by Jim Mercurio
… and the ball bounces and bounces and bounces, for about three miles, forever. It’s probably still going…
CLOSE ON TIN CUP
The hustler’s been hustled.
Here, the cliched notion of A-list actors wanting their characters to be smarter than everyone else is actually a productive and appropriate choice. The knowledge does not change the outcome, but it is consistent with a character who is both smart and intuitive, and who is also a con man himself.
By contrasting Tin Cup’s silent discovery beat with the generic confusion experienced by the Regulars, the filmmakers eliminate redundancy, clarify Tin Cup’s perspective, and establish him as special.
Although not every audience member will see the surprise coming, there are some who will. This choice, to let Tin Cup figure it out, prevents the audience from getting ahead of the protagonist or the story. If a viewer also predicts the ploy, no problem. For the viewers who don’t, Costner’s body language as he makes the discovery will pique their curiosity, create suspense, and build respect for the character, even though he’s been had, along with the Regulars and the audience. It also becomes subtle foreshadowing that the surprise could happen.
A-List Actor Clichés
There are several mean-spirited clichés about A-list “prima donna” actors. They want to have the good lines, be a step ahead of the other characters, and, of course, be likable. If we always assume that their sole motivation for seeking these traits in a character or script is vanity and ego, we are unfairly vilifying many great actors.
Beneath these seemingly self-serving choices lie vestiges of good storytelling principles.
“Give me all the good lines.”
What’s wrong with this? Do we want our heroes to answer functional yes-or no-questions, or strike a pose and act interested while a supporting character delivers technobabble exposition?
A-list actors rightly eschew mundane lines like giving orders to flunkies or blandly introducing the next speaker at a fundraiser. Think “Greed is good” from Wall Street, versus a recitation of the minutes from the last board meeting. In Batman, Alicia (Jerry Hall) tells the Joker (Jack Nicholson), who is looking at himself in the mirror, that he looks good. Does Nicholson want to play a scene in which he responds, “Thank you” or “How nice of you”? No, his perspective and response are surprising: “I didn’t ask.”
Give good lines to your protagonist. Heck, give good lines to everyone.
“My character is smarter and should be more active.”
Your protagonist is usually the smartest or most proficient character in the world of the story. His unique set of skills and growth are designed to take the story all the way. Don’t relegate the character to just listening.
There are three ways a character can get up to speed with all of the information in a moment. From least interesting to most, he can passively receive the information in the scene, already have it, or cleverly make what actors call a discovery, which allows him to figure it out on his own. Unless the reveal of the information is dramatically powerful and the protagonist’s reaction is surprisingly meaningful, tend toward one of the latter two approaches.
Let your protagonist enter the scene already knowing most of what’s going on. The character can then create conflict by revealing a better plan, interrupting a character who assumes that the protagonist must learn the information, and surprising everyone else with what she does know.
The double-dash (--), which represents one character interrupting another, allows us to make a character either dismiss or connect with another character.
The protagonist can interrupt a character and correct him with the same techno-jargon, implying that not only does he know what the character knows but he has thought it out even better. This is similar to the Good Will Hunting “Harvard bar” scene, in which Will finishes the snob’s sentence to prove that he has caught him red-handed in the act of plagiarism.
However, the act of finishing another character’s sentence could prove that two characters are on the same page, and then the interruption is elevated to “mirroring,” which is a form of bonding. If a nerdy science tech explains a unique and deeply theoretical notion, the protagonist can finish his thought. The protagonist can impress the tech while surprising the other characters.
You can also have your protagonist discover information without it being handed to her. She can make impressive leaps in logic or intuition that save the audience from dull moments of exposition. If the leap is too big, let it stand as suspense for a moment and then reveal why the character was able to make the leap.
At the end of The Town, in the annals of Fenway Park, Doug (Ben Affleck) carries the bags of money from what appears to be a successful heist. But then he stops suddenly. Just like the moment in Tin Cup when the truth dawns on Tin Cup before it does on everyone else, Doug realizes that the cops are onto him. He may “lose” in a sense, but the story makes him special by giving him intuition and skill that distinguishes him from his other allies and henchmen.
Harrison Ford characters almost always have the most intelligent and surprising perspective of anybody in a scene. It works extremely well in the Jack Ryan series because it comes organically from the premise that his character’s strength is his keen intelligence, powers of observation, and analytical acumen.
Often, a Ford character will show off his thought process. In Patriot Games, a thug smokes a cigarette while standing stationary. When Jack walks past, he notices the thug throw away a mostly unused cigarette into a pile of several other short cigarette butts and begins to walk in the same direction. We discover through Jack’s point of view that he is being targeted.
In Lawrence of Arabia, when one of the Howeitat tribe’s men is killed, Lawrence (Peter O’Toole) learns that tribal law says the murderer must die, but that whoever kills him might also be subject to retaliation. To avoid an escalating blood feud that would destroy the fragile alliance between the tribes, Lawrence reasons that if he performs the execution himself, it will keep the peace. He grabs a gun and makes a proclamation.
LAWRENCE
Then I will execute the law. I have no tribe. And no one is offended.
Lawrence makes a plausible discovery. The murder might be a coincidence and out of his control, but we see how quickly his response demonstrates his ability to lead, and his leadership drives the story.
“I don’t want my character to be weak or unlikable.”
You can also make the protagonist seem more in control merely by giving her henchmen some foreknowledge. With a mere nod the protagonist can set the sentries into action on the next step: rounding up the villagers, arresting the suspect, or uploading the virus.
If your protagonist has to be involved in the details himself, make it fun, as in the comedy set-piece scene from 48 Hrs., when Reggie (Eddie Murphy) takes over a redneck bar: “There’s a new sheriff in town. His name is Reggie Hammond.”
Don’t become overly reliant on “pet the cat” moments by throwing in scenes of the protagonist guiding little old ladies across the street. Instead, look for opportunities to allow a glimpse into the character’s complexity as the story moves along by giving the protagonist a moment to drop his guard and show his mixed emotions without stopping the momentum of the story.
Have Some Fun
Think of this section as a stockpile of other ways you can hide or eliminate exposition and reveal necessary information. The bottom line? Essentially, have some fun with it. Use intrigue or humor.
Over the years, I have heard repeated what is supposed to be general wisdom that as long as your characters are physically moving or doing something, whatever they talk about will feel less expositional. It’s also believed that as long as you make it funny, the burden of exposition is lightened. I don’t think this is great advice in and of itself, but, hey, you have to start somewhere.
My preference, where expositional shortcuts are concerned, is to rearrange the information slightly to create a moment of myster
y. It could be as simple as turning, “I saw John at the deli,” to: “You’ll never guess who I saw at the deli.” The complex answer to why this works is that it validates a simple axiom, that any line of dialogue is a story in and of itself and can be crafted to have mystery, suspense, and even a climax.
The simple answer is that every question creates at least nominal suspense. However, if you employ this strategy, make the questions organic and natural. A doctor telling a patient, “You’ll never guess what stage of cancer you have,” or a preacher at a wedding asking, “Do you know why we are gathered here today?” would be taking it too far.
So as a general rule, have some fun and play around with the way your information is orchestrated so that it’s amusing, mysterious, or special.
In Heat, Hanna (Al Pacino) and his crew are in the middle of nowhere to investigate a potential heist that will be pulled off by Neil (Robert De Niro) and his crew. This scene includes everything we addressed in this chapter. You’ll see a sense of mystery. Hanna toys with and chastises his crew. Surprisingly, he even acknowledges the skill of the antagonist. Hanna may lose this battle, but he distinguishes his special perspective by being the only one with the ability to discover the truth.
SAME SCENE - WIDE - LATER - SUNSET
It’s later. The CAMERA PANS the empty, desolate landscape of oil pumps, dirt roads and a solitary billboard.
HANNA
Maybe they’re gonna steal the hub caps…
O.S. WE HEAR A CLICK.
(He is an intuitive character, so he begins with brainstorming. Only we are privy to the “CLICK,” which creates a mystery and foreshadows the surprise.)
HANNA
(continuing)
A billboard. Oil pumps. What the hell’s goin’ on?
SCHWARTZ
That’s what we were trying to figure.
ANGLE ON HANNA
Recognition dawns.
(He challenges Schwartz, but then the new information enters the scene as a discovery or epiphany only for Hanna. After this crisp turning point, Hanna shifts to a mixture of self-mockery and chastising his crew.)
HANNA
I got an idea what they’re looking at. You know what they’re looking at?
Hanna turns his back on the rest of the detectives and a big smile dawns upon his face. He raises his arms out wide. Hanna turns in one direction, then another. Schwartz doesn’t understand.
(In case the audience doesn’t get it, they can identify with Schwartz. The moment also prepares us for an answer to the mystery or for a payoff to what Hanna is referring to.)
HANNA
(continuing; to Schwartz)
Is that guy something; or is that guy something? I mean, you gotta give this crew credit. They are so f*****g good…
(beat)
Know what he’s looking at?
VERY TIGHT ON HANNA IN 3/4 REAR SHOT
The image vibrates. Hanna says more. We don’t hear it.
We HEAR a CAMERA SHUTTER CLICK. The IMAGE FOCUSES and
DEFOCUSES. Another CLICK.
HANNA
Us. The L.A.P.D. The Police Department. We just got made…
(The verbal reveal here and…)
Hanna Laughs.
EXT. KNOLL - L.S. HANNA - TWILIGHT
Pull back to reveal he’s being surveyed by Neil. He’s been photographing Hanna with a black Nikon on a tripod with a 1300mm Questar Reflector lens. Neil’s made his tail.
(… the visual reveal here. As I mentioned in the breakout box, sometimes it’s a great choice to make the character played by an A-list actor the smartest one “in the room.”)
Dead in the Water
At the end of Annie Hall, Alvy sums up a relationship with a metaphor that is equally applicable to story: “A relationship, I think, is like a shark. You know? It has to constantly move forward or it dies.”
That’s your job as a storyteller. You have to orchestrate and arrange things so that your story is constantly moving forward. Find a way through the information so that you can maximize its emotional impact and momentum.
As simple as that sounds, it is also the most difficult challenge you will face as a screenwriter.
Why?
Consider this. If we were to expand the idea of “information” to include all story elements such as character, concept, theme, location, voice of the characters, and your voice as a writer, then the deceptively unsimple task of organizing all of that “information” for its strongest impact is probably a backdoor definition of what constitutes great drama.
If you can do this, you are a world-class storyteller.
Be careful not to confuse stagnation with mood and pacing. Your story may have emotional lulls or temporary respites in tension. However, you must avoid downtime and dead air, in which static information stops your story in its tracks.
If your story ever stops moving forward, you don’t have a story anymore. You have what Alvy called his relationship with Annie: “What we got on our hands here is a dead shark.”
PART TWO
ADVANCED TOPICS
6
DILEMMA: IMPORTANCE AND DIGGING DEEP
Different writing paradigms have various ways to define the deep-rooted center of a character that makes him vulnerable to emotional attacks and the story’s forces of antagonism.
In theater and literature, the term flaw refers to the character’s weakness. If its severity will destroy the character, then it is considered a tragic flaw. In Hamlet, the inability of Hamlet to act decisively leads to his ruin. In Moby Dick, Captain Ahab’s tragic flaw is his deep need for revenge. In The Wrestler, Randy (Mickey Rourke) cannot overcome the thrill of fighting in the ring and allow himself to settle down and experience the genuine love and happiness that Cassidy (Marisa Tomei) offers.
A flaw or weakness that does not rise to the level of tragic will challenge a character, but she will ultimately overcome it. In The Hunger Games, Katniss feels more comfortable in nature and lacks the sophisticated graces to function smoothly in higher society. This is evident when she fires an arrow into the group of potential financial sponsors. However, by the end of the movie, her ability to hide her true feelings and engage in the political aspects of the game are changes that allow her to avoid certain death and ultimately to lead a revolution that plays out in the subsequent films.
In contrast to a tragic flaw are foibles that can be overcome by what is called a character arc. We use the term to describe the character’s gradual evolution and transformation as it spans the story, and eventually allows him to attain his goal. In Hollywood movies, the character usually changes and grows for the better. The term also refers to the precise moment of growth that manifests itself in the climax. For instance, in Star Wars, Luke (Mark Hamill) uses the Force, which represents his growth; he trusts himself and is using intuition and his human skills rather than relying on machinery and technology to make the shot that destroys the Death Star.
Other similar terms, such as need or wound, describe a character’s psychological or moral weakness. A Freudian slant frames the flaw as a defense mechanism that needs to be shed, whereas a Jungian angle suggests that a character is acting from only half of his full self; he is yet unable to integrate his shadow side—not necessarily a dark or bad side, but the side that he has not discovered. For example, Scrooge’s shadow side is altruism.
In L.A. Confidential, the antagonist Dudley Smith admonishes Exley for being unwilling to shoot someone in the back to exact justice. Exley lives his life by a black-and-white code of right and wrong. In the split second of the climax, when Exley chooses to shoot Smith in the back, he grows and thus incorporates his shadow, his, in this case, darker side. This embodies the theme: “you can’t really fight evil unless you’re touched by evil.”
In great stories, even in the most complex of dramas, the essence of a character’s nature simply boils down to one single, albeit difficult, choice. This is a dilemma. A dilemma is a decision in which both outcomes are unaccepta
ble because they are equally good (and you have to forgo one) or equally bad (you must choose one in a lose-lose situation). The effort to condense the inner turmoil of your character to a succinct dilemma pays off in many ways.
Defining Moments
The dilemma spans the entire script and unifies the conflict. In The Godfather, Michael (Al Pacino) must choose between a life of crime—becoming a cold-blooded murderer—or to watch as the incompetent leadership of Fredo and Sonny lead to his family’s inevitable destruction.
Your ability to delay the character’s ultimate choice creates tension in the story. The final image in the film and Michael’s final act of shutting the door on Kay (Diane Keaton) represents his decision to shut out a normal life and embrace his role as the leader of his family’s criminal empire.
Even in a comedy as silly as Napoleon Dynamite, there is an implicit dilemma in Napoleon’s decision to perform his funky dance in the climax. A kid who is obsessed with seeming cool and being accepted is choosing to risk looking like a fool to help a friend. Vote for Pedro!
Until you know your character inside and out, the conflicts in some of your scenes may remain vague. Once you know your character with specificity, it follows that your conflict becomes more precise.
Concise insight into a character allows for moments such as the one in The Philadelphia Story when Dexter (Cary Grant) says of Tracy (Katharine Hepburn): “She’s a girl who’s generous to a fault… But not of other people’s faults.” In Gattaca, Vincent (Ethan Hawke) sums up Jerome (Jude Law) by saying, “He is burdened with perfection.” When you know your characters inside and out, so will the audience.
Establishing a good dilemma and knowing the core nature of your character—fears, flaws, and what’s important to him—help you craft realistic character interaction and scenes that cut to the chase. The conflict runs deeper, and you will be able to write better dialogue, and do it more quickly.
The opening scene in Superbad shows Seth (Jonah Hill) on the phone with Evan (Michael Cera) seconds before arriving to pick him up. When he arrives, Evan’s mom (Stacy Edwards) teases Seth with: “I bet you two are really going to miss each other when you go off to school.” Seth responds sarcastically, “Yeah, I am going to be crying myself to sleep every night.”
