tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33894093604157359272024-03-26T04:36:03.321-07:00SCRIPTMONK!!! presents: scribbler blog-o-zineSome serious screenwriting sh#t!SCRIPTMONK!!!http://www.blogger.com/profile/13911675482380489540noreply@blogger.comBlogger125125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3389409360415735927.post-67681368128211763432022-11-22T14:00:00.004-08:002022-11-22T14:00:33.853-08:00Finally Understanding "Subplots" Part 5 of 5: What is a REAL "Subplot"?<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;">Throughout this series of
articles, I have attempted in a roundabout manner to define just what
a “subplot” is by progressively identifying and eliminating the
various inter-narrative structures we commonly call “subplots”
but are in fact NOT: relational arcs, the multiple story threads in
plural storytelling, prologue and epilogue narratives. With this task
completed, the time has come to finally define just what exactly does
constitute a “subplot” and how these structures function within
the overall narrative discourse.</span></span></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;">From my observations, I can
venture a definition of a “true” subplot based on four qualities:</span></span></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</p>
<ol><li><p style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: white;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>A subplot possesses the
structure of a fully-formed narrative.</b></span></span></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;">Like any other complete and
self-contained narrative, a true subplot features the standard
narrative structure of incitement, development, and resolution,
centered upon a unique problem or dramatic conflict. As such, the
subplot constitutes a fully-fledged “story” in its own right and
may be understood as such even if completely extracted from all
other story material. This differentiates a subplot from a
relational arc. As defined in the first article of this series, a
relational arc is the “unfolding” of a functional character
relationship already essential to the central plotline. As such, the
“narrative” of a relational arc cannot be fully understood
without reference to the central plotline, while a true subplot may
be understood with no reference to the central plotline at all.</span></span></p>
</li><li><p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: white;"><b>The events of a subplot are
independent from the events of the central plotline and bear only
minor, if only tangential connections.</b></span><span style="color: black;">
<br />As a consequence, the events of a subplot exert only minimal
influence upon the course of the central plotline, or no influence
at all, and vice versa. This again means that the subplot may be
viewed as a separate narrative story in its own right. As a result,
a subplot could be completely removed from a movie with no loss of
comprehension of the events in the central plotline. This quality
differentiates the subplot from the multiple character threads found
in plural storytelling (as discussed previously in </span><span style="color: black;"><i>Braveheart</i></span><span style="color: black;">
or </span><span style="color: black;"><i>Die Hard</i></span><span style="color: black;">),
whereby threads interact, influence one another, and all contribute
in some manner to the development of the overall plotline. </span></span>
</p>
</li><li><p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: white;"><b>A subplot's narrative develops
concurrently with the central plotline's narrative.</b></span><span style="color: black;">
<br />This a subplot's most obvious quality. Over the course of a
film, the discourse alternates between the central plotline and the
subplot, momentarily pausing the attention given to one narrative to
dedicate time to another, giving the impression that subplot
material exists within the “gaps” of the central storyline.
However, this impression is merely a consequence of the limitations
of linear storytelling: only one narrative may be told at a time.
Furthermore, no real “pause” occurs in the development of either
subplot or central plotline, as it is always implied that the fabula
material of the absent narrative continues to progress off-screen
during the time dedicated to its alternate. This “concurrentness”
draws a clear line between a true subplot and prologue or epilogue
narratives. Prologue narratives develop from beginning to end,
without interruption, before the central plotline is even
introduced. Epilogue narratives operate in the same manner, except
they do not begin until </span><span style="color: black;"><i>after</i></span><span style="color: black;">
the central plotline has reached its conclusion</span></span></p>
</li><li><p style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><b><span style="color: black;"><span style="color: white;">While independent in terms of
plot, the events of subplot and central plotline can, and frequently
do, exert a mutual influence in terms of the dimensions of character
and theme.</span><br /></span></b><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">
This is particularly so whenever one or more key characters play
primary roles in both the central plotline and subplot (which is
often, but not always the case). As such, the arcs of those
characters will be affected by the events of both narrative lines.
Furthermore, since the thematic dimension transcends a film's entire
story discourse, the story's Thematic Argument draws on material
from both the central plotline and all subplots to communicate an
overall meaning. This modifies Point #2 somewhat: subplots and the
central plotline </span></span><span style="color: black;"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">can
</span></i></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">exert
an influence upon one another, but only in an </span></span><span style="color: black;"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">indirect</span></i></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">
manner along the planes of character and theme. </span></span></span>
</p>
</li></ol>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">With
these qualities of a “true” subplot defined, we may further
identify two structural varieties of subplot: </span></span><span style="color: black;"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">parallel
subplots</span></i></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">
and </span></span><span style="color: black;"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">episodic
subplots</span></i></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">.</span></span></span></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</p>
<h3 style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Parallel
Subplots</b></span></span></h3>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;">As the name denotes, parallel
subplots develop in parallel with the central plotline, generally
extending over the entire length of the film. Depending upon the
film's strategy of discourse, the subplot may run “end-to-end,”
introduced in the movie's setup sequence and never fully resolved
until the movie's final sequence; or, the subplot could be more
neatly “packaged” into the interior structure, introduced soon
after the central plotline's inciting incident and resolved
immediately before the central plotline's main climax. In either
case, the film's narrative discourse will continually alternate
between the subplot and central plotline.</span></span></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">To
illustrate, let us use </span></span><span style="color: black;"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">The
Sixth Sense</span></i></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">
(2001). </span></span><span style="color: black;"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">The
Sixth Sense </span></i></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">features
dual protagonists: child psychologist Dr. Malcolm Crowe (Bruce
Willis) and the young boy Cole (Haley Joel Osmet). The central
plotline focuses upon the relationship between these two
protagonists, with dramatic conflict arising from Crowe's desire to
help the troubled Cole opposed by Cole's resistance due to his fear
of revealing his paranormal secret.</span></span></span></p><p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://m.media-amazon.com/images/M/MV5BMTk0MzcwNjMxN15BMl5BanBnXkFtZTcwMjYyODY3Mw@@._V1_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="267" src="https://m.media-amazon.com/images/M/MV5BMTk0MzcwNjMxN15BMl5BanBnXkFtZTcwMjYyODY3Mw@@._V1_.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></span></div><p><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
</p><p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;">Whenever Crowe and Cole are not
engaged with each other, they both participate in their own parallel
subplots. Cole's subplot deals with Cole's relationship with his
mother Lynn (Toni Collette). This relationship has become strained
due to a lack of clear and honest communication. Cole struggles over
how or if to explain his odd behavior to his mother, causing Lynn to
fear that her son is growing unruly, dishonest, or worse, emotionally
disturbed. </span></span>
</p>
<p></p><p><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></p><p></p><p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi9wghjFVFRTSY6eAD8QKxNgIPQpouWuN0VXVc4fjt1iGod8lZ_Egkfk9nKFYZ_uEFt9GSeR3LyGWtzMCxO1p31fR48wikJoVH8neHyav6BOk1TNOs7wY4YQqi0Q5SR3Yw8inZuAoz4iA6/s1024/SS3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="569" data-original-width="1024" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi9wghjFVFRTSY6eAD8QKxNgIPQpouWuN0VXVc4fjt1iGod8lZ_Egkfk9nKFYZ_uEFt9GSeR3LyGWtzMCxO1p31fR48wikJoVH8neHyav6BOk1TNOs7wY4YQqi0Q5SR3Yw8inZuAoz4iA6/w400-h223/SS3.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></span></div><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;">Dr. Crowe's subplot deal's with
(what appears to be) Crowe's failing marriage with his wife Anna
(Olivia Williams). Crowe and Anna's relationship seems to have grown
cold and distant, and comes under direct threat with the appearance
of a rival suitor vying for Anna's affections. Again, like with Cole
and Lynn, the problem is a failure to communicate.</span></span></p>
<p></p><p style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><a href="https://i.guim.co.uk/img/media/c6b38200a93bd85917e29398eaf0ba8e3693d747/0_98_2953_1772/master/2953.jpg?width=700&quality=85&auto=format&fit=max&s=848fe0c065fa5107a77951e96383a4a2" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="420" data-original-width="700" height="240" src="https://i.guim.co.uk/img/media/c6b38200a93bd85917e29398eaf0ba8e3693d747/0_98_2953_1772/master/2953.jpg?width=700&quality=85&auto=format&fit=max&s=848fe0c065fa5107a77951e96383a4a2" width="400" /></a></span></span></div><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><br /> <span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></p><p style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Both
subplots operate as independent, self-contained narratives. In each,
we may identify a unique Story Spine, executed through a “3-Act”
structure with clear turning point events demarcating the beginning
and end of each “act.” Both subplot narratives exist
independently from the central Crowe/Cole plotline. Lynn makes only a
brief appearance in an early Crowe/Cole scene (and does not interact
with Crowe), while Anna does not appear in the central plotline.
Indeed, both the Cole/Lynn and Crowe/Anna subplots could be
completely extracted from all other story material to stand on their
own as perfectly functional narratives. In the same way, both
subplots could be completely removed from </span></span><span style="color: black;"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">The
Sixth Sense</span></i></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">
with no damage to the central Crowe/Cole plotline. In fact, the only
carry-over between the subplots and the central plotline is found in
some brief conversation between Crowe and Cole about their respective
difficulties communicating with their wife and mother, along with
Crowe mentioning Cole to Anna as an excuse for being late to dinner.
However, these conversations do not amount to actual plot
interactions between the narrative lines.</span></span></span></p><p style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Yet
if the subplots and central plotline are indeed structurally
independent, what connects these pieces to make </span></span><span style="color: black;"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">The
Sixth Sense</span></i></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">
feel like a unified, cohesive story? Here the fourth quality of a
“true” subplot comes into play. While exclusive from one another
in terms of the dimension of plot, the subplots and central plotline
are still interconnected in terms of the dimensions of character and
theme. Crowe and Cole's Character Arcs are continuous throughout the
movie's discourse. Whether Crowe is interacting with Cole or Anna, or
whether Cole is interacting with Crowe or Lynn, they remain the same
person on the same emotional journey, struggling with the same
personal difficulties. As long as character behavior remains
consistent between main plot and subplot, both narrative lines will
serve to illustrate and influence the course of the character's
emotional arc, making the Character Arc a thread connecting subplot
and central plotline. We see this quite clearly in </span></span><span style="color: black;"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">The
Sixth Sense. </span></i></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Cole's
experiences with Crowe give Cole the courage to finally speak
honestly with his mother, resolving the Cole/Lynn subplot. Likewise,
Cole suggests a way for Crowe to communicate with his wife, leading
to the resolution of the Crowe/Anna subplot. </span></span></span>
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Furthermore,
the thematic dimension transcends </span></span><span style="color: black;"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">all
</span></i></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">structures
of both plot and character, unifying the film's entire collection of
events under a single philosophical discourse. As previously
mentioned, a failure or refusal to communicate is at the root of the
conflicts of the Cole/Lynn subplot, the Crowe/Anna subplot, as well
as the main Crowe/Cole plot. When combined with the metaphors
implicit in </span></span><span style="color: black;"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">The
Sixth Sense</span></i></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">'s
supernatural premise, the positive resolutions of all three narrative
lines combine to express a single unifying message: “Traumatic
events can disrupt interpersonal relationships. A happy and healthy
relationship is regained when one acknowledges the “ghosts”
haunting them and then communicates openly and honestly with partners
about such problems.”</span></span></span></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Before
concluding this section, it should be noted that parallel subplots
need not always feature the story's central protagonist. The subplot
might alternatively belong to a secondary character, creating a true
“side-story” like the “B-stories” found in television sitcom
episodes. As this similarity to sitcoms suggests, such subplots are
found far more often in comedy than drama, such as the
squirrel-creature Scrat's quest for his acorn in </span></span><span style="color: black;"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">Ice
Age </span></i></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">(2002)
or the misadventures of poor bullied Milton in </span></span><span style="color: black;"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">Office
Space </span></i></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">(1999).
As such, this variety of subplot is usually played for laughs, and
often has no significant effect upon the circumstances confronting
the main protagonist; except for the possibility of an ironic twist
which causes the subplot and main plot to intersect in the end in
true sitcom fashion (as seen in the conclusion of </span></span><span style="color: black;"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">Office
Space</span></i></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">.)</span></span></span></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</p>
<h3 style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Episodic
Subplots</b></span></span></h3>
<p style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;">In contrast with parallel
subplots, episodic subplots do not run the length of a film. While
episodic subplots still develop concurrently with the central
plotline, this variety can initiate at practically any point in the
film's discourse, only to develop and reach its conclusion within a
relatively short length of time. Once concluded, the subplot is not
returned to again. In this way, episodic subplots really are like
mini-narratives embedded within the discourse of the main narrative,
making them a most accurate fit for the term “sub”-plot.</span></span></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>The Godfather</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
contains two good examples. The first episodic subplot is nestled
cozily between the film's opening exposition sequence (the wedding
reception) and the setup sequence for the story's central conflict
(Sollozzo's business proposal). This is the “Hollywood sequence”
in which Tom Hagen (Robert Duvall) strongarms movie mogul Jack Woltz
as a favor to Vito Corleone's godson Johnny Fontaine (ending with the
famous “horse head” scene). This segment of narrative is truly
episodic in that it presents a brief story which, once resolved, is
never returned to again. Yet despite its brevity, the “Hollywood
subplot” can be considered a complete and self-contained narrative,
with its own Story Spine and three-act structure. </span></span></span></p><p style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;"></span></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwgFyAYRlw1JeO3DIh78NnFppLOGvSNO7sxkmiJy0FjGxsHbfBmYEzG3hrjLgDOzjY_1sJr8xsUpkOv7nf7VvEHO9ieC8AGsJQ8dKqxW-zpdHUwsHNTTbXxxGBMPsgZ2PG8NtGFF_eC6Y/s960-p-k-no-nu/godfather11+(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="960" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwgFyAYRlw1JeO3DIh78NnFppLOGvSNO7sxkmiJy0FjGxsHbfBmYEzG3hrjLgDOzjY_1sJr8xsUpkOv7nf7VvEHO9ieC8AGsJQ8dKqxW-zpdHUwsHNTTbXxxGBMPsgZ2PG8NtGFF_eC6Y/w400-h225/godfather11+(1).jpg" width="400" /></a></span></span></div>
<p style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Furthermore,
this subplot is independent from the central plotline, as it has no
influence on the circumstances to be encountered in the story's main
narrative. Why, then, was this subplot included in </span><i>The
Godfather</i><span style="font-style: normal;">? Clues to the
subplot's discursive function can be found in where this episode is
placed within the film. </span><i>The Godfather's</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
opening sequence introduces Vito Corleone as a wise, soft-spoken
father figure. The following “Hollywood” subplot counters this by
showing a contrasting side of Vito and the way he runs his business.
The methods by which Vito (through Tom Hagen) resolves his conflict
with Jack Woltz shows not only that Vito is an extremely powerful
man, but a man unafraid to take extreme, and often bloody, actions to
get whatever he wants. Therefore, though disconnected from the
story's central plotline, the “Hollywood subplot” serves the
story's development along the dimensions of character and theme.</span></span></span></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>The Godfather</i><span style="font-style: normal;">'s
second episodic subplot is located squarely within the film's late
Act 2A: the Sonny/Connie/Carlo subplot. Sonny (James Caan) sees
bruises on his sister Connie's face (Talia Shire) to learn her
husband Carlo has been hitting her. In response, Sonny brutally
assaults Carlo in the street, threatening to kill Carlo if he hurts
Connie again. Later, there is an escalated incident of domestic
violence between Carlo and Connie. Enraged, Sonny charges from the
safety of his home to punish Carlo, only to fall into a trap laid by
the family's enemies and is killed. Like the Hollywood subplot, this
Sonny/Connie/Carlo subplot is a self-contained mini-narrative with
its own three-part structure of incitement, development, and
resolution. Likewise, once the subplot is finished, the narrative of
Connie and Carlo's marriage is never returned to. (With the
exception, of course, of a resolution thread left hanging—practically
forgotten about—until the movie's end when Michael takes
long-delayed revenge on Carlo for his involvement in Sonny's death.)
Likewise, the content of this subplot lives an independent existence
from the central plotline, the only impact on the central plotline
being the elimination of the Sonny character. </span></span></span>
</p>
<p style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;"></span></span></span>
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">This
subplot, however, </span><i>is</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
relevant to the movie's overall narrative discourse along the
dimensions of character and theme, albeit in an indirect manner. </span><i>The
Godfather</i><span style="font-style: normal;">'s protagonist is not
Sonny, but Michael Corleone (Al Pacino). Michael's Character Arc can
be summarized as follows: To grow into the type of man capable of
taking charge of the Corleone family, Michael Corleone must acquire
his father's cold, pragmatic mindset. Moral values should not
interfere with decisions, nor should personal emotions. The
Sonny/Connie/Carlo subplot presents a negative example of this
character theme. Sonny fails in his role as family leader because he
is driven by his emotions. Sonny takes events personally, a flaw
which leads to his violent demise. The subplot thus presents a
cautionary example in counterpoint to Michael's Character Arc and the
theme expressed therein.</span></span></span></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</p>
<p style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">As
these examples show, episodic subplots operate as mini-stories
</span><i>embedded within</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> the
confines of the central plotline's course of events, like a grape
suspended within a cube of jello. They should not be confused with
the sequences found in films which rely on a </span><i>wholly</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
episodic structure, such as in </span><i>Forrest Gump </i><span style="font-style: normal;">(1994).
</span><i>Gump</i><span style="font-style: normal;">'s narrative
discourse is composed entirely of episodic sequences. To call any one
of them a “subplot” would make all the other episodes “subplots”
as well. This would then render an analysis absurd, as there cannot
be a story composed of nothing but subplots without any central
plotline for the episodes to be “sub” to.</span></span></span></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>The Shawshank Redemption</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
(1994) also presents an episodic structuration. This is less
noticeable than in </span><i>Forrest Gump</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
since </span><i>Shawshank</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
overlaps the beginnings and ends of its various episodes (for
example, Andy Dufrene's troubles with the Sisters, Andy's ascents to
a position of importance in the prison, Andy's quest to build a new
prison library) to give the impression of a continuous flow of
narrative time rather than the herky-jerky start-and-stop of </span><i>Gump</i><span style="font-style: normal;">'s
episodes. Nevertheless, </span><i>Shawshank</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
does contain one clear example of an episodic subplot: the tragic
story of old man Brooks' parole. </span></span></span></p><p style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;"> </span></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://static1.cbrimages.com/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2021/07/brooks-on-bus-shawshank-redemption-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="800" height="200" src="https://static1.cbrimages.com/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2021/07/brooks-on-bus-shawshank-redemption-1.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></span></div><p></p><p style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Like the Hollywood sequence in </span><i>The
Godfather</i><span style="font-style: normal;">, the Brooks parole
subplot is its own self-contained mini-narrative which </span><i>Shawshank
</i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">pauses
all other story discourse to tell from beginning to end. Its story
structure is as follows: Inciting Incident: Brooks is paroled after
decades in prison. Act 1: Brooks tries to adjust to life in the
outside world. Act 2: Brooks despairs, wants to return to prison,
contemplates alternatives. Act 3: Brooks sets about ending it all.
Conclusion: Brooks hangs himself. Through this discursive strategy,
the Brooks parole subplot stands out, both narratively and
structurally, from all other narrative episodes as its own
independent sub-narrative.</span></span></span></span></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br />
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
</p>
<h3 style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="color: white;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">CONCLUSION</span></b></span></h3>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
</p>
<p style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">I
hope this series of articles has accomplished a great deal in
alleviating the confusion surrounding the notion of cinematic
subplots. As stated in the introductory article, much of this
confusion has originated from the bad habit of using the term
“subplot” to label a wide variety of inter-narrative structures,
regardless of whether these structures actually meet the formal
definition of a “true” subplot provided in this final article.
Relational arcs are not really subplots. Story threads belonging to
secondary characters in films using plural storytelling are not
subplots. Prologue and epilogue narratives are not subplots. A true
subplot 1) possesses the structure of a fully-formed narrative, 2)
develops independently from the events of the central plotline, 3)
develops concurrently with the central plotline, and 4) while
disconnected along the dimension of plot, still contributes to the
development of the overall story along the dimensions of character
and theme. </span></span></span></span>
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;">Such definitions are important to
the work of screencraft. If we cannot define exactly what terms mean,
and then provide criteria to determine what does or does not qualify
as an example, the result will be only confusion and unproductive
argument. Now that we have what may be accepted as a formal
definition for the “subplot,” as well as the other
inter-narrative structures frequently mislabeled as “subplots,”
we may engage in clearer and more productive discussions on these
inter-narrative structures and how they function within the overall
cinematic story discourse.</span></span></p>
SCRIPTMONK!!!http://www.blogger.com/profile/13911675482380489540noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3389409360415735927.post-54316605655313724042022-10-17T14:08:00.005-07:002022-10-17T14:08:52.759-07:00Finally Understanding "Subplots", Part 4 of 5: Prologue & Epilogue Narratives<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">If you are a fan of </span><span style="color: black;"><i>Raiders
of the Lost Ark</i></span><span style="color: black;">, it is likely that
some of your favorite moments from the film are not those of Indy in
Egypt chasing the Ark of the Covenant. They instead come from the
film’s opening thirteen minutes, a section depicting a completely
different adventure set in a completely different spot on the globe:
Indy’s quest for the golden idol in the Peruvian temple. Yet if you
are a student of screencraft, versed in the rules of movie structure,
you should realize that this section is irrelevant to </span><span style="color: black;"><i>Raiders</i></span><span style="color: black;">’
main narrative, as the pursuit of the idol has nothing to do with
Indy battling the Nazis for the Ark. In fact, this little adventure
it is over and done with before Indy even learns of the Ark (the
story’s inciting incident). Indeed, a viewer could skip the first
thirteen minutes of </span><span style="color: black;"><i>Raiders</i></span><span style="color: black;">
and not miss out on anything that might keep them from understanding
the remainder of the film. So what exactly is this opening section,
and what is its deal?</span></span></p><p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><a href="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/mC1ikwQ5Zgc/maxresdefault.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="225" src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/mC1ikwQ5Zgc/maxresdefault.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><br /> In the same way, depending on who
you are, your favorite part of </span><span style="color: black;"><i>Rocky</i></span><span style="color: black;">
might have nothing to do with the titular character’s match with
Heavyweight Champion Apollo Creed, but Rocky’s sweet yet bumbling
efforts to woo Adrian over the film’s opening </span><span style="color: black;"><i>fifty</i></span><span style="color: black;">
minutes. Like the Peruvian section of </span><span style="color: black;"><i>Raiders,</i></span><span style="color: black;">
the romance between Rocky and Adrian has nothing to do with </span><span style="color: black;"><i>Rocky</i></span><span style="color: black;">’s
main Story Spine, and reaches a point of resolution before the
story’s true inciting incident (at 56:00) when Apollo Creed selects
Rocky as his next opponent. For the remainder of the film, Rocky’s
relationship with Adrian remains stable and uneventful, exerting
practically no influence upon the story’s central conflict. Indeed,
if a viewer cares nothing for romance, they might skip the movie’s
first fifty minutes and not miss much of a beat.</span></span><p></p><p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://totalrocky.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/11/filming-location-rocky-ice-skating-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="415" data-original-width="700" height="237" src="https://totalrocky.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/11/filming-location-rocky-ice-skating-1.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></span></div><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /> So, structurally speaking, what
are these sections? Why have they been included in the film? </span></span>
<p></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">Are THESE </span><span style="color: black;"><i>subplots</i></span><span style="color: black;">?
Once again, the answer is NO. These are </span><span style="color: black;"><i><b>prologue
narratives</b>.</i></span><span style="color: black;"> </span></span>
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">A prologue narrative is an
independent, self-contained, mini-story presented at the beginning of
a film. They are self-contained in that they feature their own clear
beginning, middle, and end—a course of narration that plays out,
without interruption, to a conclusion before the introduction of the
inciting incident of the movie’s main plotline. As their own “mini”
stories, prologue narratives bear all the marks of the classic
cinematic narrative structure, albeit played on a shorter timeline.
Every prologue narrative possesses its own story spine, its own
three-act structure punctuated by dramatic turning points, and its
own climactic resolution. Once the prologue narrative reaches its
conclusion, the discourse pauses and then switches tracks, now
initiating the setup for what will be the movie’s main narrative.
To put this another way, the movie ends the appetizer story and
starts its main course, with no return to the dramatic conflicts or
objectives found the former.</span></span></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">Prologue narratives are rare
events in feature films. Nevertheless, Hollywood has given us several
memorable examples. Along with </span><span style="color: black;"><i>Raiders
</i></span><span style="color: black;">and </span><span style="color: black;"><i>Rocky,</i></span><span style="color: black;">
the 2001 Best Picture winner </span><span style="color: black;"><i>A
Beautiful Mind</i></span><span style="color: black;"> opens with a
27-minute prologue narrative depicting protagonist John Nash’s
experiences as a Harvard grad student. After a climax in which Nash
receives formal recognition for his peculiar intellectual gifts, the
discourse jumps five years into the future, with Nash now a
Professor. This is when </span><span style="color: black;"><i>Mind</i></span><span style="color: black;">’s
real story begins. </span><span style="color: black;"><i>Braveheart
</i></span><span style="color: black;">contains TWO prologue narratives:
the first depicting protagonist William Wallace in his youth; the
second Wallace’s return to his native village to fall in love and
marry Murron, with the hopes of starting a home and family. These
twin prologue narratives have the effect of delaying the main
narrative’s true inciting incident to around the 45 minute mark.
(Although there is some overlap: the event which serves as the climax
for the second prologue pulls double-duty as the inciting incident of
the main narrative). And, let’s not forget the James Bond
franchise, where practically every installment begins with an
action-packed prologue which is often only tangentially related, or
not at all related, to the mission Bond later receives.</span></span></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">If prologue narratives are their
own self-contained pieces of storytelling, a piece the movie could
essentially operate fine without, what it their purpose? What does
the discourse gain from presenting a mini-story as an appetizer
before its main course? Apart from being entertaining stories in
their own right, prologue narratives also provide an </span><span style="color: black;"><i>active</i></span><span style="color: black;">
setup for the main story-to-come, as opposed to the </span><span style="color: black;"><i>static
</i></span><span style="color: black;">setups found in most feature films.
A static setup simply introduces the protagonist’s status quo: the
main characters and their lives and environment as it exists before
the inciting incident throws things into disequilibrium. A prologue
narrative, however, introduces the characters, their qualities, the
story environment, and other elements constituent to the main
plotline in an </span><span style="color: black;"><i>active </i></span><span style="color: black;">manner
as we observe the protagonist engaging with other problems and taking
goal-oriented actions to resolve them. When the prologue narrative
concludes, most of the expositional heavy-lifted has been
accomplished, allowing the discourse to swiftly shift into the setup
for its main plotline. Thus, before the inciting incident throws the
main drama into motion, we already know Indy’s skill as a
relic-hunter (and of his professional rivalry with Belloq); we know
all about Rocky Balboa’s characteristic virtues and insecurities,
along with the characteristics of his friends and allies; and we know
what motivates William Wallace to revolt against the English.</span></span></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">If a film can open with a
mini-story as a prologue narrative, can it not also end with an
</span><span style="color: black;"><i>epilogue narrative</i></span><span style="color: black;">;
that is, another self-contained mini-story placed at the end of the
film, initiating after the resolution of the main Story Spine?
Theoretically, yes. However, this is almost never seen in theatrical
feature films. Why? Well, once the main plot’s climactic event
occurs (that is, the moment when the protagonist either successfully
achieves or permanently fails to achieve his or her Story Goal), the
Story Spine is completed and the story is essentially over. The
conflict has been resolved, the audience’s questions have been
answered, and there is not much left to retain viewer interest. So, a
movie would need a pretty darn good reason to keep the viewers in
their seats for another fifteen to twenty minutes, rather than wrap
the film up then and there.</span></span></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">In fact, I can think of only one
good example of a film which successfully implements an epilogue
sequence: </span><span style="color: black;"><i>The Shawshank Redemption
</i></span><span style="color: black;">(1994)</span><span style="color: black;"><i>. </i></span></span></p><p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><i> The Shawshank Redemption </i></span><span style="color: black;">is the
story of Andy Dufrene and his twenty-year imprisonment for a murder
he did not commit. At the story’s climax, Andy escapes from
Shawshank prison, brings punishment upon the corrupt Warden, and
disappears to freedom in Mexico. So, the story is over, right? The
protagonist is </span><span style="color: black;"><i>gone.</i></span><span style="color: black;">
The movie can happily end right there. </span></span></p><p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><a href="https://i.imgur.com/v8hu3.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="449" data-original-width="800" height="224" src="https://i.imgur.com/v8hu3.jpeg" width="400" /></a></span></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><br />Yet </span><span style="color: black;"><i>Shawshank</i></span><span style="color: black;">’s
storytellers sense a good reason to keep the discourse going.
Surmising that its viewers would grow quite fond of the supporting
character Red, enough to want to know how his story ends, the
storytellers saw fit to give Red his own epilogue narrative covering
the last twelve minutes of the film. Red’s epilogue is its own
self-contained mini-story. It has a unique protagonist (Red), its own
story spine (centered around the question: Will Red survive life
outside of prison, or will he meet the same tragic end of his friend
Brooks?), and its own three-act structure: </span></span>
<p></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;">Inciting incident: Red is paroled.
Act 1: Red follows the same path as Brooks upon his release, leading
to self-despair. First turning point: Red decides he can’t give up
until he fulfills a promise he made to Andy. Act 2: Red ventures
forth following Andy’s instructions. Second turning point: Red
finds a letter from Andy with an invitation to join him in Mexico.
Act 3: Red breaks parole to head to Mexico. Climactic resolution: Red
reunites with Andy to start a happy new life.</span></span></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;">Yet, despite this one well-known
instance, epilogue narratives are an extreme rarity – more of a
theoretical possibility than a familiar practice. If you can think of
any other films that conclude with a full-fledged epilogue narrative,
please let me know in the comments.</span></span></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">(Okay, I guess technically </span><span style="color: black;"><i>Cast
Away</i></span><span style="color: black;"> (2000) ends with an epilogue
narrative which tells the story of the protagonist’s attempts to
reunite with his wife. But I wouldn’t call this a </span><span style="color: black;"><i>successful</i></span><span style="color: black;">
epilogue, as it comes off more as a long and tedious resolution
sequence. If there are two things people remember about </span><span style="color: black;"><i>Cast
Away, </i></span><span style="color: black;">they are Wilson the Volleyball
and how boring the last fifteen minutes were.)</span></span></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">So, to summarize this series of
articles thus far: relational arcs are </span><span style="color: black;"><i>not</i></span><span style="color: black;">
really “subplots”; story threads in a plural narrative discourse
are </span><span style="color: black;"><i>not</i></span><span style="color: black;">
“subplots”; prologue and epilogue narratives are </span><span style="color: black;"><i>not</i></span><span style="color: black;">
“subplots.” What narrative structures, then, DO fit the formal
definition of a “subplot?” Well, now that we have cleared away
the various narrative structures often mislabeled as “subplots,”
we can now look into what IS a true subplot to finally define the
concept in the proper. This will be the topic of the following and
final article.</span></span></p>
SCRIPTMONK!!!http://www.blogger.com/profile/13911675482380489540noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3389409360415735927.post-42349253626438338062022-10-11T13:57:00.003-07:002022-10-11T13:57:18.518-07:00Finally Understanding "subplots" Part 3 of 5: "Story Threads" & Plural Storytelling<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">In my previous two articles, I
examined the use of “relational arcs” (not “subplots”) in
</span><span style="color: black;"><i>Raiders of the Lost Ark</i></span><span style="color: black;">
and </span><span style="color: black;"><i>The Matrix.</i></span><span style="color: black;">
I used these two films for illustration because they contained, in my
words, “simple and straight-forward” plots. I say simple and
straight-forward because the narrative discourse of both films
maintains a singular focus: everything is about the </span><span style="color: black;"><i>protagonist</i></span><span style="color: black;">
and his </span><span style="color: black;"><i>Story Spine. </i></span><span style="color: black;">Every
plot point in </span><span style="color: black;"><i>Raiders</i></span><span style="color: black;">
is about Indy’s pursuit of the Ark. Every plot point in </span><span style="color: black;"><i>The
Matrix</i></span><span style="color: black;"> is about Neo’s journey to
becoming the “One.” There is rarely a scene in either film which
does not feature the protagonist; and when there is such a scene, it
is brief and acts for the propose of complicating some elements of
the protagonist’s Spine (complicating the main source of conflict,
the stakes, the protagonist’s path of action...). When you boil it
all down, the movie’s discourse is all about one person striving to
achieve one thing. Everything else exists to either assist or oppose
that person’s efforts.</span></span></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">But what do we find when we
consider movies with a more “sophisticated” narrative discourse?
To figure this out, let us look at </span><span style="color: black;"><i>The
Bourne Identity, </i></span><span style="color: black;">a movie with a
middling discursive complexity.</span></span></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">The protagonist of </span><span style="color: black;"><i>The
Bourne Identity</i></span><span style="color: black;"> is, of course, Jason
Bourne. Bourne’s Spine is clear: His Story Problem is that, as an
amnesiac, he has lost all memory of his past as a CIA assassin. His
Story Goal, therefore, is to recover the knowledge of his past so he
may resolve all the chaos that past now inflicts upon him. If </span><span style="color: black;"><i>The
Bourne Identity</i></span><span style="color: black;"> focused solely on
the hero’s line of action in the same manner as </span><span style="color: black;"><i>Raiders
</i></span><span style="color: black;">or </span><span style="color: black;"><i>The
Matrix, </i></span><span style="color: black;">we would have a functional,
self-contained, and entertaining narrative. That is, a good movie in
its own right. However, the discourse repeatedly cuts away to a
second narrative line which does not feature Jason Bourne. In fact,
this line of narrative takes place thousands of miles away from
Bourne in the CIA offices of Langley, Virginia. </span></span></p><p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirl9BpB6gLWThZ9_O7ELsjeSyucGyMT3p9i9P3gLMLKkeXR6YsskPwI_Nf5aYDwaLhjNHpxGGvM6V2n-ymeCR8eoKaObH0YFWO4xmLpVjRiylfxu0Az7I-rvbycbtOfT7cJGwBrnNhlgo/s1243/conklin-cooper-4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="544" data-original-width="1243" height="175" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirl9BpB6gLWThZ9_O7ELsjeSyucGyMT3p9i9P3gLMLKkeXR6YsskPwI_Nf5aYDwaLhjNHpxGGvM6V2n-ymeCR8eoKaObH0YFWO4xmLpVjRiylfxu0Az7I-rvbycbtOfT7cJGwBrnNhlgo/w400-h175/conklin-cooper-4.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><br /> Here, Ted Conklin is
the center of the narrative universe. Conklin takes his own
independent actions in pursuit of his own objectives, and faces his
own conflicts as a result. To Conklin, Bourne’s actions in Europe
are only a nuisance and obstacle to Conklin’s own objectives; an
obstacle which must be eliminated before Conklin’s goals can be
reached. Meanwhile, the discourse occasionally interjects a </span><span style="color: black;"><i>third</i></span><span style="color: black;">
line of narrative, this one with deposed dictator Wombosi as its
lead. Like Conklin in the second line, Wombosi is in charge of the
narrative here (neither Bourne nor Conklin make an appearance), as
Wombosi takes his own, independent actions toward his own objective:
blackmailing the CIA by threatening to expose an assassination
attempt.</span></span><p></p><p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><a href="https://y.yarn.co/b7780f9e-fa7b-490d-855a-332cf5baf445_screenshot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="340" data-original-width="800" height="170" src="https://y.yarn.co/b7780f9e-fa7b-490d-855a-332cf5baf445_screenshot.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">So, we have three lines of
narrative within a single movie story. Does this mean that Bourne’s
line is the main plotline while Conklin and Wombosi’s are mere
subplots (or the B-Story and C-Story, respectively)? No, they are
not. The Bourne, Conklin, and Wombosi lines are three
quasi-autonomous, yet interdependent </span><b><span style="color: black;"><i>story
threads</i></span></b><span style="color: black;"> which, when intertwined,
constitute the story discourse of </span><span style="color: black;"><i>The
Bourne Identity</i></span><span style="color: black;"> as a whole.*</span></span><p></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: x-small;">(*There is also a potential fourth
line, that of Paris CIA operative Nicki (Julia Stiles). However,
Nicki’s dramatic function is limited to carrying out Conklin’s
orders, and she never pursues objectives of her own. As such, Nicki’s
line may be considered as a simple extension of Conklin’s line.)</span></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">What do I mean by “story
threads”? Well, if we take a simple movie narrative like </span><span style="color: black;"><i>Raiders
of the Lost Ark</i></span><span style="color: black;">, the structural
composition can be likened to a length of </span><span style="color: black;"><i>cord:</i></span><span style="color: black;">
a single piece of material stretching from the beginning of the story
discourse to its end. (Sure, this cord is “thickened” in various
places by the unfolding of relational arcs, but it is still of one
piece.) Now, a more complicated narrative discourse, like that found
in </span><span style="color: black;"><i>Bourne</i></span><span style="color: black;">,
is more like a </span><span style="color: black;"><i>rope. </i></span><span style="color: black;">A
rope is created by tightly intertwining numerous individual threads.
This intertwining of threads makes a rope stronger than a cord; and,
likewise, the intertwining of story threads gives a movie narrative
greater complexity and sophistication than one which focuses on a
single line of action.</span></span></p><p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"> </span></span></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">Let's use a second film for
further illustration: </span><span style="color: black;"><i>Braveheart
</i></span><span style="color: black;">(1995). In </span><span style="color: black;"><i>Braveheart,</i></span><span style="color: black;">
we may clearly discern four distinct story threads. The first belongs
to William Wallace (Mel Gibson) as Wallace leads a Scottish rebellion
against the English. <br /></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://www.slashfilm.com/img/gallery/why-braveheart-is-considered-one-of-the-most-historically-inaccurate-films-ever/intro-1645738553.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="438" data-original-width="780" height="180" src="https://www.slashfilm.com/img/gallery/why-braveheart-is-considered-one-of-the-most-historically-inaccurate-films-ever/intro-1645738553.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><p></p><p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"> The second thread belongs to King Edward
“Longshanks.” The focus of this thread is the King’s efforts to
maintain tyrannical authority over his empire; a goal which concerns
not only the Scottish rebellion, but other matters such as the King’s
conflict with France and his relationship with his weak and
ineffectual heir, the Prince. </span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><a href="https://i0.wp.com/www.tor.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/11/Braveheart05.jpg?resize=740%2C416&type=vertical&quality=100&ssl=1" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="416" data-original-width="740" height="180" src="https://i0.wp.com/www.tor.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/11/Braveheart05.jpg?resize=740%2C416&type=vertical&quality=100&ssl=1" width="320" /></a></span></span></div><p></p><p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">The Princess Isabelle is given a third
thread. The focus of this thread is more personal than geopolitical:
Though smart and resourceful in the realm of politics, Isabelle
strives to overcome the alienation and lack of regard she suffers in
the court of King Edward. </span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><a href="https://medias.spotern.com/spots/w640/170/170278-1542657293.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="640" height="180" src="https://medias.spotern.com/spots/w640/170/170278-1542657293.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">Finally, a fourth story thread belongs to
Robert the Bruce. Robert the Bruce’s overall goal is to manage the
politics amongst the Scottish nobles, and between Scotland and
England, with the ultimate aim of acquiring the Scottish crown.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://i0.wp.com/www.tor.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/11/Braveheart02.jpg?resize=740%2C411&type=vertical&quality=100&ssl=1" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="411" data-original-width="740" height="178" src="https://i0.wp.com/www.tor.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/11/Braveheart02.jpg?resize=740%2C411&type=vertical&quality=100&ssl=1" width="320" /></a></div><br /></span></span><p></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">If one would chop up </span><span style="color: black;"><i>Braveheart
</i></span><span style="color: black;">to watch only those scenes involving
each of these four characters, all in turn, in isolation, each thread
will be found to be quasi-autonomous in nature. By this I mean each
of the four characters acts as the protagonist of their own narrative
line. In that line, the character takes independent action in pursuit
of their own objectives, objectives which may or may not bear
relations to the objectives of the other “protagonists.” As such,
each of the four story threads could make a perfectly suitable movie
story in their own right. That is, the storytellers could have
potentially eliminated the other story threads to made that one
“protagonist” </span><span style="color: black;"><i>Braveheart</i></span><span style="color: black;">’s
the sole focus in the manner of </span><span style="color: black;"><i>Raiders
</i></span><span style="color: black;">or </span><span style="color: black;"><i>The
Matrix. </i></span></span>
</p>
<p style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">However, these story threads are
only </span><span style="color: black;"><i>quasi</i></span><span style="color: black;">-autonomous.
In terms of the overall story discourse, story threads do not have
complete autonomy. Though story threads develop separately, their
mutual development is interconnected and interdependent upon events
contained in the other threads. This is what is meant when we say
that threads are intertwined. At times, the threads may directly
intersect, bringing two or more of the “protagonists”
face-to-face: Wallace’s thread routinely intersects with Robert the
Bruce’s thread; Isabelle’s thread intersects at various points
with those of King Edward and Wallace. Robert the Bruce’s thread
even briefly intersects with King Edward. In these moments of
intersection, dramatic outcomes create potential turning points for
both story threads. </span></span>
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">Story threads also affect one
another </span><span style="color: black;"><i>indirectly,</i></span><span style="color: black;">
meaning that actions taken in one thread may alter the circumstances
of other threads. The best example is the indirect interaction
between the Wallace and King Edward threads. Though the two
characters never meet face-to-face, every major action taken by
Wallace alters King Edward’s circumstances in such a way that
forces a response from King Edward. Likewise, every major action
taken by King Edward alters the circumstances of the Wallace thread.</span></span></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">As a result, </span><span style="color: black;"><i>Braveheart</i></span><span style="color: black;">
does not present four separate stories, but a single story discourse
composed of four interconnected threads. </span><span style="color: black;"><i>Braveheart
</i></span><span style="color: black;">is not William Wallace’s story,
nor King Edward’s story, nor Princess Isabelle’s story, nor
Robert the Bruce’s story, but a multi-thread narrative composition
which ultimately presents a story experience greater than the sum of
its parts. </span><span style="color: black;"><i>Braveheart </i></span><span style="color: black;">is
an example of plural, rather than singular, storytelling.*</span></span></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">(* Plural, multi-thread
storytelling, however, should not be confused with true
</span><span style="color: black;"><i>multi-narrative</i></span><span style="color: black;">
films like </span><span style="color: black;"><i>Magnolia </i></span><span style="color: black;">(1999),
</span><span style="color: black;"><i>Crash</i></span><span style="color: black;">
(2004), or </span><span style="color: black;"><i>Babel</i></span><span style="color: black;">
(2006) (often referred to as “ensemble” films). Produced far more
rarely, multi-narrative films present several COMPLETELY autonomous
narratives with few or no causal connections between them. Often, the
only connections between the narratives are coincidental or rooted in
a shared theme. Multi-narrative films thus present several
independent stories within a single movie, whereas plural
multi-thread storytelling presents a single, unified story composed
of multiple interconnected character threads.)</span></span></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">Plural, multi-thread storytelling
is rarely mentioned in the various “how-to” materials on
screenwriting. This is because beginners are taught to think simple.
The concept of “story” is presented in the singular: one main
character, one line of action, one central conflict, one resolution.
Yet in reality, what we experience as the “Story” of a movie is
the entirety of its discourse, which may contain as few or as many
story threads as the storyteller desires. Films such as </span><span style="color: black;"><i>Braveheart
</i></span><span style="color: black;">and </span><span style="color: black;"><i>The
Bourne Identity</i></span><span style="color: black;"> thus present a
higher level of storytelling sophistication than movies like </span><span style="color: black;"><i>Raiders</i></span><span style="color: black;">
or </span><span style="color: black;"><i>The Matrix, </i></span><span style="color: black;">a
level to which students of screenwriting may aspire after they have
grasped the fundamentals of storytelling in the singular.</span></span></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="color: black;">How many</span></i><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">
story threads can a single movie contain? Well, let’s look at one
of the most surprisingly-complex popular movie narratives: </span></span><i><span style="color: black;">Die
Hard.</span></i></span></p><p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="color: black;"></span></i></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="color: black;"><a href="https://static1.srcdn.com/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2020/11/Recasting-The-Characters-of-Die-Hard-If-It-Was-Made-Today-Featured-Image.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="800" height="200" src="https://static1.srcdn.com/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2020/11/Recasting-The-Characters-of-Die-Hard-If-It-Was-Made-Today-Featured-Image.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></i></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="color: black;"><br /> </span></i><span style="color: black;">Let’s count the story threads in
</span><span style="color: black;"><i>Die Hard.</i></span><span style="color: black;">
First, of course, we have our hero John McClane. John’s goal is get
himself and all hostages out of Nakatomi Tower alive. Next, the
villain Hans Gruber. Hans wants to steal the millions of dollars of
bonds in Nakatomi’s safe. Meanwhile, outside the Tower, we have
Sgt. Al Powell desperately trying to keep his incompetent superior
Lt. Robinson from turning the situation into a bloodbath. But wait,
that’s not all. Holly takes on a leader role among the hostages.
Henchman Karl is out for revenge. TV reporter Dick Thornburg pursues
a potentially career-making news story. Ellis tries to be the hero in
his own way and pays the price. FBI Agents Johnson & Johnson take
over to shoot first and ask questions later. Argyle is trapped in the
parking garage.</span></span><p></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">In </span><span style="color: black;"><i>Die
Hard,</i></span><span style="color: black;"> practically every significant
character is granted their own personal story thread. This surprising
complexity of discourse is one reason why </span><span style="color: black;"><i>Die
Hard</i></span><span style="color: black;">'s success has never been
duplicated by its many imitators. </span><span style="color: black;"><i>Die
Hard</i></span><span style="color: black;"> is not just a story about John
McClane, or of a clash between a hero and a villain. Its “story”
is the sum of all of its threads, their individual moments along with
their interactions and intersections, with each thread contributing
pieces to the overall story discourse. </span></span>
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"> </span></span></p><p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">The important point here is that
</span><span style="color: black;"><b>story threads are NOT “subplots.”</b></span><span style="color: black;">
Each thread is not “sub” to anything. They are quasi-autonomous,
each holding the potential of being a stand-alone narrative in their
own right. Argyle’s thread is his own story. As are Holly’s,
Karl’s, or Dick Thornberg’s.</span></span></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">But wait, you may be thinking, if
story threads belonging to “secondary” characters are not
subordinate to the central protagonist’s thread, does this not
imply that all story threads are of equal importance? That, in </span><span style="color: black;"><i>Die
Hard, </i></span><span style="color: black;">Argyle’s thread should be
considered equal to John McClane’s thread; or in </span><span style="color: black;"><i>The
Bourne Identity, </i></span><span style="color: black;">Wombosi’s thread
be equal to Jason Bourne’s thread; even though the narrative
discourse gives them far less time and attention? Well, the answer is
yes and no. To understand, we must return to the distinction between
</span><span style="color: black;"><i>fabula </i></span><span style="color: black;">and
</span><span style="color: black;"><i>syuzhet.</i></span></span></p>
<p style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">As explained in the first article
of this series, the </span><span style="color: black;"><i>fabula</i></span><span style="color: black;">
of </span><span style="color: black;"><i>Die Hard</i></span><span style="color: black;">
contains </span><span style="color: black;"><i>every</i></span><span style="color: black;">
moment experienced by the characters of </span><span style="color: black;"><i>every
</i></span><span style="color: black;">story thread, from the beginning of
the story’s timeframe to its end—whether it happens to be
featured on screen or not. The </span><span style="color: black;"><i>fabula</i></span><span style="color: black;">
includes, for instance; every little thing Argyle does while waiting
in the parking garage; every single thing Dick Thornburg does before,
during, and after the moments we see him on screen; every little
detail of John, Holly, or Hans’ experiences, seen or unseen. As the
reservoir of all potential story material, the </span><span style="color: black;"><i>fabula</i></span><span style="color: black;">
considers every event, action, or piece of information as more or
less equal.</span></span></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">The </span><span style="color: black;"><i>syuzhet,
</i></span><span style="color: black;">on the other hand, is the end result
of all conscious decisions made by the storyteller regarding </span><span style="color: black;"><i>what</i></span><span style="color: black;">
fabula material to present, and </span><span style="color: black;"><i>when</i></span><span style="color: black;">
to present it, in the construction of the overall narrative
discourse. In </span><span style="color: black;"><i>Die Hard, </i></span><span style="color: black;">this
includes every choice regarding when to stick with John’s thread,
when to cut to Hans, and what (for instance) is important from the
Holly and Karl threads and when to interject that material. As a
result of these choices, vast portions of the </span><span style="color: black;"><i>fabula</i></span><span style="color: black;">
are omitted; either because the storyteller deems them unimportant,
or for the sake of generating mystery, surprise, or suspense. In the
process of making such choices, certain story threads become more
prominent within the discourse (John, Hans, Sgt. Powell), while
others are limited to bits and pieces (Argyle, Thornburg, Ellis). As
such, the perception of </span><span style="color: black;"><i>Die Hard</i></span><span style="color: black;">
as the story of John versus Hans with occasional “subplots”
involving “secondary” characters is merely an illusion of the
</span><span style="color: black;"><i>syuzhet. </i></span><span style="color: black;">The
storytellers simply chose to make certain story threads more
prominent than others. If the storytellers wished, they could have
constructed a different </span><span style="color: black;"><i>syuzhet</i></span><span style="color: black;">
where Holly, Karl, or Thornburg’s thread becomes most prominent,
causing those characters to appear as the “central” protagonist.</span></span></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></p><p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;">But, we can complexify things even
further. In the previous two articles of this series, I introduced
the concept of relational arcs, as seen in single-thread narratives
like <i>Raiders of the Lost Ark</i> and <i>The Matrix. </i>Relational
arcs are also quite common in multi-thread narratives.<i> </i>These
arcs tends to develop in one of two ways.</span></span></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">In the first case, a relational
arc forms in the same manner previously identified in </span><span style="color: black;"><i>Raiders
</i></span><span style="color: black;">and </span><span style="color: black;"><i>The
Matrix.</i></span><span style="color: black;"> To review, a relational arc
“unfolds” an existing character relationship already integral to
the functioning of the plot. The only difference with multi-thread
narratives is that this “unfolding” occurs between two characters
with a plot-functional relationship isolated within only ONE of the
several threads. We find two clear examples in </span><span style="color: black;"><i>The
Bourne Identity.</i></span><span style="color: black;"> In the Jason Bourne
thread, the plot-functional partnership between Bourne and Marie is
given greater depth as it unfolds into a romantic arc. In the Ted
Conklin thread, the perfunctory chain-of-command between Conklin and
his supervisor Ward Abbot is unfolded into an interpersonal conflict
based on their clashing philosophies and institutional priorities.
These relational arcs are “isolated” within their respective
threads in the sense that they are relevant only to that particular
thread and have virtually no effect upon any other thread.</span></span></p><p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><a href="http://www.wingclips.com/system/movie-clips/the-bourne-identity/you-just-asked-for-it/images/the-bourne-identity-movie-clip-screenshot-you-just-asked-for-it_large.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="270" data-original-width="480" height="180" src="http://www.wingclips.com/system/movie-clips/the-bourne-identity/you-just-asked-for-it/images/the-bourne-identity-movie-clip-screenshot-you-just-asked-for-it_large.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><br /> </span></span><p></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">A second form of relational arc
develops </span><span style="color: black;"><i>between</i></span><span style="color: black;">
story threads. This occurs when two threads intersect or overlap with
such frequency that a progressing inter-personal relationship forms
between the threads’ “lead” characters. In </span><span style="color: black;"><i>Braveheart</i></span><span style="color: black;">,
for example, Princess Isabelle’s thread intersects with Wallace’s
thread with increasing frequency over the second half of the
narrative to the point where they ultimately overlap. As a result of
their compatible desires and interests, Isabelle and Wallace’s
interactions become a progressing relationship, resulting in a
romantic arc. </span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLMcJvdGvI9brPw_dxyhYhztQ4Vc3JtGxgIiPRlMb3-FewM17kgXtLU6KttuXBWM1a0YUUvjrmCL_YRJJOSkQtoTo-0047XrvTXX8DImdGsvDhKUk-8j3lqRL7XyCHnZWzgY2B8FY3aa3G/s375/1995-braveheart2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="280" data-original-width="375" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLMcJvdGvI9brPw_dxyhYhztQ4Vc3JtGxgIiPRlMb3-FewM17kgXtLU6KttuXBWM1a0YUUvjrmCL_YRJJOSkQtoTo-0047XrvTXX8DImdGsvDhKUk-8j3lqRL7XyCHnZWzgY2B8FY3aa3G/w320-h239/1995-braveheart2.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><br /></span></span><p></p><p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">We also find two clear examples in </span><span style="color: black;"><i>Die
Hard.</i></span><span style="color: black;"> The first is between John and
Holly. John and Holly’s threads overlap entirely during the film’s
opening setup sequence. In fact, the troubled relationship between
John and Holly is used as the film’s primary source of drama until
the inciting incident occurs. When John and Holly are separated by
the inciting incident, their relational arc is left to linger, but is
resolved when their threads finally reunite at the movie’s end. A
second inter-thread relational arc forms between the John and Sgt.
Powell threads. Though the two threads are geographically separated
(John is trapped inside the building, Powell stuck outside the
building), there is enough interaction between John and Powell that a
plot-significant relationship forms. Since the desires and interests
of the two parties are closely aligned (both want to see the
situation resolved without the loss of innocent lives) an informal
partnership, or “buddy” relational arc forms between the two
otherwise separate threads, complete with structural moments of
initiation, development, and resolution.</span></span></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">To conclude, the past three
articles have examined two common intra-narrative structures
frequently mislabeled as “subplots”: relational arcs, and story
threads found in narratives of plural construction. In the next
installment, we shall explore two more narrational structures often
misconstrued as “subplots”: prologue and epilogue sequences.
Then, in my concluding article, we will finally define examples of
</span><span style="color: black;"><i>true</i></span><span style="color: black;">
“subplots.” </span></span>
</p>
SCRIPTMONK!!!http://www.blogger.com/profile/13911675482380489540noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3389409360415735927.post-66951038000129097412022-09-18T12:48:00.001-07:002022-09-19T11:30:34.193-07:00Finally Understanding "Subplots," Part 2 of 5: Relational Arcs & Theme
<p style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">In
the last article, I introduced the <i>relational arc</i>, the most common of
the several intra-narrative structures erroneously lumped together as
“subplots.” Using <i>Raiders of the Lost Ark</i>, I showed how the
inclusion of relational arcs added “depth” to the story’s
character dimension, but stopped short when it came to the question
of theme. In this installment, I pick up where I left off, but with a
different movie, <i>The Matrix</i>.</span></span></span></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Like
<i>Raiders</i>, the central plotline of <i>The Matrix</i> is fairly simple and
straight-forward. Here is its plot in a nutshell: In a world where
humanity is enslaved by machines, Neo is recruited by the human
resistance; Neo is trained by his mentor Morpheus to become “The
One”; through betrayal, Morpheus is captured by the antagonist
Agent Smith; Neo rescues Morpheus; Neo defeats Agent Smith by
believing his is indeed The One.</span></span></span></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Summarized
thusly, we have a purely functional story, one that aligns with the
tried-and-true “Hero’s Journey” pattern. However, the story is
fairly one-dimensional. To “dimensionalize” the story and give it
greater “depth,” the storytellers do the same as in <i>Raiders</i>: they
“unfold” character relationships <i>already present within the
central plotline</i>, adding multiple “relational arcs.” In <i>The
Matrix</i>, we may identify three relational arcs: Trinity’s “romance”
with Neo (I put romance in quotations for a reason), Cypher’s
betrayal of his comrades, and Morpheus’s mentorship of Neo.</span></span></span></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Just
like Marion and Belloq in <i>Raiders</i>, Trinity, Cypher, and Morpheus do
not exist outside of the central plotline, nor are their relational
arcs simply tacked on to the existing narrative. All three characters
and their inter-personal relationships already serve VITAL FUNCTIONAL
ROLES in the central plot. Morpheus serves a MENTOR and LEADER role.
Trinity is the HERALD character and Neo’s GUIDE. Cypher, of course,
is the TRAITOR directly responsible for Morpheus’s capture at the
Midpoint Crisis Event. <i>The Matrix</i>, however, expands these existing
story relationships into relational arcs by asking a simple question:
“Why do these characters do what they DO?” WHY does Morpheus
insist that Neo believe he is The One? WHY does Trinity become so
personally involved in Neo’s journey? WHY does Cypher choose to
betray his brethren? </span></span></span></p><p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgib50TRx0nZ41bqlaxjPRGp5V-yw6POW5wsPilbc7Y-1OumhcBrFDlT7el-zpZ4PfMja8-XPTPtpzWd4K-t5lZIJRGTy-0iYKwroT-SBHtyb-m6wpc14XVZLyVFBaNySYbqZiSwtb7UkRI8Na47HBuw5kSu4mZ67zReU9CTBSrFZw_cnrP5K44Co0z/s500/neo%20morpheus.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="500" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgib50TRx0nZ41bqlaxjPRGp5V-yw6POW5wsPilbc7Y-1OumhcBrFDlT7el-zpZ4PfMja8-XPTPtpzWd4K-t5lZIJRGTy-0iYKwroT-SBHtyb-m6wpc14XVZLyVFBaNySYbqZiSwtb7UkRI8Na47HBuw5kSu4mZ67zReU9CTBSrFZw_cnrP5K44Co0z/w400-h160/neo%20morpheus.png" width="400" /></a></span></span></span></div><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /> </span>Once we unfold these layers of the
narrative—adding depth to the dimension of character—we find
something like a family melodrama operating underneath these
once-purely functional relationships. Morpheus is an adoptive father
who believes his life’s purpose is to nurture a gifted child to
maturity. Trinity, the eldest child, feels emotionally conflicted
over her new brother; drawn to him, wishing to believe what father
says of him, but with doubts. Cypher, on the other hand, is the
overlooked middle child jealous over daddy’s new favorite.</span></span><p></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">This
unfolding of character relationships does more to benefit the story
than adding greater depth to the dimensions of plot and character. It
takes what is otherwise a cold, cerebral, purely functional
narrative, and <i>humanizes </i>it by recasting its actions in terms of
human need and emotion. As a result, this fantastic sci-fi narrative
becomes relatable to its audience because they can now understand all
actions in human terms.</span></span></span></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;">But what of the dimension of
THEME? Many writers on screencraft have rightly claimed that one of
the greatest benefits of expanding a narrative through “subplots”
(whichever variety of form these “subplots” take) is in service
of communicating the story’s theme. A good theme is pervasive. It
permeates all story elements, deciding what is relevant to the story
and what is not, unifying all actions and events under a common
expression of meaning. In fact, all plot and character actions might
be considered dramatic metaphors designed to ultimately communicate
this conclusive meaning. However, a theme is an abstract,
multi-faceted, and thus difficult to represent thing. It exists in
the realm of ideas, not physical action.</span></span></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;">As such, a cinematic story cannot
<i>state </i>a theme, it can only <i>imply </i>a thematic message through a line of
action presented on screen. Yet the capacity of this single line to
express an abstract idea is limited to the explicit details of its
unique conflict or situation. It thus can give only one tiny instance
of a universalizing idea. And if the narrative is too simple or
straight-forward, the audience may not receive enough material to
even grasp what that idea might be. However, “subplots,” with
their mini narratives, provide the story with opportunities to
present the theme from other angles, within other situations, and in
relation to additional conflicts or character relationships. In other
words, “subplots” provide opportunities to dimensionalize a
story’s theme by communicating different aspects of the same
thematic idea through other dramatic situations. As a result, the
audience may “see” the multi-facted nature of this abstract idea
from various angles and better grasp the message the story wishes to
convey.</span></span></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">So
what is the theme of<i> The Matrix</i>? A purely external, premise-based
reading would say <i>The Matrix</i> is a story designed to prompt questions
regarding the nature of Reality: What is really “Real”? What is
really “True”? What is just an illusion? How can we tell the
difference between truth and illusion?</span></span></span></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;">But let’s recast these thematics
in human terms: If modern philosophy has taught us anything over the
past two centuries (a subject the Wachowskis hold considerable
knowledgeable about), it is that there can be no certainty regarding
just what “Truth” and “Reality” are. Every trend in modern
philosophy has cast further and further doubt on traditional notions
of metaphysics, the human mind, and the social reality which
surrounds us. What is merely perception? What is simply a made-up
social construct? How do we reconcile spirituality with empirical
science? The bottom line is that “reality” is subjective. We
accept something to be “real” or “true” because we personally
believes it to be so, or because we agree with the claims made by
outside authorities on the subject. In other words, “reality” is
a matter of FAITH. Faith is defined as a belief in something which
cannot be absolutely proven. We are able to make our ways through
life with some certainty because we have FAITH that certain ideas,
perceptions, and concepts are indeed real and true.</span></span></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">As
such, FAITH is the true theme of <i>The Matrix</i>. We see this quite
clearly in Neo’s Character Arc. Neo’s fate, the fate of the human
resistance, and indeed the fate of all humanity rests on the question
of whether Neo can place faith in the idea that he is The One;
whether or not he can truly believe everything his mentor Morpheus
teaches him. As described below, the relational arcs involving
Morpheus, Cypher, and Trinity also center upon issues of faith. As
such, the inclusion of these relational arcs serves to dimensionalize
the story’s theme by presenting other characters who, like Neo,
also struggle with issues of faith, but in different ways and from
differing perspectives. </span></span></span>
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Morpheus
is a man of absolute faith. He believes without reservation in his
mission, in the prophesies he has been told, and that Neo is indeed
“The One”—even though this all has yet to be proven. Morpheus’s
personal goal is to indoctrinate Neo with his faith so Neo will
believe as strongly as he does. But, as several pieces of dialogue
between other characters indicate, Morpheus is so blind in his faith
that it actually constitutes his character flaw. Morpheus’s faith
is so absolute that he foolishly sacrifices himself at the story’s
Midpoint so save Neo, shouting “He’s all that matters!”</span></span></span></p><p style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9EIgT2usrp5NXNzYlb_xcOti81dEr7IHMNNaa14zPAbxlop7ElsxdB5NdZzuwabreKh3MwV3EhSdvvaXd4uAEAGIUbnv1ZLo52usrcWv911CUviY4UpA2X1ZwCATg8szDgRue8QMV_fetcdKOovi-XDhoD1Qp5sQZX0q7cw0ynvHeB8yH_6uGB1a-/s423/cypher%20neo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="238" data-original-width="423" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9EIgT2usrp5NXNzYlb_xcOti81dEr7IHMNNaa14zPAbxlop7ElsxdB5NdZzuwabreKh3MwV3EhSdvvaXd4uAEAGIUbnv1ZLo52usrcWv911CUviY4UpA2X1ZwCATg8szDgRue8QMV_fetcdKOovi-XDhoD1Qp5sQZX0q7cw0ynvHeB8yH_6uGB1a-/w400-h225/cypher%20neo.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></span></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /> Cypher,
on the other hand, is a man who has lost all faith. His
disillusionment so so profound that he, like the Biblical Judas, is
willing to betray his teacher and return to false illusion. In
Cypher’s only scene alone with Neo, Cypher wastes no time
undermining Neo’s shaky faith in Morpheus’s teachings. “Did he
tell you?” he asks, “Did he tell you why you’re here? – <i>Geez!
</i>What a mindjob! What do you say to that? So you’re here to <i>save the
world</i>?”</span></span></span><p></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Trinity’s
relational arc, it turns out, is the most complex. While most would
quickly brush off the Trinity/Neo arc as yet another “romantic
subplot,” this relational arc in fact resounds with the story’s
theme far more strongly than any other. However, this thematic
significance is hidden behind the illusion of a typical “girl falls
in love with boy” tropeline until the <i>syuzhet </i>finally reveals a
pivotal piece of <i>fabula </i>information late in the third act. At this
moment, Trinity confesses that the Oracle prophesied that she would
fall in love with The One. This revelation rewrites everything we
previously understood about the Trinity/Neo relational arc. We now
know that the question “Is Trinity in love with Neo?” is
intimately tied up with the question “Is Neo the One?”;
conversely, the question “Is Neo the One?” is attached to the
question “Is Trinity in love with Neo?” With this, we discover
that the “romance” between Trinity and Neo is in fact a story of
Trinity’s struggle with her FAITH. Trinity wants to believe
Morpheus when he says Neo is the One, yet she is uncertain because
she is unsure whether she loves Neo. But if she does sense growing
feelings for Neo, is this because Neo is truly the One or only
because she <i>wants </i>him to be the One? This explains why Trinity is so
emotionally invested in Neo from the beginning of the story to its
end. She wishes to believe, but is suffering a crisis of faith.</span></span></span></p><p style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsEtMb2r19IeTce-bOmw7dQ4rZAryFHveulj7zB5PHqz4Q-FOcqP4SBtPJoz-vtYS6S9OL-j8OS31nl6rO2VdP_Iq8n345Rj2LrW59_aDn5uqHBhQ33CQBKFrbROZirxKOqOw4cHa03Vt3WFd8ZSlgSad7ywt3VjJiOWJuGce6f5VvL1L9_8mYqhAB/s528/trinity%20neo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="297" data-original-width="528" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsEtMb2r19IeTce-bOmw7dQ4rZAryFHveulj7zB5PHqz4Q-FOcqP4SBtPJoz-vtYS6S9OL-j8OS31nl6rO2VdP_Iq8n345Rj2LrW59_aDn5uqHBhQ33CQBKFrbROZirxKOqOw4cHa03Vt3WFd8ZSlgSad7ywt3VjJiOWJuGce6f5VvL1L9_8mYqhAB/w400-h225/trinity%20neo.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></span></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /> In
addition to dimensionalizing the theme of faith, Neo’s
participation in these relational arcs serves a subtle yet
significant role in shaping the narrative discourse so that the
dimensions of Plot and Character work together to deliver the story’s
ultimate thematic message: Neo’s interactions in the relational
arcs impact the development of Neo’s Character Arc, which
subsequently affect the actions Neo takes in the latter half of the
story, which set up the climactic event and the overt thematic
message conveyed by Neo’s ultimate victory. Neo is able to defeat
Agent Smith only because he has acquired full and total faith, both
in himself and everything his mentor has taught him. Anything less
would would have resulted in failure.</span></span></span><p></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">So,
in the end, the faiths of Neo, Morpheus, and Trinity are rewarded
(while Cypher’s lack of faith is punished), and humanity has hope
for the future because of that faith. This theme is the reason why
<i>The Matrix,</i> a film which depicts a nightmare dysptopian future,
leaves its audience in such uplifted spirits. The message of <i>The
Matrix</i>, communicated by its Character Arc and supported by its three
relational arcs, is that humanity will survive its modern,
technology-driven world that now lacks all certainty about what is
“Real,” as long as we continues to have FAITH.</span></span></span></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">But
what then of <i>Raiders of the Lost Ark</i>? I concluded the previous
article with the question of why <i>Raiders</i>’ storytellers chose to
unfold the relational arcs between Indy/Belloq and Indy/Marion, but
left all other character relationships “flat.” My suggestion was
that these two relational arcs were developed because they were
particularly useful in the communication of the story’s theme. So,
what is the theme of <i>Raiders of the Lost Ark</i> and how do the two
relational arcs help express it?</span></span></span></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">When
sniffing out a theme, the best place to start is the protagonist’s
Character Arc. And yes, Indiana Jones DOES have a Character Arc in
<i>Raiders </i>(despite what some less-informed sources on the internet
might tell you). </span></span></span>
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Indiana
Jones begins <i>Raiders </i>as a man who sees value only in the <i>material</i>.
Meanwhile, he shows no interest in, and even scoffs at, things of
<i>immaterial </i>value (such as emotional human relationships, the ideals
of a higher cause, a belief in a higher power, and so on).</span></span></span></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;">At the story’s inciting
incident, when Indy is informed by US Agents that the Nazis have
found the location of the Ark of the Covenant, presumably to use the
Ark’s power to conquer the world, Indy jumps at the chance the beat
the Nazis to the Ark first. Indy does this not out of any sense of
patriotism or concern over the fate of the world (he never betrays a
hint of either), but because the Ark is a highly-valued material
object that he, a professional treasure hunter, considers the
ultimate prize. Not only does Indy care little for the geopolitical
conflict surrounding the Ark, he shows no interest in the sacred or
deeply-religious value of the Ark. As a Professor of Archaeology,
Indy adheres to an objective, scientific view of historical
artifacts. Like the golden idol from the movie’s prologue, the Ark
is merely buried treasure to be dug up and sold to a museum. (Watch
the prologue sequence. The film’s opening presents a clear contrast
between the religious superstitions of the native peoples and Indy’s
purely material apprehensions of the idol.)</span></span></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Indy
maintains this attitude for much of <i>Raiders</i>. Yet, by the story’s
conclusion, Indy has grown into a man who can indeed recognize value
in the immaterial, in the intangible, in the spiritual or idealistic,
over the strictly material. It is a subtle rather than a profound
shift, motivated not so much by the events of the main plotline, but
in the drama of his two relational arcs.</span></span></span></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">To
begin with the Indy/Bellow relational arc: Thematically, Belloq
serves as a “dark mirror” figure to Indiana Jones; identical in
some aspects, the inverse in others. This is made explicit in the
arc’s most significant stand-alone scene: the conversation between
Indy and Belloq in the Cairo cafe in Act 2A, where Belloq states the
(now cliched) line, “You and I are very much alike.” Belloq is an
image of what Indy could become if he should take his material-value
mindset too far. Belloq is also an archaeologist and treasure-hunter,
but he has grown morally and ethically bankrupt in his pursuit of
valuable objects. Whereas Indy is merely indifferent to the
geopolitics surrounding the Ark, Belloq is positioned as a traitor to
the ideals of the free world. Though never explicitly stated in the
film (and, technically, set in 1936, the movie takes place before
open hostilities broke out in Europe), <i>Raiders </i>relies on its
audience’s knowledge of history to emphasize Belloq’s moral
bankruptcy. Belloq is a Frenchman collaborating with the Nazis to
find an object that may help the Nazis conquer the world. Belloq does
this, however, not because he supports the Nazi cause (that would be
a form of idealism), but because he would work with the Devil himself
to procure a materially-valuable object like the Ark. Furthermore,
Belloq is presented as a thief. On two occasions, Belloq steals away
an object Indy has risked life and limb to retrieve, showing that he
no longer respects even the unwritten rules and ethical guidelines of
his profession.</span></span></span></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;">Belloq presents the dark side of
the story’s developing theme. The Indy/Marion relational arc,
however, provides a force to nudge Indy in the opposite direction. If
we walk through the main beats of this arc, we see Indy’s
progression along the thematic line. Indy’s first encounter with
Marion is intended as purely transactional. He is to give Marion some
money, she is to give him the headpiece he needs to locate the Ark.
But Marion does not see it this way. She is upset at Indy for
breaking her heart years ago. Though Indy says he is sorry, it is
obvious he remains indifferent to Marion’s feelings and the value
of their previous relationship. He just wants the headpiece. </span></span>
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;">When Indy arrives in Cairo with
Marion as his partner, Indy sees this as merely a business
relationship, despite Marion’s attempts to restart a personal
friendship. When Marion is kidnapped and supposedly killed in the
marketplace sequence, we encounter the arc’s next major beat.
Distraught, Indy gets drunk in a cafe. Following the old saw that
“you don’t know what you got until it’s gone,” Indy realizes
he has lost something of great immaterial value that he did not
appreciate before. </span></span>
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;">Yet when, lo and behold, Indy
finds Marion alive again, tied and gagged in the Nazi camp, what does
Indy do? He leaves Marion there, despite Marion’s protests, because
freeing Marion might jeopardize his pursuit of the Ark. Though Indy
has gotten back what he has lost, he still prizes the material more –
thus, Marion remains of secondary importance.</span></span></p><p style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2e7eP2Bue_23Km1gnowNJyOek7nJzIQFIC5pkG7rCkO3qTMpORk2hS-RYe6nTwIaYrscoWO7XYQUSWmO7T3MNRoGznzIG-PUhpgmwwTIPfwT5VDv5gl8We74W2FS7QYaYXih7PT12Mgu2Q0tcAJyHHTTWrzo731e1nrvpiycbHtb39lSjgy7o9-zV/s345/marion%20belloq.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="146" data-original-width="345" height="169" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2e7eP2Bue_23Km1gnowNJyOek7nJzIQFIC5pkG7rCkO3qTMpORk2hS-RYe6nTwIaYrscoWO7XYQUSWmO7T3MNRoGznzIG-PUhpgmwwTIPfwT5VDv5gl8We74W2FS7QYaYXih7PT12Mgu2Q0tcAJyHHTTWrzo731e1nrvpiycbHtb39lSjgy7o9-zV/w400-h169/marion%20belloq.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><br /> <span style="font-weight: normal;">Next,
we encounter one of the most interesting sequences in <i>Raiders </i>from a
structural standpoint in which the two relational arcs intersect:
Belloq unbinds Marion, gives her a beautiful dress, and treats her to
a candlelight dinner. In terms of the Belloq line, Belloq is
escalating his rivalry with Indy. No longer content with simply
stealing Indy’s treasures, he now desires to steal Indy’s love
interest as well. Though it is made clear that Marion is merely
playing along, it cannot be said that Marion is not a little bit
charmed by this development. Belloq has attractive qualities Indy
lacks, and it is highly unlikely that Indy would ever shower Marion
with beautiful gifts and romantic dinners. Thus, there is the
slightest hint that Indy, due to his material-mindedness, might lose
Marion to his rival. This suggestion is subtly implied when the film
intercuts Marion’s dinner with Belloq with Indy hard at work
uncovering the Ark at the Well of Souls. With this, like in <i>The
Matrix</i>, we find a personally-relateable metaphor on human relations
hidden within the fantastic premise: Like so many professional men
obsessed with material success, Indy risks losing his romantic
partner to a rival while he is busy at work because he has ignored
his partner’s needs.</span></span></span><p></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;">When, after the story’s
Midpoint, Indy and Marion are reunited in the Well of Souls, Indy
actually expresses jealousy when he sees Marion in Belloq’s dress.
However, the crisis forces the pair to quickly reconcile their
differences and work together on common ground. </span></span>
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;">After several long sequences in
which Indy escapes the Well of Souls, chases down and recaptures the
Ark, we are treated at the end of Act 2B to what is the most clear
and obvious “romance” scene of the movie. Safe aboard a ship back
to America, Indy finally softens to Marion, shows appreciation for
her value, and they kiss (though the film smartly has Indy falls
asleep before the romantic relationship can be fully consummated).
But something should be noted about this scene. It occurs after the
Ark is safely in Indy’s possession. It is only now that Indy’s
material desires have been satiated that he is fully capable of
considering and appreciating the great immaterial value of his
relationship with Marion.</span></span></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Yet
when Belloq and the Nazis reappear in the following sequence, taking
both the Ark <i>and </i>Marion, the question is now which Indy values more.
Indy’s character <i>seems </i>to have arced when, ambushing the Ark’
procession with a rocket launcher, he offers to let Belloq keep the
Ark if he releases Marion. Yet when Belloq calls Indy’s bluff, Indy
cannot bring himself to destroy the Ark. This indicates that Indy
still personally holds the material value of the Ark to be of at
least equal importance to the value of his relationship with Marion.</span></span></span></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;">As for the movie’s climax,
thematically, it is a bit confused, arguably constituting the movie’s
biggest flaw. Indy survives the climactic event by closing his eyes
as Belloq opens the Ark. This suggests that Indy now understand that
the Ark is more than silver and gold, but something of power and
value beyond our petty materialistic understanding. Unfortunately,
the narrative has given no previous events to explain how or why Indy
came to this realization. There is thus a hole in Indy’s completed
Character Arc – possibly the reason why some (falsely) assert that
his character does not arc.</span></span></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;">Yet of course, this is untrue.
Indy’s Character Arc is subtle, and would be practically
unobservable without the story’s two relational arcs, explaining
their importance to the narrative and its expression of theme. We see
some of this subtle change in character in Indy’s final scene. Indy
again loses the Ark, this time to the US Agents. Yet his vocal
complaint is, “They don’t know what they have there,” meaning
that Indy now realizes the Ark is more than a material treasure, and
its immaterial value should be recognized and appreciated.
Nevertheless, he gives up to have a drink with Marion, suggesting
that he will go on in life with a renewed appreciation for things and
relationship beyond the material.</span></span></p>
SCRIPTMONK!!!http://www.blogger.com/profile/13911675482380489540noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3389409360415735927.post-19179713746237025432022-09-11T14:16:00.003-07:002022-09-19T11:15:23.123-07:00Finally Understanding "Subplots" (and what they're NOT) -- Part 1: Intro & "Relational Arcs"<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span> Subplots. We all
have a general idea of what they are. There are one or more in
practically every movie. Yet despite this, the “subplot” remains
one of the most overlooked, and therefore least well-understood
elements of feature film screencraft. Many of the “how-to”
screenwriting texts do not even mention subplots; and, if they do, it
is often only in passing, as if noting that the main course also
comes with salad and a potato. I myself am guilty of this.
<i>Screenwriting Down to the Atoms</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
contains no information on subplots to focus entirely on the main
Story Spine</span>.
</span></p><span>
</span><p style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p><span>
</span><p style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span>As such, it is high
time we took a close look at these things we call “subplots.” If
any advice is to be given on just how or why such material should be
included, we must investigate just what “subplots” are, how they
work, and most importantly what they DO – that is, what a
feature-length cinematic story gains from including this “extra”
material.</span></p><p style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoSoSeCu5HXheAJNhE2Z3tNNDIaecPPUTDcLAMqo5QY5oA5HIeCmI-HbH8nswWnA4ord_QV1c580SnYWPcISpskwgSTCEUEWTpO-bwSz8PrlrjjZxkeT10eg10mwaA2j3cUpqPJJ_dJrF4_ch_OmH1NpPjFxZrhSJDbJiaTRmzy7WQ1KfIfGHuhltw/s529/plotandsubplot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="197" data-original-width="529" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoSoSeCu5HXheAJNhE2Z3tNNDIaecPPUTDcLAMqo5QY5oA5HIeCmI-HbH8nswWnA4ord_QV1c580SnYWPcISpskwgSTCEUEWTpO-bwSz8PrlrjjZxkeT10eg10mwaA2j3cUpqPJJ_dJrF4_ch_OmH1NpPjFxZrhSJDbJiaTRmzy7WQ1KfIfGHuhltw/w400-h149/plotandsubplot.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">IT'S <u>NOT</u> THIS!<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> Our difficulties
understanding the cinematic subplot begin in the same place as
practically ever other attempt at definition: with language. The
truth is, “subplot” is an inadequate and misleading term. If I
grab my Webster’s New World Dictionary, I find the prefix “sub-”
denotes something which is: 1. under [<i>submarine</i>] 2. lower
than; inferior to [<i>subheading</i>] 3. to a lesser degree than
[<i>subhuman</i><span style="font-style: normal;">]. As such, the term
“subplot” suggests a course of plot events which is located
underneath, inferior to, or of lesser quality or substance than a
story’s central plotline. However, a close look at the form,
content, and structure of cinematic subplots, and how they relate to
the main plotline, will show that these descriptors are inaccurate
(unless you’re a bad writer).</span></span></p><span>
</span><p style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p><span>
</span><p style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span><span style="font-style: normal;">Some
prefer the term “B-story,” but this term is inappropriate as
well. The “B-story” comes from the world of television writing, a
concept which springs from some basic differences between writing for
film and episodic television. Whereas feature films; as long-form,
self-contained, ‘one-and-done’ pieces of entertainment; typically
succeed by constructing an engaging, highly dramatic </span><i>plot</i><span style="font-style: normal;">,
a television series achieves success over hundreds of short-form
episodes through its </span><i>characters</i><span style="font-style: normal;">.
As such, a typical television series features a large ensemble cast
of characters involved in relatively simple plots in each episode. To
make good use of all these characters, and to “fill out” each
episode of simple plots, the cast is usually split up into two (or
three) separate storylines. While one group of characters is involved
in the “A-story” (usually the more substantial or dramatic
narrative), another group is concurrently engaged in a separate, and
often completely-unrelated “B-story” (usually lighter, less
substantial fare). While also found in dramatic television, the
A-story/B-story formula has been the mainstay of sitcoms for
generations. For example, in any episode of </span><i>Seinfeld</i><span style="font-style: normal;">,
if the A-story focuses on Jerry and George, the episode will
alternate back and forth between this story and a B-story featuring
Elaine or Kramer (or both) up to their own hijinx. Though the
</span><i>Seinfeld</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> writers
always had a knack for providing some ironic twist to bring these
stories together at the episode’s conclusion, this is in fact
unnecessary and the two lines usually resolve independently. Why do
sitcoms (as well as animated series like </span><i>The Simpsons,
Family Guy </i><span style="font-style: normal;">or </span><i>Bob’s
Burgers</i><span style="font-style: normal;">) rely so heavily on the
A-story/B-story format? To be frank, it is difficult to come up with
a story idea filled with enough laughs to last an entire episode. So,
the writers’ room takes an idea pitched by Writer A, combines it
with an idea pitched by Writer B, and </span><i>viola! </i><span style="font-style: normal;">we
have an episode.</span></span></p><span>
</span><p style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p><span>
</span><p style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span>The
point of this digression is to show that, due to the various
differences between episodic television and feature films, the
A-story/B-story format is practically never found in the cinema.
Therefore, to refer to cinematic subplots as “B-stories” is
misleading and inappropriate.</span></p><span>
</span><p style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p><span>
</span><p style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span><span style="font-style: normal;">Yet
the difficulties surrounding the definition of the cinematic subplot
turn out to be far more profound than a simple argument over
terminology. As I began to analyze films with an eye for subplots and
how they function, I quickly found the real source of confusion: all
the various narrative phenomena we typically generalize under the
term “subplot” are in fact FOUR </span><i>distinct varieties of
intra-narrative structure</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> which
differ substantially in terms of their form, structure, dramatic
function, and relation to the central plotline. Thus, any reference
to a “subplot” may in fact refer to any one of several structures
of story discourse, all operating in different manners for different
purposes. Calling all these structures by the same name is not unlike
if we found a mule, a zebra, a moose, and an antelope, and called
them all “Horses.” Therefore, if we are to make any headway in
the “subplot” question, we must identify and define the functions
of these four intra-narrative structures independently.</span></span></p><span>
</span><p style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p><span>
</span><p style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span><span style="font-style: normal;">Now,
traditional (and less knowledgeable) efforts to classify subplots
usually base their classifications on content and tone: the
“romantic” subplot, the “parent-child relationship” subplot,
the “comedic” subplot... Yet as any student of screencraft should
know, content and tone are of secondary concern when it comes to
understanding the way cinematic narratives function. The key to
screencraft is an understandi</span><span style="font-style: normal;">ng
of narrative form and structure. Therefore, in this and my following
articles, we will examine and differentiate the four commonly-seen
elements of story discourse we lump together as “subplots” in
terms of structure: both their internal structure and their
structural relationship to the central storyline.</span></span></p><span>
</span><p style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p><span>
</span><p style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span><br /></span>
</p><span>
</span><p style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>1.
“Subplot” as an Unfolding of Relationships</b></span></span></p><span>
</span><p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span><br /></span>
</p><span>
</span><p style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Let’s
start simple. In his </span></span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">Go
Into the Story </span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">blog,
Scott Myers declares:</span></span></span></span></p><span>
</span><p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span>
“<span style="font-size: small;">Subplot = Relationship”</span></span></p><span>
</span><p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span><span style="font-size: small;">Like most pithy maxims on screencraft, this statement
glosses over a lot of details. However, it gives us a good
jumping-off point.</span></span></p><span>
</span><p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p><span>
</span><p style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Scott
Myers’ blog is a reliable source of information. </span></span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">Less</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">
reliable blogs on screencraft, however, give some inaccurate
information on subplots. They make claims such as “the subplot does
not directly involve the main character,” “subplots are separate
courses of action from the main narrative,” or </span></span><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">“subplots
start independently from your main story plot and then eventually
intersect the main plot.” As the first variety of “subplot” we
shall examine shows, these claims don’t exactly hold up to the
actual material seen on movie screens.</span></span></span></span></p><span>
</span><p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p><span>
</span><p style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Our
first variety is the most basic and common form of “subplot”
(again, a misleading and inexact term which we shall replace) found
in popular movies. To illustrate, we shall use a film with a fairly
simple and straight-forward narrative: </span></span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">Raiders
of the Lost Ark. </span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">As
</span></span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">Raiders</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">
(as well as the other films used for illustration in subsequent
articles) will show, such “subplots” are not something separate
from the main narrative, not sidelines of action, not some additional
material tacked on to flesh out the movie; but the </span></span><b><i>unfolding
of relationships</i></b><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">
between characters or other story components which </span></i><b><i>are
already vital to</i></b><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">
the course of the main narrative.</span></i></span></span></p><span>
</span><p style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p><span>
</span><p style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">To
illustrate, here is the central plotline of </span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">Raiders
of the Lost Ark</span></i><span style="font-weight: normal;">
in a nutshell: Indiana Jones learns that the Nazis have discovered
the location of the Ark of the Covenant; Indy gathers resources for a
mission to get the Ark first; Indy finds the Ark; the Ark is stolen
away by the Nazis; Indy chases down the Ark to get it back (twice).
Within this course of action, there are two additional narrative arcs
(“arc” meaning narrative circumstances which change or progress
over time): Indy’s rivalry with Belloq, and Indy’s personal
relationship with Marion. We may identify these arcs as “subplots”
by the fact that the film dedicates a certain number of scenes
(although not many) exclusively to developing these arcs; scenes
which otherwise do little to advance the main plot.</span></span></span></p><p style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSPpoJciWhU8LJjwXMqkcLcQrSyy7fjzW0rMPF4zQcLDaFKuI6Y9S_zcONGQBnBTuGc1C1x_K3SDIKPfZtAIvHiduEpev13w5lznOajtF50wTVO-JqJXLC4w4HW-EQCmKvVdJx_3HDI6j1tEt-Iwhdg9r-C2qWM4Js6egWV36vX2D5xhIXNig1xf5b/s600/paul-freeman-belloq.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="315" data-original-width="600" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSPpoJciWhU8LJjwXMqkcLcQrSyy7fjzW0rMPF4zQcLDaFKuI6Y9S_zcONGQBnBTuGc1C1x_K3SDIKPfZtAIvHiduEpev13w5lznOajtF50wTVO-JqJXLC4w4HW-EQCmKvVdJx_3HDI6j1tEt-Iwhdg9r-C2qWM4Js6egWV36vX2D5xhIXNig1xf5b/w400-h210/paul-freeman-belloq.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></span></span></div><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></span></span><p></p><span>
</span><p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p><span>
</span><p style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">But
wait, Indy’s rivalry with Belloq, as well as his relationship with
Marion, are not separate from the central plotline nor tacked on in
addition to it. Belloq and Marion do not exist outside of the central
story conflict, popping up out of the blue to take Indy down dramatic
side-alleys unrelated to his pursuit of the Ark. Instead, both
characters serve vital functional roles in the central plotline,
making their relationships to Indy part-and-parcel of that plot’s
overall development. Belloq is not merely Indy’s rival, he is the
story’s Antagonist. Belloq directly opposes Indy’s pursuit of the
Ark, desiring it for himself, locking the two characters in a unity
of opposites which defines the story’s central conflict. Likewise,
Marion is not simply Indy’s “love interest.” She serves the
central plot by performing two vital character roles: first, as the
Donor character (she provides Indy with an item without which he
cannot perform his mission) and then as the Close Comrade (the
“sidekick” who provides necessary support). Both characters are
essential to the central plotline of </span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">Raiders</span></i><span style="font-weight: normal;">.
The story could not function the same without them. Once we realize
this fact, it becomes clear that the time </span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">Raiders
</span></i><span style="font-weight: normal;">spends
exploring Indy’s rivalry with Belloq, as well the love-hate between
Indy and Marion, are not sidelines of unrelated action, but the
</span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">unfolding</span></i><span style="font-weight: normal;">
of relationships already integral to the plot.</span></span></span></p><span>
</span><p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p><span>
</span><p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span><span style="font-size: small;">Now, what do I mean by
“unfolding”? To back up a bit, the common wisdom about subplots
states that subplots “dimensionalize” a story and add “depth.”
But what does this actually mean?</span></span></p><span>
</span><p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p><span>
</span><p style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">The
three dimensions of storytelling are Plot, Character, and Theme.
Greater “depth” is achieved whenever the storyteller provides
more content, information, or detail for each dimension. Now, it is
up to the storyteller to decide </span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">what</span></i><span style="font-weight: normal;">
material to add to each dimension and </span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">how
much</span></i><span style="font-weight: normal;">
to provide. </span></span></span>
</p><span>
</span><p style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p><span>
</span><p style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">To
provide a bit of narrative theory, at the turn of the 20</span><sup><span style="font-weight: normal;">th</span></sup><span style="font-weight: normal;">
century, the Russian Formalists asserted there to be two components
of storytelling: the </span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">fabula
</span></i><span style="font-weight: normal;">and
the </span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">syuzhet.
</span></i><span style="font-weight: normal;">To
oversimplify a great deal, the </span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">fabula</span></i><span style="font-weight: normal;">
is the “macro-story.” It includes </span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">all
possible </span></i><span style="font-weight: normal;">actions
and events which occur within the story’s timeframe; as well as
</span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">every</span></i><span style="font-weight: normal;">
action, event, personal experience, or piece of information from the
past, present, or future which may be relevant to the characters and
their story situations. And by everything, I mean EVERYTHING. For an
easy example, let’s use the recent Elvis Presley biopic </span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">Elvis.</span></i><span style="font-weight: normal;">
The </span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">fabula</span></i><span style="font-weight: normal;">
for </span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">Elvis</span></i><span style="font-weight: normal;">
potentially includes every single moment of Elvis Presley’s life,
from birth to death. Not only this, but the </span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">fabula</span></i><span style="font-weight: normal;">
would also include all significant events from the lives the the
supporting characters, as well as all important social and historical
information relevant to the events of Elvis’ life. (For example,
Elvis is signed by Sun Records. Thus, the </span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">fabula</span></i><span style="font-weight: normal;">
includes the recent history of Sun in the record industry.)</span></span></span></p><span>
</span><p style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p><span>
</span><p style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">Elvis</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">,
of course, presents the audience with only a small selection of this
</span></span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">fabula</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">
information. This is because what we experience when watching the
film is not the </span></span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">fabula</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">,
but the </span></span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">syuzhet.</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">
The </span></span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">syuzhet
</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">is
the composition of events, actions, and information the storyteller
</span></span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">chooses</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">
to relate from the </span></span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">fabula</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">,
along with all choices concerning how and when this information is
communicatef. The </span></span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">syuzhet</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">
is the story AS IT IS PRESENTED, moment-to-moment, to its audience.
(You may sometimes hear this referred to as the difference between
</span></span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">story</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">
and </span></span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">discourse,
</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">but
the story/discourse dynamic is not exactly the same thing as
</span></span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">fabula/syuzhet</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">.)</span></span></span></span></p><span>
</span><p style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p><span>
</span><p style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">From
this distinction, it goes without saying that a story’s </span></span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">syuzhet</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">
will present only a tiny fraction of its total </span></span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">fabula.
</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Everything
else is omitted from the discourse; either because the storyteller
considers the information unimportant, intentionally hides
information for the sake of mystery, or never bothered to formulate
such details in the first place. (This last possibility is
unavoidable. No storyteller could dream up ALL possible </span></span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">fabula</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">
information. Yet every possible detail of a </span></span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">fabula</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">
still has the hypothetical </span></span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">potential
</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">to
exist should the storyteller put forth the effort.)</span></span></span></span></p><span>
</span><p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p><span>
</span><p style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Yet
just because the storyteller omits </span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">fabula</span></i><span style="font-weight: normal;">
material, this does not mean the material has ceased to exist. Its
presence remains, only </span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">flattened</span></i><span style="font-weight: normal;">
behind the physical events presented on screen or </span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">crushed</span></i><span style="font-weight: normal;">
in the edit from one scene to the next as the discourse skips over a
period of time. (In literary studies, these omitted periods of time
are called “ellipses”). Such hidden material is still available
should the storyteller wish to expand or further explicate the
story’s discourse. </span></span></span>
</p><span>
</span><p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p><span>
</span><p style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Now,
to return to </span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">Raiders
of the Lost Ark, Raiders’</span></i><span style="font-weight: normal;">
storytellers could have constructed a </span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">syuzhet</span></i><span style="font-weight: normal;">
solely from those events and actions necessary to present Indy’s
pursuit, location, loss, and reclamation to the Ark in a coherent
manner. This would have resulted in a serviceable narrative, one
still involving Indy, Belloq, and Marion in their functional roles.
Yet the story would probably be found less enjoyable. Audiences might
complain that the story was too “flat,” meaning the </span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">syuzhet</span></i><span style="font-weight: normal;">
did not provide enough “depth” in the dimensions of Plot,
Character, or Theme. In other words, this </span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">syuzhet</span></i><span style="font-weight: normal;">
would be found too skeletal. To give its audience a fuller
experience, the </span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">syuzhet</span></i><span style="font-weight: normal;">
needs more meat put onto its bones. How does a storyteller do such a
thing? Not by tacking on new, unrelated material, but by </span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">unfolding</span></i><span style="font-weight: normal;">
some of the existing </span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">fabula</span></i><span style="font-weight: normal;">
material which, until now, has been flattened behind the </span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">syuzhet’s</span></i><span style="font-weight: normal;">
limited discourse.</span></span></span></p><span>
</span><p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p><span>
</span><p style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">In
our hypothetical example of a skeletal </span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">Raiders,</span></i><span style="font-weight: normal;">
the </span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">syuzhet</span></i><span style="font-weight: normal;">
is missing a lot of depth along the dimension of character. This is
corrected by simply identifying some of the </span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">existing</span></i><span style="font-weight: normal;">
character relationships already present within the </span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">syuzhet</span></i><span style="font-weight: normal;">
(Indy already has a relationship with Belloq as his Antagonist and
Marion as his Donor and Close Comrade) and “unfolding” some of
the </span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">fabula</span></i><span style="font-weight: normal;">
information currently “flattened” behind the characters’
bare-bones interactions. A storyteller discovers this information,
simply enough, by asking questions about the relationships. </span></span></span>
</p><span>
</span><p style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p><span>
</span><p style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">Why</span></i><span style="font-weight: normal;">
does Indy resent Belloq so much? What is their history? What are the
differences in their ethics, morals, and motivations, that might
affect their personal interactions? By pondering this overlooked
</span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">fabula</span></i><span style="font-weight: normal;">
information and adding it to the </span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">syuzhet,
</span></i><span style="font-weight: normal;">
the simple protagonist/antagonist relationship not only gains greater
dimension, but is humanized and the conflict is made personal for
each character.</span></span></span></p><p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA8N9GYD3mxDqv6AE-5FQZ1g6fVWOJDqtP1W-aBc4y6v4qI8_GW0WcGIPVSHPZ_faUki60sLnNB3NALBrJUmIzodFX4QnLVneUxujfv7NpneyzLzEmr8Ex6tgewmJ-DL-4O9RffxC4uPVrG_JlXdKTuQHYuBU83QP_D_bzh62ObeHmTy7Socntsa3x/s382/indy%20marion.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="251" data-original-width="382" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA8N9GYD3mxDqv6AE-5FQZ1g6fVWOJDqtP1W-aBc4y6v4qI8_GW0WcGIPVSHPZ_faUki60sLnNB3NALBrJUmIzodFX4QnLVneUxujfv7NpneyzLzEmr8Ex6tgewmJ-DL-4O9RffxC4uPVrG_JlXdKTuQHYuBU83QP_D_bzh62ObeHmTy7Socntsa3x/w400-h263/indy%20marion.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></span></span></div><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /> </span>Likewise, Indy’s relationship to
the Donor/Close Comrade character Marion may be unfolded by asking
questions like: What is their history? What do they think of/feel
about each other? Why do they care enough about each other to support
each other in this adventure? If they do care about each other, why
are they often at odds? By asking these questions, the storyteller
transforms a purely functional <i>plot</i> relationship into a
meaningful, humanistic <i>character</i> relationship.</span></span><p></p><span>
</span><p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p><span>
</span><p style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Now
that these relationships have been unfolded and added to the </span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">syuzhet</span></i><span style="font-weight: normal;">,
they are as much a part of the story action as the pursuit of the Ark
itself. As a result, the character relationships can be affected by
the plot’s events. In other words, the events of the “main plot”
cause developments to occur within the character relationships. Thus,
the relationships </span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">arc</span></i><span style="font-weight: normal;">
over the course of the narrative. At long last, we may finally give a
better and more accurate name for this variety of “subplot.” I
suggest </span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">relational
arcs.</span></i></span></span></p><span>
</span><p style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p><span>
</span><p style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">This
influence is no one-way street, of course. Changes in the relational
arcs will also affect the course of central plotline events, BECAUSE,
as previously stated, both characters in the arc </span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">also
serve crucial functions in the main plotline. </span></i><span style="font-weight: normal;">This
explains the paradox which always seems to surround discussions on
“subplots”; how they are “separate from” yet simultaneously
“connected with” the central plotline.</span></span></span></p><span>
</span><p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p><span>
</span><p style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Note,
however, that it remains up to the storyteller to decide which
relationships to unfold and which to leave flat. In </span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">Raiders,</span></i><span style="font-weight: normal;">
for instance, the relationship between Indy and Sallah is left fairly
flat. So is Belloq’s relationship with the Nazi commander. As are
all of Indy’s other relationships. Why did the storytellers choose
to expand the Indy/Marion and Indy/Belloq relationships but not any
of the others? This was probably because these two relational arcs
also do a great deal to dimensionalize the story’s THEME.</span></span></span></p><span>
</span><p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span><br /></span>
</p><span>
</span><p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span><span style="font-size: small;">We will discuss relational arcs
and theme in the next article.</span></span></p><span>
</span>SCRIPTMONK!!!http://www.blogger.com/profile/13911675482380489540noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3389409360415735927.post-53072864288277902702021-10-19T12:09:00.001-07:002021-10-19T12:09:50.823-07:00Clearing up this whole "Want vs. Need" Jive<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> 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.</p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">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.”</p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">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.</p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">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, <i>something</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
happens (we don’t know exactly what) to cause a shift from “want”
to “need,” at </span><i>some point</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
in the narrative (we don’t </span> know exactly when), for <i>some
reason</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> (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.</span></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">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.</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-style: normal;">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
</span><i>wants</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> it to mean, with
absolutely no consistency, rendering it useless as a theoretical
concept.</span></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Compare
this, instead, to the “Story Spine” model I introduce in
</span><i>Screenwriting Down to the Atoms: Digging Deeper into the
Craft of Cinematic Storytelling</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
(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.</span></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-style: normal;">But
then there’s that 10%. That nagging 10% or so of popular feature
films in which the protagonist </span><i>does</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
alter their objective goal at some late point in the narrative. Films
like </span><i>Rain Man</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> (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 </span><i>Shrek</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> (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 </span><i>Toy Story </i><span style="font-style: normal;">(1995),
</span><i>As Good as it Gets </i><span style="font-style: normal;">(1997),
</span><i>Rushmore</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> (1998) or
</span><i>American Beauty</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
(1999).</span></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-style: normal;">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 </span><i>believes
</i><span style="font-style: normal;">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.</span></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">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.</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-style: normal;">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 </span><i>physical
</i><span style="font-style: normal;">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 </span><i>interior</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
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
</span><i>Screenwriting Down to the Atoms</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
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 </span><i>Character Arc</i><span style="font-style: normal;">,
as it can only be obtained once the Fatal Flaw has been overcome.</span></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-style: normal;">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 </span><i>complimentary</i><span style="font-style: normal;">.
By complimentary, I mean that circumstances develop in such a way
that one of the two objectives can be reached only when the
protagonist </span><i>first accomplishes </i><span style="font-style: normal;">the
other. In other words, the two objectives are a package deal.
Achieving one victory opens the door to the other.</span></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-style: normal;">In
many stories, the Internal Need can only be obtained </span><i>as a
result of</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> the protagonist first
achieving the Story Goal. For example, in </span><i>Rocky </i><span style="font-style: normal;">(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 </span><i>Finding Nemo </i><span style="font-style: normal;">(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).</span></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-style: normal;">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 </span><i>The Matrix</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
(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 </span><i>The Godfather</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
(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).</span></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-style: normal;">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. </span>
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-style: normal;">It
is only in narratives where the Internal Need and Story Goal </span><i>do
</i><span style="font-style: normal;">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 </span><i>Rain Man </i><span style="font-style: normal;">or
</span><i>Shrek,</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> the Spine’s
initial Story Goal and the Character Arc’s Internal Need are not
complimentary, but </span><i>contradictory. </i>
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-style: normal;">In
</span><i>Rain Man,</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> 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 </span><i>and</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
build an emotionally-meaningful relationship with him. Charlie must
ultimately make a choice between the contradictory objectives.
Likewise, in </span><i>Shrek,</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
Shrek begins the story </span><i>thinking</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
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.</span></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">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.</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-style: normal;">And
there is in fact a </span><i>structure</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
to this alternative story path, something which the “want vs. need”
crowd has never clearly articulated. In my book </span><i>Screenwriting
& The Unified Theory of Narrative, Part I, </i><span style="font-style: normal;">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
</span><i>complimentary, </i><span style="font-style: normal;">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.</span></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-style: normal;">In
stories where the Story Goal and Internal Need </span><i>contradict</i><span style="font-style: normal;">,
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 </span><i>Rain
Man, </i><span style="font-style: normal;">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 </span><i>Shrek</i><span style="font-style: normal;">,
Shrek realizes he has grown romantic feelings toward Fiona, and thus
now experiences conflicting emotions about his quest.</span></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-style: normal;">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
</span><i>Rain Man </i><span style="font-style: normal;">and </span><i>Shrek,</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
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.</span></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-style: normal;">(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 </span><i>over</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
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.)</span></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-style: normal;">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 </span><i>how</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
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. </span>
</p>
SCRIPTMONK!!!http://www.blogger.com/profile/13911675482380489540noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3389409360415735927.post-24213860648176680862020-05-30T15:26:00.000-07:002020-05-30T15:43:04.024-07:00Scriptmonk's Plot Pattern Extravaganza -- ALL Y'ALL FAVORITES! (Part 5)<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://images4-g.ravelrycache.com/uploads/HiSheepOk/632886864/Woody-Entero-01-B_medium2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://images4-g.ravelrycache.com/uploads/HiSheepOk/632886864/Woody-Entero-01-B_medium2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I dunno. I searched for "story patterns" in Google Images, and this is what it gave me.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Who wants to see
even more examples of the 34 Common Plot Patterns in action? Well, I
got 38 more movies to throw on the pile. [What are plot patterns, you
ask? <a href="https://creativescreenwriting.com/patterns/" target="_blank"><u>Read this article</u></a> if this is your first time hearing
about this concept.]
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Really, at this
point, I’m just amassing mountains of evidence for anyone who still
is not convinced of the plot pattern phenomena. Plot patterns are no
mere isolated occurrences. And my theory is not the result of simply
finding a handful of movies which happen to share the same structural
design. The presence of the 34 common plot patterns is utterly
pervasive in Hollywood and American Independent cinema. Nearly every
narratively-successful American film of traditional three-act form
produced over the last forty years (and even beyond) follows one or a
combination of the thirty-four patterns I have outlined on this blog
and in my book <i>Screenwriting & The Unified Theory of
Narrative, Part II. </i>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Of
course, this is not entirely uniform. Some films follow the patterns
more closely than others. (That is, some are “prototypical” and
others “non-prototypical.”) However, I have observed that the
less a film adheres to a designated pattern, the less success it
tends to have with its viewing audience. And, as I have mentioned
before, Hollywood dumps out a lot of stinkers that contain no pattern
or a confused mish-mash of their constituent elements. These are
typically the exceptions which prove the rule, as such patternless
films usually do quite poorly with audiences (hence the qualifier
“narratively-successful” used in my earlier statement). [Also, I
must note that “narrative success” is never necessarily related
to commercial success. Anyone can be duped into buying a ticket for a
bad movie, and thus box office income is a completely different
metric. By narrative success, I refer to the viewers’ qualitative
opinion of the story; whether it is “good” or “bad.”]
Additionally, the few narratively-successful films with stories I
have not been able to categorize tend to bear striking structural
resemblances </span><i>to each other</i><span style="font-style: normal;">,
suggesting that they too follow a plot pattern. Yet this potential
pattern is one I have not yet been able to identify due to its rarity
and current lack of enough examples to confirm the new pattern’s
structure. Hopefully, I will be able to announce the discovery of
these patterns soon.</span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">I
am not going to go into detail with this list of films as I did with
the previous four installments of this article series (because,
frankly, it’s pretty exhausting). I have already discussed half of
these patterns in recent articles, anyway. Instead, I will simply
provide the titles, their patterns, and notes where needed. Please
refer back to </span><a href="https://uncelebrity.blogspot.com/2020/03/the-34-common-plot-patterns-of.html" target="_blank"><span style="font-style: normal;"><u>this previous article</u></span></a><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
and </span></span><a href="https://uncelebrity.blogspot.com/2020/04/the-34-common-plot-patterns-of.html" target="_blank"><span style="font-style: normal;"><u>its follow-up here</u></span></a><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
for brief descriptions of the 34 patterns with examples. (Otherwise,
this list is just a bunch of names and numbers.) Hopefully, if you
are familiar with the titles below, the pattern’s description and
its prototypical examples will be all you need to see how the
particular movie fits into the mold. Also, refer to </span></span><a href="https://uncelebrity.blogspot.com/2020/04/the-34-common-plot-patterns-of-american.html" target="_blank"><span style="font-style: normal;"><u>this additional section</u></span></a><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
for information on hybrids, combo patterns, and dual-protagonist
narratives. </span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<i>The Addams Family</i> (1991) — Dual-protagonist narrative:
<br />
<i>Addams Family </i><span style="font-style: normal;">grants
separate protagonist status to </span><i>two</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
characters: Fester and Gomez. As such, each protagonist follows their
own pattern.</span><i> </i>Fester’s line is a 3b: Crisis of
Conscience. (Fester is initially an impostor used by the story’s
villains to con the family. He then has a reversal of loyalties and
turns on the villains.) Gomez’s line is a 7a: The Infecting Being.
(Gomez does not suspect any threat from these villains until it is
too late.) Since these two patterns are intertwined into a singular
narrative (and done quite skillfully, I might add), neither is wholly
prototypical as each pattern must accommodate for the essential
dramatic events of its opposite.</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<i>Air Force One</i> (1997) — Combo pattern <br />
<i>Air Force One
</i><span style="font-style: normal;">f</span>ollows the structure of
12: The Vengeance Narrative for Acts 1, 2A & 2B. (In terms of the
shape and function of its major plot events, that is. <i>Air Force
One </i><span style="font-style: normal;">shows that the structure of
the “Vengeance Narrative” can be adapted to stories that are not
essentially about revenge.)</span> After the (premature) death of the
antagonist at the end of Act 2B, the film transitions to 8b: There &
Back Again for its final act (the pattern’s trademark Act 3 escape
and return home).</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<i>Aladdin</i> (1992) — 2b: Breakaway Hero, but also contains some
hybrid elements from 2a: The Summoned Hero.</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<i>Beverly Hills Cop</i> (1984) — 9b: Voluntary Snowball of
Complications</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<i>City Slickers</i> (1991) — 1a: Reluctant Hero<br />
The protagonist
transitions from a passive-reactive character to one who proactively
takes charge of the story situation after the Midpoint. This is the
clearest identifier of a Reluctant Hero.</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<i>Cloverfield</i> (2008) — A hybrid Snowball of Complications,
combining structural elements from both the Voluntary and Involuntary
varieties. <br />
<i>Cloverfield </i><span style="font-style: normal;">demonstrates
qualities of the Voluntary Snowball in that the lead character
voluntarily chooses to continually advance into more dangerous
territory out of the desire to rescue his trapped ex-girlfriend when
he could simply escape the chaos to safety. The shape of the plot,
however, conforms to the structure of the Involuntary Snowball in
that this complication involving the ex-girlfriend character is
established at the End of Act 1 and resolved at the End of Act 2B.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<i>Contact</i> (1997) — 10b: Overreacher<br />
As one of the “Rise &
Fall” plot patterns, Overreachers typically end with their flawed
protagonists receiving an ultimate comeuppance for their overweening
ambition. The protagonist suffers a downfall at the Midpoint,
receives a second chance in Act 2B, but falls back onto their flawed
old habits to meet defeat once again in Act 3. <i>Contact</i><span style="font-style: normal;">,
however, demonstrates that this need not always be the case. The
Overreacher may conclude with a Celebratory resolution if the
protagonist learns from his or her past mistakes and makes good on
the second chance to succeed in the end.</span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<i>The Curious Case of Benjamin Button</i> (2008) — None. <br />
Trick
question. Like <i>Forrest Gump,</i> <i>Benjamin Button</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
is not a traditional three-act Spine & Character Arc narrative.
It instead employs an alternative narrative structure I have named
the God Narrative. </span><a href="https://uncelebrity.blogspot.com/2015/01/james-bond-and-god-narrative.html" target="_blank"><span style="font-style: normal;"><u>Click here for an article describing the God Narrative.</u></span></a><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
In fact, the structural resemblances between </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Button</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
and </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Gump</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
are uncanny.</span></span><span style="font-style: normal;"> </span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<i>Despicable Me </i>(2010) — 5c: Exploiter<br />
A rare <i>Celebratory</i>
Exploiter. (See the entries on <i>Nightcrawler</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
and </span><i>The Big Short</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> in
</span><a href="https://uncelebrity.blogspot.com/2017/03/scriptmonks-big-huge-not-so-huge-plot.html" target="_blank"><span style="font-style: normal;"><u>this previous article</u></span></a><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
for information on the Exploiter.) Like the Overreacher, the
Exploiter also features ambitious, and often highly unscrupulous,
protagonists who typically meet sad or ignoble ends. Yet in
</span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Despicable Me</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">,
the protagonist Gru undergoes a complete reversal in his Character
Arc, turning him from a heartless exploiter to a sympathetic
caretaker, allowing the story its up-ending. Of course, </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Despicable
</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">is
a work of pure fantasy. A complete character reversal of this type
might be implausible or even impossible for more realistic
narratives.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<i>E.T.</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> (1982) — 15a: The
Tragic Alliance<br />Most Tragic Alliances are romance narratives, but
</span><i>E.T.</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> shows that a
prototypical Tragic Alliance works just as well for stories about
other close personal relationships.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<i>First Blood</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> (1982) — 6a:
The Destructive Beast<br />John Rambo is more aggressive than the usual
Destructive Beast protagonist (these protagonists are typically
victims of persecution who must continually run & escape, run &
escape). Yet the circumstances of the story conflict in </span><i>First
Blood</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> are the same as those
found in </span><i>The Incredible Hulk</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
(2008, another Destructive Beast). The protagonist wouldn’t cause
any trouble if the antagonists would simply leave him alone. But no,
they got to keep poking the bear, at the same points of attack found
in any Destructive Beast, until Rambo is left with no choice but to
turn the tables in Act 3 to force his antagonizers to back down.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<i>The Fugitive</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> (1993) — 1a:
The Reluctant Hero<br />The presence of the Tommy Lee Jones character
made me initially believe this film to be a 16a: Moral Mirrors, but
the structure does not fit. </span><i>Fugitive </i><span style="font-style: normal;">in
fact closely follows the structure of the Reluctant Hero: By poor
luck or fate the protagonist is swept up into a dramatic situation
outside of his control (Dr. Kimble is falsely convicted of the murder
of his wife; the prison transport then crashes through no action of
Kimble’s). Though partially committed to the situation, the
protagonist initially responds to events in a passive or reactive
manner (Kimble does little more than run away to avoid capture
throughout Act 2A). At the Midpoint, the protagonist transitions from
passive/reactive to proactive in an effort to seize control of the
situation in Act 2B (Kimble goes from simply running to actively
seeking the real killer so he may clear his name). Act 3 then
presents the ultimate test of this transition (Kimble attempts to
apprehend the killer, even though the authorities are right on his
heels).</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<i>Gran Torino</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> (2008) — Hybrid
Taking on the Mantle, combining structural elements from 3a: Crisis
of Character and 3b: Crisis of Conscience.<br />As a socially-isolated
misanthrope, the story forces Clint Eastwood’s protagonist to open
up to meaningful interpersonal relationships in the manner of a
Crisis of Character. In the process, he is compelled by these new
friends to take heroic action in the style of a Crisis of Conscience.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<i>Gremlins</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> (1984) — 7a: The
Infecting Being<br />Following the footsteps of the original </span><i>Alien</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
(1979), </span><i>Gremlins</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> is
about as prototypical (and literal) as an Infecting Being narrative
can get. </span><a href="https://uncelebrity.blogspot.com/2020/05/scriptmonks-plot-pattern-extravaganza.html" target="_blank"><span style="font-style: normal;"><u>Read the description</u></span></a><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
and you will see what I mean.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<i>Groundhog Day</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> (1993) — 1a:
The Reluctant Hero<br />Same drill as before: The protagonist is
unwillingly swept up into a dramatic predicament outside of his
control. The protagonist at first responds to situations in a passive
or reactive manner. At the Midpoint, the protagonist transitions to
proactivity in order to seize control of his destiny. Act 3 contains
the ultimate test of this transition.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<i>Ice Age</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> (2002) — Primarily
8a: The Quest; however, the Diego character’s subplot follows 3b:
Crisis of Conscience.<br />It’s a kids’ film. Not really anything
worth examining too deeply. Nice to see another good example of the
Quest, though. The Quest is not found very often, but the few popular
prototypes are all excellent films (</span><i>The Lord of the Rings:
The Fellowship of the Ring, Saving Private Ryan, Children of Men</i><span style="font-style: normal;">).</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<i>The Incredibles</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> (2004) —
2c: Returning Hero<br />This one is pretty obvious. </span><i>The
Incredibles</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> literally tells the
story of a HERO who returns to action, with a structure that sticks
close to the established pattern.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<i>Interview with the Vampire</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
(1994) — 2b: Breakaway Hero<br />Like all Breakaway Heroes, </span><i>Vampire</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
is the story of a character who breaks away from his
master/benefactor to achieve an independent identity, only to have
that master/benefactor return late in the story to threaten the hero
with destruction. One deviation: It is not the original master who
enacts revenge at the end of </span><i>Vampire</i><span style="font-style: normal;">’s
Act 2B, but the vampire community at large, exacting punishment for
violating the rule against vampires killing their own kind.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<i>The Karate Kid</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> (1984) —
1a: Reluctant Hero<br />Once again, Daniel is passive/reactive in the
first half of the film, proactive in the second half. (Daniel does
not ask Mr. Miyagi to teach him karate until the story’s Midpoint.)
Act 3 is entirely made up of a test of this personal transformation
(the karate tournament).</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<i>Lethal Weapon</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> (1987) —
Combo pattern: First half follows 14a: The Odd Couple, but makes the
transition to 9b: The Voluntary Snowball of Complications at the
story’s Midpoint.</span><i>Lethal Weapon</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
starts out as a fairly prototypical Odd Couple, but then completely
drops that pattern as soon as the two leads gain each other’s
respect at the Midpoint. After that, the film becomes a series of
over-the-top Shane Black action sequences with the situation
snowballing out of control.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<i>The Lion King</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> (1994) — 5b:
The Ejected<br />(You may review the Ejected pattern by reading the
sections on </span><i>Big, The Shawshank Redemption, </i><span style="font-style: normal;">and</span><i>
Rushmore</i><a href="https://uncelebrity.blogspot.com/2020/04/scriptmonks-plot-pattern-extravaganza.html" target="_blank"> in the first installment of this series of articles</a><span style="font-style: normal;">.)
</span><i>The Lion King </i><span style="font-style: normal;">contains
an extremely simple plot. (If the songs are removed, the film would
be less than an hour long.) It is also fairly front-heavy, with a
long Act 1 and a very short Acts 2A & 2B. However, it still
follows the Ejected pattern fairly well, with one slight exception:
Simba cannot be entirely blamed for his End of Act 1 ejection, as
typical with the pattern. This event is mostly the work of the
villain Scar. However, Simba is still partially at fault, as his
impetuousness and gullibility play right into Scar’s plan, sending
Simba into exile.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<i>Major League </i><span style="font-style: normal;">(1989) —
Hybrid Small Man/Woman Rises, incorporating narrative elements from
both 2a: The Summoned Hero and 2b: The Breakaway Hero. <br />The
story’s collective protagonists (the members of the team) are
summoned to fill an important role in Act 1, and are trained by a
mentor in Act 2A (elements of the Summoned Hero). However, the
protagonists eventually learn that their master/benefactor (the team
owner) is working against their best interests, prompting them to
break away and become independent heroes by winning the pennant
(elements of the Breakaway Hero).</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<i>Mean Girls </i><span style="font-style: normal;">(2004) — 1b:
Wrongway Hero<br />Due to internal weaknesses, the protagonist is lured
into following a faulty path. The protagonist discovers this error at
the Midpoint. The protagonist then turns a 180 and, for the remainder
of the film, fights against the current to correct the actions he/she
previously committed in order to put life on a healthier path. </span><i>The
Graduate</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> provides a prototypical
example.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<i>Midnight Run</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> (1988) — 8a:
The Quest<br />The Quest: What initially appears to be a simple mission
(usually involving a macguffin), becomes extended by complications at
the end of each act. This demands that the protagonist continually
choose to escalate his/her involvement, becoming more and more
dedicated to selfless heroic action.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<i>My Cousin Vinny </i><span style="font-style: normal;">(1992) —
Combo pattern: Begins as 2a: Summoned Hero, then transitions into 1b:
Wrongway Hero after the End of Act 1 Turning Point.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<i>Pitch Black</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> (2000) — 14a:
The Odd Couple</span><i>Pitch Black</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
shows the flexibility of the Odd Couple pattern in terms of genre and
story premise. While most often associated with “buddy films”
where two characters of conflicting personalities learn to get along
so they may cooperate in pursuit of personal goals, </span><i>Pitch
Black</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> presents a sci-fi horror
where the two leads cannot trust each other, yet must work together
for their own survival.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<i>Platoon</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> (1986) — 7b: The
Infecting Idea<br />Read the sections on </span><i>Se7en </i><span style="font-style: normal;">and
</span><i>Close Encounters of the Third Kind</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
in </span><span style="font-style: normal;"><u>Part 3 of this series</u></span><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
for more information on the Infecting Idea. In the Infecting Idea,
the story’s malevolent force tends to be more psychological than
physical. In </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Platoon,</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
we clearly see the pattern of characters becoming mentally “infected”
at the Midpoint, causing infected and non-infected characters to turn
on each other in Acts 2B & 3.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<i>Pretty Woman</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> (1990) — 14b:
Coming Together</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<i>Ratatouille</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> (2007) — Combo
pattern<br />To be honest, </span><i>Ratatouille</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
is not one of my favorite Pixar films. For a franchise known for its
excellent story structures, </span><i>Ratatouille </i><span style="font-style: normal;">is...
not so great. The story begins as a 4b: The Ejected. Remy the Rat,
pursuing a personal ambition, makes an error which effectively ejects
him from his familiar environment. Yet what would usually be the
opening sequences of an Ejected’s Act 2A are then folded into </span><i>the
beginning</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> of a new pattern, 14b:
Coming Together. This means, structurally, </span><i>Ratatouille</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
suffers from a false start. The film then forces sources of conflict
extraneous to the Coming Together into the narrative, along with an
Odd Couple subplot between Linguini and Colette, in an effort to give
its soft premise more drama. This does not always work so well. Yet
evidently, this was seen as necessary to keep its young audience
interested in a film which is essentially an animated take on
watching Mom or Dad make dinner.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<i>Scream</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> (1996) — 6a:
Destructive Beast<br />Check out </span><a href="https://uncelebrity.blogspot.com/2013/12/the-unstoppable-beast-story-type-part-i.html" target="_blank"><span style="font-style: normal;"><u>this previous article</u></span></a><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
for a detailed explanation of the Destructive Beast pattern. Unlike
in most “slasher” films, the killer in </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Scream</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
does not choose its victims indiscriminately. It targets the
protagonist Sydney from the start, setting up the Destructive Beast’s
familiar structure of attack/escape, attack/escape. </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Scream,</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
however, demonstrates some alternative options in the Destructive
Beast. The “Beast” need not always attack the protagonist
directly. It may alternatively commit indirect assaults by attacking
innocent persons close to the protagonist.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<i>Speed</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> (1994) — 9a:
Involuntary Snowball of Complications</span><i>Speed </i><span style="font-style: normal;">is
deceptive in that its trailer, promotional materials, and even its
title all suggest that the film’s Spine is all about the speeding
bus. However, the situation on the bus is not the main Story Problem.
It is the Involuntary Snowball’s End of Act 1 complication. Act 1
establishes the main Story Goal: Capture the mad bomber (in the
prolonged opening elevator sequence). The mad bomber then rigs the
bus as revenge against the hero for ruining his Act 1 plans (the
complication which begins Act 2A). Acts 2A & 2B are all about
dealing with this complication. In prototypical fashion, this
complication is resolved at the end of Act 2B. The story then shifts
its focus back onto the original problem for Act 3: Capturing the mad
bomber.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<i>Talladega Nights: The Legend of Ricky Bobby</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
(2006)— Combo pattern: 10b: The Overreacher + 7c: The Spoiler.
</span><i>Talladega </i><span style="font-style: normal;">starts
out as an Overreacher (a variety of a Rise & Fall narrative where
an over-ambitious character is always reaching for more than social
forces will allow). It shifts into a Spoiler in Act 2A with the
arrival of the Sasha Baron Cohen character. It then returns to the
Overreacher at the Midpoint with the protagonist’s downfall, Act 2B
desperation, and the seizing of the second chance offered in late Act
2B.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<i>Ted</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> (2012) — A hybrid
Loving Alliance, combining structural elements from 15a: Tragic
Alliance and 15b: Toxic Alliance. <br />The Tragic Alliance is about a
partnership that fights to stay together against outside forces vying
to pull them apart. The Toxic Alliance is about a partnership
threatened by </span><i>internal</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
differences and conflicting ambitions. </span><i>Ted</i><span style="font-style: normal;">’s
partnership is threatened by both internal and external pressures,
making it a hybrid Loving Alliance.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<i>Thor</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> (2011) — 5b: The
Ejected</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<i>Top Gun </i><span style="font-style: normal;">(1986) — 2a:
Summoned Hero<br />Non-prototypical in one regard: In most Summoned
Heroes, the protagonist graduates training/apprenticeship at the
Midpoint so he/she may spend the rest of the film confronting the
story’s real-world problems. In </span><i>Top Gun, </i><span style="font-style: normal;">“graduation”
is delayed until the end of Act 2B. This is an acceptable alternative
form of the pattern, as </span><i>Top Gun </i><span style="font-style: normal;">is
a story more about personal growth and the acquisition of life skills
than any specific mission for which these skills are needed.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<i>Walk the Line</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> (2005) — 10b:
Overreacher<br />This film’s pattern becomes simple to identify as
soon as June Carter literally tells the protagonist Johnny Cash
“We’ve been given a second chance” in late Act 2B. A Midpoint
downfall followed by a late 2B second chance is the most defining
feature of the Overreacher structure.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<i>Witness</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> (1985) — Combo
pattern: Begins as 9a: Involuntary Snowball of Complications, but
transfers into 2b: The Breakaway Hero in Act 2A. </span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<i>X-Men</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> (2000) — The first
X-Men film follows the Summoned Hero pattern—but does so in a
pretty wonky way. This is primarily because the film is never
entirely clear about which character is supposed to be its actual
protagonist: Logan/Wolverine or Rogue. Though the film gives the
lion’s share of attention to Wolverine, all the major dramatic
turning points center upon Rogue. As such, the development of </span><i>X-Men</i><span style="font-style: normal;">’s
Summoned Hero pattern is kind of rocky. The character lines of </span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">both</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;">
characters fit into the pattern. The film is just inconsistent about
who the titular “hero” is at any moment. </span><i>X-Men</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
does, however, evince an interesting alternative form of the Summoned
Hero. In </span><i>X-Men</i><span style="font-style: normal;">, Rogue
is “summoned” not by a benign force to serve an extraordinary
purpose, but by the villain to be used for a nefarious purpose. In
most Summoned Heroes, the summoning force and the mentor character
are either the same individual or allied on the same side. In </span><i>X-Men,</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
the summoning force (Magneto) is directly opposed by the mentor
(Professor Xavier), adding an interesting wrinkle to the standard
conflict.</span></div>
SCRIPTMONK!!!http://www.blogger.com/profile/13911675482380489540noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3389409360415735927.post-11478907095783847422020-05-25T10:20:00.000-07:002020-05-25T10:23:26.042-07:00Dispelling a Few Myths on "Character Identification" -- Excerpt from Screenwriting & The Unified Theory of Narrative, Part II<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: white;"><i>Hello
all. I was recently reviewing my book </i><span style="font-style: normal;">Screenwriting
& The Unified Theory of Narrative, Part II </span><i>for the
first time since it was printed and came upon a section on character
development which I had completely forgotten about. I have decided to
repost it here, as it provides some excellent information on the
concept of “character identification.” In particular, it dispels
some of the common myths about the purpose and function of character
identification and the means by which viewers relate to a character’s
thoughts or behavior. Contrary to popular opinion, viewers find
personal meaning in a character’s words and deeds not so much
through the perceived </i><span style="font-style: normal;">similarities</span><i>
between the character and themselves, but far more through the stark
</i><span style="font-style: normal;">contrasts and</span><i>
</i><span style="font-style: normal;">differences. </span><i>Detailed
psychological development is thus a prerequisite for meaningful
communication through character, as this allows viewers to comprehend
the causes of a character’s attitudes and behaviors and thus
compare the character’s example of humanity to their own—virtues,
flaws, idiosyncrasies and all.</i></span></div>
<span style="color: white;">
</span>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: white;"><br /></span>
</div>
<span style="color: white;">
</span>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: white;">The
protagonist is more than a character. It is the audience’s guide.
The cinematic story creates a vicarious experience that allows
viewers to evaluate its events not from an impartial distance, but
through the wants, needs, hopes, and fears of a specific individual.
Because of this, a story’s choice of protagonist has a crucial
impact upon its ultimate meaning. How the audience thinks and feels
about the story will differ depending on whose eyes they experience
it through.</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="color: white;">
</span>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: white;"> On
its most basic level, the use of a protagonist gives narratives a
practical means to express their messages more clearly. While the
genre or mode presents a broad social dilemma, and the plot pattern
forwards a possible solution, the message provided by these layers
remains in the abstract. The story is only a philosophical argument
on how things “should” be or how persons “ought to” behave.
To grasp the physical significance of this message, the audience must
observe how such issues may directly impact a person like themselves.
This makes the message relateable. By focusing its issues onto the
struggle of a single individual, the story moves its message from the
abstract to the concrete. The audience can understand the ideas by
observing their effect on a flesh-and-blood human being...</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="color: white;">
</span>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: white;"><span style="font-style: normal;">With
this, ideological communication takes a clearer shape, turning an
idea into a </span><i>lesson.</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
Lessons show how abstract ideas can be brought into reality through
physical action. To put this another way, lessons teach people how to
</span><i>behave</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> in order to
achieve a desired result. </span>For the most part, cinematic stories
provide their lessons through the structure of the protagonist’s
Character Arc. The protagonist begins the story exhibiting certain
fatally-flawed attitudes or behaviors (qualities that oppose the plot
pattern’s suggested balance). These traits are proven harmful or
ineffective when they create, aggravate, or fail to resolve the
story’s problems (demonstrating how these qualities cause or worsen
social imbalances). In Celebratory or Cynical narratives, the
protagonist eventually abandons these flaws in favor of more
appropriate attitudes or behaviors (qualities that support the
suggested balance). The ensuing actions resolve the story conflict
and put the world back in proper order (proving the worth of that
quality). In Cautionary or Tragic narratives, the protagonist
maintains the flawed attitudes and behaviors, leaving him or her
unable to correct the story’s problems, leading to failure (thereby
condemning these qualities and proving the worth of their opposite).
Thus, with its opposition between a single beneficial quality and a
single detrimental quality, the Character Arc provides a simple
lesson on one of the many ways we must think or behave to resolve our
social problems.</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="color: white;">
</span>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: white;"> With
this, it should be made obvious that the more distinctive and
sharply-defined a protagonist’s behaviors, the clearer and more
effective the story’s lesson will be. Ambiguity is the enemy of
effective communication. Like an out-of-focus image, poorly-defined
characters give no details for viewers to grasp onto, leaving any
lesson vague or ambiguous. In contrast, characters with fully
developed backgrounds and psychologies think and act in
clearly-defined ways, making it much easier for viewers to identify
what thoughts, attitudes, or behaviors lead to the character’s
success or failure. </span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: white;"> </span>
</div>
<span style="color: white;">
</span>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: white;"> Yet
detailed character psychologies aid a story on more than a didactic
level. They also help the audience identify with the protagonist and
find personal significance in his or her behaviors. This, in turn,
improves the story’s ability to communicate. Lessons are most
effective when one can sense a connection between the lesson and
one’s own life. As such, the cinematic story’s lessons on human
behavior are most effective when viewers can understand the
character’s thoughts and actions and relate them to their own.
However, such connections are difficult when characters do not seem
sufficiently “real.” If characters should lack the depth and
authenticity found in the behavior of real-life human beings, they
will be as impossible to relate to as an inanimate object. In
contrast, the more detailed a character’s psychology, the more real
his or her attitudes and behaviors will appear, and the easier they
become for viewers to comprehend. Such understanding leads to
empathy. Empathy leads the viewer to relate the character’s
thoughts and behaviors to his or her own. As a result, any lesson
gained from observing the character’s behaviors may be found
personally applicable to the viewer’s own life.</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="color: white;">
</span>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: white;"> To
make this point through contrast, many old-fashioned morality tales
make use of an “everyman” character—an intentionally
nondescript individual meant to represent every person on earth. Yet
ironically, this attempt to represent everyone results in a character
personally identifiable to no one. By lacking unique details of
thought and behavior, these characters present empty shells with
nothing for audiences to grasp onto or understand. Thus, the audience
feels no connection. As a result, such stories usually feel flat,
shallow, and childishly simplistic. The audience cannot find any deep
significance in the story’s events because they are unable to
inhabit the character’s mind and understand what the events might
actually mean to an individual experiencing them.</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="color: white;">
</span>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: white;"> Yet
despite the obvious inadequacy of the everyman character, similar
characters remain rampant in modern attempts at screenwriting due to
a common misconception about the nature of a cinematic protagonist.
Beginners are routinely told a protagonist should be “identifiable”
and assume this means viewers must be presented with a person who
seems just like themselves. Yet aside from the most universal
principles of human behavior, it should be obvious that it is
impossible for one character to mirror an entire audience. Every
person is different from the next, and thus any given character will
be similar to only the tiniest fraction of viewers. To counter this,
some screenwriters try to cast the widest net by making their
protagonists as “average” as possible. Yet with a less distinct
character, these stories achieve the same poor results as the
everyman tales described above.</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="color: white;">
</span>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: white;"> The
idea that audiences can only identify with a character similar to
themselves is possibly the most amateur assumption in screencraft.
Audiences are able to identify with any character through the same
process that we come to identify with our family or friends. Personal
knowledge of an individual allows us to understand their thoughts and
actions. This creates empathy, permitting us to see things from their
point of view. In the same way, if a viewer is allowed to understand
the way a character thinks and feels, he or she may identify with
that character, no matter how different from the viewer the character
may be. In other words, audience identification is not a matter of
conforming the character to the position of the viewer, but of
leading the viewer into the position of the character by providing
the information the viewer needs to understand the character’s
thoughts, words, and deeds.</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="color: white;">
</span>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: white;"><span style="font-style: normal;"> However,
just because a viewer can understand a character’s behavior, this
does not necessarily mean he or she must support or agree with it. To
the contrary, the lessons found in character are often most effective
when the viewer finds reason to question, criticize, or object to
behavior. For when we observe a character, we gain only little
insight through the ways we and the character are similar. Instead,
far more is learned by observing the ways we and the character are
</span><i>different.</i></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="color: white;">
</span>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: white;"> Part
I of this book stated that cinematic stories do not contain worlds
meant to be identical to our own. Rather, they present <i>alternate</i>
worlds for us to compare our world to.* By observing the ways the
story world is similar to or different from our own, we receive a
message on how our world might change for the better or worse. A
similar relationship exists between a story’s protagonist and the
individual viewer. The protagonist is a person different from the
viewer—sometimes drastically so. Yet no matter how extreme these
differences may be, the viewer may potentially learn a personal
lesson from the character’s behavior—one <i>specifically tailored</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
to the viewer’s own attitudes or beliefs</span>. Just as the story
world presents a fictional model of reality for us to compare to our
own, the protagonist presents a <i>model of human behavior</i> for us
<span style="font-style: normal;">to compare to ourselves. As we
observe the protagonist’s actions, we recognize the many ways the
character is similar to or different from ourselves. We then see how
these similar or dissimilar qualities each lead to punishment or
reward. With this, we reach certain conclusions regarding not only
the character’s behaviors, but our own, depending upon whether we
share or lack the same qualities.</span></span></div>
<span style="color: white;">
</span>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: white;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">* See Part
I, Chapter 1-5.</span></span></div>
<span style="color: white;">
</span>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: white;"><span style="font-style: normal;">To
explain, if the viewer observes a character exhibiting a quality
similar to his or her own, and then sees that quality punished, the
viewer is led to realize the quality is harmful and may feel
compelled to stop thinking or acting in such ways. Likewise, if a
character demonstrates a quality the viewer lacks, and is then
rewarded for that quality, the viewer feels encouraged to adopt the
missing quality so he or she may also find reward. In the same way,
if a viewer sees a character rewarded for a quality he or she already
possesses, or punished for a quality he or she already avoids, the
story validates the viewer’s current attitudes and reinforces his
or her beliefs. </span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: white;"><span style="font-style: normal;"> </span></span>
</div>
<span style="color: white;">
</span>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: white;"><span style="font-style: normal;"> This
leads to two conclusions: First, a viewer may potentially find
personal meaning in any kind of character, no matter how similar or
dissimilar to the viewer the character may be. Second, such lessons
are found more clearly in the contrasts between viewer and character
than the similarities. To conclude, the protagonist is not meant to
“be like” the viewer. The protagonist is a behavioral model the
viewer is encouraged to become </span><i>more or less</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
like.</span><span style="font-size: small;"> It then bears repeating that the more
sharply-defined a protagonist’s psychology, the greater the story’s
potential for individual meaning, as distinctive characters give the
viewer far more material for personal comparison and contrast.</span></span></div>
SCRIPTMONK!!!http://www.blogger.com/profile/13911675482380489540noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3389409360415735927.post-52791168129721268892020-05-12T15:59:00.000-07:002020-05-12T16:00:48.052-07:00Scriptmonk's Plot Pattern Extravaganza -- ALL Y'ALL FAVORITES! (Part 4)
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<a href="https://uncelebrity.blogspot.com/2020/04/scriptmonks-plot-pattern-extravaganza.html" target="_blank">Click here to read this series of articles from the start</a></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<a href="https://uncelebrity.blogspot.com/2020/03/the-34-common-plot-patterns-of.html" target="_blank">Click here for an overview on the 34 Common Plot Patterns of American Cinema </a></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
In
this fourth and final installment of my Plot Pattern Extravaganza, I
briefly break down three modern classics whose patterns have been
highly difficult to identify in the past. Yet this difficulty has
been resolved now that I have recognized the alternative paths or
deviations implemented in each story. This series then ends with an
extended look at Type 11b: The Insurrectionist, through three new
films with diverse story premises.</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<h3 style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>Unforgiven</i>
(1992)</h3>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/41KjXpD6P2L._AC_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="333" height="400" src="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/41KjXpD6P2L._AC_.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Clint
Eastwood’s <i>Unforgiven</i> can be called an “anti-Western” in
that it intentionally attempts to de-mythologize the genre by
pointing out the falsehoods of many of its most popular tropes.
Particularly, <i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Unforgiven</span></i><span style="text-decoration: none;">
refutes the myth of the gunslinger-as-social mediator: the heroic
outsider, living by an honorable code, who uses violence to remedy
social problems. In addition, </span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Unforgiven</span></i><span style="text-decoration: none;">
casts a similarly ambiguous light on the genre’s other stock hero,
the ethically-just lawman (played in this film by Gene Hackman).</span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="text-decoration: none;">In
terms of its plot pattern, </span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Unforgiven</span></i><span style="text-decoration: none;">
mirrors Type 2c: The Returning Hero. Being one of the more
rarely-seen plot patterns, </span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Screenwriting
& The Unified Theory of Narrative, Part II </span></i><span style="text-decoration: none;">resorts
to an odd trio of prototypes to illustrate the Returning Hero
structure: </span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">The Dark
Knight Rises </span></i><span style="text-decoration: none;">(2012),
</span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Airplane! </span></i><span style="text-decoration: none;">(1980),
and </span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Austin Powers:
International Man of Mystery </span></i><span style="text-decoration: none;">(1997).
The pattern is fairly straightforward: The protagonist is a hero of
former greatness who, due to accumulated personal flaws, has receded
into disrepute or obscurity. The arrival of the Story Problem causes
characters to ask the protagonist to return to his or her former
role. The protagonist then attempts to engage with the story conflict
through his or her old, accustomed methods. Yet the character
struggles as these methods prove flawed and/or obsolete, bringing the
protagonist to a lowest point at the end of Act 2A. Moments of
self-reflection then prompt the protagonist to reevaluate the
attitudes or beliefs attached to the hero’s past fall from grace
and reinvent him or herself as a new and improved hero. With this
transformation, the hero overcomes the story conflict and returns to
glory.</span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="text-decoration: none;">When
viewed purely in terms of plot, </span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Unforgiven</span></i><span style="text-decoration: none;">
follows this pattern. Eastwood plays Bill Munny, a formerly notorious
outlaw who, after being reformed by his now-deceased wife, has
settled down into the humble life of a father and hog farmer. A band
of prostitutes in the town of Big Whiskey have put a bounty on the
heads of two cowpokes for cutting up the face of one of the women. A
boastful youngster calling himself the “Shofield Kid” (Jaimz
Woolvet) comes to Munny’s farm to ask for his help killing the
cowpokes, giving an exaggerated account of the crime. Munny first
refuses, but soon relents out of his need for the money, recruiting
his friend Ned Logan (Morgan Freeman), another former outlaw turned
farmer, to join him. On the journey to Big Whiskey, Munny insists
that he is not the man he used to be. He is referring to his moral
character, but it is clear that this broken-down old man is far from
the same man physically as well. This is quickly proven at the
story’s Midpoint. Upon arrival in Big Whiskey, Munny, weak from
fever, is easily thrashed by Marshall “Little Bill” Dagget
(Hackman), forcing him and his comrades to retreat into hiding.</span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="text-decoration: none;">Yet,
while </span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Unforgiven</span></i><span style="text-decoration: none;">
seems to mirror the Returning Hero’s other prototypical examples in
terms of its plot, </span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Unforgiven
</span></i><span style="text-decoration: none;">presents a complete
reversal of the pattern’s familiar Character Arc. </span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">The
Dark Knight Rises, Airplane!, </span></i><span style="text-decoration: none;">and
</span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Austin Powers</span></i><span style="text-decoration: none;">
are all </span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Celebratory</span></i><span style="text-decoration: none;">
narratives—the thematic type in which the protagonist ultimately
succeeds by choosing to embrace a socially-approved behavioral value,
thus becoming a “better” person. </span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Unforgiven,
</span></i><span style="text-decoration: none;">however, offers a
</span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Cynical</span></i><span style="text-decoration: none;">
narrative—the thematic type in which the protagonist succeeds by
embracing a socially-condemned behavioral value, thus becoming a
“worse” person. (I explain these thematic types in great detail
in </span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Screenwriting &
The Unified Theory of Narrative, Part I. </span></i><span style="text-decoration: none;">You
may also find </span><a href="https://journals.sfu.ca/wt/index.php/westerntributaries/article/view/54" target="_blank"><u>a thorough essay on the subject HERE</u></a><span style="text-decoration: none;">)
This makes all the difference when it comes to evaluating </span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Unforgiven
</span></i><span style="text-decoration: none;">as a Returning Hero.
The old Bill Munny was a vicious, cold-blooded, and
thoroughly-despicable person. Yet the Munny we meet at the start of
</span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Unforgiven </span></i><span style="text-decoration: none;">has
already changed his misguided ways, abandoned his flaws, and grown
into a more ideal person. Rather than grow worse in his time away
from the spotlight like other Returning Hero protagonists, he has
improved his character. Yet, just like in the pattern’s other
examples, this changed nature now makes him unsuitable to
successfully answer the call to return to his old role. Munny’s
insistence that he is no longer a remorseless killer is proven by his
dismal failure at the story’s Midpoint.</span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="text-decoration: none;">Munny’s
changed, more temperate nature thus constitutes his “fatal flaw”
in the quest to collect the bounty on the two cowpokes. To succeed,
he must abandon his conscience to become a killer once again. Despite
strong reservations, Munny continues this mission thanks to the
spurring of the Shofield Kid and his sympathy for the disfigured
prostitute Delilah (Anna Thomson). Though they successfully achieve
their mission’s objective, the shameful and cowardly nature of the
killings only intensifies Munny’s moral dilemma. Munny’s “flaw”
encourages him to end any further action and return home. However,
the plot intervenes at the End of Act 2B to force Munny to complete
his full character conversion. Little Bill captures and executes Ned
Logan. Enraged by this senseless murder of his only friend, Munny
throws away his “flawed” good nature to once again become the
psychopathic anti-hero he once was in order to take revenge on Little
Bill and his associates in Act 3. By choosing to present its story in
the Cynical mode rather than the Celebratory, </span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Unforgiven</span></i><span style="text-decoration: none;">
puts a twist on the Returning Hero plot pattern. Instead of a
“Returning Hero,” we have a “Returning Anti-hero.”</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<h3 style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>Butch Cassidy &
The Sundance Kid</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> (1969)</span></h3>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/51AwnSX78mL._AC_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="337" height="400" src="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/51AwnSX78mL._AC_.jpg" width="270" /></a></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Another
Western—this one produced during Hollywood’s “Silver Age” (a
period covering the 1960s and 1970s, situated between the end of the
Hollywood Studio System and the start of the modern “Blockbuster
Age”). As noted in my discussion on </span><i>North by Northwest</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
in Part 2 of this series, it can be tricky to analyze the structures
of “classic” films, since the narrative norms implemented during
Hollywood’s “Golden Age” differed in many slight, yet
significant ways from the modern films we are used to seeing today.
The “Silver Age” was a period of transition and experimentation.
Thus, some films demonstrate the prototypical shape of the plot
patterns so common today (such as in </span><i>The Godfather</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
[1972] or </span><i>The Graduate</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
[1967]), some contain no identifiable pattern, while in others we see
the vague form of a modern pattern with sharp deviations. </span><i>Butch
Cassidy & The Sundance Kid</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
belongs to the last group. However, the story’s major plot points
indicate the shape of a certain pattern which will become further
refined (and thus more recognizable) in later years.</span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Here
is the film’s (very simple) plot in a nutshell: Butch and his best
friend Sundance lead the notorious “Hole in the Wall” gang. Butch
seizes upon the ambitious idea to rob the Union Pacific Flyer train
not once, but twice in succession. The first robbery goes perfectly
and our heroes easily escape capture. Butch and Sundance feel
invincible. Yet rather than get out while the getting’s good, they
attempt the second robbery. This second attempt proves disastrous,
revealing a posse lying in wait to pursue the robbers. With this, we
discover that the heroes’ reach has exceeded their grasp; that
their ambition extended far beyond good sense. Butch and Sundance are
endlessly pursued by the posse until a point when both conclude they
must escape the country. Transporting themselves to Bolivia, Butch
and Sundance first try to go straight by getting a job with honest
pay. Yet this soon proves unsatisfactory, and the pair return to the
lifestyle of notorious bandits. This choice leads the protagonists to
their eventual doom, culminating in the famous climax where Butch and
Sundance are surrounded and slaughtered by the Bolivian military.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">This
outline charts a clear rise and fall in the fortunes of the ambitious
anti-heroes. There is a family of plot patterns dedicated to such
stories, literally called the “Rise & Fall.” This family has
two subtypes. In Type 10a: The Power Glutton (exemplified by films
like </span><i>Citizen Kane </i><span style="font-style: normal;">[1941],
</span><i>Goodfellas </i><span style="font-style: normal;">[1990], and
</span><i>The Wolf of Wall Street</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
[2013]), an anti-hero of extraordinary abilities achieves glory, and
is ultimately undone, by an insatiable lust to amass more and more
wealth, power, or fame. In Type 10b: The Overreacher (exemplified by
films like </span><i>Scarface </i><span style="font-style: normal;">[1983],
</span><i>Patton </i><span style="font-style: normal;">[1970], and </span><i>The
Imitation Game </i><span style="font-style: normal;">[2014]) a gutsy
and determined anti-hero pursues and attains a modest level of
success. Yet the anti-hero is not satisfied, and reaches for more
than figures of authority are willing to allow, leading to a downfall
at the story’s Midpoint. The anti-hero is then given a second
chance in Act 2B. The protagonist may learn his/her lesson, change
his/her ways, and make good on this second chance to achieve a happy
end. Yet more often, the protagonist falls back into his or her old,
flawed habits, leading to a second and permanent downfall.</span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">We
may identify </span><i>Butch & Sundance</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
as an Overreacher by the fact that the protagonists receive a second
chance to correct their ways in Bolivia, yet soon throw this chance
away to return to their old habits. This commits the protagonists to
a path to their ultimate downfall. Yet </span><i>Butch & Sundance</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
deviates from the pattern’s more familiar examples (and is thus
made more difficult to identify) in one obvious way. Most Rise &
Fall narratives cover many years of story time, charting the entire
course of an anti-hero’s career. The causes of the protagonist’s
rise to glory and fall to ruin typically cannot be credited to
individual actions, but an accumulation of objectives and behaviors.
</span><i>Butch & Sundance</i><span style="font-style: normal;">,
on the other hand, simplifies the Overreacher narrative a great deal,
as the course of the protagonists’ changing fortunes is composed
entirely from one linear cause-and-effect chain of action. </span><i>Butch
& Sundance</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> thus presents a
stripped-down and highly limited use of the Overreacher. This shows
that the pattern may be used to dramatize a single, short-lived—and
self-dooming—chain of actions, just as it might a character’s
entire career. (In this way, </span><i>Butch & Sundance </i><span style="font-style: normal;">has
less in common with </span><i>Patton </i><span style="font-style: normal;">or
</span><i>Scarface</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> than it does
with </span><i>500 Days of Summer </i><span style="font-style: normal;">[2009],
a film which uses the Overreacher to chart the rise and fall of a
romantic relationship.)</span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<h3 style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>Beetlejuice</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
(1988)</span></h3>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/51Q5fpfnLHL._AC_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="338" height="400" src="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/51Q5fpfnLHL._AC_.jpg" width="270" /></a></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">For
the longest time, </span><i>Beetlejuice </i><span style="font-style: normal;">was
a real flaw in the ointment of my plot pattern paradigm. Though an
undeniably successful narrative, it did not seem to fit into </span><i>any</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
of my thirty-four patterns. It is not a foreign film. It does not use
one of the non-traditional story structures (as films like </span><i>Forrest
Gump </i><span style="font-style: normal;">[1994] or </span><i>The
Curious Case of Benjamin Button </i><span style="font-style: normal;">[2008]
do). Nor is it an “art film” which intentionally subverts
conventional norms. No, it is a commercial Hollywood genre narrative
of traditional three-act form.</span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
But
the mystery was solved with one simple question: Just what the heck
is Beetlejuice in this story? He is not the protagonist. Nor is he
the antagonist. He is a third party, acting independently, forging
and breaking alliances in pursuit of his own objectives. A-ha! It all
makes sense now. I have just described a “Wild Card,” a key
character role found in Type 16a: The Moral Mirrors.
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Exemplified
by prototypes such as </span><i>The Departed </i><span style="font-style: normal;">(2006),
</span><i>Heat</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> (1995), and
</span><i>There’s Something About Mary</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
(1998), the Moral Mirrors follows the actions of </span><i>two</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
separate parties: a hero and an anti-hero. In Act 1, both parties
commit to independent, yet directly-opposing, story goals. This makes
each protagonist the other’s antagonist. However, both parties are
initially unaware of this opposition, or even of the other party’s
existence. The characters then discover this conflict of interests at
the story’s Midpoint, causing the two narrative lines to converge
into a direct interpersonal conflict. (We can thus say the Moral
Mirrors features a Y-shaped structure.) Due to the unity of
opposites, every step taken toward the goal of one party poses a
threat to the other party’s goal. As such, both parties take
actions to derail the other in Act 2B. The addition of the Wild Card
character complicates the situation. The Wild Card is a third party
who sometimes opposes both hero and anti-hero, and at other times
forges (often short-lived) alliances with one party against the
other. The story typically makes its Act 3 turn with an “end-game”
move perpetrated by one of the three parties against one of the other
two. This sets up a direct confrontation between the surviving
parties, culminating in an all-or-nothing battle at the story climax.</span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Yet,
upon initial viewing, </span><i>Beetlejuice </i><span style="font-style: normal;">does
not seem to resemble any of the Moral Mirror’s prototypical
examples. This is due to the film’s use of multiple alternative
options. While every plot pattern offers storytellers a handful of
structural alternatives, most non-prototypical examples make use of
only one or two of these. </span><i>Beetlejuice,</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
however, appears completely unique alongside other Moral Mirrors
since it uses practically all of the pattern’s alternatives. First
of all, the hero role is played by dual characters: Barbara and Adam
Maitland (Geena Davis & Alec Baldwin). As recently-deceased
ghosts, the Maitlands’ goal is to keep their treasured home as
their own so they may carry on in the same peace and quiet they
enjoyed while alive. The anti-hero role is also played by dual
characters: Delia and Charles Deetz (Catherine O’Hara and Jeffrey
Jones). Practically the antithesis of the Maitlands, the Deetzes have
purchased the Maitlands’ home with the goal of remaking it in their
own tacky image to find happiness in their own obnoxious way. With
this setup, we find a clear unity of opposites. Yet while the Deetzes
are ignorant of the Maitlands (as is the norm with the Moral Mirrors
pattern), </span><i>Beetlejuice</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
deviates in that the Maitlands are intensely aware of the threat
posed by the Deetzes from the beginning. Yet the structure remains on
track in Act 2A due to the fact that the Maitlands (being
noncorporeal ghosts) are currently unable to take any direct actions
against the Deetzes. Yet true to the pattern’s form, </span><i>both</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
parties become fully aware of the mutual opposition at the story’s
Midpoint with the “Banana Boat” song sequence.</span>(You’ll have to find this scene online if you are unfamiliar with
it. It is a bit too strange to succinctly explain.) Yet this does not
have the results the Maitlands had hoped for (it in fact gives the
Deetzes the upper hand). Such failures finally seal a wary alliance
with the Wild Card Beetlejuice to scare the Deetzes out of the home.
(I should also note that the Deetzes’ daughter Lydia [Winona Ryder]
also performs a Wild Card role in this story. <span style="font-style: normal;">This
is not a deviation, as it is common for a Moral Mirrors to feature
more than one Wild Card. For example, in </span><i>Captain America:
Civil War </i><span style="font-style: normal;">[2016] over a
half-dozen supporting characters perform the Wild Card function at
various points in the narrative,)</span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Most
Moral Mirrors climax with either one primary party reaching success
at the other’s expense (</span><i>Heat</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
and </span><i>There’s Something About Mary</i><span style="font-style: normal;">)
or a battle of mutual annihilation where neither achieve victory (</span><i>The
Departed </i><span style="font-style: normal;">and </span><i>Captain
America: Civil War</i><span style="font-style: normal;">).
</span><i>Beetlejuice</i><span style="font-style: normal;">, however,
makes use of a rarely-implemented alternative where the hero and the
anti-hero reconcile their differences by choosing to compromise their
original goals. (The Maitlands and Deetzes eventually drop their
opposition and decide to share the house in peace.) Well then, if the
hero and anti-hero are on the road to making nice, from where does
the climactic Act 3 conflict arise? From the Wild Card, of course.
The “end-game” move at the End of Act 2B (or early Act 3) may
consist of </span><i>any </i><span style="font-style: normal;">of the
three parties (Wild Card included) taking action against any of the
other parties. With a triangular conflict, the Moral Mirrors may be
at any time a war of all-against-all, or a conflict of any two allied
parties against the third. For example, an alternative version of </span><i>The
Departed </i><span style="font-style: normal;">may have opted for an
Act 3 where the anti-hero Colin Sullivan (Matt Damon) attempts to
escape his predicament as a mob-informant by allying himself with the
hero Billy Costigan (Leonard Di Caprio) in a pact of mutual
opposition against the Wild Card, mobster Frank Costello (Jack
Nicholson). Likewise, when the Wild Card Beetlejuice begins to wreck
havoc in Act 3, threatening both the heroes and anti-heroes, the
Maitlands and the Deetzes are forced to reconcile their differences
to oppose the Wild Card’s mutual threat. As such, </span><i>Beetlejuice
</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> presents a rare Celebratory
Moral Mirrors where both hero and anti-hero enjoy a happy end.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">*
* * * *</span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">I
will now wrap up this article with three newly-discovered examples of
Type 11b: The Insurrectionist. The Insurrectionist belongs to the
“Hero Versus the System” family of patterns. However, unlike its
sister pattern, The Social Reformer, the Insurrectionist protagonist
has no desire to change the world. These protagonists merely wish to
be granted the freedom or liberty to live as they please or to do as
they see fit. Unfortunately, the character exists within a
suffocating System of Oppression which enslaves individuals under
strict, unfair or unethical rules. The protagonist rebels, triggering
backlash from the System. (</span><i>One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s
Nest</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> [1975] presents the most
prototypical example of this pattern.) We will start with a film that
presents this “struggle for freedom” in the most literal fashion
possible:</span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<h3 style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>12
Years a Slave</i> (2013)</h3>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://tlkabtmovies.files.wordpress.com/2013/12/12yas-poster-art.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="705" data-original-width="450" height="400" src="https://tlkabtmovies.files.wordpress.com/2013/12/12yas-poster-art.jpg" width="255" /></a></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>12
Years a Slave</i> is based upon the true-life story of Solomon
Northrup, a free black Northerner kidnapped and sold into slavery in
1841. While the narrative follows real-life events, we find that some
dramatic license has been taken to adapt the actual events into the
film’s structural pattern.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Using
<i>One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest</i> as our guide, we can see the
inciting incident occurs with the entry of the protagonist into the
oppressive environment. (Northrup, drugged by men he thought to be
employers, wakes in chains and is accused of being a runaway slave.)
As a free-thinking individualist, the protagonist immediately creates
friction in this new environment, prompting correction from the
system. (Northrup is mistreated by the slavers for insisting on his
free status. Some men in the same predicament warn Northrup to stay
quiet and act dumb if he wishes to survive.) Act 1 then turns with
the protagonist deciding not to conform to the system’s rules, but
to resist. (Northrup says to his enslaved comrades, “You’re
telling me that’s the way to survive? I don’t want to survive. I
want to live.”)</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
In
Act 2A, the protagonist presents low-level resistance to his
oppressors. However, it should be noted that this is not yet open
rebellion. The protagonist merely stands firm to request an allotment
of liberty in order to retain a sense of dignity or personal control.
(Rather than keep quiet, Northrup demonstrates his skill and
intelligence to his new master Mr. Ford [Benedict Cumberbatch] to
prove his right to better treatment.) However, the System sees the
protagonist as a troublemaker trying to disrupt the status quo, and
responds with actions intended to force the protagonist back in line.
(The plantation’s “handler” Tibeats [Paul Dano] takes offense
to Northrup’s impudence and takes every opportunity to insult and
degrade him.)</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Such
retaliation makes clear that the System refuses to grant the desired
liberties. Refusing submission, the protagonist shifts strategies to
open opposition, taking an overt action to challenge the System’s
authority. (After some bullying by Tibeats, the two get into an
argument which results in Northrup striking Tibeats.) With this, the
protagonist crosses a line in the sand. The System is infuriated by
this act of open defiance and responds in swift and brutal fashion,
creating the Midpoint event. (Tibeats attempts to lynch Northrup.
Though Tibeats is prevented from killing Northrup, Northrup is still
harshly punished for his action. Afterward, Ford informs Northrup
that he has no choice but to sell Northrup to Mr. Epps, a notoriously
brutal slavemaster.)</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
A
state of “war” has now developed between the protagonist and the
System in Act 2B. Compromise or cooperation is no longer possible.
“Freedom!” is now the protagonist’s battle cry, while the
System demands “Submit or die.” (The conditions are intolerable
at the Epps plantation. Northrup can no longer hope to attain
merciful and dignified treatment. His only option is to find a means
to escape.) The protagonist thus shifts to a position of open
rebellion. (However, in the case of <i>12 Years a Slave</i>, Northrup
cannot show any overt sign of rebellion, as this would surely cost
him his life. This must be an internal rebellion where Northrup
feigns compliance while seeking covert means of revolt.) The “war”
of Act 2B intensifies through sequences of escalating actions by the
protagonist met by greater counter-actions by the System. (Northrup
makes several furtive attempts to evade or escape his oppressors, but
each time is thwarted by fear or violence. In Late 2B, Northrup
escalates his efforts by making a deal with a white worker Armsby two
send a letter for help to the North. Yet, in counter-action, Armsby
betrays the plan to Epps, crushing Northrup’s hopes.)
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
By
the end of 2B, the situation reaches a breaking point. It becomes
clear that no matter how hard the protagonist resists, the System
will always keep him crushed under its heel. (This moment occurs in
<i>Slave</i> when Epps forces Northrup at gunpoint to brutally whip
his fellow slave Patsey.) Depending on the story, this leaves the
protagonist with one of two options: Either directly face and
hopefully defeat the System; or, when this is impossible (as it is in
<i>Slave</i>) take action to permanently escape the System’s
control. (Given no other choice, Northrup decides to risk an alliance
with another white worker to send word to the North. This time, the
confidant is Bass (Brad Pitt) a friendly Canadian with liberal
beliefs on race and slavery.) In Cautionary or Tragic narratives,
this plan is flawed or short-sighted and thus fails midway through
Act 3. In Celebratory or Cynical narratives, the plan finds progress,
but not without serious obstacles arising in the remainder of Act 3.
(Bass is true to his word. A sheriff arrives with a Northern friend
of Northrup’s.) In either case, this mid-Act 3 turning point often
creates a “last stand” scenario. (A final conflict occurs between
the two new arrivals and Epps over Northrup’s fate.) In Celebratory
narratives like <i>Slave,</i> the film climaxes with the protagonist
permanently escaping the System (or, alternatively, forcing the
System to finally back down).</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<h3 style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>The
Truman Show</i> (1998)</h3>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/51MkV396G0L._AC_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="334" height="400" src="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/51MkV396G0L._AC_.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Now,
let us compare <i>12 Years a Slave</i> with another Insurrectionist
narrative, this one with a very different form of enslavement to a
quite unusual System of Oppression. <i>The Truman Show </i>is the
story of Truman Burbank (Jim Carrey), a young man who, completely
unbeknownst to him, has lived his entire life as the star of the
world’s longest-running reality TV series. In actuality, Truman’s
entire world is an illusion created by the System (the show’s
producers) to exploit Truman and keep him compliant. The town is a
series of television sets, all the people are paid actors, and every
moment has been scripted by writers. This is indeed an oppressive
environment in that Truman has no personal freedom, with every aspect
tightly controlled by outside authorities. However, <i>The Truman
Show</i> is unique among Insurrectionists in that, while the viewer
is made aware of the System of Oppression, the protagonist is
ignorant of his enslavement for the majority of the film.
Nevertheless, Truman feels restless and penned-in. He wants to leave
this town and find his own life. This desire incites the story’s
conflict. Thus, <i>Truman Show</i> makes use of the Insurrectionist’s
alternative form of inciting incident. Rather than entering the
oppressive environment, the story begins with the protagonist having
existed in that environment for some time. The inciting incident
occurs with a moment where the protagonist recognizes the suffocating
nature of his or her world and feels the desire to seek freedom. This
begins somewhat discreetly in <i>Truman</i> (we see Truman secretly
tearing travel photos out of magazines and calling directory
assistance to ask about Fiji). Truman then announces his intent to
“rebel” at the End of Act 1 by confiding in his best friend (an
actor, played by Noah Emmerich) his secret wish to quit his job and
travel to Fiji. Meanwhile, Act 1 events provide Truman with initial
hints about the fraudulence of his world. (A studio light falls out
of the sky; it starts to rain, but only directly above Truman<i>.</i>)</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Though
he does not yet realize it, Truman begins to fight for his personal
liberties in Act 2A by pushing forward on his dream of escaping to
Fiji. Yet, as usual with an Insurrectionist, the System does not
approve of such independent thought and responds by manipulating
Truman’s world with events intended to get Truman back in
line—events which further clue Truman into the controlling and
oppressive nature of his environment. Finally recognizing the
opposition between himself and his world, Truman crosses a line in
the sand with an open act of rebellion at the story’s Midpoint.
Truman makes a mad dash to escape the island town in his car, but is
stopped by a bizarre series of roadblocks.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Recognizing
that Truman has entered a state of overt rebellion, the System
attempts to crack down on Truman’s behavior through the actors
Truman believes to be his family and friends. But Truman is not
fooled. He now understands that he is at war with some oppressive
force which wishes to keep him enslaved. Act 2B thus presents an
escalating battle of actions and counteractions between the
protagonist and the System. (The producers even stoop so low to bring
back Truman’s deceased “father” in hope that this will keep
Truman on the island.)</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
As
mentioned in the previous section, Act 2B turns into Act 3 with the
protagonist realizing that he or she will never be able to convince
the System to back down willingly. The only solution is to take
decisive action to escape the oppressive System for good. Truman
fools the producers with a ruse and sets out to “sea” in a small
boat. Again, there is a vicious counteraction by the System mid-act:
the producers create a storm to force Truman back to land. Yet Truman
soldiers on and ultimately finds a door which will take him out of
the System to freedom, ending the film with a Celebratory resolution.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<h3 style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>Dead Poets
Society</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> (1989)</span></h3>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/51bSHEW9zLL._AC_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="335" height="400" src="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/51bSHEW9zLL._AC_.jpg" width="267" /></a></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Yet
one more Insurrectionist; this one with a “soft” conflict where
“enslavement,” “rebellion,” and “escape” occur in a more
figurative sense. <i>Dead Poets Society</i> is the coming-of-age a
story of a group of teenage boys who, encouraged by a mentor figure,
learn to become free-thinking individualists within an academic
institution that demands conformity to strict rules and expectations.
This Insurrectionist thus dramatizes a fight for the right to
non-conform within an oppressive System of Conformity. <i>Society
</i>differs from <i>12 Years a Slave</i> and <i>The Truman Show</i>
in some other obvious ways. First, rather than a singular hero,
<i>Society </i>operates with a group protagonist (though two boys,
Todd [Ethan Hawke] and Neil [Robert Sean Leonard] receive the most
attention). Second, <i>Society</i> concludes in a Tragic resolution,
meaning that while the protagonists fight the good fight, their
efforts ultimately come up short and the System defeats them in the
end. Finally, the presence of the mentor figure Mr. Keating (Robin
Williams) makes <i>Society</i> somewhat unique. Not only does Keating
serve as an <i>outside</i> catalyst for the boys’ rebellion, but
becomes the focal point for much of the conflict later on.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
In
addition, for the sake of accuracy, I must note that <i>Dead Poets
Society</i> is not a true prototypical Insurrectionist. It is in fact
a hybrid Hero Versus the System, as the story incorporates several
attributes from the Insurrectionist’s sister pattern, The Social
Reformer. This hybridization shall be commented upon later.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Here
once again is the narrative structure of the Insurrectionist, as seen
in <i>Dead Poets Society:</i></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
At
the inciting incident, the protagonists enter the oppressive
environment: New student Todd begins his first year at the
prestigious boarding school Welton Academy for Boys. Likewise, the
other boys return for the new semester. The boys meet the poetry
teacher Mr. Keating and are inspired by his calls to think for
oneself and “seize the day.” The boys find in an old yearbook
that Keating was once a member of the “Dead Poets Society,” a
secret club dedicated to “sucking the marrow out of life.” The
boys decide to reform the DPS. (End of Act 1: The protagonists
dedicate themselves to pursuing their own personal freedoms rather
than blindly conform to the System’s rules and expectations.)
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
In
Act 2A, through the secret meetings of the new DPS and class with Mr.
Keating, the boys gain confidence and a burgeoning sense of
self-independence. This sparks minor acts of rebellion: Neil
auditions for, and gets the lead role in, the school play in defiance
of his father’s wishes; Todd throws his parents’ thoughtless
birthday present into the river; Knox (Josh Charles) drinks and makes
a move on his crush Christine in front of her jock boyfriend; the
boys invite girls from another school to join their DPS meetings.
These actions are done in secret, however, so <i>Society</i>’s Act
2A does not yet feature any direct backlash from the System. [In this
way, the act’s events are more similar to those found in a Social
Reformer.] Yet, we do see these forces at play as Keating’s
unorthodox teaching methods become a subject of rumor and controversy
among Welton’s conservative faculty.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
At
the Midpoint, the boys cross a line in the sand with an act of open
rebellion: Some DPS members write a sarcastic letter to the school
asking for girls to be admitted, making the bold but foolish move of
signing the letter “The Dead Poets Society.” The response from
the System is immediate: The faculty hastily arrange a disciplinary
meeting to address this action. The boys, however, escalate their
defiance by interrupting the meeting with a prank. The boys are now
in open revolt against the System’s rules (in all of its various
forms), creating a series of escalating actions and counter-actions
across the several story threads in Act 2B. (The school headmaster
paddles Charlie [Gale Hansen] when he refuses to give up the names of
the DPS members and Keating is reprimanded for encouraging their
free-thinking; Neil’s father (Kurtwood Smith) orders Neil to quit
the school play, but Neil lies to Keating about the incident in order
to remain in the play; Knox makes a fool of himself by going to
Christine’s school to publicly woo her with poetry). Such
back-and-forth battles culminate with a crisis event to end Act 2B:
Neil’s father is so furious about Neil defying his wishes that he
announces plans to remove Neil from Welton to enroll him in military
school. In the ultimate act of teen rebellion, Neil commits suicide.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Here,
at the start of Act 3, the elements of the Social Reformer pattern
come to the forefront. In the Social Reformer, a protagonist FIGHTS a
Force of Tyranny to correct a social injustice (as in <i>Braveheart
</i>[1995] or <i>Erin Brockovich</i> [2000]). A key part of this
pattern’s development comes in the forging of alliances against the
Force of Tyranny. We have already seen elements of this in <i>Society’s
</i>Act 2A, as the initiation of the new DPS requires the
participation of all the boys and the tacit support of Keating
(Keating serves the function of the Prime Support [also called the
“OverBoss”] character found in the Social Reformer). The Social
Reformer’s End of 2B crisis event occurs when a major
counter-strike by the Force of Tyranny causes these alliances to fall
apart. This is what happens in <i>Society</i>’s Act 3 when Welton
responds to Neil’s suicide: (Cameron [Dylan Kussman] betrays the
DPS’s secrets to the headmaster. Charlie is expelled for punching
Cameron as payback.) If the alliances can be reforged, the Social
Reformer ends in victory (as happens in <i>Brockovich</i>). If not,
the result is an inevitable failure (as in <i>Braveheart</i>).
<i>Society </i>heads toward a Tragic resolution by following the
latter path: (The remaining boys are forced to sign a confession
blaming everything on the influence of Mr. Keating. Keating is
fired.)</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Yet,
shifting back to the Insurrectionist, we find that (like in <i>One
Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest</i>) even when an Insurrectionist ends
tragically for some, the story will often conclude on a note of hope
to suggest that freedoms and liberties are still worth fighting for.
This occurs at <i>Society</i>’s bittersweet climax: The boys (with
the exception of the traitor Cameron) defy the headmaster by standing
atop their desks to salute Keating as he makes his final exit.</div>
SCRIPTMONK!!!http://www.blogger.com/profile/13911675482380489540noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3389409360415735927.post-51031055241403121132020-05-07T09:52:00.000-07:002020-05-10T16:28:43.312-07:00Scriptmonk's Plot Pattern Extravaganza -- ALL Y'ALL FAVORITES!! (Part 3)<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<a href="https://uncelebrity.blogspot.com/2020/04/scriptmonks-plot-pattern-extravaganza.html" target="_blank">Click here to jump back to Part 1 of this Series </a></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<a href="https://uncelebrity.blogspot.com/2020/03/the-34-common-plot-patterns-of.html" target="_blank">(Click here for an overview of the 34 Common Plot Patterns of American Cinema) </a><br />
<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
This
installment of my 2020 plot pattern extravaganza bends the
definitions of “classic” or “favorite” a wee bit. There may
be a film or two on this list which you hardly remember or have never
seen. However, Part 3 has been dedicated to the two
“Antagonism-Centered” families of plot patterns: The Unstoppable
Beast and The Infecting Agent. Since some of these patterns occur
more rarely than others, I have included some lesser-known titles for
the sake of illustrating the various patterns’ structural norms.</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<h3 style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>Predator</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
(1987)</span></h3>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/1416/8662/products/predator_1987_original_film_art_8bd396ca-f257-49d0-8b8d-488a3168d9cb_2000x.jpg?v=1558910701" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="533" height="400" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/1416/8662/products/predator_1987_original_film_art_8bd396ca-f257-49d0-8b8d-488a3168d9cb_2000x.jpg?v=1558910701" width="266" /></a></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Due
to numerous commonalities, the <i>Predator</i> franchise is often
associated with the <i>Alien</i> franchise. Both properties are owned
by Twentieth Century Fox. Both center upon nearly-unstoppable alien
killing machines (albeit one is animalistic and the other is a
humanoid armed with technology). And both operate in the horror vein
of science fiction with packs of humans hunted to the point of
extermination. Yet the two franchises have even more in common. The
first installment of both franchises also follow the same plot
pattern: Type 7a: The Infecting Being.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Now,
if <i>Alien</i> and <i>Predator </i>are viewed back-to-back, one
might be forgiven for assuming that the story of <i>Predator</i> has
much less in common with the suspense thriller <i>Alien</i> than it
does with a film like <i>The Terminator </i>(1984), a prototypical
Type 6a: The Destructive Beast. After all, <i>Predator </i>and <i>The
Terminator</i> both feature an unstoppable, heavily-armed killing
machine who stalks the human protagonists with single-minded
malevolence. However, <i>Predator</i> does not demonstrate the same
structural pattern of attack/escape, attack/escape endemic to the
Destructive Beast (as explained below in the section on <i>Teenage
Mutant Ninja Turtles: The Movie</i>). Though it takes an
over-simplified form, the plot of <i>Predator</i> is a structural
match with <i>Alien</i> and the Infecting Being.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
As
best exemplified by <i>Alien</i> (which I consider the most
prototypical of all examples), but also found in films as diverse as
<i>Jaws </i>(1975), <i>The Dark Knight </i>(2008),<i> Casino </i>(1995),<i>
The Usual Suspects </i>(1995), and <i>Halloween </i>(1978), the
Infecting Being centers upon some malicious agent which, like a
virus, attaches itself to the protagonist’s environment and
proceeds to corrupt, ruin, or destroy everything around it. In Act 1,
initiating events prompt the protagonist to unknowingly enter the
vicinity of this malicious agent; or alternatively, the agent is
brought into the protagonist’s vicinity. (In <i>Alien,</i> the
Nostromo crew descend to a desolate planet’s surface in response to
a distress signal.) End 1 ends with the agent permanently attaching
itself to the protagonist’s environment. (The alien facehugger
literally attaches itself to crew member Kane.) Characters,
distracted by other concerns, ignore or underestimate the agent’s
threat in Act 2A, allowing it to grow stronger and entrench itself
even deeper into the environment. It is not until the Midpoint that
an event finally alerts the characters to the enormity of this
threat. (The alien xenomorph bursts out of Kane’s chest and is now
loose on the ship.) In Act 2B, the characters take escalating actions
intended to subdue or eliminate the agent. Yet the agent has grown
too powerful and always remains one step ahead of its opponents. At
the end of Act 2B, the characters reach a point of such desperation
that they have no choice but to take the most extreme action
imaginable to hopefully rid themselves of the agent for good. (The
surviving crew members conclude that their only option is to destroy
the Nostromo with the alien on board.) [Not to get political, but it
is hard not to notice real-life parallels with this plot pattern in
the United States’ national response to the COVID-19 crisis. It’s
human nature to ignore a quiet threat until it is too late.]</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>Predator </i><span style="font-style: normal;">contains
a very simple narrative, so the pattern becomes clear as soon as one
knows what to look for. In Act 1, Major “Dutch” Schaefer (Arnold
Schwarzenegger) and his team of commandos enter the vicinity of the
Predator agent when they are sent on a (narratively tacked-on) rescue
mission against paramilitary insurgents in the Central American
jungle. The presence of the agent is foreshadowed by an encounter
with the skinned corpses of other soldiers hanging from the trees.
After the team completes its mission, the viewer, for the first time,
is presented with a point-of-view shot in thermal “Predator-vision,”
indicating that some otherworldly thing is now following the
characters. This marks the end of Act 1: the malicious agent has
attached itself to the characters’ environment. The commandos, of
course, are ignorant of this threat, and thus do not know what to
think or how to react when a series of mysterious encounters takes
the lives of two of their members in Act 2A. The team believes they
are dealing with more insurgents, and thus take ineffective measures
to defend themselves. After a disastrous night where their camp
defenses again fail to protect them from the agent, the commandos
finally come to understand the true nature of this threat: they are
being methodically hunted by some inhuman thing far deadlier than
anything they have ever encountered (the story’s Midpoint event).
In Act 2B, the commandos make a series of attempts to capture or kill
the creature while making haste to the extraction point. Yet these
actions continue to underestimate the capabilities of their alien
stalker, leading only to the deaths of more team members. Act 2B ends
with Dutch as the only remaining survivor. Finally getting a close look
at the monster, Dutch realizes that the most extreme actions will be
necessary if he hopes to survive. So, in Act 3, Dutch constructs a
series of obstacles and traps which he will use in a desperate
attempt to outwit and eventually defeat the Predator in a one-on-one
battle. Dutch succeeds, finally eliminating the deadly agent.</span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<h3 style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>Hellboy</i>
(2004)</h3>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/512RQ8303aL._AC_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="337" height="400" src="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/512RQ8303aL._AC_.jpg" width="268" /></a></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Guillermo
Del Toro’s first </span><i>Hellboy </i><span style="font-style: normal;">film
might not have as large a following as </span><i>Predator</i><span style="font-style: normal;">,
but (as one of my personal favorite fantasy genre films) it may be
used to further illustrate the Infecting Being plot pattern through a
story with a differing tone and premise. For those who have not seen
it, </span><i>Hellboy</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> is set at
the </span>Bureau for Paranormal Research and Defense: a secret
government agency tasked with protecting the world from supernatural
threats. Our team of heroes consists of the elderly Professor Broom
and three meta-humans: the demon Hellboy, the fish-man Abe Sapien,
and the pyrokinetic Liz. The drama begins with the release of Broom’s
old enemy Rasputin from his cosmic prison. Rasputin and his followers
then enact an elaborate plan to distract and manipulate the heroes in
order to bring about a Lovecraftian apocalypse which will awaken the
old gods and destroy the world.</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>Hellboy</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
can be clearly recognized as an Infecting Being by the fact that the
heroes are left unaware of Rasputin and the magnitude of this threat
until the story’s Midpoint. In Act 1, the malicious agent
(Rasputin) enters the heroes’ environment, releasing a hellbeast
from a stone statue. When the heroes respond and Hellboy slays this
first beast, the event is assumed to be an isolated incident and the
heroes leave their guards down. Yet little do they realize that,
through this event, Rasputin has successfully established the first
foothold of his master plan (the malicious agent permanently attaches
itself to the environment). Since the heroes remain unaware of any
major details concerning Rasputin’s threat, they become distracted
by other concerns and fall prey to further tricks and manipulations
in Act 2A. This ignorance results in disaster: several agents are
killed, Abe Sapien is injured; and, at the Midpoint event, Rasputin
murders Professor Broom to retrieve an item essential to his
apocalypse.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">It
is not until this Midpoint that the heroes finally come to understand
the threat which has been brewing under their noses. In Act 2B, the
remaining heroes respond by taking actions aimed at stopping
Rasputin’s master plan. However, like Keysor Soze in </span><i>The
Usual Suspects,</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> Rasputin is too
smart for the heroes. Ignorance continues to be a factor, and the
heroes are unwittingly led to do exactly what Rasputin wishes. As it
turns out, Hellboy has always been an essential element of Rasputin’s
plans. Everything has been contrived to lead Hellboy to a specific
place at a specific time so Rasputin may use Hellboy to initiate the
apocalypse. With the door to the dark cosmos opened at the end of Act
2B, the heroes find themselves in a most desperate situation. And,
like in most Infecting Being stories, the characters really have no
one to blame but themselves for their own past ignorance. Once again,
the characters are put into a position where only the most extreme of
actions have any possibility of eliminating the agent before it can
achieve absolute destruction.</span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<h3 style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>Se7en</i>
(1995)</h3>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/51pUJTFYV7L._AC_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="331" height="400" src="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/51pUJTFYV7L._AC_.jpg" width="263" /></a></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
It
is fairly easy to trace the development of conflict in an Infecting
Being, as the source of the dramatic threat is always located in a
flesh-and-blood individual (human or otherwise). Yet the corrupting
influence found in its counterpart, Type 7b: The Infecting Idea, can
be slipperier and harder to identify. As the pattern’s name
suggests, the malicious agent found in an Infecting Idea tends to be
far more abstract. Rather than a physical entity infecting a
character’s environment, a disturbing idea, fear, or suspicion
infects characters’ minds. This idea may then spread from one
character to another like a virus, creating panic, paranoia, and
increasingly irrational behavior. Prototypical examples include
<i>Reservoir Dogs</i> (1992), a story where a group of criminals
suspect a traitor among their ranks. Fear and accusations cause the
characters to turn on each other, with bloody consequences. Another
example is Clint Eastwood’s <i>Mystic River</i> (2003), where the
murder of a teenage daughter tears a neighborhood apart with
suspicion. The film ends with the father erroneously killing a
childhood friend in revenge.
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Due
to its abstract nature, the Infecting Idea plot pattern follows a
looser structure to accommodate all of its possible manifestations.
For this reason, I will start off with David Fincher’s <i>Se7en, </i>a
film where the infection has the most tangible source and clear,
physical consequences.
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Act
1 begins with an event which first plants the infecting idea into the
minds of one or more characters. (While investigating a grotesque
crime scene, Detective Somerset (Morgan Freeman) notices that the
murder has all the hallmarks of a serial killer: the most terrifying,
nihilistic, socially-destructive force imaginable in a modern urban
environment.) At first, however, characters resist or try to deny
this idea. (Both Detective Mills [Brad Pitt] and their supervisor [R.
Lee Ermey] dismiss the idea. The first murder is merely a strange,
yet isolated incident.) However, further developments force the
characters to accept the reality of the idea at the end of Act 1.
(Somerset finds evidence linking the first killing to a second
bizarre murder. As Somerset predicts, they can expect five more
murders. The detectives accept the idea: They are indeed dealing with
a serial killer.)</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Following
the acceptance of this idea, Act 2A begins with the characters taking
rational, level-headed actions to resolve the problem through
familiar methods. (Somerset and Mills chase clues using good
old-fashioned police work.) However, these efforts lead to nowhere
but failure and frustration. (A hot clue leads the detective straight
to the next crime scene, just as the killer had planned. It is clear
that the killer is toying with them.) As new developments cause
tensions to mount, characters start to give in to more desperate
impulses, sometimes switching to extreme or unorthodox methods.
(Mills’ behavior becomes increasingly reckless and angry. The
by-the-book Somerset starts to bend the law with some
ethically-questionable methods.)</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
The
Act 2B of an Infecting Idea may then develop in one of two ways. In
the most common course, the Midpoint finds one or more characters
becoming fully “infected” by the story’s mental virus. The
infected characters then start to act irrationally, causing infected
and non-infected characters to turn on each other. (In <i>Mystic
River,</i> childhood friend Dave [Tim Robbins] starts to act
strangely, causing Jimmy [Sean Penn] and Dave’s wife [Marcia Gay
Harden] to suspect that Dave is the killer.) Alternatively, the
Midpoint event may finally reveal the source of the infection. This
is the path taken by <i>Reservoir Dogs,</i> where Mr. Orange (Tim
Roth) is revealed to be an undercover cop. <i>Se7en</i> also follows
this route. (Somerset and Mills find the apartment of the killer John
Doe [Kevin Spacey] and have their first direct encounter with Doe.)
Act 2B then traces the roots of the infection. This however, does
little to curb its continuing influence. In fact, the infection
spreads quicker and deeper, pushing characters to increasing levels
of desperation. (Knowing the police are hot on his trail, John Doe
picks up the pace of his actions so he may complete his murderous
masterpiece before time runs out.)</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Act
3 also allows two options. The End of Act 2B Turning Point may
implement one or the other, or a combination of both. In the first
option, Act 3 begins with a “hint of truth.” This revelation
suggests a possible answer to all the madness. Yet the conflict
intensifies as characters continue to fight over or deny this truth.
(In <i>Reservoir Dogs</i>, the boss Joe declares Mr. Orange to be the
traitor, an accusation Mr. White [Harvey Keitel] furiously denies.)
As a second possibility, Act 3 begins with an infected character
committing an irrational action or initiating a plan that, unless
quickly reversed, will lead to an ultimate destruction. The Act 3 of
<i>Se7en</i> begins with John Doe suddenly surrendering himself to
the police. Yet this makes no sense. Why would this psychotic genius
give himself up before completing his masterpiece? This inexplicable
action follows the Infecting Idea’s second option. As the story’s
most infected character, the “Patient Zero” of the infection if
you will, Doe’s surrender is a key part of his warped master plan
that will bring the story to its grim and brutal end.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Yet
no matter which option the story uses in early Act 3, the infection
is now at the height of its power and events spiral dangerously out
of characters’ control. Whether the climax results in total
destruction or a last-second redemption, the full truth or
consequences of all previous events are finally revealed. As the
smoke clears, characters find the fear, panic, or suspicion has left
their world in shambles. (In <i>Se7en, </i>the detectives believe
they have Doe’s evil safely contained. However, they discover
themselves to be pawns in the killer’s game yet again. Taken to a
remote location, the situation spirals into annihilation with the
discovery of the severed head of Mills’ wife and Mills repeatedly
shooting Doe in his rage. In the end, the infection destroys Mills as
well.)</div>
<h3 style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</h3>
<h3 style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>Close
Encounters of the Third Kind</i> (1977)</h3>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/41XGz5LJpgL._AC_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="338" height="400" src="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/41XGz5LJpgL._AC_.jpg" width="270" /></a></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
To
provide a contrast with <i>Se7en</i>, <i>Close Encounters of the
Third Kind</i> presents a very different take on the Infecting Idea
plot pattern. Here we find a rare case of a Celebratory Infecting
Idea where the “infection” is ultimately revealed to have a
benign source and characters are rewarded for following its impulses.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>Encounters</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
is also a rarity among Hollywood films in that the story is
intentionally designed to create narrative gaps which are never
filled and prompt questions which go unanswered. </span><i>Encounters</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
seeks to instill a feeling of wonder through its spectacle rather
than give the usual “mystery-solving” experience by way of a
causal chain of questions and answers. Nevertheless, the course of
the “infection” which consumes the protagonists is quite clear.
In fact, with the story’s focus on character reactions instead of
narrative facts, the Infecting Idea pattern becomes painfully
obvious. </span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>Encounters</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
contains two characters who may be labeled protagonists: Roy Neary
(Richard Dreyfuss) and Jillian Guiler (Melinda Dillon). At the
inciting incident, both protagonists have a strange encounter which
first plants the infecting idea in their minds. (On an isolated road,
Roy’s truck goes haywire as some overhead object blasts him with a
blinding light. Jillian wakes when every electronic item in her home
becomes animated, an event which causes her young boy to run off into
the woods.) The protagonists, of course, do not immediately leap to
the conclusion of alien visitors. As rational persons, they respond
in the same way anyone might. (Unsure what just happened, Roy tries
to follow the light. Jillian chases after her son, too preoccupied to
give anything else much thought.) Act 1 then ends with an event which
confirms the reality of the idea. (Roy and Jillian together witness
three spacecraft up close. Suspicions have been confirmed. They have
definitely been visited by advanced extraterrestrial beings.)</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">There
are other witnesses of the spacecraft as well. This splits the
townsfolk into two sides in Act 2A: those who did witness and believe
the strange events (the infected) against those who did not and
refuse to believe (the uninfected). Both sides, at first, take
rational attempts at quelling the discord, but neither are able to
convince the other to their point of view. Recourse to civic
institutions also proves pointless. Halfway through Act 2A, signs of
“infection” begin to show in the witnesses. (Roy begins to act
oddly, preoccupied by the mental image of a mound-like structure.
Jillian’s son also seems to be mentally absorbed by the image.)
Ensuing events then cause the fear and panic to escalate. (Mostly
limited in </span><i>Encounters</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
to a single, albeit terrifying, event: The alien visitors return to
Jillian’s home and abduct her son.)</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">As
stated in the previous section, the Midpoint event provides two
options for the Infecting Idea. While </span><i>Se7en</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
follows the second option,</span><i> Encounters </i><span style="font-style: normal;">makes
use of the first: the protagonists both become completely “infected”
by the Idea, triggering highly irrational behavior. (Roy appears to
have gone certifiably insane, tearing up his lawn in some sort of
mania. Meanwhile, Jillian is a basketcase, drawing picture after
picture of the mound-like structure.) As usual, this mental break
causes infected and non-infected characters to turn on each other
(Roy’s wife packs up the kids and leaves him. No one will believe
Jillian’s story about her son.) The infected characters then pursue
an increasingly irrational plan of action (Roy and Jillian both
identify the Devil’s Tower National Monument as the structure they
have envisioned and go there in spite of a full military evacuation
due to a “nerve gas.”) These escalated actions create more
conflict with the uninfected. (Roy and Jillian are arrested by the
military).</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Yet
Roy and Jillian remain obsessed with the Idea, and launch Act 3 with
an extreme act of irrational defiance. (They escape military custody
and attempt to run to Devil’s Tower on foot.) In most films, this
turning point would initiate a downward spiral toward ultimate
self-destruction, but as I have mentioned, </span><i>Encounters</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
presents a unique deviation where the protagonists’ “infected”
impulses are eventually proven correct. The aliens are benevolent,
and their “infection” was actually a subliminal invitation to
join them. The non-believers are proven wrong, and Roy is rewarded at
the climax by being allowed to board the alien ship to learn the
wonders of the universe.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">(For
an even more abstract take on the Infecting Idea, I encourage you to
consider Sofia Coppola’s first feature, </span><i>The Virgin
Suicides</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> (1999). This story
traces the tragic dissolution of a family and its five teenage
daughters, starting with a suicide attempt by its youngest. I have also discovered
Tim Burton’s </span><i>Sleepy Hollow</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
(1999) to be a more literal example of an Infecting Idea. But since I
don’t think many people actually like this movie, I won’t spend
any time discussing it.)</span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<h3 style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>Teenage Mutant
Ninja Turtles: The Movie </i><span style="font-style: normal;">(1990)</span></h3>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/815kepSTMxL._AC_SY879_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="531" height="400" src="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/815kepSTMxL._AC_SY879_.jpg" width="265" /></a></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Call
it childhood nostalgia, but I think the original </span><i>Teenage
Mutant Ninja Turtles </i><span style="font-style: normal;">movie is an
underrated family classic. It was way ahead of recent genre trends by
having the guts to take its source material seriously. Its style was
“darkgrit” way before Chris Nolan’s </span><i>Batman Begins</i><span style="font-style: normal;">.
And, most impressively, it puts real effort into developing its
characters and theme. It is not all sight gags and set pieces, but a
story about the bonds of brotherhood and the love between fathers and
sons. Now, I’m not suggestion it is some kind of hidden
masterpiece. I’m simply saying it deserves more respect than it has
received.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>TMNT</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
is, of course, aimed at a younger audience with a fantasy premise to
boot. As such, it follows the same wisdom used in films like the
original </span><i>Star Wars, The Matrix, </i><span style="font-style: normal;">or
</span><i>The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring</i><span style="font-style: normal;">:
the more fantastic the story premise, the simpler the storyteller
should keep the plot. Here then is the plot of </span><i>TMNT</i><span style="font-style: normal;">: The Foot Clan, an underground army of runaway
youths-turned-ninjas led by their master Shredder, has targeted
reporter April O’Neil for investigating their activities. The
Turtles also become targets of the Foot after Raphael rescues April
from an attack. The Foot invade the Turtles’ home while the heroes
are away (a battle which takes place off-screen), ending Act 1 with
the kidnapping of the Turtles’ “father” Splinter. In response,
the heroes find refuge in the home of April, where tensions escalate
between the brothers. Midway through Act 2A, the Foot again surprise
the heroes with an escalated attack, leaving Raphael unconscious and
April’s home in ashes. The heroes escape and are forced to make a
tactical retreat to an old country house at the story’s Midpoint.
At this sanctuary, the heroes heal and regroup. Strengthened both
physically and mentally, the heroes return midway through Act 2B—to
be soon found again by Shredder’s Foot Clan. Yet the heroes are now
prepared to fight rather than flee, creating an intense Act 3 battle
which culminates in the heroes facing, disempowering, and defeating
the Shredder; reuniting with their father Splinter in the process.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">This
plot breakdown reveals that </span><i>TMNT </i><span style="font-style: normal;">closely
follows the pattern of Type 6a: The Destructive Beast, a story
variety discussed<a href="https://uncelebrity.blogspot.com/2013/12/the-unstoppable-beast-story-type-part-i.html" target="_blank"> </a></span><a href="https://uncelebrity.blogspot.com/2013/12/the-unstoppable-beast-story-type-part-i.html" target="_blank"><span style="font-style: normal;"><u>in full detail in this previous article.</u></span></a><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
Not only do the sequences of escalating attack and escape occur at
the same points as prototypical Destructive Beasts like </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">The
Terminator</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
or </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">The Bourne
Identity </span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">(2002),
but so do the sequences dedicated to developing the character
relationships between the hero(es) and the “Sole Companion”
character April O’Neil. Furthermore, the heroes’ tactical retreat
to the country farmhouse is a dead giveaway of the pattern, as this
type of event occurs at the Midpoint of all prototypical Destructive
Beasts.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Yet
of course, </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">TMNT</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
also seems quite different from </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Terminator</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
or </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Bourne</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
due to its use of a few alternatives and deviations. First of all,
</span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">TMNT</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
features not a singular protagonist, but a group protagonist made up
of all four brothers. Second, the protagonists are not the original
target of the “Beast.” The Shredder initially targets April
O’Neil for destruction. The Turtles only become targeted by
association when they come to April’s aid in late Act 1. Thus, the
roles of the targeted “protagonist” and the Sole Companion
character(s) are initially flip-flopped. However, this deviation is
corrected after Act 1, when the Turtles become the Beast’s primary
target. Finally, the Beast found in </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">TMNT</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
does not present the figure of constant menace found in </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Terminator</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
or </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Bourne</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
(or, for that matter, other Destructive Beasts like </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Punch-Drunk
Love </span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">[2002],</span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">
The Incredible Hulk </span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">[2008],
or </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">The Contender
</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">[2000]).
</span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">TMNT</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
instead prefers to keep the Beast in the story’s background to
dedicate more time to the development of the character relationships
between the brothers, April O’Neil and comrade Casey Jones. While
the Destructive Beast is one of the Antagonism-Centered plot
patterns, </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">TMNT
</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">presents
the alternative of formulating a </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">protagonism</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">-centered
Destructive Beast.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<h3 style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>Collateral</i>
(2004)</h3>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/41DgP0BydTL._AC_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="337" height="400" src="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/41DgP0BydTL._AC_.jpg" width="268" /></a></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
This
film may be little more than a blip in our memories now, but at the
time of its release, this Michael Mann thriller made quite a splash
with its combination of a tight, fast-paced plot, an A-list cast, and
an uncharacteristically lo-fi, indie-style aesthetic. Most of the
criticism against this film, however, came from the many perceived
similarities to 2001’s <i>Training Day </i>– causing some to
label it a pale imitation. Since <i>Training Day</i> operates as a
prototypical Type 16b: The False Friendship, I initially followed the
critical consensus and assumed <i>Collateral</i> to be a False
Friendship as well. However, upon a recent viewing, I was proven
completely wrong. I have included <i>Collateral </i>on this list of
better-known films because it presents a great example of one of the
most rarely-produced (and one of my favorite) plot patterns: Type 6b:
The Covetous Beast.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
For
a detailed discussion on the Covetous Beast, I recommend you <a href="https://uncelebrity.blogspot.com/2014/01/the-unstoppable-beast-story-type-part.html" target="_blank">read this previous article.</a> The Covetous Beast, of course, belongs to
the same family of plot patterns as the Destructive Beast. However,
in this case, the “Beast” does not wish to destroy the
Protagonist, but to possess, control, and/or enslave the Protagonist,
as best exemplified by the prototypes <i>Sunset Boulevard</i> (1950)
and <i>Fatal Attraction </i>(1987). As described in the article
linked above, the narrative of a Covetous Beast can be best described
in terms of a contract forged between Protagonist and Beast. The
Protagonist first enters into this arrangement willingly, believing
it to be simple and short-lived. Yet at the end of Act 1, the
Protagonist learns this contract has highly-unwelcome strings
attached. In <i>Collateral,</i> the drama begins when cab driver Max
(Jamie Foxx) is hired for the night by client Vincent (Tom Cruise).
Vincent offers Max $600 for six trips, a pretty attractive deal for a
cabbie in need of funds to start his own business. Yet this simple
contract takes a dark turn at the close of Act 1 when the first stop
ends with a dead body falling onto Max’s cab. Max learns that
Vincent is an assassin, hired to kill five people that night. Max
wants out of the deal. But Vincent makes it frighteningly clear that
Max <i>will</i> fulfill his agreed-upon duties or else the next
bullet will be for Max.
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
With
this, the Protagonist regrets the contract and begins Act 2A trying
to complete its terms as quickly as possible and/or searching for
a reasonable way to get out of the arrangement. However, in the
following sequences, the Beast tightens its grip on the Protagonist,
demanding that the Protagonist cede more and more personal control.
Through two incidents in <i>Collateral</i>’s Act 2A (a
narrowly-escaped potential bloodbath when the cab is pulled over by
police, and a robbery by thugs after Max calls out to strangers for
help) Vincent constricts the bond between he and Max. Vincent makes
clear that they are no longer client and driver, but partners. Any
more attempts to squirm out of the arrangement may result in the
deaths of more innocent people. Though Max continues to offer
resistance, these efforts become futile. By the end of Act 2A, it has
become abundantly clear that the Protagonist has become the
contract’s PRISONER.
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Things
reach a breaking point at the Midpoint of a Covetous Beast. The
Protagonist declares the contract null and void and attempts an
escape. (Max takes advantage of a momentary distraction to grab the
case filled with the information on Vincent’s remaining targets and
makes a run for it.) Yet this does not last long. The Beast has too
strong a hold on the Protagonist and forces a reunion. (In
<i>Collateral, </i>this period of escape is briefer than in most
Covetous Beasts. Unable to outrun Vincent, the best Max can do is
chuck Vincent’s case off the side of a freeway overpass.) With
this, the Protagonist must admit his/her helplessness and surrender
to the contract, dragging him/her even deeper into its imprisonment
in Act 2B. (Vincent is not happy. He gives Max a choice: either help
him retrieve another copy of the lost information or die. Max
surrenders and is pulled even deeper into Vincent’s world when
Vincent forces Max to impersonate him in a meeting with Vincent’s
employer, the crime lord Felix [Javier Bardem]. This has an added
complication: the federal agents monitoring Felix now believe that
Max is the assassin responsible for the people Vincent has killed.)</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
However,
along with the Protagonist and the Beast, the Covetous Beast contains
a third crucial party: the Wedge character. The Wedge is an
individual with the goal of separating the Protagonist from the
Beast. (In <i>Collateral,</i> this is LAPD detective Fanning [Mark
Ruffalo].) While the Wedge may have been little more than a
background player up to this point, he or she attempts to directly
interpose him/herself into the conflict in Act 2B. (Vincent and Max
enter a nightclub in search of Vincent’s fourth target. The feds
have orders to shoot Max on sight. Fanning, however, believes Max is
innocent. He finds Max and extracts him from the nightclub in the
ensuing chaos.)</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
This
opens a new conflict between the Beast and the Wedge—a tug-of-war,
if you will, for control of the Protagonist. The story then makes its
turn into Act 3 with the Beast taking an intolerable action against
the Wedge. (Like the Midpoint event, this new line of action is
uncharacteristically short-lived in <i>Collateral. </i>Vincent shoots
Fanning and recaptures Max as soon as they exit the nightclub.)
Disgusted by this action against the Wedge, the Protagonist finally
musters the guts to turn the tables on the Beast. The Protagonist
realizes that the Beast clings so tightly to him or her because the
Beast desperately <i>needs</i> the Protagonist. The Protagonist thus
recognizes that he or she has some power in the relationship and uses
this power to finally tear him/herself away from the Beast. (Max
intentionally wrecks his cab to prevent Vincent from reaching his
final target.) But the Beast will not go away quietly. Though the
contract has been broken, the Beast refuses to give up on its
original goal, causing direct conflict to continue in escalated
fashion. (Vincent takes off on foot in pursuit of his final target.
Max learns that this target is the woman he met earlier that night
[Jada Pinkett Smith], compelling him to follow.) The film then
climaxes with a direct confrontation between the Protagonist and
Beast, an event which only one (or possibly neither) party will
survive. (Max saves the target and kills Vincent.)</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
* * * * *</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Stay
tuned for the fourth and final installment of Scriptmonk’s Plot
Pattern Extravaganza! Films to be covered: <i>Unforgiven, Butch
Cassidy & The Sundance Kid, Dead Poets Society, Beetlejuice</i>,
and more!</div>
SCRIPTMONK!!!http://www.blogger.com/profile/13911675482380489540noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3389409360415735927.post-79085306865787863262020-05-02T14:25:00.000-07:002020-05-10T17:24:50.701-07:00Scriptmonk's Plot Pattern Extravaganza -- ALL Y'ALL FAVORITES!! (Part 2) <a href="https://uncelebrity.blogspot.com/2020/04/scriptmonks-plot-pattern-extravaganza.html" target="_blank">(Click here for PART 1)</a><br />
<br />
<a href="https://uncelebrity.blogspot.com/2020/03/the-34-common-plot-patterns-of.html" target="_blank">(Click here for an overview of the 34 Common Plot Patterns of American Cinema) </a><br />
<br />
The extravaganza continues this week with an analysis of eight more films operating in groups 8 and 9 of the Action-Centered Plot Patterns! Enjoy.<br />
(SPOILERS)<br />
<h3 style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>North by
Northwest </i><span style="font-style: normal;">(1959)</span></h3>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/51NQsTl2HiL._AC_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="333" height="400" src="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/51NQsTl2HiL._AC_.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
More
than sixty years old, Alfred Hitchcock’s <i>North by Northwest</i>
can definitely be labeled a Hollywood classic. The structural
analysis of anything over forty years old can be a bit tricky,
however, as the “classical” narrative structures used in
Hollywood’s past differ in many ways from what we are accustomed to
seeing on movie screens today. However, true “classics” (older
films which remain widely-loved and critically-revered due to their
superior storytelling, such as <i>Casablanca, Citizen Kane, The
Wizard of Oz</i> or <i>North by Northwest</i>), seem to have been far
ahead of the curve when it came to structural proficiency. Thus,
despite their extensive age, <i>Casablanca</i> is still a
prototypical Crisis of Conscience, <i>Citizen Kane </i>represents a
prototypical Power Glutton, and <i>North by Northwest </i>provides a
early example of Type 9a: The Involuntary Snowball of Complications.
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Exemplified
by films like <i>Back to the Future</i> (1985) or <i>The Big Lebowski
</i>(1998), the Involuntary Snowball features a protagonist who
becomes unwittingly tangled up in an increasingly complex, and
eventually overwhelming, narrative situation. While the protagonist
may have been initially drawn into the situation by fate or bad luck,
the protagonist subsequently makes the predicament worse and worse
through a series of mistakes and poor judgments. The plot thus
develops like a giant snowball rolling downhill; increasing in size,
as well as speed, as it picks up more and more material as it goes.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
If
we simplify its twists and turns, <i>North by Northwest</i> fits in
quite well with other Involuntary Snowball prototypes. Protagonist
Roger Thornhill (Cary Grant) is corralled into a life-or-death
conflict by pure bad luck when the antagonist mistakes him for a
government agent named George Kaplan. This creates problems enough,
but at the end of Act 1, Thornhill commits a major error which
greatly complicates his situation: Thornhill is photographed holding
the knife used to murder a UN diplomat, inciting a manhunt for his
arrest. In Act 2A, Thornhill deals with the consequences of this
complication to the best of his limited abilities, but clumsy actions
and foolish mistakes lead to an event which adds another, and even
greater story complication: Thornhill is set up to be killed (in the
famous cropduster sequence) by the beautiful blonde Thornhill
believed to be an ally (Eva Marie Saint), revealing that he has been
playing right into the antagonist’s hands. Thornhill must work even
harder in Act 2B to outrun the snowball of complications threatening
to crush him. Luckily for him, Act 2B ends (as all Involuntary
Snowballs do) with an event that successfully resolves the
complication created at the End of Act 1: Thornhill is taken in by
the intelligence agency behind the “Kaplan” mystery. This event
essentially clears Thornhill of the UN murder and ends the manhunt.
With that complication out of the way, the Involuntary Snowball’s
Act 3 begins with the protagonist turning all of his/her attention
onto resolving the original conflict set up in Act 1: Thornhill
agrees to impersonate George Kaplan to help the government stop the
antagonist.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<h3 style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>True Lies</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
(1994)</span></h3>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/514h3p8L5mL._AC_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="378" height="400" src="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/514h3p8L5mL._AC_.jpg" width="301" /></a></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Arnold
Schwarzenegger made a lot of action-comedy junk in the 1990s. Most of
it can be happily forgotten. However, James Cameron’s </span><i>True
Lies</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> holds higher regard
in the opinions of genre fans. Most fans would say this is because
</span><i>True Lies</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> is a little
bit better. It’s a little bit better because it is a little bit
different. The truth is, </span><i>True Lies</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
isn’t really the story of an elite secret agent fighting
criminals and terrorists. It is the story of a jealous husband trying
to save his failing marriage – who just </span><i>happens to be</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
an elite member of a secret agency with all the resources of that
agency at his fingertips. Once this distinction is made, the movie’s
Involuntary Snowball plot pattern becomes apparent. For while Act 1
contains a lot of action and intrigue to set up the spectacular set
pieces found in the second half of the film, all this material is put
on hold at the end of Act 1 and left entirely absent from Act 2A.
Instead, we find Schwarzenegger’s Harry Tasker putting all his time
and agency resources into investigating his fear of his wife Helen’s
(Jamie Lee Curtis) possible adultery. However, to Harry’s horror,
these two lines of action converge at the story’s Midpoint event,
inextricably involving Helen in his mission to stop a nuclear terror
plot.</span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">So,
here is the Involuntary Snowball structure as found in </span><i>True
Lies</i><span style="font-style: normal;">. Act 1 sets up the story’s
external conflict, not through a single inciting incident, but a
series of events—a trademark of the Snowball of Complications plot
patterns: (Harry Tasker lives a double life. The demands of his
secret professional life have put an undue strain on his private
life, leaving Helen unhappy.) The protagonist then makes a major
error at the End of Act 1 (Harry surpasses the limits of Helen’s
patience by failing to show up for his own birthday party), which as
a result creates a major complication to the protagonist’s
situation: (Harry learns that Helen has begun seeing another man,
causing Harry to fear that Helen is cheating on him). Act 2A then
focuses not so much on the situation established in Act 1, but the
protagonist’s efforts to deal with the new complication. (Harry
abuses the power of his agency to spy on Helen and scare away his
rival. He then sets up a complex ruse to rekindle his marriage.)
However, the protagonist’s attempts to deal with the complication
end up worsening the overall situation by triggering an even greater
complication at the Midpoint. (The bad guys get the drop on Harry. They mistake Helen for a fellow agent and kidnap them both.)
Now dug deep into a hole of his own making, the protagonist must put
all his Act 2B effort into climbing out of that hole, while dealing
with the unexpected obstacles and further complications which come
along the way. Act 2B then ends in a manner which successfully
resolves the complication created at the End of Act 1. (Harry,
injected with truth serum, confesses everything about his secret
double-life to Helen. With the two now open and honest with one
another, there is no more reason for marital discord or Harry’s
suspicions.) With the End of Act 1 complication cleared out of the
way, Act 3 focuses upon resolving the original problem established at
the story’s inciting incident. (Harry stops the terrorists from
detonating their nuclear weapons.) </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>Back
to the Future</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> follows this
structural pattern. </span><i>The Big Lebowski</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
follows this pattern. </span><i>North by Northwest</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
follows this pattern. And so does </span><i>True Lies</i><span style="font-style: normal;">.</span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<h3 style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>Risky Business</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
(1983)</span></h3>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/41Iv13bgrgL._AC_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="331" height="400" src="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/41Iv13bgrgL._AC_.jpg" width="263" /></a></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>Risky Business,
</i><span style="font-style: normal;">the 1983 Coming of Age classic
which launched Tom Cruise into movie stardom, presents yet another
Involuntary Snowball of Complications. However </span><i>Business</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
deviates from the pattern’s standard form. While prototypical
examples structure their Major Dramatic Turning Points in the
following fashion: Problem – Complication #1 – Complication #2 –
Resolution of Complications – Final Resolution; </span><i>Business</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
opts for a structure which goes more like this: Problem –
Complication – Resolution/New Complication – Resolution/New
Complication – Final Resolution. </span>
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">I
will not go into too much detail, seeing as I have already described
the Involuntarily Snowball twice. However, a brief overview of
</span><i>Business</i><span style="font-style: normal;">’s plot
should make clear how this deviant example operates. </span><br />
<span style="font-style: normal;"> </span>
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
High
school senior Joel Goodson, given the house to himself while his
parents are on vacation, is teased by his friends because he is about
to enter college (and thus, adulthood) with his virginity still
intact. In response, Joel contracts the services of young prostitute
Lana (Rebecca De Mornay). After a night with Lana, Joel finds he has
no money to pay her. Joel goes to the bank and returns to find Lana
missing, along with his mother’s prized (and extremely expensive) glass
Steuben egg (End of Act 1 Complication). Joel tracks down Lana,
but both are threatened by Lana’s pimp Guido (Joe Pantoliano). Lana
agrees to get Joel the egg back, but she needs to stay at his house
for a few days to get away from Guido. Things seem to be on the road
to resolution for Joel (despite the slight added complication of
having a prostitute living in his parents’ home). However, a night
out with Lana and some friends ends with the wreck of his father’s
Porsche (New complication #2, ending Act 2A). To pay for the repairs,
Lana suggests going into business for themselves by turning Joel’s
house into a one-night brothel. Despite some hiccups, the plan goes
well and Joel manages to get the Porsche repaired by the close of Act
2B (Resolution). However, when Joel brings the car home, he finds
that every piece of furniture in the house has been stolen (New
complication #3, launching Act 3). Guido arrives in a moving truck
full of the stolen furniture and offers it back in exchange for all
the money leftover from Joel’s brothel. Joel gives in and manages
to get everything back into place before his parents come home
(Resolution). In the end, we are given to believe that Joel’s
adventure has granted him the wisdom and experience he needs to cross
the threshold into adulthood (Final Resolution).</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<h3 style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>They Live </i><span style="font-style: normal;">(1988)</span></h3>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/71YhabZvwTL._AC_SL1060_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="533" height="400" src="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/71YhabZvwTL._AC_SL1060_.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">While
the Involuntary Snowball features a protagonist who becomes
unwillingly wrapped up in an increasingly complicated situation, Type
9b: The Voluntary Snowball follows a protagonist who dives head-first
into such a situation by their own free will. The most characteristic
feature of this second pattern is the presence of a “Siren” that
lures the protagonist deeper and deeper into a story conflict which
they would be wiser to avoid. This “Siren’s call” might issue
from the protagonist’s obsession with another character (as in </span><i>Blue
Velvet</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> [1986] or </span><i>WALL-E
</i><span style="font-style: normal;">[2008]), the desire to obtain a
valuable object (as in </span><i>Raiders of the Lost Ark</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
[1981]), or a mystery the protagonist feels compelled to solve (as in
</span><i>Chinatown</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> [1974]).
</span><i>They Live</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> contains a
fairly simple story, and thus uses a simplified version of the
Voluntary Snowball. Yet the hero John Nada’s (Roddy Piper) compulsion is
nevertheless the same as </span><i>Chinatown</i><span style="font-style: normal;">’s
Jake Gittes (Jack Nicholson). When Nada learns of a hidden
conspiracy, he is driven to dig deeper and deeper into the mystery
until he can uncover the truth and reveal it to the world. Like
Gittes, nothing physically forces Nada to continually push his way
into increasingly dangerous territory—except his own obsession with
the Siren’s call. </span>
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
(As
a side note, I do not remember if Piper’s character is ever
referred to by name in the film. I had to look up the character name
on imdb.com. “Nada” literally means “nothing,” providing added commentary to the nature of the protagonist.)</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">The
voluntary nature of this plot pattern may be seen in the way that,
unlike in the Involuntary Snowball, each turning point presents Nada
with an opportunity to walk away from the situation with no immediate
consequences. However, Nada continually chooses to escalate his
involvement by his own free will. When Nada sees strange goings-on at
the church across the street, he could choose to ignore it. It’s
really none of his business. Still, he sneaks in to investigate. When
he watches the police raid the church and clear out the homeless
camp, he could take it as a clear warning to move on. Anything he
does at this point would be asking for trouble. Yet still, he returns
to the empty church and collects a mysterious box. When Nada finds a
special pair of sunglasses which reveal that human society has been
secretly enslaved by aliens, he could protect himself by keeping this
revelation a secret. After all, no one knows about his discovery.
Instead, he openly challenges these disguised aliens. As the story
later establishes, Nada is not the first human to learn this secret.
The aliens’ usual strategy is to bribe these potential troublemakers
into silence with wealth and power. An alien cop suggests such a deal
to Nada just before the story’s Midpoint. But Nada does not even
consider the option. He grabs a gun and starts to kill aliens left
and right. (This is similar to the Midpoint in </span><i>Chinatown
</i><span style="font-style: normal;">where the antagonist Noah Cross
offers Jake twice as much money to switch loyalties to his side.
Gittes refuses, starting his own one-man war against Cross.)</span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
The Siren, of course, is an obsession, and thus leads the protagonist
to increasingly risky and irrational actions against his or her own
self-interest. To avoid self-destruction, the protagonist must
eventually pull back from the obsession and extricate him or herself
from the self-created complications through prudent and reasonable
actions. Nada, however, shows all the rationality of a kamikaze in
the film’s final act. While there may have been a more reasonable
way to reveal the story’s secrets to the world, Nada hurls himself
into a suicide mission. Though Nada does ultimately achieve his
objective, his only reward is a tragic death.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">(By
the way, in this current era of high-profile genre soap operas like
</span><i>Game of Thrones </i><span style="font-style: normal;">and
</span><i>Breaking Bad,</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> I am
surprised that there has not yet been a series developed from </span><i>They
Live</i><span style="font-style: normal;">. The film hints at a vast
narrative universe with questions and mysteries the original story
has no time to explore. There is enormous potential for its premise
if opened up to include a wide cast of characters.)</span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<h3 style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>Jurassic Park</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
(1993)</span></h3>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/61RLRZnbc%2BL._AC_SY741_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="741" data-original-width="494" height="400" src="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/61RLRZnbc%2BL._AC_SY741_.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">I
know a lot of people, particularly those who grew up in the 1980s &
90s, hold a deep nostalgic fervor for the original </span><i>Jurassic
Park</i><span style="font-style: normal;">. However, I hate to break
it to you that </span><i>Jurassic </i><span style="font-style: normal;">has
pretty poor story structure. It is an extremely front-heavy film
which dedicates most of its run time not to plot or character, but to
pure spectacle. It is not until about forty minutes into the film
that </span><i>Jurassic</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> seems to
realize that it also needs to tell a story. This poses some problems
for structural analysis, as all the major plot turning points have
been compressed into the back half of the film. However, here is the
dramatic 3-Act structure of </span><i>Jurassic Park</i><span style="font-style: normal;">:
</span>
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Act
1: A team of researchers are invited by an eccentric billionaire to a
mysterious faraway location. The act ends with the characters
arriving at the location to see its wonders.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Act
2A: After some exposition and a tour of the facilities, disaster
strikes when the security system is disabled by a traitor, releasing
the dinosaurs from their pens. The characters flee from the ensuing
chaos.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Act
2B: With the situation momentarily stabilized, the characters find
that the security system cannot be simply switched back on. The only
way to reboot the system is through a dangerous mission into
dinosaur-overrun territory. This mission is successful, but not
without the loss of life.</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Act
3: With that issue resolved, the characters can now make their escape
from the park. However, this is no easy task, as unexpected threats
pop up along the way, keeping the characters’ escape uncertain
until the story climax.</span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">The
most conspicuous thing about this summary is the placement of the
story’s most significant dramatic event: the release of the
dinosaurs from their enclosures. This event occurs not at the end of
Act 1 or Act 2A, but at the </span><i>end of the first sequence of
Act 2A</i><span style="font-style: normal;">. This is a dead giveaway
of plot pattern Type 8b: There & Back Again.</span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Exemplified
by the prototypes </span><i>The Wizard of Oz </i><span style="font-style: normal;">(1939),
</span><i>Apollo 13</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> (1995), and
</span><i>Deliverance </i><span style="font-style: normal;">(1972),
the There & Back Again contains a character (or, more often, a
group of characters) who leaves home on an adventure, only to
encounter a disastrous complication that threatens any safe return.
The remainder of the narrative focuses on efforts to overcome the
disastrous complications so the characters may ultimately return to
the safety of home. In Act 1, characters prepare for an adventure.
The act ends with the adventure passing its point of no return. (A
cyclone lands Dorothy’s house in Oz; the Apollo rocket takes off;
the four friends in </span><i>Deliverance</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
launch their canoes down the river). At this point, things are (more
or less) safe and under control. However, disaster strikes at the
following turning point (Dorothy’s life is threatened by the Wicked
Witch, demanding a journey to the Wizard for help; a malfunction
sends the Apollo capsule out of control; the friends are set upon by
evil mountain men.) For the remainder of Act 2A, the characters
struggle to regain control over their immediate situation. By the end
of the act, some sense of stability has been restored. However, the
Midpoint reveals a major complication (typically a direct result of
the initial disaster) which prevents any current possibility of a
safe return home. (The Wizard refuses to help Dorothy return to
Kansas until she brings him the broom of the Wicked Witch; damage to
the Apollo capsule will doom the astronauts unless quick solutions
are found; after killing and burying one of the mountain men, the
friends realize the survivor is hunting them like animals.) Act 2B
then focuses on resolving this complication, reaching success at the
act’s end. With that issue resolved, Act 3 launches the quest to
return home, with threats and obstacles encountered along the way.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
The
There & Back Again has been included in the “Literal Journey”
family of patterns due to the fact that the prototypical examples
mentioned above present narratives where characters are
always on the move, engaged in a traveling adventure in the most
classical sense. The End of Act 1 Turning Point of these films is
thus marked by the official launch of the journey. However, <i>Jurassic
Park</i><i><span style="text-decoration: none;"> </span></i><span style="text-decoration: none;">(as
well as the next three films discussed below) provides evidence for a
commonly-used alternative structure. Rather than launch the beginning
of an ongoing journey, the end of Act 1 marks the characters’
arrival at a static (though far away) location. The following moment
of disaster then threatens the characters’ chances of safely leaving the
location. The remaining three acts then continue to follow the
standard pattern: 2A: Overcoming the immediate danger. 2B: Resolving
the new complication. 3: The struggle to finally head home. We find
more than enough evidence to support this alternative in the next
three examples.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<h3 style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>Aliens</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
(1986)</span></h3>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/51cAAgWdFfL._AC_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="328" height="400" src="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/51cAAgWdFfL._AC_.jpg" width="261" /></a></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Here’s
something interesting. </span><i>Aliens</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
and </span><i>Jurassic Park</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> tell
the exact same story. I don’t simply mean they follow the same plot
pattern. I am saying the two films literally tell identical stories.
The only differences are in the identity of the characters and the
monstrous beasts who threaten them (plus the fact that </span><i>Aliens’</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
plot develops with much better pace and structure). </span>
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">In
Act 1, we have the assembling of a team of specialists to be sent to
an exotic, far-off location potentially fraught with dangers and
wonders. (The Weyland-Yutani corporation recruits Ellen Ripley to
accompany a team of Marines and company representative Burke on an
investigation of the site where Ripley and the Nostromo crew first
encountered the alien creatures in the previous film.) The team
arrives at the location at the end of Act 1. Everything first appears
to be quiet and under control. But, at the first turning point of Act
2A, the monsters break loose. (The Marines unexpectedly awaken a hive
of warrior xenomorphs, initiating a frenzied battle to escape.) The
survivors manage to get to momentary safety. However, a technical
problem caused by the preceding disaster prevents their escape from
the location. (Damage to equipment prevents the team from piloting a
dropship to the planet’s surface. Later, a second technical
complication adds further urgency: the facility’s nuclear reactor
is going into meltdown, preventing the possibility of simply
hunkering down and waiting for rescue.) This demands that certain
crew members make a dangerous journey through the cramped, dark
facilities to resolve the technical problem. (Bishop volunteers to
crawl through a conduit to an uplink tower in order to pilot a
dropship to the surface remotely—much like how Arnold, Muldoon and
Sattler in </span><i>Jurassic</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
volunteer to reset the park’s power generator.) Meanwhile, the
others must do their best to fend off further encounters with the
monsters as they wait, but not without the addition of new threats
(Ripley and Newt are menaced by the release of two facehugger
aliens—much like how the quest to reset the generator frees the
raptors in </span><i>Jurassic</i><span style="font-style: normal;">).
The technical complication is successfully resolved, launching the
action of Act 3: the flight to the escape vessel through
monster-infested territory. (In additional parallel, the Act 3 of
both films contains a turning point where the protagonist must face
the monsters directly in order to rescue child characters.) At the
climax, the biggest, baddest monster of all blocks the way to the
escape vessel. The survivors outwit and escape this final obstacle
and finally leave the treacherous monster-filled world behind.</span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Now
I’m not explicitly saying that Steven Spielberg’s film ripped off
James Cameron’s film. (Even though, you know, </span><i>Aliens</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
was released seven years before </span><i>Jurassic Park</i><span style="font-style: normal;">.)
After all, a main tenet of my theory of plot patterns is that film
narratives naturally gravitate toward the same story structures for
reasons other than conscious imitation. (Even though, you know, the
velociraptors in </span><i>Jurassic</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
really do look and act a lot like the xenomorphs in </span><i>Aliens.</i><span style="font-style: normal;">)
I’m just saying that the two films manage to tell remarkably
similar stories—and that </span><i>Aliens </i><span style="font-style: normal;">manages
to do it with better structure and in a way that develops organically
from its characters and initiating plot premise. That’s all I’m
sayin’.</span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<h3 style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>Back the the
Future, Part III</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> (1990)</span></h3>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://i.pinimg.com/originals/e9/78/cb/e978cbfe05cbd42dd66fae1f33a07a7c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="386" height="400" src="https://i.pinimg.com/originals/e9/78/cb/e978cbfe05cbd42dd66fae1f33a07a7c.jpg" width="256" /></a></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Now
on to a There & Back Again of a much different character. The
original <i>Back to the Future</i>, as well as its first sequel
(1989), both present prototypical examples of the Involuntary
Snowball of Complications. In both, Marty gets unwillingly caught up
in a time-travel adventure; causes a royal screw-up at the end of Act
1; recognizes the full consequences of this screw-up at the Midpoint;
and takes actions to correct the screw-up in Act 2B. With the
screw-up finally resolved, Marty and Doc can focus all their energies
on the return to the year 1985 in Act 3. <i>Back to the Future, Part III</i>
is a bit different. In this third and final installment, Marty must
rescue Doc from an untimely demise in the year 1885. To execute this
rescue narrative, <i>Future III</i> opts for the There & Back
Again pattern.
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Acts
1 & 3 of <i>Future III</i> match the There & Back’s
prototypical norms. In Act 1, Marty encounters pressing reasons for a
journey to 1885, prepares for the journey, and arrives at this
destination at the end-of-act turning point (once again, using the
alternative structure found in <i>Jurassic Park</i> and <i>Aliens</i>).
Act 3 is all about executing Doc’s plan to escape 1885 (by way of a
runaway locomotive) so the heroes may return safely home.
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Acts
2A & 2B, however, contain some slight, though certainly
acceptable, deviations from the pattern’s standard norms. First
off, the first turning point of Act 2A does not create the kind of
world-shattering disaster typical to the pattern (at least, nothing
on the level of <i>Apollo 13</i> or <i>Jurassic Park</i>). In <i>Future
III</i>, Act 2A first turns when Marty mistakenly incites the ire of
outlaw Buford “Mad Dog” Tannen. While Marty is briefly put in
danger, the threat is brought to a quick end through a sudden rescue
by Doc Brown. This event creates more of a future complication than a
situation-altering disaster. The following turning point does create
situation-altering development: the DeLorean time machine has lost
all of its gasoline. Since there is no gasoline in year 1885, the
heroes are trapped in the past until a solution can be found. Once
again, this poses no <i>immediate</i> threat. However, this
complication demands urgent action for the remainder of 2A, as the
heroes must discover a solution before the fateful events which will
end Doc's life come about.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Act
2B does, however, stick a bit closer to the norm. At the Midpoint, a
second life-threatening complication arises—one directly related to
the first turning point event of Act 2A: A second encounter with “Mad
Dog” Tannen results in Tannen demanding, and Marty foolishly
accepting, a duel in two days. Marty certainly cannot return safely
home if he is shot dead in the streets, so this event creates a major
complication which must be overcome in Act 2B before Marty and Doc
can begin their escape from 1885. (The film also dimensionalizes its
Act 2B with the addition of a character subplot: Doc has fallen in
love with the schoolteacher Clara (Mary Steenburgen), making him
question whether he desires to return to 1985, even though his life
may be in danger if he stays.) True to form, Marty overcomes his
complication at the end of the act, clearing the way for the long,
climactic returning home sequence that makes up Act 3.</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<h3 style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>Indiana
Jones & The Temple of Doom </i>(1984)</h3>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://m.media-amazon.com/images/M/MV5BMGI1NTk2ZWMtMmI0YS00Yzg0LTljMzgtZTg4YjkyY2E5Zjc0XkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyNzkwMjQ5NzM@._V1_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="538" height="400" src="https://m.media-amazon.com/images/M/MV5BMGI1NTk2ZWMtMmI0YS00Yzg0LTljMzgtZTg4YjkyY2E5Zjc0XkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyNzkwMjQ5NzM@._V1_.jpg" width="268" /></a></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
As
the soft middle of the original Indiana Jones trilogy, <i>Temple of
Doom</i> does not generate the same level of nostalgic love or
enthusiasm as the two films which bookend the series; <i>Raiders of
the Lost Ark</i> and <i>Indiana Jones & The Last Crusade</i>
(1989). It is not difficult to see why. Both <i>Raiders</i> and
<i>Crusade </i>offer classic, family-fun versions of the Voluntary
Snowball pattern. In both, the adventurous, devil-may-care
archaeologist risks life and limb in a obsessive quest to claim a
powerful ancient artifact before Nazis can use it for evil ends.
(Although <i>Crusade</i> puts a twist on this. It is not Indy who is
obsessed with the Holy Grail, but his father Henry, Sr. (Sean
Connery). Indy joins the adventure to keep his father from being
killed.) <i>The Temple of Doom</i>, however, chooses to follow the
There & Back, to far less spectacular effect.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
I
am not going to discuss this film in too much detail, as I am on the
verge of doing the There & Back to death. Plus, <i>Doom </i>is
simply not a very good example of the pattern. Instead, I will
provide a brief overview of the pattern’s use in <i>Doom</i> with
some comments on why the results where so mediocre.
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
First
off, we can dismiss the opening prologue sequence set in Shanghai.
Prologue sequences, a trademark of the Indiana Jones franchise, open
the film with a separate, self-contained narrative. They have their
own Story Spine and 3-Act structure and thus, while they may
establish certain story elements, prologue sequences are not part of
the main story proper. They may hence be completely removed from the
film with little effect upon the audience’s comprehension of the
plot.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>Doom’s</i>
inciting incident occurs only after Indy’s plane crash-lands in
India. By happenstance, Indy and his comrades Willie and Short Round
come upon a village which has fallen into desolation after the theft
of their sacred stone. The thieves have also kidnapped the village’s
children. Indy agrees to retrieve the stone and children. Why? Out of
the goodness of his heart, I guess. This inciting incident conflicts
with Indy’s established character, as it lacks the personal, or
even the political motivations found in the other two Indiana Jones
films. Indy’s appeal as a protagonist is that he is always a bit of
a rogue. He insists that he is out only for his own fame and glory,
and only after much coaxing and dramatic pressure recognizes his more
virtuous impulses to accept the role of a hero. Yet there is none of
that in <i>Doom</i>. Indy’s selfless volunteerism makes even less
sense when we consider that <i>Doom</i> is technically a prequel, set
one year before the character arc found in <i>Raiders</i>.
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
In
any case, Indy & company set off on the adventure, reaching their
destination Pankot Palace at the End of Act 1. At the next turning
point, Indy is attacked by a would-be assassin, which leads to the
discovery of a passageway leading to the titular temple with its
death cult and child slaves. Though still the story’s most pivotal
event, this turning point falls flat as the pattern’s “disaster
strikes” moment. It is not a life-threatening event which demands
immediate response. Rather, it is a simple development which leads to
later threats. On top of this, Indy chooses to enter the temple
voluntarily, an action followed by a lot of sneaking around which
continues to lack any immediate direct conflict. This, plus the
inciting incident, seems to suggest that the writers were indeed
trying to replicate the Voluntary Snowball structure found in the
original <i>Raiders</i>. However, the plot was misexecuted, resulting
in a flawed There & Back.
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
My
presumption that <i>Doom</i> indeed represents a There & Back and
not a Voluntary Snowball is supported by the story’s next two
end-of-act turning points. At the Midpoint, Indy is brainwashed by
the cult’s evil leader to become a mindless slave. This certainly
creates a major complication which must be resolved before the
characters can attempt their escape. (But then again, one must
question the wisdom of turning the franchise’s intrepid adventurer
into a passive drone, leaving the burden of further plot development
to supporting characters during such a pivotal stretch of the film.)
Indy is brought back to his senses at the End of 2B Turning Point,
initiating the long series of escape sequences that make up Act 3,
culminating with the memorable climax at the rope bridge. All in all,
we do find the There & Back’s basic structure of a journey away
from “home,” an adventure with unexpected complications met at
the destination, and a successful escape and return. It’s just not
one to model your own stories after.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
* * * * *<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<a href="https://uncelebrity.blogspot.com/2020/05/scriptmonks-plot-pattern-extravaganza_7.html" target="_blank">Click HERE for Part 3 of my Plot Pattern Extravaganza</a>, featuring six films in the Antagonism-Centered Plot Patterns: <i>Se7en, Predator, Hellboy, Teenage Mutant Ninja
Turtles</i> (the good one),<i> </i>and more. </div>
SCRIPTMONK!!!http://www.blogger.com/profile/13911675482380489540noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3389409360415735927.post-70909007459677486822020-04-28T11:47:00.000-07:002020-05-10T18:03:15.164-07:00Scriptmonk's Plot Pattern Extravaganza -- ALL Y'ALL FAVORITES!! (Part 1)<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
In the five or six
years I have spent investigating<a href="https://uncelebrity.blogspot.com/2020/03/the-34-common-plot-patterns-of.html" target="_blank"> the 34 common cinematic plot patterns</a>, I have broken down and analyzed the structures of literally
hundreds of popular films. I have since used the best, most
prototypical examples I could find to illustrate each particular
pattern on this blog and my book <i>Screenwriting & The Unified
Theory of Narrative, Part II.</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
However, this pool of study films has always had one shortcoming: it
was limited to movies I personally own or have access for close
study. While my personal movie collection is quite large, it is far
from an exhaustive library of every excellent film made over the last
fifty years. As such, there have been many popular films
conspicuously absent from my writings. In my free time over the past
month, I have sought to remedy this issue. As you shall see from the
list below, I have identified for the first time the plot patterns
contained in over two dozen popular favorites.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Also
included on this list are films I viewed very early in my
investigation, back when I had only a vague conception of the shape
of the various patterns and before I began mapping out each film plot
point by plot point. As such, there were films whose pattern I could
not yet identify or initially miscategorized. As I now realize (and
as you shall read below) the patterns of these films were difficult
to identify because many take advantage of the alternative options
found in each pattern or contained acceptable deviations from the
prototypical norm. As a result, analyzing these deviant examples
reveals the flexibility of cinematic plot patterns. Plot patterns are
not rigid formulae, but have the capacity to bend and stretch to
accommodate individual story premises and artist intentions while
still producing effective, well-received narratives.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">The
bottom line is that the following overlooked films continue to
confirm my theory of the 34 Common Plot Patterns of American Cinema.
Some have just proven more difficult to analyze due to their use of
alternatives, deviations, combo patterns, hybrid patterns, or their
use of dual or triple protagonists.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
(Warning: Lots of
SPOILERS ahead.)</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<h3 style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>The Cider House
Rules</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> (1999)</span></h3>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/71zBGbI0ZZL._AC_SY679_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="679" data-original-width="453" height="400" src="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/71zBGbI0ZZL._AC_SY679_.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Let’s
start with a simple one. </span><i>The Cider House Rules</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
is a Type 5a: The Escapist, one of the most commonly-seen Hollywood
plot patterns. The pattern offers a wealth of prototypical examples
in all shapes and sizes, from </span><i>Lawrence of Arabia</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
to </span><i>Office Space, Coming to America </i><span style="font-style: normal;">to
</span><i>American Beauty, Dances With Wolves</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
to </span><i>The Nightmare Before Christmas, Tootsie </i><span style="font-style: normal;">to
</span><i>Trainspotting. </i><span style="font-style: normal;">To
summarize, the Escapist begins with a protagonist who has grown
dissatisfied with his or her life or environment, roles or
responsibilities. At the end of Act 1, the protagonist abandons this
current reality to escape into what he or she sees as a more pleasing
alternative. Things first go well in this new way of life. However,
it proves to be a fool’s paradise. Unwelcome doses of reality begin
to invade the protagonist’s happy refuge in late Act 2A, bringing
the carefree paradise to a potential end at the Midpoint. Yet rather
than return to reality or face its problems, the protagonist
formulates a second alternative: an Option C. Act 2B follows the
pursuit and ultimate demise of Option C, resulting in an end-of-act
crisis event. Here the protagonist must make a difficult choice:
either return to the former reality to face its problems directly
(and/or take responsibility for past mistakes), or continue to deny
the reality of the situation by attempting to escape even further—a
foolish path which leads to a sad or ignoble end.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">We
can see this pattern quite clearly in </span><i>The Cider House
Rules</i><span style="font-style: normal;">. The protagonist Homer
Wells (Tobey Maguire) has lived his entire life at St. Cloud
orphanage. During that time, Homer has become the skilled assistant
of Dr. Wilber Larch (Michael Caine), the man who not only runs the
orphanage, but performs abortions and births the babies of unwed
mothers. Homer is expected to become Larch’s successor. But Homer
is young and restless, never having stepped foot off the orphanage
grounds. In addition, he secretly questions the moral necessity of
Larch’s work. At the end of Act 1, Homer seizes an opportunity to
escape. In Act 2A, Homer enjoys the rustic life of an orchard worker
and begins to fall in love with Candy (Charlize Theron). Meanwhile,
trouble is brewing at St. Cloud’s. Dr. Larch may lose control of
the orphanage unless Homer returns as Larch’s official successor.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">However,
when apple-picking season ends at the film’s Midpoint, Homer
ignores Larch’s letters urging his return, opting to stay on his
own to begin a love affair with Candy while her boyfriend Wally (Paul
Rudd) is away at war (Homer’s Option C). While this again goes well
for the first half of Act 2B, the new path begins to fall apart when
Wally is wounded in battle and set to return. Homer’s destiny also
rears its head when he must perform an abortion on fellow worker Rose
(Eryka Badu) after she is impregnated by her own father. A double
tragedy then permanently ends Homer’s escape at the end of Act 2B:
Rose kills her father and runs away; Dr. Larch dies of an accidental
overdose. With this, Homer chooses to return to the reality from
which he originally sought escape, and saves St. Cloud orphanage by
accepting his destiny as its new caretaker.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<h3 style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>Home Alone </i><span style="font-style: normal;">(1990)</span></h3>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/512qJvmjRDL._AC_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="338" height="400" src="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/512qJvmjRDL._AC_.jpg" width="270" /></a></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>Home Alone</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
is also an Escapist narrative, but demonstrates an interesting
alternative to the pattern’s central premise. Rather than a
protagonist escaping his/her unhappy reality, everything undesirable
about that reality escapes the protagonist. Eight year-old Kevin
(Macaulay Culkin) hates being the youngest child in a house packed
full of obnoxious family members. He hates it so much that he wishes
out loud that his whole family would disappear. By a twist of fate,
Kevin is accidentally left behind when his family leaves for
vacation, fooling Kevin into believing he has gotten his wish. Kevin
has escaped his family.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Just
like the Act 2A of any Escapist narrative, Kevin first finds his new
family-free world to be a child’s paradise. But Kevin soon realizes
that life alone can be difficult and frightening, especially when
burglars Harry and Marv (Joe Peschi & Daniel Stern) start
snooping around the house. At the Midpoint we find another necessary
deviation from the standard pattern. While most Escapist protagonists
(like Homer Wells) consciously avoid a return to their former reality
in favor of an Option C, the story circumstances of </span><i>Home
Alone</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> preclude the possibility
of return at the moment. Furthermore, Kevin does not even realize
return is an option, as he believes he has permanently wished his
family away. Therefore, in response to the Midpoint event, Kevin must
transition from simply enjoying his private paradise to a quest to
hide his secret solitude in order to protect himself and his home.
However, this Option C falls apart when Harry and Marv discover
Kevin’s secret at the end of Act 2B. </span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Kevin
now prays aloud for his family’s return. He has had enough of his
escape and wants to return to his previous reality. While </span><i>Home
Alone</i><span style="font-style: normal;">’s Act 3 is comprised
mostly of the comic hijinx of Harry and Marv’s botched home
invasion, it ends with Kevin welcoming his family back with open
arms. Kevin has learned that, while escape was fun, a stable family
life with people who care and watch over him is far more preferable.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<h3 style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>Big </i><span style="font-style: normal;">(1988)</span></h3>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/1148/8924/products/MPW-26873-a_1024x1024.jpg?v=1571439856" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="760" data-original-width="495" height="400" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/1148/8924/products/MPW-26873-a_1024x1024.jpg?v=1571439856" width="260" /></a></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Let’s
move on to the next plot pattern, Type 5b: The Ejected. I am happy to
find </span><i>three </i><span style="font-style: normal;">new
examples of the Ejected since, as one of the more rarely-seen plot
patterns, I have previously had only a shallow pool of cases for
study. As for prototypes, the best I could find for </span><i>Unified
Theory of Narrative</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> were </span><i>Jerry
Maguire </i><span style="font-style: normal;">(1996), Darren
Aronofsky’s </span><i>The Wrestler</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
(2008), and the Paul Newman poolhall classic </span><i>The Hustler</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
(1961). The pattern’s name issues from its first act, where the
protagonist initially pursues a flawed, ill-advised, or naive
ambition. (Jerry Maguire’s manifesto to his sports agency calling
for systemic change; Randy “the Ram” chases his fading glory as a
professional wrestler; Fast Eddie challenges Minnesota Fats before he
is ready.) The protagonist’s errors in judgment have the
consequence of forcibly EJECTING the protagonist from his/her world
at the end of Act 1. (Jerry is fired from his agency; Randy has a
heart attack and can no longer perform; Fast Eddie loses in
spectacular fashion and is left broke and destitute.) Act 2A then
sees the protagonist exiled, wandering in the wilderness, seeking out
allies and new paths to hopefully get his/her life back together and
hopefully find a way to return to the original ambition. </span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">This
pattern is found quite clearly in the first half of </span><i>Big</i><span style="font-style: normal;">.
Thirteen year-old Josh Baskin feels the frustrations of being stuck
between childhood and adolescence, wishing he could simply skip over
this awkward stage of his life. In a fateful moment, Josh expresses
this ambition to a magical “Zoltar” machine and awakes the next
morning transformed into a 30 year-old man. The consequences of
Josh’s wish completely eject him from his 13 year-old world. He
cannot even remain at home, as his mother is terrified of this
stranger calling himself her son. Josh and his best friend Billy
decide that Josh’s only option is to enter the wilds of New York
City and try to survive as an adult until they can find a way to
reverse Josh’s wish. While first scared and confused, Josh manages
to get a job, find some allies, even score a major promotion. Yet
Josh remains an outcast; a 13 year-old trapped in a 30 year-old’s
world.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">The
Ejected pattern is further distinguished by a “Great Compromise”
at the story’s Midpoint. Here, the protagonist chooses to
compromise his/her original ambitions, long-term objectives, ethics,
or integrity in favor of some immediate gain. In some cases, this is
a potentially positive path which is then sabotaged by the
protagonist’s personal flaws (as seen in </span><i>The Wrestler</i><span style="font-style: normal;">).
More often, this is an ill-conceived path motivated by the
protagonist’s Flaw which leads the character further away from
his/her required personal change. (In </span><i>Jerry Maguire,</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
the emotionally-needy Jerry begins a romantic relationship with, and
eventually marries, his assistant Dorothy even though he does not
love her. In </span><i>The Hustler, </i><span style="font-style: normal;">Fast
Eddie makes a deal with seedy manager Burt to earn the money to play
Fats again.) In </span><i>Big,</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
Josh makes this compromise by choosing to blow off his best friend
Billy to start an adult relationship with his coworker Susan. Over
the rest of Act 2B, Josh forgets his desire to return to his 13
year-old life (much to Billy’s disgust) in favor of the life of a
mature adult. Yet by the end of the act, Josh comes to realize this
is the wrong path. He recognizes all he will miss by remaining an
adult.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Thus,
in typical Ejected fashion, the protagonist’s moment of Crucial
Decision occurs at the start of Act 3 (not at the Midpoint, as in
most patterns). Josh runs out on his big business meeting, abandoning
everything he has achieved as an adult, to find the Zoltar machine
that will change him back into a kid. As in most Ejecteds with
Celebratory “up-endings,” the film ends with the protagonist
successfully returning to the original world.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<h3 style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>The Shawshank
Redemption </i><span style="font-style: normal;">(1994)</span></h3>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/51B1ehfX4pL._AC_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="346" height="400" src="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/51B1ehfX4pL._AC_.jpg" width="276" /></a></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">I
do own a copy of </span><i>The Shawshank Redemption </i><span style="font-style: normal;">and
have used it for study many times. However, until now, the film</span><i>
</i><span style="font-style: normal;">had perplexed me in terms of its
plot pattern. </span><i>Shawshank </i><span style="font-style: normal;">has
never been an easy film to analyze from a structural standpoint. It
lacks the clear Problem > Goal > Path of Actions spine found in
most Hollywood films. Nor is there an overtly-defined
protagonist-antagonist conflict. Instead, </span><i>Shawshank
</i><span style="font-style: normal;">contains a long, episodic yarn
covering over thirty years of story time in which the forces opposing
the protagonist often shift or fade. As such, it is difficult to put
a finger on various structural elements in the way one might for a
more traditional, action-oriented movie. For instance, I originally
mused that </span><i>Shawshank </i><span style="font-style: normal;">might
be a highly abstract take on the Destructive Beast plot pattern (a
pattern which contains, among many others </span><i>The Terminator</i><span style="font-style: normal;">)
where the “Beast” is the despair determined to consume
protagonist Andy Dufresne (Tim Robbins). But that was just silly.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">No,
it is now clearly obvious that </span><i>The Shawshank Redemption</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
follows the Ejected pattern. The reason it took me so long to realize
this comes from a significant deviation in </span><i>Shawshank</i><span style="font-style: normal;">’s
opening act. The easiest way to recognize an Ejected is by the End of
Act 1 Turning Point whereby the protagonist is forcibly expelled from
his/her former environment. However, in </span><i>Shawshank,</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
this event is used as the inciting incident (Andy is convicted of
murder and sentenced to life in Shawshank prison). In fact,
</span><i>Shawshank </i><span style="font-style: normal;">compresses
the entire Act 1 of a regular Ejected into its first six and a half
minutes. The second sequence of </span><i>Shawshank</i><span style="font-style: normal;">’s
Act 1 then picks up where an Ejected’s Act 2A usually begins; with
the protagonist lost in the new wilderness. For its own End of Act 1
Turning Point, </span><i>Shawshank </i><span style="font-style: normal;">instead
uses the plot point where the protagonist takes the first step toward
establishing a place in his new world: the moment when he befriends
Red (Morgan Freeman). (This is comparable to the moment in </span><i>Big</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
when Josh gets a job in New York.)</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">The
rest of </span><i>Shawshank,</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
however, follows the Ejected pattern quite closely. This is made most
obvious by the clear Great Compromise found at the story’s
Midpoint. Warden Norton takes advantage of Andy’s intellectual
pride (Andy’s Fatal Flaw) by making him the prison’s unofficial
accountant, a role which tangles Andy in Norton’s crooked
schemes, essentially making Andy a criminal accomplice. This turns
out to be a foolish path which leads to Andy’s ruin at the end of
Act 2B. Andy, given a chance to prove his innocence, is crushed under
Warden Norton’s power out of the fear that Andy will reveal the
prison’s secrets upon his release. </span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>Shawshank</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
again deviates somewhat from the norm in Act 3 by the simple fact
that the protagonist disappears into thin air at the first turning
point. Yet as the remaining act fills in the narrative gaps behind
Andy’s disappearance, we see that Andy’s Act 3 course of actions
follows the same path as Josh's in </span><i>Big</i><span style="font-style: normal;">:
Through self-reflection and personal evaluation, Andy makes his
Crucial Decision at the start of Act 3. Finally purged of his flaws,
Andy chooses to take the actions necessary to return to world from
which he was originally ejected.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<h3 style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Rushmore</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;">
(1998)</span></h3>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/51uIGT-c8JL._AC_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="337" height="400" src="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/51uIGT-c8JL._AC_.jpg" width="268" /></a></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Well,
this is embarrassing. In the past, I have used Wes Anderson’s
</span><i>Rushmore</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> as a
prototypical example of Type 3a: Crisis of Character, both <a href="https://uncelebrity.blogspot.com/2013/04/the-taking-on-mantle-story-type-part-ii.html" target="_blank">in </a></span><a href="https://uncelebrity.blogspot.com/2013/04/the-taking-on-mantle-story-type-part-ii.html" target="_blank"><span style="font-style: normal;"><u>this past article</u></span></a><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
and in my book </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Screenwriting
& The Unified Theory of Narrative</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">.
However, one thing about </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Rushmore</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
never completely meshed with the Crisis of Character pattern – its
Act 2B. I have now come to realize that </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Rushmore
</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">is
NOT a Crisis of Character, but yet another Ejected.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">It
is an easy mistake to make. The Crisis of Character and the Ejected
are very similar in terms of their first two acts. As already
covered, the Ejected begins with a flawed protagonist who, through an
ill-conceived ambition, ends up ejected from his/her former world at
the end of Act 1. Act 2A then finds the banished protagonist seeking
a new path, hopefully to make an eventual return. In comparison, the
Crisis of Character begins with a deeply-flawed protagonist who lives
a self-satisfying life in a private, socially-isolated niche. (Think
of </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Shrek </span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">[2001]
or </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">As Good as it
Gets</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
[1997].) Unexpected events cause Act 1 to end with the loss of this
precious niche. Act 2A then starts with the protagonist taking
actions intended to regain the niche. The line between “ejection”
and the “loss of a niche” is fairly thin. The main difference is
that the former suggests a more forcible expulsion which is in some
way the protagonist’s own fault. In the latter, the loss more often
comes through a twist of fate or stroke of bad luck. (In </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Shrek</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">,
the titular character’s private swamp is suddenly turned into a
ghetto for banished fairy tale creatures. In </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">As
Good as it Gets,</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
OCD-ridden Melvin Udall’s (Jack Nicholson) tightly-regulated life
is disrupted when Carol the waitress is no longer able to serve him
at his daily eating place.) </span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">The
action in </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Rushmore</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
blurs the line between these two patterns. Narcissistic teen Max
Fisher (Jason Schwartzman) has created a private wonderland out of
his life at Rushmore Academy (Max’s niche). An infatuation with
teacher Miss Cross (Olivia Williams) motivates Max to launch a crazy
scheme to impress her—a plan which gets Max expelled from Rushmore
Academy at the end of Act 1. </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Rushmore</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">’s
Act 2A blurs the lines to an even greater degree. The act is
comprised mostly of Max’s efforts to make the best of his new life
in public school (with the hope of being invited back to Rushmore)
with the help of Miss Cross and Mr. Blum (Bill Murray). But is this
an attempt to chart a new path in the wilderness, or a quest to
regain the lost niche?</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Rushmore’s
</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Act
2B then cracks the case wide open. In a Crisis of Character, the
Midpoint presents a moment when the protagonist, through his or her
increasing interactions with other people, comes to realize
that there is something better in life than his or her isolated
niche. The protagonist comes to desire a closer connection with
another character. In Act 2B, the protagonist largely forgets about
the niche in favor of pursuing this healthy, more positive
relationship. This does not happen in </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Rushmore.
</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Here,
the Midpoint involves Max’s discovery of the secret love affair
that has developed between Mr. Blum and his crush Miss Cross. In
response, Max launches a savage campaign of revenge, believing this
will free Miss Cross for his own affections. This, of course, is a
very poorly thought-out Great Compromise of Max’s original
ambitions. And, like in </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Shawshank,</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
this path leads Max to the bottom of a deep, dark pit by the end of
Act 2B.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">To
be honest, I should have identified </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Rushmore</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
as an Ejected right away by the placement of the Character Arc's Moment of Crucial
Decision. In a Crisis of Character, the
Crucial Decision typically occurs at the story’s Midpoint. In the
Ejected (as already mentioned) it happens at the beginning of Act 3.
Indeed, it is not until the start of Act 3 that Max finally realizes
what a selfish jerk he has been and takes the necessary actions to
make amends. A Celebratory Ejected need not always end with the
protagonist’s return to the original world. Alternatively, the
story can end with the protagonist finding a new life which is just
as satisfying, or even more so than the original. This is how </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Jerry
Maguire</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
ends, and this is also what occurs at the conclusion of </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Rushmore.</span></i></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<h3 style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>Up</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
(2009)</span></h3>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/51OKt6yPNUL._AC_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="326" height="400" src="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/51OKt6yPNUL._AC_.jpg" width="260" /></a></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
While
we’re on the subject of the Crisis of Character, let’s talk about
Disney/Pixar’s <i>Up.</i> <i>Up</i> checks off most of the boxes of
a prototypical Crisis of Character.
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Flawed,
antisocial protagonist? (Carl is a misanthropic curmudgeon.) Check.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
A
socially-isolated niche which the protagonist loses at the end of Act
1? (After the death of his wife, Carl has shut himself off from the
world in his old house. By court order, Carl is evicted from his
house, which is then to be bulldozed.) Check.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
A
quest to regain that isolated niche (or a niche of equal or greater
value) in Act 2A? (Carl lifts his house off the property on a quest
to live the rest of his life alone at the top of Paradise Falls.)
Check.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
A
“Character of Disapproval” whose function is to continually
criticize the protagonist’s flaws in order to nudge the protagonist
toward personal change? (Young explorer scout Russell winds up stuck
tagging along on the adventure.) Check.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
A
Moment of Crucial Decision where the protagonist decides the niche is
no longer so important, and gives it up in favor of a greater
personal connection with other characters? Check.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Yet,
there are also some clear discrepancies in <i>Up</i>. For starters,
there is an uncommon amount of action and adventure in <i>Up</i>’s
second half. There are also additional characters and story elements
which do not fit the Crisis of Character’s norms. When Carl and
Russell reach the island of Paradise Falls, they encounter a giant
prehistoric bird (who Russell names “Kevin”) chased by
superintelligent dogs. Carl learns the dogs belong to his childhood
idol Charles Muntz. Muntz is on an obsessive quest to capture Kevin
at all costs. While first in awe of Muntz, Carl soon realizes Muntz
has gone dangerously mad. Russell begs Carl to defend Kevin from
capture. Yet Carl is apathetic to the bird’s plight – until
Muntz’s mad actions put Russell in danger. With this, Carl puts all
personal concerns aside and rises to the occasion, heroically
opposing his former idol to save Russell and Kevin.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
This
summary also sounds familiar. It is a simplified version of the
Crisis of Character’s sister pattern, the Crisis of Conscience. As
exemplified by films like <i>Casablanca, On the Waterfront, </i>and
<i>Schindler’s List </i>(and discussed in detail <a href="https://uncelebrity.blogspot.com/2013/03/the-taking-on-mantle-story-type-part-i.html" target="_blank"><u>in this previous article</u></a><span style="text-decoration: none;">), the Crisis
of Conscience begins with a protagonist allied on the side of a Force
of Darkness (Carl has been a lifelong devotee of Charles Muntz). A
Victim/Advocate character then begs the protagonist for help against
the Force and its evil deeds (Russell asks Carl to save Kevin from
capture). Though this creates a moral dilemma, the protagonist
resists these pleas until the Force commits an action so
unconscionable that the protagonist can no longer look the other way
(Russell’s life is put under threat by Muntz). The protagonist then
turns on the Force of Darkness and transforms into a selfless hero.</span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Up</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
is therefore a hybrid Taking on the Mantle, incorporating plot and
character elements from both of its subtypes. (Hybrid patterns are
briefly explained</span></span><a href="https://uncelebrity.blogspot.com/2020/04/the-34-common-plot-patterns-of-american.html" target="_blank"><span style="font-style: normal;"><u> in this article</u></span></a><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">.)
As an added note, </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Iron
Man</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
(2008) is also a hybrid Taking on the Mantle (as discussed in detail
</span></span><a href="https://uncelebrity.blogspot.com/2013/04/bonus-article-iron-man-hybrid-mantle.html" target="_blank"><span style="font-style: normal;"><u>in this article</u></span></a><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">),
although </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Iron
Man </span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">combines
the elements of the Crisis of Conscience and the Crisis of Character
in a much different way. In any case, you can sound smart if anyone
ever asks you what </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Up
</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">and
</span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Iron Man</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
have in common.</span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<a href="https://uncelebrity.blogspot.com/2020/05/scriptmonks-plot-pattern-extravaganza.html" target="_blank"><br /></a></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<a href="https://uncelebrity.blogspot.com/2020/05/scriptmonks-plot-pattern-extravaganza.html" target="_blank">(More to come in Part 2: Jurassic Park, Aliens, North by Northwest, Risky Business, and more.)</a></div>
SCRIPTMONK!!!http://www.blogger.com/profile/13911675482380489540noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3389409360415735927.post-24313837744848465302020-04-23T15:28:00.000-07:002020-04-23T15:29:22.835-07:00The 34 Common Plot Patterns of American Cinema, Part 3 of 3: Combos, Hybrids & Deviations<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
Some final notes on the thirty-four common plot patterns of American
film listed in the two previous postings: Not all commercially and
critically successful feature films need strictly adhere to only one
of these patterns. It is not uncommon (in fact, it is becoming much
more common in recent years) for movie narratives to make use of two
(or possibly more) plot patterns in a single film.
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
First, we have movie narratives which employ <i>Combo Patterns. </i>With
a Combo Pattern, the story begins by following one pattern, but
then—typically at an end-of-act turning point—transitions over to
a completely different pattern. A well-known example (and one which I
frequently mention) can be found in Pixar’s <i>Toy Story </i>(1995).
<i>Toy Story</i>’s first act follows Type 7c: The Spoiler; focusing
on Woody’s jealousy following the arrival of Buzz Lightyear.
However, rather than keep Woody on that potentially dark and
self-destructive path, the film make a jump at the end of Act 1 to
Type 14a: The Odd Couple; a pattern where two characters of
conflicting personalities are thrust into a situation where they must
learn to cooperate. Another popular example of a Combo pattern can be
found in the 1987 <i>Robocop</i>. The original <i>Robocop</i> begins
as a Type 12: The Vengeance Narrative, as the protagonist Murphy is
victimized, left for dead, and then resurrected in altered form. Yet
rather than play out as a simple quest for revenge, the story instead
turns its criticism onto the corruption and callous indifference of
corporate America by switching the narrative over to Type 2b: The
Breakaway Hero after the end of Act 1.</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
Whereas Combo patterns cut-and-splice together two disparate patterns
at a major turning point, <i>Hybrid Patterns</i> freely mix two or
more patterns into a seamless blend. However, this hybridization only
occurs between subtypes WITHIN THE SAME FAMILY GROUP. For example,
2008’s <i>Iron Man </i>(as you may <a href="https://uncelebrity.blogspot.com/2013/04/bonus-article-iron-man-hybrid-mantle.html" target="_blank">read in <i>this article</i></a>)
presents a hybrid Taking on the Mantle narrative. For reasons
explained in the article linked above, <i>Iron Man</i> largely
follows Type 3b: Crisis of Conscience for its plot, and Type 3a:
Crisis of Character type for its protagonist’s Character Arc. The
horror classic <i>The Shining</i> (1980) hybridizes two subtypes in
The Infecting Agent to accommodate its unique premise. While the
horror narrative develops principally in the style of an Infecting
Being subtype, the evil which inhabits the Overlook Hotel is
noncorporeal, and thus cannot directly influence the story
environment until it drives Danny’s father (Jack Nicholson) insane.
As such, <i>The Shining</i> borrows several plot points from Type 7b:
The Infecting Idea to bring about this crucial plot event. As yet
another example, <i>The Sixth Sense</i> (1999) is a film with two
lead characters: Dr. Malcolm Crowe (Bruce Willis) and Cole (Haley
Joel Osmet). Crowe’s narrative journey follows Type 4b: The Seeker
Wounded, while Cole follows Type 4a: The Resistive Wounded. These
interacting paths make <i>The Sixth Sense</i> a hybrid Healing
Narrative.</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
As shown by <i>The Sixth Sense,</i> a film narrative may contain dual
protagonists. While plot pattern groups 14-16 are tailor-made for
dual-protagonist stories, it is also possible to assign each lead
character a separate plot pattern. I have discussed<a href="https://uncelebrity.blogspot.com/2017/03/scriptmonks-big-huge-not-so-huge-plot.html" target="_blank"> in this previous article</a> how this occurs in the movie <i>Creed</i>
(2015). Another good examples may be found in the (quite overlooked)
indie film <i>In Bruges </i>(2008)<i>. </i>In this film, Colin
Farrell plays a hitman in inner turmoil after accidentally killing a
young boy. His character thus follows Type 4b: The Seeker Wounded.
His partner and co-protagonist (Brendan Gleeson) is given his own
line of action, following Type 3b: The Crisis of Conscience after he
is ordered by his employer to execute the Farrell character for his
mistake. It should be noted that this dual-protagonist strategy
requires a bit more skill on the part of the storyteller. Both
patterns must be compatible with the overall story premise and
contain sufficient points of intersection with one another to result
in a script that which appears to contain a singular, homogeneous
narrative. Also, films which use a multi-narrative structure, like
<i>Magnolia </i>(1999), <i>Traffic </i>(2000) or <i>Crash</i> (2004)
contain numerous protagonists, each their their own narrative thread.
As such, each protagonist may follow their own, separate plot
pattern. However, in these cases, the patterns will be grossly
simplified to accommodate for the limited screentime granted to each
narrative thread.</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
Some films represent prototypical examples of their plot pattern—that
is, they adhere to their patterns in clear, effective, and
recognizable ways and may thus be considered the most perfect
examples of that pattern. <i>The Godfather </i>is a prototypical
Reluctant Hero. <i>The Terminator </i>is a prototypical Destructive
Beast. <i>Alien</i> a prototypical Infecting Being. Because of this,
I use these films most often when explaining their pattern types.
Plot patterns, however, contain a certain degree of flexibility. A
wider analysis using a larger pool of study films shows that films
may approach an equal level of success through acceptable deviations
or the use of certain alternatives paths found within each pattern. I
will discuss several of these deviant or alternative examples in my
next article.</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
Finally, I must stress that these are the thirty-four common plot
patterns of <i>American</i> cinema. If my theory is correct,
cinematic plot patterns are a cultural phenomenon. Using the
principles of mythic storytelling, these 34 patterns express core
psycho-social values and beliefs of contemporary American culture in
archetypal form. In other words, they are distinctively American
story types oriented around distinctively American sociocultural
ideals. However, since each world culture possesses its own unique
collection of core values and beliefs, each national cinema should
hypothetically develop its own unique collection of plot patterns. As
such, a foreign-made film may not conform to any of the 34 patterns I
have identified. For example, Guillermo del Toro’s <i>Pan’s
Labyrinth </i>(2006), while quite successful with US audiences, is a
Spanish film, created by Spanish-born artists, set during a memorable
period of Spain’s history. Thus, not surprisingly, its plot
structure does not match any of the common patterns of <i>American</i>
films. However, if a scholar should engage in a thorough
investigation of the repeated story structures found in Spain’s
cinema, they may very well find <i>Pan</i>’s plot structure
repeated quite frequently in numerous other films. Additionally,
nations with cultural or historical affinities may share some plot
patterns—yet with certain clear discrepancies. For instance, Guy
Ritchie’s <i>Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels</i> (1998),
popularly regarded as a British take on the style popularized by
Quentin Tarantino, loosely follows Type 9b: The Involuntary Snowball
of Complications. But only loosely. The general shape is there, but
the plot map itself differs from its American counterparts.</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
Of course, I must end this discussion on plot patterns with the same
questions I always use to conclude the subject: Does every Hollywood
or American Independent feature film follow one of the 34 common
patterns of plot? No, they do not. Does every <i>successful </i>American
film? From my investigations, all signs point to yes. I have found
that the more closely a film follows its plot pattern, the more
success it tends to have with audiences and critics. Films which only
vaguely adhere to a pattern or deviate too far from acceptable norms
tend to receive a lukewarm response. Films that contain no
identifiable pattern usually fare quite poorly with critics and
audiences. To illustrate in a simple manner: Are you a fan of <i>The
Godfather</i>? Your answer is likely yes. Most cinema fans are. As I
have said, <i>The Godfather </i>is a prototypical example of Type 1a:
The Reluctant Hero. Now, are you a big fan of <i>Godfather III</i>?
Stupid question. I doubt anyone is. <i>Godfather III </i>was widely
panned as one of the biggest cinematic disappointments of its decade.
At first, it seemed to me that the failure of the third <i>Godfather</i>
installment could be pinned on the complete lack of a plot pattern.
Then, under closer investigation, I found faint traces of Type 6c:
The Exploiter. Some of the Exploiter’s elements are there, but not
all. Those which are there are weak or deviant. <i>Godfather III</i>
is a narrative which aspired toward the Exploiter, but fell far short
due to its reactive protagonist, unclear character roles, and ragged
tapestry of convoluted story threads. Would <i>Godfather III</i> have
been a better film if it adhered more closely to the Exploiter
pattern? Possibly. One thing is for sure; the film definitely would
have had far more clarity in its plot and character motivations, and
would have located stable, focused path of escalating drama to lead
to a satisfying climax.</div>
SCRIPTMONK!!!http://www.blogger.com/profile/13911675482380489540noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3389409360415735927.post-39975200186849385082020-04-05T10:52:00.000-07:002020-04-28T12:47:20.760-07:00The 34 Common Plot Patterns of Hollywood & American Independent Cinema (Part 2 of 3) <div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
As promised, here is the second half of my list of the 34 common plot
patterns of American cinema, featuring the final two groupings:
Action-Centered Narratives and Dualist Narratives. In a few weeks, I
plan to follow-up with some words on Hybrid patterns and Combo
patterns: an increasingly-common practice where the elements or
events of two patterns are mixed and matched; either to fit the needs
of a particular story premise or to lend freshness to a film
occupying a genre which has overused a pattern to the point of
becoming a predictable formula.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<i>scribble on.</i></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br /></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<u>ACTION-CENTERED NARRATIVES</u></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
Less intimate than Hero-centered narratives, Action-centered
narratives emphasize plot actions over character. Meaning is chiefly
conveyed through the twists and turns of physical events, their
consequences, and the actions taken in response.</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<u>8.
The Literal Journey</u></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
A protagonist undertakes a physical journey; either by will, by
force, or to perform some crucial task. Though this journey may seem
easy at first, characters encounter threats, obstacles, and
complications that force them to continually rise above their
limitations and take the actions necessary to finish the journey or
achieve its ultimate objective.</div>
<ul>
<li><div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
Subtype A: The Quest (<i>The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of
the Ring, Saving Private Ryan, Children of Men, Midnight Run</i>) –
A protagonist is sent on a mission he or she first believes will be
short-lived and require minimal effort. However, complications occur
at each major turning point that require the protagonist to prolong
the mission into increasingly dangerous or unfamiliar territory.
With this, the protagonist must escalate his or her dedication and
take on greater and greater risk, turning what was first a simple
task into an epic adventure.</div>
</li>
<li><div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
Subtype B: There & Back Again (<i>Apollo 13, The Wizard of Oz,
Deliverance, Interstellar</i>) – Whether for the thrill of
adventure or in response to a legitimate concern, a protagonist
leaves home on a journey into the unknown. Yet this journey soon
goes awry when a surprise complication traps the protagonist in a
situation that threatens his or her ability to return home. Many
actions must be taken to overcome this complication, as well as
later obstacles, before the protagonist can attempt a journey back
to his or her former environment.</div>
</li>
<li><div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
Type C: The Long Perilous Road (<i>Apocalypse Now, Finding Nemo,
Little Miss Sunshine, Oh Brother Where Art Thou?, Stand By Me</i>) –
A worrisome development or possible reward motivates a long journey
to a far off destination. Yet the road is filled with pitfalls,
creating an episodic structure where each sequence presents a new
obstacle that must be overcome for the journey to continue.
Eventually, the characters reach their destination, shifting focus
onto the actions necessary to resolve the initial problem or achieve
the desired reward.</div>
</li>
</ul>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<u>9.
The Snowball of Complications</u></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
By choice or accident, a protagonist becomes wrapped up in a
situation in which he or she should have no part. The protagonist’s
meddling complicate matters further, creating new problems or
stirring up conflict from opposing forces. This incites a series of
escalating consequences that eventually trap the protagonist in a
predicament spiraling out of control.</div>
<ul>
<li><div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
Subtype A: The Involuntary Snowball (<i>Back to the Future, The Big
Lebowski, Insomnia, Wonder Boys, The Man Who Wasn’t There</i>) –
Dumb luck or a twist of fate places a protagonist into an
environment or conflict where he or she does not belong. The
protagonist then complicates this predicament through mistakes that
entangle him or her in increasingly threatening consequences. The
protagonist must undo his or her mistakes and restore things to
their right order before he or she can hope to resolve the initial
story problem and return to his or her former life.</div>
</li>
<li><div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
Subtype B: The Voluntary Snowball (<i>Chinatown, Blue Velvet,
Brazil, Raiders of the Lost Ark, WALL-E</i>) – Lured by some
mysterious person, situation, or thing, a protagonist willfully
sticks his or her nose into a scenario he or she does not fully
understand. The further the protagonist chases this lure, the more
dangerous and complicated the situation is revealed to be. While it
would be wisest to back out of the situation, the lure drives the
protagonist onward, eventually entangling him or her in perilous
consequences.</div>
</li>
</ul>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<u>10.
Rise & Fall</u></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
An ambitious but deeply-flawed protagonist obsessively pursues the
highest levels of personal success. Yet these desires hold no
rational limits, devouring all modesty or reason until they cause an
inevitable downfall. The protagonist then fights to keep or regain
his or her flawed glory. Eventually, the original ambition must be
tempered or abandoned or else it brings the protagonist’s ruin.</div>
<ul>
<li><div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
Subtype A: The Power Glutton (<i>Citizen Kane, Goodfellas, The
Doors, The Wolf of Wall Street</i>) – Blessed with great wits,
talent, or charisma, a protagonist attempts to conquer the world
through the accumulation of wealth, power, or fame. The protagonist
quickly rises to glory, but is unreasonably compelled to acquire
more and more. This insatiable lust leads to a downfall. Failing to
learn anything, the protagonist escalates his or her destructive
behaviors to attempt a second rise. This inevitably ends in an even
greater fall.</div>
</li>
<li><div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
Subtype B: The Overreacher (<i>Scarface, Patton, 500 Days of Summer,
Raging Bull, The Aviator</i>) – Through guts and determination, a
protagonist attempts to prove him or herself by chasing a lofty and
often unreasonable status or goal. Though the protagonist climbs to
a modest level of success, he or she is not satisfied, and wants
more than others will allow. This habit of pushing beyond the
reasonable eventually causes a backlash. Though he or she later
receives a second chance, the protagonist often indulges his or her
flaws once more, resulting in an ultimate fall.</div>
</li>
</ul>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<u>11.
Hero Against the System</u></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
A protagonist exists in an environment under the control of a corrupt
or oppressive institution. The protagonist chooses to take action
against this institution, either to right a wrong or regain personal
freedoms. This creates a moral battle between the strong and the
weak, with the renegade protagonist often becoming a symbol for
social or personal ideals.</div>
<ul>
<li><div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
Subtype A: The Social Reformer (<i>Braveheart, Erin Brockovich, Good
Night & Good Luck, The Post</i>) A social injustice motivates a
protagonist to become the champion of a righteous cause. Opposed by
a powerful institution, the protagonist can only succeed by uniting
many individuals in a common alliance. However, counter-actions by
the institution, along with personal flaws, cause these alliances to
fall apart. The protagonist must either continue a hopeless fight
alone or take the actions necessary to unify the alliances once
more.</div>
</li>
<li><div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
Subtype B: The Insurrectionist (<i>One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s
Nest, Spartacus, Serpico, 12 Years a Slave, Chocolat</i>) Here, the
protagonist does not wish to change the world. The protagonist
merely wants the freedom to live or do as he or she pleases.
Unfortunately, the character exists in a corrupt or oppressive
environment that expects a strict conformity to harsh and often
unfair rules. The protagonist rebels, inciting an aggressive
response from the system. Ultimately, the protagonist realizes the
system will never yield and takes action to escape or defeat it for
good.</div>
</li>
</ul>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<u>12.
The Vengeance Narrative</u></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
(<i>Kill Bill, Gladiator, The Godfather, Part II, The Revenant,
Deadpool</i>) A protagonist is betrayed or unfairly victimized by a
ruthless individual or social power. The protagonist then returns to
seek revenge. For the first half of the story, the hero pursues this
vengeance in relative secrecy. Yet the situation inevitably
complicates when the target of this revenge becomes aware of the
hero’s intentions. Through the ensuing escalations, the protagonist
is eventually forced to confront the difference between justice and
revenge, and make a choice between the two.</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<u>13.
The Big Mission</u></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
(<i>Inception, Oceans 11, The Dirty Dozen, Argo, The Sting</i>) A
protagonist chooses or is forced to undertake an elaborate mission of
great size or complexity. The intricate nature of this mission
requires extensive planning, preparation, and a large team of allies
working in coordination. The plot’s structure tends to follow a
predictable pattern: the assembling of the team, preparation for the
mission, the launch of the mission, a major complication (though
these last two events may be reversed), and the mission’s ultimate
success or failure.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br /></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<u>DUALIST NARRATIVES</u></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
Rather than focus upon a single lead character, Dualist narratives
revolve around a relationship between two characters, often (but not
always) given equal dramatic weight. Whether friendly or
antagonistic, this relationship expresses the story’s meaning
through the characters’ conflicting goals, attitudes, duties, or
beliefs.</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<u>14.
Reconciled Rivals</u></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
A personal desire or dramatic situation causes two characters of
contradictory natures to band together as a team. Due to profound
differences in personality, narrative development revolves around the
pair’s ability (or inability) to cooperate. Obstacles and
complications test the alliance, requiring that the characters
overcome their personal differences before they can achieve any
greater objective.</div>
<ul>
<li><div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
Subtype A: The Odd Couple (<i>Rain Man, Scent of a Woman, Planes,
Trains & Automobiles, Philadelphia, Tommy Boy</i>) A dramatic
predicament attaches a protagonist to a stranger with a
wildly-conflicting personality. At first, the protagonist finds it
impossible to cooperate with this partner. However, the characters
eventually gain a respect for one another and learn to act as a
team. Commonly, one character takes a significant action to help the
other in a time of need. This prompts the other to return the favor,
solidifying a bond of true love or friendship.</div>
</li>
<li><div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
Subtype B: Coming Together (<i>When Harry Met Sally, Anchorman, True
Grit, Knocked Up, The King’s Speech</i>) – One or more
encounters between characters of conflicting personalities lead to a
decision to form a tentative partnership. At first, this seems to go
well as both characters make an effort to overlook sources of
interpersonal conflict. However, the relationship’s flaws are
eventually revealed, creating arguments or outcomes that sever the
partners. For a positive end, emotion or necessity must compel the
characters to reunite and pledge their full dedication.</div>
</li>
</ul>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<u>15.
Loving Alliance</u></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
Two characters share an intimate bond that acts as a source of love,
value, or support. Unfortunately, social pressures or flawed personal
desires challenge this bond. With the increasing strain of these
forces, the characters must make crucial decisions regarding
commitment and sacrifice that ultimately decide the fate of the
relationship.</div>
<ul>
<li><div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
Subtype A: The Tragic Alliance (<i>Titanic, Brokeback Mountain, The
Insider, Lost in Translation, The Iron Giant</i>) – Two characters
meet and find in one another the comfort or strength they need to
combat the problems of their individual lives. Unfortunately,
outside forces vie to pull this bond apart. Though the pair fight to
remain together, these pressures escalate to a point where this
seems impossible. This often means the characters are doomed to
surrender the relationship and go their separate ways.</div>
</li>
<li><div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
Subtype B: The Toxic Alliance (<i>Bonnie & Clyde, Days of
Heaven, Superbad, Dumb & Dumber</i>) – In contrast with the
Tragic Alliance, the separating factors of the Toxic Alliance come
from inside the relationship rather than outside. While both
characters feel a deep love or respect for one another, flawed
personal desires create internal conflicts that cause this bond to
erode. If the relationship is to survive, the characters must
abandon selfish concerns and reset the relationship on a healthier
course.</div>
</li>
</ul>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<u>16.
Yin & Yang</u></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
These stories contain a hero and an anti-hero—dual protagonists who
are often mirror opposites in terms of morals, attitudes, or personal
allegiances. Whether first strangers or friends, conflicting goals or
ethical inclinations create an enmity between the two parties, often
forming a dynamic where every action by one character becomes a
threat to the other. With this unity of opposites, only one
protagonist can succeed, forcing an ultimate confrontation between
the two sides.</div>
<ul>
<li><div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
Subtype A: Moral Mirrors (<i>The Departed, Heat, There’s Something
About Mary, Touch of Evil, Captain America: Civil War</i>) Through
separate and independent action, a hero and an anti-hero pursue what
turn out to be directly-opposing goals. This essentially makes each
protagonist the other’s antagonist. At first, the characters are
unaware of the opposing party’s actions. Once discovered, the
protagonists engage in an escalating contest of action and
counter-action, culminating in a direct confrontation.</div>
</li>
<li><div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
Subtype B: The False Friendship (<i>Training Day, Fight Club, The
Master, Ex Machina</i>) A hero meets an anti-hero and attaches him
or herself as a follower or protege. Though initially amicable, the
relationship sours as the hero finds reason to question the
anti-hero. Eventually, a split occurs, turning the characters into
adversaries – often demanding a final confrontation where one side
must defeat or permanently disown the other.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://uncelebrity.blogspot.com/2020/04/the-34-common-plot-patterns-of-american.html" target="_blank">(On to PART 3 --> ) </a></div>
</li>
</ul>
SCRIPTMONK!!!http://www.blogger.com/profile/13911675482380489540noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3389409360415735927.post-82547743594092792202020-03-24T10:32:00.000-07:002020-04-28T12:46:23.221-07:00The 34 Common Plot Patterns of Hollywood & American Independent Cinema (Part 1 of 3)<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
If you visit this
blog often (though it cannot be too often as of late, seeing that I
have added few new articles over the past four years), you may have
noticed that I talk a lot about <b>PLOT PATTERNS</b><span style="font-weight: normal;">:
The “<a href="https://uncelebrity.blogspot.com/2013/03/the-taking-on-mantle-story-type-part-i.html" target="_blank">Taking on the Mantle</a>;” “<a href="https://uncelebrity.blogspot.com/2013/12/the-unstoppable-beast-story-type-part-i.html" target="_blank">The Unstoppable Beast</a>;” “<a href="https://uncelebrity.blogspot.com/2012/12/sideways-and-healing-narrative-or-how.html" target="_blank">The Healing Narrative</a>,” Or you’ll find articles<a href="https://uncelebrity.blogspot.com/2017/03/scriptmonks-big-huge-not-so-huge-plot.html" target="_blank"> like this one</a> where I
ramble off a series of types: </span> “Type 5c: The Exploiter,”
Type 9b: The Voluntarily Snowball of Complications,” “Type 16b:
The False Friendship.” However, I have never provided a full list
of these patterns on this blog, other than to mention that the
information can be found in full in my book <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Screenwriting-Unified-Theory-Narrative-Pattern/dp/0988848759/" target="_blank">Screenwriting & The Unified Theory of Narrative, Part II.</a> </i><span style="font-style: normal;">I
admit this is kind of a tease, but cut me some slack. There are
THIRTY-FOUR of these patterns. It takes a lot of time and space to
list them all. But to remedy that, I will finally list all of
American cinema’s common plot patterns here and now, one chunk at a
time, with descriptions and examples taken straight out of </span><i>UTN
Part II.</i></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
For
those of you who have yet to hear me talk about the plot pattern
phenomena, you can read<a href="https://creativescreenwriting.com/patterns/" target="_blank"> this article I wrote for Creative Screenwriting Magazine</a> to get a basic summary of just what plot
patterns are and how they operate. You can also find diagrams of each
pattern <a href="https://uncelebrity.blogspot.com/p/blog-page_9.html" target="_blank">here on this blog</a>.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
One
note: Sometimes in the past I have stated that there are sixteen
common patterns of plot, at other times thirty-four. To clarify (and
as you will see below), there are sixteen <i>general patterns.</i>
Most of these general patterns can be divided into two or three
subtypes, resulting in a sum total of thirty-four overall patterns.
Additionally, I should state that these are merely the thirty-four
<i>most common</i> plot patterns in Hollywood and American
Independent cinema. There very well may be more. However, any
examples of these yet-to-be-identified patterns occur so infrequently
that I have yet to gather enough evidence to confirm the existence of
a repeated structural pattern. On a similar note, some of the
following patterns are found with a far greater frequency than
others. For some, like Type 1a: The Reluctant Hero, I could compile a
list of dozens of well-known examples. Others, like Type 5b: The
Ejected, are rare finds, so their examples are a bit more obscure.
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
The
sixteen general plot patterns can be further organized into four
categories: <i>Hero-Centered Narratives, Antagonism-Centered
Narratives, Action-Centered Narratives, </i>and <i>Dualist
Narratives. </i>I will begin here with the Hero-Centered and Antagonism-Centered Narratives
and provide the rest in my next installment.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><u>HERO-CENTERED NARRATIVES</u></span></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
Hero-centered narratives place a great deal of emphasis upon the
protagonist, his or her Character Arc, and the psychological impact
of story events. These stories encourage close personal
identification with the protagonist and develop largely in response
to the character’s internal wants, fears, or needs.</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br /></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<u>1.
An Innocent Abroad</u></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
A passive or reactive protagonist is drawn into a confused or
threatening situation and forced to decide how or if to participate.
For the first half of the story, this hero exerts little personal
control, and is thus left subject to ambivalent desires or the whims
of the chaotic situation. At the Midpoint, the hero finally seizes
control and launches a course of strong, willful actions to resolve
the situation or achieve a more positive personal fate.</div>
<ul>
<li><div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
Subtype A: The Reluctant Hero (<i>Star Wars, The Godfather, The 40
Year-Old Virgin, Die Hard, Cast Away</i>) – By poor luck or a
twist of fate, a protagonist is swept into a predicament or
situation he or she would rather have no part of. Initially
reluctant to participate, the protagonist first allows more
proactive characters to control his or her fate and/or merely
attempts to survive passing events. Eventually, developments
convince the protagonist to take charge of the situation. He or she
transitions from reactive to proactive, taking direct actions to
resolve the situation.</div>
</li>
<li><div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
Subtype B: The Wrong-Way Hero (<i>The Graduate, Almost Famous,
Spider-man, American History X, The Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless
Mind</i>) – Outside characters or unexpected events lead a
protagonist to a choice that may decide his or her destiny. At
first, the protagonist chooses wrong, following a flawed or
ill-conceived path. The protagonist realizes this mistake at the
Midpoint and attempts to reverse course. This puts the protagonist
at odds with his or her former allies and/or previous actions,
requiring great personal effort to put life back on the right track.</div>
</li>
</ul>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<u>2.
The Small Man /Woman Rises</u></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
An outside power or circumstance plucks a protagonist from obscurity
to fulfill an important duty or role. Unprepared for this
responsibility, the protagonist is initially hampered by flawed
beliefs, attitudes or insecurities. Struggles and setbacks lead to
self-evaluation, eventually causing the protagonist to discover or
challenge his or her heroic identity. Later developments test this
newer identity, with the protagonist often failing before finding
victory.</div>
<ul>
<li><div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
Subtype A: The Summoned Hero (<i>The Matrix, Men in Black, The
Silence of the Lambs, Kung-fu Panda, Unbreakable</i>) – A
more-or-less unremarkable protagonist is selected by an outside
power to fulfill a heroic role. Due to personal flaws, the
protagonist has difficulty adjusting to this new identity, and thus
requires help or mentorship from stronger or more experienced
characters. Gradually, the hero acquires the necessary skill or
strength, yet must ultimately prove this worth against an ultimate
test without help from others.</div>
</li>
<li><div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
Subtype B: The Breakaway Hero (<i>Batman Begins, 12 Monkeys, Rocky,
Whiplash, Trading Places</i>) – A higher power lures a
protagonist into a role or duty with the promise of fame, glory, or
personal worth. However, the protagonist eventually realizes the
power is corrupt, exploitative, or using him or her contrary to
better interests. This causes the protagonist to break away. The
protagonist finds a new identity as a solitary hero, often turning
the protagonist and higher power into direct adversaries.</div>
</li>
<li><div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
Subtype C: The Returning Hero (<i>The Dark Knight Rises, Airplane!,
Austin Powers: International Man of Mystery, Cinderella Man</i>) –
A hero of former greatness has receded into irrelevancy, often due
to a debilitating personal flaw. Unexpected events convince the
protagonist to return to his or her former role. However, the
protagonist’s old methods meet failure. To succeed, the
protagonist must transform into a new kind of hero, one capable of
solving problems in healthier and more effective ways.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
</div>
</li>
</ul>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<u>3.
Taking on the Mantle</u></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
A protagonist begins as an anti-hero—someone capable of heroism who
nevertheless chooses to behave in selfish or harmful ways. This is
disrupted by an event or situation that demands the protagonist
become a more open or morally-responsible member of society. Though
initially reluctant, the protagonist eventually finds the will to
walk a higher or more selfless path, in spite of the risks or
difficulties this may bring.</div>
<ul>
<li><div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
Subtype A: Crisis of Character (<i>Rushmore, Shrek, As Good as it
Gets, Liar Liar, The Royal Tannenbaums</i>)<i> </i> – A
deeply-flawed protagonist has willfully isolated him or herself
through selfish or anti-social behaviors. Surprise events force the
protagonist to “rejoin” human society through situations that
demand honest, caring, or cooperative interaction with others.
Eventually, the protagonist recognizes the harm caused by his or her
behaviors and decides to change in order to forge fulfilling
relationships.</div>
</li>
<li><div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
Subtype B: Crisis of Conscience (<i>On the Waterfront, Casablanca,
Michael Clayton, Schindler’s List, Thank-you for Smoking</i>) –
A morally-ambivalent protagonist begins the story in a complicit
partnership with a Force of Darkness. Since the protagonist profits
from this arrangement, he or she willingly ignores, or even aids,
the Force’s misdeeds. However, the plight of an innocent victim
(or victims) compels the protagonist to question this loyalty.
Eventually, the protagonist turns on the Force of Darkness, taking
selfless actions to protect the weak.</div>
</li>
</ul>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<u>4.
The Healing Narrative</u></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
A protagonist begins the story with a physical, emotional, or
spiritual “wound” that prevents him or her from functioning
normally in life. This character is then compelled (by will or force)
to pursue an objective which may heal the wound. Though the hero
meets obstacles and external conflicts, real moments of development
occur when the character is forced to step outside his or her comfort
zone, face flawed attitudes or beliefs, and then move past old
traumas to secure a healthier state of mind.</div>
<ul>
<li><div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
Subtype A: The Resistive Wounded (<i>Good Will Hunting, Ordinary
People, Sideways, Silver Linings Playbook</i>) – In this first
type, the protagonist does not want to heal. He or she protects the
wound or refuses to recognize its existence. This prevents healthy
personal development and creates conflicts with those who wish to
help the protagonist. Eventually, narrative developments convince
the character to change his or her attitudes so healing may begin.</div>
</li>
<li><div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
Subtype B: The Seeker Wounded (<i>Forgetting Sarah Marshall, Hi
Fidelity, About Schmidt, Bringing Out the Dead, The Fisher King</i>)
– Here, the protagonist knows he or she is wounded and genuinely
wishes to heal. Unfortunately, the character does not know how to go
about this. Lost and confused, the protagonist seeks out personal
relationships and paths of self-examination to find a way back to a
healthy and productive life.</div>
</li>
</ul>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<u>5.
Character Drive</u></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
Desiring more out of life, a protagonist follows a path of action he
or she hopes will lead to happiness or success. Unlike most plot
patterns, the protagonist makes this choice voluntarily, <i>without</i>
being forced by an outside conflict. However, the protagonist’s
actions turn out to be foolish or harmful, creating predicaments that
demand self-evaluation and personal change before anything resembling
real happiness can emerge.</div>
<ul>
<li><div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
Subtype A: The Escapist (<i>Lawrence of Arabia, Office Space,
Trainspotting, Tootsie, Dances With Wolves</i>) – Discontented
with life, a protagonist escapes into some blissful alternative.
However, this alternative proves to be a fool’s paradise.
Neglected problems build under the surface, eventually returning to
threaten the protagonist. With this, the protagonist must realize he
or she cannot continue to hide from reality. Success comes only by
returning to the original world to face problems head-on.</div>
</li>
<li><div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
Subtype B: The Ejected (<i>The Hustler, Jerry Maguire, The Wrestler,
Chicago, The Artist</i>) – A restless protagonist feels a
compulsion to pursue an (often ill-conceived) personal ambition.
However, initial actions prove self-destructive, expelling the
protagonist from his or her former environment. Now lost in the
wilderness, the protagonist searches for new paths and relationships
to regain a sense of direction or control. Many mistakes must often
occur before the protagonist discovers the reason for his or her
original failure and finds a new way to return to the initial
objective.</div>
</li>
<li><div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
Subtype C: The Exploiter (<i>There Will Be Blood, The Social
Network, Bowfinger, The Big Short, Capote</i>) – An immense desire
for gain or glory drives a protagonist to pursue an objective by
dishonest means. While the protagonist may make great progress, his
or her exploitative behaviors test and often destroy personal
relationships. Eventually, the protagonist must either repent these
behaviors and make amends, or end up bitter and alone.</div>
</li>
</ul>
<div align="CENTER" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><u>ANTAGONISM-CENTERED NARRATIVES</u></span></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
Antagonism-centered narratives are driven more by the force opposing
the protagonist than the protagonist him or herself. This often
places the protagonist into the role of a reactionary or victim,
resulting in stories where the villain may be more memorable than the
hero.</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<u>6.
The Unstoppable Beast</u></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
A protagonist is continually tormented by a malevolent force with a
single-minded desire to enslave, destroy, or ruin the protagonist.
The plot develops as each escalated attempt to resist or escape the
force is denied. Eventually, the hero must take a direct stand
against this force in a desperate attempt to reclaim his or her
security or freedom.</div>
<ul>
<li><div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
Subtype A: The Destructive Beast (<i>The Terminator, The Bourne
Identity, Punch-Drunk Love, No Country for Old Men, The Incredible
Hulk</i>) – A protagonist is targeted by a malicious force that
will stop at nothing to see the protagonist killed, captured, or
ruined. Multiple attempts are made to escape the force, yet this
only intensifies the pursuit. Eventually, the only solution is to
face and defeat the force in a direct confrontation.</div>
</li>
<li><div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
Subtype B: The Covetous Beast (<i>Sunset Boulevard, Fatal
Attraction, A Beautiful Mind, Misery</i>) – Here the Beast does
not wish to destroy the protagonist, but possess and control the
protagonist. Poor initial decisions trap a protagonist in a toxic
relationship that progressively robs the hero of his or her
independent will or freedoms. The protagonist then attempts to
escape, inciting vicious reactions that escalate the conflict to an
ultimate breaking point.</div>
</li>
</ul>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<u>7.
The Infecting Agent</u></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
A malicious force (physical, psychological, or otherwise) invades the
protagonist’s environment and proceeds to poison or destroy
everything around it. Characters make progressive attempts to avoid,
disarm, or eliminate this force, yet fail due to its steadily
increasing power or refusal to give in.</div>
<ul>
<li><div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
Subtype A: The Infecting Being (<i>Alien, Casino, The Usual
Suspects, Jaws, The Dark Knight</i>) – In this first instance, the
malicious agent is physical (either a character or some form of
creature). At first, the protagonist is unaware of the agent or
underestimates its threat. This allows the danger to grow until it
becomes too dangerous to control. Following attempts to combat the
agent prove futile, inevitably forcing the protagonist to formerly
unthinkable lengths to expel this entity from his or her life.</div>
</li>
<li><div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
Subtype B: The Infecting Idea (<i>Reservoir Dogs, Mystic River,
Glengarry Glenross, Election, Birdman</i>) – Here, the agent is
abstract in nature. Characters are exposed to some psychological
threat, worry, or suspicion that brings out their most irrational
fears or impulses. Though the characters try to resist, one or more
individuals eventually succumb to this irrationality. This causes
characters to turn on one another, leading to chaos and
self-destruction.</div>
</li>
<li><div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
Subtype C: The Spoiler (<i>Amadeus, The Magnificent Ambersons,
Bridesmaids, Pushing Tin, My Best Friend’s Wedding</i>) – In a
mixture of the previous types, a protagonist feels threatened by a
new arrival into his or her environment. This is only a <i>perceived
</i>threat. It has not yet, nor may ever become a legitimate one.
Nevertheless, an irrational fear or jealousy motivates an escalating
series of actions intended to undermine or eliminate the new
arrival. This eventually backfires, poisoning the protagonist’s
life and everything in it.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://uncelebrity.blogspot.com/2020/04/the-34-common-plot-patterns-of.html" target="_blank">(On to Part 2 --> )</a></div>
</li>
</ul>
SCRIPTMONK!!!http://www.blogger.com/profile/13911675482380489540noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3389409360415735927.post-76139852756162041952018-08-22T17:43:00.000-07:002020-03-12T18:44:01.174-07:00Clearing up the "Show, Don't Tell" Confusion -- Mimesis vs. Diegesis<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Of all the pithy
little axioms preached at students of screenwriting, the most
oft-repeated is the command to “show, don't tell.” The phrase
sounds simple enough. “Show” and “tell” are two of the most
basic verbs in the English vocabulary. Yet the vaguery surrounding
this three-word statement has caused endless confusion and even
controversy over whether the advice is even valid. Once again, the
“script gurus” have dumbed things down to the point of
obfuscation.</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Allow me to shed a
little light on the subject. “Showing” vs. “Telling” is
really just a plain-English way of articulating <i>mimesis </i><span style="font-style: normal;">vs.
</span><i>diegesis, </i><span style="font-style: normal;">two of the
oldest concepts in the Western philosophies of art. These terms sound
old and Greek because they are old and Greek, dating back to before
the time of Plato. For the sake of the reader, I will not go into the
numerous tedious arguments surrounding the terms, and at the risk of
reductionism I will boil things down to their basics (so I ask that
anyone familiar with the topic please forgive me for any lack of
exactitude). So let us begin by broadly stating, mimesis is an
approach to art that “shows”; diegesis is an approach that
“tells.”</span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Now,
these terms tend to be difficult for newcomers to keep straight. So
it helps to remember them in relation to similar and more common
English words. </span><i>Mimesis</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
comes from the same Greek root as the words “mime” or “imitate.”
As this connection suggests, mimesis refers to any artistic attempt
to represent an object, image, action, event, etc, in sensory detail
so that the thing represented appears in “present” in some form.
This can range from a simple pictorial representation of a subject to
an exact imitation which makes the subject seem real and existing
within in the receiver’s midst. Dramatic actors may thus be
considered the foremost practitioners of mimesis, as their craft
entails the reproduction of actions, emotions, and so on with such
accuracy that they appear real and immediate. As such, staged live
theatre is the most mimetic of art forms (more so than cinema, for in
theatre the dramatic action occurs within the immediate presence of
the viewer without cinema’s spatial and temporal discontinuities).
Mimesis therefore “shows”—not only visually, but potentially
through all the senses—while the receiving party “observes.”
Recipients are expected to take in the sensory information and form
conclusions it in the same manner that they make sense of all the
stimuli they encounter in daily life.</span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>Diegesis, </i><span style="font-style: normal;">in
its original usage,</span><i> </i><span style="font-style: normal;">roughly
translates as “to guide” and corresponds with the modern Greek
word for “to narrate.” Helpful English sound-alikes include
“description” or “diagram.” Diegesis always presupposes a
speaker and an audience spoken to. Some individual, wherever he or
she may be, is in control of the discourse and responsible for
guiding the receiving party through it. Along with describing or
explaining its subjects, diegesis will often include a degree of
interpretation or commentary. It “tells” from a specific point of
view. Rhetoric, the art of influencing opinions through speech, is
therefore the most diegetic of art forms. (In the classical sense,
that is. The ancient Greeks considered rhetoric to be the highest
art, but modern academics now place it in a category outside the
“creative” fields.) Like rhetorical speeches, diegetic
storytelling relates events in a manner whereby all content is guided
and therefore mediated by a narrator, with the discourse focused upon
whatever the narrator considers most significant.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Comparing
mimesis to diegesis, one finds that mimesis is primarily sensory
while diegesis is primarily verbal. The former </span><i>presents</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
a receiver with this or that (more or less objectively); the latter
</span><i>tells</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> the receiver of
this or that (more or less subjectively). Diegesis often contains
ready-made interpretations, while mimesis allows receivers more
freedom to interpret content for themselves. There are also sharp
differences in terms of the sense of </span><i>distance</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
felt between the receiver and the content or speaker. With mimesis,
the content feels close, present and “real.” Meanwhile, the
entity who presents the work (the artist, creator, “speaker”)
seems to reside at a distance or to be entirely absent. Diegesis
creates the opposite experience. The creator/narrator holds a close
and present relation with the receiver while the narrated content has
the quality of feeling distant in space or time. (That is, the
speaker relates something that exists in a place or time different
from the “here and now.”)</span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
To
provide a comparative example, let us say I want to present you with
the historical tale of the assassination of Julius Caesar. In a
diegetic mode, I could stand on a stage and give a lecture on the
event; tell who was there and what they did, emphasizing or
elaborating on certain points, engaging your interest through my use
of language. Yet to tell the story in a mimetic mode, I would have to
remove myself from the stage and do as William Shakespeare did;
present performers intended to “be” the event’s participants
and play the scene out action for action (more or less accurately) as
if the event were occurring in the moment. The first “tells,” the
second “shows.”</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
To
turn this information into advice on proper screenwriting, our path
must briefly pass through literature. Literature is an entirely
verbal medium. Though it relates sensory information for readers to
imagine with their mind’s eye, all this information must be given
through written words. This, along with the constant presence of a
narrator (whether this presence be overt or merely implied), requires
literary discourse to lean toward diegesis rather than mimesis. Yet
literature also allows a certain range of freedom between these two
poles. A work may employ a highly diegetic approach, with the voice
of an outside narrator constantly intervening into story action to
supply his or her own judgments or opinions. (Laurence Sterne’s
<i>Tristam Shandy</i> presents one of the most extreme examples. Less
radically, Charles Dickens frequently adheres to this style.)
Alternatively, narration can be limited to a style that comes close
to mimesis, verbally relating only what might be seen, heard, or
smelled by an unattached party observing the “scene.” (Ernest
Hemingway used this style.)</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Cinema,
in contrast, is not a verbal medium. It communicates with near
exclusivity through image and sound. The audience sees and hears
events as they occur, with the implication that the events are
“real.” Cinematic discourse must therefore lean much closer to
mimesis than diegesis.* Cinema “shows” and expects the viewer to
do much of the cognitive work necessary to piece information
together. Cinema cannot explicitly dictate the viewer’s mental
experience the way literature can; it can only lead a viewer’s mind
in certain directions through indirect means. The command “show,
don’t tell” is therefore an injunction to craft narratives in
ways that play to the cinema’s strengths while avoiding its
weaknesses. Communication ought to occur primarily through images and
actions while avoiding an over-reliance on words.
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Yet
herein lies the rub for screenwriters. Though screenwriters create
narratives intended to be composed of images and sound, they must
momentarily capture these narratives in written words on a script's printed
page. Screenwriters must therefore perform a literary function in
service of a non-literary medium. Walking this tightrope between the
mimetic and the temporarily diegetic thus becomes one of the greatest
challenges of screencraft and quite often the trap into which many
newcomers fall.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
The
command “show, don’t tell” is particularly relevant to two
common amateur stumbling blocks. The first occurs in the area of a
script’s passages of action or description—that is, the words on
the page which no one other than a select few will ever actually
read. “Show, don’t tell” reminds screenwriters that they are
not literary authors. A writer may enjoy penning long flowery
descriptions, complete with intriguing background information and
cheeky asides, but all these words are essentially useless as they
will never be translated onto the screen to become part of the final
product. Here is another axiom in the world of screencraft: “If it
is not on the screen, it doesn’t exist.” Unless the information
is <i>sensory </i>information which a director, performers, or crew
can directly express in image, action or sound, it will never reach
the audience and wind up dead on the page. Screenwriters must strive
for a mimetic, not a diegetic discourse, which “presents”
everything essential for a viewer’s narrative comprehension in
audio or visual form. If writers absolutely must imitate a literary
style, they should be Hemingway and not Dickens.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
The
second area where developing screenwriters are prone to telling
rather than showing occurs within moments where the script must
provide important background information. Now the easiest way to give
this information is to simply “tell” it to the audience.
Voiceover narration or long expository speeches are the most common
offenders here. While these methods do provide the necessary
information, their flatly diegetic mode tends to bore the audience as
it fails to play to the cinema’s ideal form of discourse or provide
viewers with the desired audio-visual stimulation. In other words, a
lot of “telling” has been put into a medium that thrives on
“showing.” As a result, such passages fail to promote
mentally-active viewership by engaging the audience’s sensory
interests. They instead turn viewers into passive, uninvolved
listeners, making the experience feel dull and anti-dramatic.
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
These
are, of course, not the only areas where “show, don’t tell” is
immediately relevant. However, I hope this article has cleared up
some confusion. By referring to the opposition between mimesis and
diegesis, “show, don’t tell” reminds storytellers
what the cinema is as a medium, where its strengths lie, and what its
narratives should or should not do. Cinematic stories function
differently than stories in mediums such as literature, and thus must
be executed in the most appropriate discursive mode.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">*
Note: Some caution must be used regarding the word
“diegetic” in a cinematic context, as film critics and production
professionals often use the same word for completely different
purposes with completely different definitions. In its non-theoretical usage,
“diegetic” refers to anything which exists within the story
world. The best example comes in the form of music. If a scene
features a song playing on a radio—a song all the characters can
hear—this is “diegetic music,” since it exists within the story
world. In contrast, a musical score added to the film’s soundtrack
is considered “non-diegetic” or “extra-diegetic” music since
it exists outside of the story world and can only be heard by the
audience. It is important to not confuses the two uses. This article
uses the term "diegetic" only in its classical sense; that is, its
opposition to the mimetic.</span></div>
SCRIPTMONK!!!http://www.blogger.com/profile/13911675482380489540noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3389409360415735927.post-4567201435557837112017-10-11T18:33:00.000-07:002017-10-11T18:33:36.170-07:00TWO New Scriptmonk Articles in MOVIEMAKER MAGAZINELast month I had a new two-part article published over on the Moviemaker Magazine website. But I have been so busy that I have had barely enough time to even mention it--which is odd, seeing the extensive amount of time I put into preparing these articles.<br />
<br />
If you have read <i>Screenwriting & The Unified Theory of Narrative, Part I</i>, the content should already be familiar to you. If you haven't, give the articles a read for a taste of what <i>UTN Part I</i> is all about.<br />
<br />
In short, the two pieces repacks in a tighter and more compact a few of <i>Unified Theory, Part I</i>'s most crucial concepts: Hollywood filmmaking's four narrative types (Celebratory, Cautionary, Tragic, and Cynical), and the practical mechanics behind the way these four types communicate thematic meaning through the combined structures of plot and character.<br />
<br />
Follow the links: <br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>Part #1: <a href="https://www.moviemaker.com/archives/moviemaking/screenwriting/hollywoods-four-classic-narrative-types-part-i-when-the-bad-guys-win/" target="_blank">When the Bad Guys Win</a></i></b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>Part #2: <a href="https://www.moviemaker.com/archives/news/hollywoods-four-classic-narrative-types-part-ii-hero-versus-world/" target="_blank">Hero Versus the World</a></i></b></span><br />
<br />
All pretty much crucial info to understand how the structures of plot, character, and theme interact to create a unified whole.<br />
<br />
<i>Scribble on.</i><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.moviemaker.com/wp-content/uploads/moviemakerlogo444.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="88" data-original-width="250" src="https://www.moviemaker.com/wp-content/uploads/moviemakerlogo444.png" /></a></div>
<i> </i>SCRIPTMONK!!!http://www.blogger.com/profile/13911675482380489540noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3389409360415735927.post-89317685226245125302017-06-06T20:49:00.001-07:002017-06-06T20:50:51.935-07:00New SCRIPTMONK Article in Creative Screenwriting Magazine! And Updates! Exclamation points!Hello all!!!<br />
<br />
<a href="https://creativescreenwriting.com/" target="_blank">Creative Screenwriting Magazine</a> online has recently published a revised and expanded version of my November 2016 blog article <a href="http://uncelebrity.blogspot.com/2016/11/the-hand-of-princess-keys-to-kingdom-or.html" target="_blank">"Hand of the Princess, The Keys to the Kingdom; Or, Why the Romantic Subplot?"</a> This improved version of the original article features more on the practical application of its insights into the Hollywood romantic subplot, particularly the direct structural links between the romantic subplot and the hero's Character Arc. <a href="https://creativescreenwriting.com/romantic-subplot/" target="_blank">Read the CS article HERE.</a><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://creativescreenwriting.com/romantic-subplot/" target="_blank"><img alt="https://creativescreenwriting.com/romantic-subplot/" border="0" data-original-height="406" data-original-width="650" height="199" src="https://creativescreenwriting.com/wp-content/themes/patterns/timthumb.php?src=https%3A%2F%2Fcreativescreenwriting.com%2Fwp-content%2Fuploads%2F2017%2F06%2FThe-Princess-Bride.jpg&q=90&w=650&zc=1" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
I have also begun work on another article for Creative Screenwriting, to be titled "When the Bad Guys Win" on the four narrative types detailed in<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Screenwriting-Unified-Theory-Narrative-Structure/dp/0988848732/" target="_blank"><i> Screenwriting & The Unified Theory of Narrative, Part I</i></a>; particularly defining the Tragic and Cynical narratives--two common varieties of cinematic story so often ignored by other materials on screencraft. Look out for the new article in the coming months.<br />
<br />
You may also like to know that I soon plan to return to my "SCRIPTMONK! Goes to the Movies" series of articles on a regular monthly basis. Far more than simple movie "reviews," these articles will analyze what can be learned from the narrative successes and failures of recent releases, taken purely from the perspective of screencraft and narrative theory.SCRIPTMONK!!!http://www.blogger.com/profile/13911675482380489540noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3389409360415735927.post-26346884515757970082017-05-19T18:29:00.000-07:002020-03-12T20:02:49.589-07:00SCRIPTMONK's Plot Pattern DVD Bin, Part II!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQTPAWlynGcY-omobeEYiAq3aHTk7ycgreIjMyuYpGsRMB9NuWw" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQTPAWlynGcY-omobeEYiAq3aHTk7ycgreIjMyuYpGsRMB9NuWw" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">The
more films I watch, the more I am convinced. The thirty-four common
plot patterns of American cinema just might be the dramatic find of
the century. Of course, I’m not surprised if most people are
skeptical. They just have not seen the mountain of evidence I have.
With every new, even marginally-successful motion picture, I find the
same patterns again and again. And again. And again and again and
again. Films with great plots follow these patterns with almost
perfect accuracy. So-so films do it in a so-so manner. Poorly plotted
films fail to follow any pattern at all. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Most
of the skepticism likely stems from a confusion between </span><i>pattern</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
and </span><i>formula.</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> PLOT
PATTERNS ARE NOT FORMULAS. Formulas are intentional. They are
consciously applied from the outset of creation to achieve a repeated
result. </span><i>Patterns</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> are
naturally-occurring. They arise without conscious intent, usually in
a manner so automatic and intuitive that the creators themselves do
not recognize them. This phenomenon, I believe, is a result of
artists repeatedly drawing upon the same sets of social and cultural
beliefs. For a brief proposition of how and why this occurs, </span><a href="https://creativescreenwriting.com/patterns/" target="_blank"><span style="font-style: normal;">see this article</span></a><span style="font-style: normal;">. Of course,
this theory is explained in far greater detail in </span><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Screenwriting-Unified-Theory-Narrative-Pattern/dp/0988848759/" target="_blank"><i>Screenwriting & The Unified Theory of Narrative, Part II: Genre, Pattern &The Concept of Total Meaning.</i></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Plot
patterns possess an incredible flexibility. While stable enough to
perform their basic dramatic and ideological functions again and
again, plot patterns can adapt to any given premise or narrative
conflict through the highly figurative nature of their constituent
elements, as well as a wide array of alternatives and variations. This
makes plot patterns consistent yet fluid, explaining how they can
reoccur so frequently yet continue to go unnoticed by their viewers.
Each story is allowed to do what it needs to develop its unique uses
of plot, character, and theme upon the narrative surface while
retaining the strength and meaning of the structure underneath. In
this article, I will continue to demonstrate the plot pattern
phenomenon by showing how a random selection of recent films succeed
by following, stumbled by deviating from, or accommodated themselves
through variations upon these hidden narrative structures.</span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/5/53/Captain_America_Civil_War_poster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/5/53/Captain_America_Civil_War_poster.jpg" width="215" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><i><u>Captain America: Civil War </u></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><u>(2016)</u></span></span></b></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Type 16a: Moral
Mirrors. I love a good Moral Mirrors. When done properly (in films
such as <i>The Departed, Heat, </i>or <i>Touch of Evil</i>), it can
be the most mentally-involving of patterns on all three levels of
narrative discourse: plot, character, and theme. The Moral Mirrors
contains two protagonists: one a Hero, the other an Anti-hero. In
most cases, these protagonists begin their stories by pursuing
independent lines of action with their own separate goals. Yet
whether the protagonists realize it or not (more often not), these
two goals directly oppose one another. This causes the two lines to
converge, gradually turning each protagonist into the other’s
antagonist.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
In <i>Civil War,
</i>the idealist Steve Rogers/Captain America performs the role of
the Hero, while the pragmatist Tony Stark/Iron Man fills that of the
Anti-hero. The Moral Mirrors structure begins with an inciting
incident (or incidents) which sets the stage for its protagonists’
eventual opposition, but does not yet begin <i>direct</i> conflict.
(A mission-related mishap causes the international community to
demand the Avengers subject their actions to government oversight.)
In response, one protagonist irreversibly commits to a personal
objective midway through Act 1. (Stark takes a firm stance in support
of the initiative.) The other protagonist then completes the dramatic
setup by crossing a point of no return which commits them to a directly-opposing objective at the End of Act 1 Turning Point. (Events
convince Rogers to rebel against the initiative in order to save his
friend Bucky.) In Act 2A, both protagonists pursue their respective goals
independently, often in ignorance of their counterpart. Yet each
action has the effect of drawing the two characters into deeper
opposition, leading both to finally recognize the threat posed by their counterpart at or around the story's Midpoint. (Rogers gives Stark a
final refusal to cooperate and then solidifies this antagonism by
going fully rogue after Bucky escapes confinement.) This initiates an
Act 2B composed of a series of back-and-forth actions between Hero
and Anti-hero intended to defeat or undermine the opposing party.
This now-open antagonism eventually escalates into a direct
face-to-face battle in Act 3.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Yet <i>Civil War
</i>hardly presents a classic Moral Mirrors, for one clear reason.
Despite its <i>Captain America</i> title, this is really the third
<i>Avengers </i>film. And like its two predecessors, <i>Civil War</i>
becomes unusually convoluted due to its inclusion of a large number
of supporting characters with their own dramatic subplots. This
greatly complicates the use of the Moral Mirrors plot pattern in one
key area. In a typical Moral Mirrors narrative, the conflict is not
bi-lateral but triangular; involving not only the Hero and the
Anti-hero, but also a third character I call the Wild Card. The Wild
Card is an independent party of shifting loyalties, who at some times
opposes both the Hero and the Anti-hero and at other times may form
or break alliances with one protagonist against the other. While this
role is usually filled by only one or possibly two related characters
(such as Frank Costello in <i>The Departed </i>or Joe Grandi in <i>Touch
of Evil</i>), <i>Civil War </i>features multiple characters who carry
out this function, each adding a separate line of conflict. Bucky,
Black Panther, the villain Helmut Zemo, even Natasha Romanoff and
other members of the Avengers team can be labeled Wild Card
characters. Luckily, the film manages to keep these many separate
threads united into a fairly comprehensible narrative. Yet it must be
said that, like the other <i>Avengers</i> films, <i>Civil War
</i>violates many rules of thumb regarding structural clarity. It
succeeds in spite of its convolutions rather than because of them.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/c/c4/Kubo_and_the_Two_Strings_poster.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/c/c4/Kubo_and_the_Two_Strings_poster.png" width="215" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><u>Kubo and the Two-Strings </u></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><u>(2016)</u></span></b></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>Kubo and the
Two-Strings </i>presents a contrast between the formal compositions
of its <i>story</i> and its <i>plot</i>. While <i>Kubo</i>’s <u>story</u><span style="text-decoration: none;">
(the material seen and heard by the audience)</span> takes on the
form of a quest, its <u>plot</u> (the physical arrangement of
dramatic developments) finds shape through a pattern not usually
associated with quest stories: Type 6a, The Destructive Beast. Home
to such examples as <i>The Terminator, The Bourne Identity, </i>and
<i>No Country for Old Men,</i> the Destructive Beast features a
protagonist relentlessly pursued by a malevolent entity (the “Beast”)
which will not stop until the protagonist is killed, captured, or
ruined. This usually creates a narrative patterned by repeated
sequences of attack and escape. Yet while <i>Kubo</i>’s three-act
development does adhere to this pattern—the story’s “Beast”
(the Moon King and his two evil daughters) always attacks at the
proper moments, with outcomes that alter the narrative situation in
ways similar to other Destructive Beasts (<a href="http://uncelebrity.blogspot.com/2013/12/the-unstoppable-beast-story-type-part-i.html" target="_blank">see this article for details</a>)—<i>Kubo</i><span style="text-decoration: none;">’s
tone feels much different than the pattern's other examples because the content
found between the story's attacks dwells far more upon the quest elements of the
story. This shifts attention from a mere flight from the Beast to the
objectives that must be achieved to defeat the Beast. As a result,
the </span>Beast is not a constant figure of menace, but takes a back
seat to the quest, only arriving to attack at the plot’s key
turning points. For this reason, <i>Kubo</i><span style="text-decoration: none;">’s</span>
drama feels far more relaxed and lacks the constant fear and tension
found in other Destructive Beasts.
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>Kubo</i>
contains another variation on the Destructive Beast. Typically, the
protagonist forms an alliance with a “Sole Companion” character
after the Beast’s first direct assault at the End of 1<sup>st</sup>
Act Turning Point. This Sole Companion soon becomes the one and only
character the protagonist can depend on as the story unfolds. <i>Kubo</i>
follows suit, matching its hero with his protector Monkey. Yet in
this case, the “Sole” Companion does not stay sole, as Kubo
collects two more companions in Act 2A, turning the Sole Companion
into a group of characters with different traits and abilities. Yet
<i>Kubo</i> returns to the pattern's standard form at the End of Act 2B when, as
usual, the hero is cut off from his companions. He then faces a
choice: either continue running from the Beast (a path which will
lead to failure) or finally confront and defeat the Beast all alone.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/b/b6/The_Revenant_2015_film_poster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/b/b6/The_Revenant_2015_film_poster.jpg" width="215" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><u>The Revenant </u></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><u>(2015)</u></span></b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Type
12: The Vengeance Narrative. As I mention in </span><i>Screenwriting
& The Unified Theory of Narrative, Part II,</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
the Vengeance Narrative is the simplest and most formulaic of the
thirty-four common plot patterns. Yet this potential drawback is
compensated by a far greater flexibility in terms of where and when
key structural events can occur. This allows essentially similar plots (for example, those found in </span><i>Gladiator,
Kill Bill, The Crow</i><span style="font-style: normal;">) to still
appear different as they unfold. </span><i>The Revenant</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
takes this flexibility to its extreme. This two-hour, thirty-one
minute drama is extremely front-heavy, with a long setup and an Act
2A that takes up over an hour of the film's total run time. This
pushes the Vengeance Narrative’s key structural events much later
in the film than usual. While the inciting incident arrives at 26:00
minutes, the vengeance-worthy action does not occur until 49:00. The
hero’s resurrection and decision to pursue vengeance (an event
which usually occurs no later than a quarter of the way into the film)
is pushed back to 55:30. The Vengeance Narrative’s Midpoint event (in which the
target of vengeance becomes aware of the protagonist’s intentions
and takes counter-actions) arrives even further behind schedule, not
until 1:59:30. This is followed by the End of Act 2B reversal at
2:16:00—giving the film only a fifteen-minute Act 3. As you may
surmise, this makes the structure extremely lopsided, as the film expends far more time on the story’s early obstacles than
the direct battle between the protagonist and his betrayer. This
resulted in fairly predictable audience responses. Lovers of art
films (known for their patience with slow-developing narratives)
tended to praise the film. Viewers with more mainstream tastes
responded less enthusiastically, as they felt impatient waiting for
the direct hero/villain conflict to finally kick the action into high
gear.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/M/MV5BMTUxNzc0OTIxMV5BMl5BanBnXkFtZTgwNDI3NzU2NDE@._V1_SY1000_CR0,0,674,1000_AL_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/M/MV5BMTUxNzc0OTIxMV5BMl5BanBnXkFtZTgwNDI3NzU2NDE@._V1_SY1000_CR0,0,674,1000_AL_.jpg" width="215" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><u>Ex Machina </u></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><u>(2014)</u></span></b></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Type 16b: False
Friendship. Like the Moral Mirrors, the False Friendship centers upon
a dynamic between a Hero and an Anti-hero. Only in this case, the
characters begin in an amicable partnership. Yet, as we see in the
pattern’s other examples (such as <i>Training Day, Fight Club, The
Master</i>), conflict slowly develops within this relationship,
eventually turning into direct antagonism in the story’s later
stages. The source of this division lies in the fact that the
relationship is not really one between two friends, but between a
master and an apprentice. The oft charming, impressive, or powerful
Anti-hero wishes to mold the Hero into a loyal slave who will
unquestionably submit to his or her warped personal philosophy. The
Hero initially accepts this role, yet later finds the Anti-hero hides
darker intentions. This creates a schism between the pair. The plot
structure then splits into two potential paths near the end of Act
2B. In Celebratory or Cynical narratives (in which things end well
for the Hero: <i>Training Day, Fight Club</i>), the Anti-hero
momentarily regains the Hero’s allegiance. But this is only a trick
by the Anti-hero, who soon betrays the Hero. This forces the
Hero to confront and defeat his or her one-time mentor and friend. In
Cautionary or Tragic narratives (in which things do not end well for
the Hero: <i>The Master, The Assassination of Jesse James by the
Coward Robert Ford</i>), it is the Hero who chooses to betray the
Anti-hero. While the Hero usually comes to regret this decision in the story's final act, the die has been cast and cannot be reversed. This act then leads the Hero
to a shameful or ignoble end.
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>Ex Machina
</i>follows the latter path. Shocked by the secrets he uncovers in
Act 2B, the Hero Caleb decides to betray the Anti-hero Nathan so he
may help the automaton Ava escape. Yet Caleb finds out too late he
has been tricked. Unable to reverse his betrayal, Caleb can do
nothing to stop Ava from killing Nathan and abandoning him in the
isolated compound to an unknown, though certainly undesirable fate.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="hhttps://www.joblo.com/assets/images/oldsite/posters/images/full/Deadpool-poster-8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://www.joblo.com/assets/images/oldsite/posters/images/full/Deadpool-poster-8.jpg" width="219" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><u>Deadpool</u></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><u>
(2016)</u></span></b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Another
Vengeance Narrative. Remember how I said the Vengeance Narrative is
extremely flexible in terms of its placement of key events? </span><i>Deadpool</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
proves this again, but in a much different way. The first half of
</span><i>Deadpool </i><span style="font-style: normal;">is presented
non-linearly, opening with an extended sequence which would more
traditionally occur just before the Vengeance Narrative’s Midpoint. We are then
given flashbacks to provide the skipped-over setup, Act 1, and early
Act 2A events. When these sequences are rearranged chronologically,
we again find the tried-and-true Vengeance Narrative structure: 1.
The hero is betrayed/unfairly victimized by the villain. 2. The hero
is left for dead. 3. The hero resurrects in a changed form. 4. The
hero secretly pursues a plan of vengeance in Act 2A. 5. The villain
learns of the hero’s intentions at the Midpoint. 6. The villain
takes counter-actions, creating an escalating contest of wills in Act
2B. 7. A reversal of power allows the villain to steal control of the
situation. 8. A final battle which climaxes with the hero ultimately
choosing between justice and vengeance and meeting the consequences.
(Compare the climactic moments of </span><i>The Revenant </i><span style="font-style: normal;">and
</span><i>Deadpool</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> to see two
different responses to this final decision, creating significant
contrast in their thematic resolutions.)</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>Deadpool</i><span style="font-style: normal;">’s
nonlinearity is a pretty neat trick, seeing how audiences would have
likely found the chronologically-arranged plot too predictable.
Additionally, the film's delay of the story setup not only starts
</span><i>Deadpool</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> with a huge
bang, but acts to engage the audience with elements of mystery and
surprise which would not have been present if all details had been
known beforehand.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/6/6e/Mad_Max_Fury_Road.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/6/6e/Mad_Max_Fury_Road.jpg" width="207" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><u>Mad Max: Fury Road </u></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><u>(2015)</u></span></b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>Fury Road</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
has plenty of structural problems; the first and foremost being its
weak protagonist. “Weak” because we are never certain who the
real protagonist is supposed to be. The title character spends the
entire first act as a passive nonparticipant. When he is finally
allowed to act on his own, his heroic charisma amounts to little more
than grunting and gesturing like Koko the Gorilla. It is the Furiosa
character (Charlize Theron) whose actions actually drive the
narrative. Yet she is never allowed to step into the center of the
protagonist spotlight. As such, when the two join forces, we get a
"Who’s the Boss?" scenario where it remains unclear who is supposed
to be in charge of the story. Of course, the film does intend
Koko—sorry, I mean </span><i>Max</i><span style="font-style: normal;">—</span><span style="font-style: normal;">to be its protagonist, despite its mishandling of the character in
the first act. This claim is fully supported by the film’s choice
of plot pattern.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>Fury Road </i><span style="font-style: normal;">uses
Type 8a: The Quest. In The Quest (</span><i>Saving Private Ryan, The
Lord of the Rings: Fellowship of the Ring, Children of Men</i><span style="font-style: normal;">),
a protagonist (willingly or not) must escort a macguffin to a far-off
place, or journey to a far-off place to retrieve such a macguffin.
While this first seems to be a simple task, the protagonist
encounters major complications at the end of each act which
continually demand the character to </span><i>extend</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
his or her involvement beyond previous expectations. With each
complication, the protagonist grudgingly chooses to escalate his or
her level of dedication and push into deeper and more dangerous
territory; slowly turning a reluctant protagonist into a selfless
hero willing to sacrifice anything to see the mission to its end.
Likewise, </span><i>Fury Road</i><span style="font-style: normal;">’s
plot centers upon an effort to safely transport a group of macguffins
from Point A to Point B. (Specifically, Furiousa seeks to smuggle the
villain’s slave brides to a place where he can no longer reach
them.) In Act 1, Max is dragged into this scenario unwillingly. Once
freed to take his own actions at the late-occurring End of Act 1, Max
wants nothing more than to end his involvement and leave the
situation behind. Yet circumstances prevent this. He has no choice
but to accompany Furiosa and the brides to their final destination.
With their fates now intertwined, Max must dedicate himself to
defending this band of refugees from their pursuing enemies. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">True
to all other examples of The Quest, Max faces his second major
crossroad halfway through Act 2B (again, this turning point occurs
late, as it usually arrives at the story’s Midpoint) when the
mission reaches what appears to be its end—at least in terms of the
protagonist’s direct involvement. Only this end is not as it first
seems. A second, even more unexpected complication creates a dilemma
which compels Max to extend his involvement once more, this time at
an even greater threat to life and limb. (The heroes reach the Many
Mothers, an army Furiosa expects to protect them in the safe haven
she calls the Green Place. Yet they find the Green Place no longer
exists and the Mothers are too few for protection.) Given the option
to leave, Max heroically chooses to remain with the group, devising a
plan to lead them straight through the enemy forces to the promise of
safety on the other side. Just like all other films of the Quest plot
pattern, Act 3 begins with the onset of a final battle through which
the formerly unwilling hero must prove his now full and selfless
dedication to the mission despite the extreme personal sacrifices
will demands.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/1/10/American_Sniper_poster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/1/10/American_Sniper_poster.jpg" width="216" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><u>American Sniper</u></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><u>
(2015)</u></span></b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>American Sniper</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
is not only based on a true story, but adapted from an autobiography
written by the very hero it depicts. Adapting from an autobiography
rather than a novel presents certain difficulties for a screenwriter.
The first is the challenge of shaping a long series of
loosely-connected chronological events into a discrete narrative with
a clear beginning, middle, and end, unified by a single Story Spine.
The second is the limited freedom the screenwriter holds when it
comes to reinventing or rearranging events into a dramatic 3-Act
rise-and-fall without overly violating the historical truth behind
them. </span><i>American Sniper </i><span style="font-style: normal;">manages
to overcome these difficulties and at the same time find a skeletal
plot pattern by playing up the role of the protagonist’s enemy
rival Mustafa. By developing this rivalry into a thread that builds
in intensity over the course of the film, </span><i>American Sniper
</i><span style="font-style: normal;">follows Type 9b: The Voluntary
Snowball of Complications.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Unlike the Unvoluntary Snowball of Complications (Type 9a), the
Voluntary Snowball is marked by a protagonist who </span><i>willingly</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
embroils him or herself deeper and deeper into a conflict – which
he or she might otherwise avoid – due to a growing obsession with the
lure of a “Siren.” This lure can take many forms: a mystery the
protagonist is irrationally compelled to solve (</span><i>Chinatown</i><span style="font-style: normal;">),
an object the protagonist will do anything to claim (</span><i>Raiders
of the Lost Ark</i><span style="font-style: normal;">), a romantic
obsession (</span><i>Blue Velvet, Brazil, WALL-E</i><span style="font-style: normal;">),
or a nemesis the protagonist feels an absolute need to defeat.
</span><i>American Sniper </i><span style="font-style: normal;">uses
this last form of Siren. In nearly every key moment of the film's depictions of Chris Kyle’s
experiences in combat, Kyle is continually defeated or frustrated by
Mustafa’s appearance (physically, or at least in the mention of his
ghostly name). Taunted by this Siren, Kyle is motivated to
continually escalate his activities until the rival is finally hunted
down and defeated. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Two
other traits (among many others) mark this film as a Voluntary
Snowball. The first is the fact that the story’s first turning
point is </span><i>not </i><span style="font-style: normal;">the
inciting incident. Like other films of the pattern, the first turning
point is an initiating event that does not yet establish the story’s
main conflict, but rather motivates the protagonist to pursue some
tangential objective. (Reports of terrorist attacks in Africa
motivate Kyle to join the Navy SEALS.) This allows us to learn more
about the protagonist and his or her situation through an </span><i>active</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
setup rather than the inactive setups found in most other cinematic
narratives. The story’s actual inciting incident comes at the plot's
second turning point (Kyle is sent to his first tour in Iraq).
Second, in the Voluntary Snowball, the protagonist is always given
options or opportunities to remove him or herself from the conflict
with no further consequences. However, the protagonist chooses each
time to not only continue, but escalate his or her involvement due to
a growing obsession with the Siren. In </span><i>Sniper</i><span style="font-style: normal;">,
Kyle is given the option to refuse another tour of duty each time
he returns home. Yet he willingly returns to Iraq again and again
because the call of his Siren will not let him rest.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/9/9a/Silver_Linings_Playbook_Poster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/9/9a/Silver_Linings_Playbook_Poster.jpg" width="215" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><u>Silver Linings Playbook
</u></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><u>(2012)</u></span></b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">This
is not a recent film, but after viewing it a second time I thought I’d
use it to round out this article since it makes use of a pattern we
have not yet discussed. </span><i>Silver Linings </i><span style="font-style: normal;">follows
Type 4a: The Resistive Wounded (one of the two “Healing
Narratives”), a pattern shared with </span><i>Good Will Hunting,
Sideways, </i><span style="font-style: normal;">and </span><i>Ordinary
People</i><span style="font-style: normal;">, to name a few. In these stories, the
protagonist carries a “wound” stemming from past trauma. However,
the protagonist refuses to face this wound or even admit its existence, no
matter how much damage it does to his or her current life. </span><i>Lining</i><span style="font-style: normal;">’s
protagonist Pat, suffering from bipolar disorder, has been
psychologically scarred after witnessing his wife Nikki’s sexual
infidelity. Unable to move on, Pat is certain that if he tries hard
enough he can get back together with Nikki and everything will return
to what it once was. Since the protagonist cannot heal until he or
she is forced to recognize the wound, the story requires the
intervention of a Healer Character. Enter Tiffany (Jennifer
Lawrence). As typical with the pattern, this Healer carries emotional issues of her own,
and through their interactions both characters are eventually led to
greater well-being.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">The
Resistive Wounded begins with a “soft” inciting incident in which
the Healer takes notice of the protagonist’s problems and resolves
to help. Yet the protagonist is initially reluctant, and refuses to
cooperate until the end of Act 1. Though now on board, the
protagonist refuses to take the Healer’s efforts seriously throughout early Act 2A, requiring the Healer to step up the pressure. This
leads to a minor breakthrough at the Midpoint. Things improve for the
protagonist in Act 2B. It seems healing is finally starting to occur.
Yet a misstep or unexpected development sends the protagonist into a
full relapse at the end of Act 2B. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">For
the most part, </span><i>Silver Linings</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
follows this pattern—with the exception of a significant failure in
its second half. Specifically, the film slides off-pattern in Act 3
in a contrived effort to force the film into a tired and cliched
romantic resolution. In a proper Resistive Wounded, the protagonist
suffers a full relapse at the end of Act 2B. It seems the wound has
gotten the best of the character and he or she is doomed to eternal
misery. This low point then sets up the situation that will drive the
drama to its conclusion in Act 3. Yet in </span><i>Linings,</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
Pat does not suffer such a relapse—only a minor incident from which
he immediately recovers. In place of the relapse, the film tries to
substitute an issue related to Pat’s father—material from a
subplot completely outside of the protagonist’s Story Spine.
Instead of propelling Pat’s drama forward, this only shoots it
sideways. Also, with no need to get Pat back on the right track
(because he is still on it), Act 3 incongruously shifts focus onto
Tiffany, turning Pat’s wound into a secondary concern. The story
does not give Pat’s healing the climactic resolution it deserves,
preferring to brush it off in favor of the same “true love was
right in front of you the whole time” resolution we have seen in a
thousand Romantic Dramas before.</span></div>
SCRIPTMONK!!!http://www.blogger.com/profile/13911675482380489540noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3389409360415735927.post-17656640259182581502017-03-26T19:05:00.001-07:002020-03-19T15:13:44.110-07:00SCRIPTMONK's Big, Huge (not so huge) Plot Pattern DVD Bin (part 1)<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://polyology.files.wordpress.com/2011/07/pirate.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="255" src="https://polyology.files.wordpress.com/2011/07/pirate.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
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 <a href="https://creativescreenwriting.com/patterns/" target="_blank">identical patterns of plot</a>.
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. <i>Every</i> 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 <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Screenwriting-Unified-Theory-Narrative-Pattern/dp/0988848759/ref=pd_rhf_se_p_img_2?ie=UTF8&psc=1&refRID=QGHTT1SZD6JRR4J06JBB" target="_blank">Screenwriting & The Unified Theory of Narrative, Part II: Genre, Pattern & The Concept of Total Meaning</a>. </i>Together with the Unified Narrative Structure
presented in <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Screenwriting-Unified-Theory-Narrative-Structure/dp/0988848732/" target="_blank">Screenwriting & The Unified Theory of Narrative, Part I </a></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.</div>
<br />
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
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, pattern<i>s</i>). 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.
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/d/d4/Nightcrawlerfilm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/d/d4/Nightcrawlerfilm.jpg" width="205" /></a></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><u>Nightcrawler</u></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
(2014)</span></span></b></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Type
5c: The Exploiter. The Exploiter is one of the least common American
plot patterns. Luckily, </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Nightcrawler</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
gives another instance to add to the examples </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">There
Will Be Blood, The Social Network, </span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">and
</span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Bowfinger</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
used in </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">UTN Part
II. </span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Like
these films, </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Nightcrawler</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
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
</span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Nightcrawler,</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
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.)</span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Nightcrawler’</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">s
plot</span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;"> </span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">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 </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Nightcrawler</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
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 </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Nightcrawler</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">’s
final sequence from being as powerful a climax as we would normally expect.</span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/d/db/The_Boxtrolls_poster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/d/db/The_Boxtrolls_poster.jpg" width="216" /></a></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><u>BoxTrolls</u></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
(2014)</span></span></b></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Type
11a: The Social Reformer. Typified by films like </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Braveheart</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
or </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Erin
Brockovich,</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
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. </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Boxtrolls</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
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 <i>rolling </i>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.</span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Boxtrolls,
</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">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 </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Braveheart</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
and Erin’s employer Ed Masry in</span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">
Brockovich</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">,
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 </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Boxtrolls,
</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">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.)</span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Second,
as explained in </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">UTN,</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
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 </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Erin
Brockovich</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">,</span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">
Boxtrolls</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">’s</span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">
</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">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.</span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://i.imgur.com/0sl48nh.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://i.imgur.com/0sl48nh.jpg" width="205" /></a></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><u>The Big Short</u></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
(2015)</span></span></b></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Despite
the aforementioned rarity of the Exploiter, we find another example
in </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">The Big
Short. </span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Yet
</span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Short</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
appears much different than </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Nightcrawler
</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">due
to its use of a multi-narrative structure. </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Short</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
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. </span></span>
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">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 </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Short</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
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.</span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">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 </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Nightcrawler</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">)—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 2</span></span><sup><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">nd</span></span></sup><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
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.</span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">As
explained in </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Unified
Theory of Narrative, Part I</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">,
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 </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">The
Big Short</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
encourage viewers to evaluate the story’s central ideological
issue from various angles and draw conclusions between them. Also,
</span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Short</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
adds ambiguity to its resolutions (through structural devices also
detailed in </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">UTN
Part I</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">).
Each protagonist achieves only a bittersweet victory at a great
physical or ethical cost. Through these combined elements, </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Short</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
intentionally avoids a clear-cut thematic message, preferring to
leave its central issue open for continued reflection and debate.</span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://i.imgur.com/ls7UC2I.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://i.imgur.com/ls7UC2I.jpg" width="203" /></a></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><u>The Imitation
Game</u></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
(2014)</span></span></b></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">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. </span></span>
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">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 </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Unified
Theory of Narrative Part II, </span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">I
used </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Scarface,
500 Days of Summer, </span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">and
</span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Patton</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
as examples. In </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Scarface,</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
Tony Montana both rises and falls by constantly challenging the
authority of his superiors in the world cocaine syndicate. In </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Summer,</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
Tom continually demands more commitment from his dream girl Summer
than she is willing to give. In </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Patton,
</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">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 </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">The
Imitation Game</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">’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. </span></span>
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">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. </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">The
Imitation Game </span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">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.</span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Unlike
</span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Scarface </span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">or
</span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Patton, The
Imitation Game</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">’s
conclusion seems harsh and unfair. This is because </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Scarface</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
and </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Patton </span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">are
constructed as </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Cautionary</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
narratives while </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Imitation
Game</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
presents a </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Tragic
</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">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 </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">UTN,
Part I </span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">for
more information on the Celebratory, Cautionary, Tragic, and Cynical
narrative types.) Since </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Game</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">’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 </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Imitation
Game</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
argue the need to recognize social faults and press for change.</span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/7/79/Jane_got_a_Gun_Poster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/7/79/Jane_got_a_Gun_Poster.jpg" width="216" /></a></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><u>Jane Got a Gun</u></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
(2015)</span></span></b></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">A
fairly paint-by-the-numbers Type 14b: Coming Together. Because of its
predictability, </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Jane</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
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 </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Jane</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">’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 </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">perceive
</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">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.”</span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://i.imgur.com/hqNSQzp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://i.imgur.com/hqNSQzp.jpg" width="215" /></a></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><u>The Avengers:
Age of Ultron</u></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
(2015)</span></span></b></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Yes,
despite all the hype, it took me over a year to watch the </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Avengers</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
sequel. And once again my instincts proved to be correct. Plot
pattern? None. This, and other reasons, is why </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Ultron</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
is so cluttered, confused, and fails at times to even make sense. The
first </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Avengers
</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">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 </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Avengers</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
to overcome many of the problems which usually dog such high-concept tentpoles with huge ensemble casts. Yet </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Ultron</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
falls into the traps the first </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Avengers
</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">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. </span></span>
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/7/75/Ant-Man_poster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/7/75/Ant-Man_poster.jpg" width="215" /></a></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><u>Ant-Man</u></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
(2015)</span></span></b></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">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 (</span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">The
Matrix, Men in Black, Kung-fu Panda, Wanted</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
all abide by this formula, to name only a few memorable examples [the
less said about the many mediocre examples, the better].) While
</span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Ant-Man</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
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. </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Ant-Man</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">,
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. </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Ant-Man</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
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. </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Ant-Man</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
then keeps us guessing in its second half with more complications and
reversals than typically found in other Summoned Heroes. Through such
alterations, </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Ant-Man</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
surpassed industry expectations;</span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">
</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">giving
us something familiar and yet somewhat different, helping it stand
out from the more rote and uninspired films of the same pattern.</span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/c/cd/The_Martian_film_poster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/c/cd/The_Martian_film_poster.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><u>The Martian</u></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
(2015)</span></span></b></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Speaking
of new twists on familiar patterns, let's talk of </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">The
Martian</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">.
</span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">The Martian</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
fits into Type 9c: The Long Perilous Road (a pattern shared with
the likes of </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Apocalypse
Now, O Brother Where Art Thou?, Finding Nemo, Little Miss Sunshine</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">).
The Long Perilous Road fits into a wider family of plot patterns I
call “The Literal Journey.” Yet </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">The
Martian </span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">is
the first case of a Literal Journey I have ever encountered which
does not actually contain a </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">literal</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
journey! But then again, it kind of does.</span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">In
</span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">The Martian,
</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">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 </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">The
Martian</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">’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.</span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">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 </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Little
Miss Sunshine, </span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">the
Hoover family reaches the beauty pageant. In </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Apocalypse
Now, </span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Captain
Willard arrives and Colonel Kurtz’s compound and must now find a
way to kill Kurtz. In </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Finding
Nemo</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">,
Marlin finally gets to Sydney and must figure out how to rescue his
son.) </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">The
Martian</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
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. </span></span>
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/2/24/Creed_poster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/2/24/Creed_poster.jpg" width="216" /></a></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><u>Creed</u></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
(2015)</span></span></b></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Of
all films covered in this article, </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Creed</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">’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, </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Creed
</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">manages
to retain its narrative focus and gets through its structural
obstacles relatively unscathed. </span></span>
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">You
might be wondering what is exactly is so complex about </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Creed.</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
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 </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Rocky’s</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
arc, not the arc of the story’s protagonist Adonis Creed. Though it
has the appearance of a single story, </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Creed
</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">actually
contains dual narrative arcs: one assigned to Adonis and another to
Rocky Balboa. Each of these arcs follows a </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">separate
</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">plot
pattern. This is fairly unorthodox, and in many cases might court
disaster. Luckily, there is enough compatibility between </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Creed</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">’s
two patterns to meld their events together into what seems to be a
single cohesive narrative.</span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
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.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
Let us now look at the arc belonging to Adonis Creed. To
complicate our analysis further, Adonis’s plotline uses a combo
pattern (see <i>UTN Part II, </i>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 <i>Creed,</i> 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.)</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
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. <i>Creed </i>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 <i>Star Wars, The Godfather, Donnie Darko, </i>and <i>The
40 Year-Old Virgin</i>) 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. <i>Creed</i>’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
<i>Creed</i>’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.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<i>(More to come. Stay tuned.)</i></div>
SCRIPTMONK!!!http://www.blogger.com/profile/13911675482380489540noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3389409360415735927.post-9533264450537739142016-11-19T14:53:00.000-08:002020-04-03T13:50:50.537-07:00The Hand of the Princess, The Keys to the Kingdom; Or, Why the Romantic Subplot?<div id="fb-root">
</div>
<script>(function(d, s, id) {
var js, fjs = d.getElementsByTagName(s)[0];
if (d.getElementById(id)) return;
js = d.createElement(s); js.id = id;
js.src = "//connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1";
fjs.parentNode.insertBefore(js, fjs);
}(document, 'script', 'facebook-jssdk'));</script>
<script type="text/javascript">
(function() {
var li = document.createElement('script'); li.type = 'text/javascript'; li.async = true;
li.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https:' : 'http:') + '//platform.stumbleupon.com/1/widgets.js';
var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(li, s);
})();
</script>
<br />
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
It is a
common narrative archetype, one that can be found in all forms of
story from ancient to modern. A male hero journeys to a foreign land;
wins the love of a princess by performing certain valiant deeds; and
through their marriage, becomes the land’s future king. Most modern
audiences would look at this as nothing more than romantic fantasy.
Has this <i>ever</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> literally
occurred? Is there any real justification for the idea that a common
man could become a king in such a simple manner?</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://img.allw.mn/content/io/ht/ugska98y.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://img.allw.mn/content/io/ht/ugska98y.jpg" height="265" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Shrek</i>: A lowly ogre becomes a king through romance with a princess</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">While
modern experience may motivate us to say no, it seems these stories
may be based in an actual historical context. Though admittedly it
has taken me too long to get to it, I have recently begun reading </span><i>The
Golden Bough,</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> James George
Frazer’s 1890 pan-cultural analysis of the developmental
connections between superstition, ritual, and religion in early (or
“primitive,” as Frazer might put it) human societies. While some
sections of Frazer’s work are indeed golden, and others are built
on questionable presuppositions that have since been discredited, I
find one early chapter extremely interesting in terms of its possible
relationship to modern cinematic storytelling. In Chapter 9, “The
Succession to the Kingdom” Frazer inverts the common notion
regarding how the right to rulership progressed from one generation
to the next in early societies. We are all acquainted with
monarchical systems where the throne descends down the male
bloodline. Upon the death of the king, the crown is given to the
king’s eldest son; or if he has no living son, his eldest grandson,
brother, or nephew. Indeed, this was the system used by most
monarchical societies from the Middle Ages to the present day, not
only across Europe but in many regions around the globe. However,
using examples from ancient Latium (kingdoms in Italy predating the
Roman Republic), Greece, Scandinavia, and Britain, Frazer claims that
in far older societies the right to the throne descended down the
</span><i>female</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> line. That is,
the crown was not granted to the king’s son, but whomever should
marry the king’s daughter. In other words, rulership was given to
the king’s son-in-law—an outsider to the royal bloodline. If the
king’s own sons wished to be rulers, they were forced to travel to
foreign lands in search of their own princesses to marry, thus
inheriting a kingdom different from the one in which they were born
(thus begetting so many tales of wandering princes). Indeed, the king
himself was not of royal parentage (at least not of the kingdom he
ruled). He earned the throne only by marriage to the queen—whose
parents </span><i>were </i><span style="font-style: normal;">the
former rulers.</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Since
kingship was granted through marriage rather than bloodline, this
meant hypothetically any man might become king; whether he be a rich
man or a slave, a citizen or a foreigner. Yet of course, the future
of the kingdom depended upon finding the best possible candidate. For
this reason, many of these societies would only grant the princess’s
hand in marriage by way of a challenge or contest. Through this, the
victor proved himself to be the strongest, most skilled, or most
intelligent of the many suitors, and thus the most fit to rule.
(Frazer gives several examples where a race was used to select the
most worthy candidate, prompting the editor of </span><i>Bough</i><span style="font-style: normal;">’s
1994 edition to hint this may be the root of the phrase “running
for office.”)</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Therefore,
stories in which a lowly young man wins the hand of a princess
through impressive deeds and thus the right to become king are not
far-fetched works of fantasy. In fact, some of the oldest tales of
this sort may be based on or inspired by actual events.</span><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://images2.fanpop.com/image/polls/398000/398728_1268761997659_full.jpg?v=1268762347" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://images2.fanpop.com/image/polls/398000/398728_1268761997659_full.jpg?v=1268762347" height="225" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Aladdin</i>: From street rat to sultan's son-in-law</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-style: normal;">Yet
to us, this descent of rulership may seem counter-intuitive. Why was
the crown passed from father-to-stranger rather than more reliably
from father-to-son? Why was the female line so important and an
outsider considered most desirable to fulfill future kingly duties?
Frazer suggests this system came as an outcome of far more primordial
cultural-religious beliefs. Using a plethora of examples, Frazer lays
out three dominant themes found in primitive cultural ideologies. The
first is apotheosis: the idea that kings and queens are not only
representatives of the gods who control nature, but in fact become
imbued with these gods to make them earthly embodiments of deities
themselves. The second is the association of nature with the female,
since both are capable of bearing new life. The third is a perceived
magical connection between human procreation and the fertility of
nature. Throughout the ages, cultures worldwide engaged in rituals in
the spring or summer where sexual relations between a man and a
woman, or a real or symbolic marriage with a god or goddess, was
believed to replenish nature and ensure its continued bounty. By
combining these notions, we can conclude that the princess was
believed to be a vessel of the life-giving goddess of nature. To
ensure that this goddess would be able to continually replenish the
earth, she must be paired with the strongest, and therefore most
sexually potent mate. Through this union, the most virile seed was
continually planted in the womb of the nature goddess, guaranteeing
that the earth would remain fruitful. Whether societies followed the
system of female descent in explicit obedience to these beliefs or as
only the lingering vestige of long-forgotten ideas, the justification
remained the same. The people believed the welfare of the kingdom
depended upon a successful union between the most virile of possible
kings and their future queen; regardless of who this potential king
may be or from where he might originate.</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">However,
marriage to the king’s daughter was not the only way a man might
legitimately claim the throne. One could also become king by marrying
a widowed queen, killing the current king and taking the queen as wife, or by convincing the queen to reject the king for oneself
thereby dethroning her husband. (For some literary examples, this
path to the throne can be seen in stories like </span><i>Oedipus Rex
</i><span style="font-style: normal;">and Shakespeare’s </span><i>Hamlet.</i><span style="font-style: normal;">)
Once again, the authority to rule resided in the female bloodline,
making whoever the queen chose as her husband the legitimate king.
Contrary to modern notions, Frazer implies that early societies would
not have objected to these usurpers of the throne. In fact, they
would have found the transition acceptable and necessary. If a king
became too old, weak, or incompetent to fend off his rivals, this
meant he was no longer the strongest and most virile ruler. He had
lost the capacity to fulfill his duties and could no longer replenish
the earth through his union with the goddess of nature. This would
appear all the more evident if the kingdom had recently suffered from
drought, famine, or unrest. For even though the king was considered a
god, early peoples would readily turn on and replace their god-king
if his supposed power over nature seemed to wane or grow indifferent to their
needs.</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Yet
aside from fantasy films which literally present the
young-man-becomes-king narrative, what might this have to do with
modern cinematic storytelling? Well, simple observation shows that
this familiar structure; man meets princess, man wins the love of
princess through valiant deeds, man gains the power of a king; holds
a parallel in the common and at times obligatory use of the romantic
subplot in masculine-protagonist Hollywood films. Every moviegoer is
accustomed to male hero films which contain a secondary romantic
narrative—one often tangential or even unrelated to the main
plotline— following a standard structure: First, in his attempts to
resolve the problems found in the primary narrative, the protagonist
encounters a potential female love interest. But due to his flaws,
this love interest initially shuns, behaves indifferently
towards, or fails to connect with the protagonist. Yet as the
protagonist grows as an individual and proves himself through
praiseworthy achievements (either through actions intended to resolve
the main story conflict or those aimed directly at the potential
lover), the hero eventually attains a genuine romantic connection with the
female lead. With this bond consummated, something magical occurs.
The protagonist gains a strength, authority, or confidence he did not
previously possess. Using this, the protagonist overcomes the story’s
problems and brings comfort and order to his world, allowing all
virtuous parties to live happily ever after.</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://tribzap2it.files.wordpress.com/2012/07/mcdonnell-costner-dances-with-wolves-nc-325.jpg?w=325&h=300" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="294" src="https://tribzap2it.files.wordpress.com/2012/07/mcdonnell-costner-dances-with-wolves-nc-325.jpg?w=325&h=300" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr align="center"><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><i>Dances With Wolves</i>: A
white outsider becomes Lakota “royalty” by earning the honor of
wedding one of their own</span></div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">In
my book </span><i>Screenwriting & The Unified Theory of Narrative,
Part I </i><span style="font-style: normal;">(<a href="http://creativescreenwriting.com/the-humility-arc/" target="_blank">as well as the article found here</a>), I introduce the concept of “The Humility Arc;” a
common structure found in the fairy tales of Western Europe which has been adopted with near-universality by Hollywood films.
I propose that the romantic subplots found in masculine-protagonist
Hollywood films represent a similar holdover from an even older
collection of stories. The ancient archetype of kingship gained
through a union with a royal female remains alive and well in our
modern narratives despite the fact that we have long forgotten its
origins and the mystical beliefs once attached to it. In the
masculine-centered feature film, the protagonist begins as an
illegitimate hero in a corrupted “kingdom.” By eventually winning
the love and support of a “princess,” the hero gains the strength
and legitimacy he needs to become the land’s new “king.”
Through this holy union, the hero is apotheosized into a higher
being, one with a power to take the actions necessary to do away with
corruption, replenish the earth, and escort the kingdom into a new,
more bounteous age.</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.sheilaomalley.com/archives/adrianrocky.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://www.sheilaomalley.com/archives/adrianrocky.bmp" height="271" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Rocky</i>: "Kings" and "princesses" come in all forms</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Like
the evidence cited by James George Frazer, winning the hand of a
“princess” is not the only way a male protagonist may gain the
power of a “king.” He may also succeed by stealing the love of a
queen from the existing king. In many films with romantic subplots,
the female love interest is originally the girlfriend, fiancee, or
some other romantic partner of the protagonist’s chief rival. This
rival is often presented as the “alpha male,” making him the
current king of the story world. Yet this character is usually a corrupted or
unworthy king; exhibiting traits which have a negative effect upon those persons around him. With
opposition from the rival, the hero can only succeed by overthrowing
this king. And, like in Frazer’s early societies, the first step to
do this is by stealing the king’s source of power—his queen. So,
the protagonist makes romantic overtures to the female lead in an
attempt to convince her that he is far superior to the rival. If
successful, a reversal of power occurs. The protagonist is elevated
to the position of the alpha male while the rival quickly becomes
isolated and impotent, leading to his eventual defeat. </span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://gorgemess.files.wordpress.com/2012/09/scarface_113pyxurz.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="190" src="https://gorgemess.files.wordpress.com/2012/09/scarface_113pyxurz.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Scarface</i>: Overthrowing the king entails seducing the queen</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Yet
as critics may point out, these so-called “heroes” may from a
different perspective be considered to be playing the heel. The
protagonist is disrupting an existing romantic relationship by
encouraging the female lead to be disloyal to her partner. In fact,
we may even say the rival is the story’s victim. Still,
audiences applaud the female lead’s switching of loyalties for the
same reason that the societies illustrated by James George Frazer
supported the deposition of existing kings. The land’s health and
happiness depends upon the fruitful relationship between the queen
and king. If the current king becomes weak or corrupt, it is only
proper for the queen to abandon him in favor of far better suitor.
Therefore, once the protagonist proves his superiority, it is only
proper for the female lead to reject the rival for the protagonist,
as this will supposedly bring greater joy and comfort to the land.</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">This
structure can also be found in reverse in stories where male
protagonists meet failure in the end. Often, the protagonist gains
the love and support of the female lead very early, or possesses such
a union before the story begins. Yet rather than grow for the better,
these male heroes change for the worse. By becoming a less and less
worthy “king,” the protagonist strains his life-sustaining bond
with his “queen,” often motivating the female lead to abandon him
completely. Detached from the queen, the protagonist loses his heroic
legitimacy and slowly degrades into a weak or powerless individual;
eventually costing him his throne and banishing him from the kingdom.</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://i.imgur.com/oGpXOrb.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="455" data-original-width="655" height="222" src="https://i.imgur.com/oGpXOrb.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Citizen Kane</i>: The loss of the queen precedes the king's downfall.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">I
have little experience in the realm of gender studies, so I lack
the grounds to formulate any definite claims on what this frequently
repeated narrative structure may say about or do to influence our
modern culture or society. However, two areas for debate seem to
stand out most clearly. Firstly, an initial analysis may lead critics
to conclude the masculine-protagonist romantic subplot presents
evidence of institutionalized male chauvinism in Hollywood
storytelling. The protagonist’s effort’s to “claim” the
female lead may objectify the female character. In terms of
narrative structure, she functions not so much like an independent
person, but some sort of “macguffin of power,” like King Arthur’s
Excalibur or the Ark of the Covenant in </span><i>Raiders of the Lost
Ark </i><span style="font-style: normal;">which ambitious males must
first seize to reach their personal goals. </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">While there may be a definite amount of truth in this, the accusation can be countered with a realization that -- though she
or the audience may not recognize it -- the female lead is the only
character with any <i>real </i>power in these stories. The male protagonist,
despite being the film's primary focus who leads the narrative
through his actions, is actually a </span><i>dis</i><span style="font-style: normal;">empowered
individual. Time and again, he meets little success until he can gain
the aid and support of the female lead. Like the kings in Frazer’s
female-bloodline societies, the protagonist’s personal power over
his world is but an illusion. It is the queen who secretly holds the
real authority, as she can give or take away the throne as she
pleases. Because of this hidden power, the male protagonists of
Hollywood films must routinely subdue their wills to the female lead,
changing their behavior and doing away with their flaws to finally
gain her acceptance—and by extension, the strength or
legitimacy needed to achieve the ultimate goal. In other words,
through the female lead’s power to accept or reject the male
protagonist, the Hollywood romantic subplot forces the male to
improve as an individual, making him more heroic and thus more worthy
for the title of king. Therefore, we may say the female lead secretly
controls the male protagonist’s transformation of character--and
thus, the story’s resolution since this personal transformation will
decide the hero’s ultimate success or failure. </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Yet
even if this is all true, the overall social benefit or detriment of
this continually repeated narrative structure is open to question.
Just because something is common does not necessarily mean it
is beneficial or correct. Thus, this area of storytelling demands
further investigation. </span>
</div>
<div class="fb-like" data-layout="button_count" data-send="true" data-show-faces="false" data-width="450">
</div>
<su:badge layout="2"></su:badge>SCRIPTMONK!!!http://www.blogger.com/profile/13911675482380489540noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3389409360415735927.post-6893946914762196812016-10-20T18:58:00.001-07:002016-10-20T18:58:10.943-07:00New SCRIPTMONK article in Creative Screenwriting on the Plot Pattern Phenomenon<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
This week I had another article published in Creative Screenwriting online, this one introducing the basic principles and theory behind plot patterns -- a phenomenon by which nearly every successful American film over the past several decades comes to unintentionally conform to one of sixteen (or thirty-four, depending on how specific you wish to be) structural patterns of plot despite extreme differences in premise, genre, style and tone.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://creativescreenwriting.com/patterns/" target="_blank">Click here to read the article.</a></span></i></div>
<br />
Since the subject of plot patterns takes up over 200 pages of <i>Screenwriting and The Unified Theory of Narrative, Part II</i> it was difficult to summarize the entire concept in a mere six-page article. Because of this, I had to take significant effort just to not sound like a crazy person. The shocking regularity of the plot patterns found in Hollywood and American Independent cinema is one of the most incredible discoveries of all my years studying screencraft -- made all the more incredible by the fact that it seems to have gone almost entirely unnoticed until now. Yet with a full background and the heaps of evidence I have found to support it, the plot pattern phenomenon turns out to be just as "crazy" as the idea that the earth revolves around the sun.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCW5QxzJKuc2C0qKRfz3d-NhqTsrjIBeUBItirLwiCyx9tFIO03qadmeEnN81pTJoeHbk2u3rxU5QRphvwhB8gdZYGqD4YQDS3FYb7cRUf5J35KkXG_oA456ewL7JHK7wwpecezKlkEVk/s1600/creativescreenwriting.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="106" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCW5QxzJKuc2C0qKRfz3d-NhqTsrjIBeUBItirLwiCyx9tFIO03qadmeEnN81pTJoeHbk2u3rxU5QRphvwhB8gdZYGqD4YQDS3FYb7cRUf5J35KkXG_oA456ewL7JHK7wwpecezKlkEVk/s320/creativescreenwriting.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
SCRIPTMONK!!!http://www.blogger.com/profile/13911675482380489540noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3389409360415735927.post-20257621609621372242016-10-04T10:49:00.000-07:002016-10-05T11:32:50.434-07:00Official Announcement: Unified Theory of Narrative Part II FINALLY Available!<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOCX6PsVSyDBNlMpZsGGkFHMFQvYJpHFCjQ7Y6f7NUR1eioL2PISO1uTzHE4KPHZ2t67xAduD4l68aYnyUcm2WfiXNANf_RIgvFTMvRjgWrPkXPvyPwzFigkt2Bc2qr2syfxJzHoAdShg/s1600/UTN+pt+2+front+cover+jpeg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOCX6PsVSyDBNlMpZsGGkFHMFQvYJpHFCjQ7Y6f7NUR1eioL2PISO1uTzHE4KPHZ2t67xAduD4l68aYnyUcm2WfiXNANf_RIgvFTMvRjgWrPkXPvyPwzFigkt2Bc2qr2syfxJzHoAdShg/s320/UTN+pt+2+front+cover+jpeg.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<span id="goog_829773922"></span><span id="goog_829773923"></span>At long, long last (about six months
after my original, and now hilariously optimistic, March 2016
projected completion date), I am happy to announce that <i>Screenwriting
and The Unified Theory of Narrative, Part II: Genre, Pattern &
The Concept of Total Meaning</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> is
finally finished and available for purchase. (<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Screenwriting-Unified-Theory-Narrative-Pattern/dp/0988848759/ref=pd_rhf_se_p_img_2?ie=UTF8&psc=1&refRID=QGHTT1SZD6JRR4J06JBB" target="_blank">Follow this link for the Amazon page.</a>) I would like to thank
everyone for their patience. Little did I realize that my final
installment would eventually require nearly 400 pages (over twice as
long as Part I) to include everything needed to fully complete the
Unified Theory model.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Here
is the synopsis from the back cover:</span><br />
<span style="font-style: normal;">------------------- </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<span style="font-style: normal;">Part II: Genre, Pattern & The
Concept of Total Meaning</span><i> completes the Unified Theory of
Narrative by going far beneath the surface to reveal cinematic
storytelling’s hidden structures of meaning. No previous book has
explored the thematic dimension of screencraft in such depth or
detail; using an interdisciplinary approach to explain the
psychological, sociological, and cultural constructs which have
shaped the feature film into the complex form of narrative we know today.</i><br />
<br />
<br />
<i>In Part II you will find:</i><br />
• <i>The properties of myth behind all storytelling</i><br />
• <i>The purpose and origin of cinematic genres</i><br />
• <i>The phenomenon of plot patterns and its connection to
cultural belief</i><br />
• <i>The explicit lessons found in protagonist psychology</i><br />
• <i>The ideological nature of dramatic conflict</i><br />
• <i>And, most importantly, the connection between these
elements and our most basic psychological and sociological needs.</i><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-style: normal;">Part II: Genre, Pattern & The
Concept of Total Meaning</span><i> is about far more than
screencraft. It is about the intimate relationship between
storytelling and humanity itself. Since its beginnings, humanity has
used story to make sense of its world, express its beliefs, and give
life a sense of order and meaning. By revealing the cinematic story’s
ideological structures, and ultimately unifying them with the
physical elements presented in Part I, </i><span style="font-style: normal;">Genre,
Pattern & The Concept of Total Meaning</span><i> shows how modern
cinematic storytelling continues this tradition; resulting in an
endless multitude of narratives, each doing their part to serve human
society with lessons, arguments, and statements of belief.</i><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
----------------------</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Although
I wrote this synopsis myself, I think it fails to do the book full
justice. It was incredibly difficult to summarize the work into three
simple paragraph because it is about </span><i>so much</i><span style="font-style: normal;">.
Part II not only completes my “theory of everything,” but is –
in a very limited sense – truly about “everything,” and how
this everything expresses itself through our use of story. In many
ways, this book reveals the connections between art and the social
sciences, going great lengths to explain why storytelling always has
and always will be so important to humanity’s social and
psychological well-being. Yet at the same time, this information is
kept practical by detailing the specific structures and dramatic
elements found in the feature film which allow it to continually
serve these needs.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">On
this practical side, Part II explains the cinematic narrative’s
complex method of communication through a five-layer structure of
meaning. In this structure, you will find: how genres and narrative
modes create metaphorical arenas to explore social problems; how plot
patterns* are used to propose acceptable solutions; how the
psychological factors of protagonist suggest ways we may achieve this
solution by presenting lessons on human thought and behavior; and
finally, how the storyteller delivers his or her personal opinions on
all such issues through the choice of thematic resolution** and
aesthetic specialization. Part II then reveals how this five-layer
structure of meaning connects with the basic unified narrative
structure found in Part I to create an ideologically-unified story
where the abstract is made physical, proving philosophical arguments
through the guise of dramatic action.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">(*
Originally proposed <a href="http://uncelebrity.blogspot.com/2011/06/20-common-patterns-of-plot-progression.html" target="_blank">on this blog in 2011</a> (and altered significantly
since then upon further investigation), the plot pattern phenomenon
is definitely the most shocking (and thus sure to be the most
controversial) of my discoveries – and will no doubt be the chief
draw to most readers. Part II presents the structural details of all
sixteen common plot patterns and their thirty-four subtypes for the
first time.)</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">(**Thematic
resolution was originally discussed in Part I as a crucial part of
the basic unified narrative structure. By serving a role in both
models, its elements ultimately act as the nexus point to connect the
cinematic story’s external and internal structures, creating a
truly unified theory of narrative.)</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">I
admit this may sound like some dense stuff and potentially a lot to
handle. But like my previous books, I have striven to keep material
in layman’s terms and explain complicated concepts in clear and
simple ways – all the while focusing on the individual screenwriter
so he or she may better understand his or her medium and create more
effective stories. Both Part I and Part II are available in paperback
through multiple online retailers. The eBook versions are available
exclusively through Amazon.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Screenwriting-Unified-Theory-Narrative-Pattern/dp/0988848759/ref=pd_rhf_se_p_img_2?ie=UTF8&psc=1&refRID=QGHTT1SZD6JRR4J06JBB" target="_blank">To order the paperback on Amazon, click here.</a></span><br />
<span style="font-style: normal;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Screenwriting-Unified-Theory-Narrative-Pattern-ebook/dp/B01LYQGS83/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1475691617&sr=1-1" target="_blank">For the eBook, click here </a> </span></div>
SCRIPTMONK!!!http://www.blogger.com/profile/13911675482380489540noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3389409360415735927.post-80454815530141858642016-04-15T12:56:00.001-07:002016-04-15T12:56:26.583-07:00Update on Screenwriting & The Unified Theory of Narrative Part IIHello everyone. When I released <i>The Unified Theory of Narrative Part I </i>back in November, I expected Part II to be finished and available by March or April. Yet now it is April 15th and that is clearly not the case. Wrapping up the final revisions of Part II has been a real grind (it is about twice the length of Part I and gets into some pretty heady subject matter), but it is slowly and steadily moving along. Barring some major breakdown or act of God, I now expect it to be available in July or (I hope not) August.<br />
<br />
Just to whet your appetites, along with the completion of the Unified Theory of Narrative (a process that connects the basic unified narrative structure found in Part I with the cinematic five-layered structure of meaning to be introduced in Part II), Part II will also contain a full and complete analysis of my theory of the Sixteen Common Plot Patterns of Hollywood and American Independent Cinema, as first introduced <a href="http://uncelebrity.blogspot.com/2011/06/20-common-patterns-of-plot-progression.html" target="_blank">years ago in an article on this blog.</a> (Yes, I know I originally believed there to be 20 plot patterns, and then 21, but through the exhaustive analysis of literally hundreds of films I can conclusively declare there to be exactly sixteen common plot patterns, with thirty-four subtypes.) Enough for a book in itself (I expect the chapters on plot patterns to clock in at around 200 pages) the book will go into significant detail to explain exactly what plot patterns are, how they function, and why they have come to exist -- along with detailed breakdowns on all thirty-four subtypes illustrated by diverse collections of popular films. (Would you believe <i>Chinatown </i>and <i>WALL-E </i>follow the same basic underlying plot structure? Or that <i>True Grit</i> and <i>Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy</i> are pretty much the same film? Whodathunkit?)<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, you can <a href="http://creativescreenwriting.com/what-a-story-believes-in-the-thematic-argument/" target="_blank">read an adapted excerpt from Chapter 1-3</a> of Part I published on Creative Screenwriting Magazine online. It introduces the Thematic Argument, the structure by which the cinematic narrative communicates its theme. It's not exactly advanced stuff (mattering on what your definition of "advanced" is), but lays the groundwork for the more complex material on the connections between theme, plot, and character found later in the book.SCRIPTMONK!!!http://www.blogger.com/profile/13911675482380489540noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3389409360415735927.post-27133951074192698412015-11-13T14:32:00.001-08:002020-03-20T15:25:00.484-07:00OFFICIAL ANNOUNCEMENT: "Screenwriting & The Unified Theory of Narrative, Part I" Finally Officially Exists<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNaR6xDw48EQJApYLShCQ70RhTMKpR-zG_Ns4CM5xFnnlArVu9kCNWIMxjdC02hU3DFvx8_bird6LfumvlSX6b5NWfHDpZrnkjLNYEzFcw0qxrLJGpgWxUDOBT8TzHeImwrgGeDfZbL_A/s1600/DSC01359.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNaR6xDw48EQJApYLShCQ70RhTMKpR-zG_Ns4CM5xFnnlArVu9kCNWIMxjdC02hU3DFvx8_bird6LfumvlSX6b5NWfHDpZrnkjLNYEzFcw0qxrLJGpgWxUDOBT8TzHeImwrgGeDfZbL_A/s320/DSC01359.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
This week saw the
debut of the first volume of my new book <i>Screenwriting and The
Unified Theory of Narrative</i><span style="font-style: normal;">, the
fruit of my last year’s worth of labor (and reason why there have been
so few new articles on this blog during that time). </span><i>Part I:
The Unified Narrative Structure </i><span style="font-style: normal;">is
now available from Amazon in eBook <b><i>and</i></b> paperback.
</span><i>Part II: Genre, Pattern, & the Concept of Total Meaning
</i><span style="font-style: normal;">is expected to follow some time
in the first half of 2016.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">(You can check out the Amazon page here <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B017TPE0M2" target="_blank">for Kindle</a> and <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Screenwriting-Unified-Theory-Narrative-Structure/dp/0988848732/">paperback</a>.) </span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
You
may be wondering what exactly is the “unified theory of narrative”
and what the book is all about. First off, I have to say this is not
a how-to book. It is also not a book for beginners. It is an advanced
study of practical narrative theory. “Practical” meaning is not
full of useless academic debate and boring critical ramblings. This
book was written to be used as an active resource for those who wish
to not only understand cinematic storytelling, but use such knowledge
to create better and more effective stories of their own. It will not
guide you by the hand to create a screenplay by the numbers, but will
hopefully give you a complete and comprehensive understanding of how
cinematic stories really (REALLY) work to help elucidate the
storytelling process and make putting a script together far easier.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Most
works on screencraft overlook the fact that the true purpose of a
storytelling is to </span><i>communicate meaning</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
from artist to an audience. Stories are social tools. They hold
cultures and societies together by providing lessons and reinforcing shared ideas and beliefs. For this reason, </span><i>Screenwriting
and The Unified Theory of Narrative</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
focuses far more upon theme and ideological communication than
anything I written (or read on the subject) so far. The emphasis is
not only upon theme and meaning itself, but more importantly upon how
plot and character express such meanings, whether it is done overtly
or hidden deep within subtext.</span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">But
I am getting off-track. The title “Unified Theory of Narrative”
was inspired by the concept of the unified field theory in physics.
From Einstein to Stephen Hawking, physicists have searched for a
single theory that would explain all the fundamental forces of the
universe, one theory that would unite all other theories and show how everything fits together
(something that has yet to be conclusively found). In the same way, there are dozens upon dozens of concepts </span><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-style: normal;">in screencraft</span> on plot, on character, on theme and genre, and so on.
Analysts have spent decades disassembled cinematic stories as if they
were enormous machines; but with all of this, a big question has
always remained: How do all of these concepts fit together? I have
said before that the field of screencraft has become like a child who has
taken apart a watch to see how it works, but now cannot figure out to
put the parts back together so the watch will work again. Anyone
with any experience watching movies should realize that a great story
is not a collection of independent parts, but a holistic experience
where where all elements meld together to create a single line of
action that ultimately expresses a singular message or
meaning. Therefore, a true understanding of the form, function, and
power of the cinematic narrative cannot be found by focusing on the
parts, but on how those parts interact to create a singular experience.
A dissected animal is a dead animal. Even if you staple all the parts
back together, it is still dead. Therefore, if screencraft is to
provide any real help to cinematic storytellers, deconstruction needs
to transition into </span><i>re</i><span style="font-style: normal;">-construction.
In short, we need to find a way to put Humpty-Dumpty back together
again.</span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">As
the title suggests, </span><i>Part I: The Unified Narrative Structure</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
focuses upon narrative structure; particularly, how the structures of
plot, character, and theme work together to create a singular and
unified story experience. Starting my study where I left off in
</span><i>Screenwriting Down to the Atoms</i><span style="font-style: normal;">,
I was surprised to discover that my quest for a unified structure was
actually somewhat easy as soon as I discovered one simple thing. I
will not get too far ahead of myself, but I found that all successful
Hollywood and American Independent feature films of traditional form
fit into four categories of narrative types based upon the combined
outcomes of their Story Spine and Character Arcs (which I have
labeled Celebratory, Cautionary, Tragic, and Cynical). After an
advanced breakdown of over 300 feature films from the past fifty
years (along with an impressive multi-colored Excel spreadsheet) I
found that the interactions between plot, character, and theme were
exactly the same in all four types of narrative. The only differences
came down to two essential factors; one structural and the other
based upon the audience’s perception of story content. Yet from
this one basic model comes the endless variety of stories found in
Hollywood and American Independent filmmaking; regardless of style,
tone, or genre; regardless of whether the film has a happy ending or
a sad one; regardless of whether the film be a serious Oscar
contender or pure pop entertainment.</span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Chapter
1-1 recognizes the many errors that have been made in the study of
screencraft to date, along with the causes for confusion and
frustration felt by many developing screenwriters. It then sets a
course by which this may be rectified.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Chapter
1-2 establishes the most basic principles of cinematic storytelling;
namely the process of narrative communication through dramatic
action, the relationship between narrative principles and the physical
limitations of the cinematic medium, and story’s three-dimensional
trinity of plot, character, and theme.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Chapter
1-3 introduces the three primary structural components of the unified
narrative; namely the structure of plot (the Story Spine), the
structure of character (the protagonist’s Character Arc), and the
structure of theme (the Thematic Argument).</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Chapter
1-4 wades into deeper waters by revealing the basic means by which
these three structural dimensions interact; first with the symbiotic
relationship between the Story Spine and Character Arc, and then how this interaction combines with the Thematic Argument to express
the story’s basic meaning.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Chapter
1-5 brings it all together to reveal the basic unified narrative
structure which unites all traditional Hollywood and American
Independent films, aided by an essential concept
called World Alignment.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Chapter
1-6 presents twelve sample films to support this model, three for
each narrative type: </span><i>Back to the Future, Rocky, The
Shawshank Redemption, Raging Bull, Amadeus, Citizen Kane, Chinatown,
Braveheart, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, The Godfather, The
Silence of the Lambs, </i><span style="font-style: normal;">and
</span><i>Apocalypse Now.</i></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Chapter
1-7 recognizes causes for deviation from the standard unified
structure as well as the existence of alternative structures.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Due
to its sole focus on structure, </span><i>Part I</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
is shorter than my last book. </span><i>Part II </i><span style="font-style: normal;">will
be twice as long, as it takes a far more macroscopic look at
cinematic storytelling beyond its structural superficialities. In <i>Part II</i>,
you will find not only a detailed breakdown of my 16 Plot Patterns*
of American film, along with their 34 sub-patterns, but a detailed
theory explaining how these patterns combine with the elements of
genre and mode, the selection of the story’s protagonist, and other
factors, unified by the properties of myth to communicate each
cinematic story’s total meaning.</span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>(*Yeah, I know my
first article on the subject said there were 20 patterns, but all my
subsequent study has narrowed this to only 16 primary categories,
most with two or three sub-categories.)</i></div>
SCRIPTMONK!!!http://www.blogger.com/profile/13911675482380489540noreply@blogger.com1