The 3-Point Escalation: What “Heat” Teaches Us About Character Introductions

June 14, 2018

I’m interested lately in learning how to quickly establish distinct and intriguing or empathetic characters. I’ve been getting feedback that my screenplays dive into plot too quickly without giving the reader a chance to understand the world and care about the people in it. This is an unusual note since usually writers err on the side of taking too long to get to the plot!

My challenge now is to not overcorrect and create the more common problem: stories that are too chatty and lack forward motion (keeping in mind that “forward motion” doesn’t have to mean shootouts and car chases; it just means that something changes, however subtle).

The goal is to get into the plot quickly but to do so while setting up a rich world and introducing distinct, memorable characters. One way to do this is to show what the character is like through their actions that are part of the plot. As I’m watching movies and TV shows lately, I’m paying special attention to how the writers do this.

Heat (1995)

This week I watched Michael Mann’s Heat (1995), a movie that’s full of heists, bank robberies, and action-packed shootouts, but is also very long, very slow, very moody, and very character-driven. It’s also a movie that’s widely referenced by film buffs as one of the best crime movies of all time.

There’s a lot that can be said about this film, but what I want to write about today is how Mann introduces characters. Each character has a distinct personality that will bear relevance for the plot later, so it’s important that the audience gets the gist of them quickly. One tool Mann uses to accomplish this is what I’ve decided to refer to as the “three-point escalation.”

Each character has a moment pretty much immediately upon meeting them that gives a subtle indication of their personality. It’s enough to make us, as the audience, sit up and think, “This person seems like they might be <character trait>. I wonder if I’m right.”

Then, either later in the same scene or in that character’s next scene, they have a moment that’s a slightly bigger version of that. Now we’re putting the pieces together and we’re invested in solving the mystery of what this character is like. We now have a second clue that we’re on the right track. We’re paying attention.

Finally, either later in the same scene or in that character’s next scene, there’s a third moment that is much more dramatic and makes it unmistakably clear that we were right. We’re now fully invested in this character (even if we hate them) because we’ve solved the mystery of what makes them tick.

Mann does this to varying degrees with several characters, but I’m going to walk through the clearest example of this escalation with Waingro, the movie’s primary villain.

Step 1: When we first meet Waingro, he’s coming out of the outdoor bathroom of a cheap Mexican fast food place. He’s pulling on a shirt as though he’d changed clothes in the bathroom, or maybe bathed at the bathroom sink. He’s moving quickly, like a bull in a china shop. He shakes the liquid out of a to go cup he’s carrying and pokes his head and arm fully through the takeout window and demands “another” refill.

“Now he wants a refill,” one employee says to another, implying this guy was already a pain in the ass before we even got here. They take the cup. But instead of waiting for the refill, Waingro notices a semi-truck idling at the corner and he takes off without explanation.

This is a seemingly odd moment to include in the film but despite what a long movie this is, it doesn’t waste space on moments that don’t serve a purpose. Think about how differently this tiny interaction could have gone if Waingro was a different person. He could have come out of the bathroom fastidiously cleaning his hands, disgusted by the facilities. He could have asked for a refill apologetically and then told them to cancel it when he realized he needed to leave. He could spoken fluent Spanish to the cashier or flirted with him.

Instead, based on this very quick interaction, we already get the idea that Waingro is sloppy, impulsive, wired, and inconsiderate. But it’s not enough information for us to be sure we understand him.

Step 2: Waingro approaches the passenger window of the semi-truck and knocks. He tries to jump in, but the driver stops him and asks his name. The driver looks him up and down, clearly skeptical. Waingro introduces himself enthusiastically, but the driver is standoffish.

On the drive, Waingro chats loudly about the job they’re on their way to, constantly moving in his seat, asking too many questions. Finally the driver says, “Stop talking, ok, Slick?” After being so gregarious, Waingro now whips off his sunglasses and gives the driver a shockingly murderous glare.

This is an escalation of what we saw in the previous beat. It’s further confirmation that Waingro is sloppy, impulsive, wired, and inconsiderate. Now he also seems dangerous.

Step 3: During the heist, it’s clear to the audience which of the masked robbers is Waingro due to his signature long hair. It’s Waingro’s job to hold the three security guards at gun point while the robbery is completed, but he gets it in his head that one of the guards is looking at him funny, though the guard is clearly just in shock and has lost his hearing from the explosion. Waingro attacks the guard, and Cerrito (the driver from the truck) tells him to “cool it, Slick.”

Waingro begins breathing heavily, losing his cool, and finally kills the offending guard, turning this heist into a murder charge instead of just armed robbery. This forces the team to kill all three guards so as not to leave witnesses. Not part of the plan.

This third beat is a dramatic escalation that cements our understanding of Waingro: he’s a loose cannon who can’t tolerate any perceived slight and he doesn’t clear the bar of this highly disciplined and talented team.

If this third step (the killing of the guard) had been our first encounter with Waingro, we probably would have gotten the same general idea that he’s a loose cannon, but it would have felt out of nowhere and we might not have been sure how to interpret the scene. Maybe the guard was looking at him funny?

But by having those two previous beats first, we’re actively engaged in understanding his character, rather than passively observing him, and when this final escalation occurs, his character’s identity is now completely distinct to us from the others, which will be important for following the rest of the story.

I suspect that a lot of stories do a similar three-point escalation when introducing important characters. I’m going to be on the lookout for it.

6 Surprising Ways to Make Better Use of Your Villains

April 4, 2018

It’s a lot of work to craft a compelling, complex, and truly formidable antagonist, so once we’ve put in that time, it makes sense to wring as much value out of those characters as possible. Here are six surprising ways I’ve found to make effective use of an antagonist:

Use delayed gratification of an antagonist’s punishment to increase narrative tension.

The more your villain wins, and the more he deserves to lose, the more desperately we’ll be turning every page (or hitting that “next episode” button) to see him finally get his comeuppance. This is especially effective if the villain is pretending to be a good guy and some of your protagonists haven’t figured it out yet.

The first time I realized the power of this dynamic was while watching The Sopranos. In the third season, there’s a character that everyone on the show loves but who the audience knows is terrible. It is enraging to watch this character be coddled and cheered in every episode when you know he’s secretly a villain. I was glued to my screen that entire season, desperate for the satisfaction of seeing this character be found out and brought to justice.

Similarly, I’m watching Game of Thrones now for the first time and this line in a season 1 episode recap, referring to Joffrey, sums it up perfectly: “I will watch this show even if it goes on for a hundred seasons if they promise me gruesome violence against that little kid.”

Joffrey is another great example of a character who continually gets what he wants when he doesn’t deserve it while doing increasingly despicable things, building narrative tension in the audience as we froth at the mouth to see him get what’s coming to him.

Are there ways you can ratchet up the tension in your story by making things easier and easier for your terrible antagonist, delaying our gratification in seeing his eventual punishment?
Use lesser antagonists to take some of the load off your Big Bad.

Whether you’re writing a TV show or a feature film, you almost certainly have multiple layers of antagonists, not just a single villain. And I don’t just mean a “Big Bad” and his three henchmen, I mean other types of antagonists who are causing problems for our hero on all sides.

Some of those antagonists are mere nuisances or even well-meaning characters who are nevertheless blocking your heroes from doing what needs to be done, but others are more serious threats that will help the hero train for her eventual climactic fight against the Big Bad.

You can find examples of this in pretty much any movie or TV show, but one great example you’ve probably seen is Die Hard (1988). Of course Hans Gruber is the Big Bad and John McClane will have to defeat many henchmen before he can fight Hans, but there are several other antagonists to contend with as well: Harry Ellis (John’s wife’s arrogant coworker who reveals John’s identity to Hans), Dick Thorburg (the irresponsible reporter who carelessly exposes the identity of John’s wife and children), and Dwayne Robinson (the police chief who doesn’t believe John that the building is under siege or that John is a cop).

These “lesser” antagonists can do some of the dirty work of your Big Bad, which helps your main villain retain an aura of mystery while still keeping your heroes under constant threat.

One of the movies most famous for a mysterious antagonist is Jaws (1975) — so much of what made that shark terrifying is that we rarely actually see it. If every time something bad happened in that movie it had to be the shark eating someone, that would get old very quickly and the shark would lose his power to frighten. By having other, lesser antagonists in the movie, we were able to have continuous conflict and obstacles without getting burned out on shark attacks.

Is your Big Bad doing dirty work in your story that steals some of her menace? Can you farm out those conflicts to lesser antagonists instead?
Use a lesser antagonist as a more narratively satisfying deus ex machina to save your hero from another, worse villain.

You’ve probably heard this famous writing advice from Pixar story artist Emma Coats: “Coincidences to get characters into trouble are great; coincidences to get them out of it are cheating.”

But sometimes you really do need a satisfying way to get a hero out of an impossible jam. Even the best stories need an occasional deus ex machina, but we’ve all felt that disappointment when a sidekick just happens to ride up at the exact moment a hero needs help. We wanted them to get out of trouble, but not like that!

Another benefit of having multiple layers of antagonists is that you can have a lesser antagonist be the deus ex machina that saves our hero from a much deadlier one.

A movie that does this to great effect is Attack the Block (2011) which has its heroes running scared from cops, a murderous drug dealer, and aliens all at the same time. There is at least one moment when a well-timed attack from one antagonist gives our heroes a means to escape another.

This is much more narratively satisfying because it’s not completely fixing the hero’s problem — they still have to deal with this new problem, it just saves them from a truly impossible one.

Do you have an unsatisfying deus ex machina in your story that you could make more satisfying by having an antagonist come to the rescue instead of a helper?
Use an antagonist to make a challenging protagonist more palatable.

Your protagonists don’t have to be innocent Pollyannas for the audience to care about them, they just have to be not as bad as the antagonistic forces against them.

On another series, a conceited mean girl would be the antagonist, but because Sansa Stark is the victim of much crueler characters on Game of Thrones, we empathize with her. You can make even the most horrible character empathetic by putting them at odds with someone even worse.

This is a good opportunity for those smaller antagonists who aren’t quite to the level of Big Bad Villain, but are thorns in the side of your hero.

In your story, is there an opportunity to make an unlikable character more empathetic by giving them an even more unlikable opponent?
Use your villain to help the hero see her own dark side.

Someone told me once in a job interview, when I’d failed to find a satisfactory answer to the question “what is your greatest weakness,” that weaknesses are usually the excess of our strengths.

Often, a great villain is simply the hero run amok; it’s someone with the qualities of the hero taken to their terrible logical extreme. This can create a great opportunity for your hero to look inside herself and see her own flaws and the danger that awaits her if she doesn’t change, as it does in Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2 (2017) and in The Last Jedi (2017).

Is there a way you can make your Big Bad a better “upside down” reflection of your hero, or make better use of that reflection?
Use a secret antagonist to upend the audience’s expectations.

I can’t give examples of this without spoiling the stories, but there are several extremely successful movies and TV shows in recent years that involved an antagonist initially posing (to the hero and to the audience) as someone who was on the protagonist’s side.

This is tricky to pull off without pulling the rug so hard out from under the audience’s feet that they have nothing left to stand on, but when this works for a story, it really, really works. Is there an antagonist in your story who you could initially portray as good? Or a protagonist in your story who you could make secretly bad?

Does My Pilot Have Too Many Characters?

March 25, 2018

Five times in the past week I’ve either given someone feedback or heard someone else give feedback that a writer’s pilot script had too many characters.

This is obviously a common note, but many writers are resistant to this feedback and I understand why. These characters are our babies! And frankly, cutting entire character arcs is a lot of work.

So the question is: does your pilot really have too many characters or — as one writer suggested — is that just feedback people give when they can’t think of anything more insightful to say?

This post is divided into three parts:

How many characters do “real” (produced by a major broadcast, cable or streaming network) pilots have? I analyzed 30 recent pilot scripts to find out. I’ve divided speaking parts into major characters, minor characters, and walk-ons, and I give you both an average and a range. I’ve separated half-hour pilots from one hours (I analyzed 15 of each).
If it turns out your character count isn’t higher than average, then why are people giving you the note that you have too many? I’ll explore some possible explanations for the “note behind the note.”
If it turns out you do have too many characters, how can you cut them down?

How Many Characters Does an Average Pilot Have?

Let’s start by getting some definitions out of the way.

I define major character as a character who appears in a large number of scenes, has an important goal, and/or has some sort of emotional arc in the episode.

Possible examples: the protagonist, the antagonist, the protagonist’s love interest, the protagonist’s sidekick, the protagonist’s mentor

I define minor character as a character who doesn’t have that many lines or only appears in one or two scenes, but who has a name (usually) and it’s clear this character will be back in future episodes.

Note that sometimes these characters will become major characters later in the series, but I base my categorization on their function in the pilot.

Possible examples: the protagonist’s mother-in-law, the protagonist’s neighbor, the protagonist’s roommate

Sometimes walk-on characters can play a substantial part in the pilot while still not being a character we need to keep track of for future episodes. I refer to these as walk-on characters with substance, meaning they aren’t a recurring character, but they have a memorable scene or they play a larger role in the episode.

Possible examples: a failed Tinder date, a mean bartender, an interviewer for a job the protagonist doesn’t get

I define walk-on character without substance as a character we’ll probably never see again after this episode. They are likely only in one scene and have at most a handful of lines. In most cases they don’t even have a real name.

Possible examples: Cute Barista, Drunk Guy, Uber Driver, Guard #2

I define half-hour pilot as a pilot between 20-40 pages, whether it’s a multi-cam network sitcom or a single-cam streaming dramedy.

I define hour-long pilot as a pilot between 50-70 pages, whether it’s a 6-act network police procedural or a streaming family drama with no act breaks at all.

All of the scripts I used are for pilot episodes of shows produced by a major broadcast network, cable network, or streaming platform in the past three years. The 30 scripts I analyzed were chosen basically at random from a file of recently produced pilots.

Half-Hour Pilots

The average length of these scripts was 33 pages.

Major Characters
Average: 3
Range: 1-6

Minor Characters
Average: 5
Range: 1-10

Walk-on Characters with Substance
Average: 3
Range: 0-9

Walk-on Characters without Substance
Average: 4
Range: 1-11

Total Speaking Parts
Average: 15 (of which only 3 are major characters)
Range: 9-25 (of which only 1-6 are major characters)

One Hour Pilots

The average length of these scripts was 60 pages.

Major Characters
Average: 5
Range: 3-10

Minor Characters
Average: 12
Range: 5-17

Walk-on Characters with Substance
Average: 4
Range: 1-13

Walk-on Characters without Substance
Average: 9
Range: 1-17

Total Speaking Parts
Average: 30 (of which only 5 are major characters)
Range: 24-40 (of which only 3-10 are major characters)

Summary

It’s interesting that the average number of characters in a one hour pilot is literally double the number in a half-hour. I actually wouldn’t have expected that.

The average number of speaking parts, particularly for one hours, is much higher than I expected. I’m guessing a lot of writers who have gotten the feedback that their pilot has “too many characters” actually have fewer speaking parts than that! If that’s you, read on…

Why Do People Think My Pilot Has Too Many Characters?

There are two possibilities: (a) your pilot does have too many characters, or (b) your pilot doesn’t have too many characters but it feels like it does.

The first possibility is easy to diagnose. Just look at the numbers above and compare to your script. If your number of speaking parts is at the high end of the range above (or even beyond the range), then you probably really do have too many characters.

The second possibility is a little tougher. If your script doesn’t actually have too many characters but people keep telling you it does, there are a few explanations that are pretty common. Read through them below and see if one or more resonates with you (or echoes feedback you’ve gotten from readers).

Too Many of Your Characters Are “Important”

Maybe the total speaking parts in your half-hour pilot is within a normal range (let’s say you have 14), but if you’d consider eight of them to be major characters, you’re probably asking too much of them. It’s hard for a reader to identify with any one character if they’re all spread so thin, let alone keep them straight. Your job will be to downgrade some of them to minor status or cut them entirely.

One way to do this is to ask yourself: How many of your characters have at least one scene by themselves or with only one other character?

Monica Beletsky had another great Twitter thread this week, this time pointing out the importance of 1- and 2-person scenes in pilots. Intimate scenes like this are a signal to the reader that this is a character we should care about, and they give us an opportunity to connect more with that character’s thoughts and feelings. You probably can’t manage scenes like that for more than a handful of characters in 30-60 pages without losing story momentum, so choose wisely.

Your Characters Aren’t Distinct Enough

This is a common one and there are several underlying issues that could cause it:

Their names are too similar.
This might sound dumb to you but it’s a real problem. If you have one character named Max and another named Matt, readers will probably struggle to keep them straight.

It’s not just about names that start with the same letter. It can also be that too many of your characters have the same kind of name. If all of your characters have common “middle-class white American who was born in the 1990s” names, readers may still get them confused.

If Max and Matt are the only two characters in your pilot, we might be ok because we’ll get to know each of them really well, but if there are six main characters and 5 minor characters and another five walk-ons? We’re going to forget who’s who.

The good news? This is probably the easiest fix on this list. In Final Draft, just go to Edit > Replace Character and swap some names. (If you switch a short name to a longer name, watch out for a possible increase to your page count.)
Their voices are too similar.
I’m not suggesting you give each character a different accent or a weird speech pattern (though that’s one approach). I’m suggesting you get clear on who each character is, and make sure that information is on the page.

And I’m not talking about writing lengthy character bios. It’s much simpler than that.

Immediately after reading your pilot, a reader should be able to pass the following pop quiz: for any major character in your script (and most minor characters), the reader should be able to name — off the top of her head — at least one adjective that describes that character’s personality.

Can your readers do that? Or do they say: “She’s… a lawyer?”

Or worse: “Which one was that again?”

You don’t need to worry about a lot of nuance at this stage, except maybe for the protagonist. This is only the first episode! You have to cover a lot of ground in very few pages. There will be time for nuance later.

At this stage, you just need to communicate one adjective about each minor character (e.g. status-conscious, hyper-analytical, grumpy, easily scared), and for major characters, you might aim for two adjectives (e.g. dumb but kind, generous but passive-aggressive, anxious but intelligent, irritable but brave).

This might sound like oversimplifying but if you read just about any successful, critically-acclaimed pilot, it really is this simple. Think about Tahani on The Good Place. Think about Jesse on Breaking Bad. Think about Josh on Crazy Ex-Girlfriend. Think about Princess Carolyn on BoJack Horseman. These characters gained nuance later in the series, but in the pilot? You could probably sum them up in one or two clearly-indicated adjectives.

At the very least, if the feedback you’re getting on your script is that people can’t tell your characters apart, this can be a first step on the path to fixing that.

Make a list of adjectives like the ones above and try them out on your characters. How might it strengthen your characters if you assigned one or two of these adjectives to each and rewrote their scenes accordingly? (Note: beware of playing into stereotypes or cliché tropes.)
Their purposes are too similar.
For this one, you need to understand the point of your story. What is the theme your series is going to explore?

Each major and minor character should be serving a different purpose in your series by exploring a different angle of your theme. It’s like each character is making an argument for the audience, and over the course of the series the culmination of all of those arguments will present a unifying idea to the viewer.

If you have two characters that are presenting the same argument, that’s going to feel redundant.

(Keep in mind that when I say “present an argument,” I don’t mean that the character actually speaks this argument in dialogue, though sometimes that might happen. More often it’s that her worldview, choices, and experiences make the argument for her. To understand what I mean, think about the ensemble on a show like The Wire or The Good Place.)

As an example, let’s say you’re writing a legal procedural that explores the theme: “Is it more important to follow the letter of the law or the spirit of it?”

Your protagonist is a by-the-books prosecuting attorney who pulled herself through law school by her own bootstraps and as a result believes in the beauty of the letter of the law, however flawed it may be.

Her boyfriend is the anxiety-prone defense attorney she often goes up against, who also believes in the beauty of the letter of the law because he worked hard to put himself through law school and thus has a romanticized idea of the legal profession.

These characters have different jobs and personalities, but their function in the series is the same. They’re both making the same argument in the series’ conversation about theme.
Their roles in the story are too similar.
Let’s say you have two antagonists. It’s not uncommon for a story to have two or more antagonists but they should be distinct from each other and they shouldn’t have the same level of menace. One can be the evil overlord who lurks in the shadows, but they can’t both be that. The other should be the blustery bully or the passive-aggressive meddler. They should play different antagonistic roles in the story.

Another example is if you have two characters who are the “bad boy with a heart of gold” or two characters who are the “goofy comic relief.” LOST didn’t need two Sawyers. Seinfeld didn’t need two Kramers.

Your Characters Aren’t Memorable Enough

Maybe your characters are all different, and you don’t have too many of them, but when you quiz readers on which character they liked best, they struggle to remember any of them specifically.

Or, more likely, one or two characters stick out memorably but the others melt into a pile of mush.

There are a few ways to fix this problem:

Give your characters goals.
Even if it’s a minor character, they probably have something they care about in life, or at least that they care about for the next 30 minutes of this episode, or the next 30 seconds of their scene.

Maybe they want to escape. Maybe they want to avenge a loved one’s death. Maybe they want someone to notice their haircut. Maybe they want to get high. Maybe they want to be left alone. Maybe they want the waiter to refill their glass of water.

It doesn’t have to be anything dramatic and you don’t need to spend more than a line or two on it, but if you give a character something to want, that will make them more memorable.
Give your characters a great intro.
Maybe they enter the scene covered in blood. Maybe their first line is a non-sequitur. Maybe they’re only wearing a towel. Or maybe you just give them a really insightful and hilarious introduction in the scene description.

If you just describe them as “JOHN, 32” and their first line is “Hi, how are you?” we are not off to a memorable start.

How Do I Reduce the Number of Characters in My Pilot?

Okay, so you’ve decided that you really do have too many characters. It may seem like they’re all crucial, but that’s pretty unlikely! Other pilots have clearly gotten by with fewer characters and you probably can too.

Ask yourself what narrative purpose each major and minor character serves in your story:

What is the primary adjective or adjectives a reader would use to describe this character after reading the pilot (based on the actual text of the script)? Would they describe any other characters similarly?
What does this character do that’s necessary for the plot to move forward? Could someone else do it? Does it absolutely have to be done?
What thematic argument does this character make? Does your story need this argument? Is another character making the same argument?
What role does the character serve in the story? (e.g. goofy comic relief, unstoppable antagonist, etc.) Does your story need someone to fill that role? Is anyone else already filling it?

This will illuminate a lot. After you’re done answering those questions for all major and minor characters (but not walk-ons), you will probably have ideas for who to cut and who to combine.

Another thing to consider: if there are any characters you introduce in the pilot who won’t be important until a later episode, consider cutting them unless they serve another important purpose. The harsh truth is there will probably never be a second episode. These scripts are usually just writing samples. Even if we do sell our pilot script, it’s unlikely it will ever make it to air, let alone get a full season.

But if by some miracle all of that does happen, we can bring those deleted characters to the writers’ room and add them back in.

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Black Panther Did Something I’ve Never Experienced in a Movie

February 19, 2018

Major spoilers below for Black Panther.

Like most people in the world, I saw Black Panther this weekend. Given the reviews, I expected to like it, assuming the hype machine hadn’t built it beyond reasonable expectation. And in fact I did like it.

But it also emotionally wrecked me. I not only cried more during the movie than I think I’ve done since Life is Beautiful 20 years ago, I kept thinking about it hours after the movie ended and crying again.

What devastated me in this movie was not the (supposed) death of T’Challa, the film’s hero, or the death of Zuri, T’Challa’s beloved uncle and mentor. It was the death of the villain, Erik Killmonger.

Disney obviously has a thing for humanizing its villains (see: Kylo Ren or Maleficent) and we’ve certainly seen villains before who are a little sympathetic or who make a decent point, but what was so bold about Black Panther is that it didn’t just make you feel bad for Killmonger or give him a line or two that made you think — the movie made a powerful argument for his point of view.

When another character tells Killmonger, “Your heart is full of hatred; you’re not fit to be a king,” they’re right. He’s not. But his approach, however hateful, did achieve results. Wakanda wouldn’t have opened their borders if he had never burst through their gates. In some ways the trial by fire he put T’Challa through is what made him the worthy king he was destined to be.

Even though Wakanda “wins” in the end, there’s a powerful sense of loss for the man that Killmonger could have been if T’Chaka had made a different choice that night in 1992, and though his violent, self-centered approach made him unfit to be king, it did open T’Challa’s eyes to a perspective he sorely needed.

That said, Killmonger is not a good guy. It’s important that he’s presented as a worthy and frightening adversary to T’Challa. This is why it’s crucial that Killmonger wins (or seems to win) his initial battle with T’Challa so that we see him as a formidable opponent. If he had only been presented as a wounded young man, he wouldn’t have made a strong villain.

An important moment for his character as a villain is when he kills his love interest. He does it in cold blood, with barely a thought, because she’s disappointed him and is in his way. This is almost like a reverse “save the cat” moment – instead of a moment that drives empathy for his character, it’s a moment that cements him as frightening and beyond reach.

Another critical moment like this is when he orders all the heart-shaped herbs burned. It’s an upsetting moment because we know how important this plant is to Wakanda. He even physically attacks an innocent woman when he orders it done. Most movies with a villain have a “burn the heart-shaped herb” moment – something the villain does that has seemingly irreparable consequences and truly drives home their power and menace.

I don’t know if every villain needs to be this sympathetic or if every argument in a story needs to be this complex, but as our world grows more and more divided, I find I’m less interested in stories that paint conflicts as a simple right and wrong.

A TV show I’ve been loving, CW’s Black Lightning (coincidentally also about a black superhero with a cast that’s almost entirely people of color), does this really well. Almost every argument between two characters on that show, no matter who it’s between or what it’s about, makes a solid case for both sides of the conflict. It makes the story more engaging because I genuinely don’t know who is going to win, or even necessarily who I want to win.

My takeaway for my next script is to create a villain who doesn’t just have a sympathetic backstory or a decent zinger or two, but has a truly understandable point of view, even if the story ultimately rejects it. I also want to make a point in scenes of conflict to give both sides of the argument some solid ground.

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7 Things We Can Learn from John Boyega’s “Attack the Block”

December 24, 2017

I finally watched Attack the Block, John Boyega’s film debut from 2011 about kids from a South London housing project who become the world’s first line of defense against an alien invasion. It has a very 1980s feel, like those movies from your childhood that made you wish your friends could have thrilling adventures.

It’s a nearly perfect movie, in my opinion, and if you haven’t seen it, I recommend watching it¹ before reading any further. If you want to brave the article below, the spoilers are pretty mild and vague.

What makes this movie so great? Here are seven takeaways:

1. There are Enough Villains to Go Around

Our heroes in this movie are outrunning, outgunning, and outwitting three major opponents: the aliens, the police, and Hi-Hatz (the drug boss of the Block). A lot of stories have just one antagonist, or a main antagonist and his henchmen, but having multiple, separate antagonists makes for a richer story with more opportunities for tension and surprise.

For example, a common pitfall in thrillers is that any time things get a little quiet, the audience knows the bad guy is about to pop out from behind a corner. Having multiple villains allows for more surprise – when we think the kids are about to get jumped by the aliens, it turns out to be the cops, etc.

It also creates richer conflicts. There are several scenes in which the kids are being detained by one villain (the police or Hi-Hatz), only for that detainment to make them vulnerable to an even bigger threat (the aliens). It makes their predicament feel that much more impossible as they become boxed in from threats on all sides.

Having multiple, unrelated villains risks making a story feel unfocused but it works in Attack the Block because (a) there’s a logical (and connected) reason why each villain is after our heroes, and (b) there’s a clear pecking order between them, with the aliens being the scariest, the cops being the least scary, and Hi-Hatz being somewhere in the middle.

It’s also worth noting that characters in this movie only die at the “hand” of aliens, never by police or Hi-Hatz. I think that’s important because it keeps the aliens as the “Final Boss” the kids will have the hardest time escaping or defeating. It would muddy the story if characters also died from other causes.

2. The Kills Matter (or At Least Some of Them Do)

This is an action-adventure-monster movie, so there are several kills to let us know the aliens mean business.

These kids open the movie by mugging an innocent person, but as the film goes on, we realize how young they are and how they look out for each other even in the face of grave danger, and they each get at least one brief moment to show some vulnerability or generosity. They’re also pretty funny.

We grow to care about these kids, so we genuinely worry about them, and when a few of them die, the loss is sincerely felt. (And luckily most of the kills are characters we aren’t invested in, so it’s not overly depressing).

3. Everything Gets Called Back

Some call it Chekhov’s gun. In Save the Cat, Blake Snyder calls it “the six things that need fixing.” Whatever you want to call it, this movie has it. Problems and opportunities set up in early parts of the movie are paid off later.

When Biggz brags early in the movie that he can jump from one flight of stairs to another and his friends doubt him, you can be sure that later he will need to do just that to escape the aliens. When we learn that Brewis took a zoology course in college, you can bet that information will come in handy by Act Three. When we see inside every kid’s apartment except for Moses’s, the movie is setting us up for an emotional payoff later when we finally catch a glimpse.

I could go on with a dozen more examples. Some of these setups and payoffs are small and some are huge; some are predictable and some are surprising, but they all make for a more cohesive, satisfying movie.

4. It Takes Place in a Specific, Fully Realized World

The entire film takes place inside – or just outside – a giant South London housing project they call “the Block.” At the beginning of the movie, we learn everything we need to know about this location: (1) all of our characters live there, except for Brewis and Ron, (2) the elevator is very slow, (3) there is a complicated series of outdoor stairwells, and (4) Ron’s weed room is on the 19th floor and is locked down “like Fort Knox.”

There are almost no other locations in this movie – a brief scene or two in a park across the street and a couple of scenes in the alley outside the building, but otherwise everything takes place inside the Block.

Obviously it’s not necessary for good storytelling to restrict your locations, but sometimes limited locations can actually make a story feel richer instead of thinner because we feel fully immersed in the world. We see a hallway and we recognize it like we’ve been there before ourselves. We know to say, “no, no, don’t go in the elevator” because we know how slow it is.

This movie has a lot of similarities to another near-perfect film², Die Hard, which makes similar use of a single location.

5. The Protagonist is Not “Nice,” But He Is Redeemed

John Boyega’s Moses is one of the most empathetic heroes I’ve come across in awhile, which is impressive given that he opens the movie by viciously mugging a defenseless woman. Part of that empathy comes from the actor’s innate charm, but it’s also built into the text.

First, Moses is trusted and beloved by his crew, which gives him some cred with us right away. There must be a reason these kids follow and trust him, so we extend him some faith.

Second, he’s good at things. We see his bravery and leadership immediately.

Third, we see glimpses of his vulnerability at multiple points, driven home to emotional effect in the final act when we learn three simple facts that crack open that sliver of empathy into a heartbreaking chasm. These points are not overplayed to saccharine effect but merely presented, allowed to breathe for the merest moment, and then left behind.

Last, and most importantly, he’s allowed a small but powerful character arc as he realizes the effects of his actions and chooses to risk his own life to make amends. It’s not a grand, sweeping change in his outer life, but it’s clearly a powerful shift in his inner life. We believe it, and we care.

6. There’s a Larger Point

This point isn’t belabored, but there are several moments throughout the film that address police brutality against black boys. The movie isn’t “about” that – it’s about a violent alien invasion – but it’s a theme that courses through the veins of the story, and by the end it has made a subtle but important point. Attack the Block is a fun, silly, exciting action-adventure movie, but the story is deepened by the broader point it is subtly but powerfully making.

7. There’s a Clever Explanation

Sometimes invasion movies like this end with the heroes blasting away each monster one by one until they’re all gone, or perhaps the old “round ’em up in a central place and then torch it” approach. These are both fine, but what elevates the story here is a twist – the characters figure out what’s driving the aliens and then use that knowledge in a clever way to outsmart them. The clues were there all along and it’s a surprising character who manages to put them together. The final moments of the film are like a heist story as we slowly piece together the plan the characters have devised and realize just how crazy – and brave – it actually is.

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How to Write a Great Villain: 5 Surprising Lessons from Kylo Ren

December 23, 2017

I’m not the first person to come out with the hot take that Kylo Ren is a great villain, and I hope I’m not the last. Let’s explore what makes him unique in a sea of soporific summer blockbuster baddies.

Beware that this post contains major spoilers from both The Last Jedi and The Force Awakens.

Note: this was originally just four lessons, but I realized there is an important fifth!

1. Great Villains are Motivated

Too often villains are like Pinky and the Brain with nothing in their pocket but a tube of chapstick and a vague desire to “take over the world.” What makes Kylo Ren different is that we actually understand his motivations.

He’s desperate to differentiate himself from his famous parents, their heroism and ideals choking his individuality like a Vader death grip. He resents Luke for stepping in as a mentor and then turning on him³. He’s anxious for Rey’s approval as someone he sees as an equal, but fears is his better.

All of these motivations are relatable which makes them terrifying – we understand on a human level that no bridge is a bridge too far for this wounded, desperate child in the body of a man⁴.

2. Great Villains are Sometimes Sympathetic

This is something that most writers have no control over, but the casting of Adam Driver as Kylo Ren is obviously inspired. His physicality is simultaneously hulking and pathetic and in a single silent expression, his eyes communicate a series of like seven nuanced emotions that we immediately, viscerally understand.

But there’s sympathy for Kylo right there in the text, too. When Luke reveals the Rashomon-style alternate ending for his confrontation with Kylo at the Jedi temple, he describes him as “a frightened child whose master had failed him.” Destroying the entire temple and becoming Supreme Leader of the First Order might have been a slight overreaction, but we can certainly imagine how scary and sad that must have been for him, to feel so misunderstood by his own mentor to the point that his mentor had intended to kill him in his sleep.

3. Great Villains are Sometimes Right

The scene when Kylo Ren kills Han is heartbreaking and resonant beyond anything I’ve experienced in the Star Wars universe and in fact beyond most things I’ve experienced in film, period. But it isn’t just sad because a beloved character dies, it’s sad because on some level, we understand why Kylo does it.

There is a point in a person’s life when they have to metaphorically kill their parents (metaphorically, Kylo, not literally) in order to become what they are meant to be. We have to not only leave the nest physically, but learn to reject some of what we were given as children in order to build what we need as adults. Kylo Ren does have to kill Han to become who he is meant to be – he knows it, we know it, and Han knows it too.

Kylo actually articulates this in plain language in The Last Jedi when he says to Rey: “Let the past die. Kill it, if you have to. It’s the only way to become who you were meant to be.” Rey hesitates here because while she realizes they are not on the same side (what a great scene that was!), what he’s saying is actually not wrong. It’s the same sentiment Yoda expresses when he burns down the ancient tree full of Jedi texts. For Rey, it resonates with something Maz said to her with more benevolent intentions in The Force Awakens: “The belonging you seek is not behind you, it is ahead.”

4. Great Villains are Worthy Adversaries

All of the sympathy, motivation, and salient points in the world won’t combine to make a great villain if your villain is not also super powerful and scary. Whether it’s his late night Jedi Skype sessions with Rey, his killing of the all-powerful Snoke, or his epic lightsaber battles, it’s clear Kylo Ren is one of the most powerful beings in the galaxy, even if he is still learning to harness it, like a teen driving a Bugatti with a learner’s permit. He is very nearly Rey’s equal, and there’s a sense that as he grows and learns to control his power, he may even grow stronger than her.

This is an area where the series will need to develop Kylo more if he’s to stay a worthy villain. His emo teen antics give him complexity now, but as Rey grows into her power, he will also need to grow into his.

5. Great Villains are Redeemable (Even If They Choose to Not Be Redeemed)

So much of what makes Kylo fascinating and sympathetic is the ever-present possibility that he could still be redeemed. There may be good in him somewhere and as an audience, we’re invested and in suspense to see if he’ll find it, or if someone will bring it out. When I think of many great villains from television, this redeemability is a common theme, a constant sense that this character could still choose to leave the Dark Side (whatever that looks like in their particular story world), and rather than simply wanting them defeated, we hope against hope that they will.

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