Wants, Part 2

In yesterday's post, I talked about global wants and specific wants, and I suggested they can conflict.

It occurred to me today that the news about Mark Sanford suggests a conflict. His specific want was to see his mistress in secret. But his global want is to be with his mistress permanently.

The obstacle to his global want is being Governor of South Carolina. But by disappearing off the map for five days without telling his staff anything, he practically guaranteed that his secret mission to Argentina would be found out. And by doing it that way, he practically guarantees he'll have to resign as governor -- thus liberating him from his pesky governorship.

Whereas, had he simply separated from his wife and announced that he was in love with someone else, he might have lost some votes at the next election, but probably not even that -- see McCain, John.

How characters delude themselves between their specific goals and their overall goals -- how they trick themselves into getting what they won't admit they want -- is part of the fun of watching drama. The audience enjoys realizing things about the character that he doesn't realize himself; and by that effort, they draw themselves into the story.

You don't want your character to be vague, but don't be afraid to make your character self-contradictory, so long as the self-contradiction means something -- can be parsed for meaning.

Rogers on Character

John Rogers posts a couple of interesting ways to bust your villain out of a rut.

Occasionally, LEVERAGE writer Albert Kim will regale us with stories of the horrible traditions and kabuki of his previous corporate life. He recently explained the idea of the 360 degree job review. You are reviewed by:

1.) Your bosses
2.) Your peers
3.) Your underlings.

I started doing this as a way to develop characters, and I have to admit I kind of dig it. How does Indiana Jones's boss at the university feel about him? Other archeologists? His students? How about the bad guys? "Major Arnold Toht is the best commandant I've ever had. He never sends us into dangerous situations without also taking the same risk. He is very organized and makes sure we have the tools and resources necessary to serve the Fuhrer. We always go to interesting places, and he really encourages individual initiative. His determination is an inspiration to us all ..."

And:

Years ago another writer taught me a simple exercise -- describe a character, hero or villain, as his best friend would describe him while setting up a blind date. Then do it from the point of view of the co-worker who hates his guts and is unloading to his wife after work, or finally has a chance to sink him with a job recommendation.

Character Descriptions in Pitches

Lisa and I are working on a pitch document for an hour drama we hope to shop to networks up here in Canuckistan. (Networks in the States want to see a completed pilot script, so you may never have to write a pitch bible at all.) We have to keep reminding ourselves to stay away from backstory. The point of character descriptions isn't to fill in backstory. It's to describe the characters as they are now, and more importantly, set them in motion. So I would say the priorities of a character description in a pitch are:

1. What do they want? Why can't they get it? How do they go about trying to get it?
2. What are they like?
3. And only then, if necessary, the minimum backstory necessary to explain what they're doing in the story of the series.

You can actually get away without any backstory in your character descriptions. But you absolutely must fill in what each character wants (his drive) and how he approaches trying to get it. That's what sets him in motion -- and defines his direction -- in the stories.

The "how" is not just the explicit things the character does, but the manner in which he does them, and the point of view that the manner comes out of. It should all be there in the "how."

Plots Should Be Revelatory of Character

I've been revising episode 1.02 of the pay cable series I'm developing. One scene just wasn't working, between a kid and his recently separated dad. There was conflict but the scene felt mushy to me. It was boring Lisa, who felt that the scene was something we could see in any show, between any kid and his recently separated dad.

In other words, the scene was not revealing the dad's character. And that was, in turn, because the dad's plot wasn't revelatory of character. It was basically a conflict between him and his new girlfriend, which created a conflict between him and his kids. Move along, please, people. Nothing to see here. You've seen one train wreck, you've seen them all.

What I had to do was rethink the plot so it was revelatory of the father's character. This is hyper-important in such an early script, especially because he hadn't got a lot of air time in the pilot. But it is really important in any character drama. Ideally, you should never have a story about one of your core cast that could be told in the same way about a different character. The story has to come out of who that character is. 

In fact, every scene should be revelatory of character. The one scene that was blowing the whistle on my plot lacked flavor because it had nothing to say about the dad except that he was an okay guy and he loved his son; which, hey, is great, but doesn't get you on TV. 

As it turned out, the beats I had for the dad plot weren't bad. The scenes I needed were the scenes I already had. But they weren't working because I hadn't pinned down the underlying story structure. I hadn't pinned down what the dad wanted, and what it was in his character that made it hard for him to get it. 

Once I nailed those structural elements down, then the beats weren't too hard to rewrite. Even some of the dialog still worked, but it meant something fresh and new now. As it turned out, the dad came off as much more of an asshat, but in one scene we learned that it wasn't from selfishness so much as emotional blindness. Which is exactly the character I was shooting for.

If something's not working -- or even if it is -- doublecheck to see if each story is saying something distinct about its central character. If it isn't, figure out how to make it do so.

Remember, on screen (as, philosophically perhaps, in life), we can only judge someone's character by what they do, not what's merely said about them. 

And Do It Again

Q. I come from an Improv and sketch comedy background, I've written 3 TV spec scripts that were good. For some reason the ability to plug into voices of characters created by others comes fairly easily to me. However, my 2 original feature scripts and my pilot were all severely lacking, there's obviously a hole in my writing education somewhere when it comes to creating original characters and stories that have legs. I've read all the usual suspects: McKee, Vogler, you...any pointers as to where to look to fill these holes?

I don't think you need to read any more books. I think you just need to write more scripts. Looking back on all my scripts, the first feature spec I'm still willing to show people comes in around #15 or so. It takes a while to learn how to write screenplays.

To write great characters, try writing some screenplays that depend entirely on their characters. Stretch in the direction you're weakest. If plotting was your weakness, I would say write a closely plotted thriller. If people are saying your dialog is too flat, try writing a script about bitchy fashion people, or create a character who speaks outlandishly, or has Tourette's.

I wouldn't expect you to be able to write a good pilot after writing only three TV specs. Everyone's asking for spec pilots these days, but it used to be you were expected to put in three to five years on staff before anyone wanted to see a pilot from you. You need that long to learn your craft.

The key to becoming a better writer is writing, and rewriting, and rewriting, for years. Do you think people would get paid so much if it was easy to learn how to do it?

As to characters, it's not enough to plug into the voices. You're using the preset characters as a crutch; you know how they sound, and you're making them sound like that. But you don't want to just write lines that Phoebe on FRIENDS could say. You want to write lines that only Phoebe could say: "I wish I could help you, but I don't want to."

Similarly, character isn't writing things that your character would do. It's writing things that only your character would do. Dr. Richard Kimble is a fugitive on the run. He sneaks into a hospital to investigate the one-armed man who killed his wife. He notices a kid has been misdiagnosed. Most people would ignore the kid; there are doctors for that. He scrawls a new diagnosis on the kid's chart and rolls him to where he can get the help he needs -- nearly getting caught in the process.

Character isn't about character bios, which I find vastly overrated. It's about giving your character things to do and say that only they would say and do. And then doing it again.

Smart Characters

Q. How do you make a character super-smart, supposing for the moment that you are not yourself super-smart?

Well, you have the advantage over him. You can take the time to think things through. Just have him do things instinctively that you would only think to do after some thought. Have him say things it would take you time to think of, and so forth.

You can also have him set up elaborate plans that most of us wouldn't have the confidence to try, and have them work. In real life, intelligent people usually try to make things as simple as possible. But a sure sign of high intelligence is elaborate plans that go off the way they are meant to. E.g. the D-Day deception, the maneuvers at Cannae, the landings at Inchon, the Great Train Robbery, the rescue at Entebbe.

You can also demonstrate high intelligence by having the character able to draw conclusions from his keen powers of observations, whether of forensic detail (see Holmes, Sherlock) or of personality (see "I did not have sex with that woman").

A great rabbi was once asked how he always had the perfect anecdote to illustrate his judgments. He said, "I went to visit a man who had targets painted on the walls of his barn. In the middle of each target was an arrow. I asked him how he became such a good archer. Simple, he said. I shoot the arrow, then I paint the target." You're telling the story, so just pick the situations in which he can shine.

Another Way to Use PostSecret

I bought myself one of the PostSecret books. They're books (and a website) of postcard art projects that anonymous people wrote in telling their secret, whatever it is. They're really quite moving at times; other times, sweetly ridiculous.

What if you gave each of your minor characters a secret from PostSecret? And what if everything they said or did in a scene were in some way colored by that secret? A cop who hates the way he looks. A shop clerk who wishes someone would kiss her. An elderly witness who doesn't want to talk about the killing, but badly needs to talk about the woman he never had the guts to ask out forty years ago. Etc. The secret can surface in the scene, or stay under the surface. But it's there.

Bear in mind it's not enough to decide that the character has the secret. (This is the big pitfall to writing out in-depth character descriptions: you think you've created a character, but you may have only done so in your head.) You have to painstakingly make sure that some of the lines of dialog specifically reflect the secret in some way, tacit or explicit.

Interview with Alex Epstein, Part Two

More of my guest-lecture by chat:

BS: Hi Alex. What do you consider the most important thing when you develop your characters?
AE: What do they have to do with the story? Is this character the main character, the antagonist, the intimate opponent, the sidekick, what?
CL: Do you mean how they move the story forward?
AE: If they don't help or get in the way of the hero, they're gone. A story is: a. A compelling character -- someone we care about -- b. with a problem, opportunity or goal c. who faces obstacles and/or an antagonist d. if he or she succeeds, there's something to win (stakes) e. if he or she fails, there's something to lose (jeopardy). So, anything that isn't part of the story as defined above, doesn't belong in the movie.
RG: Do you have a pat formula?
AE: Nope, no pat formula. My schtick is "tell your story out loud." That's my formula. I don't have formula, just process.
BS: What does that mean, tell our story out loud?
RG: say it out loud..hmm okay can you explain a little more?
AE: I mean this: before you write anything down on the page, tell your entire story...
CL: You mean say the story out loud? Even as a novel?
AE: Yes. Tell it over and over again. Tell it to anyone who will listen ...
CL: What are you looking for, glazed eyes, interest?
AE: Tell it LIKE A STORY you would tell someone. It will help you make a much more interesting story. If you are boring your audience, you'll know. If you are boring yourself, you'll know. The moment you commit something to the page, you lose half your storytelling skills. There is no more audience, really, and when you're bored you can just "blip" over the boring spots. When you're telling your story out loud you will instantly know when it's not making sense; and when you're bored, or they are, you'll come up with something better... THAT'S my pat formula.
CS: when you commit something to the page, you lose half your storytelling skills?
AE: Yes. You know when your LISTENER is bored. But when someone reads something on the page they have time to come up with something nice to say.
CL: Ha!
BS: How do you keep the interest going when the less active scenes come along?
AE: You keep interest going by not HAVING less active scenes ... in the sense of, don't have any scenes where nothing's at stake.

It's About the Work

It took shaving her head and getting photographed whacking at a car with an umbrella in the middle of the night, but Britney Spears finally gave me a reason to care about her: she has a problem.

(A story, in my book, is generally: (a) a person with (b) an opportunity, problem or goal (c) who faces obstacles and/or an antagonist, and (d) has something to lose (jeopardy) and (e) something to gain (stakes). And I do love a story.)

This WaPo article claims

If the 25-year-old pop star were to try to come back, he said, she would have to apologize, show some introspection, beg forgiveness for crumbling in front of us all, even if it is the fault of the culture that makes child stars grow up too fast.

But no. She doesn't have to apologize. (Except to the owner of the car, obviously.) She never had a responsibility to her fans to be a regular joe. Or even a good Mom.

(She has a responsibility to her kids to be a good Mom. But that's between her and them.)

What she has to do to come back, and to save herself, is focus on the work. Somewhere she seems to have forgotten that she is a pop star because she's a singer. Being a pop star will not save you. But music can save you.

Just go back to the studio, work long hard days making songs perfect, play small unannounced dates once in a while, and remember that only the music will survive. The music will start to fill the hole in your soul.

For me, it's my family, but before I had the family, it was the writing that kept me relatively sane.

Okay, that's enough caring about Britney.