Over the
past decade, Blake Snyder's Save the Cat has been the world's
best selling instructional book on screenwriting. Go to Amazon.com
and type “screenwriting” in the books section and Save the Cat
will always come up at the top of the search list. But, in my
opinion, this book has been the biggest detriment to the community of
aspiring screenwriters in decades. If I had my way, every copy would
be cleared from the shelves. If I ever hear another screenwriter
wanna-be using the phrase “save the cat” as if it were an actual
term of the craft, I will personally take his or her copy of the book
and make them eat it.
My
problem with this book is that Snyder has taken all the
over-emphasized and often short-sighted terms, theories, and rules
preached by various screenwriting “gurus” over the years, and
diluted then down into a collection of cutely-named cliches. The
result has been an entire generation of aspiring screenwriters who
believe that they can create an audience-pleasing screenplay by
simply connecting the dots. Yet although they may follow these
“rules” exactly, the writer's work still stands little potential
of ever becoming a produced films because their superficial knowledge
and assembly-line approach creates nothing but weak, formulaic
shells. Such "storytelling" amounts to hackwork because
these writers have not been given the deep-down, under-the-surface
knowledge necessary to create works of true merit. They are never
given the real information on just exactly what a cinematic
story is, how it works, and why it
works. Synder's outside-in approach creates nothing but pretty
facades. They look fine on the surface, but are hollow underneath
Forgive this opening rant. The target of this article is not Blake
Synder's book in its entirety. (That would take too long, and is
probably not necessary. Hopefully, the readers of this blog have
grown out of beginner's books like this anyway). Instead, I want to
debunk the concept that provides Synder's title. Synder suggests that
in the setup of every story, we should see the protagonist have a
“save the cat” moment. By this he means that the audience should
see the hero doing something nice, something the audience can approve
of, such as saving a cat stuck in a tree. This is so we can that the
hero is a “nice guy.” Supposedly, wedging in such a moment will
create audience sympathy, or empathy, or whatever the hell you want
to call it. Either way, he seems to suggest that the only way to make
an audience get behind a character is to make him/her “likeable,”
in a nice kitty-petting sort of way.
I began thinking on this subject the other day as I was reading a
spec script by an aspiring writer. The story's protagonist is
supposed to be a sort of financial/Wall Street/investment badass. He
is the James Bond of investment firms, able to flip on the world news
and instantly understand how turmoil and misfortune around the globe
can be exploited for millions of dollars. And exploit them he does.
However, he is “above” the trapping of the rich and successful.
He's so good at making money it bores him. He has no interest in the
booze, drugs, and women that his coworkers revel in. Seems like a
nice anti-hero, right? A person who has a lot of room to grow and
branch out to become a better person.
But then, I get to an abrupt and completely disconnected scene where
this detached badass is sweetly teaching math to underprivileged
children as a unpaid volunteer. It was at this moment that I KNEW
this writer had Save the Cat sitting on his bookshelf. This
“pet the kitty” scene did not help the script. Quite to the
contrary. Not only was its content irrelevant to the rest of the
story, but it actually served to undercut the character. Everything
the writer put into this scene contradicted the character traits he
had already worked to establish. Instead of a clearly defined
character, he became a confused middling mush. Instead of have a
clear path for his character arc, it became blurred and unclear
whether he should have one at all. The writer didn't need to show
that his protagonist is a “nice guy.” He is not SUPPOSED to be a
nice guy. He is an exploiter. No one can be a “nice” exploiter.
He is a man begging to be taught a life lesson through the conflict
of story events and to grow into a better human being as a result.
Let me ask a question: Just what is so wrong about having a FLAWED
character in the first place? A character whom we in the audience,
with the collective moral judgment we bring with us to the theater,
cannot completely approve of? A character who has ugly black smudges
on their soul, who can only be awakened to their wrongs and purged of
those black marks by having their life thrown into chaos, so they may
grow into a better person? Isn't this what a character arc is
supposed to be all about? Isn't this what STORIES are supposed to be
all about? Who among us in the audience do not have black spots on
our own souls? How many of us are not incomplete persons ourselves,
ashamed of our shortcomings, and held back in life by our flaws? And
who among us has never watched a film and felt uplifted and inspired
by vicariously watching another flawed person (a person even MORE
flawed than ourselves) find redemption on the screen? Now let me ask
you this: who in the hell is going to say that the people in the
audience will not identify with these “unlikeable” characters?
What type of person would you feel more inclined to identify with? A
character with whom we can share a secret affinity through our own
weaknesses and insecurities? Or some goody-goody kitty-petter who has
no real need for the catharsis of character growth?
I
have had the privilege of getting to know Lew Hunter, the Chairman
Emeritus of the UCLA Screenwriting program. Several months ago, I was
thumbing through his book Screenwriting 434,
a collection of his wisdom from his years teaching the craft, and
found this little nugget buried in the back:
We
do not need to “like the people.” We need to understand
the people.
This
quote is found in a chapter on dealing with the business of being a
professional writer. (My wager is that Lew became so exasperated
throughout his career with receiving notes from network suits on
whether a character is “likeable,” that he chose to make a
special note of it). However, I immediately wrote his words down on a
post-it note and put it by my computer, where it remains today,
because I recognized its truth went far beyond its context. In movies
as in life, we do not have to like everybody. But as long as we can
understand
them,
who they are and why they act the way they do, we will still care.
Books on screenwriting need to stop talking about “sympathetic”
characters. Many books, on the other hand, explicitly argue against
sympathy and instead emphasize the importance of making character
“empathic.” But I think both terms should be eliminated. For one,
most aspiring writers can't seem to understand the difference between
the two. It's not their fault. It's hard for ANYONE to really tell
the difference! Don't believe me? I have here Webster's New World
Dictionary. Here is their definitions.
sympathy
[Greek
syn- together,
-pathos feeling]
1. sameness of feeling. 2. mutual liking or understanding. 3. ability
to share another's ideas, emotions, etc.
empathy
[Greek.
em-
in,
-pathos
feeling]
1. ability to share another's ideas, thoughts, or feelings.
Hold up! Am I seeing things or do both sympathy and empathy have the
exact same definition?! No wonder there is so much confusion!
“Character empathy” has always been such an abstract concept to
define that, no matter how hard the script gurus try, most writers
remain unsure. Plenty aim to create this so-called empathetic
character but end up swerving into the sympathetic. And this problem
gets worse when we take into account that modern English has given
“sympathy” the connotation of either a feeling of pity, or a
feeling of sweet emotions. And from this we get writers who feel
compelled to have their characters save cats.
But
“pity” or “sweet feelings,” are certainly not necessary for
an audience to get behind a main character. Really, they do not care
if a character is “sympathetic,” or “empathetic,” or if the
character is a “nice person.” What they want, and need, is a
character they can RESPECT! We the audience will get behind a
character, support them, and even love them despite of all their ugly
flaws and unsympathetic traits as long as there is something about
the person that we can respect. Citizen
Kane's
Charles Foster Kane harbors plenty of unsympathetic characteristics
and commits many actions worthy of disapproval. But we still love
him. Why? Because we can respect him. We respect his guts, his
leadership ability, his charm and charisma. Hannibal Lecter could be
the the most detestable human being ever to live on the screen. Yet
we love him because there are still things about him we can respect;
such as his intellect, his exquisite tastes, or his ability to size
up a person in a glance. Our financial badass who leads the spec
script discussed earlier has qualities that show potential for the
audience's respect. He is brilliant and resourceful, and he has the
personal strength to not get sucked down into the vices that often
come with money and power. We do not need to see him acting all
cuddly and cute with disadvantaged kids for us to get behind him.
A worthiness for audience respect is the most important trait for a
protagonist to possess. The reasons are quite clear. When an audience
enters a story's world, they look for a person they can latch on to.
They need someone they can identify with, someone whose eyes to see
the story's world through, someone through whom they can have a
vicarious emotional experience. However, they are by no means looking
for someone who is “just like them.” How many movies have you
ever seen with a protagonist who was exactly like you? To enjoy a
story, the audience needs someone who will be their guide in this
unfamiliar world. In short, they need someone to be their LEADER.
What the audience needs out of a main character are traits that make
the audience comfortable enough to trust this character to lead them
into the story and not be disappointed.
Think about it, for what reason would you choose to follow someone
into danger? Or rather, what qualities would you like to have in your
mayor, governor, or president? Would you follow someone because they
seem like a really nice person? Or because they have qualities that
you can respect and trust?
The
ability to garner audience respect is the dividing line that
separates a hero the viewer will love from a villain they will hate.
How many movies have we seen where the hero is a thief, a killer, a
con man, a blood-sucking vampire, or a beast from hell? What makes
these unlikely characters “heroic”? We still consider these
characters to be heroes in spite of their immoral activities because
they still possess other
character
traits which earn our respect. You will find in many movies that the
hero and the villain are the same type of person. It is just that one
character has something that makes them worthy of our respect- and
affection- and the other one does not.
But, of course, there's always a chance you'll create a character
whose only respectable trait IS that he rescues cats stuck in trees.
However, I have faith that you can be a little more creative than
that.
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