It’s About Time

Those who check this blog may be thinking “It’s about time he wrote something new.”  In my own defense I have moved (and do you really need any other excuse?) and I worked feverishly to finish the first pass on a crime novel.

Both moving and writing prose made me think about the differences between prose and screenwriting and the biggest difference to me can be summed up in the one word: time.  It really is about time.  A screenplay is a blueprint for a story that will be told typically by someone else.  With a novel the writer is telling the story, and telling a story is about time.

Telling a story is about conveying bits of information and whoever tells the story has their own personal opinion on how fast or slow to feed the audience information, what bits are more important, and what bits can be glossed over.  There is a perhaps apocryphal story about “Casablanca” in which director Michael Curtiz staged the famous climactic scene without a pause.  Claude Raines’ Captain Renault says “Major Strasser has been shot.  Round up the usual suspects.”  Julius Epstein, one of the writers, stepped in to explain that the entire gag is based on a key pause between those sentences.  The first bit of information (the first sentence) is delivered, then a pause during which we cut to various characters as they wonder what will happen next.  They, and the audience, wonder if Renault will arrest Bogart’s Nick.  The next sentence releases the tension created by this expectation and we are both relieved that Nick is safe and heartened that Renault has taken a stand against the Nazis.

Writers can not always be on the set to ensure that the director will get the timing of the story right.  It can be agonizing and infuriating for writers to see how a director with lousy timing has wrecked the pacing of the story.  Perhaps just as frequently, a talented director has tweaked and altered a poorly paced script by dropping lines and turning labored action into a quick montage.  A relevant example of that might be “The Fugitive” where director Andrew Davis (perhaps after seeing a sluggish test screening ) turned the entire first act of the movie into an extended credit sequence montage.

Film directors and editors have tremendous control over time.  Not only can they edit the text, but they can coach the actors to speed up or slow down a performance.  Capra would rehearse a scene and time it, then tell the actors to cut that time in half.  Today’s directors and producers favor lots of coverage that provides total control to either tighten a scene, or let it breath.  There is a potential downside to this as both director and editor can become so familiar with the information being conveyed in a scene that they unconsciously speed up it’s presentation. Look up the word “velocitation” for more on becoming accustomed to traveling at fast speeds.

Pre-production is often where timing is worked out in the director’s mind, and there are ways a writer can influence the timing of a story.  Inserting a line of action between two lines of dialogue will hint that a pause should come there.  Some writers just write “beat” but specific actions are always better.  Care should be taken with such stage direction as some directors resent being told how to direct a scene, and often actors get bent out of shape with any attempt to dictate their performance.  Creating a rhythm to the dialogue as evident in the work of David Mamet or Aaron Sorkin can also guide actors and directors as to the timing of a scene.

If you want complete control over the timing of your story, however, write prose.  Actors may control the pacing in the theater, and directors and editors shape it in film, but in prose the writer is the storyteller, and it is important to develop the instinct for pacing and rhythm and time.

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Act II and the need for a Fatal Flaw

Everyone knows screenplays are based on a three-act structure.  That was chiseled into stone by Syd Field way back in the dark ages.  Well, at the risk of upsetting the screenwriting gods, I think Syd was wrong.  I proudly champion a four act structure.     You take that long marathon of a second act and divide it in two.  Look at many films and you’ll find a different tone and goals from the first half of Act II to the second half.  So why not recognize that reality and break that long mother of an act into two more bite-sized chunks?

For example, in “The Wizard of Oz” you could say all of Act II takes place in Oz so it’s all the same act.   But dig deeper and you’ll see that the first half of Act II (what I call Act II) involves a yellow brick road and meeting allies.   The second half of Act II (what I call Act III) involves going after the witches broom and fighting flying monkeys.

Every time I break a story, I look for a grand universal equation to help me structure that long mid-section.  One reliable component to that equation is that Act III is where things get worse for the hero, ending in the classic “Death Moment” where all hope seems lost.  What you need to create this peril is a FATAL FLAW inherent in your premise.  A lot of endeavors have a fatal flaw.  The founding of the United States was possible only by compromising on the issue of slavery, a compromise that led to the the Civil War.  Superman has powers because he’s from Krypton, but Kryptonite will weaken him.  “Tootsie” achieved success as an actor, but only by passing himself off as a woman.  You need to find the FATAL FLAW in your premise or make one up.

The film “Wedding Crashers” has a good example of a FATAL FLAW.  The hero is trying to win a woman, but is doing so by lying about his identity.  This lie will ultimately be revealed and cause his downfall in Act III.  It seems inevitable, but consider “Wedding Crashers” could have been written without the issue of false identity.  The two buddies could have crashed weddings without pretending to be other people.  It’s not like there were bouncers checking ID’s.  In fact, it would probably have been easier to crash wedding by not using a fake name.  That fake-name lie had little bearing on the execution of the first half of the film, but had the writers not included it, they would have found themselves high and dry in Act III.  It’s only by including that FATAL FLAW component to the premise of the movie that they had the complications needed to sustain the third act.

Lying and having that lie revealed in Act III is one of the all-time great FATAL FLAWS.  We are all taught from an early age that it’s wrong to lie.  Unmasking the hero as a liar is a great symbolic “death” moment and sets up a fourth act in which he/she must succeed honestly, without subterfuge.  “Working Girl,”  “Tootsie,” “Mrs. Doubtfire,” and the recent “Rango” all involved heroes passing themselves off as something they are not.

When Billy Wilder said that the problems of Act III are solved in Act I, he was talking about the need to plant the seeds of the FATAL FLAW.

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Is there one Formula for Act III?

Billy Wilder once said the problems you face in the last half of a script are typically solved in the first half of the script.  The nature of writing is re-writing and laying track in the first half to justify the complications you want to happen in the second half.  It would be so much easier if there were some sort of formula to help determine what those Third Act complications are.  (And I’m referring to the third of a four-act structure.)

I have a feeling there is no single formula.  There is no one ring to unite them all.  The formula would depend on the type of story you’re telling.   The late Blake Snyder listed a variety story-types in his worthy “Save the Cat” books.  I think they all boil down to about five, and each is based on a very basic human need.  Go back 50,000 years, when our ancestors were scrapping out a living in small villages and I bet the stories they told boiled down to these five desires:

SAFETY:  One thing all people have in common is our lack of natural defenses.  We have no claws or horns, can’t spit venom, and can’t even growl very convincingly.  So it’s no surprise many stories deal with humans under attack from man or beast.  The goal is simply survival.

SECURITY:  Once you’ve escaped from that sabre-toothed tiger, you’re probably cold and hungry.  Comfort and security are next on the list of human desires.  Stories in which the hero seeks to achieve something or earn a prize fall into this category.

A MATE:  If you have a full belly and a nice cave to keep you dry, you’re thoughts may turn to finding a mate.  It’s no surprise there are a lot of stories about romance and finding the perfect match.

FANTASY:  If you have all of the above satisfied, your thoughts may turn to flights of fantasy.  Once human societies get their basic act together, they started asking the big questions of life.  Why are we here?  What’s it all mean?  Wouldn’t it be cool if I could fly?  Religion falls into this category.  So do stories in which the hero is blessed with extraordinary powers.

REVENGE:  The darker primitive desire is for bad guys to pay some price.  Stories in which the hero hunts a villain range from cop-procedurals to revenge films.  The objective is not simply catching the bad-guy, but restoring order.

These are the five main story-types as I see them.  Each could be broken down into sub-genres.  It’s hard not to become anal about this sort of naval gazing.  The goal here, however, is to understand how Act III varies in each story-type.

SAFETY:  These stories feature the hero chased and harassed.  The audience will eventually grow tired of a hero reacting to circumstances out of his control.  That’s why the general pivot in Act III is to a more proactive hero.

SECURITY: If the hero is working toward a goal – a quest for treasure, a job promotion, a sporting match – then he can only strive for so long.  One type of pivot is having the hero achieve this goal at the midpoint, only to learn it’s not what he hoped it would be.

A MATE:  The cliché of all rom-com clichés:  Boy loses Girl.  That’s what typically happens in Act III.

FANTASY:  Stories in which a character gains great powers almost always turn to the negative aspects of those powers in Act III.  In “Bruce Almighty” it was fun being God for a while, but then it became really hard.

REVENGE:  This is a hard one, but perhaps it relates to the SAFETY story type.  In both cases a chase is played out.  The hero’s goal is to restore order by bringing a wrong-doer to justice.  It could be that Act III is where he must risk what order still exists to carry this out.

Like I said, each story type hold different expectations for the third act.  There may be a common denominator, however, and more on that next time.

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