HOW TO SAVE $19.99 (by not buying Save the Cat!)

I admit that this month's article is far more mean spirited than usual. It is just that every time I visit Amazon.com, or a book store of any kind, I am constantly confounded that young and developing screenwriters continue to, as they have for seven years, make a certain book on screenwriting the #1 seller. A book that has no right or reason to occupy that spot. Those of you who frequent this blog know how critical I am of most books on the market for being ineffective, inaccurate, or outmoded. However, there is only one book that I tell writers to avoid at all costs. The book I speak of is Save the Cat! by Blake Synder, a book so full of obvious inaccuracies, half-assed approaches, and pure unfiltered bullshit that following its advice will damage your development as a screenwriter. I have personally witnessed the negative effects of this book on hundreds to amateur screenplays. Blake Synder has unwittingly ruined an entire generation of would-be screenwriters.

You may wonder what is the harm of one little book. In any other field, there would be little problem at all. However, when beginning screenwriters make their first attempts to learn the craft, they often make the mistaken assumption that just because something has been published in a book, it is absolutely true and should be followed like holy scripture. Most screenwriting books are based off little more than the personal opinions of their authors, authors quite often of questionable expertise. As I have found in my own studies time and again, many times an author's bold statements turn out to be bullshit. However, once false information has been ingested into a writer's mind and accepted as fact, it will take years to undo the damage.

As far as I can see, the only cause for Save the Cat's commercial success comes from a single chapter, Chapter 6, the “Immutable Laws of Screenplay Physics.” This chapter contains a hodgepodge of eight unrelated commandments, each given a cutsie-poo nickname to keep them memorable, one of which provides the book's bizarre title. (I love how at the beginning of the chapter, Synder admits that this chapter is the only reason he wrote the book, implying that the rest is little more than filler.) Though this makes the book unique to its competitors, these commandments are hardly groundbreaking, and far from original.

For those of you who have not read this book, and are still tempted to buy it, I am going to do you a favor. I am going to save you $19.99 by giving you Synder's eight cutsie-poo commandments right here in this article, communicated far clearer and more direct than Synder was capable. And I am not going to waste 22 pages to do it.

1. “Save the Cat” - disregard entirely. Read THIS instead.
2. “Pope in the Pool” - When giving dry and potentially boring exposition, distract and/or entertain the audience by pairing the information with an interesting visual or action. This is an old trick, and a quite obvious one. (If we are going to name this, I prefer “Two Elephants Screwing,” a reference to a comment made by Humphrey Bogart on the set of the film Sahara. When asked to do a scene containing over a page of dull expository dialogue, Bogart wryly suggested the director put two elephants screwing behind him, because that was the only way the scene would be interesting.)
3. “Double Mumbo-jumbo” - One story should be built on one premise, and one premise alone. Don't make your story about civil rights and environmentalism. Don't have a zombie outbreak occur in the middle of a story about killer robots. Unalike premises mix like oil and water. Keep things focused.
4. “Laying Pipe” - Don't wait too long to introduce the story's inciting incident. Until the inciting incident occurs, the conflict has not engaged and story action has yet to begun. This means little conflict and little story movement until the conflict is finally sparked.
5. “Black Vet” - Not only should there be one premise per story, but also one gimmick per character. Don't make your protagonist and ex-cop AND an ex-priest, AND a former Olympic speed skater. That's just dumb. Pick one. Simplicity creates clarity. Clarity allows opportunity for stronger development.
6. “Watch out for that Glacier!” - Conflict is only conflict when it is occurring here and now. Dramatic tension exists only when there is an immediate threat. Something that may happen down the road is not very threatening. Until that happens, characters are just standing around waiting for the conflict to arrive.
7. “The Covenant of the Arc” - Characters undergo personal change in the course of the story. This is Screenwriting 101, people. I don't know why Snyder tries to put a special label on something so fundamental that it has been axiomatic to screencraft since its beginning. It is impossible for any human being to go through the extreme situations found in any movie and not come out the other end a changed person.
8. “Keep the Press Out!” - You don't need Steven Spielberg to tell you this. The broader you make your story world, the less intimate it becomes. The less intimate it becomes, the harder it is for the audience to forge strong emotional bonds to characters. This also harms plot when it comes to films with a fantasy or sci-fi element. The more you expand the story into the wide real world, the harder it is for the audience to suspend their disbelief. Take a look at two movies about hostile aliens, Alien and Independence Day. One has a small, intimate setting with few characters. The other follows dozens of characters diffused all over a worldwide stage. Because of its intimacy, Alien is able to remain believable with few facts, and creates strong, genuine feelings of fear, dread, and compassion towards its characters. With Independence Day, the audience does not feel connected to any of its multiple protagonists, and its story logic often lapses into moments so difficult to believe they become silly. (This is actually way beyond the rather insignificant point Synder tries to make in this section. I did you the favor of smarting it up.)

That's it. That's the entire book right there. As for Synder's plot formula with its “15-point Beat Sheet,” forget about it. The approach is half-baked, simplistic beyond practical application, and built on logic riddled with more holes than a rural Utah stop sign. Plus, a lot of it is just bullshit. You'd be better off writing a screenplay from the Betty Crocker Cookbook.

As for the rest of the book, most is not even about writing a movie. It is about pitching a sellable idea for a movie. This may be useful for a producer or agent, but if you're a screenwriter, you will just learn to talk the talk, not walk the walk. This may help you get a script deal, but only once. Once it becomes clear that you can't back up your salesmanship with competent writing, you will be labeled a fraud and a charlatan. Try selling another idea after that.

I'VE CREATED A MONSTER! (The Workings of Acts 2A & 2B)

(Related article: Reconsidering the 3-Act Label)

This one falls under the "sh*t so plain to see its amazing no one else has mentioned it" category.

The second act has always seemed quite a mystery to developing writers. The purpose of the first act is clear. It is the “Setup.” It orientates the audience to the elements of the story world and creates the events that launch the story into motion. The third act seems equally simple. It is the “Resolution.” It contains the events that resolve the main conflict and bring the story to an end. (These are the broad terms coined by old guard “script gurus.” There's quite a bit more to the structure of the first and third acts than this implies, but for the purposes of this article, we will keep things simple.)

The second act is not so clear. It has been labeled the “Rising Action.” What the heck does this actually mean? Whatever the plot is supposed to physically do in this hour-long stretch of time in order to connect the beginning to the end is unclear. Okay, the action rises. That doesn't provide much help to the writers who need to physically put events on the page. This lack of instruction is yet another reason why the second act is the weakest in most spec scripts, the place where the story starts to wander, tension sags, and the reader loses interest.

In my previous article, I demonstrated that the second act is not really one long act, but rather two acts of equal length: Act 2A & Act 2B, separated by the Mid-2^nd Act Turning Point. It did not take me long after that article to discover that Acts 2A & 2B both work to carry out very simple and fundamental dramatic functions, seen the same over in every successful film. Functions as simple and straightforward as the Setup and Resolution:

In Act 2A, the protagonist unwittingly creates a monster.

In Act 2B, the protagonist must fight the monster he or she has created.

Now bear with me as this may sound strange at first. To start, let's look at a simple version of the legend of Dr. Frankenstein. In the first half of Frankenstein's story, the Doctor wishes to create life from the dead. Frankenstein does this without any malevolent intentions. In his mind, he is doing good by advancing the capabilities of science and the realms of human achievement. He succeeds, only to later find that his creature is an abomination. He has unintentionally released a monster upon the world. In the second half of the story, Frankenstein must try to reverse his mistakes by destroying the monster.

The pattern seen in the Frankenstein legend repeats itself in the second acts of every successful feature film. In Act 2A, the protagonist takes a series of actions that he or she honestly believes will ameliorate the story's situation and overcome the conflict. However, the protagonist does not know that these actions always inadvertently end up MAKING THE SITUATION MUCH WORSE. The protagonist's well-meaning actions have only wound up digging him or her into a deep hole and/or inciting the force of antagonism's wrath to a dangerous level. The protagonist has unwittingly (though not always unwillingly) created a monstrous situation for him or herself. However, it is not until the Mid-2^nd Act Turning Point that the protagonist becomes fully aware of this.

Of the many examples:

Raiders of the Lost Ark

Act 2A: Indiana Jones eludes Nazis to uncover the location of the Ark of the Covenant.

Turning Point: Indy finds the Ark, but the Nazis appear and take it from him.

Monstrous Outcome: Indy has inadvertently put the Ark right into the Nazi's hands.

Die Hard

Act 2A: John McClane does all he can to get the attention of the police.

Turning Point: McClane succeeds by throwing a body onto a policeman's car.

Monstrous Outcome: McClane soon learns the police are incompetent and will only make the situation worse.

Braveheart

Act 2A: William Wallace leads a small-scale rebellion against the English in Scotland.

Turning Point: Face-to-face with English forces on the battlefield, rather than negotiate as the Scottish Lords wish, Wallace leads the Scots to rout the enemy.

Monstrous Outcome: Wallace has provoked a full-scale war with the mighty English army.

The Godfather

Act 2A: Michael Corleone, the civilian of his crime family, agrees to assassinate Virgil Sollozzo.

Turning Point: Michael kills both Sollozzo and his policeman bodyguard.

Monstrous Outcome: Michael is now a wanted killer, fair game for either the police to arrest or rival mafias to kill.

Jerry Macquire

Act 2A: Jerry attempts to bounce back as a high-power sports agent after experiencing a crisis of conscience.

Midpoint: Jerry's inability to perform as he used to ends up losing him his last all-star client the day before a big deal.

Monstrous Outcome: Jerry is left with nothing except a single B-level client.

Citizen Kane

Act 2A: Kane has an extramarital affair while while making his run for political office.

Midpoint: Kane's opponent exposes the affair.

Monstrous Outcome: Kane's personal life and political future are both ruined.

The Wizard of Oz

Act 2A: Dorothy and her friends travel to meet the Wizard in the hope that he can send her home.

Midpoint: The Wizard refuses to help until she brings him the broom of the Wicked Witch.

Monstrous Outcome: Dorothy must go into dangerous territory to meet the witch face to face.

The purpose of the Mid-2^nd Act Turning Point is to end Act 2A and launch Act 2B by providing the key transitional event between the actions that have created the monstrous situation and the moment where the protagonist realizes this situation must be fought against. Keep in mind that this “monster” does not always have to be something dangerous or life-threatening. Sometimes it is simply a situation where the protagonist's struggle against the main conflict becomes far more complicated. 

Depending on the type of story, the Mid-2^nd Act Turning Point twists the plot in a new direction in one of three ways.

a. The Mid-2^nd TP is a dramatically-significant physical action that either creates the monstrous situation, or provides the tipping point which sets a monstrous situation into motion.

Batman Begins

Act 2A: Bruce Wayne transforms himself into a symbol that will combat crime and corruption.

Midpoint: Bruce takes his first actions as Batman, capturing crime boss Carmine Falconi.

Monstrous Outcome: Bruce has put a target on his back. Not only do criminals now want him dead, but the police want him arrested.

Star Wars

Act 2A: Luke and Obi-Wan get off Tatooine on a journey to Alderaan so they may deliver secret information to the Revel commanders.

Midpoint: They are surprised when their actions lead them right to the Death Star. Their ship is captured.

Monstrous Outcome: Luke and Obi-Wan are now in the belly of the beast, surrounded by enemies.

Forgetting Sarah Marshall

Act 2A: Peter tries to get over his break-up, even though he is staying at the same resort as his ex.

Midpoint: Peter and a new love interest Rachel kiss for the first time.

Monstrous Outcome: Peter is now torn between an opportunity with a new love and his desire to reunite with his ex-girlfriend.

b. The Mid-2^nd TP is a moment of revelation where the protagonist realizes his or her cumulative actions throughout Act 2A have created a monstrous situation.

Back to the Future

Act 2A: Lost in the year 1955, Marty accidentally alters the past.

Midpoint: Marty sees his family photo start to disappear. He realizes his actions have created a life-threatening time paradox.

Monstrous Outcome: Marty must reverse his mistakes or be wiped out of existence.

Alien (my favorite example, because it is the most literal)

Act 2A: Ripley's crew brings an alien parasite aboard the ship, choosing to study it rather than destroy it.

Midpoint: A newborn alien monster bursts from a crew member's chest.

Monstrous Outcome: The crew's mistakes have wound up releasing a murderous monster aboard their ship.

A Beautiful Mind

Act 2A: The brilliant John Nash engages in a dangerous and bizarre top-secret mission for the US government.

Midpoint: Nash is diagnosed with schizophrenia. The mission is revealed to be pure fantasy.

Monstrous Outcome: Nash is stuck in a living nightmare where he cannot tell what is real and what is not.

c. In some stories, the protagonist is already aware of his or her dire situation by the end of Act 2A. In these stories, the Mid-2^nd TP is an event that provides potential salvation.

Rocky

Act 2A: Rocky agrees to fight Apollo Creed, but soon realizes there will be no outcome except his total humiliation.

Midpoint: Rocky accepts Mick as his trainer. Rocky now has a fighting chance.

Lord of the Rings: Fellowship of the Ring

Act 2A: Frodo continues his dangerous mission without Gandalf, pursued by more evil than a mere Hobbit could possibly handle.

Midpoint: A band of stalwart heroes gather to assist and protect Frodo.

Cast Away

Act 2A: Chuck Noland, trying to survive on a desert island, slowly devolves into a wretched madman.

Midpoint: Chuck discovers something washed up on shore that will allow him to escape the island.

The Mid-2^nd TP, or a moment that immediately follow the "monster moment," often becomes the “hero moment” of the story. After finding that their previous actions have buried them in a deep, dark hole, the Mid-2^nd TP forces the protagonist to change from behaving relatively passive or reactive towards the story's conflict (doing all he or she can to avoid direct encounters with the source of the conflict) to becoming an active participant in that conflict (the protagonist becomes willing to face the source of conflict head-on.) In Act 2A, Indiana Jones tries to avoid the Nazis and find the Ark in secret. In Die Hard, John McClane prefers to run away from the terrorists and contact the police so they can handle the situation. In Star Wars, the heroes do all they can to avoid direct contact with Imperial forces. The Mid-2^nd TP then puts the heroes into a situation which forces them to give up on such passive efforts. They must become willing to rise up and do what it takes to battle the conflict head-on.

Once the Mid-2^nd TP has occurred, the necessary course of action for Act 2B becomes clear. The protagonist must now take direct effort to fight and eventually subdue the monstrous situation so he or she might be able to continue onward to the Main Story Goal. These new, more aggressive actions inevitably lead the protagonist to the battle that ends the 2^nd Act, and the End of 2^nd Act Turning Point.

Reconsidering the (completely misnamed) 3-Act Label

(Related article: "I'VE CREATED A MONSTER!")

 
It has become considered pretty much axiomatic that cinematic stories are structured in three acts. It is treated as extreme ignorance to think otherwise. Of course, there is plenty of evidence to support this. The dramatic rule of threes has been around since the time of Aristotle.

A story told in three acts seems elementary. Since childhood we are taught stories have a beginning, middle, and end. Or, as the “script gurus” unhelpfully put it, “setup, rising action, and resolution.” Even I have staunchly insisted that cinematic stories always have three acts, no more, no less. Yet still, whenever I looked at a visual representation of the three-act model, it always seemed like something was, well – a little jacked up.

Why are things so unbalanced? What is with this oblong stretched-out middle? What sense does it make that there must be one short act, then one very long act, and then another short act? It is no wonder why second acts put developing screenwriters into a cold sweat. Their story has a beginning. The story has an ending. But how the hell are they going to fill this vast wasteland in between? How are they going to keep the story going, keeps things developing and escalating, and at the same time keep the audience's attention for nearly an hour's length of time? There is good reason why most spec screenplays stumble, sag, or run out of energy during their second acts. It is like trying to drive across 100 miles of desert with only 50 miles worth of gas.

Second act sagginess apparently comes from the lack of a major dramatic turning point for over an hour of screen time. According to the sequence method, a properly-structured story requires a turning point every ten to fifteen minutes to provide development, escalation, and maintain story momentum. However, the 3-Act model relies on certain MAJOR turning points occurring at specific dramatic moments. These moments create such significant situation-altering events that they effectively break the story into separate blocks. The 3-Act model has had so much success because these major dramatic turning points reignite audience interest with a forceful shove at right about the times when their attentions start to wane.

Most books on screencraft teach that proper narrative structure contains only three major dramatic turning points, one located at the end of each act:

Unfortunately, there is a problem when it comes to the second act. Major dramatic turning points provide only so much “push,” or dramatic momentum. After less than thirty minutes, the momentum wears off and the audience's attentions once again start to wane. This is fine and dandy for the short first and third acts, since the audience does not have to wait long before its next shot in the arm. But then we have that long unwieldy second act. And not surprisingly, smack dab in the middle of the second act is where most beginner scripts start... to slow... down....

But wait a second. If this is a constant problems, why are the films we see in theaters so successful with their second acts? How do they manage to maintain attention and excitement from beginning to end with no lag through their middles? What do they do right that most spec script get wrong?

The reality is that most “script gurus” overlook an absolutely fundamental piece of their beloved 3-Act structure. Analyze any handful of well-written, well-structured feature films and you will quickly discover an overlooked FOURTH major dramatic turning point occurring smack-dab in the middle of the second act.

Alien – the monster alien explodes from Kane's chest, turning the story from a mystery to a fight for survival.

Good Will Hunting – Will finally opens up to his therapist, permanently changing the story's central character relationship and how Will approaches the story conflict.

Rocky – Rocky allows Mick to become his manager, changing the relationship between the hero and his mentor and giving Rocky his first legitimate chance of success.

Iron Man – Tony Stark makes his first successful appearance as Iron Man, forever turning the protagonist from selfish playboy to global hero.

Schindler's List – Oskar Schindler commits his first truly unselfish act by using his watch to save an old couple, beginning his transformation from profiteer to hero.

Die Hard – John McClane finally gets the attention of the police, permanently changing (and greatly complicating) the landscape of the story conflict.

Star Wars – The heroes are pulled onto the Death Star, trapping them in the belly of the beast and forcing them to face the force of antagonism head-on.

The Shining – The characters have their first meaningful physical contact with the evil that resides in the hotel, changing the conflict from abstract to tangible.

Now, many books mention something about a “Midpoint scene.” But like much of the material in these books, the information on what this midpoint does and how it should be used tends to be vague and unhelpful. The “midpoint” is actually quite a simple concept. This events provides a major dramatic turning point which creates a “hinge point” in the narrative -- essentially splitting the story in two: the story situation as it existed before the mid-second act turning point, and the drastically altered situation existing after the turning point, as pointed out by the examples above. The mid-second act turning point not only creates a major moment of development and escalation, but provides a powerful boost to reignites audience interest and launch the narrative forcefully into the second half of the second act.

The Midpoint event sounds just like and end-of-act turning point, doesn't it? That's because it is one!  Here is where all the confusion over 3-Act structure originates. THE 3-ACT STRUCTURE IS COMPLETELY MISNAMED. The traditional 3-Act structure tells stories in four parts, not three. Rather than one short act, one very long act, and then another short act, successful feature-length narratives are comprised of FOUR ACTS OF EQUAL LENGTH.

Successful cinematic structure become elegantly simple as soon as one realizes that cinematic stories are composed of four equal units of action:

Alien

Act 1 – Heroes investigate a distress signal. (TP: A creature attaches itself to Kane and is brought onboard the ship.

Act 2A – Heroes try to figure out this creature attached to Kane. (TP: Monster bursts from Kane's and is now loose on the ship)

Act 2B – Heroes try to capture or kill the monster. (TP: Heroes realize monster is unkillable and must destroy the ship.)

Act 3 – Destroying the ship and escaping the monster for good.

Rocky

Act 1 – Hero struggles with life as a worthless bum. (TP: Rocky is offered a fight with the world champion.)

Act 2A – Hero hopelessly tries to prepare for the fight on his own. (TP: Rocky reconciles with his mentor and agrees to let him become his manager.)

Act 2B – Hero develops from bum to contender with the help of his mentor. (TP: Rocky realizes he still has no chance, but sets a new goal for himself to “go the distance” with the champion.)

Act 3 – Rocky succeeds at his new goal, proving his self-worth.

Star Wars

Act 1 – Hero finds a message that will help defeat the evil empire, but is unwilling to get directly involved. (TP: Hero's home is destroyed by members of the evil empire, giving him no choice but to leave home to join the Rebel cause.)

Act 2A – Leaving Tatooine with the secret message. (TP: Hero becomes trapped aboard the Death Star, the heart of the evil empire.)

Act 2B – Escape from the Death Star. (TP: Hero succeeds, allowing him to deliver the message.)

Act 3 – Hero joins the battle to defeat the empire using the message's information.

Here now is a new visual model for the 3-Act structure:

Isn't this simpler? Isn't this easier to manage? Doesn't this make more sense? With the simple recognition of an additional end-of-act turning point, the classic 3-Act model goes from wonky and difficult, to balanced, simple, and easy for any beginner to manage. Second acts need no longer strike fear in the hearts of developing writers. Or any act for that matter.

(Note that to avoid confusion, I have not relabeled the acts as Acts 1, 2, 3, & 4. To remain in line with established terminology, “3^rd Act” shall always refer to a story's final act. The two halves of the former second act are now labelled "Act 2A" and "Act 2B." We minimize misunderstandings if everyone keeps speaking the same language.)

scribble on.

THE 9 CHARACTER ALIGNMENTS

(EDITOR'S NOTE, 4/2/2020: This is an old, out-of-date article, and really began as nothing more than a playful thought experiment, so it need not be taken 100% seriously. However, I have included a version of the "Nine Character Alignments" in my book Screenwriting & The Unified Theory of Narrative, Part II, under the chapter on protagonist psychology. There are, however, some significant differences. Instead of the ambiguous and easily-misinterpreted terms "Lawful/Neutral/Chaotic" my updated version uses "Collectivist/Pragmatist/Individualist." Likewise, I find the terms of the Good/Neutral/Evil axis to be equally misleading, and have replaced them with the more accurate "Benevolent/Neutral/Malevolent." I have added the alternate names for each alignment to the sections below.)

I usually do not present theories by other dramatists in this blog, but I have recently incorporated the concept of Character Alignment into my dramatic method, a concept I find helpful enough to pass on. The Nine Character Alignments is a development and analysis tool that defines any character (or any real human being, for that matter) by placing them in one of nine categories determined along two axes: Good vs. Evil, (how likely a character is to behave altruistically, versus how likely he or she is to cause others harm,) and Lawful vs. Chaotic, (the degree to which a character values and is willing to obey the structures of social order, opposed a libertarian view which values the freedom to do as one pleases regardless of law or structures).

These categories break down as follows:

The interesting thing is that this approach did not originate in dramatic theory. It came from, of all places, the role-playing board game Dungeons & Dragons. In these games, players create their own characters governed by specific moral and ethical guidelines. However, as evidenced by the examples below, it seems D&D's creators stumbled upon a very simple shorthand for typifying various stable categories of human social psychology, one that can be easily applied to dramatic storytelling to create characters audiences can quickly identify and understand.

This article provides only a basic overview of these alignments. For more comprehensive coverage, visit http://easydamus.com/alignment.html

(EDITOR'S NOTE ,3/29/13:

This article has gotten a lot of attention over the last couple days, so I have chosen to provide some clarifications based off of questions I have received.

First of all, these are not strict categories. They are fuzzy around the edges. Whether certain characters fit into one or the other is open to personal interpretation on your particular views of what constitutes good or evil or what you think qualifies as law-abiding or law-defying behavior. In other words, each person’s view of the nine alignments is ironically influenced by that person’s own personal alignment in real life.

Second, these alignments merely explain how characters see the world. That is, how they tend to judge situations through their own eyes. However, this point of view does not place strict limits on every action the person may take. A Good person may momentarily give into the temptation to take a morally-questionable action. A Chaotic person may from time to time concede to society’s laws as he or she struggles over the best means to overcome narrative conflicts. Yet in any case, it is the person’s personal view of the world – his or her alignment – that decides whether the character feels satisfied or guilty about the action in retrospect.

Third, Good/Evil and Lawful/Chaotic are two separate and independent factors in character psychology. To look at it in algebraic terms, one is “x” the other is “y.” Each combination of potential variables creates very different modes of thought and behavior. Part of the confusion is in the terms “Lawful” and “Chaotic.” Most people think of lawfulness = goodness, and chaos = badness. So instead, it is better to think of Lawful vs. Chaotic as “Collectivist vs. Individualistic.” A Lawful person sees a society as millions of people bound together as one. In order for that society to prosper, it is essential that everyone follows agreed-upon rules of behavior. Therefore, a Lawful Good character believes that it is of supreme importance to maintain and enforce the purity of these rules in order to bring about the greatest good. Anyone who operates outside the rules threatens the system with instability and should be punished. A Chaotic person, in complete contrast, sees themselves and others as absolutely independent individuals who should have the freedom to think or do as they see fit without any outside interference. Therefore, a Chaotic Good hero uses methods based not on what society says is proper, but their own personal judgments. When they fight for good, it is for the life, freedom, and happiness of individuals, not for abstract social constructs such as “morality” or “justice.” If this means they must blow up buildings or kill the wicked to achieve good, then so be it. 

To illustrate, think of a hypothetical conflict between two heroes, Superman and Batman (I know this has occurred a number of times in comics and other media, but I am not referring any specific story). Superman fights to uphold a utopian vision of society in which everyone follows a fair and moral system of rules. When he sees Batman circumventing the law and undermining social stability by playing by his own rules, Superman concludes Batman to be in the wrong. Batman, on the other hand, sees society as corrupt, inefficient, and incapable of delivering true justice. Since the social structures are inherently flawed, it is up to individuals to take personal action to right wrongs and help others as they see best. To Batman, Superman is a fool. A righteous society can only be maintained by the actions of free individuals unchecked by unnecessary "rules." Both characters are Good, but conflict with one another because they have very different ideas of what “good” means, and how to best achieve it.)

THE GOOD ALIGNMENTS

Characters in the morally good alignments (Lawful Good, Neutral Good, Chaotic Good) feel driven toward actions altruistic in nature. They see the world in terms of right and wrong, and believe it is their duty to do what they see as right. They will often go out of their way to help or defend others, even at personal cost. Characters in these categories can be easy defined as heroic.

LAWFUL GOOD (BENEVOLENT COLLECTIVIST)

The Lawful Good are the white knights, the Eagle Scouts, the real hero-heroes of the story world. They not only believe in doing what they consider morally right, but feel it necessary to uphold ideological concepts such as truth and justice, while at the same time preserving the sanctity of the law. Lawful Goods are moral idealists who believe the rule of law to be essential to the health and happiness of all. Therefore, those who defy the law must be punished. However, if the rule of society should become corrupted or grow to contradict its promoted ideals, the Lawful Good character will feel compelled to fight against social authorities to correct the system. Even in these cases, the Lawful Good will still prefer to fight from within a morally-approved system and will continue to follow rules in order to lead by example. The Lawful Good are honest and forthright, and will never intentionally harm another. It is only okay to harm another when this act cannot be avoided in order to protect oneself or others, or if necessary to protect the greater good, such as defending one's country in war. All in all, the Lawful Good live by the Golden Rule.

Examples:

Superman

Luke Skywalker - Star Wars

Maximus - Gladiator

Marge Gunderson – Fargo

Forrest Gump

Frodo Baggins – Lord of the Rings

Captain Miller (Tom Hanks) – Saving Private Ryan

NEUTRAL GOOD (BENEVOLENT PRAGMATIST)

The Neutral Good also wish to do what is good and proper, but are much more flexible in the methods they use to accomplish the greater good. While the Lawful Good believe in an abstract, idealized view of morality, the Neutral Good follow a more personal view of right and wrong. They do all they can to achieve what they think is right. They generally support society's laws, but unlike the Lawful Good, they are willing to bend or even break the rules if they see those rules as unjust, or if a greater and quicker good can be achieved by cutting corners. The Neutral Good will not harm the innocent, but will harm evildoers when the act is justified. They are honest and will keep their word, unless it is to an evildoer. All in all, the Neutral Good are pragmatic in their heroics, doing whatever needs to be done (within limits) in order to achieve the greatest good.

Examples:

Indiana Jones

Spider-man

John McClane – Die Hard

Rocky Balboa – Rocky

Po – Kung-Fu Panda

Jack Bauer – “24”

Dr. Malcolm Crowe (Bruce Willis) – The Sixth Sense

CHAOTIC GOOD (BENEVOLENT INDIVIDUALIST)

The Chaotic Good are rebellious heroes, often charismatic outsiders who see social structures as corrupt, incompetent, or immoral. They reject the strict rules externally imposed upon them and choose to work outside of the system to accomplish the greater good. They are often loners at odds with societal norms who value personal freedom above all other ideals, as opposed to the stability that comes from the strict rule of law. For the Chaotic Good, the ends justify the means -- meaning that these characters are more than willing to break the law to protect the innocent or provide the greatest benefit to mankind. Despite their lawlessness, the Chaotic Good act by strict personal moral codes. They will not harm the innocent and will act out of self-defense, but are much more willing to attack evildoers without warning if justified.

Examples:

Batman/Bruce Wayne

Robin Hood

Neo – The Matrix

Tony Stark – Iron Man

T.E. Lawrence – Lawrence of Arabia

THE NEUTRAL ALIGNMENTS

Characters in neutral alignments, (Lawful Neutral, True Neutral, and Chaotic Neutral) tend to see themselves as decent persons, but will generally not go out of their way or take any personal risk to promote the greater good. They are more concerned with themselves and their personal lives than society as a whole. Stories with neutral protagonists may have main characters who are morally ambiguous, morally conflicted, self-concerned, or “everyday” men and women struggling with the wants and needs of daily life.

LAWFUL NEUTRAL (NEUTRAL COLLECTIVIST)

The Lawful Neutral are not concerned as much with Good or Evil, but with Right and Wrong. They believe a strong society requires strong rules, and those rules must be followed to ensure stability and well-being. Lawful Neutrals tend to see the world in black-and-white. If something is legal, it is okay. If it is illegal, it is bad and should be avoided. The Lawful Neutral believe that rules should be enforced universally and will generally not care about the ethical gray areas enforcement may create. Lawful Neutrals tend to be self-disciplined and gravitate towards areas of civic responsibility or authority. They fit in well with society and tend to be loyal and honest. However, the Lawful Neutral will rarely take any extra effort or risk to improve society's well-being if it means personal discomfort -- especially if these actions may disrupt stability. The Lawful Neutral will not harm the innocent, but are willing to take morally-ambiguous actions against supposed evildoers if it is for the benefit of social order.

Examples:

Jake Gittes – Chinatown

Dwight Shrute - “The Office”

Ripley – Alien

Salieri (F. Murray Abraham) – Amadeus

Woody – Toy Story

Mr. McAllister (Matthew Broderick) – Election

TRUE NEUTRAL (NEUTRAL PRAGMATIST)

True Neutrals are chiefly concerned with what is best for themselves at the particular moment. Their decisions are based mostly upon self-preservation and the desire to bring happiness to their own lives. Though they may be sympathetic to the less fortunate, they have no strong desire to do good for others, nor to do others harm. Nor do they have strong feelings about law and order. Instead, they simply accept the law as long as it does not interfere with their daily lives. Most people encountered in real life are true neutrals, going through life mostly concerned with personal issues. Most True Neutrals see themselves as good persons, and will act ethically in most situations, but only because they believe ethical actions will benefit them more than unethical. True Neutrals are also highly law-abiding, but their obedience comes from fear of punishment rather than any ideological belief. Despite this, True Neutrals are prone to temptation. If they can gain from breaking a law and believe they can escape punishment, True Neutrals will be tempted to do so. True Neutrals believe in moral reciprocity: Do unto others as they have done unto you.

Examples:

Rick Blaine – Casablanca

Marlin – Finding Nemo

Ben Stone (Seth Rogan) – Knocked Up

Peter Gibbons (Ron Livingston) – Office Space

Miles (Paul Giamatti) – Sideways

"Jack" (Edward Norton) – Fight Club

CHAOTIC NEUTRAL (NEUTRAL INDIVIDUALIST)

Chaotic Neutrals care for their personal freedom above all else. Like the Chaotic Good, Chaotic Neutrals see themselves as rebels or outsiders. But, unlike Chaotic Good, they are motivated only by self-interest. Chaotic Neutrals are the centers of their own world. They have little to no respect for authority, and will defy the law if they believe the benefit will outweigh the punishment. It is difficult for Chaotic Neutrals to trust others and may not keep their word. They often have a disrupting influence on their environment. However, morality and ethical behavior are not uncommon. Chaotic Neutrals will often feel torn between their desire for personal freedom and the needs of those they care about. Like True Neutrals, Chaotic Neutrals follow moral reciprocity. They are good to those who are good to them. A Chaotic Neutral may harm an innocent person, but will feel remorse. In contrast, they feel no remorse for harming those they consider enemies.

Examples:

Tyler Durden – Fight Club

Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow – Bonnie & Clyde

Will Hunting – Good Will Hunting

Homer Simpson - “The Simpsons”

Renton – Trainspotting

Ferris Bueller – Ferris Bueller's Day Off

THE EVIL ALIGNMENTS

Evil alignments (Lawful Evil, Neutral Evil, and Chaotic Evil) are ready and willing to harm others to achieve personal gain. Unlike the neutral alignments, there is no debate other whether an act is ethical or unethical, nor is there remorse after the act is committed. Though not all antagonists fall into evil alignments, it is near-impossible for a hero to successfully occupy these categories since a morally-inclined audience cannot bring themselves to anchor their affections to a person of such unethical behavior.

LAWFUL EVIL (MALEVOLENT COLLECTIVIST)

Most world dictators can be considered Lawful Evil. The Lawful Evil generally seek to achieve and hold onto positions of power, wealth, and authority, and will do whatever it takes to do so. The Lawful Evil operate by rules, generally believing in the value of order and stability, but are motivated solely by personal gain. In fact, they will often use the law as a tool of ruthless ambition. Ironically, the Lawful Evil typically see themselves as good persons. They often think of themselves as acting for the betterment of society. Only, to make an omelet, they must break some eggs. And this is how the Lawful Evil see the innocents crushed in their wake -- as mere broken eggs, acceptable losses necessary to achieve an ultimate end. At their worst, Lawful Evil have little compunction against killing when necessary, but will generally not do the killing themselves (or will at least keep it quick and painless). Despite this, the Lawful Evil are the most ethical of villains. They follow a personal code of honor and will generally keep their word. Though the Lawful Evil commit unethical actions, they always justify those actions with a logic that makes them appear necessary.

Examples:

Darth Vader – Star Wars

Magneto – X-Men

Mr. Burns - “The Simpsons”

Hank Quinlan (Orson Welles) – Touch of Evil

Bill Lumbergh (Gary Cole) – Office Space

Agent Smith – The Matrix

NEUTRAL EVIL (MALEVOLENT PRAGMATIST)

This is the alignment of most career criminals. Neutral Evils do whatever they can get away with. They are concerned solely with self-gain and do not care if they must break laws or harm innocent people to get what they want. They see the world divided into two camps: the smart and the suckers. Suckers follow the law. The smart do whatever they can get away with. Like the Neutral Good, the Neutral Evil are very pragmatic in their actions. They do whatever seems the smartest at the time. They will rarely commit evil simply for the sake of evil, and will not take foolish risks that have a high chance of capture. They form and betray alliances as it suits them. They keep and break their word as convenient. They will do whatever it takes to get ahead. The Neutral Evil will harm the innocent, and may do so for pleasure. The Neutral Evil may also help others if there is a personal benefit. Unlike the Lawful Evil, the Neutral Evil are indifferent to concepts like honor or discipline, and will use such ideals only when self-serving.

Examples:

Hans Gruber – Die Hard

Virgil Sollozzo – The Godfather

Biff Tannen – Back to the Future

Lord Farquar – Shrek

Frank Costello (Jack Nicholson) – The Departed

Lex Luthor – The Superman franchise

CHAOTIC EVIL (MALEVOLENT INDIVIDUALIST)

These characters are the worst of the worst. The Chaotic Evil will cut a path of death and destruction after whatever their greed, lust, or wrath desires with no regard for either the rule of law or the welfare of others. Assuredly psychopathic in nature, the Chaotic Evil are incapable of feeling sympathy for others. Nor do they wish to, since they see others as mere playthings and pawns to fulfill their desires. At their worst, the Chaotic Evil will kill readily and will often do so for enjoyment. They think of themselves as above both law and morality, and believe anyone who follows either is a sap. They see the world as being made up of sheep and wolves. Those who have the power to take what they want should do so, and not feel the slightest twinge of conscience.

Examples:

The Joker – The Dark Knight

Amon Goeth (Ralph Fiennes) – Schindler's List

Norma Desmond – Sunset Boulevard

The T-800 Cyborg (and T1000 in the sequel) – The Terminator

Hannibal Lecter – Silence of the Lambs

Jason Vorhees – Friday the 13th

CHARACTER ALIGNMENT AND CHARACTER ARC

Some characters will shift their alignment as their character arcs progress. Not all characters will shift. Only those whose arc deals with a trait relating to Good vs. Evil or Lawfulness vs. Chaos. Characters may move -

Up: Oskar Schindler in Schindler's List (Lawful Evil to Lawful Good)

Down: Charles Foster Kane in Citizen Kane (Chaotic Good to Chaotic Neutral)

or, Sideways: Lester Burnham (Kevin Spacey) in American Beauty (Lawful Neutral to Chaotic Neutral)

I have yet to see a character shift diagonally, such as from Chaotic Neutral to Neutral Good. Such a move may be impossible. Perhaps this is because the cinematic form demands simplicity in character arcs, meaning only one major trait transforms over the course of the story. A diagonal move would require a character to change both in his or her capacity for good/evil, as well as his or her views of law/chaos. It seems such a move would require two separate character arcs, which would end up muddying and confusing the story.

Inciting Incident Ignorance

This month's article was originally inspired by a thread I encountered on a popular screenwriters' message board (which shall remain nameless) a few months back. The topic started simply enough, with one user asking for someone to identify the inciting incident of one of the most popular and widely-seen movies of all time, Star Wars. It seemed to be a question that needed only one or two responses from a knowledgeable reader and that be it. But instead, the thread stretched on for well over TEN PAGES. The mind-boggling thing was that most of the answers were absolutely wrong. Every moment found over the first half of the movie, from its opening shot to actions that occur an hour into the film, was brought forward by one user or another as the definite inciting incident. The fact that there can be such widespread confusion over a concept so fundamental to cinematic narrative structure shines a light on why so many spec scripts are so poorly put together.

I put the blame once again on the glut of screenwriting books on the market, and the confusing array of inaccurate information they have spilled across the writing community for the last dozen years. Most aspiring writers assume that just because a book has been published, the author must be an expert and his or her information is accurate. This is often not the case. Since so many books lead readers in contradictory or inaccurate directions on something as fundamental as the inciting incident, I must once again assert that most of the books on the market do the screenwriting community more harm than good.

In this article I intend to clear the confusion by laying out once and for all exactly what the “inciting incident” is, what it does, and where is should occur.

WHAT IS THE INCITING INCIDENT?

Let's start by reviewing the basics:

1. A STORY is defined as “a structured series of events about a character dealing with a PROBLEM, unified by a premise.” -- For the purposes of this article, the most important part of this definition is the problem. All stories, at their simplest levels, revolve around characters struggling with, and trying to overcome a particular story problem.
   
   
2. Cinematic stories carry out their narratives through a structure known as the STORY SPINE. The Story Spine is composed of five elements: a. the Story Problem, b. the main character's Story Goal that once achieved, will overcome the problem, c. the Path of Actions the character takes to reach that goal, d. the Main Conflict that opposes the character's efforts, and e. the Stakes that force the character to continue pursuing that goal despite the conflict's resistance. -- Everything in a well-written cinematic story relates to these five elements. If a story does not contain a spine with all five elements, it will be incomplete and will fail in its execution.

Until a Story Spine has been established, the story has yet to properly begin. The narrative cannot advance because there is not yet any clear direction for it to go. The drama is still in the runner's blocks, waiting for the starter's pistol. Until the spine is established, the cinematic story is still in its setup sequence. The setup sequence is like setting up the pieces on a chess board before play begins. Piece are being put here or there, but the conflict of the game has not yet begun. The inciting incident is the moment play begins. It is the starter's pistol that leaps the story off its blocks and sends it on its path towards the finish line.

The inciting incident is defined as the moment when the Story Problem invades the protagonist's life in such as way that it forces the protagonist to do something about it. From this point on, every story event centers on the protagonist's attempts to overcome the problem. The inciting incident officially starts the story by setting up the Story Spine and its five elements. The Story Problem presents itself to the protagonist. Because of this, the protagonist forms an idea of what kind of Story Goal he or she must pursue, and what is at Stake should he or she fail. The protagonist then decides what first steps must be taken down his or her Path of Action. These actions then incite the Main Conflict to create resistance.

The inciting incident has not occurred until the story has reached a point where at least some aspect of ALL five elements of the Story Spine have been established. This is likely the source of much of the confusion over what moment officially constitutes a certain film's inciting incident. In some stories, an event establishes all five elements of the Spine in an immediate and simultaneous manner. In others, there can be a slight delay between the establishment of the Problem, the Goal, the first step of the Path of Action, etc... This leads to our second question:

HOW DO WE KNOW WHEN THE INCITING INCIDENT HAS OCCURRED?

The inciting incident has not occurred until three qualifications have been met:

1. The Story Problem exists.
2. The protagonist becomes aware of the Story Problem.
3. The protagonist decides to do something about that Story Problem.

1. The Story Problem exists.

Given the definition of “story” presented previously, it goes without saying that a storyline cannot begin to form until a problem arises. Before this happens, the narrative is just a bunch of people carrying on with their daily lives. However, there are many films where the Story Problem presents itself immediately. Sometimes it arises in the first scene, sometimes it already exists or has existed for some time. But this does not mean that the inciting incident has already occurred.

The Story Problem of Star Wars is that the galaxy is ruled by an evil empire -- an empire on the verge of crushing a virtuous rebel army representing the good people's only hope for freedom. But the moment the audience learns this information is not the story's inciting incident. Neither is the moment when Darth Vader captures Princess Leia. We then understand that Princess Leia has given R2D2 a secret mission and launched R2 and C3P0 to Tatooine, where they promptly get lost. But this is not the inciting incident either. Why? Because neither Princess Leia nor R2D2 are the story's protagonist. The Story Spine is all about the direct opposition between the protagonist and the Story Problem/Main Conflict. The protagonist of Star Wars is Luke Skywalker. Luke Skywalker has not even appeared on screen yet. This means that all these events are simply part of the setup.

2. The protagonist becomes aware of the Story Problem.

Finally, Luke Skywalker enters the narrative when his Uncle Owen purchases the Princess's two lost droids. Though part of the Problem has now entered Luke's life, this still is not the inciting incident. Luke remains completely unaware that a problem exists or that his life has changed in any way.

But once the protagonist becomes aware of a problem, this still does not mean the inciting incident has occurred. I am personally currently aware of many dramatic problems. I am aware of the national debt crisis. I am aware of the cartel wars killing thousands in Mexico. I am aware of the civil uprising in Syria. But this by no means suggests that I am currently engaged in a dramatic struggle to fix any of these problems. Even though I am aware of these problems, I continue on as usual because these problems have not yet impacted the status quo of my life in a way that motivates me to take action. This is the same situation which exists for a protagonist at this stage.

To give an example, Lester Burnham begins American Beauty with his Story Problem already in place. His problem is that his life; with his family, his work, and his view of his own value; is unacceptable to him. From the opening moments, we understand that Lester is painfully aware of his problem. But this does not mean the inciting incident has occurred. Lester has yet to chosen to take action against the problem. Instead, he just mopes through this status quo, suffering under the problem's weight. His story adventure does not begin until the moment when:

3. The protagonist decides to do something about the problem.

American Beauty does not reach its inciting incident until the moment Lester first lays eyes his daughter's friend Angela. The lust he feels causes an “awakening” which motivates Lester to finally take action to create change in his life. From this point onward, Lester no longer simply accepts the Story Problem. He takes action after action in pursuit of a Story Goal.

It is important to note that the inciting incident occurs at the moment the protagonist decides to take action against the problem. Whether or not the protagonist takes physical action at that very moment is inconsequential. It is the change in the protagonist's consciousness that is important. In many stories, the protagonist makes this decision, but does not immediately have a chance to act. His or her first actions toward the Story Goal may have to be slightly delayed due to the logic of the narrative. Yet still, the inciting incident has occurred. The protagonist has summon his/her will and is now ready to take action as soon as an opportunity arises.

Given these three qualifications, what is the real inciting incident of Star Wars?

After the droids are purchased by Uncle Owen, Luke is ordered to clean them. While performing this mundane task, Luke triggers a fragment of message recorded by Princess Leia asking help from Obi-Wan Kenobi. Luke is highly intrigued by this mysterious message. He can see that a problem exists (this woman seems in desperate trouble) and, due to his previously-established Rebel sympathies, Luke feels a strong desire to find out more about the message. This is the official inciting incident. Luke's desire to do something about the message leads him on the first step of his Path of Action (to find Obi-Wan Kenobi), which then leads him onward into every other event of the story.

Much of the confusion over the identity of Star Wars' inciting incident comes from the fact that, though Luke desires to take action to find Obi-Wan, he is not the character who actually makes the first move. Instead of Luke boldly hitting the road to find Obi-Wan, he is led to Obi-Wan indirectly when R2D2 runs away. This course of events turns out to be a necessity of character, not plot. Luke may want to take action, but as the story begins, he is not the type of person to be so bold. His desire to pursue the message is forbidden by Uncle Owen and Luke can do nothing to argue. In stories where the protagonist starts as passive or powerless, he or she often needs a push from an outside character to set him or her on the path to adventure. R2D2 running away is simply a dramatic means to get Luke on his Path of Action while maintaining the integrity of his character. Situations like this illuminate why the moment the protagonist finds the desire to take action predicates the inciting incident, rather than the moment the first action is taken.

INCITING INCIDENT IGNORANCE AT WORK

One of my biggest surprises of 2008 was the movie Taken. My surprise was not because such a small film performed so respectably at the box office. I was surprised that such an amateur screenplay was produced in the first place. Taken's script is a structural joke, highlighted first by the writers' inability to understand their own inciting incident.

 

Taken is the story of a father's attempts to rescue his daughter after she is kidnapped while vacationing in Paris. The simplest way to pinpoint an inciting incident is to ask what a story's main conflict is about, and then identify the moment that launches the protagonist's desire to act. Given the premise of Taken, this must be the moment the kidnapping occurs and the father commits himself to rescuing her. But instead, the writers thought the inciting incident to be to be the moment the daughter asks to go to Paris. If Taken's story was all about a father who feels sad that his daughter has gone abroad, this might work. But it is not. The daughter leaving for Paris is nothing more than another piece of setup. It does not begin the story's main conflict and definitely does not launch the Story Spine. The real inciting incident (the kidnapping) is then placed extremely late in the narrative, at the end of the first act, resulting in a movie with a dull, eventfull opening 30 minutes. This mistake threatened to lose the entire audience before the story could even start.

 

Taken faltered because it failed to identify which structural event belonged where. On the other hand, I am shocked by how many screenwriting books are so ignorant that they confuse the inciting incident with the first act turning point. I have read several which claim that the inciting incident does not need to occur until the end of the first act -- 30 minutes into the film! Let me say that another way: These books believe it to be good screencraft to keep audiences waiting for a full half hour until something worth a damn happens. This is longer than an entire episode of a television sitcom. Any book that believes an audience will sit and wait for that long before the conflict engages and the story finally begins does not know what it is talking about. If you want to bore your audience and make them wonder why they are sitting through this snorefest, go ahead and take these books' advice. Otherwise, throw the damn things out a window.

To see the effects of a long-delayed inciting incident, take a look at 2002's Minority Report. Minority Report is the futuristic story of a detective tasked with arresting pre-visioned murders before they can happen. Drama ensues when the detective himself is framed for one of these murders. Given this premise, the inciting incident is clearly the moment when the detective finds he has been fingered for murder. Only this event does not occur until FORTY minutes into the film! It takes forty whole minutes for the real story to begin! Everything before this moment is nothing more than a long, tedious setup filled with techno-babble, long-winded exposition, and a lot of Tom Cruise waving his fingers around. The final film could have been greatly improved if only its storytellers had recognized their misplaced inciting incident and done some simple editing to move it to its proper position. That way, the audience did not have to wait through forty minutes of this “action-thriller” before the action finally began.