Put Desire in its Place

"I've brought you a goal. Sorry I was late."

I read a second draft of a short script earlier today. In it, three drunk, high, college students state their mission for the evening: to score.

The first scene of the script is set at their apartment as they prepare for the evening. The second scene takes place at a party, where said scoring almost-but-not-quite takes place, because, as aforementioned, we're dealing with three drunk, high, college dudes.

In the third scene, the three are pulled over and narrowly escape incarceration when the two conscious friends use their stoned, intoxicated state as an advantage, telling the cop, "We were speeding to bring our [unconscious] friend here to the hospital." The cop lets them go, and they continue on their way, having used their own flaws as an advantage to escape the law.

Assume that each of the three main male characters are well-delineated, that they're distinct from each other, and that they're funny.

What's wrong with this picture?

Well, what's their plot goal? To score. When do they accomplish/not accomplish it? In the middle of the script! Everything they're working towards, their main goal for even leaving the house that night, it's all wrapped up by scene two. They fail at it, and we're left wondering why the rest of the film is there.

My main point is to caution away the blossoming screenwriter from the following:

1. Letting your protagonist acquire that which he/she desires too early.
2. Telling us what said protagonist wants too late.

If your character has a goal (as your character should), then state it as soon as possible. Make it clear. Once it's stated, each of their remaining actions in your script must, in your character's mind, claw them closer to that goal. However, you, as the writer, must keep your protagonist away from his/her goal for as long as possible.

My story note to the writer was to switch the scenes of the pull-over and the arrival at the party. Show the college guys preparing, then show them being pulled over for speeding (being in a rush to score), and then show them arriving. They struggled, they fought, they made it.

Then, when they finally make it to the party, the place where their goal may be attained, that's not when to rest on your laurels and give them their reward, no questions asked. Goodness no.

You thought that readying for the night back at the apartment was tough? You thought that being pulled over meant curtains? Well once these guys meet up with what it is they want, that moment must explode out the biggest plot point. That's the scene to which your audience is most looking forward. Don't disappoint them! These guys fight every challenge they can (themselves, external forces) to make it to this party... only once they make it there, the most unexpected, dramatic event of all has to happen. Something less anticlimactic than, "The girls reject them," something less predictable than, "The girls are men," and something less passive/absurd than, "There's a gas leak and the whole party explodes."

What will happen?

Well, that's up to you, as the writer, to decide. Whatever it is, the pointers I'd give you would be to ensure that your main characters be at the center of it. Preferably the cause of it. Maybe these guys strike out, light up a bong to drown their sorrows, end up lighting the place on fire, and then have to end up saving the very girls who gave them the cold shoulder, one page prior. That's ironic. That's active. That's fun to watch. They transition from deadbeats to heroes in short order.

You could add in a final gag with the cop who pulled them over. He arrives to investigate the fire, he sees these same guys from before, and chases them off - ultimately giving us the final irony, that in their hurry to make it to the party to score, they end up not scoring at all. But at least they grabbed the girls' numbers. Etc.

This sort of situation comes up more often than you'd think. Indiana Jones spends most of Raiders of the Lost Ark, The Temple of Doom, and The Last Crusade seeking the ark, sankara stones, and grail, respectively. But in Kingdom of the Crystal Skull he grabs the skull in the middle of the story. He then spends the rest of the film with a new goal, which is to keep it out of the hands of the Russians. But once the main goal is accomplished, are we all that interested? There's some good action scenes, but a good action scene does not a compelling film make. He goes from someone who wanted something to someone who has something that he has to keep from everyone else. The first story, the search, the hunt, was far more interesting. Indiana remains Indiana, and no one really changes.

On the flip side, goals can sometimes be unstated until way too far into the film. This year's critical darling, Beasts of the Southern Wild, runs like a documentary until about 70 minutes in, when Hushpuppy decides to seek out her mother. Why she didn't try to seek her out any earlier is anyone's guess, but the film, despite being packed with conflict, essentially shows us a series of slice-of-life vignettes, with no real sense of character goals, until it's time to look for mom, far later into the film than it should be. I realize I'm likely in the minority on this, but for me, it makes the difference between a one-time theater watch and a later purchase, or even repeat viewing as a rental. Once was enough.

Bottom line: tell us what your protagonist wants as soon as possible. Then, force them into trying to obtain it. And lastly, keep them from acquiring it for as long as possible. Keep us guessing. Ask more questions than you answer. Your audience will thank you for it.

What's more, I'll even buy your film and watch it over and over again.

Eight Character Development Steps

I've taken classes where instructors assign character biographies. At first, to me, it seemed that writing a character bio was a waste of time: who cares if your protagonist was picked last for soccer games throughout middle school? Your film is about the way he is now, a 30-something architect and father who stands to lose everything after a business rival sabotages his latest and greatest building plans. What does one have to do with the other?

"It bestows immortality and tastes like rich, chocolate Ovaltine."

Screenwriter D. B. Gilles, who was an instructor of mine as an undergrad, writes that some storytellers start out with a killer story idea:

"The Holy Grail has been found, and the Nazis are after it."
"A prison break."
"A pauper finds a magic lamp."

...and others come up with the character first:

"An overprotective father who's lost his entire family except for one son."
"A cynical, world-weary nightclub owner in Morocco."
"A college dropout crushed by suicidal guilt after the death of his older brother."

There's no one "right" way to write (although there are plenty of wrong ways), and so as a writer, you can work either way, as befits your style.

However, I've found more and more that if you're starting from square one, having just a little bit of information about your character will essentially dictate your entire story arc. Put another way, if you can answer the following eight questions about your character, then you'll be well on your way to placing that character into a compelling, evocative story before you even type FADE IN:


1. What are they best at/worst at?

What UCLA/Hollins's Tim Albaugh calls, "Larger than life." What makes your character amazing? What is their skill set that sets them apart? Is it an asset or a liability? How is it integrated (i.e., how will it come into play over the course of your narrative)? What makes your character interesting from the beginning?


2. What is their greatest tangible desire?

What's the plot goal? The grail? Nemo? Ilsa Lund? Moving a house to Paradise Falls? What does your protagonist want more than anything else, something that he/she will move heaven and earth to attain? This must be something tangible, and not an abstract concept like "love," "respect," or "success." If they're after these things, then you must show a physical representation of it. Something that has a clear before and after moment: "Now that I've won the girl, I've found love," or "Now that I've found the grail, my father will respect me."


3. What is their greatest fear?

This question sets up what it is that your character must face. Whatever it is that they fear the most has to be an ever-hanging sword above their head. If they don't like spiders, they have to face the biggest, ugliest spider they've ever seen. If they fear solitude, then force them to confront their loneliness. This is where you dream up an ideal antagonist for your main character. Whoever it is they face off against must somehow evoke that of which your lead role is the most terrified. It's fun to watch people move past their fears. So will it be with your protagonist.


4. What are the stakes?

Blake Snyder calls these primal. He even goes as far as to say that your protagonist must somehow always be facing death. Death can be a metaphor for something else (there are things that are worse than death, after all), but whatever represents the worst possible outcome for your character must be omnipresent. In Up, if Carl doesn't move his house to Paradise Falls within three days, he won't make it there, and the single greatest promise he made to his late wife will remain forever unfulfilled (which would be tantamount to an emotional death, rather than physical). Donnie Darko has a month to save the universe from destruction. In Casablanca, the outcome of World War II might depend on whether or not Rick Blaine gives the letters of transit to his former lover and her husband. This must be a big deal. Somehow or other, lives must be at stake. If your protagonist fails, his/her life will be forever and irrevocably changed for the worse.


5. What is the wound?

Your character needs to have missed the boat on something. An opportunity to be the bigger person needs to have come their way, and in not taking it, tragedy struck. In Braveheart William Wallace's inaction in the beginning leads to the slaughter or his wife. In Finding Nemo, Marlin loses 400 family members in seconds. Ilsa walked out on Rick in Casablanca. This answers the questions, "Why is this character the way he/she is?" Why is Wallace such a ruthless war leader? Why is Marlin such a suffocating parent? Why is Rick so cynical? Have you ever played with a baby? They're lumps of happiness. Fast forward 20 years and they've become judgmental, self-centered, and selfish. What the hell happened? That's your wound.


6. What is their main flaw?

Perfect characters are boring. We like watching characters who are complex puzzles because we are complex puzzles, ourselves. As such, your character's biggest flaw must not only be intrinsically linked with their wound, but it also must shine forth as the character's defining characteristic. Whatever their flaw is, they must be wearing it on their sleeve in each and every scene. It tells them who to befriend, where to go, what to do, how to act. Their flaw defines them, and they spend the rest of your film trying to transcend it and define themselves.


7. How are they sympathetic?

The best characters remind us of ourselves, and as such they must deal with universal themes: love, loss, reaching for a goal, and so on. Everyone, from China to Brazil to Nigeria to Poland to Baltimore, everyone knows what it's like to have loved somebody or lost somebody. We all know what it's like to be jealous, to feel pain, to aspire to be greater. The most successful franchises deal with these themes. Your characters must remind us of ourselves. They must be underdogs. We need to want to see them win, because we want to see ourselves win.


8. Who are their allies?

Aesop said, "You're judged by the company you keep." Who are the sorts with whom your character kicks back? Who are his/her friends? How do they compliment your protagonist without being another version of your protagonist? How are they opposites? Why are they friends? What needs do they have that the other fills? How do these relationships change over the course of the film? They have to. They must be twisted, strained, and pushed to the breaking point. Sometimes, allies become enemies. Sometimes, allies remind protagonists of what they're fighting for. Regardless, as a film is the crisis point of your character's life, it must also represent, in extreme fashion, the crisis point of these relationships.


If you can answer these questions about your character, then you're much further along into telling us who they are, what motivates them, what actions they'll take, what they want, and why we want them to win it. In short, you'll be that much closer to a film. You can do it!