Script
Bulletin: May 2006
How to Raise the Dramatic Stakes
A huge number of scripts suffer from repetitive drama
that fails to really raise the stakes and get the story
cooking. Once again, this common problem can be largely
remedied by searching your hero’s main want in life
for answers. The simple question, “How does my hero
recommit to his fight?” challenges the writer to imagine
increasingly bold new choices as the story moves forward–
a simple but powerful tool for creating a journey of both
higher risk and also progressive conflict.
I’ve read countless scripts that set up a potentially
juicy conflict for their heroes only to get deflated by
a repetitive structure that repeats the same information
over and over again. Many writers tend to back down in the
intimidating face of Act II by allowing their hero to make
similar choices with similar consequences. As always, this
problem can be easily solved by returning to your hero’s
main want. If you know the specific ways your hero approaches
life, then you can constantly take your story a step further
by asking, “How does my hero progressively recommit
to his fight?” The key word here is “progressive,”
meaning that each new step taken by your hero must must
represent a new action taken on behalf of the familiar
fight, a new choice of consistently greater risk.
Let’s take another look at Traffic to see
how Stephen Gaghan uses progressive recommitment to tell
a high-stakes story. This time, however, let’s turn
the tables and examine Douglas’ dysfunctional daughter
played by Erika Christenson. Gaghan smartly sets up Christenson’s
specific brand of fighting in her very first scene: we watch
as she indulges in recreational drug use and then willingly
submits to recreational sex play. What does Christenson
want? She wants to rebel, she wants to express herself,
she wants to be everything that her repressed father will
not allow – in short, she wants to get smashed and
sleep around. This one scene sets up the model for her behavior
that will be sustained all throughout the movie.
As you watch Traffic again, notice how every single
one of Christenson's scenes comes back to her need for rock-n-roll
rebellion - not one moment wavers from this behavior.
Even more importantly, each one of these scenes shows Christenson
taking the behavior to a new level. You can almost envision
her arc in bullet-point form:
- Christenson recommits by experimenting with more lethal drugs
- Christenson recommits by bringing the drugs into her own home
- Christenson recommits by relocating from cushy rich
estates to the tenement homes in a bad part of town
- Christenson recommits by going from heavy petting to meaningless sex
- Christenson recommits by going from sex with peers to literally whoring herself out to a dangerous pimp for drugs.
There are two essential elements to note here: 1) the beginning
and ending bookends that show the full extent of Christenson's
progression, and 2) how each intermediate step presents
a new action taken that builds on the specific behavior.
Compare Christenson's first scene to her ultimate climax:
as discussed before, we first meet Christenson in a posh
living room surrounded by likeminded peers, engaged in casual
drug use, making out with a bad seed; by the end of the
movie, however, the wealthy home has transformed into a
disgusting crack den; by the end of the movie, the casual
drug use has transformed into searching for any available
vein as she hovers near certain death; by the end of the
movie, making out with a bad seed has transformed to prostituting
her body to a dangerous drug dealer. Gaghan’s screenplay
has crafted bookend scenes that perfectly complement one
another: each element of Christenson's established fight
gets pushed to its most dangerous, most extreme form.
Between these two bookends, Gaghan provides a constant
flow of new information with a series of recommitted choices
that all pertain to her establiushed behavior.
To put it simply, the opening bookend establishes the problem;
each recommitted step essentially answers the question,
"How is this problem getting worse?"; and the
final bookend offers the most extreme statement of the problem.
Imagine how repetitive it would be if Christenson stayed in the rich living rooms making out with Topher Grace throughout the entire movie. Now imagine if Gaghan wasted time exploring facets of Christenson’s personality that weren’t a part of her established fight. Let’s say, for example, we take time out to indulge a scene that shows her codependence on a best friend – such information would feel awkward and misspent because 1) it was never immediately established as an issue to be developed throughout the story, and 2) it will not have resolution. Powerful storytelling clearly identifies the specific fight and then develops it with new, active choices that charters unexplored territory.
Let’s take a look at a few other examples of effective
bookends: Will Hunting starts out his life in hiding by
secretly solving math problems for which he will presumably
not receive credit by Act III, he has maintained his life
in hiding by sabotaging actual job opportunities that could
lead to an existence beyond his dreams; Will starts out
holding his girlfriend at arm's length with casual lies
– by Act III, he completely alienates her with a cruel
temper tantrum. The method of hiding remains the same -
what changes is Will's heightened level of commitment.
Exercise: Let’s imagine some bookends for
your hero. What might a first scene look like that establishes
your hero’s specific fight in life? Now what might
it look like for your hero to take that same fight to the
absolute end of the line, to its most extreme version? Translate
all elements to their most obsessive form.
Exercise: Come up with a list of at least three
ways that this fight worsens, five different decisions that
show a bigger and bigger investment on the part of your
hero, five steps that answer the question, "How is
this problem getting worse?"
The beauty of approaching story from the point-of-view
of the recommitted hero is that it immediately brings up
another essential ingredient for high-stakes storytelling
– progressive conflict. There is an inherent
link between progressive recommitment and progressive conflict
– namely, the hero recommits to his goal in the face
of conflict; this very recommitment prompts heightened conflict
that, in turn, causes the hero to recommit once again. A
huge, huge factor in repetitive storytelling comes
from flat-lined conflict that fails to pose an increasing
threat to the hero.
If you want engaging, high stakes for your drama or your
comedy or your action movie, you must present conflict that
actively stands in the way of your hero pursuing his want
and thereby forces him to take
new action. Just like with the hero's core behavior,
this means you must clearly identify your primary sources
of conflict so that you can then work on making sure that
they all progress over the story.
Traffic very quickly presents Christenson’s
primary source of conflict as her very own father. After
getting caught attempting to dispose of an overdosed best
friend, Christenson contends with Douglas’ stern warnings
that the drug use must stop. As described, Christenson recommits
by experimenting with worse substances and further bringing
the drugs into her home; Douglas, in turn, responds by breaking
into her personal space and foraging for drug paraphernalia
– upon discovery, Douglas sends Christenson to rehab;
Christenson, in turn, escapes from rehab and heads to the
bad part of town where she ultimately turns into a veritable
prostitute; Douglas, in turn, finally makes it a one-man
mission to track her down.
The key thing to note here is the clear interplay between
heightened conflict and recommitment – one determines
the other. In both cases, you have to get very clear on
which issues you intend to focus. So many scripts introduce
areas of conflict that never progress, never get developed,
never move beyond one or two scenes. Conversely, many scripts
introduce last-minute conflict as some big test for their
hero that has never appropriately been set up and developed.
That’s excess fat, get rid of it. Real conflict
means that it stands in the way of your hero and forces
reactive behavior throughout the story.
Conflict must have a beginning, a middle and an end. Any
source of conflict should receive a proper introduction,
should escalate progressively to prompt the hero towards
recommitment and should present a do-or-die climax of some
kind. If the conflict lacks a beginning, then it ultimately
feels as though it has come out of nowhere; if it lacks
a middle, then it will fail to sufficiently progress throughout
the movie; if it lacks a climactic ending, then it will
feel unresolved. You must be very clear with yourself about
which areas of conflict you want to explore - keep it simple,
pare it down so that each antagonistic force gets on its
legs and presents its own full arc.
To consider another of our ongoing examples: In In
the Bedroom, Sissy Spacek seeks to punish, to make
a point about the potential danger of her son getting involved
with a girl who remains stalked by a jealous ex-husband
– in the very first scene of the movie, said ex-husband
menacingly shows up to spoil up an otherwise peaceful family
function (beginning); Spacek recommits to her goal by insisting
that the relationship end; conflict builds as the ex-husband
threatens and ultimately kills Nick Stahl (middle); Spacek
recommits to her punishing ways by blaming her husband for
their son’s death; the conflict builds again when
the ex-husband avoids jail time on a technicality (climax);
Spacek again commits to her role as the Punisher when she
conspires to murder him. Even in an art-house film like
In the Bedroom that lacks the more conventional
hero-agaist-villain structure, we still see two essential
elements at work: 1) the hero progressively recommitting
to a specific pattern of behavior and 2) a specific source
of conflict that grows progressively insurmountable.
As always, specificity and consistency are key: Christenson
never deviates from her role as the druggie/sexual rebel;
Spacek never deviates from her role as the Punisher; both
journeys of recommitment align with their established patterns
of behavior. Likewise, Christenson deals with very consistent
opposition from her father; Spacek deals with very consistent
opposition from the jealous ex-husband. Stay on your established
course!
And, once again, notice those bookends: Spacek starts out
as a busybody that tries to insist that her son should break
up with his girlfriend due to the presence of the dangerous
ex-husband; Spacek ends the movie as a vengeful conspirator
that helps arrange the murder of this ex-husband do you
see the salient progression of both a specific behavior
and also a specific conflict?
Exercise: What are your three primary sources of
conflict? For each one of them, come up with at least three
ways that it enables your hero to recommit to his goal.
What is the beginning of each source of conflict? The middle?
The climax?
To review, dynamic high-stakes storytelling is as simple as a few key elements:
- Clearly establish your hero’s fight in life.
- Imagine progressive steps of recommitment to this specific
fight (no excess fat, no one-scene detours)
- Clearly establish the sources of conflict
- Imagine progressive steps of heightened conflict that enable your hero to recommit in response.
Once you have these elements in place – new, dramatic choices; new, progressive conflict; consistent characterization of both protagonist and antagonist – you are well on the way to exciting, thematically-unified storytelling.
Write bold,
Jamie
May 21, 2006
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TIPS ARCHIVE
January, 2006: How to Make Your Hero More Dimensional
February,
2006: How to Create Smart, Active Theme
March, 2006:
Well-Defined Goals: the True "Formula" for Great
Structure
April, 2006:
How to Craft a Psychologically Rich Hero
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