4 Ways to Use Subplots

(Spoilers: Whiplash, Guardians of the Galaxy, Almost Famous, 40 Year-Old Virgin, Star Wars, Bridge of Spies, Inception)

Most discussion of screenwriting technique focuses on how to create a great A-plot for your story, but great subplots can enhance both the A-plot and the overall movie experience. The important thing is that the subplot serve some purpose to the overall story. Here are four ways to use subplots effectively.

1. A subplot can reveal character.

You can create a subplot that will demonstrate an aspect of the main character that is difficult to bring out in the main plot. For example, in Guardians of the Galaxy, (written by James Gunn and Nicole Perlman) the subplot involving Peter Quill’s mother humanizes him and makes him sympathetic. This helps us root for a character who is a self-absorbed thief when we first meet him.

And in Whiplash (written by Damien Chazelle), Andrew’s romance with Nicole illustrates aspects of his character. For example, we see the destructive nature of his commitment to his musical goals when he breaks up with Nicole simply because he anticipates she may not be supportive sometime in the future. Later, when he calls to try to reconnect, we can see that he has realized he may have had misplaced priorities.

2. A subplot can trigger character arc.

In some stories, the character needs to change in order to achieve their goal. A subplot can provide the impetus for that change. Often that comes in the form of a mentor. In Star Wars (written by George Lucas), Luke’s relationship with Obi Wan Kenobi is the trigger that starts him learning about the Force. It is this growth that ultimately allows him to destroy the Death Star in the end.

Love interests often serve this purpose as well. In Almost Famous (written by Cameron Crowe), William needs to lose his awe of the rock stars in order to become a serious journalist. His relationship with Penny Lane causes him to recognize the negative aspect of the band he worships when he sees how they treat her. This is the impetus for him to write a great article about the band.

3. A subplot can reveal different approaches to the theme.

If your main character is taking one approach to the issue of the film, you can use subplots to demonstrate other approaches. This can deepen the thematic complexity of the story and reveal the pros and cons of the main character’s approach. In Whiplash, Andrew’s father provides an example of a loving, supportive mentor relationship in comparison to the abusive relationship Andrew has with Fletcher. But Andrew’s father also shows what happens when an artist compromises and settles for mediocrity.

The subject matter of The 40 Year-Old Virgin (written by Judd Apatow & Steve Carell) is sex. Andy’s three friends have different approaches to the subject of sex. David is still obsessed with an ex-girlfriend, Cal is only interested in one-night-stands, and Jay is in an apparently happy relationship, but insists on cheating on his girlfriend. Each offers a different perspective on sex and its place in relationships, and each has a character arc that adds complexity to the subject matter of the movie.

4. A subplot can provide stakes for the main character.

If the main character in your story needs personal stakes, then a subplot can provide them. In Bridge of Spies (written by Matt Charman and Ethan & Joel Coen), the main character of James Donovan cares about the outcome of the legal case he’s defending and the subsequent prisoner exchange negotiation because he’s an ethical lawyer. This provides some stakes, but no personal downside to James’ success or failure. However, the subplot with his family gives James something to lose. By following his ethical course, he puts his family in peril, as witnessed by the shots fired through the living room window while his daughter is on the couch.

In Inception (written by Christopher Nolan), the subplot with Cobb’s family performs a similar function, and then twists it. On the surface, Cobb is determined to succeed at the mission of the film because if he does, he is promised the opportunity to reunite with his children. However, we then learn through this subplot that Cobb may actually be trapped in a dream. This provides added stakes – if it is a dream, then Cobb can only be reunited with his children by rejecting it.

Most of these are examples of dramatization, or “show, don’t tell.” Rather than have the character talk about how they feel, their backstory, or the thematic concepts of the story, you can demonstrate those ideas with a subplot. It’s more dramatic, powerful, and realistic.

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It Was All a Dream

(Spoilers: Inception, Sucker Punch, The Matrix, Pan’s Labyrinth)

Back in the 80’s, the TV show Dallas decided to undo a weak season by revealing it was all one character’s dream. The audience was furious. Why? Because they had invested hours and hours over the course of eight months in storylines that didn’t matter.

Dream worlds and alternate realities contain a significant trap for writers, one I see my students fall into from time to time. The problem is one of stakes. If the events in the “other world” have no effect on the real world of the character, then why should we care about them? There’s nothing to gain or lose by success or failure in the dream.

Comparing Inception (written by Christopher Nolan) and Sucker Punch (story by Zack Snyder, screenplay by Zack Snyder and Steve Shibuya) illustrates this well. Sucker Punch contains several layers of dream/fantasy. When the team of young women go on the various missions that make up their escape plan, Babydoll dances to distract their overseers and the film shifts into fantasies that metaphorically mirror the real-world* missions.

Except it’s unclear what impact these fantasies have on the outcome of the actual mission. Will the results of the fantasy impact the success or failure of the real-world caper? If not, it’s just eye candy. Nothing wrong with eye candy, but if that’s all you have, then there’s no tension or audience involvement and things get tedious real quick.

Inception is similar to Sucker Punch in that most of the action takes place in dreams. Except in Inception the adventures in these dreams have a clear purpose in the real world. Success or failure in the dreams matters. And, it’s made clear that if someone dies in these dreams, they’ll die in the real world. In Sucker Punch, that doesn’t seem to be the case. Thus the dream action in Inception has stakes for the characters, whereas in Sucker Punch it’s just a bunch of pretty images.

A key here is establishing the rules of the world. Inception does a good job of laying out the rules – how you get into and out of the dreams, how time works in the dream world, what happens if you die there, etc. Sucker Punch never clearly defines these sorts of things.

Any time you introduce a world or an element into your story that isn’t a normal part of our real world, you must establish the rules. This goes for supernatural, science fiction, fantasy and superhero movies as well. The audience is fine with fantasies as long as they understand how they work. If anything can happen at any time, it feels like the filmmakers are cheating.

Computer generated virtual realities are similar to dream worlds, and pose the same challenges. In The Matrix (written by Andy & Lana Wachowski) the characters enter into a computer generated world. But the rules are made clear: here again, if you die in the Matrix you die in real life. And actions in the Matrix affect the real world – the biggest danger in the movie turns out to be that the Agents might be able to find the location of the real-world Zion once they capture Morpheus in the Matrix. This gives us stakes.

In other kinds of alternate reality worlds, such as The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe (screenplay by Ann Peacock and Andrew Adamson and Christopher Markus & Stephen McFeely) the characters physically travel from our world to another universe. This creates natural stakes in that the characters can be killed in the alternate reality, since they are physically present there. But the whole endeavor can still feel rather pointless if there isn’t some impact when the characters return to their regular lives.

The best way to do that is through the characters’ internal journey. Their experiences in the alternate reality teach them something that allows them to conquer a problem in the real world.

In Pan’s Labyrinth (written by Guillermo del Toro) the fantasy elements that Ofelia sees do appear to have some impact in the real world, such as the mandrake root healing her mother, but they mostly serve to give her the strength to stand up to Vidal and save her brother in Act Three. The various fairy tale tasks, while having no apparent real-world purpose, prepare her to take critical action in reality. That gives them significance.

If you are writing a story with a dream world, virtual reality or parallel universe, be sure to clearly establish why we care. This means making the rules and the stakes for the main character clear.


*Of course in Sucker Punch even what appears to be the real world is undermined, making the whole thing feel like a waste of time.

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In other news, we got a lovely review for The Hollywood Pitching Bible.

Building Suspense in Inception

(SPOILERS: Inception)

I think suspense is probably the most powerful tool we have as filmmakers. It draws the audience into the story and ratchets up their anxiety, setting up a cathartic release. I’m going to conclude my in-depth look at Inception (written by Christopher Nolan) by looking at the techniques the film uses to build suspense in the dream caper (roughly the second half of the film).

At its most basic, suspense is created when we tell the audience something bad will happen if a character can’t accomplish a certain task. Suspense builds as the audience awaits the outcome. Hope and fear are crucial to suspense – we must give the audience something specific to hope for and something specific to fear.

And the best suspense builds in intensity. We achieve this by throwing increasingly difficult obstacles in the way of the character’s success. At the start of the mission in Inception, the characters have carefully laid plans and are reasonably confident they can pull them off. We hope for their success. But very quickly things go wrong – they discover Fischer has dream defenses they didn’t know about. Next Cobb reveals that, with the sedation they’re using, dying in the dream sends them to Limbo instead of waking them up. This immediately raises the stakes and gives us something specific to fear.

Then we have to tighten the screws, making the characters more desperate. One of the most powerful tools to do this is the ticking clock. When you put a time limit on your characters, any obstacle that slows them down increases our fear they might fail. The most cliché example of a ticking clock is the timer on a bomb ticking down as the hero races to defuse it.

Inception creates an overall ticking clock for the mission with the “kick” that wakes them all simultaneously. The team gets spread out across three dreams and have to complete their various tasks before the kick pulls them out. The tension is increased when the time gets truncated – Yusuf can’t wait as long as he should to activate the kick, and Saito has been shot, providing another ticking clock: they must finish the mission before he dies.

The team uses a song as a countdown to the kick, allowing them (and us) to track its approach. Of course the team misses the first kick, but fortunately they have a back-up – when the van hits the water. Cutting to the falling van provides a gauge for how much time is passing until this last, final chance at success. Any time limit serves as a ticking clock, but you have to find a way to show the audience how much time is left. In the case of Saito, we track his deteriorating health.

With these “clocks” counting down, various obstacles are thrown in the characters’ path. For example, Yusuf is being pursued by gunmen. The team needs to improvise in the second level with the Mr. Charles gambit. And after the others head to the third dream level, Arthur has to keep some security guys from getting to the hotel room.

And of course the biggest obstacle comes when Mal shows up at the medical complex and Cobb can’t shoot her. As a result, Mal kills Fischer, sending him to Limbo. Ariadne then hatches a plan to retrieve Fischer, but there is barely enough time left to pull it off. Tension is at its peak.

Individual scenes have their own arcs of suspense. For example, in The Mr. Charles scene, suspense is built over whether Fischer will trust Cobb. If he doesn’t, the background characters will tear the intruders apart. As the scene progresses, the background characters get more and more suspicious and aggressive (providing a ticking clock for this scene) as Cobb tries to win over Fischer. And there’s a twist when Fischer considers killing himself to “wake up.”

Looking at Inception, it may seem easy to build suspense. And, in fact, it’s actually not that difficult. But I read a lot of scripts that fail to exploit these techniques. It’s not hard, but you have to actually do it!

Consider whatever story you’re currently working on – is there a ticking clock? If not, can you add one? If so, are you tracking it clearly? Is it clear what we’re supposed to hope for, what we’re supposed to fear? Are you throwing enough obstacles at the characters? Can you add any twists that increase the stakes or reduce the time available?

If we’re going to improve our writing, it’s not enough to figure out how a film like Inception does what it does, we have to apply what we learn to our own scripts.

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In other news, I have launched a Kickstarter campaign for my short film MICROBE. Please take a look and consider whether you’d be willing to contribute. Every bit helps, and we have some pretty nifty rewards for contributors, including access to an extensive behind the scenes website. http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/1470121165/microbe

Inception vs. Prometheus – Ambiguity vs. Confusion

(SPOILERS: Inception, Prometheus)

There’s a saying in filmmaking: ambiguity is good, confusion is bad. The meaning of this might seem obvious, but I’ve had difficulty explaining the difference when trying to help a student with a confusing script. I recently saw Prometheus (written by Jon Spaihts and Damon Lindelof) and found it a horribly confusing mess. And since I’ve been breaking down Inception (written by Christopher Nolan), famous for its ambiguous ending, I thought comparing the two would be a good illustration of the difference between confusion and ambiguity.

Clearly the makers of Prometheus intend to raise some questions that won’t be answered. That’s okay – that’s ambiguity. But there are also some flat out logic holes in the movie.

For example, why is the medical bed in Vickers chamber only calibrated for men? I’ve heard people suggest this is a clue that Vickers is a robot (or more comically, a hermaphrodite). Even so, if she brought the med-bed then it should be useful to her, which really invalidates both those suggestions. And she’s also not the only female crewmember… does she consider all women expendable? Not likely. More likely the writers simply thought this would make the scene more dramatic and didn’t consider the logic implications.

A sampling of other logic problems in the movie: If the Engineers created all life on Earth, and this is why we share their DNA, why is the DNA of all other life on Earth different? Why would the Engineers leave a map on Earth to their weapons facility (instead of, say, their home planet)? Why did Weyland pretend to be dead?

Those are flat out logic holes, but more common in Prometheus are characters behaving in extremely unlikely and stupid ways. For example, two scientists get lost in the alien base. Despite the fact that they are being tracked on a big 3D map in the ship. And they have radios.

Now, I suppose the captain and Vickers could be so incredibly incompetent they don’t noticed two of the crew they’re supposed to be tracking got left behind. And the other crewmembers are all too clueless to notice that none of the vehicle have been taken from the alien base. And maybe it doesn’t occur to these two scared, lost guys to radio and ask for directions. But that’s all pretty unlikely.

The first problem here is that when the basic plot beats and character motivations don’t make sense, I’m left wondering about things like why didn’t Shaw tell anybody she left a living alien baby in the escape pod when I should be left contemplating the nature and origin of humanity. I never get to the big questions because I’m too busy trying to figure out the pointless ones.

The second problem is that when a movie does dumb things like these, it’s hard for me to give credit to anything in it. If I’m to contemplate bigger mysteries, I have to believe everything in the movie is there for a good reason. If it’s possible the filmmakers just screwed up, that becomes the answer to every question. Some of the big questions in Prometheus are certainly intentional, but some are probably just places the filmmakers made a mistake. It’s hard to know the difference. In Inception, even if I can’t quite figure out what’s going on, I have faith that Christopher Nolan knows what he’s doing.

Inception may not bring up a lot of complex questions, but it does leave us with one doozy – is this all a dream? Now on the one hand, this is simply an unanswered plot question (though, crucially, it’s not a logic flaw because either answer would make sense). But it also brings up the thematic point of the film: how do we know if what we’re experiencing is real? What is reality? And the reason that ambiguity is so compelling is because the question is so clearly intentional.

So how do you avoid the kind of confusion found in Prometheus? First, make sure that everything that you don’t want to be ambiguous is perfectly clear. Earn the audience’s trust through rigorous plot logic and believable character behavior. Make sure the questions you’re not answering are clearly intended to be not answered.

Another little way to earn audience trust is by planting something early in the film and paying it off fairly quickly. And bring up a few questions and answer them early in the film. Show the audience that when something is on screen, you mean for it to be there.

The truth is most movies have a few small logic holes, but in the good movies we don’t notice. The industry mantra is, “if they notice that you’ve got bigger problems.” A good example from Prometheus is when people ask how the alien in the escape pod grew so big with no source of food.

It is a logic hole, but it’s one that was also in the first Alien movie (story by Dan O’Bannon and Ronald Shusett, screenplay by Dan O’Bannon) – and I’ve never heard anyone complain about that. That’s because we’re caught up in the story. But apparently Prometheus has bigger problems because people noticed. And I think one of the big differences is that in Alien the overall plot makes sense and all the characters behave in rational ways. But in Prometheus, once the audience starts to get confused, they notice every flaw.

So let me try to reduce these to simple definitions of the terms for screenwriters:

Confusion occurs when the film has conflicting plot information or inexplicable character behavior that does not ask a philosophical question.

Ambiguity occurs when the film clearly asks but does not answer a philosophical question.

I do have to give Prometheus some credit – everyone is talking about it. And how many movies do that? For that reason alone perhaps it’s a valuable film. But it’s certainly not a well-written one.

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(By the way, if you’re a Twitter user, my handle is @dougeboch)

Elements of the Future in Inception

(SPOILERS: Inception)

There’s a collection of screenwriting concepts I gather under the heading “Elements of the Future.” It essentially encompasses those things we put in a scene to set up something later in the script. As I mentioned last time, Inception (written by Christopher Nolan) keeps us involved in complex plotting by creating a strong through-line. And it keeps us focused on the through-line with these elements of the future. So let’s look at how the movie uses some of those elements.

Advertising

Advertising is when you tell the audience about something that’s going to happen or is at least possibly going to happen. It serves two purposes: giving the audience something to look forward to, and setting expectations about upcoming events.

One of the biggest things advertised in Inception is the mission itself. Early in the movie Cobb accepts the job that is the core of the movie. From there on, the audience is looking forward to seeing how that job comes out. That stays in the back of our mind through the training and character and planning scenes. We know this is all going somewhere – the infiltration of Fischer’s dream.

Another smart use of advertising in Inception comes when characters talk about how inception is “impossible” or at least very, very difficult. Cobb is in the business of infiltrating dreams, but we’re told that this job is a much bigger challenge than anything he’s done before.

This justifies why the movie is focused on this particular mission and builds suspense. If inception had been common in the story world, the movie would be a lot less exciting. If you’re doing a story with a caper like this you want to explain why this specific caper is the biggest the character has ever undertaken (this is true of sports movies too – why is the last game/match bigger than all the others?)

There’s also a lot of advertising of Mal – discussions where various characters talk about her and the potential damage she could do on the mission. Just one example is when Arthurs says, “It’s getting worse, isn’t it?” after the opening extraction gig. And of course Ariadne frequently expresses her concern on this point. This sets us up to fear Mal’s appearance in Act III. We know she’s a significant threat.

Planting and Payoff

Another “element of the future” technique is planting and payoff. This is critical for any caper style movie. We need to set up all the tools and obstacles for the final job. Inception is no different.

For example, Arthur shows Ariadne how to create an endlessly looping staircase in one of the training sequences, then he uses the impossible physics of just such a staircase to get rid of a pursuer later in the hotel. By establishing the staircase earlier there is no need to explain to the audience what is going on in the middle of the action scene.

More interesting is the way Inception creates motifs with objects, images and dialogue. Several motifs are planted, referenced, paid off and then paid off again. One example is the totems/top. We see Cobb spin the top before we even know what it is. Then the purpose of totems is explained to Ariadne – that they let the user know whether they’re dreaming. But she’s warned not to let anyone else touch her totem or it won’t work.

Then later we learn that the top Cobb uses belonged to Mal, and he manipulated it in Limbo to convince her they were in a dream. This is done with an image – Cobb breaking into a safe and spinning the top. Because of all the plants, he doesn’t have to explain directly what he did. And this of course pays off at the very end of the movie in the famous shot where he spins the top and the film cuts to black, making us wonder whether the whole thing might have been a dream!

Another motif is the image of Cobb’s two children. The image first appears when Cobb washes up on the beach in the first scene. It recurs several more times until Cobb final explains the significance of the vision to Ariadne. And Mal uses it against him in Limbo. This image serves multiple purposes. It can serve as a warning that Cobb’s subconscious is starting to intrude, as when the kids appear in the bar during the Mr. Charles gambit. Mal also uses it against Cobb in Limbo, a scene we wouldn’t understand if the children hadn’t been planted. And their repeated appearances continually remind us what Cobb has at stake on the mission.

Some other examples: the pinwheel, seen repeatedly in a photo in Fischer’s dream wallet, and then appearing in the safe in the dream hospital. It comes to symbolize his feelings for his father.

And then there’s the train motif. A train appears in the elevator dream and another interrupts the action on the first level of Fischer’s dream. There’s dialogue references in a mantra Cobb and Mal share that begins, “You’re waiting for a train…” Of course we later learn Cobb and Mal committed suicide by train to escape a prior Limbo dream.

These motifs serve not only to remind us of the stakes or to represent Cobb’s subconscious slipping into the dreams, they also bind the story together and help us stay in touch with the through-lines of plot and character. Plus, they build subtle confidence that everything is present in the movie for a purpose. Even if we get a little confused or lost in the multi-level dream world, these touchstones give us comfort that everything will ultimately make sense.

Exposition in Inception

(SPOILERS: Inception)

One of the main reasons I wanted to analyze Inception (written by Christopher Nolan) was to examine how it handles the enormous amount of exposition required for the story. Like any story with magic, super powers or sci-fi technology, the audience needs to clearly understand the rules of the world. And the rules of the dream-infiltrating technology are particularly complex.

I already mentioned one of the techniques the movie uses: Ariadne. In the opening sequence of the movie, Cobb loses one of his team members, the architect, and has to replace him. So he recruits someone completely new to the business. She becomes the stand-in for the audience. As Cobb explains how things work to Ariadne, we get to learn about it as well.

There are several training scenes where big chunks of exposition are delivered. The first is the exploding café scene where Ariadne learns the basics including how time works differently in dreams. Soon after is the folding city/footbridge scene where Ariadne learns about the flexible physics of dream reality and the source and danger of subconscious “extras,” and is warned not to build architecture from memory.

A couple of things to note about these scenes: First, they happen well into the movie. The concept of dream infiltration is introduced in a dramatic thriller scene at the opening. This is important – early in the movie the audience is figuring out the world of the movie, so we have to introduce our big conceits quickly. In the opening sequence, we get some of the rules and concepts of the main conceit – the dream-within-a-dream, how things in the real world manifest in the dream world, and that when you die in a dream you wake up but pain feels real.

That exposition is important, but many of the rules are not really explained yet. And because we’re hooked in with character and action, we want to hear the explanations. By the time Ariadne has things directly spelled out for her, we’re happy to tolerate a rather dull scene that answers our questions.

Second, these training scenes are an excellent example of “wallpapering” – the technique where you place a boring scene in a visually interesting setting. The dream world conceit of Inception makes this easy. The action in the scenes is really just Cobb explaining stuff to Ariadne, but the visuals include a café blowing up and a city folding in on itself, making them far more interesting than their story content warrants.

Wallpapering also comes into play in some of the character exposition scenes I mentioned last post. Most notably, when Ariadne slips into Cobb’s dream to find out what he’s hiding – we get an elevator that opens onto a beach, a train and various settings from Cobb’s past.

There are more of these sorts of scenes – Arthur showing Ariadne how to make a stairs that is an impossible loop, for example. Eventually they move from training scenes to briefing scenes where the team plans the job, laying out more information we’re going to need in the final half of the movie. But the same techniques come into play.

Another trick to revealing exposition elegantly is to do it in conflict. What you want to avoid is having characters say things they have no reason to say. Here Inception uses a second character: Arthur. Arthur is Mr. Negative, constantly doubting and questioning Cobb’s plans.

This is how the concept of inception itself is explained. When Saito asks if it’s possible, Arthur says no. Saito wants to know why not, which leads to a verbal analysis of a concept that everyone in the conversation already understands but the audience does not. If Saito had simply said, “I’d like to hire you to perform an inception,” and Cobb and Arthur accepted, the plot would move forward just fine but how would the audience know what they were talking about?

Look at the way we get the explanation about how, in the triple-dream plan, when you die you don’t wake up but end up in Limbo. Cobb doesn’t tell them this detail before the mission. Arthur’s pissed, but Cobb says he didn’t mention it because the dream wasn’t supposed to be dangerous – Arthur failed to discover that Fischer had been trained in dream defenses.

The story would work just fine if Arthur had discovered the defenses and Cobb had told them about the wrinkle with the sedative before hand. But creating an argument between them over who’s to blame allows the information to be revealed more dramatically.

Sometimes conflict and the ignorant character are used in tandem. For example, when Cobb suggests the Mr. Charles gambit, Arthur thinks it’s a bad idea. This leads Ariadne to ask him about it, giving Arthur a chance to explain to the newbie. Also, Ariadne’s concern about Cobb’s secrets causes her to push him for explanations of his backstory at several key moments. There would be no reason for these explanations without her fear.

One other reason we are happy to sit through some of the complex explanations in Inception is that we are involved in the bigger story. The movie gives us a strong through-line to hold onto. And one of the ways that’s kept alive is by using elements of the future. And that will be the topic of my next post!

(Note the element of the future used in that last sentence!)

How Inception Dramatizes Character and the Internal Story

(SPOILERS: Inception)

First of all, let me apologize for the extended time between posts – got a little busy with my paying gigs!

Now, continuing my ongoing analysis of Inception (written by Christopher Nolan), I want to look at how character is dramatized and how the inner journey is revealed. This is a universal challenge for screenwriters since we can only write what can be seen and heard. Today I’m going to concentrate on the main character, Cobb. (And note, I’m working today from the shooting script, so my quotes are from that. I haven’t checked them all against the film, but my memory is they’re pretty close.)

Let’s start with the character introduction. Cobb is given an entrance in the first scene of the movie – he’s washed up, grungy and bloody, on a beach. In the script, he’s identified as BEARDED MAN. We’re not meant to know it’s Cobb, though in the movie, we recognize Leonardo DiCaprio. One of the differences between a script and a movie that’s worth thinking about… hard to disguise the identity of a star.

The real introduction of Cobb’s character comes in the following sequence where Cobb is invading Saito’s mind. The first thing we see is Cobb making a smooth pitch for his dream security service. In the script, he’s simply described as “35, handsome, tailored.” We see that he’s a fast talker, smart, a salesman. Then Mal comes in – we learn there’s history between them, and children. We see Cobb rappel down the side of the building to cut in through a window, we see him kill a guard, break into a safe – he’s agile and trained in spy-like arts.

The scene continues, as you’ll probably recall, with more twists and turns. Things don’t go well for Cobb and he has to improvise. And even though he’s the last to wake from the first dream, he immediately disarms Saito – our hero is the toughest guy in the room. Then, when Saito realizes it’s a dream within a dream, he tells Cobb he’s impressed. Even though Cobb failed, we know he’s good at his job – and the failure was really the architect’s, not his.

One failure was Cobb’s, though: Mal. After they get back to reality, Arthur asks Cobb what happened. Cobb tells him he had it all under control and Arthur responds, “I’d hate to see out of control.”

So what we’ve learned about Cobb is that he’s smart, a little cocky, can think on his feet, and thrives at the edge of chaos. We also know that he’s some kind of highly skilled dream spy. All of this is dramatized with a prologue that shows him in action, rather than having Cobb or anybody else tell us these things directly through dialog. This is important – it’s wise to open your movie with your character in action (whatever that means in your genre) so that you can reveal character by behavior. 

Also interesting to note the scene with his father-in-law where we learn how Cobb became a thief – that something happened that gave him no choice. We're keeping the character likable.

One thing I think about when creating my characters is giving them plans that the story interrupts. This helps them seem like real people living ongoing lives. Inception gives us a little of this: we open with Cobb failing at a job and going on the run from his employers. And he has his long term goal of getting back to the U.S. to see his kids. Both things end up being relevant to the main plot. That keeps the story tight, but also makes the world seem a little less “real” in my opinion. Still, we open with a character in the midst of an ongoing life.

Previously I’ve discussed Cobb’s character arc. His want (the one that’s driving the plot) is to plant an idea in Fischer’s mind. If he succeeds, he can get back to his kids, which is the stakes (perhaps we could also refer to this as a “deeper want”… hmm, might I have stumbled on a new character development idea?) His need, which he will have to overcome to achieve his want, is letting go of Mal. Dramatizing that evolution is a significant challenge. Let’s look at how Nolan does it.

One major tool is the character of Ariadne. Nolan doesn’t make Cobb’s backstory explicit up front. Instead, he has Cobb keep those things secret out of guilt. And then he makes Ariadne suspicious that Cobb’s secrets could jeopardize the mission or even her mental health. So Nolan sets up a subplot mystery of Ariadne trying to uncover Cobb’s secrets.

This allows him to reveal Cobb’s character piecemeal throughout the movie as Ariadne learns about him. And Ariadne’s fears give this mystery its own stakes. Backstory is exposition – but this particular exposition has enormous importance to the current story so we, like Ariadne, become anxious to know more. That’s much more interesting than Cobb spilling it out in some big emotional monologue, or Arthur just telling Ariadne what happened.

Although bits of Cobb’s backstory come out regularly throughout the movie, there are a few scenes that are particularly revealing or provide important turning points in Cobb’s internal journey. The first is when Ariadne sneaks into Cobb’s dream – the scene with the elevator. At one point Ariadne realizes what’s going on and says, “You can’t let her go,” thus articulating Cobb’s need or flaw. This is a great example of how Nolan uses Ariadne’s curiosity to uncover Cobb’s character. And it's always best to put this kind of direct revelation in the mouth of a supporting character.

Later, when they’re in the warehouse and Ariadne learns that Cobb was trapped in Limbo before, she demands Cobb explain what happened between him and Mal. After he does, Ariadne says “If we’re going to succeed in this, you’re going to have to forgive yourself, and you’re going to have to confront her. But you don’t have to do it alone.” More of the character arc revealed.

One of the key moments comes toward the end of Act Two. Cobb is in the tower in the third level of Fischer’s dreams shooting guards that stand in the way of Fischer reaching the safe room. And then Cobb sees Mal. He can’t pull the trigger. Ariadne reminds him that Mal isn’t real – and Cobb says, “How can you know that?” He can’t shoot Mal because he hasn’t let go of this dream version of her.

And because of that Mal kills Fischer – the Act Two Turning Point. This is an excellent example of how the internal story moves the external story and vice versa. The apparent failure of the mission is a direct result of Cobb’s inability to let go of dream-Mal. And the scene is set up to show that in a dramatic way.

The final turn comes later when Cobb realizes that Mal has taken Fischer to Limbo because she wants Cobb to come down there after her. He goes, and Mal tries to convince him to stay. She tells him he can choose what reality he wants to live in. She tries to show him the children, but he closes his eyes (another nice external dramatization of what’s going through his mind – he’s afraid of the temptation.)

Cobb finally admits his big secret – that he’s responsible for Mal’s suicide. And by confronting this guilt he’s finally able to accept that she isn’t real. He chooses to go back to the real children, telling her, “I miss you more than I can bear… but we had our time together. And now I have to let go…” And then Mal dies.

Choices are the best way to demonstrate character arc. Inception forces Cobb to choose between dream-Mal and the mission twice. The first time, in the tower, he chooses not to shoot her and suffers negative consequences. The second time, in Limbo, he chooses reality, which leads to his successful completion of the mission.

I mentioned that backstory is exposition, and how important Ariadne is to revealing that backstory. She’s instrumental in other exposition as well. Exposition is one of the main things I wanted to look at in Inception – so I think that will be the topic of my next post!

The Characters of Inception

(SPOILERS: Inception)

One of the most common criticisms I’ve heard leveled at Inception (written by Christopher Nolan) is that the characters are weak. There is some validity to that, at least as far as the minor characters. I would argue that the lead, Cobb is actually fairly dimensional.

In my earlier post on the three act structure of Inception, I identified Cobb’s want as, “To ‘incept’ an idea into Fischer.” He’s doing this in return for help clearing up a legal issue that is preventing him from seeing his kids (the stakes of the film). And I identified Cobb’s need as, “To let go of Mal.”

Cobb’s longing to see his kids and his guilt over what happened to Mal provide the emotional underpinnings to the complex caper plot. In other words, they are why we care whether Cobb succeeds or fails. Cobb is a professional dream thief – Nolan could’ve just made this another job. But Nolan makes this the most important job of Cobb’s life in two ways: first, inception is thought to be impossible; and second, if he succeeds he will be allowed to see his kids again.

The kids also help us to root for Cobb. He is, after all, a criminal. There is a somewhat lame stab at making the job seem moral when Saito says that if Fischer doesn’t break up his father’s company, they will soon gain an unhealthy dominance of the world energy market. But let’s face it; the real reason we root for Cobb is that he’s a father trying to get back to his kids.

Mal offers another emotional/psychological component to Cobb. He is quite literally haunted by her (or really his guilt over what he did to her) – something that could endanger the crew as they maneuver in the dreams. Ariadne’s unraveling the secret of Cobb’s guilt provides an ongoing emotional subplot. And it’s great that the source of this internal arc is tied to inception, the premise of the external plot.

Fischer also offers us some good psychological complexity with his father issues. I think it was smart of Nolan to make Fischer fairly sympathetic, and then to have the ending be a resolution to his biggest emotional issue. Ultimately, this allows us to feel good when Cobb succeeds in the caper. Even though Fischer has been manipulated, we believe he’s better off. Yes, making Fischer evil would have also allowed us to celebrate Cobb’s success, but then we wouldn’t have the quiet, final moment between son and father to counterpoint all the action.

The other characters are a little more one-dimensional. Ariadne particularly seems to draw criticism. There is little information about who she is or what she wants. Mostly, as the newcomer to the team, she serves as a device to get out exposition. Likewise, her poking into Cobb’s relationship with Mal gets the exposition out about that subplot.

I think maybe it’s gender politics that draws attention to the thinness of Ariadne’s character. Mal is actually a pretty complex and compelling female character – except she’s not on screen that much, so we focus on Ariadne and think of her as the female lead. And we expect more character development for the female lead. The truth is, the other male members of the team (Eames, Saito, Yusuf and Arthur) are not well developed either, but since we see them as secondary it doesn’t bother us much. Ironically, if Ariadne had been male people might have accepted her one-dimensional role more easily.

We might ask why so many supporting characters? The answer is that Nolan simply needs bodies to make the multi-level dream caper work. Someone has to stay behind on each level to keep those levels alive on screen as the team goes deeper. And someone has to die to force Cobb into the final level. There is a certain minimal number of team members required to build the story Nolan has in mind.

As is typical in caper movies, each character is given a specific skill and task. And it’s interesting to note that they are all physically distinct: there’s one woman; one Asian; one Arab; a big, grungy guy and a small neat guy. This allows us to keep track of them visually.

Next post I want to take a closer look at how Inception reveals its characters and dramatizes the internal story.

The Act One Turning Point of Inception

(SPOILERS: Inception, Aliens)

Last post I promised to take a closer look at the Act One Turning Point in Inception (written by Christopher Nolan). You’ll recall that I identified two candidates for the Act One Turning Point: the scene about a quarter of the way in when Cobb has assembled his team and they start planning the mission, or the scene about an hour in where he gets on the plane – the “point of no return.”

The first thing we might want to keep in mind that there are no real act breaks in feature films (unlike plays where the curtain comes down and the audience goes out to the lobby for drinks and snacks; or TV where commercials interrupt the proceedings.) Feature films are continuous experiences. The idea of acts in features is simply a literary analysis device, a way to talk about concepts of story structure. So in a sense there is no “right” answer to this question.

But what are the possibilities? Well, I’ve already suggested two. The first is that the act break is when the team is assembled and they start planning the mission. This is definitely a turning point in the story. The hero has “taken on the problem” as we like to see at the end of Act One.

But, Cobb pretty much already took on the problem when he accepted the job earlier (that moment is actually another candidate for the end of Act One, I suppose). So now he’s simply focusing his energies on the main problem – trying to incept the idea in Fischer’s subconscious – after spending time gathering his resources.

The other issue is that Cobb is not yet trapped in the story. He could still walk away with no real consequence other than perhaps a lost opportunity. So if we say this is the Act One Turning Point, does that mean it’s a flawed turning point?

Perhaps, but here’s where understanding the purpose of these beats is more important than simply locating the page on which they tend to appear. Cobb IS trapped in the story eventually. And he does take on the problem. All the things we need to happen are happening even if they don’t fall neatly into a moment that resembles a prototypical Act One Turning Point.

So what happens if we say the Act One Turning Point is when Cobb is finally trapped in the story (the scene where he gets on the plane). From here on out, if he fails he will suffer grave consequences. All requirements of the turning point have been fulfilled. But this doesn’t come until an hour into the film. An hour long Act One should feel lethargic and dull. Get to the story already! But this isn’t the case in Inception.

Maybe it’s because there is so much interesting stuff going on. Nolan cleverly inserts an action scene while Cobb is trying to recruit his forger – a previous employer Cobb failed sends thugs after him. This chase doesn’t really have anything to do with the main story, but it juices things up when they might start to drag. We also get some visually stunning imagery as Cobb teaches Ariadne about creating dream worlds. And we’re meeting unusual characters and building the mystery.

As my mentor Frank Daniel used to say, “In screenwriting there is only one rule: Don’t be boring.” Regardless of where you want to identify the Act One Turning Point, Inception works because it keeps the action moving, keeps showing us interesting stuff, and eventually satisfies the requirements of the Act One Turning Point.

There’s another intriguing possibility: what if Inception has more than three acts? Whether you allow for this possibility depends how you interpret three act structure. You can look at acts as sections of the film with individual arcs. When one arc ends, there’s a turning point that leads to another arc (TV writers think this way).

I have actually previously considered that Aliens (story by James Cameron and David Giler & Walter Hill, screenplay by James Cameron) has a four act structure. In Act One, contact is lost with the colonists and Ripley decides to go back to the planet – it ends when she steps off the drop ship. Act Two would be them looking for the colonists, ending when they find them all dead and the drop ship crashes. Act Three is trying to get off the planet, ending when they retrieve the second drop ship but Newt has been taken by the aliens. Act Four is rescuing Newt.

Following this idea, you could look at Inception as a five act film: Act One is getting the job. Act Two is recruiting the team. Act three is planning the mission. Act four is going through the levels of Fischer’s brain. And act five is going into limbo to save Fischer from Mal.

I think this approach to structure can work as long as you keep the Catalyst, Dramatic Question and Resolution intact. We have to have some overall arc to the story, something that pulls us forward and delivers satisfaction at the end. Otherwise, using more than three acts could create an episodic feeling and prevent a satisfying, conclusive ending.

Remember when I said this is all just theoretical? We could argue these possibilities, but to what end? I analyze films to try to learn to be a better writer. If a multi-act approach helps you write better screenplays, then go for it!

I’m going to stick with identifying Inception’s Act One Turning Point as the moment when Cobb has assembled his team and they start planning. And since he’s not trapped yet, I’ve noted how Inception overcame that potential flaw by throwing in some action and some eye candy to keep us involved. That might be a way for me to solve a similar story issue in one of my future screenplays.

The Three Act Structure of Inception

(SPOILERS: Inception)

I’m going to start my analysis of Inception (written by Christopher Nolan) by attempting to break down the three act structure. Though the story appears complex, it’s actually very linear (there’s a little flashforward to kick things off and several flashbacks, but otherwise it unfolds chronologically.) And there’s a clear main character – Cobb. However, there is one aspect that may not work in the traditional fashion – more on that in a minute.

Let’s start by identifying Cobb’s want and need. This is essentially a caper film so we would expect the want – the goal that is driving the plot – to be the successful accomplishment of the caper. And that’s what we have here. Cobb wants to “incept” or implant an idea in Fischer. You might remember that he’s doing this so he can get back to his kids, and therefore some might suggest that’s his want, but his kids are really the stakes. The story is about inception (it’s the title, after all). Whether he gets back to his kids will depend on the success or failure of the mission.

The need has to do with Mal. Ariadne says it halfway through the movie when she tells Cobb that in order to succeed he’s going to have to forgive himself and confront Mal. And in fact, Cobb articulates it at the moment he achieves his need in Act III, saying to Mal, “I need to let you go.” In this case, achieving the need is what will allow Cobb to successfully achieve his want.

So the Dramatic Question, then, is, “Can Cobb implant the idea into Fischer’s subconscious?” Pretty simple – it comes right from the want. Since the Catalyst is the point at which this question is asked, it’s pretty easy to identify it as the moment when Saito offers him the job and promises to return him to his kids if he succeeds. And if we define the Resolution as the answer to the question, then it’s obviously when Fischer takes the pinwheel from the safe, and they all wake up on the plane. Mission accomplished.

So far so good. And to me, those are the most important things to understand. They’re the definition of what the story is.

Inception is two hours and twenty minutes long, so we expect the timing of the beats to be slightly later than normal. (Personally, I don’t obsess about this timing, but many do.) And the Catalyst I identified comes at about fifteen minutes, right on schedule.

The Act One turning point is what I find most tricky about this film. Using a traditional definition, we find a likely candidate about forty-five minutes in: Cobb finishes assembling his team and they begin planning the caper. That works. He’s embarking on the journey, and with the longer running time it’s not too late. We could close the case there.

But there’s another interesting candidate. When Cobb and his team are getting on the plane, Cobb points out to Saito that if Saito doesn’t live up to his end of the bargain, then Cobb will go to jail when they land. Getting on the plane is the real point of no return for Cobb. That’s something we look for at the Act One Turning Point. But if you’re looking at the timing, it’s an hour into the movie – and an hour long Act One is highly unusual.

This is interesting enough that I think I may devote my next post to it entirely. But for now, let’s finish the breakdown using the first candidate for the Act One Turning Point.

As we approach the middle of the movie, the team has gathered in the warehouse on the first level of Fischer’s dream. Here, Saito’s been shot, and Cobb belatedly reveals that with the kind of sedation their using, death in these dreams will not wake them up. Plus, they realize that Fischer is better protected than they realized. These elements raise the stakes, a common function of the Midpoint.

Also at this point, they decide on a risky variation of their plan – the "Mister Charles" option. This throws a new twist into the proceedings. But the actual Midpoint is when they manage to get what they need from Fischer and can move on to the next phase. This occurs around 1:23, a little after the halfway point. Remember, if the hero will be successful, the Midpoint is usually a point of success.

I define the Act Two Turning Point as the moment where it looks like the ultimate Resolution cannot possibly happen. Since Cobb will be successful, the Act Two Turning Point is the moment of greatest failure. Here that would be when Fischer is killed by Mal. It appears that the mission is over – in fact a couple members of the team say just that. (This occurs at about 1:52, right where we expect.)

But then we get the Epiphany. Ariadne hatches the idea of going another layer deeper, into Limbo. There we have the final conflict where Cobb must face down Mal so they can rescue Fischer. And, as I’ve already covered, that leads us to the Resolution when they succeed.

Pretty simple, actually. All the parallel dream times and questions of reality have nothing to do with the structure. With a traditional three act base, enormous complexity can be built without losing the core of the story.

But then there’s that Act One question… I’ll delve into that more next time.

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Inception Analysis

For the next several posts I’m going to do another in-depth movie analysis. My movie choice this time is Inception (written by Christopher Nolan). Why Inception? For one, it has an interesting multi-level narrative that should be fun to explore. It’s also a conceptually tricky story so I’m curious about how it handles exposition.

It’s also one of the few big studio hits of recent years that is an original story. Back in the 80’s when I was falling in love with movies, many summer tent poles were original stories – Ghostbusters, Alien, Beverly Hills Cop, The Terminator, Lethal Weapon – the list goes on and on. These days we don’t see that very often.

There are a variety of potential reasons suggested for this phenomenon, but I think the main one is that the studios are mostly owned by larger corporations now. And corporations don’t like middle management putting hundreds of millions of dollars at risk based on their personal taste. Development execs are essentially middle management. If they’re not allowed to buy big original stories, big original stories don’t get made.

There’s also the Cover-Your-Ass (CYA) reasoning. Nobody gets fired for putting a major superhero movie into production, or the latest Young Adult hit novel series. But if you champion an original story and it fails… it’s on you. I certainly believe CYA is at work in Hollywood, but that would have been true in the 80’s as well, and yet original stories got made.

So the question becomes, could you or I get something like Inception made? The sad answer is probably not. It seems hard to believe now, but that movie was considered an enormous risk. Warner Brothers only green lit it because they desperately wanted Christopher Nolan to make Dark Knight Returns. And you and I are not Christopher Nolan (if, by chance you are Christopher Nolan, what are you doing reading MY blog?)

So why analyze a movie you or I couldn’t sell? Because the business right now is in either very high or very low budget movies. And that means a lot of the jobs are in very high or very low budget movies. If you want to work in the high budget arena, you are going to have to show what you can do. And unless you are able to somehow option a hot underlying property, that probably means you need to write an original big budget script as a sample. And it better be really, really good!

And who knows, it might get made. The business is changing all the time. Right now the buzz is that studios are running out of A-level pre-sold franchises, so the door may be cracking open again for big, original stories. Anything can happen.

Besides, Inception may have things to teach us no matter what kind of movies we write. I happen to like the movie a lot – and I’m not alone. The domestic gross was $292.5 million, the international gross $533 million. And it got an 86% on Rotten Tomatoes, so the critics liked it too.

So, next post I’ll take a look at the structure of Inception.