 
# SCREENWRITING DOWN TO THE ATOMS

### The Absolute Essentials

Michael Welles Schock

Published by Scriptmonk Industries. Smashwords Edition.

ISBN# 978-0-9888487-2-6

Copyright 2013 Michael Welles Schock

www.scriptmonkindustries.com

Smashwords Edition License Notes

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***

# Author's Note

This is an abridged version of _Screenwriting Down to the Atoms: Digging Deeper into the Craft of Cinematic Storytelling._ Whereas the full-length edition contains fourteen chapters covering a comprehensive range of subjects for the beginning to advanced screenwriter, this text limits itself to four chapters the author considers the most essential knowledge for any cinematic storyteller. If you would like to read more, _Screenwriting Down to the Atoms_ is available in its entirety from online retailers and bookstores upon request.

Please note that some edits have been made from the original text. These four chapters are provided for FREE, and may not be sold, altered, or repackaged without the author's permission. All text and illustrations are © Michael Welles Schock and Scriptmonk Industries.

# Table of Contents

Recommended Viewing

CHAPTER 1 – THE BASIC OF THE MOST BASIC

What is a "Story"?

How Does One "Tell" a Story?

CHAPTER 2 – THE GOLDEN KEY

What is the Story Spine?

The Story Problem

The Story Goal

The Path of Action

The Main Conflict

The Stakes

CHAPTER 3 – THE SEQUENCE METHOD

Structure within the Sequence

Development & Escalation

CHAPTER 4 – ON CHARACTER

Character Change

Requirements of a Good Protagonist

The Antagonist

Character Spines

Dimensions & Development

***

## Recommended Viewing

The following twelve films are frequently used for demonstrative purposes. For best results, the author recommends readers become familiar with these films before proceeding.

_Alien_ (1979)  
screenplay by Dan O'Bannon  
story by Dan O'Bannon and Ronald Shusett

_American Beauty_ (1999)  
written by Alan Ball

_Back to the Future_ (1985)  
written by Robert Zemeckis & Bob Gale

_The Bourne Identity_ (2002)  
written by Tony Gilroy and William Blake Herron  
adapted from a novel by Robert Ludlum

_Chinatown_ (1974)  
written by Robert Towne

_Die Hard_ (1988)  
written by Jeb Stuart and Steven E. de Souza  
adapted from a novel by Roderick Thorp

_The Godfather_ (1972)  
screenplay by Mario Puzo and Francis Ford Coppola  
based on the novel by Mario Puzo

_The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring_ (2001)  
screenplay by Fran Walsh, Philippa Boyens, & Peter Jackson  
based on the novel by J.R.R. Tolkien

_The Matrix_ (1999)  
written by Andy & Lana Wachowski

_Raiders of the Lost Ark_ (1981)  
screenplay by Lawrence Kasdan  
story by George Lucas and Philip Kaufman

_Rocky_ (1976)  
written by Sylvester Stallone

_Star Wars_ (aka _Episode IV: A New Hope_ ) (1977)  
written by George Lucas

***

#  CHAPTER 1  
THE BASIC OF THE MOST BASIC

Where to begin? The path from unseasoned amateur to skilled professional is a long journey, and as with any journey, those most likely to succeed are those with the best understanding of the endeavor they are about to take. To begin simply, movies are a form of storytelling. So are novels, plays, children's books, and the tales told around the campfire. All forms of storytelling share the same basic rules. In addition, each form follows unique rules, specialized to its mode of telling. The storytelling found in cinema is not the same as that found in a book. Nor is it the same as a play. A screenplay is written to be dramatized by actors, photographed with cameras, pieced together through editing, and then presented to an audience as a finished whole. This mode of execution forces cinema to tell its stories with strict rules different from those found in any other form. This gives cinematic storytelling certain strengths and weaknesses; its own set of needs, as well as a wide array of limitations.

Because of this, screencraft can start to feel very complicated, very quick. The cinematic storyteller must learn to keep hundreds of elements in balance, while at the same time give the audience an experience it finds original and entertaining. This seems like a tall order. So where to begin? At the beginning, of course. We learn to read by first learning the alphabet. We begin mathematics by first learning to count. So, we begin our exploration of the cinematic story by asking:

## WHAT IS A "STORY"?

The question is misleadingly simple. Everyone knows what a story is, but defining the term proves surprisingly difficult. What exactly makes a story a _story?_ What specific traits does a story possess to separate it from things which are clearly not?

At first glance, one might define a story as a series of events involving one or more persons. However, a mere series of events does not constitute a story. This, for instance, is not a story:

"I woke up this morning. I showered. I sat in traffic on the way to work. I talked to my boss during lunch. I drove home and made dinner."

Just because events occur in chronological order, it does not necessarily mean those events create a story. Such a narrative will fail to hold an audience's attention for more than the shortest period of time. So, what is the difference between a story and a mere series of events? It all comes down to four basic qualifications. First,

1. A story is about a PROBLEM and the resolution of that problem.

Take a look at the basic ideas behind four well-known stories:

  * A jaded expatriate re-encounters the woman who broke his heart ( _Casablanca_ ).

  * A mafia family is threatened by its violent rivals ( _The Godfather_ ).

  * The children of warring families fall in love (Romeo & Juliet).

  * Pigs in poorly-constructed homes are threatened by a Big Bad Wolf (The Three Little Pigs).

What do these ideas have in common? They all involve characters dealing with a PROBLEM.

Stories are all about problems, whether that problem be physical or emotional, intimate or cosmic, concrete or abstract. The return of the old lover, the rivals' aggression, the forbidden romance, the Big Bad Wolf; the sudden arrival of these problems trigger characters to take action. Without a problem, a story would never begin. The remainder of the story unfolds as characters take actions to deal with that problem. In _Casablanca,_ Rick spends the story debating whether or not to help his ex-lover. In _The Godfather,_ Michael Corleone takes actions to protect his family. Romeo and Juliet go to great lengths to continue their romance. The Three Little Pigs run for better shelter.

Why are problems so central to storytelling? As learned in the previous chapter ("Chapter 2: It's All About the Audience," contained in the full-length version of _Atoms_ ), stories exist as social therapy. They provide the appearance of order and meaning in a chaotic world. By presenting a problem and then the quest for its solution, a story becomes a transformation from _chaos to order_ – from an unstable situation into one where everything has been resolved. This in turn gives the audience comfort and reassurance. When the audience sees characters face and defeat a problem, they feel much more confidence in their ability to deal with problems in their own lives. Stories tell us that no matter how bad things may be, no problem is insurmountable. In this way, a problem and its solution give a story its meaning.

2. Stories are about HUMAN BEINGS.

A story cannot exist without _characters_. To put it a better way, stories are about people. People doing things; speaking, acting, loving, fighting, wanting, needing. A documentary on soil erosion may present a fascinating problem, but it does not contain a story unless it focuses upon a human being dealing with that problem. Stories are reflections on our humanity. They help us better understand ourselves and others by presenting us with people to whom we can relate.

Though some stories contain characters that are not physically human, these characters are human nonetheless. Though the lead may be a bunny rabbit, a robot, or an animate teddy bear, the characters have been _anthropomorphized_ – that is, given human traits and behavior. They are simply people in a different form, exhibiting the same emotions, urges, and anxieties as their fully human counterparts. Even live-action franchises starring real animals anthropomorphize their heroes by giving the animals an intelligence and range of emotion far beyond their natural capability. Because of this, audiences are able to connect with non-human characters as well as they can any human being.

3. A story is unified by a PREMISE.

No matter how thick the novel or epic the film, all good stories are simple at their heart. Events revolve around a small handful of characters. All actions occur in response to a single problem or related group of problems. All elements work together to express a single set of ideas. Good stories can be summed up in a few words. _The Bourne Identity_ is the story of a man trying to regain his memory. _Finding Nemo_ is about a father searching for his son. _The Sixth Sense_ is about a man helping a troubled boy. This basic summary is called the STORY PREMISE.

In the simplest terms, the premise is what the story is "about." If you saw a movie, and a friend asked what it was about, you would proceed to relate the premise. If the movie had a strong premise, the task is easy; "It is about a woman who loses her job and has to find a new life," or "It was about a guy who had to take over for Santa Claus on Christmas Eve." If it lacked a strong premise, all you might be able to say is, "I don't know. A lot of things. It was confusing."

A story's premise must be established at its very beginning. As a story opens, the audience must quickly learn what characters occupy the story, the world those characters live in, and the problems those characters face. This is the who, what, where, and why of the story. These specific elements are what make each premise unique. There could be a thousand stories about a father searching for his son like _Finding Nemo_ , or of a man helping a troubled boy like _The Sixth Sense_ , but the specific who, what, where, and why of each premise is what makes these stories unique.

Around 355 BC, Aristotle wrote _Poetics_ , the first known study of dramatic theory. According to Aristotle, the best dramas possessed a "unity of action," a "unity of place," and a "unity of time." Simply put, he meant a play should be unified around a single course of action, taking place in a single location, occurring within a single frame of time (ideally a single day). Though modern drama has proved Aristotle's limitations on time and space far too strict, he was absolutely right in one regard: a good story must be unified in its action.

A story achieves unity of action by establishing its premise at its beginning, and then sticking to that premise until the story's end. For example, the premise of _The Bourne Identity_ is, "An amnesiac secret agent attempts to recover his memory while avoiding forces who wish to capture him." Every one of _Bourne'_ s events relate to this premise. Because of this, _Bourne_ has unity of action. If, on the other hand, the story were to suddenly switch focus onto a new set of characters, or if Jason Bourne were to abruptly abandon his quest, or if aliens were to appear and change the story into science fiction, the story would lack unity. The addition of persons or events outside of the original premise will not improve a story. It will only make it muddy and confused. Fail to stick to a premise, and the story will revert back into a mere series of events.

Recall the rambling non-story I presented at the top of this chapter ("I woke up this morning. I showered. I sat in traffic...) Its events are not unified by a premise. Each statement is arbitrary and unrelated. However, this series of events can be turned into a story if one simply establishes a premise at its start:

"I woke up late this morning and realized I had yet to book a flight to my sister's wedding. Since I had no time but to shower, I hoped to take care of it from the office before I started my day's work. Unfortunately, traffic was heavy and I arrived late. I could not find the time to do it at lunch either, because my boss corralled me into a twenty-minute conversation. After lunch, things got too hectic, so I decided to wait until I got home. By then, the flight had sold out, and there was nothing left to do but make dinner."

Do you see the difference? This is no longer a list of random events. Everything is now unified around a single idea. The premise has given each instance meaning in relation to the whole.

Most movies are unified by action. They contain a single storyline relating to a single problem. However, it is possible for a film to contain multiple disconnected storylines as long as the premise continues to unify events through time, place, character, and/or theme. This approach is more difficult, but there have been notable successes. _Pulp Fiction_ (1994) is made of a series of episodes told out of chronological order. Though these episodes are more or less unrelated in terms of action, they remain unified by character (the characters from one storyline also appear in others), time (all events occur within the same few days), and theme (each episode revolves around violent men facing ethical decisions). _City of God,_ the 2002 film about life in a Rio de Janeiro slum, has an even more episodic storyline. Yet, its various stories remain unified. All episodes work together to tell the history of a single location, seen through the eyes of a single character, with events that converge to express a single theme.

4. A story is told in a STRUCTURED ORDER.

A story's events must occur in logical order. THIS happens, which then causes THAT to happen. Little Red Riding Hood is sent on an errand to grandma's house. Because of this, she travels into the forest. Because of this, she meets the Big Bad Wolf. Because of this, Little Red tells the Wolf where she is going. Because he has learned this, the Wolf races to grandma's house, devours grandma, and disguises himself in her clothing. Because this has happened, the Wolf is able to fool Little Red when she arrives.

This cause and effect relationship is known as CAUSALITY. Every event occurs as a result of that which has occurred before it. If events are random or disconnected – if Little Red were on her way to grandma's house, but then climbed Jack's beanstalk, then took a nap, and then visited the Three Bears – this would be a series of events and not a story due to the lack of causality.

Causality demonstrates the biggest difference between story and real life. Real life lacks structure. Things happen out of the blue. Actions taken often fail to generate results. Meanwhile, distractions intrude and interfere. Stories, on the other hand, comfort audiences with a world where everything is organized and logical. In a story, everything makes sense. Every cause has an effect, and every effect a cause. Some beginners find difficulty because they believe a story is supposed to be just like real life. It is not. Stories are not a reflection of reality, but an _analogue_ of reality. They present us the world _as we would like it to be._

So in conclusion, What is a Story?

"A STORY IS A SERIES OF EVENTS ABOUT _HUMAN BEINGS_ DEALING WITH A _PROBLEM_ , UNIFIED BY A _PREMISE_ , TOLD IN A _STRUCTURED ORDER._ "

Anything that does not fit this definition is not a story and will not have what it takes to hold an audience's interest. This may seem elementary, but it is not uncommon to find amateur scripts that lack one or more of these basic qualifications. A script without a story cannot hope to do anything but fail. It creates a wandering, pointless experience that makes its audience restless and bored. Do not automatically assume your script tells a story. Look at it and confirm that it indeed meets these four qualifications. Without them, all your writing will amount to nothing.

We may now know what a story is, but this supplies only half the equation. "Storytelling" is a two-part term. First, there is the "story." Then, there is the "telling." It is not enough to simply have a good story. Equally important is how that story is told. Even the best of stories can be sunk by poor telling. So, with that said, we must ask-

## HOW DOES ONE "TELL" A STORY?

To be more specific to our purposes, how does one tell a _cinematic_ story? Storytelling has many forms: novels, stage plays, operas, anecdotes, comic strips, dirty jokes, even song lyrics. Each tell a story in a different way, each with its own inherent advantages and limitations. But how does cinema tell its story?

Cinema is possibly the most complex form of storytelling. It is definitely the most complex art form. Most methods of storytelling use only words to communicate. Some only images. Others only sound. Cinema, on the other hand, uses words, images, sounds, light, movement, color, time, space, editing, and camerawork. Where does one begin to break down something so densely layered?

To find out, we must put the entire field under the microscope. We start once again by seeking the most basic, of the most basic, of the most basic.

### THE ATOMS OF CINEMA

Consider the word "atom." Though used most often in chemistry, the word itself refers to any element so basic that it cannot be broken down into smaller units. Its origin dates back to the fifth century BC, when the Greek philosopher Democritus proposed (quite rightly) that everything in the universe was made of tiny particles. He believed that if one had a knife sharp enough, an apple could be sliced thinner and thinner, until it came to a point where it could be sliced no further, down to the very particles that held it together. Democritus called these particles atoms – Greek for "uncuttable."

Not only was Democritus' idea revolutionary, but so was his approach. He knew the key to study was to first break the subject down to its MOST BASIC ELEMENT. The whole is best understood by first identifying the tiniest building blocks by which everything is constructed.

Nearly every legitimate field of science is built upon a most basic element. Chemistry procured the word atom for itself to label the swirling particles that make up matter. The chemistry atom is uncuttable. If an atom were split, the result would not be two half-atoms, but a useless scatter of subparticles. Biology is the study of life. Its most basic element is a single living cell. A single cell can carry out all requirements of life, but if cut into smaller parts, it ceases to function. Sociology studies behavior in human societies. Societies are made up of individuals, making a single person sociology's most basic element.

Any field of study will suffer until it discovers its most basic element. Chemistry was a rather hit or miss pursuit before the theory of atomic structure. Biology developed slowly until cells were discovered inside a piece of tree cork. Identifying the most basic element makes an entire field far easier to comprehend.

But, can this method be applied to cinema? Does cinematic storytelling have a most basic element? Many would refuse to even consider the question, simply because chemistry and biology are sciences, while cinema is an art. People tend to segregate art and science into isolated categories. Nevertheless, can an understanding of an art be found in the same manner as a science?

To answer the question, it is first necessary to figure out what it means to call cinema an art.

### WHAT IS "ART"?

Art. It is a word of such high and mighty connotation that many dare not define it. In this case, let us first ask, why do people create art? Works of art have no practical purpose. Officially, art must be non-utilitarian in nature, meaning it has no use other than the aesthetic. A beautifully crafted sculpture is art, but a beautifully crafted lamp is not. A novel can be art, but the book you read now is not. If art has no practical use, then what is its purpose?

The answer is found in the artistic process itself. The artistic process is made of three parts: the artist who creates the work, the medium the artist works through (paint, dance, music, etc.), and finally the audience who ultimately receives the work. One must not overlook the importance of the audience. It is the audience who brings the process to its completion. Art without an audience is like the proverbial tree falling in the woods. What is the point of a novel that is never read? Music that is never played? A film no one sees? "Artistic expression" implies a second party to whom the artist's efforts are addressed. Only the vainest of artists would create something to put in a closet. Real artists create because they have something to express to the world: an idea, an opinion, an emotion... Artists create in order to communicate. _Art_ is about _communication_.

Art is the communication of meaning, from artist to audience, through a creative medium.

Since the purpose of art is to communicate meaning, how then is meaning communicated in something such as literature? Through words, of course. The most basic element of literature – its atom – is a single word. An author can communicate meaning with one word, but not with a single letter or detached syllable. It is by the accumulation of words into larger structures that the novelist makes his or her art. The art of dance communicates through movement. Its most basic element is a single movement of the body. Music is made of a collection of singular notes. Painting is an accumulation of individual brush strokes. Photography is the manipulation of individual photons of light. Thus, we see that like science, the arts have their own atoms. Each has a basic building block with which the artist constructs a greater meaning.

However, things become far more complicated when it comes to cinema. Cinema combines elements from nearly every art form; from photography, to theatre, to music, to the graphic and plastic arts. In addition, cinema has its own unique attributes, such as the ability to elongate or compress time, or to change perspective through editing. If cinema contains the most basic elements of all other art forms, plus elements of its own, what could possibly be the single, most basic building block of cinema itself? Can cinema be boiled down to a single element? Or is it just a hodgepodge?

The search proves difficult. Cinema's most basic element cannot be a single image, since that would ignore cinema's use of sound. It is not a spoken word, since dialogue makes up only a small part of any film. It also cannot be a single scene, or a shot within that scene, because both of these elements can be broken down further.

It turns out the answer is right under our noses. Cinema is an art. Art communicates. And what is transmitted by the act of communication?

Information.

The cinematic experience is created by a constant transmission of story information from storyteller to audience. Whether it be seen or heard, everything presented to the viewer is part of an intentional act of communication. Every detail; a line of dialogue, the look of a room, an expression on an actor's face, an off-screen sound effect, exists to advance the story with NEW INFORMATION. If a character is murdered, that is information. If someone reveals a secret, that is information. If a character walks across the room, that is information. It is through this steady flow of information, communicated one piece at a time, that the cinematic storyteller makes his or her art. Each piece builds upon that which preceded it, advancing the narrative and developing the audience's comprehension of the story as a whole.

This is cinema's atom: the communication of a single piece of information from storyteller to audience; whether it be communicated by audio, visual, or any other means. Cinematic storytellers make their art through the creative control of this information – knowing what information to give, and when to give it. By gradually accumulating this information, the audience is able to understand, and enjoy, the cinematic narrative.

So, to return to our original question: How is a cinematic story told?

A cinematic story is told through the creative communication of information, given one piece at a time, from storyteller to audience.

How the storyteller chooses to communicate makes all the difference. Have you ever heard two people tell the exact same joke, and watch it generate a huge laugh for one, yet nothing but silence for the other? The difference was not the joke, but how that joke was told. This is what is meant by story- _telling:_ the proper and effective execution of a story's information. Good storytellers know how to communicate information in ways audiences will best understand and appreciate. The true skill of storytelling comes not simply from the story, but from how that story is _told._

A full explanation of story atoms and their proper execution is beyond the scope of this chapter. (The concept is expanded upon in later chapters not included in this abridged version.) For now, we are going to put away our microscopes and shift focus onto a more pressing question. We may know what makes a story a story, but how does a cinematic storyteller _construct_ that story?

***

# CHAPTER 2  
THE GOLDEN KEY

We have defined story. We have considered the importance of the audience. Now, we will marry these concepts to learn how one constructs a cinematic story capable of pleasing that audience. This chapter and the next covers the matters of PLOT.

Plot is the organized arrangement of everything that physically "happens" in a story. A car explodes. Lovers kiss. Someone learns a secret. If it moves the story forward through physical action (that is, action we can see or hear), it belongs to plot.

Recall from the previous chapter that a story must be told in a structured order. Plot and structure are almost synonymous. It is the organized arrangement of events that _gives_ story its structure. The plot is like the skeleton of a story. It supports the entire body because every bone has been put in the right place. To achieve this perfect state, a plot must follow certain principles which govern what events must occur when.

Though feature films appear complicated on their surface, the principles behind good plot structure are simple. Behind all the trappings of screencraft lies one fundamental, yet largely-ignored concept that has provided the foundation of every great story ever told. This is the golden key of storytelling. The seed from which all plot originates. The device that unites every element into a single whole. Prepare yourself, for you are about to unearth buried treasure.

It is called the STORY SPINE.

Now to be honest, some use of the word "spine" has been bandied about in the screenwriting community for decades. However, it has remained unclear just what the Story Spine is and how it should be used. This is unfortunate, since I can honestly say from personal experience that an incomprehension of the Story Spine has been the main cause of failure in over 90% of the screenplays I have ever read. To say that again:

Over 90% of screenplays fail because the writer does not understand the Story Spine!

The Story Spine is the key to successful storytelling. If a storyteller should learn only one thing about the craft, it must be this.

## WHAT IS THE STORY SPINE?

If plot is the skeleton of a story, the Story Spine, as the name implies, is the backbone. Take a look at the skeleton of any animal, and you will notice that the backbone forms the core of its structure. It runs the entire length of the animal, from head to tail. It connects every part of the body, uniting its anatomy into a functioning whole. It contains the spinal cord, through which movement is controlled. Sever the spine, and the animal is as good as dead.

In the same way, the Story Spine runs the entire length of a story, starting at its beginning and continuing unbroken to its end. It unites all characters, events, and ideas into a functioning whole. It contains the motivating force that propels a story forward. Without a Spine, a story is lifeless.

Last chapter, we established that a story must be about characters – dealing with a problem – unified by a premise – told in a structured order. The Story Spine accomplishes all of this and more. Its structure, a) contains the essential information of the story's premise, including the problem and characters, b) provides the motivating forces that cause the premise to develop into a structured narrative, and most importantly, c) _orientates the audience_ to understand what is going on, who is important, where the story is going, and why they should care. Simply put, the Story Spine turns a story into a _story_. Without a Spine, a story will not properly exist.

Let me repeat that:

Without a Story Spine, a story will not exist.

Let me repeat it again:

WITHOUT A STORY SPINE, A STORY WILL NOT EXIST!!!

Have I made it clear just how important the Story Spine is?

The Story Spine begins with a character. Most stories revolve around the actions of one person. This is the story's hero, the central figure, the person whom the audience should care most about. In dramatic terms, this character is called the PROTAGONIST (meaning "the first actor"). A story is then constructed around the protagonist from five simple components:

A. The protagonist's main STORY PROBLEM,

B. The protagonist's main STORY GOAL that, once achieved, will overcome the problem,

C. The PATH OF ACTION the protagonist takes to reach the goal,

D. The MAIN CONFLICT – a force that opposes the protagonist's actions, and

E. The STAKES that push the protagonist onward in spite of the conflict's opposition.

Drawn as a diagram, the Story Spine looks like this:

All five components must be present for the Story Spine to exist. Like the engine of a car, if only one part is removed, the entire machine ceases to function. It does not matter how well-constructed the other components are, they can never overcome the absence of the missing piece.

The Story Spine is a concept that predates the cinema. In fact, it is as old as storytelling itself. Whether it was by experience or instinct, the greatest storytellers have always understood that the most audience-pleasing stories were those that contained a Problem, Goal, Path of Action, Main Conflict, and Stakes. Let us imagine, fifty thousand years ago, there was a caveman storyteller named Og. Here is a story Og might have told his people:

Gorak the Mammoth Hunter

"Many seasons ago, there was a terrible winter. No animals could be found for hunting and it was feared the tribe would starve. So Gorak, the bravest of all hunters, set out to find the food to save his people. Gorak searched for days, over hills and mountains, through snow and wind, but found nothing. Then, at the point of starvation, Gorak saw a single giant mammoth in the valley below. Gorak knew such a beast could kill him, yet he had no choice. He attacked the mammoth. There was a fierce battle. Gorak killed the mammoth, and with the meat, the tribe survived the winter."

Though this is a simple story, it is a c _omplete_ story, since it contains all five elements of the Story Spine. Its protagonist has a PROBLEM; Gorak's tribe has no food. A GOAL; to find food. A PATH OF ACTION; Gorak searches for, and eventually battles the mammoth. CONFLICT; Gorak deals with bad terrain, harsh weather, and a mammoth who will not go down without a fight. And, STAKES; if Gorak succeeds, the tribe will survive. If he fails, everyone will die.

Since Og's story was a complete story, its audience found it memorable and entertaining. However, if it had lacked even one of its five components, the story would have failed. Let us take a closer look to find out why.

## 1. THE STORY PROBLEM

Once again, stories are all about problems. The arrival of a problem is what causes the story's action to begin.

Nearly every story begins with the protagonist carrying on with his or her normal, everyday life. They perform their normal, everyday actions, and interact with the people and things in their normal, everyday world. This life may be pleasant, or it may be horrid. It may be dull, or exciting. Whatever it is, it represents the protagonist's _status quo_. The daily life of _American Beauty'_ s Lester Burnham is one of drudgery and humiliation, so this is what we see when his story begins. James Bond's daily routine involves chasing down international criminals in exotic locations, so this is what opens every Bond film.

Before long, a problem arises to disrupt this routine. The problem may be a threat. It may be a challenge. It may be both. No matter what it is, the problem must be something significant enough to uproot the status quo and throw the protagonist's life into disarray. Terrorists take over the building ( _Die Hard_ ). Marty McFly finds himself stuck in the past ( _Back to the Future_ ). Marlin's son is abducted ( _Finding Nemo_ ).

The moment of the problem's arrival is called the INCITING INCIDENT. Sometimes, the problem is huge and life-threatening from the start. _Independence Day_ (1996) begins with the appearance of alien spacecraft over every major world city. At other times, the problem starts small, but then grows in severity. The problem in _Alien_ begins with a simple distress signal from the reaches of space. Regardless of whether the problem starts out large or small, the protagonist cannot ignore it. The Story Problem puts the protagonist into a situation where he or she absolutely cannot continue on with life until the problem is solved. John McClane _must_ do something about the terrorists. Marty McFly _must_ find a way home. Marlin _must_ get his son back. This is the only way to return life to normal.

The inciting incident is thus the catalyst that sparks the adventure. It is dynamite that starts a landslide. Until it occurs, the characters have little or no reason to take action. Because of this, storytellers should not wait too long to introduce the Story Problem. The longer the delay, the longer the audience must wait for the story to get moving. A story cannot truly begin until the hero is confronted by something he or she feels MUST be acted upon, NOW.

In a handful of stories, rather than disrupt the status quo, the Story Problem _is_ the status quo. In other words, the protagonist's problem does not arrive suddenly. It has instead been present for some time. However, the protagonist has either failed to recognize the problem, or has chosen to submissively put up with it. _American Beauty_ is one of these stories. In this case, the inciting incident occurs when an event forces the protagonist to recognize he or she has a problem, and then _choose to do something_ about it. _American Beauty's_ Lester Burnham is willing to put up with the misery of his daily life until he experiences an "awakening" at the sight of his daughter's friend Angela. This event becomes the catalyst that motivates Lester to stand up for himself and fight back.

Once the inciting incident occurs, everything the protagonist does should be part of a clear and focused effort to overcome the Story Problem. Nothing should distract from the protagonist's quest. The Story Problem must create a situation where all other worries or concerns become insignificant in comparison. To illustrate, let's say you are at home, beginning a day in your life as normal as any other. With it will come the stresses and responsibilities you face every day. Only this morning, you step from your bedroom and find a man-eating tiger in your living room. Well, that's a pretty big problem that has been thrust into your life, isn't it? Suddenly, all other worries become insignificant. You are not willing, and certainly not able, to perform any other task until you get rid of that tiger.

I sometimes find scripts in which the writer does not bother to create a Story Problem. With no inciting incident, these scripts become nothing more than a series of pointless episodes where characters wander like zombies from one place to another without purpose or direction. The characters never accomplish anything of significance, simply because there is no urgent situation compelling them to do so. If the characters have no reason to do anything, why should the audience care to watch them do it? Other times, beginning writers throw their protagonists headlong into action and adventure, but never create a Story Problem to explain why. When this happens, all the hero's actions, no matter how impressive, seem pointless. Imagine "Gorak the Mammoth Hunter" without a Story Problem. Let us say the tribe is not starving to death. Gorak now has no reason to risk his life in search of food. Yet he still travels many miles, faces the elements, and fights to the death with a dangerous beast. This tale would have confused Og's audience. They would no doubt ask, "Why Gorak go hunt? Why he risk life? Gorak not brave. Gorak stupid!" A story without a problem will lack any purpose.

## 2. THE STORY GOAL

Once the protagonist recognizes the Story Problem and feels compelled to take action, the next step is to establish a _goal._ The STORY GOAL is a certain accomplishment that the protagonist believes, once achieved, will overcome the Story Problem and return life to what he or she wishes it to be. The Story Goal is the problem's hoped-for solution. In _Die Hard_ , terrorists have taken over Nakatomi Tower. John McClane hopes to defeat them. In _Back to the Future_ , Marty is stuck in the year 1955. His goal is to return to his own time. In _Finding Nemo,_ Marlin's son has been abducted. His goal is to get his son back.

If we think of a story as a physical journey, the Story Problem is what first pushes the protagonist out the door. The Story Goal is his or her end destination. Without a Story Goal, the protagonist has no place to go. I sometimes find scripts that establish a Story Problem, but not a Story Goal. In these scripts, protagonists recognize their problems, but never DO anything about them. Imagine this story: "Gorak's tribe is starving. Gorak never does anything about it. Everyone dies." A story without a goal lacks direction, and will ultimately lead nowhere.

Reaching the Story Goal will bring the stability back to the protagonist's world, either by restoring the status quo, or by improving life from what it was when the story began. Marty McFly's Story Goal is to restore the status quo. He wishes to return to 1985, exactly as he left it. The goal in _Alien_ is also restorative. A monster is loose aboard the ship. The crew wishes to eliminate the monster so the ship will be secure once again. In contrast, the Story Goal of _American Beauty_ is progressive in nature. Lester Burnham hates his life, so he wishes to improve it. Likewise, _Star Wars_ begins with the galaxy enslaved by an evil empire. The goal is to improve life by defeating that empire.

Once the protagonist chooses a goal, his or her path should not waver from it. No distractions. No side trips. A good story forces the protagonist to have a one-track mind. There is a tiger in your living room. It does not make sense to do anything other than try to get that tiger out.

In the same way, a protagonist must be one hundred percent committed to reaching this goal. No backing down, no quitting. Hesitation and half-stepping make weak action. In cases where the hero starts out reluctant, the storyteller must quickly put the hero into a situation where he or she is _forced_ to become dedicated, or else. No matter how many times the hero may fail, or how badly, he or she must be willing to keep going until either the goal is achieved, or the hero is met with a final, irreversible defeat.

Once a storyteller matches a Story Problem to a Story Goal, something very important happens. The audience asks a question. They wonder, "Will the hero achieve this goal?" This is called the MAJOR DRAMATIC QUESTION. Will Marty McFly get back to 1985? Will John McClane defeat the terrorists? Will Marlin find Nemo? This is the moment that hooks the audience into the story. They continue to watch because they wish to know the answer. Therefore, to keep the audience glued to their seats, this question must not be answered until the story's very end.

Reaching the Story Goal answers the Major Dramatic Question (MDQ). The Story Problem has been overcome, stability has been restored, and the story must come to an end. Should characters reach their goals too early, they will be left with nothing to do for the rest of the film. The audience then grows bored because there is nothing left to hold their interest. The James Bond film _Casino Royale_ (2006) is one such story marred by a prematurely achieved Story Goal. _Casino Royale_ asks, "Will Bond defeat the villain Le Chiffre?" Only Le Chiffre is killed with thirty minutes left in the film! What then follows is a long, dull sequence in which Bond does little more than lay about because his job is finished. The audience, on the other hand, is left checking their watches, wondering why the movie will not end.

_Casino Royale_ then tries to overcome this mistake by giving Bond a _new_ Story Problem and new Goal with only minutes left in the film. However, this error is even more egregious than the first. _Royale_ basically attempts to create a brand new story right at the point when everything should be wrapping up. A story can have only one Story Spine, and with it only one Story Problem and one Story Goal. Switching Story Goals is like trying to change horses in midstream. It will confuse the audience, lose the narrative's direction, and disallow the unity of action a good story needs.

## 3. THE PATH OF ACTION

The Story Problem begins a story. Reaching the Story Goal ends it. The Path of Action is everything in between. It is the road the protagonist travels on his or her adventure. Though some stories involve a literal journey ( _The Wizard of Oz, The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring, Finding Nemo_ ), the Path of Action is usually a metaphorical road, one made of all actions the protagonist must take to overcome the problem and bring the story to an end. After all, victory is not going to fall into the protagonist's lap. He or she must DO something to get it.

This path can never be easy. A goal easily achieved has little value. What if Gorak did not need to spend days on end searching for the mammoth? What if he found the mammoth standing outside his camp, patiently waiting for a spear through its heart? This story would not have impressed its audience. The goal was reached with far too much ease, making the hero's actions not very heroic at all.

The more characters must struggle for what they want, the bigger the victory when they finally get it. If the audience sees the hero go through enough trouble, make enough hard choices, put enough at risk, the story's outcome will be perceived as emotionally satisfying. The Path of Action must be a journey filled with tests and trials. This not only makes a story exciting and unpredictable, but meaningful at its end.

As with any journey, the Path of Action must always MOVE FORWARD. Characters must push towards their goal with each and every scene until they reach the journey's end. When people speak of "pace," or "momentum," they refer to the rate which the plot advances down its Path of Action. Constant forward progress is what separates a good Path of Action from a poor one. Every event should do something to advance the story. A story is like a shark. If it stops moving, it dies. The moment you pause your story, allow your protagonist to stop pursuing the goal, or send the narrative onto an unrelated tangent, tension will fade and the audience will lose interest.

The Path of Action is where most scripts falter. Typically, things go wrong in one of two ways.

The first occurs when writers create protagonists unwilling to take strong, willful action towards the Story Goal. Instead, these protagonists are content to sit and wait for the problem to resolve itself. These stories move at a snail's pace, if they move at all. It is up to the protagonist, and the protagonist alone, to be the active force that makes things happen. Success cannot simply fall into the hero's lap. He or she must earn it through hard work. Only then will the audience find the outcome satisfying.

An even worse mistake occurs when writers send the plot off its proper Path of Action into unrelated tangents. When people say a script has "gone off its spine," they mean characters have stopped pursuing the Story Goal and are now mucking about in areas with little to do with the story's original premise. Like a hiker who leaves the marked trail, the story has lost its way. The audience then grows frustrated as it watches events wander aimlessly in the woods.

Remember that the audience has been hooked into the story by the Major Dramatic Question. They continue to watch because they want to know, "Will the hero achieve X?" Therefore, in order to maintain the audience's interest, every event should somehow relate to this original question. Unrelated plot tangents damage a story by stalling forward progress and distracting from its focus. Think of your story as a freight train. Connecting its point of departure and its final destination is a single length of track. The train must stay on its tracks. Jump the rails, and the result will be a disaster.

## 4. THE MAIN CONFLICT

Imagine I interrupted your busy day to tell you this story:

"This morning, I couldn't find my dog Rex. I got really worried because Rex is very old, and if he got out, he would get lost. So, I threw on my coat, grabbed my keys, opened the front door – and there he was on the doorstep."

At this point, you would probably feel pretty annoyed. I just wasted your time with a completely uneventful story. How was that in any way interesting?

Nothing is less exciting than a story where everything goes as planned. People will not listen very long to a tale on how nice your day was, how well the children behaved last night, or how perfect you find the weather. These stories are not very interesting. They contain no drama. The stories people want to hear, the stories that never have a problem gathering an audience, are those where _everything goes wrong._ Why? Because these stories contain CONFLICT. Conflict is what makes a story interesting. Conflict creates drama.

Conflict is something with which we are all familiar. We face it every day. Whenever something stands in the way of what we want, that is conflict. When any goal is made more difficult, that is conflict. If any person, thing, or event makes life harder than it already is, conflict is the result. Conflict is what makes life hell. It is also what makes it so very interesting.

Conflict excites and titillates the human mind. Though few like to experience conflict directly, we all enjoy observing conflict within safe, controlled boundaries. Conflict is the reason people love sports. It is the cause of our fascination with crime, politics, romantic quarrels, and celebrity gossip. It is also the source of the dramatic excitement we feel when watching a movie.

Conflict creates DRAMA. One cannot exist without the other. It is hard to define drama as opposed to conflict, since the terms are practically one and the same. When someone calls a situation "dramatic," they mean it is filled with conflict. Story drama, in a way, is nothing more than the structured presentation of a conflict through the actions of characters.

Though the exact psychological reasons for our love of conflict are unknown, evidence seems to suggest something as simple as human curiosity. When two things come into conflict, whether it be an argument, a fistfight, or a suitcase that will not close, it creates a situation in which the outcome is unclear. This uncertainty raises questions. And when people's minds have questions, they experience a natural urge to pay attention until an answer is found. The longer a situation remains in doubt, the longer we remain interested. Think of a sporting event. If one team jumps out to an insurmountable lead, the fans grow disinterested since they can already foresee the game's result. On the other hand, if the score goes back and forth, keeping the outcome in doubt, the fans remain on the edge of their seats. They are excited by the uncertainty.

I sometimes find scripts by writers who have yet to learn the importance of conflict. In these scripts, characters breeze through the narrative with no trouble at all. Nothing ever goes wrong. Everybody gets along swell. Sounds pleasant, doesn't it? It's not. It is as dull as eight hours of vacation slides. Without conflict, there is no drama. Without drama, there is nothing to hold the audience's interest.

However, the Story Spine cannot make do with just any random collection of conflicting events. A clear and focused plot requires a MAIN CONFLICT. Here is how it works: The protagonist has a goal. He or she takes action to reach that goal. Now, in order for these actions to be dramatic (that is, filled with conflict), _something must stand in the protagonist's way_. There must be a singular force that does not want the protagonist to succeed. This force then takes action to stop the protagonist. Whenever the protagonist pushes forward, this force pushes back. This creates the story's Main Conflict.

The source of this Main Conflict is called the FORCE OF ANTAGONISM. In most cases, this force is another character, known as the ANTAGONIST. Antagonists are usually easy to spot: Hans Gruber in _Die Hard_ , Darth Vader in _Star Wars_ , Apollo Creed in _Rocky_. These characters block the hero's path to success. They do not want the hero to win and will do whatever it takes to stop it from happening. In other cases, the force of antagonism comes not from one character, but from the protagonist's general _situation_. Stories of wilderness survival find the hero threatened by a combination of weather, lack of food, and dangerous animals. Films that address social issues often involve a protagonist taking on society at large. Yet, even in these cases, it is best if the writer chooses one character or thing to act as a tangible representative for the conflict as a whole. For example, the conflict of _Schindler's List_ does not come from a single person, but from the entire culture under the Nazi regime. However, the storytellers chose to channel most of this conflict through the actions of a single character, Amon Goeth (Ralph Fienes).

In certain stories, the protagonist can even be his or her own force of antagonism. These stories contain protagonists who are constantly defeated by their own deeply flawed behavior, rather than the actions of others. This creates a Jekyll & Hyde type of situation where the protagonist is his or her own worst enemy. Jake LaMotta in _Raging Bull_ (1980) is one such character. Jake wants happiness and success like anyone else, however it is his own jealous, self-destructive behavior that always brings him ruin. If these characters are to succeed, they must do so by overcoming themselves.

No matter where the force of antagonism originates, what is most important is that this force _directly oppose_ the protagonist's actions from the beginning of the story to its end. It must be the protagonist's shadow, dogging him or her every step of the way. The force of antagonism does not just block the protagonist's actions, but is DEAD SET against them, and willing to do everything possible to cause the protagonist to fail. This creates a scenario where only one side can win. This is called a _unity of opposites_. For example, the heroes of _The Matrix_ wish to free humanity by destroying the Matrix. This brings them into conflict with the Agents, artificial men designed to protect the Matrix. Since the destruction of the Matrix would mean the end of the Agents and all they know, the Agents are willing to do everything possible to stop the heroes. In _The Lord of the Rings,_ the antagonist Sauron wants to find the One Ring so he may conquer Middle Earth. In opposition, Frodo and his allies wish to destroy the ring to stop this from happening. This creates a head-to-head struggle where both sides have no choice but to fight against each other until one is defeated.

Generally, a story with one strong source of conflict creates far better drama than one composed of multiple smaller conflicts. One might think more villains would equal more drama, but the opposite is true. Dividing screen time amongst multiple forces of antagonism splinters the Path of Action into several directions, creating confusion and disallowing unity of action. Each antagonist will then seem only half as powerful as each dilutes the importance of the others. If you have a hard time believing this, take a look at a movie such as _Spider-man 3_ (2007) and try not to be convinced that the story would have been better served with one antagonist instead of three. The Story Spine gets its power from its simplicity. One protagonist. One Story Goal. For the most dramatic conflict, one mighty force should stand in the way.

## 5. THE STAKES

So now, the hero has a problem, he or she has chosen a goal, and takes action – only to encounter enormous resistance from the force of antagonism. Once this happens, what motivates the hero to keep going? If conflict makes the Path of Action so difficult, dangerous even, what stops the hero from deciding the goal is no longer worth the struggle? If the protagonist is to continue taking action in the face of overwhelming conflict, there must be a darn good reason. There must be a counter-force pushing the protagonist onward. This force is called the STAKES.

The stakes are "what's in it" for the protagonist. They are what the protagonist has to gain should he or she win (happiness, freedom, stability), versus the consequences that will occur should he or she lose (death, ruin, loss of loved ones). Stakes keep the protagonist personally invested in the situation. The protagonist is not in this for fun and games. He or she keeps fighting because there is something hanging in the balance. Something important. Something he or she desperately wishes to gain, or something he or she fears to lose.

If John McClane succeeds in _Die Hard,_ he will be reunited with his family. If he fails, he and many others will die. If Jason Bourne succeeds in _The Bourne Identity,_ he will not only regain his sense of self, but also his freedom. If he fails, he will permanently lose that freedom, and possibly his life as well. If Rocky wins his fight with Apollo Creed, he will receive the respect and recognition of the whole world. If he loses, all he will receive is humiliation.

Like conflict, stakes are something we constantly deal with in daily life. With every important decision comes an internal weighing of what is to be gained or lost. For instance, many people dislike their jobs. Yet, they do not quit. They keep doing something they dislike because there is something at stake. If they continue to work, they will receive a steady paycheck. If they quit, they will lose the means to support themselves. As long as that which is to be won or lost outweighs the displeasure attached to it, people will continue to put up with the daily grind.

Writers and actors alike speak of a character's _motivation_. Simply put, motivation is the impulse that causes people to act. It explains why characters do what they do. Motivation is a natural outcome of stakes. In any given situation, what is to be won or lost puts pressure on a character, which in turn motivates him or her to act in a certain way. If a story lacks stakes, characters will seem to behave without motivation. The characters do things, but the audience does not understand why. Consider another lost dog story. This time, the story contains conflict, but lacks stakes:

"Last month, I went looking for this lost dog. I searched for days. In the morning. At night. In the sun. In the rain. I even took a sick day from work so I could keep at it. It took forever, but I finally found the dog."

Anyone listening would undoubtedly sense something was missing, and ask :

"I don't understand. Was this your dog?"

"No."

"Did it belong to a friend?"

"No."

"Was there a reward?"

"No."

"...Are you insane?"

Life is hard enough. No one is willing to take on any more trouble than they must, unless there is a darn good reason. Having a character run headlong into risky situations without good reason will not be considered heroic. It will be seen as pointless, foolish, even suicidal. These actions will not make sense unless there is something to be won, something to be lost, or even better, both.

Stakes explain why the hero cares about the situation. They also explain why the audience should care as well. Actions without consequences have little meaning to an audience. If nothing good comes from victory, or nothing bad from failure, why should the result matter at all? On the other hand, if the audience cares about a character, and then understands something bad will happen should that character fail, the audience becomes emotionally invested in the outcome. The audience roots for the hero to succeed, because they know and fear what will happen if the hero should not. Clear, identifiable stakes allow the audience to understand the deeper significance behind story events. They are not just watching a conflict, but a conflict with consequences. Consequences the audience cares about as much as the characters.

Take another look at the diagram of the Story Spine. The Main Conflict creates a massive force pushing against the protagonist. The Stakes provide a counter-force pushing back. If the protagonist is going to stay in the fight, the force pushing forward must be just as strong, or even stronger than the forces aligned against the hero. In great stories, heroes face incredible amounts of risk. To remain plausible, that which is to be won or lost must outweigh the risk. Why _must_ Neo and his friends destroy the Matrix? They are putting their lives in danger when it is far safer to simply hide. Neo and his friends choose to take on the risk because they know the fate of humanity lies in their hands. The benefit to be won outweighs the risk necessary to get it. Why _must_ Indiana Jones find the Ark of the Covenant before the Nazis? In this case, Indy does not have much to gain, but he does have everything to lose. If the Nazis find the Ark first, they will use it to conquer the world. The cost of failure greatly outweighs the required risk. Gorak cannot give up when he realizes the mammoth may kill him. Gorak is fighting for the survival of his tribe, and that is far more important than his personal safety.

In great movies, the stakes are HUGE. In _The Godfather_ , the fate of Michael Corleone's entire family is at stake. In _Die Hard_ , the lives of dozens of people. In _Star Wars_ , the freedom of the entire galaxy. However, stakes need not be on such a grand scale to be considered huge. In _Rocky,_ the title character's sense of self-worth is at stake. That may not mean anything to the person sitting next to him on the bus, but it means the world to him. A stranger may see little at stake in Dr. Malcolm Crowe's attempts to help Cole in _The Sixth Sense_. However, Crowe is haunted by the memory of another boy he failed in the past. Crowe will not be able to live with himself if he fails with Cole as well. Though these stakes may not be on an earth-shattering scale, what is important is that they _seem_ huge to the protagonist. These characters still fight like their lives depend on it, because what they have to gain or lose is incredibly important to them.

Problem. Goal. Path of Action. Conflict. Stakes. It is surprisingly simple. Yet these five components, when properly used, always have, and always will, hold the key to great storytelling. Everything else within screencraft is simply an embellishment upon this basic design. With that said, we move deeper into the structure of plot to reveal how the Story Spine expands to create an entire cinematic narrative.

***

#  CHAPTER 3  
THE SEQUENCE METHOD

Here again is the Story Spine:

This diagram was designed to be simple and straightforward so it may illustrate the basics of any story, regardless of what form that story may take. However, as we move from examining all storytelling in general to the feature-length cinematic story in particular, we find that the Spine becomes a bit more complicated in a certain area. A more accurate representation would look something like this:

In the first diagram, the Path of Action is represented by a single line traveling straight from Problem to Goal. This might suggest that a protagonist need only take a single set of actions to reach his or her ultimate objective. While this may be sufficient for short forms of story, such as a folk tale or anecdote, a feature-length film must hold an audience's attention for ninety to over one hundred and fifty minutes. This creates a problem. If an audience must watch a protagonist pursue the same course of action scene after scene, with no change or variation, the story will quickly become repetitive and dull. The audience will lose interest because nothing is DEVELOPING. And development requires _change._

A good plot depends largely upon the pace at which development occurs. Too little development, and the story will move like pond water. On the other hand, if development is too quick or chaotic, the plot becomes confusing and erratic. If a cinematic story is to move at a proper pace while maintaining focus and direction, the long, winding Path of Action must have a structure of its own.

Take a look at the updated diagram. Its Path of Action is not made of one straight line, but many small segments, all twisting and turning their way to the ultimate goal. These are called STORY SEQUENCES. Story sequences can be thought of as "legs" in the protagonist's journey. Like the chapters in a novel, story sequences break up the long cinematic narrative into a series of smaller, more discrete units of action. The Path of Action is not one long, plodding marathon after a far-off finish line, but rather a series of sprints.

In each sequence, the protagonist pursues a separate, more immediate SEQUENCE GOAL. Sequence goals exist as direct subsets of the main Story Goal. When a story begins, the ultimate Story Goal is very far away. To reach it, the protagonist must take things step by step. In each story sequence, the protagonist pursues a smaller, related goal. Each of these smaller goals have the cumulative effect of moving the protagonist closer and closer to the ultimate prize. To provide a simple illustration, let us say you are required every morning to get to your workplace by 8:00 am. This is your ultimate goal. But to achieve this, you must first accomplish a series of smaller, more immediate goals. First, you must wake up, take a shower, and get dressed. Then you must catch the bus. Once on the bus, you must reach your destination. Finally, with whatever time remains, you must get to your work station and start your day. Each of these smaller, more immediate tasks require their own specific actions and come with their own difficulties. Yet if successful, every sub-goal works to get you closer and closer to your final destination.

Each story sequence is brought to an end by a TURNING POINT. These are represented by the small white circles on the diagram. Turning points are events that create a dramatic and permanent change in the story situation. As the name suggests, they literally turn the course of the story in a new direction by bringing the action of one sequence to an end and throwing the hero headlong into the next. This typically occurs either because the protagonist has reached the sequence sub-goal, or because something forces the protagonist to abandon the current course of action and shift attention to a new, more urgent task. After the turning point, a new story sequence begins in which the protagonist pursues a new sequence goal. The value of turning points cannot be underestimated. They provide the story's most important events. Like the evenly-spaced columns that support a building, turning points create the rhythmic structure that give a story its ultimate shape and form.

Here is how all of this works:

The inciting incident thrusts a Story Problem into the protagonist's life. In reaction, the protagonist establishes a Story Goal. However, reaching this goal will be no simple task. So, the protagonist begins by first taking action towards a closer, more immediate sub-goal. This is usually something small and practical, the simplest action the character thinks will get what he or she needs with the smallest amount of risk. So, if the character's problem is that she has been evicted from her apartment, her first action would be to talk to her landlord. If the hero's wife has been kidnapped, his first action would be to contact the police. The protagonist has every reason to believe that this simple, low-risk action will succeed. It will either solve the problem, or at least get the ball rolling towards its eventual resolution. Unfortunately, this is not the case. Something gets in the way.  
The landlord slams the door in the woman's face. The police do not believe the man's story. The protagonist has encountered an OBSTACLE. Obstacles are roadblocks on the Path of Action. They are walls that spring up unexpectedly to prevent the protagonist from reaching his or her goal through the current line of action. The obstacle could come from any number of sources. It may be another character (the antagonist blocks the hero's actions), an event outside of the character's control (the man gets in a car wreck on the way to the police station), or perhaps new information (the man learns _he_ is the prime suspect in his wife's disappearance). No matter what the source, the obstacle is more than just an annoyance. It stops the hero dead in his or her tracks. It must be an _insurmountable_ obstruction that makes it impossible for the hero to make any more progress through his or her current efforts. To see the difference: Heavy traffic on the way to work is not an obstacle. It may make things difficult, but you will still reach your goal through the current line of action. Running out of gas is an obstacle. It stops you dead in your tracks and forces you to take new action if you wish to continue on towards your destination.

When confronted by an obstacle, the protagonist faces a choice. He or she can either give up, or decide to do what it takes to get _around_ that obstacle. To do so, the protagonist must find a _new_ course of action. This creates a turning point. It launches the story in a new direction after a new immediate goal.

So begins the second leg of the protagonist's journey. However, this time actions must be a little bigger. The small, low-risk actions taken previously did not work. The protagonist must one-up him or herself, put forth some more effort, and become willing to take on a little risk. So, failing with her landlord, our evicted heroine decides to contact her estranged sister in hope that she will take her in. Our hero with the kidnapped wife now seeks the help of a private investigator. The protagonist hopes these stronger actions will prove more successful than the last. But, something happens once again.

Another obstacle blocks the hero's way. The evicted woman's sister wants nothing to do with her. The only detective willing to take the man's case is an unreliable drunk. What to do now? We have reached another turning point. The protagonists cannot quit at this point. The stakes have grown too high. They have no choice but to begin yet another course of action towards another immediate sub-goal. The woman decides to learn why her sister hates her. The man decides to investigate the kidnapping himself. So begins the third leg of the Path of Action.

The journey on this leg becomes even tougher. It requires more effort and holds more risk. Yet, hope urges our heroes onward. The protagonists believe that some way, somehow, this new set of actions will pull them through. But then, something happens. Again. And again. The plot continues to develop in this manner, sequence after sequence, turning point after turning point, until the story's climactic end, where the hero, weak and exhausted from the long journey, finally reaches the Story Goal he or she set out to attain so long ago.

Let's look at how this works in one of our study films. _The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring_ is the story of Frodo Baggins, an unlikely hero who must protect a magic ring from forces of evil. At the start, Frodo's task is rather simple. He must take the ring to the city of Bree where he will meet Gandalf the Wizard at the Prancing Pony Inn. Frodo believes that once this is accomplished, his work will be over.

Only this proves more difficult than Frodo originally believed. An unforeseen development creates an obstacle. He is discovered by a Ring Wraith, an undead creature sent to find the ring and kill its bearer. Frodo cannot continue his mission on his current path. If he does, the Wraith will kill him. Frodo must find a new course of action.

This creates a turning point. To continue, Frodo must pursue a new immediate goal: to escape the Wraith. So begins a new story sequence. Frodo's actions meet success this time. He escapes the Wraith and reaches Bree. However, Frodo's victory is short-lived. Another obstacle meets Frodo at the Inn. Gandalf is nowhere to be found.

What to do now? Bree is filled with dangerous characters, and the Wraiths are still after Frodo. Without Gandalf's protection, the ring will surely be found. This forces Frodo to make another story-changing decision. Backed into a corner, Frodo decides to accept the aid of a stranger and continue the ring's journey on his own.

This begins a third sequence. Here Frodo must put forth more effort and take on more risk. Frodo has a new immediate goal: to take the ring to Rivendale, where he will find protection. This course of action goes well at first, but an obstacle arises once more. The Wraiths find them, and Frodo is poisoned by one of their blades.

This obstacle creates another turning point. Frodo will die unless he receives first aid. If this happens, the entire mission will fail. So begins a new story sequence with a new immediate goal: to save Frodo's life. Frodo reaches this goal with the help of his allies and is healed. However, Frodo's troubles are not allayed for long.

The story turns once more as a band of heroes gather to decide what must be done with the ring. At this point, it seems Frodo has finished his task and can go home. However, another obstacle arises to prevent this. It becomes clear that Frodo is the only one amongst the heroes capable of resisting the ring's power. Frodo must once again choose to continue his adventure and begin the next story sequence.

Note that story sequences are never arbitrary. They do not go into tangents or pursue areas unrelated to the Story Spine. No matter how the obstacles may alter his path, Frodo continues to move in the same direction. Every action he takes either gets him one step closer to his ultimate goal, or works to ensure his survival so he may continue this quest. Though the story may twist and turn in new directions, the end destination always remains the same.

To illustrate further, let us say you are taking a cross-country trip from Dallas to Denver. Denver, of course, is your ultimate destination. So, you start with what seems like the easiest and safest route. But, a distance down the road you find there is a detour. You are forced to turn off onto another highway. This road is not as convenient, but it will still get you where you wish to go. Unfortunately, a hundred miles down this new road you find that the route has been closed due to flooding. Because of this, you must backtrack and find yet another road that will bypass the flooding. So, you turn off onto a small winding road that cuts through the mountains. This road is tougher, but according to the map, it will still get you to Denver. Only then, you find that this route has been blocked as well. With no remaining choice, you turn onto a dirt road that is not even on the map, and hope, _hope_ that this road will get you where you need to go. Though the route of your journey is constantly forced in new directions, the end goal remains the same. You are still trying to get to Denver.

## STRUCTURE WITHIN THE SEQUENCE

Last chapter, we established that every good story is formed by a five-component structure called the Story Spine. Story sequences can be thought of as smaller, inter-related _sub-stories._ No story can exist without a spine, and these smaller sub-stories are no exception. Each story sequence then finds focus and direction by paralleling the structure of the main narrative through their own SEQUENCE SPINES.

A sequence spine operates exactly like the Story Spine, only on a smaller scale. It contains a sequence problem, a sequence goal, a sequence path of action, a main sequence conflict, and sequence stakes. To illustrate, let's use the sequence in _Fellowship_ where Frodo flees the Wraith. Frodo's sequence problem: The Wraith has discovered him. Frodo's sequence goal: To escape the Wraith. Frodo's sequence path of action: He and his comrades flee. Frodo's sequence conflict: The Wraith will not let him get away. Frodo's sequence stakes: If he fails to escape, he will be killed and the Wraith will take the ring.

Sequence spines are not independent from the main Story Spine. Just as story sequences are not separate, independent narratives, but rather interdependent sub-narratives that work together to create the story as a whole, each sequence spine is merely a subset of the main Story Spine. Sequence spines do not exist for their own purpose, but to develop the main Spine and serve its needs. Each component of the sequence spine is merely a smaller and more immediate expression of its larger counterpart. Each sequence problem is a direct result of the main Story Problem. Each sequence goal is a more immediate step taken towards the main Story Goal. Each sequence conflict comes as a result of the main Story Conflict. The stakes of each sequence are directly connected to the main Stakes. And finally, the sequence's path of action is really nothing more than a small segment of the story's Path of Action as a whole.

We see these connections quite well as Frodo flees the Wraith. The Wraith has discovered Frodo (sequence problem) because the Wraith has been sent by the antagonist Sauron to find the ring. Therefore, the sequence problem is a direct result of the main Story Problem. Escaping the Wraith (sequence goal) will allow Frodo to continue his pursuit of his main Story Goal. So, success with this goal is necessary for Frodo to reach his ultimate goal. Since the Wraith (the source of the sequence conflict) is a minion of Sauron, it is as if Sauron himself pursues Frodo. So, the sequence conflict is directly related to the Main Conflict. If Frodo fails in this sequence (sequence stakes), the forces of evil will claim the ring. This will not only mean doom for this sequence, but for the story as a whole. Finally, every action Frodo takes in this sequence path of action becomes a small part of the overarching Path of Action Frodo must take to reach the story's end.

Thus, the action of any sequence is never random or isolated, but rather exists to continually develop and build upon the action of the main Story Spine. Like how the branches of a tree grow outwards while remaining connected to their root, sequence spines allow story sequences to develop the plot's action down various paths while remaining connected to the story's original source. This separate-yet-unified structure keeps a two-hour movie from drifting or wandering off course, no matter how many twists and turns its plot may take. Everything remains connected. If a sequence contains a spine with components that do not support and relate to the main Story Spine, it becomes like a branch that has broken off the tree. It is not connected to anything, nor does it lead to anything else. It creates little more than a tangent of irrelevant actions that will distract from the story and skew it off course.

Even if the narrative, for one reason or another, must turn down a path where the actions do not directly relate to the main Story Spine, the sequence spine must still connect to the overall structure in at least an indirect manner. Let us look at a hypothetical screenplay that must turn down such a road. It follows a knight who must save the life of a dying queen. At a certain turning point, the knight learns that the queen can be saved with the help of a particular wizard. Unfortunately, the wizard is locked in a castle guarded by a monster. This sets up a new story sequence: the rescue of the wizard. Even though the action in this sequence has nothing _directly_ to do with saving the queen, each element of the sequence spine still relates to the main Spine indirectly. The sequence problem is that the wizard is held prisoner. Since the wizard is necessary to save the dying queen, this problem is connected to the main Story Problem. The sequence goal is to free the wizard. Doing so will move the hero one step closer to his main Story Goal. The sequence conflict comes from the monster. Even though the monster is unique to this sequence, it is still connected to the Main Conflict. By standing in the way of the hero's immediate goal, it also indirectly blocks the knight's ultimate goal. The same goes for the sequence stakes. If the knight fails, he will not gain the help of the wizard. If this happens, the queen may die.

A sequence's action should be self-contained. This means that once a sequence begins, no unrelated material should interrupt its action until either the sequence goal is achieved, or an insurmountable obstacle arises to force the sequence to an end. Interrupting a sequence with material unrelated to its spine will cause the sequence to lose focus and momentum. Look at _The Bourne Identity. Bourne_ requires its story to constantly switch back and forth between Jason Bourne and the antagonist Ted Conklin to keep the audience updated on both fronts. However, every time Jason Bourne begins the pursuit of a new sequence goal, the film sticks with that pursuit until Bourne reaches his next turning point. His actions are never interrupted by material from Conklin until those actions are finished. Thus, instead of interrupting the momentum of Bourne's sequences, the Conklin material acts almost like a commercial break that gives the audience a breather between each episode.

### MORE ON TURNING POINTS

As previously suggested, a sequence can end with one of two results. The protagonist can reach the sequence goal, or an unexpected event may force the protagonist to abandon his or her goal in favor of a new course of action.

When a sequence results in success, it creates a _positive_ turning point. Events end on an up-beat. The knight kills the monster and saves the wizard. The knight has claimed a small victory, and can now take a moment to catch his breath before turning his attention to the next step of the plan.

However, more often than not, a sequence does not end in success. The hero is unexpectedly confronted by an insurmountable obstacle that either makes victory impossible, or throws him or her in an even more threatening situation. Let us say the knight kills the monster, only to then discover the wizard has been dead for years. This is an unexpected setback. A failure. This creates a _negative_ turning point. The knight must now find a new course of action that will compensate for this defeat and allow him to continue onward. Or perhaps, while distracted by the monster, the knight is ambushed and captured by his enemy. This unexpected development has put the knight in an even more threatening situation. He can no longer think about the wizard. He must find a new goal and a new course of action to escape this new predicament.

If given the choice between a positive or negative turning point, it is more dramatic to go with the negative. Audiences expect the hero to succeed. Positive turning points reinforce these expectations. So, a story with nothing but positive turning points will lack the drama that comes from unpredictability. On the other hand, a swift change from bad to worse will surprise the audience. The Major Dramatic Question is then thrown into further doubt, and the audience has a new reason to fear for the hero's welfare. For best results, use a healthy mix of positive and negative. This keeps the action unpredictable and thus more engaging for the audience.

## DEVELOPMENT & ESCALATION

A great cinematic plot does more than twist and turn with every story sequence. Its events must also increase in intensity as the story progresses. People often compare an exciting movie to a roller-coaster. This thrilling experience is made possible by two things: DEVELOPMENT and ESCALATION.

We have already discussed development to some degree. Development occurs whenever any action or event, no matter how large or small, causes the story situation to undergo change. New characters appear, secrets are revealed, alliances are made, friends are betrayed, actions are taken by protagonist and antagonist that move both closer and closer to the story's climactic end. In a great story, the only constant is change. No scene should pass that does not in some way alter the dramatic landscape.

Story situations always seem rather simple at their beginnings. Goals are clear, problems seem straightforward, and the necessary actions appear cut-and-dry. But as the hero starts to encounter obstacles and turning points, the situation becomes progressively more and more complex. Each turning point provides an event that complicates what has existed before, until the situation grows into an increasingly difficult state of affairs. If one would look back on a story after it has reached its end, it should be astounding that such extreme circumstances could have ever come from such a simple beginning.

To have any profound effect, this change must be _irrevocable_ change. Each event must alter the dramatic landscape in an irreversible manner. Once a man sleeps with his best friend's wife, he cannot undo that action. Once a character is killed, that person cannot come back to life. If a secret is revealed, the cat cannot be put back in the bag. A change that can be easily reversed is no change at all. At best, it becomes a dramatic cul-de-sac that leads the story in a circle, only to return it to where it began. Irrevocable change, on the other hand, forces the situation to move forward, simply because there is no going back. Bridges have been burnt, and the hero must push onwards, no matter how ugly the situation has become.

Though essential for a well-told story, development alone will not be enough to create the most exciting movie experience. With development must come a second element. **Escalation.**

" _You want to know how you get Capone? They pull a knife, you pull a gun. He sends one of yours to the hospital, you send one of his to the morgue."  
\- The Untouchables_ (1987)

Take another look at the updated Story Spine:

You will notice that after each turning point, the line segments grow thicker and thicker. Likewise, the arrows representing conflict grow larger and larger. This is because turning points do more than push the story in a new direction. They also escalate the level of conflict. Actions must increase in significance as the story advances. Things must grow more intense. More dangerous. More risky. Like a snowball rolling downhill, the plot gains both size and speed as it goes.

A protagonist begins the Path of Action with the smallest action he or she thinks will find success. However, an obstacle forces the protagonist to escalate. The smallest action is not enough. The hero must go bigger. So, the hero takes a larger action, but the next obstacle proves this action to be insufficient as well. The hero must go even bigger, and then bigger, and then bigger. This continues until the story's climax, where the protagonist has no choice but to take the BIGGEST action possible. One enormous effort. With everything on the line.

John McClane shows a steady escalation of action in _Die Hard_. When the terrorists invade, John's first reaction is to hide. This does little to help, so John pulls the fire alarm. This also fails, so John tries to contact the police via radio. A policeman arrives, but the cop does not notice anything suspicious. John escalates further by smashing a window. The policeman still does not notice. Finally, John throws a dead body out the window to get the cop's attention. John did not go straight to such an extreme action. He was forced to gradually escalate his behavior thanks to a string of lesser actions that met nothing but failure.

However, conflict is a two-way street. The unity of opposites locks protagonist and antagonist into a conflict only one can win. So, whenever the protagonist escalates his or her actions, so must the antagonist. Every time John McClane takes greater effort to reach his goal, Hans Gruber responds with an even greater effort to stop him. When John first pulls the fire alarm, Hans sends only one man to find him. When John tries to contact the police, Hans send three more. Finally, when John steals the bag of detonators, Hans feels it is necessary to do everything he can to find John and kill him. This back and forth escalation of actions turns the plot into an increasingly intensifying contest of wills. Both sides push at each other harder and harder, until the conflict pushes the situation all the way to the edge. In the end, only one side will win, while the other will be pushed over the edge into oblivion.

As the protagonist's actions escalate, so must his or her level of _dedication_. Each obstacle draws a line in the sand. Once encountered, protagonists must ask themselves whether they are willing to do what it takes to cross that line. In doing so, the protagonist becomes more committed to his or her Story Goal and, as an added consequence, willing to take on more _risk._ When a story begins, the hero's dedication is usually quite weak. He or she takes small actions that require minimal risk. However, as the hero encounters obstacle after obstacle, and repeatedly makes the decision to continue rather than quit, the hero's dedication builds to a point where he or she is willing to do anything to achieve success. By the time the story reaches its climax, the protagonist has become so committed that he or she will risk any danger to come out on top.

Let us use Jake Gittes of _Chinatown_ as an example. Jake first shows very little personal dedication to his detective work. That is, until someone plays him for a sap. This offense motivates Jake to summon a little dedication and take on some risk to find the culprit. This ends with Jake getting roughed up by hired goons. While this would make some decide to quit, Jake only becomes more determined. He ups the ante and dives even deeper into the mystery. Likewise, when Luke Skywalker is first asked to leave home and join the Rebel Alliance, he is reluctant. His dedication is low. He fears the risk. Then, he finds his family murdered by Imperial Troopers. This turning point forces Luke to take on a little risk and dedicate himself to a new life. However, Luke does not suddenly turn gung-ho. His dedication remains middling and he continues to do all he can to avoid danger. It is not until Luke finds himself trapped aboard the Death Star that he decides to commit himself fully. Luke crosses the line in the sand and chooses to become a hero.

For both Jake and Luke, the snowball continues to roll. Sequence by sequence, turning point by turning point, their stories continue to escalate, turning a once simple setup into an increasingly intense and complicated situation. This continues until the story's climax where the roller-coaster, at its highest point, hurtles downward in an exciting and satisfying conclusion.

Story sequences provide the basic method by which the cinematic narrative finds structure. However, over the past few decades, writers and dramatists alike have further organized this method into a more complicated, yet highly effective model known as _3-Act Structure._ This topic is covered in the full-length version of _Screenwriting Down to the Atoms_. For now, we move on to a far more important subject. Character.

***

#  CHAPTER 4  
ON CHARACTER

Story comes from character. Not the other way around.

There seems to be two approaches to the Hollywood screenplay: those that begin with a great character and build their plots around it; and those that start from a "cool" concept and then throw characters in as an afterthought. While the latter type can provide a certain level of entertainment, the viewing experience is typically a mediocre one that quickly fades from the audience's memory. A cool concept may sell tickets, but those ticket holders will be disappointed without great characters to make the experience worthwhile. _Star Wars_ spawned a host of sci-fi ripoffs. _Die Hard_ did the same in the action genre. However, audiences never embraced these copycats as they did the originals. Why? Because the imitators merely stole the original's concept, while ignoring the fact that the originals were great because they were built around _great characters._ A concept may draw audiences in, but characters are what make them stick around for more.

Audiences experience cinematic stories by forming psychological attachments to the persons they see on the screen. They experience emotion and excitement by living through the actions of the characters. Unfortunately, this becomes difficult when characters are phony, dull, or flat as cardboard. Movies invented with the concept-first approach invariably wind up with weak, superficial characters. This is primarily because these characters are defined solely by the _function_ they play in relation to an already-constructed plot. They are little more than hollow tools who exist to connect the story's dots.

In a great movie, the plot is not in the driver's seat. Rather, the characters are in control. Characters cannot just stand around waiting for things to happen. Instead, they must be the ones advancing the plot through independent thought and action. Not because the script tells them to do it, but because they are driven to act by clear and understandable wants and needs. Characters create story.

Remember that the Story Spine revolves around the protagonist and his or her needs. It is the protagonist's Story Problem, the protagonist's Story Goal, the protagonist's Path of Action... Without the protagonist, a Story Spine cannot exist. Without a Spine, a story cannot exist. So, if the entire plot emerges from the Story Spine, and the Story Spine emerges from the needs of a single character, simple logic dictates that all plot originates from the wants and needs of that character. But, how does this happen? How exactly does a character create a plot?

It all starts by giving the character a strong INTERNAL NEED.

The internal need is some intangible thing missing from the protagonist's life. It is an emotional or psychological lack that prevents the protagonist from becoming a complete, emotionally satisfied human being. The protagonist may need self-worth ( _Rocky_ ), to find his place in the universe (Luke in _Star Wars_ ), or to forgive himself for past failures (Dr. Malcolm Crowe in _The Sixth Sense_ ) _._ Sometimes, the protagonist is aware of this need. More often, he or she is not. Usually this need is buried so deep inside the character that he or she does not even realize it exists. Regardless, this gaping, empty need becomes the subconscious drive behind the character's thoughts and deeds. The character cannot become happy and fulfilled until the need is met.

A good internal need must meet two requirements. First, the need must be authentically human. This means it must be something everyone can understand. We can all understand a need for safety, success, love, or self-worth. We recognize these needs because we want them for ourselves. Human beings share dozens of basic drives and urges. Picking one of them allows the audience to understand the internal need, and thus understand the character's behavior.

Second, the internal need must be strong enough to influence the character's behavior. A need is worth little to a story unless it motivates the character to act. The need makes itself physical through a character's more observable traits, such as attitudes, opinions, and the actions the character is willing (or unwilling) to take. For example, Luke Skywalker's need to find his place in the universe causes him to be restless, impatient, and impulsive. Rocky Balboa's lack of self-worth makes him sad, bitter, and sensitive to criticism.

Now, here is the important part: Once the storyteller has given the character a strong internal need, he or she must place that character into a physical predicament that forces the character to PURSUE THAT NEED.

Think of yourself as the god of your story world. You created this world. You have absolute power over it and absolute control. As the creator, you know your protagonist down to the most intimate detail. You know his or her internal need, and as a benevolent god, you want the protagonist to receive this need so he or she can become a better, happier person. However, the storyteller-god cannot simply hand the character this need. This is not how the story universe works. Instead, the character must _earn it_.

Here is where plot comes into play. The storyteller-god manipulates the story universe to thrust the protagonist into a dramatic situation specifically-designed to give the protagonist exactly what he or she needs. Rocky Balboa needs self-worth. So, the storyteller places him into a situation where he must either become a contender or a joke. Luke Skywalker needs to find his place in the universe. So, the storyteller puts him at the center of a galaxy-wide struggle that forces him to seek his destiny. Neo of _The Matrix_ needs to believe in himself. So, Neo is placed into a predicament where humanity's entire fate hangs upon that belief. However, for this to work, the situation must be filled with conflict and danger. Most people are slow to act in real life. They become comfortable with the way things are, flaws and all, and grow unwilling to change. But, when the storyteller-god throws a Story Problem into the protagonist's life with all of its associated conflict, a proverbial gun is placed to the protagonist's head. The protagonist must take action whether he or she likes it or not. The physical events of the plot, with its various conflicts and goals, actually exist for no other purpose than to get the protagonist off his or her butt and send him or her down a path that will ultimately lead the character to what he or she desperately needs.

To make this easier to understand, think of the supporting characters from the classic film _The Wizard of Oz_. The Scarecrow, Tin Man, and Lion come to the Wizard with obvious internal needs. The Scarecrow needs a brain. The Tin Man needs a heart. The Lion needs courage. However, the Wizard, like a storyteller-god, does not simply give these characters what they need. Instead, he demands they bring him the broom of the Wicked Witch. The Wizard sends them on an _adventure_. However, this is not just any adventure. This is an adventure specifically designed to put the characters into a predicament where they must find their internal needs _all on their own_ in order to succeed. As the quest begins, Dorothy is captured by the Witch. To rescue her, the Scarecrow, Tin Man, and Lion must summon the qualities they supposedly lack. The Scarecrow finds the brains to think up a plan. The Tin Man leads the charge with loving compassion. The Lion summons the courage to face danger. It is the adventure itself that transforms the characters into better, stronger persons. In the end, the broom is meaningless. The physical goal was merely an excuse invented to send the characters down a path that leads them to what they really need.

For the point of emphasis, I must make clear that the internal need is not the same as the Story Goal. They are separate, yet connected ambitions. The Story Goal is a tangible, real-world accomplishment that can only be achieved through physical action. To capture the killer, to save the farm, to win the big game. The protagonist is aware of this goal and takes willful steps to achieve it. In contrast, the internal need is an abstract emotional or psychological necessity, tugging at the character under the surface, that the character may be unaware of or resist. It can only be achieved through internal processes triggered by the struggles faced in the outside world. Though Story Goal and internal need influence each other, they are two separate accomplishments that are reached individually. More on the relationship between need and Goal will be covered later this chapter.

Unfortunately, something within the protagonist prevents him or her from attaining the internal need. Standing in the way is a second internal force called the FATAL FLAW. The fatal flaw is a defect in a character's personality, point of view, or way of thinking that interferes with his or her ability to find happiness and success. Perhaps the character is selfish, or insensitive, or cowardly. Maybe he or she has no ambition, no confidence, or no self-control. This flaw has grown and festered within the protagonist for years, sometimes to the point where it seems the two are inseparable. Like the internal need, the protagonist is often unaware of this flaw, or if he or she is aware, the character is unwilling to recognize the harm it brings.

As long as the flaw exists, the protagonist will remain an incomplete person, doomed to fail at whatever he or she attempts. Doomed because the flaw not only creates problems in the character's internal life, but also interferes with any efforts the character makes toward physical goals. As the protagonist pursues the Path of Action, the flaw makes it difficult, or even impossible, to find success. Luke Skywalker is too immature. Marty McFly is too reckless. Michael Corleone is too passive. The flaw becomes a stumbling block that trips up the protagonist time and again. Because of the flaw, the character will never reach the Story Goal or internal need. Unless, that is, the character is willing to CHANGE.

## CHARACTER CHANGE

In every cinematic story, events cause characters to grow and change. Who they were at the story's beginning is not who they are at its end. This is only natural. No human being, real or fictional, could possibly go through the extreme situations found in any cinematic story and not wind up transformed as a result.

If you look back on your own life, I wager the person you are today is very different from the person you used to be. In your youth, you may have been less responsible, more optimistic, less confident, or different in any number of ways. Most likely, your personal evolution did not occur slowly and gradually by its own accord. Instead, changes came in reaction to major, life-altering events; marriages and divorces, first jobs and first loves, births and deaths, heartbreaks and failures. The stresses and responsibilities of each new milestone forced you to reevaluate how you saw the world and your place within it. As your view of the world changed, so did your attitudes and behavior.

Cinematic stories revolve around major milestones in characters' lives. Quite often, these are the most significant, most difficult, most extreme experiences the characters will ever face. Given the severity of these situations, character change is not only inevitable, but mandatory.

This course of change is known as the CHARACTER ARC. Like the Story Spine, the character arc is a journey. But rather than a physical journey, it is an invisible path of personal transformation undergone by the character as he or she struggles with the story's events. But, what must change about a character, and why?

Human beings tend to view people, both real and fictional, as collections of qualities known as PERSONALITY TRAITS. If you were to give a purely non-physical description of a friend, you would be listing that person's traits. Perhaps you see your friend as quiet, intelligent, well-meaning, but prone to anger or jealousy. Or maybe your friend is confident, proud, energetic, but very poor at communication. Every person possesses an assortment of attitudes, behaviors, habits, and beliefs (both positive and negative in nature) that suggest how the person will behave in any given situation.

Characters, of course, should possess an equally rich collection of traits. Some traits are beneficial, such as Indiana Jones' bravery, Rocky's bumbling charm, or Frodo's pure heart. Other traits give no discernible benefit, yet cause no harm, like John McClane's sense of humor, Marty McFly's rockstar ambitions, or Ripley's fondness for cats. These traits typically do not change over the course of a story, simply because there is no need. They are found helpful or at least benign to the character's journey, and are thus retained.

Along with these traits, characters will also begin the story with a collection of _negative traits._ Though we usually consider a "negative trait" as anything socially undesirable about a person; such as rudeness, immaturity, or arrogance; in terms of story, a negative trait refers solely to behavioral qualities that interfere with the character's ability to reach his or her goals. Sometimes, these interfering traits are qualities considered to be _good_ things. A character may struggle because he or she is too honest, too easy-going, or too trustful. In _The Godfather_ , Michael Corleone's ability to protect his family is at first hampered by a sense of ethics he learned in college and the military. In relation to his Story Goal, Michael's ethics are a negative trait. Conversely, a character may have a host of socially undesirable qualities, yet these traits are not negative traits unless they specifically interfere with the character's ability to reach his or her goal. For example, Indiana Jones is quite arrogant. While arrogance is generally frowned upon by society, in terms of story, Indy's arrogance is a positive trait, since it benefits him many times in his quest.

Because they interfere with the protagonist's ability to reach his or her goals, negative traits must be overcome if the protagonist is ever to find success. Characters who do not will wind up failing in the end. This is seen in movies such as _Raging Bull_ or _Citizen Kane_. Jake LaMotta ends his story a miserable failure because he is never able to put aside his jealous and self-destructive behavior. Charles Foster Kane of _Citizen Kane_ winds up bitter and alone because he never learns to love others the way they love him.

As you can see, the ability to abandon negative traits in favor of more beneficial qualities becomes the key to a protagonist's ultimate success. However, characters cannot change like the flip of a switch. This would be unnatural. Most people are set in their ways and are thus resistant to change. Like an old tree stump anchored to the ground, it is going to take a lot of force to pull it from its roots. Story events must act as a slow, steady force pushing against the protagonist. The protagonist will resist at first, but eventually this force breaks his or her inertia and pushes the protagonist in the direction of change. Conflict is the key ingredient. When characters encounter story conflict, they are forced to act, react, and then evaluate the effectiveness of those actions. If characters struggle or fail, it tells them they must learn to do things differently. They realize they must change in order to survive. The cumulative experience forces characters to transform and adapt, slowly re-shaping themselves into persons more capable of overcoming their situations. Like how a lump of coal is transformed into a diamond, the constant heat and pressure of dramatic conflict slowly transforms the protagonist into something stronger, purer, and better. Now, with the negative traits wiped away, the protagonist is finally able to defeat the story's conflict and reach his or her goal.

This process is actually quite simple. Despite all the various negative traits a character may have, there is only one thing about the character that really needs to change. Fix that, and all other problems will disappear. A character's negative traits are all rooted in the same fatal flaw. Like how a massive crack at a stone's foundation will radiate upward until it appears as a spiderweb of tiny cracks on the surface, the character's deep-seeded fatal flaw is the source of everything that holds the character back. For example, if a character is unwilling to connect with others, this flaw will present itself as reclusiveness, loneliness, bitterness, and coarse behavior. If a character's flaw is a fear of taking chances, it will emerge as timidness, indecisiveness, or cowardice.

However, there is one peculiar thing about the fatal flaw. It is not rooted in anything real or physical within the characters' world. It is rather the result of an _incorrect belief_ the character holds about that world. This incorrect belief causes the characters to willingly do themselves harm. In short, all the internal difficulties characters encounter in the face of conflict are really the characters' OWN DAMN FAULT.

As any therapist will tell you, most psychological problems come not from a person's actual reality, but from a FALSE PERCEPTION of that reality. Negative past experiences cause people to develop certain false beliefs about themselves and the world. These beliefs then lead to harmful or self-defeating behavior. For example, a depressed person may withdraw socially because she honestly believes no one likes her. Someone suffering anxiety may panic under pressure because he has convinced himself that everything he does ends in failure. However, when viewed objectively, these beliefs turn out to be untrue. The woman has many people who like her. The man's past failures have actually been few and far between. The world is not as bad as these people have led themselves to believe. The goal of therapy is to change a person for the better by leading him or her away from such harmful misconceptions and toward healthier, more accurate views. Once changed, self-defeating tendencies will slip away, and life's obstacles become easier to overcome.

Character change works in the same way. Fatal flaws originate from a deficiency in how characters perceive themselves or their world. _Casablanca_ 's Rick acts with cold, self-centered detachment because he believes caring for others will only get him hurt. Neo is reluctant to become a hero because he honestly believes he is no one special. Indiana Jones is coarse and emotionally distant because he has been betrayed so many times he has been led to believe people cannot be trusted. But, these problems are all in the characters' heads. Once story events force characters to see their world for what it really is, they will change their ways, abandon their negative traits, and clear a path to happiness and success.

Here then, at long last, is how the character arc works:

At the beginning of a story, the protagonist's ability is limited by a defective view of him or herself, or his or her world. When the protagonist encounters conflict, this defective view causes difficulty. Eventually, events force the protagonist to reevaluate, and then CHANGE this view to a more positive, truthful perception of reality. Because of this change, the protagonist loses his or her negative traits, allowing him or her to overcome all obstacles and achieve the Story Goal.

As you may notice, character arc and Story Spine are vitally connected. Character change cannot occur without the conflict provided by the Story Spine. At the same time, the Story Spine cannot reach completion until its protagonist undergoes personal change. Story Spine and character arc thus possess a symbiotic relationship where one cannot succeed without the other. The Spine and arc are not two separate threads traveling in unrelated directions. They are instead two pieces of the same whole, woven together like a piece of rope, providing mutual influence and support as they work to reach a common end. A piece of rope gets its strength from its two braided threads working in cooperation. A story gains strength from the same principle.

We will use _Star Wars_ to illustrate. Luke Skywalker starts the film with a need to find his place in the universe. To accomplish this, the storyteller will put Luke into a plot situation that ultimately forces Luke to reach his destiny as a hero and Jedi Knight. However, as the story begins, it seems unlikely that Luke could reach such a goal. He is hampered by a simple, immature view of the universe. This flawed perspective creates self-defeating traits, such as naivete, passivity, impatience, and most importantly, a fear of leaving the protection of his guardians to strike out on his own.

Something must be thrust into Luke's life to begin his transformation. Luke encounters two droids, one of which carries a secret message from Princess Leia. This makes Luke curious, however his immaturity prevents him from mustering the courage to investigate further. He even gives in to his Uncle's request to erase R2D2's memory and forget the whole matter. Because of this, the plot must intercede to push Luke onward. R2D2 runs away, forcing Luke to follow. This leads him to Obi-Wan Kenobi. Obi-Wan gives the wide-eyed boy his first taste of life outside of the farm with tales of Jedi and the Force. Luke is intrigued, especially at the mention of his father, but when asked to join Obi-Wan, Luke is reluctant. His immature view of the world prevents him from taking the next step.

Plot must intercede once again. Imperial soldiers kill Luke's family and destroy his home. Though Luke was previously stuck in his ways, this traumatic event pulls him up by the roots, forcing him to begin a journey which will lead to ultimate change. Luke has no choice but to join Obi-Wan and accept him as a mentor. Though Obi-Wan tries to rid Luke of his negative traits, Luke continues to cling to his flawed, immature views. He is still a boy hiding behind Obi-Wan, rather than a man with the confidence to take action on his own.

Plot events must again intervene to force Luke to change. When the Millennium Falcon is captured by the Death Star, Luke is separated from his mentor and put into a situation where he must take action or perish. Bolstered by what he has learned from Obi-Wan, Luke accepts his first real test of manhood by taking it upon himself to rescue Princess Leia. Through this action, Luke discovers he is capable of far more than what his fatal flaw has led him to believe. His perception of himself and his place within the universe begins to change.

However, one thing remains in the way of Luke's final transformation. He still feels dependent upon Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan must die if Luke is to reach his destiny. The plot intervenes once again to accomplish this. Now on his own, Luke must find the strength to overcome one last test of character. It is not until the film's climactic moment that Luke finally abandons the last shred of his old view of the universe, and fully surrenders himself to the way of the Force. Now fully transformed, the wiser and stronger Luke is able to destroy the Death Star and claim his internal need.

_Star Wars_ demonstrates a clear relationship between Story Spine and character arc. Plot events cause Luke to grow as a person. As Luke grows, he becomes more capable of taking the actions necessary to advance the plot. Had Luke not changed, he would have been unable to overcome the tests he found aboard the Death Star and during the final climax. Luke finds victory in the end only because the conflicts he faced forced him to challenge his flawed views and grow into a better, more capable human being. Because of this interwoven path, Luke achieves both his Story Goal and his internal need through the same course of action.

As seen here, Story Spine and character arc form the most perfect unity when the Spine's Story Goal and the arc's internal need are related in such a way that one can only be achieved by first reaching the other. Luke Skywalker finds his place in the universe (internal need) only after he defeats the Empire (Story Goal). Rocky Balboa achieves self-worth (internal need) by going the distance with Apollo Creed (Story Goal). This can also work in reverse. In _The Matrix_ , Neo is able to defeat the Agents (Story Goal) by first learning to believe in himself (internal need). Which comes first will depend on the needs of the particular story. Either way, this cause-and-effect relationship should exist. It binds Spine and arc together, uniting the needs of both plot and character into a single whole.

## REQUIREMENTS OF A GOOD PROTAGONIST

A good story demands a good protagonist. Good protagonists encourage the audience to climb into their heads and experience the story through them. If done well enough, the audience will feel as if they have entered the story in the protagonist's place and will respond to story events as if they were happening to themselves. This concept is known as AUDIENCE IDENTIFICATION.

Unfortunately, audiences will not identify with just anyone. The protagonist must be appealing enough that the audience will _want_ to attach themselves to him or her. If the audience should reject the protagonist, they will never become fully invested in the story's events and all of the storyteller's efforts may come to naught. Many insist the only way to create audience identification is to make the protagonist a "likeable" person. However, this is a fallacy. Likeability is not an absolute prerequisite for audience identification. A character can have many traits the audience finds unlikable, yet still make a capable protagonist. Conversely, there are many very likeable characters who do not have what it takes to be a story's hero. What then are the necessary factors for audience-character identification?

### 1. The Protagonist Must be Humanly Relatable.

" _We do not need to 'like the people.' We need to understand the people."  
\- Dr. Lew Hunter,_ Screenwriting 434

Human beings the world over share the same psychology. There are thousands of small variations that make each of us unique, but generally, all of our brains work in the same way. We all react to similar situations in similar ways. We all smile when happy, and cry when sad. Victories, setbacks, joys, and frustrations all bring about predictable responses, no matter to whom they occur. This sameness of mind helps us understand others. It is what makes us collectively "human."

If, on the other hand, we should encounter someone whose behavior does not align with what we have come to know and expect – if someone laughs when they should cry or shows anger at what should bring joy – we feel uncomfortable. This person is labeled as schizophrenic. In most cases, people try to avoid the schizophrenic since they are unable to understand or predict their behavior. Because they do not behave in the manner traditionally considered "human," these people appear frightening and alien.

To this point, if a character is to appeal to an audience, he or she must first behave in a manner the audience is used to seeing in other human beings. When the audience recognizes behavior, they can then understand the thoughts and emotions behind that behavior. This opens the door to a concept known as EMPATHY. Empathy is the ability to share in the emotions of other persons as if they were your own. This is not to be confused with _sympathy_. Sympathy merely applies one's own emotions to another's situation. Empathy, on the other hand, comes by way of putting oneself in another's shoes. Audiences feel empathy when they are able to see the story situation from the character's point of view and thus understand the character's thoughts and emotions as if they were the audience's own.

However, empathy becomes impossible when the audience is unable to understand or relate to a character's behavior. They cannot share a character's thoughts if they cannot first comprehend them. This becomes most apparent when dealing with characters who are not physically human. For instance, if a protagonist is Zeebloxx, the four-armed Axturan warlord from the Andromeda galaxy, the audience will have a hard time empathizing with this character because they cannot understand the processes by which a four-armed Axturan thinks and feels. At best, Zeebloxx will feel distant and alien. At worst, he will be an inscrutable wall the audience will reject altogether. To solve this problem, the storyteller must give Zeebloxx some of the same behaviors and emotions we find in our fellow human beings. The character must be _humanized._ This gives the audience a way to connect with Zeebloxx and understand him. Recall from Chapter 1 how storytellers anthropomorphize non-human characters so audiences can connect to them as one of their own. The difference can be seen by comparing _Star Wars'_ C3P0 to the HAL supercomputer from _2001: A Space Odyssey_ (1968). While both are inhuman machines, one has been given a full range of emotions, making him as approachable as any human, while the other lacks all emotion, keeping him cold and alien. _Terminator 2_ (1991) demonstrates both sides of this principle. The terminator cyborg starts the story emotionless and inhuman. The audience feels no connection with it until the protagonist teaches it some human behavior. Suddenly, the audience warms to the cyborg, eventually giving it the empathy it usually reserves for human beings.

It may seem obvious that characters must behave like human beings. However, I have read many scripts featuring protagonists who display unintentionally schizophrenic behavior. They act without proper motivation, display inappropriate emotion, and reason with fractured logic. Though human in form, they do not act as humans are expected to behave. Audiences will be unable to connect with these characters because they cannot make sense of their actions. Psychopaths and the mentally disturbed also make unrelatable protagonists because the audience is (hopefully) unable to empathize with their warped minds. To identify with a character, the audience must first understand the character, and this all begins with behaviors to which they can relate.

### 2. The Protagonist Must be Worthy of the Audience's Interest

This one is a no-brainer. If the audience must spend two hours with a character, it ought to be someone interesting enough to hold their attention. Have you ever been at a party and gotten stuck talking to an absolute bore? Imagine if that continued for two hours. If a character is to gain the audience's affections, there must be something special about the character that makes him or her worthy of that honor.

This seems like common sense. Yet time and again, I find scripts that offer protagonists described as "an average 20-something," or "an average housewife," or "an average middle-aged man." Well, if there is nothing special about these characters, why do they deserve their own movies? What makes the writer believe the audience will want to spend two hours of their lives with them? I dare you to find any successful film in which the protagonist is truly average. Marty McFly is not an average teenager. He is a reckless rock-star wannabe who hitches rides on the bumpers of passing cars. Rocky Balboa is not some average schmo. He is a two-bit slugger/professional thumbreaker who raises turtles and takes pride in his unbroken nose. John McClane may be billed as an average New York cop, but his wit, attitude, and tough-as-nails perseverance make him anything but.

Dull, generic protagonists are usually the result of lazy writing. Writers are unwilling to put in the time and effort required to make the protagonist unique. If the writer cares so little about his or her protagonist, guess how much the audience will care in return? Some writers create generic protagonists on purpose under the misbelief that it will lead to greater audience identification. They think the audience will see these mundane schmos as people "just like them." But, this is a bit of an insult, isn't it? No one wants to think of themselves as average. In fact, "average" people do not even exist. Everyone in the world is a unique individual, with his or her own special traits and abilities. The only problem is that one must often make an effort to get to know a person before his or her uniqueness begins to emerge. This is what storytellers must do. They must explore their protagonist's personality, find what makes them special, and then put it on display for the audience to see. Anything short of this comes from a lack of effort.

A protagonist does not have to be as daring as Indiana Jones or as simple-minded as Forrest Gump to be special. All the protagonist needs is some uncommon quality or skill that sets him or her apart from the crowd. Dr. Malcolm Crowe of _The Sixth Sense_ is set apart by a gift for dealing with children. _American Beauty'_ s Lester Burnham is a raging teenager trapped in a 40 year-old's body. Ripley in _Alien_ manages to be tougher than any of the roughnecks on her ship. Little differences, well-executed, can go a long way. After all, a storyteller cannot take any old character and slap on the label "hero." That character must deserve the title. A character first does this by being special. But being special is not enough in itself to turn a character into a hero. He or she must also meet a third qualification.

### 3. The Protagonist Must Be Worthy of the Audience's Respect

Sometimes a story demands its protagonist display behavior considered antisocial, unethical, or unsympathetic. These protagonists tend to throw studios, producers, and sometimes even writers into a panic as they once again get hung up on the idea of likeability. However, bring a nice person does not necessarily make a good protagonist. A character can be the sweetest person on earth yet still fail with an audience. What matters most is not that the audience likes the protagonist, but that they RESPECT the protagonist.

A worthiness for respect is the most essential quality a protagonist can have. A likeable personality may allow the audience to enjoy a character's company, but behavior the audience can respect is what turns that character into the story's hero. When a story begins, the audience naturally seeks out someone to latch onto as their guide. They seek a _leader._ People choose leaders based on qualities they respect. This could mean honesty, bravery, intelligence, trustworthiness, compassion, or any number of traits. When the audience sees such qualities in the protagonist, it points to the character as someone they can not only get behind, but _want_ to follow. Give people a leader they can respect, and they will follow that person to hell and back. On the other hand, a leader unworthy of respect will never gain support, no matter how nice or likeable that person may be.

How does one make a character respectable? First, the storyteller must give the character a set of admirable traits. This could include charm, skill, smarts, kindness, charisma, toughness, ingenuity... the list goes on and on. Second, the character must use these traits for purposes of which the audience can morally approve. By some form of logic or another, the protagonist's actions must appear to be ethically "right." The audience will forgive, and even embrace a myriad of unsympathetic traits within the character as long as they can still approve of what the character does and how he or she does it. Indiana Jones has plenty of bad traits. He is arrogant and rude. He is a jerk to his friends. He takes selfish risks that put others in danger. Yet, audiences still love him. Why? Because they can respect him. They respect his bravery, his integrity, and the sacrifices he is willing to endure for the greater good. Jake Gittes of _Chinatown_ first appears cynical and unsympathetic. However, the audience soon grows to respect Jake; for his intelligence, his guts, and because he sticks to his principles regardless of the consequences. This makes Jake a hero.

A protagonist can get away with socially unacceptable behavior as long as his or her actions continue to follow a CODE OF CONDUCT. A code of conduct is a set of personal guidelines that recognize a clear line between actions that are morally acceptable and those that are not. A code of conduct becomes especially important when the audience must retain respect for characters who break the law. Vito Corleone of _The Godfather_ is the head of a criminal organization. Objectively, this might label Vito as an immoral character. However, Vito operates his business within clear ethical boundaries the audience can respect. Vito protects rather than exploits. He supplies "harmless" activities, such as gambling and drinking, but refuses to deal in narcotics. He uses violence, but only when necessary to protect his community. Though Vito is surrounded by greed and corruption, he stands firm by his moral code. This makes Vito heroic. In the same way, a character can be a thief, a hitman, or a bank robber and still make a respectable protagonist as long as his or her code of conduct forbids actions the audience will find morally reprehensible. The thief does not steal from the poor. The hitman kills only those who deserve it. The bankrobber tries to avoid bloodshed, and so on.

While there are many ways for a protagonist to gain the audience's respect, writers should be aware that there are also many ways to lose it. Sometimes writers create protagonists who are weak-willed and pathetic in an attempt to foster sympathy. A helpless protagonist makes a poor leader. Eventually, the audience will reject this character in favor of someone more proactive. At other times, a writer allows the hero to make one stupid decision after another until the audience becomes certain they are being led by an idiot. With no respect for their leader, the audience will abandon the character, and the story with it. Sometimes a storyteller allows the protagonist to momentarily stray across moral boundaries and commit an action the audience cannot accept. Like a scandalized politician, one moral lapse can ruin an entire reputation. Codes of conduct act as barriers to protect the audience's respect. Step over them once and it may be difficult, or even impossible, to gain that respect back again.

## THE ANTAGONIST

Though not all stories use a character as their force of antagonism, stories that do use an antagonist must treat this character with importance second only to the protagonist itself. As the yin to the protagonist's yang, a good antagonist provides a story with a balanced conflict. Every time the protagonist pushes, there must be something pushing back.

A weak antagonist creates weak drama. If the antagonist is some weakling the protagonist can defeat at any time, the story will contain little dramatic tension. The antagonist must be a force equal to or greater than the protagonist. In fact, the more powerful the antagonist the greater the drama. Darth Vader is far more powerful than Luke Skywalker. Apollo Creed is a far better fighter than Rocky Balboa. The CIA is nearly god-like compared to Jason Bourne. These David-versus-Goliath scenarios create uphill battles that put the hero's chances into the greatest doubt. If the hero must be superior to the antagonist in certain ways, the antagonist should have other advantages to balance the scales. Superman for instance has invincible strength. His nemesis Lex Luthor could never defeat him man-to-man. However, what Luthor lacks in strength, he makes up for in intelligence. This compensates for his weakness and returns the conflict to an even field.

There is often confusion over who or what can qualify as a story's antagonist. First of all, the antagonist must be a character – a real, physical being. This character must be present within the story and capable of taking actions that directly impact the plot. The antagonist cannot be an idea. It cannot be the environment or a location. It cannot be a person who makes no actual appearance within the story. It also cannot be a cosmic force, such as fate or "God" – unless God literally appears in physical form and takes actions that influence the story's events.

Second, the antagonist must _directly_ and _willfully_ oppose the protagonist's attempts to achieve the Story Goal. Indiana Jones wants to claim the Ark of the Covenant. Belloq wants it for himself. Neo wants freedom from the Matrix. Agent Smith would rather kill him than let that happen. Rocky Balboa wants to prove himself in his fight with Apollo. Apollo wants to humiliate Rocky by knocking him out. A character who merely causes trouble, but does not oppose the Story Goal cannot be the antagonist. This character is only a PEST. Pest characters provide the protagonist with additional difficulty, but they are not the real threat. Lieutenant Robinson is a pest in _Die Hard_. So is Golem in _The Lord of the Rings_. Do not mistake a pest for an antagonist. This will create a weak, one-sided conflict with no legitimate force threatening the hero's defeat.

In addition, many people refer to the antagonist as the "bad guy." However, this is misleading. The antagonist need not always be a bad person, just as the protagonist need not always be good. Evil and malice are not absolute requirements to oppose the protagonist. In _Fargo,_ the unscrupulous protagonist Jerry Lundegaard is opposed by Chief Gunderson, the most moral and upright character of the entire film. In _The Sixth Sense,_ Dr. Malcolm Crowe is opposed by the little boy Cole. Malcolm wants to help Cole, yet Cole creates conflict by refusing Malcolm's efforts.

Even if the antagonist does "bad" things, the antagonist will rarely see him or herself as a bad person. Great antagonists believe their actions to be justified. In many cases, antagonists consider themselves the good guy. Darth Vader is trying to maintain peace by destroying dangerous insurgents. The monster in _Alien_ kills for the sake of its own survival. Agent Smith sees humanity as a disease the world is better without. Belloq believes the Nazis to be a superior society who deserve to rule the world.

If both protagonist and antagonist are trying to accomplish what they consider right and proper, what then separates the two in the minds of the audience? What causes the audience to embrace one, yet oppose the other? Why cannot Hans Gruber be the story's hero? Or Apollo Creed? Or Darth Vader? The previous section established that in order to appeal to an audience, a story's hero must be humanly relatable, worthy of the audience's interest, and most importantly, worthy of the audience's respect. The difference between hero and antagonist is that, of these three qualifications, only the second is required of the antagonist. (Note: I realize I may have opened a can of worms with my earlier reference to the concept of "good" antagonists found in films like _Fargo_. To avoid confusion, the rest of this section will use the word "antagonist" to refer to the villainous side of the conflict whom the audience is expected to reject. In the case of _Fargo_ , this would be the immoral Jerry Lundegaard.)

Unlike the protagonist, the antagonist need not be humanly relatable. This quality is optional. The antagonist can be a monster, an alien, a psychopath, or a mindless robot. Inhuman antagonists frighten or unnerve the audience, all but ensuring the audience will attach their sympathies to the hero, and not the villain. However, this is not to say an antagonist cannot demonstrate behavior to which the audience can understand and relate. _Die Hard, Rocky,_ and _The Bourne Identity_ all have very human antagonists. But just because the audience can understand the villain's behavior, this does not mean the audience will automatically support him or her. The key factor in a good antagonist is that while he or she may or may not be humanly relatable, the antagonist must absolutely NOT be worthy of the audience's respect.

If behavior the audience can respect is what turns a protagonist into a hero, then behavior unworthy of respect becomes the mark of a villain. In many stories, protagonist and antagonist are similar persons. Indiana Jones and Belloq are both globe-trotting archeologists. Rocky Balboa and Apollo Creed are both prizefighters. The American and German soldiers in _Saving Private Ryan_ are all simple young men fighting for their respective countries. In these situations, often the only factor that separates the hero from the villain is that one side demonstrates behavior the audience can respect, while the other side does not.

This does not mean the antagonist cannot have admirable traits. To the contrary, the antagonist can and should impress the audience with qualities such as intelligence, charisma, or strength of will. However, unlike the protagonist, the antagonist uses these gifts for purposes which the audience cannot morally approve. Hans Gruber is witty, charming, and brilliant. But rather than use these talents for society's benefit, Hans uses them to steal and kill. Darth Vader has strength and skill any leader would admire. However, Vader uses his abilities for the purpose of tyranny and oppression.

Ironically, the more an audience admires the antagonist, the greater the reaction when the antagonist commits actions the audience must morally condemn. People talk of "villains we love to hate." This may sound like an oxymoron, but it is based on a simple principle. Think of the antagonist as someone you love and admire – who continually stabs you in the back. You like this person and wish they would act right, but he or she constantly hurts you in the worst possible ways. Betrayal by someone you dislike does not come as much of a shock. However, betrayal by someone you admire, such as Hans Gruber, stings on a personal level. Like a relationship with a cheating spouse, the audience constantly alternates between love and hate. They are drawn to the antagonist for his or her attractive qualities, and then repulsed as the antagonist commits actions the audience must condemn.

Finally, it should go without saying that an antagonist must be an active force in the development of the story. It is not enough for the villain to sit in his fortress, idly waiting for the hero to show up and fight. The antagonist must be out in the story world, taking strong, willful actions that impact the situation. Like the protagonist, the antagonist must pursue a goal. To rob Nakatomi Tower. To destroy the Rebel Army. To find the Ark so the Nazis may conquer the world. This goal must be at direct odds with the protagonist's goal. The Main Conflict of the Story Spine then arises as a result of these two goals colliding head-to-head.

However, the antagonist cannot set a goal unless he or she first has a problem. The antagonist must then take a set of actions to reach that goal. The antagonist encounters conflict along the way, and has stakes attached to success or failure. This should sound familiar. Like the protagonist, the antagonist has his or her own CHARACTER SPINE. And as you will see, the protagonist and antagonist are not alone in this matter.

## CHARACTER SPINES

The whole time we have been discussing the Story Spine, we have really been talking about the _protagonist's spine_. As the story's central figure, the protagonist's problem, goal, path of action, conflict, stakes become the story's main focus. However, to present a compelling, true to life world, a great story must be filled with supporting characters just as active and driven as the protagonist. Everybody must want something and be willing to take action to get it. The only way to accomplish this is to give _every_ character his or her own personal spine.

One measuring stick for a great screenplay is how it uses its supporting characters. A poor screenplay treats supporting characters as little more than cogs in the story's machine. They seem to exist on planet earth for no other purpose than to help the protagonist get where he or she needs to go. However, if a story is to be filled with active, compelling, true-to-life persons, supporting characters cannot be treated as mere tools. Each one of them must be a unique individual with their own lives to live. They all have their own problems, goals, wants, and needs that continue to exist even after those characters disappear from the screen. A storyteller should think of each supporting character as the star of his or her _own movie_ , a movie we only catch a glimpse of whenever he or she happens to cross paths with the protagonist. Because of this, every character needs a personal spine to motivate their action. The protagonist has a spine. The antagonist has a spine. Supporting Character A has a spine. Supporting Character B has a spine. Minor Character #42 has a spine. Some of these spines are in line with the protagonist's. Some are in opposition. Others are completely tangential. Nevertheless, story events form as these various character spines collide and interact with the protagonist's. Each sequence and scene is the result of an intersecting web of various conflicting wants and needs.

An antagonist is effective only when he or she acts according to a spine directly opposed to that of the protagonist. Darth Vader has a clear spine. Vader's problem: a rebel alliance threatens to overthrow his empire. Vader's goal: to find the rebel base and destroy it. From this, Vader pursues a path of action that begins with the capture of Princess Leia. Vader's conflict: Luke, Obi-Wan, and their allies are doing everything they can to stop him. Vader's stakes: if he wins, his power in the galaxy will be solidified; if he fails, his glorious empire may be thrown into ruin. If done well enough, it becomes possible to flip-flop the conflict and see the story from the antagonist's point of view. _Star Wars_ could be the story of a general defending his kingdom against a band of traitors. _Die Hard_ could be the story of a master criminal plagued by a rogue cop. _Alien_ could be the tale of a misunderstood creature's battle for survival.

In every story there are also characters who assist the protagonist. However, just because two characters share the same side, this does not mean these characters are driven by the same wants and needs. In _The Matrix_ , Neo is aided by his mentor Morpheus. Though Morpheus's main purpose within the story is to help Neo achieve his goal, Morpheus remains an independent force following his own personal course of action. Morpheus's Problem: machines have enslaved humanity. Morpheus's Goal: to defeat the machines by finding a savior known as "The One." He pursues his Path of Action by first finding Neo, whom he believes to be The One. Morpheus's Conflict: Neo refuses to believe he is The One. Morpheus's Stakes: either succeed and pave the way to humanity's salvation, or lose and abandon hope for the future.

Morpheus's character spine is different from Neo's. This creates moments of conflict between Neo and his mentor, even though they are on the same side. Here we see something very important about the relationship between characters and drama. When taken individually, each character spine helps bring a story to life by filling it with active, goal-oriented individuals. But, whenever two or more characters interact, the differences in their unique spines will create conflict. It does not matter whether the characters are friends, enemies, or otherwise, the places where their spines fail to match will create conflict between them. Thus, the interaction between various character spines becomes the SOURCE OF DRAMATIC CONFLICT.

Therefore, to create consistent drama, every character must be motivated by clear factors unique to each individual. Even when two characters share the same goal, conflict will still emerge from other differences within their spines, such as each character's personal stakes or how each character wishes to pursue their paths of action. Conflict is necessary in every scene to maintain dramatic tension. Well developed, spine-driven characters allow this to happen, no matter what the situation. A story will never have a dull moment as long as two characters have spines in conflict.

Any character, major to minor, can add to the story's richness and complexity with a clear and distinct character spine. Before Rocky Balboa gets his big break against Apollo Creed, he works as an enforcer for a sleazy loan shark named Tony Gazzo. Objectively, Gazzo's scenes have been put into the film as little more than an excuse to show a different side of Rocky's character. However, these scenes must be kept dramatic. So, Gazzo needs a character spine that conflicts with Rocky. Gazzo's problem: the people who owe him money are not paying up. Gazzo's goal: to get his money. His path: he sends Rocky to break these deadbeats' thumbs. His conflict: Rocky is going easy on these bums. His stakes: if he succeeds, he will get his money; if he fails, he will lose respect as a loan shark. Gazzo does not exist merely as a tool for the sake of Rocky's character. He has a whole world of his own in which Rocky plays only a small part. This suggests a wider and more expansive story universe that goes beyond the edges of the frame, giving the story a sense of depth which was not previously there.

Even the smallest moments can be made dramatic through the use of conflicting spines. _Chinatown_ contains a scene where Jake Gittes must look up recent land sales at the Hall of Records. This material could have been rather dull, but the storyteller keeps things dramatic with the addition of a snotty file clerk who: dislikes that Gittes is bothering him (problem), and tries to make Gittes go away (goal) by being arrogant and rude (path of action). Only Gittes does not go away (conflict), threatening the clerk's peace and quiet (stakes). _Chinatown_ is a shining example of a film that constantly remains entertaining by recognizing every character's wants and needs, no matter how minor that character may be. Whether it is a file clerk, an orange farmer, or a little old lady, every moment is kept memorable through clear and well-executed character spines.

## DIMENSIONS AND DEVELOPMENT

Characters with little screen time can get by with only a character spine to explain their behavior. More prevalent characters require additional effort if the audience is to accept them as authentic human beings. The audience needs to see these characters in multiple DIMENSIONS.

A dimension is a "side" to a character's personality. If a character is "one-dimensional," this means the audience never sees the character demonstrate anything but a single set of behaviors. These characters can usually be summed up in one or two words. The "angry cop." A "worried mother." The "jealous girlfriend." Since the whole of their existence is generalized by a glib little label, these characters have no choice but to become stereotypes. Stereotypes create fraudulent characters because they are based on the notion that a single quality can make up the totality of a person's being. Stereotypes do not exist in real life. No one defines their entire existence under a single label. Every person's life is filled with many other aspects that communicate a wider sense of who they are and how they see the world. Audiences cannot connect with one-dimensional characters because they are caricatures rather than authentically relatable human beings.

Thankfully, most writers avoid stereotype by taking their characters beyond one dimension. They present multiple sides of a character's personality, giving a more well-rounded impression of who that person is and how he or she differs from everyone else. The angry cop who is also quite affectionate to his family and has trouble with his weight due to a penchant for junk food. The worried mother who married for money and struggles with her phony social life. The jealous girlfriend with overbearing parents and a mountain of credit card debt.

However, while more authentic than stereotype, these expanded characters remain completely superficial. The physical details about a person; their appearance, their occupation, their physical behavior, their friends and family; do not make up _character_ , but simply _characterization_. Characterization goes only skin-deep. When the audience's knowledge of a character is limited to superficial details, that character remains only two-dimensional. While adequate for minor supporting roles, two-dimensional characters will never have what it takes to fully connect with audiences since there is nothing to help the audience understand these people on a deeper, more emotional level.

"One-dimensional" and "two-dimensional" are terms borrowed from geometry. If curious why, take a look at this diagram:

When storytellers limit themselves to characterization, characters remain "flat." They are all surface, with nothing underneath. The audience has no choice but to remain emotionally distant from these characters since there is no way to empathize with a person until we can understand his or her behavior on a deeper, more intimate level.

Great characters require DEPTH. Like an iceberg, characterization is only the tip that peeks over the waterline. The majority of character lies hidden underneath, deep down in the unseen needs and flaws that operate under the surface. As soon as the audience catches a glimpse of these depths, the character crosses into the third dimension.

There are two parts to the human persona: a person's physically observable behavior, and the _deeper psychology_ that causes that behavior. Behavior must come from somewhere. There are deeper reasons that explain why people do what they do. Authentic character behavior must be rooted in this deeper psychology. This is where the internal need lies. This is also the source of the fatal flaw. Without a window into a character's unseen needs and impulses, the audience will never be able to truly understand the character, leaving him or her a distant mystery, or worse, a hollow, inauthentic shell.

Character development begins by exploring this psychology. The storyteller should not only identify the character's need and flaw, but figure out how this specific need and flaw came to be. Everything about a person originates from events in his or her past. Pinpoint the root of the problem, and then trace how it has grown to influence the ways the character thinks and behaves in the present.

The next step is to figure out how this deeper psychology can manifest itself through physical behavior. The audience can only understand characters based upon what they can see or hear. The storyteller may know a character's inner life down to the most intimate detail, but unless he or she can communicate this information through physically observable evidence, it will never get passed along to the audience. External characterization is all about finding ways to make a character's internal influences understandable through action and behavior. When done properly, characterization can become a window into the character's soul.

However, this can be tricky. Authentic characters, just like persons in real life, rarely behave like open books. There are two sides to any person. The person they really are, and the person they choose to show the world. Most of the time, the two are not one and the same. Human beings tend to hide their true selves behind a social front. This allows them to get what they need while protecting their vulnerable inner selves. Some of the deeper psychology may shine through the facade, but for the most part, it remains hidden. How then can a storyteller communicate deeper character without running counter to this natural instinct? Once again, conflict comes to the rescue.

In times of stress, a person's social mask begins to slip. Pretenses fall away, leaving only the raw human underneath. When characters experience conflict, the stress and anxiety of the situation forces their true natures to emerge. A character may act tough, but what happens when he faces real danger? Does he rise to the occasion or run away? A character may act as if she cares only for herself, but what happens when she encounters someone in real need? Does she refuse to help, or does she show she has a heart after all? The heat of conflict forces the two sides of a character's person to stand in stark relief. By seeing a character's true self in contrast with the front they show the world, the audience receives a fuller understanding of the character, both inside and out. Frodo of _The Lord of the Rings_ may seem like a foolish dreamer, but when in danger, he reveals himself to be as stout-hearted as any warrior. John McClane is stubborn and petty towards Holly, but when their lives are threatened, all he can think about is how much he wants to see her again. Rocky Balboa likes to put on a tough front, but when pressed, he reveals vulnerability under his surface.

As you can see, conflict reveals _contradictions_ within character. Contradictions are an important part of character psychology. Deep down, every human being is a complex tangle of wants, needs, hopes, and fears. Unfortunately, these impulses rarely agree. Take for example a normal college student. This student wants to have fun and enjoy college while she can, but at the same time she knows she must work hard and study. She feels pressure to live up to her parents' expectations, but she also wants to follow her own dreams. She needs money, yet cannot spare the time to get a job. There are many attractive boys on campus, yet she feels the need to stay loyal to her boyfriend back home. She enjoys the independence of adulthood, yet misses the coddling she received as a child.

Contradictions rule our lives. Every day we must strike a delicate balance amongst our dozens of conflicting wants and needs. We want love, but want to avoid heartbreak. We want success, but fear failure. We need attention, yet value privacy. The choices we make on a daily basis are a continuous series of compromises based upon what needs are best fulfilled at each particular moment.

Because of these contradictions, characters face conflict from within, as well as without. Luke Skywalker wants to strike out into the world, yet feels the need to fulfill his duty at home. He wants to be treated as an adult, but recognizes his youth and inexperience. He wants to learn about his father, but is warned to ignore the urge. Every decision Luke makes is the result of an internal battle between his conflicting desires. Story events pull him this way and that, forcing him to choose which impulse to follow at each particular moment. Even when events cause Luke to abandon one desire in favor of another, there remains a lingering regret over the need left behind.

How far must a storyteller go when it comes to dimensionalizing each character? It all depends on how important the character is to the story. The cinematic storyteller has neither the screen time nor the necessity to fully develop every character into three dimensions. So, minor characters like the file clerk in _Chinatown_ need only a character spine. Gazzo in _Rocky_ requires only a couple extra personality traits to keep him from falling into stereotype. Major characters require far more attention so the audience may better understand who they are and what causes them to take action.

The protagonist, of course, needs the most work of all. A story can get by with a less than stellar supporting cast as long as its audience can surrender their hearts and minds to the protagonist. This psychological bond can only be achieved once the storyteller has given the audience enough to understand a protagonist's thoughts and emotions as well as their own. Start with a character with whom the audience can identify and respect, and everything else will follow from there. A great story begins with a great character.

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Thank-you for reading _Screenwriting Down to the Atoms: The Absolute Essentials_. If you like what you have experienced so far, _Screenwriting Down to the Atoms: Digging Deeper into the Craft of Cinematic Storytelling_ is available in full from online retailers, with its ten additional chapters on plot progression, scene construction, the management of story information, thematic structure, and much, much more. _Atoms_ is also available from bookstores upon request.

Scribble on.

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Michael Welles Schock (aka "Scriptmonk!") is a writer, dramatic theorist, and script consultant. Born in Nebraska, educated in Los Angeles, he now resides in Portland, Oregon.

Visit www.scriptmonkindustries.com for articles, services and information. Or contact Michael at scriptmonk@scriptmonkindustries.com
