Читать книгу The Story Solution - Eric Edson - Страница 12

chapter three

How CHANGE GRIPS AN

AUDIENCE

Most people work pretty hard avoiding change. Some of us even fear changing the really lousy parts of life. But then we get to go to the movies.

At the cinema we cut loose and enjoy change. With zero personal risk, we insist on it. One major reason why everybody loves the movies so much is that the language of film is a language of constant change.

Skilled screenwriters hook an audience through identification with the hero, then hold them in thrall by manipulating the story to provide a relentless flow of transformative events.

Whether a movie comes on big and loud or small and whispery, an audience expects each hero to end up someplace very different from the home ground where the story began.

At the start of Forrest Gump, Forrest (Tom Hanks) is a slow-witted handicapped kid who gets bullied all the time. He hasn’t got a snowball’s chance of ever amounting to anything. By the end of the movie he’s a famous self-made millionaire tycoon war hero, as well as a wise, loving husband and father. Change.

At the start of Bridget Jones’ Diary, Bridget is a low-level office drone lacking in self-worth, romantically attracted to cads, and unable to find any man willing to marry her. By the end she’s a self-possessed, nationally renowned TV newswoman in love with, and loved by, a wonderful and wealthy barrister. Bridget and her world have changed completely.

The only powerful piece of dramatic writing I can remember that’s about a lack of change is Samuel Beckett’s classic stage play Waiting for Godot. And it’s revealing to note that even though Godot was made into a film, I don’t know two people who have ever actually seen the movie version. No change.

Cumulative story transformation is built from a series of smaller changes that take place step by step throughout the whole story. An audience will only remain emotionally involved in a movie if they experience units of change at regular intervals.

And here’s the kicker: the number of smaller changes needed for any film story to succeed dramatically is both quantifiable and constant.

The function of change as the central driving dramatic force in all movie plots is not random. The size and purpose of story events required for each unit of change to work well is not random either. You can, in fact, predict exactly the number and degree of story change bumps needed, and you can time almost to the minute when those bumps should appear.

Soon I will show you the exact number of “change units” needed for every feature film. This yardstick is so precise you will always know in advance whether or not your script will work emotionally for an audience.

These units of change are Hero Goal Sequences_®.

Every successful motion picture story you’ve ever enjoyed can be broken down this way. Once you learn to identify these units you then have a tool to build your own gripping, effective screenplays. No more guess work. You can instead know exactly how to shape a script for the maximum dramatic punch.

I realize there are lots of people who want to conceive of the creative writing process as an eternally unfathomable thing. These good souls will naturally resist any practical analysis of story “pieces” for fear their creative spark will somehow be extinguished.

But compare the idea of 23 Hero Goal Sequences_® to the progressive chapters in a book. Each passing chapter lays the groundwork for the next. They link and build on each other.

The mere concept of an organizing tool called “chapters” does not in any way inhibit or limit what the book can be about, nor does it diminish its power, its originality, or its artistic achievement.

A symphony usually requires a series of prescribed movements. The movements come in an expected order, and these parts, too, build on each other. This organizational concept has served composers very well for centuries.

So before jumping to any conclusions about where this book is leading, ponder Mozart. Or Dickens.

We will consider in later chapters the exact use of Goal Sequences for designing strong stories. But for now, simply keep in mind that planning dramatic change effectively is an essential component of great screenwriting.

THE NEED FOR HIGH STAKES

High stakes motivate any hero to pursue big change.

Consider, if you will, a friendly Friday night card game you’ve got going around your kitchen table.

Poker night with your buddies. Horsing around, laughter, beer. Everybody buzzing and no one’s really paying much attention to the current hand being dealt.

Then suddenly Lorraine drops a clattering fistful of chips in the middle of the table.

Silence falls. Everyone realizes… that’s the fattest pot they’ve ever seen. Lorraine grins.

All eyes turn toward sweet, soft-spoken Jerry, next in line for the bet. He wipes a sweaty palm on his pant leg. Deciding if Lorraine’s bluffing or not now means serious money.

Not to mention that until a couple months ago Jerry and Lorraine were married. Before she taped a “Dear Jerry” note on the aquarium tank and ran off with the pool man.

The jocular mood of the evening evaporates. Everyone waits to see what poor Jerry will do.

Lorraine radiates an irksome confidence behind her golden tan, gives off that needling smell of chlorine she always has about her these days. Jerry looks pale.

He clears his throat. Then slides out every last chip he’s got. His rent for next month. “It’s not like you haven’t lied before,” Jerry mutters.

Lorraine runs her tongue across collagen lips.

Then oh so slowly, one by one, she lays down her cards.

Are we curious to find out who wins?

Sure. Because this poker game isn’t just about the money anymore. Although there are plenty of bucks on the table, additionally this showdown is about a broken heart, a dream shattered, a love betrayed, and the possible loss of a home. All of which raise the stakes.

Audiences are far more interested in what happens next when the hero stands to lose something important. And the more urgently a hero wants something, the more willing they are to take any big risk necessary to get it.

A guy who is a total slob might suddenly set out to clean up his act after he falls desperately in love with a compulsively neat woman. And a young lady addicted to drugs may finally find the courage to quit after she learns she’s pregnant.

The greater the need, the higher the stakes, the more riveting your script.

Let’s say you’re thinking of having your hero dye her hair bright red in Act Two. A new coiffure will be a nice visual change.

So is that a good story idea or not?

It depends. If your Hero is simply changing her hair color on a whim, there’s no burning necessity. It will just slow things down.

But in The Pelican Brief, Darby (Julia Roberts) stops to dye her hair while she’s hiding out alone in a New Orleans hotel room. Killers are closing in. She’s desperately trying to conceal her identity in order to escape. And being by herself in the hotel room is all the more bitterly painful because just an hour ago Darby witnessed the man she loves being blown to pieces by a car bomb.

In this case the hero changing her hair color is an urgent action fueled by incredibly high stakes. She must change her appearance and vanish into the crowd or die.

Big stakes raise the temperature of everything and we can’t pull our eyes away from people who are experiencing ever higher levels of emotional heat.

TYPES OF HIGH STAKES

Since having something important at stake draws an audience ever more deeply into your story, we need to know the various kinds of stakes that make the hero’s desire for change as gripping as possible. Here’s the list:

1. LIFE OR DEATH.

List finished.

What’s at stake for the hero must be on the level of nothing less than life or death. Only the highest motivation will drive the lead forward through all the insurmountable obstacles to come and keep viewers riveted to the very end.

But aren’t there lots of films where the possibility that the hero might get killed isn’t even a consideration? Like in most comedies?

Of course. And in dramatic writing there are two subcategories of life or death stakes.

1. LIFE OR DEATH STAKES, TYPE A

The literal kind.

Here, if the hero fails, he’s burnt toast. Finito.

This represents perhaps 80% of all commercial motion pictures produced by Hollywood.

Look at any of the big studios’ summer release schedules. You’ll see very few films where the possible outcome for the hero is anything less than to stay alive or get dead.

2. LIFE OR DEATH STAKES, TYPE B

The metaphorical kind.

When someone experiences a soul-wrenching defeat or loss from which they never fully recover, we often speak of that person as having “died inside.” Or that they’re among “the walking dead.” Even though they continue to breathe and work and eat, we recognize such a person as a mere shell of their former self.

Besides physical death there can be a death of the spirit.

Anyone who has ever fought for the ultimate prize of true love knows that quest, too, is a matter of life or death.

Serendipity is a romantic comedy about Jonathan (John Cusack) and Sara (Kate Beckinsale), who meet, spend a few gloriously romantic hours together, and feel the lightening bolt strike. But Sara sets up a test for Jonathan in order to see if fate really intends them for each other. Unfair Injury strikes and causes Jonathan to blow Sara’s test. They are parted.

Years later, both are within hours of marrying someone less worthy. Separately, Jonathan and Sara sense they might be marrying the wrong person because maybe, just maybe, destiny’s True Intended for them was lost years before.

In the desperate few hours before matrimony, each takes off on a mad hunt for the other.

What charm Serendipity possesses grows out of the way the filmmakers play off of the metaphorical life or death stakes built into a there’s-only-one-true-love-for-me philosophy: either lovers recognize their preordained perfect match at the instant they meet, or the chance for ultimate happiness vanishes forever.

And the fact that Sara and Jonathan are both only hours away from marriage to the wrong people raises these emotional life or death stakes to the maximum wattage.

There are hundreds of movies with impending weddings in them because that’s where some of the highest emotional stakes in life can be found. Theoretically, at least, weddings create a permanent union. So the looming stakes of personal fulfillment or eternal loss rise to a level of spiritual life or death.

In the middle of the romantic comedy Working Girl, hero Tess McGill goes to a blue collar bar in the low-rent New Jersey neighborhood where she has always lived, to attend a wedding shower for her best friend, Cyn (Joan Cusack). Tess was born into this working-class world, but she’s now scheming to become a successful business executive.

Tess arrives at Cyn’s wedding shower in a tailored suit with her hair and makeup strictly high class — looking very different from her home-front friends. As the whole party watches, Tess’s boyfriend Mick (Alec Baldwin), a commercial fisherman, gets down on one knee and asks Tess to marry him — even though just two days earlier Tess caught him in bed with another woman. Put on the spot, Tess answers with a tepid “maybe.”

Storming away from the bar, Mick rails that Tess made a fool out of him. Tess retorts, “I’m not steak. You can’t order me.” Mick declares that until she gets her priorities straight, they’re through. He huffs off.

Now Tess walks down to the Hudson River and gazes out across night waters to the glowing lights of Manhattan on the far side. It’s crystal clear she no longer belongs in this working-class world. She can’t go home again.

Those twinkling lights of New York City are now Tess’s only hope to become the free and self-possessed person she longs to be.

The stakes of Tess’s upcoming business deal have just become — metaphorical life or death. The highest stakes possible.

I’ve read scores of screenplays by newcomers with plots involving heroes who are working toward a job promotion, just like Tess McGill. But often what’s missing is that if the hero doesn’t get the desired promotion, nothing will change. Life will go on as before and there’s no price to be paid if the hero doesn’t succeed.

Recently I read an otherwise well-written script – except it was built around this plot: a handsome, brilliant, rich young man works as a mid-level executive in his mother’s huge corporation. He maneuvers for a promotion but does not get it. With pique the hero quits his mom’s company and sets up a business in direct competition against his mother. Helped by his very rich friends, right away the hero bags a big deal and his company grows larger than mom’s. The end.

What was at stake for this hero?

Absolutely nothing.

When he doesn’t get his promotion from mama he’s still rich, still handsome, and still heir to a vast fortune. Even when he leaves his mom’s company he remains the apple of mama’s eye, still in a privileged position and helped by everyone.

Events take place in this story, but there’s no change, nothing to lose, no issue of deep importance at stake for the hero aside from his own ego.

Compare that to the setup in Legally Blonde. Here the hero Elle Woods (Reese Witherspoon) also hails from a rather privileged background. But Elle is deeply in love with Warner — who dumps her when he heads off to attend Harvard Law School. Shattered, Elle decides that the only way to land her man again is to get into Harvard Law herself and prove to Warner just how classy she can be.

Everyone sees Elle as an air-headed blonde without a chance in Hades of making it into Harvard Law. But through smarts and hard work, she does get in. Then when Elle follows Warner to law school she finds everyone at Harvard also assumes she’s a dumb blonde. Warner quickly becomes engaged to an “old money” snob… and Elle’s goal of marrying Warner slips further away than ever.

She’s rejected and humiliated even though Elle shows a warm and caring heart and goes out of her way to help people. Elle now stands in for all of us who have ever seen ourselves as misunderstood and undervalued… which is just about everybody.

Elle’s quest after Warner becomes a battle to resolve for a lifetime her own worth as a person, her spiritual life or death.

See the difference that high stakes make between these two stories?

Also note the character sympathy tools used in Legally Blonde to connect us emotionally to the hero. All nine sympathy enhancers are employed: Courage, Unfair Injury, Skill, In Danger, a Nice Person, Funny, Loved by Others, Hard Working, and Obsessed.

ONLY THE HERO CAN MAKE CHANGE HAPPEN

Change is certainly critical in each screen story, but the source of energy pressing to make that change happen is key as well. It must come from the hero and no one else.

To be special, to be brave, to be a cut above ordinary folks, your hero must seize his own fate and actively work for a solution to the conflict he faces. If anyone else solves your hero’s problem for him, your movie will fizzle.

Elle Woods in Legally Blonde begins her journey as a young woman who plans to make a career out of living for surfaces; getting her nails and hair done, and designing the perfect pink wardrobe. This is all that’s ever been expected of Elle.

But when Warner dumps her and goes off to law school, our hero is suddenly losing forever the one man who defines her life.

So the hero musters all her courage and fights back.

That’s how every good movie begins. Into the life of a sympathetic hero plops a Big Problem, igniting in the hero a strong desire to create a change that will solve the problem. The lead sucks up her courage and sets out to beat the Big Problem or die trying, physically or metaphorically.

By the end of Legally Blonde, Elle Woods has altered her whole world. No one thinks Elle a dumb blonde anymore. She single-handedly wins an important criminal case, graduates at the top of her law school class, and she bags Warner, who by now is groveling to get her back.

But Elle’s inner world has matured as well. She at last sees clearly that what she wanted at the beginning of the movie, Warner, isn’t really worth wanting at all. By the end she no longer desires to be just an ornament on some man’s arm. She’s become ambitious and respected. Elle tells Warner that if she’s going to make law firm partner by 30, she needs a boyfriend who isn’t such a complete bonehead.

Oh, how Elle has changed.

But here’s the key reason we’re so entertained as we watch this hero achieve her transformation. She does it through her own willpower and actions.

When we observe bad things happen to a hero who just stands there and doesn’t fight back, it’s only interesting for a short while. When we see a character create his own destiny through personal choices and strong efforts, we remain enthralled to the end.

Part of the great value of Hero Goal Sequences_® is that they will ensure your hero never becomes passive. Every screenwriter must learn how to spot passive central characters because they sink scripts faster than concrete shoes sink gangsters.

House of Sand and Fog tells the story of Kathy (Jennifer Connelly), a young woman evicted from her recently inherited home because the city has made a mistake about unpaid taxes. Her house gets auctioned off to a refugee Iranian, Colonel Behrani (Ben Kingsley), who sees the bargain-priced dwelling as a last hope for his struggling family. Kathy tries to tell everyone that a mistake has been made. Colonel Behrani fights back.

In its initial theatrical release this film did very little business at the box office. I believe there are two primary reasons.

First, the lead character of Kathy, as written, is not sympathetic. She’s churlish, ungrateful, stupid, uncourageous, self-pitying, and bad at the most basic tasks in life. On the other hand, Kathy’s adversary Colonel Behrani possesses the qualities of courage, love, strength, kindness, and charm. Our emotional sympathies are completely out of whack. We like the adversary and don’t like the hero. Trouble ahead.

Secondly, the hero is passive. When the going gets tough, Kathy’s solution is to attempt suicide. But she proves as incompetent at suicide as she is at everything else. When that doesn’t work out for her, she just slumps into a state of complete passivity and stops taking any action at all. Throughout the entire third act the hero of House of Sand and Fog is either unconscious or wandering in an aimless daze. Literally.

Since Kathy does nothing to resolve her own conflict, it becomes the action of the hero’s married boyfriend, a demented cop we also dislike, that drives the movie forward to a climax.

The coffin nails for House of Sand and Fog are an unsympathetic hero, and a passive hero. The heroes we want to watch are active, not reactive.

SUMMING UP

• Audiences enjoy movies that give them what they often avoid in life: change. The emotionally loaded experience screenwriters seek to create in a film story is always built around a concept of constant dramatic plot evolution.

• The big change in a screen story, from the hero’s situation at the start of the movie to his very different situation at the end, is constructed from a series of smaller changes that take place step by step through the movie. The exact number and content of these actions are predictable and have been named Hero Goal Sequences®.

• High stakes are essential for dramatic change to be effective. The only story stakes powerful enough to grip an audience throughout a film are literal life or death, or metaphorical life or death — when the hero risks losing something life-defining like true love, self-worth, or personal fulfillment.

• Only the actions of the hero can successfully push story change forward. Responsibility for making things happen in the plot of a movie cannot be turned over to any other character.

• Passive Heroes who do not take action to solve their own problems must be avoided.

EXERCISE:

Choose any two commercially successful American movies that have one hero in the story. First, read the questions below so you know what to look for, then watch the first twenty minutes and last twenty minutes of both films carefully. Answer the following questions:

1. What is the hero’s ordinary life situation at the start of each story? Be specific and include geography, friends, conflicts, work world, housing, attitude, dreams, happiness/unhappiness with a mate (or the lack of one), what’s wrong in her society, disappointments and joys, emotionally guarded or not, etc.

2. What is the hero’s life situation at the end of each movie? As compared to his ordinary life at the beginning, how has the HERO’S EXTERIOR WORLD CHANGED? How has HIS INNER PERSONAL LIFE CHANGED?

3. How is the hero personally instrumental in making this CHANGE come about?

4. What’s AT STAKE for the hero in accomplishing the goal that drives each story? Are those stakes life or death — either literally or metaphorically?

5. How many clear, individual moments of CHANGE in the hero’s circumstances do you see unfolding as the story progresses in those parts of the films?