Schemes" relies more strongly than previous episodes on multiple plots. While both multiple plots and subplots switch back and forth between plot lines, multiple plots differ from subplots in that subplots are connected in some way to the main plot. Multiple plots are connected with each other primarily by an idea. While these multiple plots may eventually intersect in future episodes, in "Dreams and Schemes" they are treated as wholly separate. It fits the purpose of Into the West, because it enables the writer to color in the intrinsic nature of an epic landscape spanning both time and distance.
In previous episodes, the writers relied strongly on Jacob's rolling-stone personality to sample a smorgasbord of historical events and characters. This gimmick was rapidly stretching to the breaking point of believablility. Just how much of the great adventure known as the American West could one person logically take part in? "Dreams and Schemes" utilizes multiple plots (Samson Wheeler; Indian peace treaty) to naturally expand the canvas of the story, and subplots (Margaret in San Francisco; Abe riding for the Pony Express) to enrich the continuing main plot of Jacob and Thunder Heart Woman. Together, they add complexity to the whole story and give the audience a broad taste of the west.
For multiple plots and/or subplots to work, they need to be structured with all the essential ingredients of a main plot: a compelling lead character, a strong goal, and dynamic conflict. For the most part, "Dreams and Schemes" succeeds at this. Samson is a particularly endearing character, with both strengths and flaws, that I would have enjoyed watching in future episodes. His daughter has great potential to follow in his footsteps as a highly interesting character.
Genre: Western miniseries, made for television
Cast: Matthew Settle, Tonantzin Carmelo, Matthew Modine, Sean Astin, Skeet Ulrich, Tyler Posey
Director: Sergio Mimica-Gezzan
Teleplay: Craig Storper
Story: William Mastrosimone
The third installment of Into the West spans the years between the California gold rush and the American Civil War. Thunder Heart Woman watches her family slowly fracture and come apart one member at a time. Margaret relocates to San Francisco in search of her father and falls in love with an English photographer. Jethro, Jacob's brother and now Thunder Heart Woman's second husband, catches gold fever and becomes a drug addict. Abe, her eldest son, flees home to escape Jethro's murderous rages. Eventually, Jethro's lust for gold brings about his own destruction, and Jacob's eventual return reunites [most of] the family for the first time in years.
Another branch of the Wheeler family is introduced in this episode. Samson Wheeler stands strong with his family against slavery in Kansas. But Quantrill's bloody threats seed storm clouds over their heads that promise tragedy and suffering.
Meanwhile, the Lakota sign a peace treaty with Washington, DC. When it is broken through misunderstanding, betrayal, and arrogance, the Indians return to the path of war, but find themselves (along with the Pony Express) in retreat before the advance of industrial miracles like the telegraph.
In this episode, Into the West finally begins to hit its stride as a satisfying story. "Dreams and Schemes" relies more strongly than previous episodes on multiple plots. While both multiple plots and subplots switch back and forth between plot lines, multiple plots differ from subplots in that subplots are connected in some way to the main plot. Multiple plots are connected with each other primarily by an idea. While these multiple plots may eventually intersect in future episodes, in "Dreams and Schemes" they are treated as wholly separate. It fits the purpose of Into the West, because it enables the writer to color in the intrinsic nature of an epic landscape spanning both time and distance.
In previous episodes, the writers relied strongly on Jacob's rolling-stone personality to sample a smorgasbord of historical events and characters. This gimmick was rapidly stretching to the breaking point of believablility. Just how much of the great adventure known as the American West could one person logically take part in? "Dreams and Schemes" utilizes multiple plots (Samson Wheeler; Indian peace treaty) to naturally expand the canvas of the story, and subplots (Margaret in San Francisco; Abe riding for the Pony Express) to enrich the continuing main plot of Jacob and Thunder Heart Woman. Together, they add complexity to the whole story and give the audience a broad taste of the west.
For multiple plots and/or subplots to work, they need to be structured with all the essential ingredients of a main plot: a compelling lead character, a strong goal, and dynamic conflict. For the most part, "Dreams and Schemes" succeeds at this. Samson is a particularly endearing character, with both strengths and flaws, that I would have enjoyed watching in future episodes. His daughter has great potential to follow in his footsteps as a highly interesting character.
