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. Screenwriting Down to the Atoms contains no information on subplots to focus entirely on the main Story Spine.
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.
IT'S NOT THIS!
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 [submarine] 2. lower
than; inferior to [subheading] 3. to a lesser degree than
[subhuman]. 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).
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 plot, a television series achieves success over hundreds of short-form episodes through its characters. 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 Seinfeld, 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 Seinfeld 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 The Simpsons, Family Guy or Bob’s Burgers) 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 viola! we have an episode.
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.
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 distinct varieties of intra-narrative structure 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.
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 understanding 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.
1. “Subplot” as an Unfolding of Relationships
Let’s start simple. In his Go Into the Story blog, Scott Myers declares:
“Subplot = Relationship”
Like most pithy maxims on screencraft, this statement glosses over a lot of details. However, it gives us a good jumping-off point.
Scott Myers’ blog is a reliable source of information. Less 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 “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.
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: Raiders of the Lost Ark. As Raiders (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 unfolding of relationships between characters or other story components which are already vital to the course of the main narrative.
To illustrate, here is the central plotline of Raiders of the Lost Ark 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.
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 Raiders. The story could not function the same without them. Once we realize this fact, it becomes clear that the time Raiders spends exploring Indy’s rivalry with Belloq, as well the love-hate between Indy and Marion, are not sidelines of unrelated action, but the unfolding of relationships already integral to the plot.
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?
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 what material to add to each dimension and how much to provide.
To provide a bit of narrative theory, at the turn of the 20th century, the Russian Formalists asserted there to be two components of storytelling: the fabula and the syuzhet. To oversimplify a great deal, the fabula is the “macro-story.” It includes all possible actions and events which occur within the story’s timeframe; as well as every 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 Elvis. The fabula for Elvis potentially includes every single moment of Elvis Presley’s life, from birth to death. Not only this, but the fabula 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 fabula includes the recent history of Sun in the record industry.)
Elvis, of course, presents the audience with only a small selection of this fabula information. This is because what we experience when watching the film is not the fabula, but the syuzhet. The syuzhet is the composition of events, actions, and information the storyteller chooses to relate from the fabula, along with all choices concerning how and when this information is communicatef. The syuzhet is the story AS IT IS PRESENTED, moment-to-moment, to its audience. (You may sometimes hear this referred to as the difference between story and discourse, but the story/discourse dynamic is not exactly the same thing as fabula/syuzhet.)
From this distinction, it goes without saying that a story’s syuzhet will present only a tiny fraction of its total fabula. 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 fabula information. Yet every possible detail of a fabula still has the hypothetical potential to exist should the storyteller put forth the effort.)
Yet just because the storyteller omits fabula material, this does not mean the material has ceased to exist. Its presence remains, only flattened behind the physical events presented on screen or crushed 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.
Now, to return to Raiders of the Lost Ark, Raiders’ storytellers could have constructed a syuzhet 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 syuzhet did not provide enough “depth” in the dimensions of Plot, Character, or Theme. In other words, this syuzhet would be found too skeletal. To give its audience a fuller experience, the syuzhet needs more meat put onto its bones. How does a storyteller do such a thing? Not by tacking on new, unrelated material, but by unfolding some of the existing fabula material which, until now, has been flattened behind the syuzhet’s limited discourse.
In our hypothetical example of a skeletal Raiders, the syuzhet is missing a lot of depth along the dimension of character. This is corrected by simply identifying some of the existing character relationships already present within the syuzhet (Indy already has a relationship with Belloq as his Antagonist and Marion as his Donor and Close Comrade) and “unfolding” some of the fabula information currently “flattened” behind the characters’ bare-bones interactions. A storyteller discovers this information, simply enough, by asking questions about the relationships.
Why 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 fabula information and adding it to the syuzhet, the simple protagonist/antagonist relationship not only gains greater dimension, but is humanized and the conflict is made personal for each character.
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 plot relationship into a meaningful, humanistic character relationship.
Now that these relationships have been unfolded and added to the syuzhet, 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 arc 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 relational arcs.
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 also serve crucial functions in the main plotline. This explains the paradox which always seems to surround discussions on “subplots”; how they are “separate from” yet simultaneously “connected with” the central plotline.
Note, however, that it remains up to the storyteller to decide which relationships to unfold and which to leave flat. In Raiders, 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.
We will discuss relational arcs and theme in the next article.
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