Creating Unforgettable Characters

by Linda Seger

  Character qualities don't exist alone. A consistent character has certain qualities that in turn imply other qualities.

  For instance, let's say you're writing the next Indiana Jones story. One of your characters is a professor of religion—a man who's an expert on early Christian history who's going to hold the key to finding an important artifact. What might we expect to be true about this character?

  If this religion professor has a Ph.D., we would expect that he has done a great deal of research and can easily ferret out all types of obscure information in libraries or bookstores. It would be consistent for him to be interested in related areas, such as philosophy, church history, sociology, anthropology.

  Many religion professors, particularly if they've received their degrees from American universities or seminaries, have had liberal-arts backgrounds. They've taken courses in the arts, literature, probably one or two science classes. It wouldn't be inconsistent for a professor to love literature or music or art or architecture—or to be knowledgeable about these areas.

  This interest in archaeology and early church history could lead to a love of travel. Perhaps he might have done some archaeological research in Turkey, or Israel, or Egypt. It wouldn't be unusual for him to know several languages, perhaps Greek, Latin, and Hebrew.

  Notice how one set of characteristics implies other character qualities. A person who is sophisticated enough to know the music of Mendelssohn may also know the painting of Vermeer and Rembrandt. A person who grew up on a farm probably knows something about repairing tractors and cars, and about how to read weather patterns. A person who is a successful stockbroker probably knows something about economic patterns in Japan.

  Although this all seems very obvious, many characters who are defined in one way seem to have none of the qualities one would expect from that kind of a person. There are characters who are mothers who have no awareness of a child crying across the street. There are characters who grew up in Brazil, but don't react when they hear someone speaking Portuguese at a nearby table in an Amsterdam restaurant. In television shows, I've seen characters who are supposed to have photographic memories, yet can't remember well-known dates or the composer of instantly recognizable popular music.

  There's a lack of consistency in the characters in these situations. If, for some reason, the writer has deliberately set up the characters in this way, then that needs to be made clear. Otherwise it will seem as if the writer is unaware of the inconsistency.

  EXERCISE: Think about what qualities you would expect to see in an art dealer, a murderer, a gas station attendant. The first qualities you think about might be the obvious ones. Brainstorm long enough to come up with qualities that would be consistent but not as obvious to the casual observer.

  If you have only one or two consistent characteristics, you'll be in danger of creating a stereotype. But a consistent character need not be a limited character. By brainstorming consistencies, you can find many associations that are not stereotypical. You'll still need to select which aspects of your character you'll reveal in your story. But to the reader or audience, it will be clear that you know and understand the core makeup of this type of person.

  ADDING THE PARADOX

  Human nature being what it is, a character is always more than just a set of consistencies. People are illogical and unpredictable. They do things that surprise us, startle us, change all our preconceived ideas about them. Many of these characteristics we only learn about after knowing someone for a long time. These are the details that are not readily apparent, but that we find particularly compelling, that draw us toward certain people. In the same way, these paradoxes often form the basis for creating a fascinating and unique character.

  Paradoxes do not negate the consistencies; they simply add to them. For instance, I once had a religion professor who specialized in the New Testament. He was a rather reserved, shy, unassuming man, with a great knowledge of his material. He had written many books, and although he was modest in class, he had a strong sense of his own scholarship. He knew what he believed, and was not averse to letting his students know where he stood on any religious issue. He could be the model for the consistent character mentioned previously.

  But this professor had once been a cowboy and was an expert with the lasso. About once every three or four years, someone would talk him into showing us some of his rope tricks, which always included lassoing the leg of a willing victim. Also, besides having been a cowboy, he was known to do speed racing on the salt flats of Utah. All these characteristics made the professor a fascinating character.

  Novelist Leonard Tourney says paradoxes are the crux of fascinating characters: "Characters are more interesting if they are made of mixed stuff, if they contain warring elements. To create these warring elements, you begin by establishing one, and then asking, 'Given this element, what elements are there in the same person that would create in that person a kind of conflict?' Take an element like a home-loving domestic type— this is not a conflicting element, but if on weekends he goes out with his friends and does something very physical, then that's very out of keeping with what you would expect. With that characteristic, you're moving in the direction of a character that creates interest."

  Anna Phelan described some of the character paradoxes she had discovered when writing the character of Dian Fossey. Although some of these were cut from the film, Anna found them to be particularly fascinating aspects of Dian's character: "Dian was addicted to cigarettes and addicted to chocolate. She sometimes consumed fifteen to twenty Hershey bars a day. Right after she was murdered, when I was still trying to decide whether to take this assignment for this screenplay, I found out that in her closet, in this horrible, little tin cabin in the middle of the deepest part of Africa, was a green satin ball gown from Bonwit Teller. And that is what made me do the screenplay. I mean, the contradiction: what in God's name is this woman doing, living in this part of the world, with a green satin ball gown in her closet?"

  In Gone With the Wind, we first see Scarlett as a flirt. We expect her to be seductive and manipulative—it's consistent with her character. But we might be surprised to learn that math was her favorite subject in school, that she is clearheaded in the midst of a crisis, that she is strong, determined, and shrewd.

  Otto, in A Fish Called Wanda, is set up as dumb and jumpy and jealous, yet he reads Nietzsche and meditates. The very competent Jane, in Broadcast News, spends five minutes crying every morning. All of these paradoxes round out the character.

  EXERCISE: Think through your own consistencies and paradoxes. What are the consistencies and paradoxes of your friends? Of your most favorite and least favorite relatives?

  ADDING VALUES, ATTITUDES, AND EMOTIONS

  If you create only consistent characters, they can still be dimensional. If you add some paradoxes, your characters will become more unique. And if you want to deepen the characters further, there are other qualities that you can add. You can expand upon their emotions, their attitudes, and their values.

  Emotions deepen a character's humanity. In Working Girl, we empathize with Tess McGill as the downtrodden secretary. When she discovers that her boss has lied to her, you can feel her discouragement, her sense of betrayal, her sadness and hopelessness. In one short emotional moment, we in the audience connect with Tess, and have a greater understanding of what moves her.

  In many of the best stories, we empathize with the character. We can feel Rocky's frustration. We can feel Ben's moment of joy in Chariots of Fire when the race has been won. We can sense the yearning of Shane; the depression of Conrad in Ordinary People; the disgust Sally feels (in When Harry Met Sally) when she first meets Harry; and in Dangerous Liaisons, the self-loathing of Valmont.

  The kind of emotions that are actable and understandable can be defined in a number of different ways. I've heard some psychologists humorously describe the emotions as mad, sad,

  glad, and scared. As a beginning list, it's not bad since each category implies
other emotions.

  Mad implies angry, filled with rage, peeved, frustrated,

  irritated, and flying off the handle.

  Sad implies depressed, feeling hopeless, discouraged,

  self-destructive, and melancholy.

  Glad implies joy, happiness, and ecstasy.

  Scared implies fear, terror, horror, and anxiety.

  The novel of Ordinary People adds emotional layering when it describes Conrad's depression:

  To have a reason to get up in the morning, it is necessary to possess a guiding principle. A belief of some kind. A bumper sticker, if you will. . . . Lying on his back in bed, he gazes around the walls of his room, musing about what has happened to his collection of statements. Gone now. . . . Instead, the walls are bare. They have been freshly painted. Pale blue. An anxious color. Anxiety is blue; failure, gray. He knows those shades. He told Crawford they would be back to sit on the end of his bed, paralyzing him, shaming him. . . .5

  In my consulting, when I find emotional layering missing from a character, I often recommend that the writer go through the story and ask what each character is feeling in each scene. Although not all the answers need to be layered into the script, understanding the emotions can produce a much richer character and a much deeper scene.

  Attitudes convey opinions, the point of view, the particular slant that a character takes in a certain situation. They deepen and define a character, showing how a character looks at life. Novels, in particular, can convey attitudes because of the

  subjective nature of their approach. The writer is able to get behind the character's eyes, to see the world through his or her point of view.

  In the novel of Witness, we can see Rachel's attitude toward the funeral of her husband, Jacob.

  Rachel Lapp, seated on a straight chair facing the coffin, her back to the preacher, listened closely and tried to take solace from the preacher's words. An Amish funeral was supposed to be a celebration of sorts. Another Christian victory. But Rachel had sometimes found the spirit of the thing a bit difficult to summon up. Even when the decedent had lived a long and happy life, as was so often the case among the Amish, dead was still dismal as far as Rachel was concerned, and no amount of preachment could redress it.6

  The world of the funeral is seen from Rachel's point of view, giving the reader insight into Rachel's attitude toward death. This short paragraph also implies a spirit of rebellion, since Rachel does not see death with the same spirit that other Amish do. This attitude will lead her to make some un-Amish decisions, such as visiting her sister in Baltimore, wanting to delay remarriage, and even dancing in the barn with John Book.

  Characters have attitudes toward each other, toward themselves, toward the situation, toward particular issues. In the "Mama Said" episode of "Murphy Brown," written by Diane English, Murphy's mother comes to town, and everyone has an attitude.

  When Murphy introduces her mother to the staff, they convey their attitude toward Murphy through their surprise.

  FRANK

  Your mother? Wow, Murph. You've got a mother.

  Murphy's mother, Avery, conveys her attitude toward her ex-husband.

  JIM

  So tell me, Mrs. Brown. Is Mr. Brown here as well?

  AVERY

  No. Mr. Brown is in Chicago with a woman half his age. We've been divorced for 15 years. I got the house and a lot of money. He got his underwear and the asphalt on the driveway.

  Murphy conveys her attitude toward her mother's visit.

  MURPHY

  If we both made up a list of our favorite things to do, "visit each other" would be about tied with "eat head cheese."

  Corky conveys her attitude about what kind of relationships mothers and daughters are supposed to have.

  CORKY

  So tell me, what kinds of plans do you two have for your first night together?

  AVERY

  ... I thought Murphy would like to join me for dinner . . . then I'll just go back to my hotel.

  CORKY

  Hotel? . . . Murphy! You're making your mother stay in a hotel?

  Phil the bartender has an attitude toward Avery.

  PHIL

  Damn good-looking woman. . . . She's got good calves.

  And Avery has an attitude toward her daughter and herself.

  AVERY

  You are my greatest achievement. But somewhere along the line, I lost you and I never got you back. I know you must be surprised to hear your mother admitting a failure.

  Diane English says that attitudes are a key to the comedy— and the drama—of a situation. "We often ask, 'What attitude is that character bringing into the situation?' If the attitudes aren't clear, the script can be flat and bland. The funniness comes from heightened attitudes that emanate from a situation as it becomes complicated by events.

  "We wrote a scene that involved Miles and Murphy. He has to try to convince her to use the FYI lawyers and not handle the matter herself. When we first wrote it, it was quite dull. Miles had no attitude. He was simply a messenger of information and there was nothing funny about that. We couldn't find an attitude in that situation, so we had him walk into the scene having had a new haircut. He comes in trying to convince her to see a lawyer and all the time she's just staring at his hair. He's very self-conscious that he has to convince her to do this and he knows his hair looks horrible and he's trying to pretend that it doesn't. He had an attitude so we got comedy, and we got something out of the character instead of him just coming in and laying this information out on the table."

  EXERCISE: Think about the attitudes and perspectives from the last film you saw or the last book you read. Did you clearly understand the character's point of view about ideas, philosophies, or situations in the film? Think about other films. Do you understand how Karen Blixen feels about the Africans in Out of Africa? Do you understand James Bond's sense of justice? Are you clear about Harry's and Sally's perspectives on love and friendship? Do you know what Rhett Butler thinks about the Civil War?

  Even though the story might not tell you a character's attitudes in a straightforward way, it should imply it—so you can sense the character's perspective.

  Values expressed by a character may be an opportunity for writers to express what they believe. Sometimes these values—and concerns, philosophies, and belief systems—are ones they've observed, which fit the character, but do not necessarily convey their own perspective.

  In this scene from Witness, notice how Rachel carries a personal value (in this case, about guns in the house) as well as the Amish value toward violence:

  Rachel comes in after John Book has been showing his gun to Samuel.

  RACHEL

  John Book, while you are in this house, I insist that you respect our ways.

  JOHN

  Right. Here. Put it somewhere where it's safe. Where he won't find it.

  This scene is followed by one between Samuel and Eli. In this scene, Eli carries the values of the community:

  ELI

  The gun—that gun of the hand is for the taking of human life. Would you kill another man?

  Samuel stares at it, not meeting his grandfathers eyes. Eli leans forward, extends his hands ceremonially.

  ELI

  What you take into your hands, you take into your heart.

  A beat, then Samuel musters some defiance.

  SAMUEL I would only kill a bad man.

  ELI

  Only a bad man. I see. And you know these bad men on sight? You are able to look into their hearts and see this badness?

  SAMUEL I can see what they do. I have seen it.

  ELI

  And having seen, you would become one of them? So that the one goes into the other into the other, into the other . . . ?

  He breaks off, bows his head for a moment. Then he fixes the boy with a stern eye and, driving the heel of his palm firmly into the tabletop, with enormous intensity:

  ELI

  (continuing)

  "Wherefore come ou
t from among them and be ye separate, saith the Lord!"

  (indicating pistol, continuing from Corinthians 6:17) "And touch not the unclean thing!"

  Many films deal with a recognition that some values are worth fighting for and dying for. Silkwood, The China Syndrome, and the Indiana Jones films all revolve around characters who are driven by what they value.

  Many films deal with characters at a time of crisis when they must make moral choices, confronting their values and choosing those they will live by.

  The Breakfast Club shows four people dealing with their identities. The Journey of Natty Gann deals with a crisis that leads to a girl's search for her father. In both Absence of Malice and The Accused we see a character who learns integrity during the course of the film.

  In Dead Poets Society, we learn about the value of carpe diem—"seize the day"—and about sucking the marrow of life.

  Besides these life themes, there are other driving forces that control characters. The search for forgiveness, the desire for reconciliation, the yearning for love or home can be found in many films ranging from Shane to A Fish Called Wanda to E. T.

  Incorporating values into particular characters does not mean that your characters need to discuss what they believe. Instead, you communicate values through what the character does, through conflict, and through character attitudes.

  DETAILING THE CHARACTER

  If you infuse your characters with an emotional life, with specific attitudes and values, they will be multidimensional. But there is another step that can make the character original and unique. That is adding the details.

  Behavior—the way people do things—marks the difference between two people who might be similar in physical appearance or outlook. People have distinguishing characteristics, small details that make them singular and special.

  If I were to make a list of some details I've noticed about my friends and acquaintances, it would include:

  ■ A person who says "you know" and "for sure" in every sentence

  ■ A thirty-year-old woman who carries two stuffed animals in her handbag, and makes origami cranes as gifts for people she meets