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“I think the character fans might have to reassess is Elizabeth, for some reason she was let off easy in the first movie, even though she barters herself to Norrington, lying in order to get him to turn around and go save Will, and a lot of good sailors died as a result of that deed -- so what is her essential nature? She has demonstrated, time and again, she is more of a pirate than any of them. I am VERY interested to see how the fans will react to our story -- it is, in fact, the key question, the one that will define the fate of the franchise!”
“While it's great for characters to have strong inner lives, it's a mistake to organize a plot around the drama of a character deciding to change their thinking. Consider how non-cinematic a change of heart truly is, without the actions taken as a result of the change.
Instead, it's the task of the screenwriter to take that inner journey of the character and give it a playing area. Externalize the issues, either into situations or other characters, and let the protagonist work things out where we all can see and hear it.
This is also known as 'visceral logic.' It's dangerous to play with, but a powerful tool. Beyond strict story logic, there is the emotional logic of the film. For example, if the audience wants something to happen, it's easier to make them believe that it can happen.”
Sometimes your convictions are the greatest stumbling blocks to fixing a story problem. It's that thing that you're certain of, that you don't challenge -- that you just know is right about a scene -- that stops you from finding the inventive solution. It's a good idea to have this general rule: challenge everything. Go through the problem scene step by step and consider the effect of doing the exact opposite of all your story decisions.
The audience will come to 'know' the character through their actions. When characters can make decisions that run counter to expectations, bringing reversals into the story, that's of immediate interest. (Once again, look at RAIDERS. When Indiana Jones ties up Marion instead of rescuing her, it's a marvelous reversal, and we gain huge insight into Indy's character by that one action.)
Characters, stories, and story beats fail far more often by not going far enough than by going too far. It is almost a rule that if you push a character, an emotion, or a situation to the absolute extreme, it will play on film. Consider the various, and varied, extreme situations in PULP FICTION. (There are limits, of course, and consider the effect on the tone of the movie, especially concerning sex and violence.) But it's almost always worthwhile to re-evaluate a scene or a sequence with an eye toward, "Did we push that far enough?"
And here's a list of sequences or story elements that always seem to work gangbusters on screen:
1. Poker games
2. Seductions
3. Bidding/auction scenes (think Alfred Hitchcock)
4. An execution
5. Sunny, tropical locations (consider setting your film in a location you want to visit)
6. Maps and treasure hunts
7. A race of any type
And to top off this list of arbitrary claims, here's "Wordplay's Iron-Clad Rule of Box Office Success": let your hero smile. Most films, and all bad ones, have the hero striding along wearing dour expressions, looking like their teeth hurt. But think of any movie you love, and I bet you can remember a shot of the hero breaking out in a grin. And hey, if you want a really big hit, let your hero smile in Act I, Act II and Act III. Works every time.
Here's my iron-clad rule for how a movie should end. (How's that for taking a stance?) A good ending must be decisive, set-up, and inevitable -- but nonetheless unexpected.
This is, of course, not easy to do. Some writers feel that a good, strong opening, the hook, is the toughest thing to come up with. I disagree. A great opening is perhaps the most important section of the screenplay -- it's the part that's actually going to get read! But it's not the hardest. My writing partner, Ted Elliott, can come up with a great set-up in seconds -- but give him a month or so before asking him what comes next!
Act II is a renowned quagmire of story problems. You could argue that it's the toughest Act to plot. But the subject matter itself at least provides material to shape, and gives some direction how to proceed. Act II problems are more often organization problems, not blank-page problems, and they'll ultimately succumb to proper execution of craft.
No, for myself, Act III -- and coming up with that great ending -- is definitely the toughest plotting on a script. It's an Act where you can't get by on just craftsmanship, you really do need to have something that's inspired. It's the payoff Act.
So let's go back to the rule: 'Decisive, set-up, and inevitable -- but nonetheless unexpected.'
1. Decisive.
The most satisfying endings resolve the issues at hand clearly and decisively, one way or the other. Effective endings that are ambiguous are rare -- and a bit of a contradiction in terms.
2. Set-up.
The ending can't come completely out of left-field. It should be one of several known possibilities, or referenced as a possible solution sometime earlier in the film. The ending must appear to evolve naturally out of the elements that are known. You don't want to change the rules at the end of the game -- that's not fair.
3. Inevitable.
Another word for this might be 'appropriate.' You want an ending that is so 'right,' it seems as if it could have turned out no other way -- but only after it's happened! Because it's also got to be --
4. Unexpected.
This is the real trick. The unexpectedness of the ending is the true payoff, the reward for watching the film. It's the element the audience will weigh most heavily when judging the outcome of the story -- whether or not it was 'worth waiting for.'
Unexpectedness is one of the hardest elements to design into an ending. I find it useful to consider which type of question or questions is truly unknown to the audience. In a whodunit, the element that is not known is, well, WHO, and quite often the motive, or WHY. In an action film, you pretty much know WHAT is going to happen -- the hero is going to win -- but you don't know HOW. The HOW, then, is where you get your surprise. Occasionally, answering the WHERE questions can be a surprise -- remember where Hannibal Lector ended up in SILENCE OF THE LAMBS? WHEN questions are tough for endings, as they usually must be set up making the audience superior, which destroys the surprise.
So if you know which answer you're holding back -- the WHO, WHY, WHAT, HOW, or WHERE -- it can be easier to create that all-important unexpected ending. The best to go for is the WHAT question -- as in, truly not knowing 'what will happen' until it happens.
Ideally, the ending of a film is what the whole film has built to, in some fashion or other, all the way from page one. Ted and I still laugh at a screenplay that was submitted to us, where the writer included 'optional up ending' and 'optional down ending.' If the writer wasn't writing to one or the other of those endings throughout the screenplay, how effective could either of those endings be?
And a final note, on those 'down' endings. Writers just starting out often succumb to the temptation of choosing a tragic ending. After all, tragic endings are rare in films, and therefore unexpected. And unexpected is good, right?
Problem is, tragic endings really not all that rare -- there are lots of unproduced spec scripts around with typical bad-script unhappy endings. The result is, usually, an unhappy ending for the writer.