Six years ago, I stumbled upon the first hints of a cinematic
phenomenon I still quite frankly find amazing. Under their surface,
wide collections of Hollywood’s most successful and well-loved
feature films; despite extreme differences in style, premise,
content, or genre; appeared to follow identical patterns of plot.
These were not broad or general patterns like the vague and unwieldy
3-Act Restorative Structure, but very specific patterns where films
mirrored one another on a sequence-by-sequence, event-by-event basis.
Digging into a closer analysis of hundreds of films, I found this was
no rare occurrence. Every well-plotted American film (of
traditional three-act form) fit snugly into one of these patterns.
The faults of mediocre films could be traced to where they strayed
from these patterns. On the other hand, poorly-plotted films followed
no pattern at all. Soon, every new film had me at some point jumping
from my seat, triumphantly shouting “Type 2b!” “Type 8c!”
“Type 15a!” Most amazing of all, these plot patterns seem to
arise naturally on their own accord, without the knowledge of even
the artists who create them. All in all, I have identified
thirty-four common plot patterns of American cinema, detailed for the
first time in my most recent book Screenwriting & The Unified Theory of Narrative, Part II: Genre, Pattern & The Concept of Total Meaning. Together with the Unified Narrative Structure
presented in Screenwriting & The Unified Theory of Narrative, Part I and the contributions of genre, protagonist psychology, and
artistic specialization, the plot pattern phenomenon provides a key
part to our comprehensive understanding of how cinematic stories
function and communicate meaning.
But enough prologue. Over the last few months I have gotten some rare
free time to catch up on films I missed in theaters. Needless to say,
each new film continues to confirm my findings. Yet still, nearly
every one teaches me something new. Considered one at a time, each
instance reveals in greater detail the strength and versatility of
their pattern (or in some cases, patterns). Plot patterns are
not rigid or restrictive, but highly flexible and capable of serving
practically any premise. (As I have always said, structure must adapt
to the needs of the story, not the other way around.) Every new
example gives fresh evidence of how plot patterns can be bent (and
the consequences of being broken) or reveals creative alternatives
and variations which may be used to match a strong structural
foundation to an original premise. Here follows a selection of nine
films with an analysis of their use of plot pattern.
Nightcrawler
(2014)
Type
5c: The Exploiter. The Exploiter is one of the least common American
plot patterns. Luckily, Nightcrawler
gives another instance to add to the examples There
Will Be Blood, The Social Network, and
Bowfinger
used in UTN Part
II. Like
these films, Nightcrawler
centers upon a morally-dubious protagonist (Louis Bloom, played by
Jake Gyllenhaal) selfishly pursuing an opportunity which requires him
to continually lie, cheat, and manipulate others for personal gain.
Success in this endeavor requires the continued loyalty or unwilling
(or unwitting, depending on the case) compliance of two key
supporting characters: the Close Comrade and the Dupe. In
Nightcrawler,
these roles are served by Louis’ “intern” Rick and TV executive
Nina. (Though unlike other Exploiters, it is unclear which character
serves which specific role. The functions of the two roles seem to be
shared between Rick and Nina, as Louis treats them both as the Close
Comrade or the Dupe depending on the situation.)
Nightcrawler’s
plot however
is missing a few common structural events found in other, more
successful Exploiters: 1. The loss of the vital Close Comrade/Dupe
near the Midpoint; 2. The protagonist’s efforts to replace or
regain control over the lost character; and 3. The return of the lost
Comrade/Dupe at the end of Act 2B. While Nightcrawler
remains a serviceable narrative, these missing complications leave
its Act 2B one-dimensional. Since Louis’s ambition faces only a
singular threat (as opposed to multiple threats as found in other Exploiters), the conflict seems simpler and far easier to
overcome. Thus, the drama does not intensify as greatly as it otherwise would, keeping Nightcrawler’s
final sequence from being as powerful a climax as we would normally expect.
BoxTrolls
(2014)
Type
11a: The Social Reformer. Typified by films like Braveheart
or Erin
Brockovich,
the Social Reformer pits the weak and oppressed against a tyrannical
authority; usually to address a social issue or themes on personal
rights or freedoms. Boxtrolls
shows that the content of such stories need not always be so serious.
Despite being a lighthearted Family Adventure, this animated feature
follows the Social Reformer pattern to a tee. Act 1 establishes the
oppression or unfair treatment of a disempowered group of individuals
by a Force of Tyranny (through a rolling setup rather than a single
inciting incident, as typical in the Social Reformer pattern). The protagonist takes notice of this, and at the
End of Act 1 voluntarily chooses to become the group’s
champion. In Act 2A, the protagonist promotes his social cause by forging
alliances with more powerful individuals and encouraging the
oppressed peoples to unite under a common front. With success, the
protagonist makes his or her first major direct assault upon the
Force of Tyranny at the story's Midpoint. This arouses the wrath of the
Force, leading to counter-actions which weaken or completely destroy
the protagonist’s alliances by the end of Act 2B. With the repeated theme of “united we stand, divided we fall,”
the protagonist can only hope to defeat the Force by reforging these
crucial alliances in Act 3.
Boxtrolls,
however,
contains two interesting details which help us gain a more flexible
understanding of the Social Reformer pattern. First, Social Reformers
typically contain a vital character role I call the “Over Boss.”
Played by Robert the Bruce in Braveheart
and Erin’s employer Ed Masry in
Brockovich,
the Over Boss is a person of greater social power whose support is needed by the
protagonist to grant his or her cause necessary strength,
resources, or legitimacy. In Boxtrolls,
this
function is served by the little girl Winnie, daughter of the city’s
highest-ranking nobleman. This shows that the Over Boss need not be a
character of actual power or authority, but merely a person with the
know-how, social standing, or resources to further the protagonist’s
cause in ways the protagonist cannot. (As a result, I may have to
rename the “Over Boss” to something more inclusive.)
Second,
as explained in UTN,
success or failure in Act 3 depends on the protagonist’s willingness to
take the actions necessary to reforge lost or broken alliances; for
the powerful Force of Tyranny cannot be defeated without a united
front. Yet unlike examples such as Erin
Brockovich,
Boxtrolls’s
alliances
do not reform through the protagonist’s direct efforts, but behind
the scenes and on their own accord—leading to the hero’s
last-second rescue when all seems lost. While this provides
the Family Adventure with an equally acceptable conclusion, it may be
accused of the dreaded deus ex machina. Thus, this alternative resolution is
dramatically weaker and may be considered implausible in more
realistic narratives.
The Big Short
(2015)
Despite
the aforementioned rarity of the Exploiter, we find another example
in The Big
Short. Yet
Short
appears much different than Nightcrawler
due
to its use of a multi-narrative structure. Short
alternates between three separate and independent storylines, each
with their or own protagonist (or protagonists). Nevertheless, these
narratives all follow the Exploiter pattern; albeit in a simplified
manner—simplified because each are allotted only a third of the
film’s overall screen time and thus must limit themselves to only
the pattern’s key events.
When
we disentangle the three storylines and view them individually, the
repeated Exploiter pattern becomes plainly obvious. Each begins with
the protagonist(s) discovering an opportunity which, if exploited
properly, may lead to enormous personal gain (all our heroes
separately realize they have a chance to cash in on a mortgage
industry on the brink of collapse). Yet the morally-questionable
nature of this opportunity demands secrecy and some underhanded
double-dealings. Like other Exploiters, the protagonists’ plans
require the support of a Close Comrade and the unwitting compliance
of a Dupe. In the Mark Baum (Steve Carell) storyline, Mark partners
with the Close Comrade Jared Vennett (Ryan Gosling). In the Charlie
Geller/Jamie Shipley (John Magro/Finn Wittrock) storyline, the dual
leads gain the help of Ben Rickert (Brad Pitt). (It should be noted
however that the Michael Burry (Christian Bale) line lacks a Close
Comrade—yet this thread is granted the least dramatic development
as well as the least amount of screen time.) Yet while the Close
Comrades are different, all the protagonists seek to exploit the same
Dupe – presented in Short
not as a singular character, but more abstractly as the entire
corrupt mortgage industry as a whole (everyone involved in this
industry thus functions like as single collective character). This
shared Dupe unifies the storylines (one of the greatest challenges of
a multi-narrative film) since every action/reaction from the Dupe
mutually affects all three plots.
To
return to plot structure, the protagonists’ initial actions
culminate in an End of Act 1 Turning Point which marks the
exploitative venture’s official launch. (The protagonists invest
all their money in their surety that the mortgage industry will fail.)
This venture appears to advance quite well in Act 2A, only to hit a
major roadblock at the Exploiter’s Midpoint (the aforementioned
event missing in Nightcrawler)—the
loss of control over the Dupe. (The mortgage industry lies to
investors to cover up its failings, blocking the protagonists’ once
certain path to success.) This incites the protagonists to desperate
actions to save their flailing ventures in Act 2B. Yet (in perfect
conformity with the Exploiter pattern) the Dupe “returns” at the
End of 2nd
Act Turning Point (the mortgage industry is forced to admit it is
going down the tubes), sending the protagonists into an exploitative
frenzy in order to achieve their goals before time runs out.
As
explained in Unified
Theory of Narrative, Part I,
a multi-narrative film ends with multiple climactic resolutions. This
grants the thematic message greater depth and detail, as it allows
the audience to compare and contrast the fates of multiple characters
(and the choices which led to such fates). In other words,
multi-narratives like The
Big Short
encourage viewers to evaluate the story’s central ideological
issue from various angles and draw conclusions between them. Also,
Short
adds ambiguity to its resolutions (through structural devices also
detailed in UTN
Part I).
Each protagonist achieves only a bittersweet victory at a great
physical or ethical cost. Through these combined elements, Short
intentionally avoids a clear-cut thematic message, preferring to
leave its central issue open for continued reflection and debate.
The Imitation
Game
(2014)
Type
10b: The Overreacher. This one was a bit tricky to identify (largely
due to its nonlinear structure composed of three separate
storylines). However, the pattern became obvious once I located the
true source of the film’s conflict.
In
the Overreacher, an ambitious yet highly-flawed protagonist creates
conflict by refusing to abide by the wishes of a far more
conservative “Power of Approval.” Instead, the protagonist
constantly demands this Power give more than it is willing to allow.
(In Unified
Theory of Narrative Part II, I
used Scarface,
500 Days of Summer, and
Patton
as examples. In Scarface,
Tony Montana both rises and falls by constantly challenging the
authority of his superiors in the world cocaine syndicate. In Summer,
Tom continually demands more commitment from his dream girl Summer
than she is willing to give. In Patton,
General
Patton creates increasing friction with the military chiefs of
command by refusing to follow orders in favor of this own path to
glory.) In all three of The
Imitation Game’s
story threads, protagonist Alan Turing; alienated from others by a
combination of his brilliance, social ineptitude, and the taboo of
his secret homosexuality; remains a stubborn nonconformist in worlds
which demand strict conformity to narrow-minded norms and
expectations. In each case, Turing refuses to adapt or fully
cooperate, demanding that the Power of Approval allow him an absolute
freedom of action.
In
the first half of the Overreacher pattern, the Power of Approval
initially, though quite reluctantly, yields to the protagonist’s
determination. Yet the Power eventually feels pushed too far,
punishing or rebuking the protagonist at the Midpoint. The Power then
grants the protagonist a second chance in Act 2B. How the protagonist
responds to this second opportunity will decide his or her fate. If
the protagonist learns from the previous downfall and learns to compromise with the Power, he or she is rewarded with a more
acceptable level of happiness and success. Yet if the protagonist
refuses such personal growth and reverts to his or her flawed ways,
the Power of Approval will turn on the protagonist once more, handing out
a final crushing defeat. The
Imitation Game follows
the latter path. Turing once again refuses to adapt to expected
(albeit close-minded) behavioral norms, ultimately compelling
authorities to punish him in spite of his heroic achievements.
Unlike
Scarface or
Patton, The
Imitation Game’s
conclusion seems harsh and unfair. This is because Scarface
and Patton are
constructed as Cautionary
narratives while Imitation
Game
presents a Tragic
narrative.
In a Cautionary narrative, a protagonist is rightly punished for
clinging to a quality the audiences considers harmful or wrong. Yet
in a Tragic narrative, the audiences feels sympathy towards—and
even approves of—the protagonist’s qualities. However, these
supposedly “positive” qualities prove to be the protagonist’s
undoing, as he or she exists in an ethically-backwards world which
rejects what the audience considers “good” to reward its
opposite. (See UTN,
Part I for
more information on the Celebratory, Cautionary, Tragic, and Cynical
narrative types.) Since Game’s
audience is led to feel sympathy towards Turing and see good
in his “flaw,” Turing's defeat is found unjust. The result is social
criticism. What we believe to be good or right is not always rewarded
in reality. As a result, Tragic narratives like Imitation
Game
argue the need to recognize social faults and press for change.
Jane Got a Gun
(2015)
A
fairly paint-by-the-numbers Type 14b: Coming Together. Because of its
predictability, Jane
failed to hold my interest and I stopped watching around the
40-minute mark. Granted, this prevents me from giving a genuine
critique of the film, as I am unable (and do not care to) to conclude
whether Jane’s
lackluster success came from its predictability or its failure to
stick to the Coming Together pattern from beginning to end. Either
way, this film shows that the use of a plot pattern does not by
itself guarantee success. Patterned films are most successful when
audiences cannot readily perceive
their
pattern. The old Hollywood saw “Give me something familiar, yet
different” definitely applies here. While every film demands a
strong structural foundation, a lack of novelty in terms of the aesthetically-superficial
elements (such as the story’s premise, characters, and the nature
of individual events) will allow the bones of the structure to poke
through, causing the audience to compare the film to other obvious
examples of the pattern and apply that hated label “formulaic.”
The Avengers:
Age of Ultron
(2015)
Yes,
despite all the hype, it took me over a year to watch the Avengers
sequel. And once again my instincts proved to be correct. Plot
pattern? None. This, and other reasons, is why Ultron
is so cluttered, confused, and fails at times to even make sense. The
first Avengers
movie
(2012) did follow a plot pattern, Type 14b: Coming Together.
(Actually, it features a combo pattern; beginning as Type 13: The Big
Mission and then making a transition to the Coming Together at its End of Act 1 Turning Point; but that is too technical to get into
here.) While not a perfect film, the adherence to an established plot
pattern allowed the first Avengers
to overcome many of the problems which usually dog such high-concept tentpoles with huge ensemble casts. Yet Ultron
falls into the traps the first Avengers
managed
to avoid. Without a plot pattern to guide it, this overstuffed sequel
fails to find sufficient direction or clarity in practically every
significant area, from story structure to character development to
the expression of theme.
Ant-Man
(2015)
For
the past few decades, Type 2a: The Summoned Hero has been so overused
in the comic book, sci-fi, and fantasy genres that it has become a
tiresome cliché. I am sure you are all familiar with it: A seemingly
unextraordinary protagonist is plucked from obscurity to take on an
incredible role; the hero is assigned a mentor, initiated into a
fantastic new world, undergoes training; etc, etc, etc (The
Matrix, Men in Black, Kung-fu Panda, Wanted
all abide by this formula, to name only a few memorable examples [the
less said about the many mediocre examples, the better].) While
Ant-Man
follows this same old path, it deserves credit for injecting a bit of
freshness into the pattern through some artful manipulations in its
first act. In a typical Summoned Hero, the plot begins as follows: 1.
An outside power selects the protagonist for a heroic role. 2. Upon
meeting the mentor, the protagonist is given some form of test. 3.
The protagonist proves his or her potential by passing this test,
ending Act 1 with an official invitation into the fantastic new
world. 4. The mentor fully initiates the fledgling hero into this
world. Ant-Man,
however, rearranges some of these sequences and delays the revelation
of key information, adding elements of surprise and mystery to an
otherwise predictable series of events. First, we are not initially
told that protagonist Scott Lang has been selected for greatness. Then,
Lang’s test (the burglary of Dr. Hank Pym’s home, arranged by Dr.
Pym himself) unfolds without Lang or the audience knowing this is
indeed a test. Ant-Man
then reverses the order of the next two events. Initiation precedes
invitation. (Just as Pym had planned, Lang puts on the Ant-Man suit without knowing its power, throwing Lang into shock and bewilderment.)
All this mystery is then resolved at the End of Act 1, when Pym
finally reveals himself to Lang and demands he accept the intended
heroic role. Ant-Man
then keeps us guessing in its second half with more complications and
reversals than typically found in other Summoned Heroes. Through such
alterations, Ant-Man
surpassed industry expectations;
giving
us something familiar and yet somewhat different, helping it stand
out from the more rote and uninspired films of the same pattern.
The Martian
(2015)
Speaking
of new twists on familiar patterns, let's talk of The
Martian.
The Martian
fits into Type 9c: The Long Perilous Road (a pattern shared with
the likes of Apocalypse
Now, O Brother Where Art Thou?, Finding Nemo, Little Miss Sunshine).
The Long Perilous Road fits into a wider family of plot patterns I
call “The Literal Journey.” Yet The
Martian is
the first case of a Literal Journey I have ever encountered which
does not actually contain a literal
journey! But then again, it kind of does.
In
The Martian,
Astronaut
Mark Watney’s journey is not one over distance, but over time.
Stranded on Mars, Watney must find ways stay alive for four full
years before any hope of rescue. Just like a physical
journey, this temporal journey has a beginning, a destination, and a
long stretch of unknown dangers in between. Once we stretch our idea
of what a “journey” may mean, we see that The
Martian’s
plot structure is virtually identical to every other Long Perilous
Road. The inciting incident gives the protagonist a pressing reason
to take the “journey” (Watney is left stranded on Mars). The end
of Act 1 marks the journey’s official launch (Watney refuses to
accept his doom and dedicates himself to finding a series of means to
stay alive for the next four years). Like the pattern’s other
examples, Acts 2A & 2B take on an episodic structure where each
sequence begins with an obstacle or challenge which threatens to
bring the protagonist’s journey to a premature end. The protagonist
overcomes this obstacle or challenge by the sequence’s end, allowing the journey to
continue. Yet as soon as this is accomplished, a new obstacle or
challenge incites the next sequence. Step by step, hurdle by hurdle,
Watney pushes farther down his road, advancing ever closer to his
final destination.
The
second act of a Long Perilous Road concludes with the journey reaching its
destination. Act 3's focus then shifts to the achieving the goal or
objective that first motivated the journey. (In Little
Miss Sunshine, the
Hoover family reaches the beauty pageant. In Apocalypse
Now, Captain
Willard arrives and Colonel Kurtz’s compound and must now find a
way to kill Kurtz. In Finding
Nemo,
Marlin finally gets to Sydney and must figure out how to rescue his
son.) The
Martian
again stays true to this form. Act 2B ends with the four years passed
and the arrival of a rescue ship. Act 3 then focuses on the pursuit of the
great reward which first incited Watney’s long journey: the opportunity
to finally leave Mars.
Creed
(2015)
Of
all films covered in this article, Creed’s
use of plot patterns is most complex. Yet complex does not
necessarily mean better. In fact, the more complicated a structure,
the more difficulties it brings. Fortunately, Creed
manages
to retain its narrative focus and gets through its structural
obstacles relatively unscathed.
You
might be wondering what is exactly is so complex about Creed.
The first act ends when Rocky Balboa agrees to train Adonis (Johnson)
Creed, right? Then, the Midpoint occurs when Rocky collapses halfway
through the film. Right? Well, yes and no. These events constitute
the major turning points of Rocky’s
arc, not the arc of the story’s protagonist Adonis Creed. Though it
has the appearance of a single story, Creed
actually
contains dual narrative arcs: one assigned to Adonis and another to
Rocky Balboa. Each of these arcs follows a separate
plot
pattern. This is fairly unorthodox, and in many cases might court
disaster. Luckily, there is enough compatibility between Creed’s
two patterns to meld their events together into what seems to be a
single cohesive narrative.
Rocky’s arc is the simpler of the two, so this is where we shall
begin. When viewed independently from material exclusive to Adonis,
Rocky’s arc follows the structure of Type 2c: The Returning Hero.
The Returning Hero begins with a character of former greatness who
has abandoned this role or faded into irrelevance. Events then compel
other characters to ask the hero to step back into his old shoes. (Adonis begs
Rocky to train him. Rocky politely refuses.) The hero relents by the
end of Act 1, marking his official return. (Rocky agrees to mentor
Adonis.) Yet the hero struggles with this comeback, due either to
recently-developed flaws or an inability to adapt to a changed world.
(Rocky does not put his whole heart in this venture. He believes he
has already lost everything worth living for and the future holds
little promise.) At the Midpoint, a major mistake, failure, or
complication threatens a premature end to the comeback (Rocky learns
he has cancer), forcing or compelling the flawed hero back into his
former isolation (Rocky decides he will give up and let the cancer
kill him). Yet in this darkest moment, the character finds the will
to transform into a new kind of hero, one with the greater strength
or virtue to overcome his problems. (Adonis convinces Rocky to
reverse course and fight on.) This gives the hero a new lease on
life, leading him to victory.
Let us now look at the arc belonging to Adonis Creed. To
complicate our analysis further, Adonis’s plotline uses a combo
pattern (see UTN Part II, Chapter 5). In a combo pattern, the
story first follows one plot pattern, but then at some point
transitions to the structure of a completely different pattern.
Adonis’s story starts in the mold of Type 5b: The Ejected. In The
Ejected, a restless protagonist pursues a great personal ambition he
or she believes will bring joy or meaning to his or her less than
satisfying life. Yet the protagonist fails to recognize certain
truths about him or herself or the situation, causing the character
to initially pursue this ambition in self-defeating ways. This leads
to a crushing failure at the end of Act 1 which “ejects” the
protagonist from his or her former world. (In Creed, Adonis
rejects his identity as the son of former heavyweight champion Apollo
Creed, driving his desire to gain recognition by his own merits. This
misplaced pride and anger motivates Adonis to try to prove himself
prematurely, embarrassing him in a sparring match against a
legitimate heavyweight contender. Humiliated, Adonis decides he must
leave the comforts of home to seek a lonely new path in
Philadelphia.) Now lost in the wilderness, the ejected protagonist
seeks out friends and allies (usually characters just as troubled as
the protagonist) to help him find his way (Rocky Balboa and the
musician/future girlfriend Bianca). Caught between his still-burning
ambitions and a refusal to accept the truths which hold him back, the
ups and downs of Act 2A compel the protagonist to make a Great
Compromise at the story’s Midpoint. (Adonis is offered a shot to
prove himself against the heavyweight champion, but only if he
accepts the identity he despises by fighting under his father’s
name.)
In a typical Ejected, the Great Compromise leads to failure in Act
2B; either because the choice is foolish or ill-planned, or because
the protagonist sabotages this path by regressing back into the flaws
suffered in Act 1. Creed however takes its Act 2B in a more
uplifting direction by making the sudden transition to the structure
of Type 1a: The Reluctant Hero. The Reluctant Hero (seen in films as
diverse as Star Wars, The Godfather, Donnie Darko, and The
40 Year-Old Virgin) contains a Midpoint where a formerly passive
or reactive protagonist finally chooses to take charge of the story
situation, thereby seizing control of his or her life. The
protagonist must then mature into a more confident and self-reliant
hero in Act 2B before meeting the ultimate test which makes up Act 3. Creed’s second half adopts this same
pattern. Adonis has spent his life running from his dead father’s
legacy because he secretly fears he is not worthy. Yet by agreeing to
fight under Apollo’s name, Adonis seizes control of his destiny,
eventually embracing rather than avoiding the ghost which has haunted
him for so long. As usual with the Reluctant Hero, the beginning of
Creed’s Act 3 marks the launch of an ultimate test (Adonis’s
championship fight) through which the protagonist proves his
transformation and overcomes all he once feared.
(More to come. Stay tuned.)
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