The Problem with Argo

The line for Epcot is insane.

I enjoyed Ben Affleck's Argo, Kathryn Bigelow's Zero Dark Thirty, and Joel Surnow and Robert Cochran's 24, formerly on Fox. These three properties have a bit in common:

1. They include some of the best suspense writing of the past dozen years.
2. I probably won't ever watch them again.

It comes down to character. It's fun to watch characters change. I could watch Pixar's Up once a week. Tom Hooper's Les Miserables, also. The difference I'm talking about is one regarding plot-driven vs. character-driven. Reactive vs. active. And when I refer to active, I don't mean just physically. A storyteller knows that the physical journey (the trip to Iran to free the Americans, the hunt for Bin Laden, stopping a bomb) is only half the story. The other half is the emotional component: how does Carl Fredricksen change over the course of Up? How does Jean Valjean change in Les Miserables?

Slate critic Dana Stevens writes that Ben Affleck's Tony Mendez, "...remains something of an emotional cipher, and not in a mysterious way, just in a dull one... The night before Mendez and the houseguests make their big break for the airport, Affleck gives us a dusk-to-dawn montage of Mendez alone in his hotel room, smoking cigarettes and drinking whiskey as he wrestles with whether or not to go through with the plan. With the right actor, this wordless interlude could have made for a powerful existential mini-drama: the dark night of the CIA-agent soul. Instead, it just sort of felt like watching Ben Affleck get hammered."

I'd say that it's even more than picking the right actor. The bit about Mendez "taking a break" from his wife and child seems tacked on, and resolves itself so quickly in the end that one is forced to wonder if it was written by the same writer. How is Mendez a lackluster father? Why does he need to "take a break" from his family? How do his actions in Iran help him realize that his son needs him as a role model? They don't. He has a job. He does it. The end. The film is entertaining, but you already know how it ends. There's a plot in Argo, but it lacks a theme. What's Argo trying to tell us? Something about courage, I'd guess, but for who's sake? Mendez is driven, but why? For himself? His son? His country? We simply don't know why he does what he does. We just know that he does it, and while it's suspenseful, a potential flat performance comes out of a flat character.

There's a similar issue at work in Zero Dark Thirty. Like Argo, the direction, cinematography, and production design are notably tight. But I'm looking at this through screenwriting glasses, and the view dismays.

Jessica Chastain plays firebrand CIA operative Maya. Detroit News critic Tom Long says, "Here's how good an actress Jessica Chastain is: She can make a hero out of nobody... Chastain is basically working with nothing here: We have no insights into Maya's background, her personal life, her inner turmoils, nothing."

The plot question of Zero is, "Will Maya catch Bin Laden?" The thematic question, the emotional component is... do you know? Because I don't. Maya's obsessed with finding Bin Laden. That's all the information we have about her. Sure, her friend Jessica (Jennifer Ehle) dies in a terrorist attack (mid-film) and that strengthens Maya's resolve... but Maya's already firing on all cylinders, by then. Does her friend's death change anything? No, it doesn't. Maya was already treating the hunt like a personal crusade, so much so that when it does become a personal crusade, the energy level, already high, doesn't creep much higher.

Did Maya lose someone in the 9/11 attacks? Does she come from a family of federal operatives, and she was never good enough for her father? What drives her? What drives Tony Mendez in Argo? What drives Jack Bauer (Kiefer Sutherland) in 24?

They work for the government: it's their job to be driven, to catch the bad guys. But not everyone is drawn to that line of work, and the people who are appear endlessly fascinating to those of us on the outside. Look at the success of a show like Dick Wolf's Law and Order. Of course, Law and Order is also plot-driven. It's the process that interests us, as opposed to the people.

Argo and Zero Dark Thirty are films about processes. In the midst of all their suspense, people take a back seat.

To me, at least, people are more fascinating. I'm not saying that every film should be just about character or just about story.

I'm saying that every film should be just about both.

Three Ways to Introduce Your Protagonist

She'll be back.

I recently read a first draft script from a promising writer about a young woman battling hormone-drenched desires while growing up in a conservative, religious environment. The very first scene in which we encounter the young woman, she's masturbating in a school bathroom. While it's an eyebrow-raising introduction to the character, I ultimately advised the writer against it.

When it comes to introducing your protagonist, there's a fine line to walk for any writer. Here are three things to keep in mind:


1. Your Character vs. the World.

The first introduction to a character is crucial, and it usually comes around the same time as our introduction to the world you've created. Some writers establish the world first. Some establish the character first. My advice is to establish both at once. Show the fishbowl along with the fish. How is your character at once a part of and at the same time separate from the world of your film? How do they see things? How do their friends/family/coworkers see them? Alan Ball's American Beauty script does a fantastic job of setting up Lester Burnham (Kevin Spacey) and the world of the film within the film's first five minutes. We not only have a good handle on how Lester perceives himself, but also how those around him perceive him. "Both my wife and daughter think I'm this gigantic loser. And they're right. I have lost something." He spends the rest of the film clawing to grab it back.


2. Avoid the Gratuitous.

Opening up on a masturbation scene will attract viewer attention like a lightning rod. That's good if you're going for attention, in the same way that opening on a gruesome murder is a good way to go for attention. However, consider the opening to any episode of Law and Order: there's an illegal act, which is oftentimes shocking, but the act itself is only as shocking as the context in which it appears. Why else do we spend the rest of the episode clamoring for justice? We care about those who have been wronged, and we want justice served.

Even in a film like Quentin Tarantino's Kill Bill: Volume One, the opening scene, a blood-spattered bride on a chapel floor, is full of character, story, and context. Check out the dialogue for that scene:

We have one shot, and it's a disturbing one, at that. It's dark, violent, and grabs our attention immediately. It's iconic. But it's more than a beaten woman, shot on a floor. We learn so many things about the woman and her assailant in this scene that, if we don't mind the violence, we can't help but tune in for the remaining minutes of volumes one and two. This scene sets up so much, but ultimately, it forces us to ask two questions:

A. Why does a man who commits such a sadistic act consider himself, instead, masochistic?

B. What's the deal with the baby?

The two films are about a woman who seeks revenge for her own attempted murder and the apparent murder of her unborn child. The first scene of the first film tells us everything we need to know. It grabs attention, tells us a lot about the characters, and moves the story forward. It's a lot to do, but you absolutely must do it.


3. Show Us Their Uniqueness and Specific Problem.

Your protagonist sticks out. We're following him/her as opposed to his/her friends, parents, teachers, and so on.

So why are we doing that? What makes your character notable? It needs to be more than, "they're the only one who masturbates in the school lavatory." What will make your character unique is indeed what they do, but also why they do it. Why does Lester Burnham pursue the affections of a cheerleader? Why does Tony Stark seek to keep his own company's weapons out of the hands of terrorists in Iron Man? Why does Rick Blaine seek to use the letters of transit as leverage in Casablanca?

Your character is larger than life: he or she is the very best at something or the very worst at something. This is why we're following this character as opposed to another. Furthermore, your character has two problems: the first being the internal, thematic dilemma - what your character needs to do to become a better person. Then, there's the external, plot issue - what your character must do to fix unfortunate external circumstances. How your specific character grapples with both of these creates your entire story.

Regardless of what your character fights internally and externally, you have to show these to your audience as quickly as possible. Not to jam it down their throats, but to create a need to know and most importantly, a need to care. Andrew Stanton of Pixar calls this the number one commandment of storytelling: make me care. Within the first 10 pages of your feature, if we don't care, you've lost us. Tarantino does it in 30 seconds in Kill Bill.

You can do it, too.