You may have liked or disliked The Hunger Games, but nobody can dispute that the movie did well in the theaters. Why does it matter? Because we want our stories to sell well, to a wide audience.

Now, you can study the book, look at the plot points, try to understand what made it compelling to readers, but a well-received movie can do almost the same thing in a much shorter amount of time. I didn’t actually watch movies all that much until I went to a David Farland workshop where he sat with us and pointed out the story elements of Hunger Games and why they work for an audience.

Now, before I get into some of those details, a caveat: I am very good at turning off my internal editor when I watch a movie, and as such, I may be the worst person for this post. But because learning to analyze movies in this way has helped me, I felt the need to pass the information along. Some of what you’ll read came from David Farland’s workshop, and some of it is my own opinion. Doesn’t matter. You’ll get the idea.

Inciting Incident: On the Scribe Meets World blog, this is described as, “the event which sparks the fuse of your plot.” I argue that the fuse is lit in the very first scene, when Prim wakes up screaming because she dreamed she was chosen in the Reaping lottery for the Hunger Games. This is where Katniss makes her promise to Prim. “Your name’s only in there once. They’re not going to pick you.” Up until this point, Katniss has cared for her family, but the change, the initial incident, is the fact that Prim is in the lottery for the first year ever.

Takeaway: What good storytellers know, you don’t want to wait too long for this inciting incident to take place, within the first ten minutes for a movie. I’ve heard different numbers for books, but as in The Hunger Games, as soon as possible works best for most audiences.

Turning Point (s)/Try-Fail Cycles: We often think only of the main turning points and climax, but one of the aspects of Hunger Games that I thought was done exceptionally well, was weaving the multiple story lines: Katniss’ need of being there for Prim, her desire to be left alone by the government, Gale’s wish that he could lash out at government control, Peeta wanting Katniss to live, for her to care for him, and that he can come away from the whole ordeal unchanged. (You’ll notice we never see him kill anybody, though eventually Katniss does.) Even Cato’s story, as he goes from confident contestant, to charismatic leader, to a broken, bitter boy, is given to us in poignant flashes. “One more kill. It’s the only thing I know how to do…to bring pride to my district. Not that it matters.” (Cato’s last scene)

Much of what kept the audience engaged was the almost continual spike of these multiple stories hitting their own turning points, even to the relationship between the President and the game-maker, shown to us in brief, increasingly-threatening, scenes.

Takeaway: As in movies, writers need to make every scene count; consider every character, their goals, and how those goals fit in with the main story and then weave those elements into alternating peaks of tension so the reader is continually engaged.

Escalate: This brings us to the next point. To fully engage an audience, the conflicts have to escalate throughout the story. As if Katniss’ situation isn’t bad enough, we discover the game controllers are willing to interfere–through mechanical observation, acts of nature, and then manufactured beasts. As they arrive in the city, it seems that Peeta is at an advantage.

Haymitch: “You really want to know how to stay alive? You get people to like you….And right now, sweetheart, you’re not off to a real good start.”

But the paradigm shifts and Katniss becomes the favorite even as we realize Peeta is in love with her. Shortly after she receives the high score from the judges, Peeta reveals his feelings to the world and she accuses him of making her appear weak.

Haymitch: “He made you look desirable, which in your case, can’t hurt, sweetheart.”

Throughout the movie, every success brings another problem, escalating the conflicts. Katniss gets a backpack of supplies, only to get targeted by her personal nemesis–Clove, the knife-thrower. Winning a bow requires her first act of violence and leaves her hallucinating and vulnerable. The list goes on, and every moment of the movie is turning points and escalations of conflict.

Takeaway: As Brandon Sanderson says, “Escalate, escalate, escalate.”

Resonance: I don’t think I would have caught on to the following examples without David Farland’s workshop. I understood genre resonance, but didn’t get visual resonance until then. He pointed out things like the heart shape on Effie’s lips and visual similarities between her and the Queen of Hearts, giving us an automatic dislike of the woman. The enforcers visual similarity to Star Wars storm troopers gives us that automatic sense of oppression and the presence of a domineering empire. District 12 is Depression-era bordertown, lending the feel of starvation and desperation. Even Katniss’ clean-up in the city increases the Oz feel already rendered by the citizens’ outlandish dress. I have too many of these to list, and we’ve already had a post on resonance, but I never realized before how Hollywood uses visual references between iconic films to influence our perceptions.

Takeaway: As was said by Nancy in her Star Trek post, resonance matters. Finding ways we can make small details, genre language, and even outside references, familiar and yet new and interesting gives flavor to our stories as much as it lends flavor to a film.

Hunger Games takeaway: Taking the time to dissect popular movies and finding the elements of plot structure and resonance that make it work for the audience is a valuable tool in improving our own work.

Beyond All Comprehension

July 23, 2013

Gregory D. Little

It’s not often in movies that we are presented with a truly alien force. In this case, when I say “alien” I mean more H.P. Lovecraft than Mr. Spock. It makes sense. We like to recognize the motivations of the characters we are watching onscreen. Writing characters no one can relate to is one of the basic no-nos of Writing 101. So perhaps it’s no surprise that when a film elects to do so anyway, it risks underperforming at the box office.

At 53% on Rotten Tomatoes and having earned just $32 million domestically (barely breaking even on its budget), The Mothman Prophecies is the very definition of an unremarkable film, critically and commercially speaking. But it’s an underrated gem in my opinion. While not perfect, there is one thing the film does fantastically well: present viewers with a truly alien entity while drenching every minute of screen time in unrelenting creepiness.

The film is loosely based on an urban legend. Mothman is a legend local to the Point Pleasant area of rural West Virginia. Described as a man-sized flying creature with glowing red eyes, it was sighted frequently in the Point Pleasant region from November 1966 to December 1967. It’s been variously described as an alien, a cryptid, or some sort of supernatural entity. Accounts of sightings vary, but many involve descriptions of precognitive visions of upcoming disasters, and this is where the movie devotes a great deal of its focus.

The film begins with domestic bliss quickly shattered. While driving home from purchasing their dream house in Washington, D.C., John Klein (Richard Gere) and his wife Mary (Debra Messing) are in a car accident. Mary catches a glimpse of a red-eyed something flying toward their car at high speed. She swerves to avoid this apparition and injures her head in the wreck.

Tragedy follows, yet it’s not Mary’s head injury which kills her; she wakes up concussed but otherwise unharmed. But her glimpse of the Mothman apparition has opened her mind in some way. She wakes certain something is deeply wrong inside her. An MRI reveals the truth, an aggressive brain tumor that has been growing for some time. A tumor the Kleins would never have discovered had it not been for the accident and the entity that caused it.

The remainder of the film documents John’s increasing obsession with these entities that foresaw his wife’s death and their seeming obsession with the town and people of Point Pleasant. A simple enough premise, in fact it’s arguably pretty thin on plot. What kept me gripped was the overridingly creepy tone and atmosphere. I’ve thought a lot about the film and its secret–and a good lesson for anyone trying to recreate the same sensation in their writing–is that it keeps the viewer constantly off balance. The viewer keeps desperately searching for some set of rules these creatures operate by, but the movie throws nothing but curve balls. It’s a dangerous technique, as it can give the impression that the writer is simply making up rules as he goes, but handled properly, it creates the impression that a mere mortal writer can conjure up something that is outside human comprehension. It’s an illusion, of course, but a potent one. Below are just some of the examples of this from the film.

John sets out to drive to Richmond, VA from Washington, D.C. only to arrive at Point Pleasant in the middle of the night. He has no recollection of how he got there, not to mention how he traveled an impossible distance in a mere three hours.

The entities speak to a friend of John’s from the drain of a sink. “In a place this size, equator, three hundred will die,” they prophesy. And they are correct.

A creature calling itself Indrid Cold calls John late one night and begins reciting facts about his life to him while John records its answers. “Did you read my mind?” John finally asks.

“I have no need to,” it responds. John later discovers that this was no true voice, but some kind of electrical impulse operating outside the range of human vocal cords.

And at a bar one day, a nicely printed business card is delivered to John. It reads:

Georgetown.

Friday.

Noon.

Mary will call.

At this point in the movie, Mary has been dead for two years. Yet we the viewers have seen Mary, or something that looks like Mary, stalking John from the edges of the frame, even though John himself has not. And in Georgetown, on Friday, at noon, John’s phone begins to ring…

If you love being creeped out by a story as much as I do, this stuff is gold. The film depicts John’s downward spiral into obsession with chilling verisimilitude. Desperate for answers, he eventually tracks down another “survivor” of these creatures, Dr. Alexander Leek (Alan Bates). But the entities are so alien that Dr. Leek has little in the way of explanation. John is forced to confront the notion that his questions may have no answers, at least none that he can comprehend.

“I think we can assume that these entities are more advanced than us. Why don’t they just come right out and tell us what’s on their minds?” John asks.

“You’re more advanced than a cockroach,” Leek replies. “Have you ever tried explaining yourself to one of them?”

Of course, what John really wants to know is: why him? Dr. Leek’s answer is my favorite line of the movie. “You noticed them. And they noticed that you noticed them.” Gives me chills every time.

The Take Home: When things start making sense, they stop being scary. A lack of answers is unsatisfying to us by its very nature, but handled properly, it can create the illusion of a mystery that’s beyond our comprehension. It’s a chilling tool to include in your writing toolbox.

Pirates of the Caribbean – The Curse of the Black Pearl

July 22, 2013

Frank Morin

Character Craft & Skills Frank Morin 1 Comment

I love this movie! What an enjoyable tale. Of course it’s a pirate movie and, like most people, I like pirate movies. There’s something that stirs the blood at the mention of pirates, and this one delivers all the tropes we expect in a pirate flick: tall ships, great battle sequences, swashbuckling heroes, a kidnapped governor’s daughter, and lots of pirate treasure.

But this movie rises above other pirate films for several reasons. First, I love the fact that the treasure is cursed, and the pirates’ mission is more than just pillage, plunder, and loot. They are seeking redemption, looking to undo the terrible curse that’s befallen them. That’s a great twist that deepens the plot tremendously.

More importantly, this movie has something none of the others did: Captain Jack Sparrow.

This fantastic character, brilliantly played by Johnny Depp, drives the movie into uncharted territory, and rightly earned him many awards. Captain Jack is not the hero, he’s not the character the story hangs on, and yet he steals center stage in every scene he appears in. Jack Sparrow is a pirate, but it’s often hard to decide which side he’s on. He’s crafty, clever, and usually obtains his goals without having to fight, although he’s an accomplished fighter when required.

Jack Sparrow is the spice in the movie that allows the serious, epic tale to contain a solid thread of comedy without becoming silly, but the story could only work if he had straight-men characters like Will Turner to play off of. As Director Gore Verbinsky stated, “You don’t want just the Jack Sparrow movie. It’s like having a garlic milkshake.”

In the IMDB Top 100 movie characters of all time, Jack Sparrow is rated 32.

And in EmpireOnline, he’s voted number 8.

Pirates of the Caribbean would not have worked nearly so well without Jack Sparrow, just like Star Wars would not have been so great without Han Solo.

The main swashbuckling hero, the blacksmith Will Turner, is the character we want to succeed, but we’re drawn to Jack Sparrow. His complexity, his murky agenda, his fresh quirkiness, fascinate us. He represents the carefree outlaw, epitomizing freedom from responsibility and any constraints. It’s a powerful draw to audiences looking for escape. Jack Sparrow can do anything, with no limits, while other characters are constrained by their employment, social status, or lack of confidence.

So, what are some things we can learn from this iconic figure?

First, a healthy dose of humor is possible even in an otherwise serious story, but it needs to be approached carefully and woven in as a secondary thread.

Second, great characters are complex, multi-faceted figures that require planning and care and a dash of brilliance to bring to life. Without the actor pushing the limits beyond the initial parameters laid out by the writers, Jack Sparrow never would have taken flight like he did.

Third, people are drawn to larger-than-life characters that struggle sometimes to decide their moral code, sometimes falling on the side of good, and sometimes on the side of not-so-good.

Fourth, great characters often don’t choose the easy, expected path. For example, when Jack duels Will the first time, he refrains from shooting him. We’re left wondering about the cryptic reference to the bullet, and whether or not he really didn’t want to hurt the dumb kid who got in his way, or if something else is going on.

Take Away: When crafting your characters, look for figures who can embody more than their limited role originally suggests. Work hard, with attention to detail, and leave room for flashes of inspiration that can leap from the foundation you’ve laid, and imbue your character with greatness.

What are some other iconic characters you can think of, and what makes them special?

(References from Wikipedia and IMDB)

An Island of Adventure

July 21, 2013

KDAlex

The Writing Life 2 Comments

You know, I’ve often mentioned how I write like Michael Bay directs. For better or worse, that’s the style I’ve become comfortable with. It’s something I enjoy. Ever since I started going to the movies, I’ve always made it a point to go seek out the big summer blockbusters. I’ve always enjoyed the ones whose production costs often top out at more money than you or I will ever see in our lifetime. I don’t think I can ever recall thinking to myself: “Hm. The trailer makes this movie look like a scintillating metaphor for the human condition. I -MUST- see this.”

But I believe it can be said that even Michael Bay in his most basic form studies the human condition. His characters usually tow the line around everyman style characters, or even those that just don’t fit in. His characters are human. They are you or me. And they are in way over their heads. And when you can see these characters rise up to meet the often over-the-top challenges, the story they tell is almost one of inspiration.

But at the end of the day, it’s still a formula for good storytelling.

From Indiana Jones to Bad Boys, Michael Bay seems to have played a huge role in my popcorn intake. And that’s the story I’m going to tell today.

Popcorn movies are derided for their simplistic plotlines, their gratuitous violence, and frequent hammy or poor acting. But, such is the nature of the beast. And I love every minute of it. To me, Michael Bay is to cinema what Lester Dent was to the pulps. There’s something about the rhythm and cadence of his films. Everything builds nicely into one giant crescendo of brilliantly twinkling broken glass. It’s violently beautiful. The man is the best hack in the business. And you know what, he just doesn’t give a damn.

To me, books are entertainment. They are films that play out in the theater of your mind. And the entirety of the purpose if entertainment is – well – to entertain. To turn off that critically analytical part of your brain and just enjoy the ride.

The Island stars Ewan McGregor as Lincoln Six Echo, a man who clearly doesn’t fit in. From the opening moments of the film, you can see just how out of place he is living in this utopian society. From the moment he wakes up to the flashing LED displays warning of an irregular sleep cycle, to the analyzation of his urine while he is in the bathroom. It’s a strange world that plays out perfectly from a visual standpoint as white track-suited people mill about in perfect harmony while black suited controllers watch their every move.

The residents of the compound live and hope for “the lottery” so that they can be transported to the Island, a tranquil place known as the last bastion of humanity after a deadly contamination wiped out most of the habitable world.

The kicker of course, is that there was no contamination. The perfectly picturesque island they see the vision of every day is no more than an illusion. The world still lives and breathes as it ever did. The residents are no more than fleshbags holding valuable organs. Each time the “lottery” is drawn, another angel gets its wings. Lincoln Six Echo, in a beautifully filmed discovery finds a moth flying inside the secure compound. If the moth is alive, then surely the world must be.

This sets off a high octane action-adventure in which Lincoln Six Echo breaks free from the compound and meets the real Lincoln, who turns out to be a perfect caricature of everything that’s wrong with people. The man is greedy, conniving, and manipulative. While the clone is kind-hearted and world-wizened.

Oh. And there’s explosions too. Explosions that would make Mr. Torgue very happy.

In truth, The Island blew my mind for the first time in recent memory. And I think all of the pastiches and cliches of a science fiction film or story, if let out of the care of Michael Bay’s watchful eye would have fallen flat. It’s in the way he captures a single moment in time that really just — evokes the perfect image of a world gone.

So. What can you learn from this or any of Michael Bay’s films as a writer?

Entertainment, in its most basic form exists for one purpose: To entertain. If a film or a book can function on its own basic structure as means of entertainment, then whatever message or theme you desire can be threaded through the needle.

Visualization is key. Study a frame, a scene, a moment in time to learn the subtle nuances and help you capture the perfect image.

Don’t be afraid of the critics. They exist to criticize.

Don’t be afraid to show the little things in life. If your characters are human or cyborg or even alien, they all have feelings, quirks, and things that just make them who they are. Let them shine.