We do need another hero!

My post about the omnipresence of the Hero's Journey in contemporary American screenwriting set me to thinking about the concept of the hero.

Most people today think a hero is someone who wins, takes on any and all opposition without fear, and triumphs thanks to superior might, smarts or charm. The hero comes out of the conflict as the clear winner and gets what he wants.

But that's not what a hero is.

A hero is, quite simply, someone who is willing to sacrifice themselves for the benefit of others.

A single mother working three jobs in order to feed her four kids and provide them with a good education? A hero(ine).

A firefighter braving a blazing building to rescue trapped inhabitants? A hero.

A suave superspy, risking life and limb to save the world from the machinations of insane master villains with a penchant for conquest? A hero.

A loveable guy, breaking up a happy marriage because he falls in love with one member of the couple? Not a hero. No matter how engaging the character might be developed or interpreted.

The most perfect example in cinematic history: Humphrey Bogart in Casablanca. Giving up his romantic desire and his one true love for the good of the Allies and free people everywhere.

And this also gives us the perfect definition of the anti-hero: an anti-hero is a protagonist who won't sacrifice him- or herself for others. This doesn't make them evil or inferior - to many, it makes them more relatable. But one thing they do not do is inspire.

That's one reason why we're so fascinated by stories about heroism - whether of the 'super' or the everyday sort: they show us what humanity is capable of at its best.

On the other hand, modern western society has evolved to a point where (self)sacrifice is far less common and admired than before. Not-so-enlightened self-interest is the order of the day.

So that explains a) why traditional models of heroic behaviour are less popular or at least less convincing to modern audiences and b) why we've evolved to a model of storytelling where somebody wants something and gets it (to quote Earl Pomerantz again) is the most repeated storyform. The modern audience member is constantly reassured that IF they are willing to sacrifice something, manna from heaven will be their immediate reward. It's all about immediate gratification, whereas the message of Christianity was that suffering in this life would be rewarded by eternal bliss in the afterlife...

This is a specifically western (and largely American) message though. In many Chinese popular stories, the hero dies, sometimes even in vain. But there the act of the heroic sacrifice itself is what's considered meaningful and inspirational, not the reward the hero gets at the end of his labours.

And of course heroism isn't always rewarded - as in Sergio Corbucci's shocking spaghetti western The Big Silence. At the end, heroic gunman Jean-Louis Trintignant, his hands broken, rides out to face villain Klaus Kinski in order to save a group of farmers Kinski holds hostage. Trintignant is shot in cold blood, and the farmers are massacred. It's a truly stunning moment, as it runs counter to both genre expectations and our feelings of justice. And it's undeniably true to life.

Which doesn't really bring me to my point, but anyhow...

Let's have more heroes.

Let's inspire people again.

And let's, slowly but surely, try to get the point across that the hero is willing to sacrifice all without being rewarded for it.

It may not do much for making the world a better place. It may not do anything at all.

But I'm sure we'll get some great stories out of it.

Script Review: Aanrijding in Moscou (Moscow, Belgium)

Aanrijding in Moscou, written by Pat van Beirs and Jean-Claude Van Rijckeghem, just won the first annual award for the best Flemish script from the Scenaristengilde (the Flemish screenwriter's guild). It's just the latest in a never-ending series of accolades for this very modest film (made on a tiny budget, intended for television), which has triumphed at film festivals all over the world, with Cannes being the most visible highlight. But this is the first time the script itself was singled out for an award. So let's take a look at what makes the screenplay so special!

Aanrijding in Moscou is a slice-of-life story mixed with a feelgood romantic comedy. The film has been praised for its sense of realism and excellent acting, which almost makes it feel like it's not scripted at all. Yet it is very much scripted, and what's revelatory about the screenplay is how tightly constructed the whole thing is, and how much symbolism and 'writerly gambits' the script contains. The way the structural construction is hidden (for the biggest part of the script, anyway) is simply masterful, and van Beirs and Van Rijckeghem would deserve the award just for pulling this off. But the script has a lot more qualities than that.


STRUCTURE

The script actually has a very classical three-act structure:

- Act One show Matty and Johnny meeting, and her finally agreeing to go on a date with him.

- Act Two charts the developing relationship, reveals more about the past of the characters (Johnny's violent tendencies and alcoholism), and also sees Matty's estranged husband Werner becoming interested in his wife again when he notices another man moving in on her. It ends with Johnny getting drunk and violent again when he meets his ex-wife and her new boyfriend just as Matty had definitely agreed to a steady relationship. She breaks things off with him.

- Act Three is all about the final choice Matty will have to make: does she take Werner back, does she forgive Johnny and give him a chance or will she stay alone and unloved?

When we look at the major structural points, we get the following:

Opening: Matty shopping at the supermarket with her kids, unhappy, zombie-like
Inciting incident: Matty collides with Johnny in the parking lot. They fight - she comes alive.
Plot Point One: Matty agrees to go on a date with Johnny.
Focus Point/'Pinch' 1: Matty and Johnny have sex in his truck
Midpoint: Werner reveals Johnny has been arrested in the past for beating up his ex-wife.
Focus Point/'Pinch' 2: the disastrous meal where Johnny and Werner first meet and start to quarrel - Matty finally throws food over the both of them.
Plot Point 2: Johnny, drunk, assaults his ex-wife and her lawyer boyfriend, and a disgusted Matty breaks off with him.
Crisis: Johnny serenades Matty with 'Mona Lisa' during the karaoke night - she rushes off in embarrasment.
Climax: Confrontation between Matty and Johnny - she lets go of her anger after punching him in the nose.
Resolution: Matty finally breaks things off with Werner and takes a chance on life with Johnny.

As I mentioned earlier, this structure is largely hidden from view (even though it's obvious once you start analyzing). The events all seem so natural, so true to life, that you're just swept along with the narrative which feels completely organic.

That's not to say everything is 100% perfect, though. Plot point 2 (the confrontation with Johnny's ex) is the one moment where everything feels 'written'. It's the first time Johnny drinks in a long time. He knows he shouldn't - but does so anyway, because he wants to celebrate. Fine, that's possible.

But when he staggers out of the bar, he immediately runs into his ex and her new beau, and picks a fight with them. And in the ensuing scuffle, Matty falls. On top of this, the police show up immediately (the same two policewomen who had intervened in the opening of the script). It all feels too contrived, and it's a narrative misstep which the script never completely recovers from.

It would have been more fitting if Johnny slowly but surely fell back into drinking again, and finally lashed out at Matty over a trivial incident (it would also have been more true to life). As things stand, an 'obviously fictional' incident (possible but not really plausible) intrudes on the reality of the rest of the storyline, and reminds us we're watching fiction rather than real life.

Similarly, we can wonder whether Vera would not tell her mother about her lesbianism before inviting her girlfriend over for an introductory dinner - especially since she was apparently worried enough about her mother's reaction not te mention her sexual orientaion before.

CHARACTERS

Though we've seen that Aanrijding in Moscou is actually tightly constructed, it comes across as a purely character-driven story. Which means that the characters are depicted very succesfully, with multiple layers, good backstory, and a sense that they exist beyond the borders of the script - and that their behaviour is motivated by their emotional and psychological make-up, not by the narrative needs of the script.

The cast is fairly small:

- Matty, 41, postal worker, deserted by husband, disappointed by life

- Johnny, 29, truck driver, romantic, Italophile, recovering alcoholic with violent tendencies, lives with his mother

- Werner, art teacher, Matty's husband, in a mid-life crisis, pretentious, 'trying to find himself', shacked up with a young student of his

These three are the most important characters in the script. We then get the secondary characters:

Vera: 17, Matty's oldest daughter, rebellious (especially towards her dad), outs herself as a lesbian

Fien: 10, youngest child of the family, precocious, obsessed by reading Tarot cards

Peter: 12, Matty's son, introverted, dreams of being a pilot (Peter's role is very small in the film)

Nicky: Matty's co-worker, a lusty woman in her thirties

Jacques: an elderly client of the post office, undertaker, fancies Matty.

Finally, there are tertiary characters who only show up for one scene or who have no important function in the story: an elderly woman at the post office, Nathalie (Johnny's ex) and Maxime (her lawyer boyfriend), the two female cops, and Iris, Vera's pseudo-deep girlfriend.

Matty and Johnny are obviously protagonist and antagonist, while Werner mainly functions as a secondary antagonist. He represents the easy but wrong choice for Matty to make. And he's also an extra threat/obstacle to the relationship between Matty and Johnny, who is needed in order for things not to be too easy for them.

Jacques is a very interesting minor character - more proof of how delicately constructed the film is. He always shows up at the post office with a bunch of mourning cards - sometimes just a few, sometimes a whole bunch - and explains about the person who died. The stories behind the cards always happen comment on Matty's state of mind: sometimes they match it perfectly, sometimes they are in contrast with it, sometimes they foreshadow problems... None of these incidents is chosen at random, or accidentally happens to fit in with the rest of the plot. This is screenwriting at a very high level.

DIALOGUE

Aanrijding in Moscou takes place in a very specific location (a working-class neighbourhood in the city of Ghent), and this is reflected in the dialogue. Everyone speaks the local dialect.

And this dialect is also in the script. Whereas instructors (myself included) generally warn against this, in this case it works, and even when there are a few words which are not readily understood by anyone not from Ghent, the stage directions in the script make it clear what is meant.

More importantly, every character in the script has their own voice. The writers have really succeeded in making them all come alive, and to find their specific register (Werner is slightly pretentious and uses a more refined language, Johnny uses Italian phrases regularly, Matty is the most cynical character in the script and gets the zingiest one-liners - which never sound sit-comlike but fit her character's reality perfectly).


REALISM AND SYMBOLISM

Finally, let's look at the little symbolic details which pepper the script, and which indicate it's more than 'just' a fly-on-the-wall semi-documentary look at life and love in Ledeberg.

When Matty and Johnny first meet, the script specifies a gypsy is playing the violin (badly) at the parking lot, begging for money. But the sound of gypsy violins is a cliché of romance. No one really notices this detail, but subconsciously it primes the viewer (and the reader) for the romantic comedy-like meet cute which is about to take place. And by specifying the scratchiness of the playing, the idea is reinforced that the romance is off-kilter.

Secondly, Johnny gives some licking candy to Matty's kids - and it's decorated with the image of a white knight, an image repeated on Johnny's truck. Another intentional nod to the traditional image of the knight on the white horse coming to save the damsel in distress.

Another clever and subtle use of symbolism and even magic is daughter Fien's use of Tarot cards. No one pays real attention to her 'predictions', it's obviously the type of game a ten-year old kid could have fun with and even believe in, but never during the narrative are these cards treated in a heavy-handed way (Look! This Is Important!)
However - all her predictions come true... every reading she does is basically correct. So once again we get a thread of symbolism interwoven with scenes of extremely everyday reality (Fien always reads the cards when Matty is in the process of making dinner).

There's also the use of Mona Lisa as a symbol for Matty - she understands the picture's emotional meaning much better than Johnny, and when he serenades her with the Nat King Cole song of the same name, it's a realistic interpretation of a very movie-like moment. However, his serenade has an unintended effect - unlike the movies, she doesn't rush into his arms (yet) but she flees the bar in embarassment.


In short, the script provides all the elements for a succesful film. It's also an excellent example of the 'Think local, act global' adage: by firmly anchoring its narrative in an everyday reality, Aanrijding in Moscou transcends its geographical limitations and manages to touch the emotions of audiences all over the world. We can only concur that the script fully deserves the award, and we hope that the writers will be given the opportunity to show off their skills many more times in the future.

How To End It All - in the most satisfactory way for your audience

As Battlestar Galactica, once the best science-fiction show on television, painfully limps towards its three-part finale, the question which poses itself is: where did it all go wrong?



In the original miniseries and the first two seasons, Galactica managed to combine science fictional concepts, space adventure and realistic, multi-faceted characters to an unprecedented degree. Season three started off equally strong, but lost its way in the second half of the season. And the fourth season is drowning in autoparody, weighed down by an ever-increasingly complex and nonsensical mythology, which deliberately raises five questions for each one it answers.

Where have we seen this before?





Oh yes. In the X-files. Instead of providing answers, Chris Carter and co piled on the questions. By the end of the show's ninth season, nobody cared anymore, a painful end for a series which had been a real pop-cultural phenomenon.



Ending a long-running series (with continuing storylines) in a satisfactory way seems to be very difficult. Alias, which started off so well, was nigh unwatchable near the end. Prison Break, which had probably the best gimmicky concept ever on television, managed to lose everything which made it special from season two onwards, and had to wrap everything up in a truncated fourth season.



However, not all series end on such a low note. The Shield had an effective series finale, for the most part. So did The Wire. So did Deep Space Nine and, to an extent, Babylon 5 (which only ran into trouble because it had already used up all its material by the end of season 4 in order to finish the story when cancellation seemed likely).



So what's the difference? What's the reason for one show to bow out on a high note, while others seem to lose the magic they once had, even though the same showrunners stay in command?

In most cases, not knowing where you're going is to blame.

During the X-files' run, it was so obvious that the backstory of the various conspiracies/invasions had not been fully thought out. When I aired this observation (during season 5, I think) in class, one student, an avid fan of the shown, reacted with shock. She couldn't believe that the makers of the show would let her down like that. Well, they did.

And on the commentaries, Ronald D. Moore, Galactica's showrunner, has admitted several times that the show gets made up as it goes along. Which is really a dangerous track to follow once you start messing with prophecies, characters with special destinies, a hidden Final Five group of Cylons which turn out to be regular cast members... The feeling of humanity on the run from an implacable enemy, which may or may not have a valid case for its vengefulness, has been lost completely in all the sub- and counterplots.

Similarly, on Alias, the Rambaldi legacy which drove all the machinations by the various secret factions on the show, was never really determined until the very last episode. And then it turned out to be the least inventive solution to the mystery - it was a simple recipe for immortality.

Knowing where you're going, how you want the show to end, what the true nature of the mysteries behind everything is, is essential if your show is to keep its vibe and vigour. So what if fandom guesses some of your ideas? You can always adjust as you go along, if necessary. But working blind, as it where, just trusting to fate that the brilliant idea to tie everything together will show up at exactly the right moment... that way lies disaster.

It's like the Boy Scouts say: be prepared. And the better you're prepared, the better the end result is likely to be.

More book reviews

ROMANCING THE A-LIST: WRITING THE SCRIPT THE BIG STARS WANT TO MAKE by Christoper Keane (Michael Wiese Press, 2008)

Chris Keane’s second book on screenwriting may seem to be all about creating the big blockbuster on the surface, but it really isn’t. Writing a script to woo an A-list actor doesn’t involve dreaming up a simple high-concept that requires lots of CGI-work – instead, it’s all about creating truly memorable characters and intriguing stories.

The book is largely based on Keane’s workshops. As such, the chapters follow a logic which might seem a little strange at first, but which actually provide a set of (somewhat surprising) building blocks for the entire scriptwriting approach advocated in the book. At first, the focus is on the writer – Keane asks his readers to do a number of exercises which range from choosing your favourite films and to admitting your darkest childhood secret. Careful though, some of these exercises can be very confronting if you're dealing with unresolved traumas.

The meat of the book consists of chapters about situation, concept, story, plot and structure. A lot of good advice here, with some original insights. The final chapters tackle scene outlines and treatments (with examples from Keane’s students), the obligatory breaking-into-Hollywood advice and a short look at adaptation.




THE ART OF PLOTTING: ADD EMOTION, SUSPENSE, AND DEPTH TO YOUR SCREENPLAY by Linda J. Cowgill (Lone Eagle, 2008)

Plotting is a matter of choosing the right story incidents to achieve your goals and making sure they are presented in the best possible order. Having all the necessary elements to construct the central conflict, and making sure the cause-and-effect chains which give meaning to the narrative work, are central concerns, and Ms. Cowgill examines them in depth.

She provides a complete breakdown of Jaws and American Beauty, to illustrate just how these scripts are plotted. And she also looks at sequences, plotting tools for characters and action, and common problems in plotting. One of the more surprising revelations is that the number of major events which can occur in a well-plotted film is actually quite low.

The book is full of very good advice, and although the focus is plainly on ‘traditional’ screenwriting, the focus is on (very) good and well-crafted storytelling. I suppose a few more extensive examples along the lines of the previously-mentioned breakdowns would not have gone amiss, but as a primer for screenplay plotting this book definitely hits the target.




EMOTIONAL STRUCTURE: Creating The Story Beneath The Plot – A Guide For Screenwriters by Peter Dunne (Quill Driver Books, 2007)

This is potentially one of the most important books on screenwriting you can get your hands on. It’s not flawless, but it focuses on the character development side of screenwriting in an unprecedented way.

Dunne basically distinguishes between plot – the actions of the screenplay – and story – the emotional evolution of the characters, and he stressed that both aspects must support and feed off each other in order to create a great script. In his structural model (which is an elaborate version of the three-act structure), the second act focuses on the story, while acts 1 and 3 respectively set up and resolve the plot.

Dunne uses Witness as an example, and the same narrative method is at work in Some Like It Hot. Dunn also provides a great technique to use with index cards.

As a writer, Peter Dunne can be somewhat verbose and too prescriptive, and the script he develops in the book is unfortunately not very good (as usual for scripts developed in screenwriting manuals). But the core content and the practical way in which emotional development is integrated with the narrative structure makes it a book every beginning screenwriter should read.




THE ANATOMY OF STORY: 22 Steps to Becoming a Master Storyteller by John Truby (2008, Faber & Faber)

With this release, we finally get the screenwriting model of the last remaining 'unpublished' big-name guru in print. John Truby has previously taught his method through classes and through the BLOCKBUSTER story development software, but getting this material in book form means that it can now reach a wider audience.

Truby’s approach is explicitly anti-3-act-structure, but his criticism is frankly wrong. He proposes an alternative method which will develop the script organically, but ironically it seems far more complex than most other approaches to screenwriting out there (with the exception of DRAMATICA). His 22 steps combine backstory, characters and narrative events without really helping the writer shape their story.

On the plus side, though, the material on using the story world, creating character webs to people your script in the most effcient way and effectively using symbolism on several narrative levels is very good and deep. For more advanced students of screenwriting the book has some great material to offer, though it’s an unnecessarily textbook-like read. Beginning writers will probably be overwhelmed by the complexity of the method.