Whenever I hear any talk about “want vs. need” in screencraft, I usually just roll my eyes and ignore it as yet more well-intentioned yet ultimately useless nonsense that people like to spout because it sounds pithy without considering whether there is any truth to it.
Here is how the concept is typically explained: “The protagonist begins the story pursuing something that they think they want. However, at some point, the protagonist comes to realize that what they want is not what they actually need. The protagonist then stops pursuing this want in favor or their need.”
The problems with this little paradigm are numerous. First and most obviously, it is agonizingly vague. What exactly is meant by “want”? What exactly is meant by “need”? Everyone promoting this paradigm seems to define these terms differently (if they bother to provide a definition at all). So the key terms themselves are unclear and inconsistent. Anytime one engages in a realm of theory (and that is what screencraft is: a theoretical investigation into the construction of an effective cinematic narrative), the first task is to explicitly define one’s terms so everyone can be on the same page and speak the same language. What is worse, the “want vs. need” paradigm has chosen two of the most commonly-used verbs in the English language, verbs with a multitude of connotations dependent upon a multitude of contexts, making confusion inevitable. Additionally, since most persons use the words “want” and “need” interchangeably in their everyday speech as if they mean the same thing, it is no surprise that many students of screencraft have difficulty keeping straight what is supposed to be what, and which is meant to be which.
Secondly, those who promote “want vs. need” rarely provide any substantial evidence to support their claim (ie detailed analyses of this hypothetical process as it occurs in successful feature films.) Instead, the paradigm is presented as axiomatic, and thus to be accepted by faith. As a direct consequence of this failure (or refusal) to provide suitable evidence in the form of detailed analyses, the “want vs. need” crowd has never been able to forward a verifiable structure by which this supposedly universal process unfolds. Instead, we are simply let to believe that, in every movie, something happens (we don’t know exactly what) to cause a shift from “want” to “need,” at some point in the narrative (we don’t know exactly when), for some reason (we don’t know exactly why). Because of the lack of a recognizable structure, there is not only no proof that this paradigm exists, but there is no means for students of screencraft to observe this process in films or implement it usefully in their own work.
Finally, and most damningly, a simple overview of successful films produced each year clearly reveals that “want vs. need’s” blanket statement of universal application is patently FALSE. In the vast majority of movie narratives (let’s say 90%, though the actual percentage is probably larger), the protagonist’s primary objective (that is, the character’s external story goal, as the “want” is most often defined) DOES NOT CHANGE. Instead, this external goal, established early in the story’s formation, remains as constant as the North Star, providing the point toward which the protagonist’s actions are orientated from the start of the story to its end. The story has a satisfying climax because the protagonist ultimately achieves (in some form or another) what they set out to accomplish at the onset of the dramatic crisis.
Faced with this overwhelming amount of negative evidence, some in the “want vs. need” crowd attempt to defend the hypothesis by making their terms even more vague, their explanations even more fluid and mish-mushy, in the attempt to stretch and shoehorn the concept into any possible situation—typically failing in the process to discriminate any difference between the external realm of plot events and the internal realm of psychological character change. As a result, “want vs. need” comes to mean practically anything anyone wants it to mean, with absolutely no consistency, rendering it useless as a theoretical concept.
Compare this, instead, to the “Story Spine” model I introduce in Screenwriting Down to the Atoms: Digging Deeper into the Craft of Cinematic Storytelling (2013). The Story Spine is SINGULAR. There is ONE Main Story Problem, established at the onset of the narrative’s dramatic crisis. In response, the protagonist establishes ONE Story Goal which, once achieved, will resolve the Story Problem. Connecting the Problem to the Goal is a singular Path of Action, composed of all the actions the protagonist takes to ultimately reach the Story Goal. Though this Path may twist and turn in unexpected directions, the end destination remains constant; the protagonist’s actions keep driving toward the one ultimate Goal. This clear, action-oriented movement from a Problematic beginning to a clearly-established Goal provides the structural basis for the vast majority of popular cinematic narratives.
But then there’s that 10%. That nagging 10% or so of popular feature films in which the protagonist does alter their objective goal at some late point in the narrative. Films like Rain Man (1988), in which protagonist Charlie Babbit abducts his autistic brother Raymond with the objective goal of acquiring his dead father’s inheritance. However, as an emotional bond forms between the estranged brothers, and plot developments render Charlie’s need for the inheritance moot, Charlie’s objective goal shifts in Act 3 to his desire to earn permanent legal custody of his brother. Or, we have Shrek (2001). The anti-social protagonist initially sets out to with the objective goal of regaining the privacy of his swamp, stolen away by Lord Farquaad. In pursuit of this goal, Shrek strikes a deal to rescue Princess Fiona from a dragon so she and Farquaad may be married. Yet when Shrek unexpectedly falls in love with Fiona, he finds that a return to his self-isolated swamp does not provide the happiness he expected. In response, Shrek changes his objective goal in Act 3, taking action to prevent Fiona’s wedding in order to pronounce his love and hopefully marry her himself. Other examples of protagonists with late-shifting goals may be found in Toy Story (1995), As Good as it Gets (1997), Rushmore (1998) or American Beauty (1999).
This minority of films clearly provided the inspiration for the “want vs. need” paradigm. Thus, as such evidence indicates, the paradigm is not entirely untrue—at least in these minority cases. I have previously attempted to account for such discrepant narratives by defining the Story Goal as an accomplishment the protagonist believes will resolve the Story Problem in the most satisfying way. Being flawed persons, however, the protagonist is apt to be incorrect in this belief. With the onset of new plot developments and the protagonist’s progression through his/her Character Arc, the protagonist may find that they were incorrect in their original evaluation, prompting a re-adjustment to their ultimate Goal.
Yet, with this explanation, I have also fallen into the trap of defending the hypothesis, and have failed to provide any structural evidence as to where-and-why this “re-adjustment” of the Story Goal occurs. Furthermore, since I frequently criticize “script gurus” for willfully ignoring evidence contrary to their claims, I must take a dose of my own medicine and reevaluate what truth may actually lie within the “want vs. need” paradigm, albeit with greater theoretical rigor.
Our first step in this reevaluation must be a redefinition the paradigm’s key terms. The vague and confusing “want” is typically used in reference to a character’s external objective: a physical accomplishment that can only be achieved through motivated action. As such, we will replace the term “want” with the protagonist’s “Main Story Goal”—the ultimate objective of the plot’s Story Spine. The term “need” on the other hand typically refers to something emotional or psychological, something interior to the protagonist. It thus resides not on the level of plot, but on the level of the Character Arc. It therefore suggests what I call in Screenwriting Down to the Atoms the “Internal Need.” The Internal Need, simply put, is something lacking from the protagonist’s life at the story’s outset which, whether the character realizes it or not, prevents the protagonist from being as successful or as satisfied as they might possibly be. This lack exists as a direct consequence of the protagonist’s Fatal Flaw, as the protagonist’s flawed behavior continually blocks any paths to this Need. The Internal Need is therefore the ultimate objective (and reward) of the Character Arc, as it can only be obtained once the Fatal Flaw has been overcome.
I should stress that the Story Goal and the Internal Need exist as separate objectives, one in the external realm of plot action, the other in the internal realm of character change. In the vast majority of film narratives, there is absolutely no need for the Story Goal to change in order to accommodate the Internal Need. Quite to the contrary, in fact. This is because, in a well-constructed cinematic narrative, the Story Spine and Character Arc are intertwined in such a way that the Story Goal and the Internal Need become complimentary. By complimentary, I mean that circumstances develop in such a way that one of the two objectives can be reached only when the protagonist first accomplishes the other. In other words, the two objectives are a package deal. Achieving one victory opens the door to the other.
In many stories, the Internal Need can only be obtained as a result of the protagonist first achieving the Story Goal. For example, in Rocky (1976) Rocky Balboa wins his Internal Need (self-respect and a sense of value in the eyes of others) as a direct consequence of accomplishing his Story Goal (proving his worth as a boxer by surviving twelve rounds against Apollo Creed). In Finding Nemo (2003) Marlin cannot establish a healthier and happier relationship with his son Nemo (his Internal Need) until, of course, he first finds and reunites with his abducted son (his Story Goal).
This complimentary relationship may work in the opposite manner as well. In other stories, instead of the Internal Need following the accomplishment of the Story Goal, we encounter a situation where the Story Goal cannot be accomplished until the protagonist first achieves the Internal Need. In The Matrix (1999), Neo cannot defeat the Agents and fulfill Morpheus’s prophesy (the Story Goal) until he first abandons his perceived insignificance and truly believes he can achieve unbelievable things (his Internal Need). Likewise, in The Godfather (1972) Michael Corleone cannot obtain the permanent safety of his family against its enemies (his Story Goal) until he accepts the cold, violent rules by which his mafia world operates and willingly becomes their master (his Internal Need).
In less well-constructed stories, the Story Spine and Character Arc may not be so closely intertwined, leaving the Story Goal and Internal Need as separate, unrelated objectives; usually relegating the Internal Need to the confines of a subplot. Yet still, there is again no need for the protagonist’s Story Goal to change at any point, as the separate pursuits of Story Goal and Internal Need do not interfere with one another.
It is only in narratives where the Internal Need and Story Goal do interfere with one another that we find any reasonable motivation for protagonists to alter their initial objectives in the way suggested by the “want vs. need” paradigm. In films like Rain Man or Shrek, the Spine’s initial Story Goal and the Character Arc’s Internal Need are not complimentary, but contradictory.
In Rain Man, we find that all of Charlie Babbit’s emotional issues and interpersonal problems are the result of a life lacking of meaningful relationships with his family. This lack presents Charlie’s Internal Need. However, initially ignorant of his Need, Charlie responds to the exclusion from his father’s will with a plan to exploit his long-lost brother Raymond for financial gain. The Story Goal thus contradicts the Internal Need. Charlie cannot exploit his brother and build an emotionally-meaningful relationship with him. Charlie must ultimately make a choice between the contradictory objectives. Likewise, in Shrek, Shrek begins the story thinking he is perfectly content living in isolation from all the annoyances of social interaction. Thus, when the privacy of his swamp is taken from him, he reasonably sets a Goal to get it back. However, little does he yet realize that his life is sorely lacking the greater joys which come from love and friendship. When Shrek does finally recognize this Internal Need, he is put at a crossroads. His established Goal stands in contradiction to his discovered Internal Need.
Thus, as we can see, the “want vs. need” paradigm does hold validity, but only for the more rarely-produced variety of story in which a highly-flawed protagonist, unaware of a lack in their life, initially responds to the story’s dramatic crisis by following a flawed path toward a flawed goal, only to later realize the contradiction between the external objective and internal need.
And there is in fact a structure to this alternative story path, something which the “want vs. need” crowd has never clearly articulated. In my book Screenwriting & The Unified Theory of Narrative, Part I, I discuss the two pivotal moments in the interaction between a story’s plot arc and its Character Arc. The first occurs at the story’s Midpoint. In stories where the Goal and Internal Need are complimentary, the protagonist’s flawed attitudes and behaviors progressively worsen the story situation throughout Act 1 and Act 2B, leading the protagonist to a Midpoint Crisis Event. A successful protagonist responds to this Crisis by reevaluating past attitudes and actions, prompting them to make the Character Arc’s Moment of Crucial Decision: the protagonist realizes they must somehow change their attitudes or behaviors in order to achieve the ultimate Goal. The protagonist however, struggles with this necessary change, and thus continues to struggle against the plot events found in Act 2B. This leads to the even more dire End of Act 2B Crisis. Once again, in order to succeed, the protagonist must respond to this crisis by committing further to personal change. This is the Character Arc’s Moment of Full Commitment. The protagonist must completely abandon their flawed ways and fully embrace the necessary change.
In stories where the Story Goal and Internal Need contradict, we find the same structure implemented in a slightly different way. In this minority of narratives, the Midpoint Crisis arises as an event in which the Protagonist suddenly recognizes the Internal Need. This serves as a pivotal moment in the Character Arc, in that it marks the point in which the protagonist is now motivated to pursue the Internal Need (and thus pursue personal change). In Rain Man, this occurs through an event in which Charlie, who until now has shown nothing but impatience and hostility toward his brother, shares an empathetic moment with Raymond and for the first time sees Raymond as the big brother he always needed but never had. In Shrek, Shrek realizes he has grown romantic feelings toward Fiona, and thus now experiences conflicting emotions about his quest.
Throughout Act 2B, the protagonist begins to pursue the Internal Need, but comes to a greater and greater recognition of the contradiction between this Need and his/her established Goal. The End of 2B Crisis thus comes as a moment in which the protagonist is forced to a crossroads between his/her contradictory Goal and Need. The protagonist must choose one or the other. Now realizing the greater importance of the Internal Need over the petty Goal, the protagonist chooses the Need (the Character Arc’s Moment of Full Commitment). The protagonist must therefore abandon the original Goal and establish a new objective aimed at fully acquiring the Internal Need. Observe that in Rain Man and Shrek, the moment the protagonists officially “switch goals” occurs at this point, at the start of Act 3. This variety of stories continues to fit the classic structural interaction between plot arc and Character Arc despite the alternative discourse created by contradictory, rather then complimentary, character objectives.
(Please note, however, that it is equally possible for the protagonist to make the “wrong” decision at the End of 2B Turning Point, choosing the original Goal over the Internal Need. This would lead to a far more bitter conclusion in which the protagonist, refusing to completely abandon their flawed ways, achieves a hollow victory at the cost of a potentially greater happiness—or, alternatively, the protagonist chooses to continue pursuit of the Goal, only to fail at that as well, leaving the protagonist in a state of absolute defeat.)
In conclusion, we discover that the “want vs. need” paradigm is neither completely true nor complete hooey. Its faults, however, lie in a failure of articulation regarding how this paradigm operates in a competently-structured narrative; and, more significantly, its bogus claim to universality. It is rather a specialized paradigm for a slim minority of cinematic stories which nevertheless continues to fit into the classic narrative structure found in all other traditionally-constructed Hollywood films.
