The first thing to be learned from
Euroscript's workshop Structure for Screenwriters was why structure
is important. In film, Charles Harris, the workshop's tutor says, it
is a crucial element: it is the skeleton of the script's body.
However, it cannot stand alone; it needs flesh, muscles, blood and
organs.
The structure's main functions are to draw you into the
story, to keep you interested in watching it till the end and to give
you a sense of where you are in the story. The tricky thing about
structure is that there's no right one. Harris reminds us that new
forms of structure can be found that might be the best for your
story.
Therefore one of the rules of this workshop is the TNT
approach: 'Tools Not Totems'. The idea is not to find formulas; it is
to play with the tools, take risks, step outside the comfort zone,
and find a voice.
GOATS
To understand structure better one
needs to understand what make up the main elements of a story. Harris
introduces us to a neat take on story analysis: GOATS (things a
protagonist needs): Goal, Obstacles, Action, Tactics, Stakes. The
first three (GOA) are vital; the last two (TS) are important but less
crucial.
According to Harris, most stories’
problems lie in one of these five elements, usually in one of the
first three. The elements apply to the two strands that should be
running together: the outer story, which is what the story is about,
and the protagonist's inner story, which is what the story is really
about.
Some genres, however, don't have inner stories like adventure
or satire, or rudimentary ones like in action (after all, you don't
really go to watch a James Bond or Indiana Jones movie to see how
they deal with their inner flaws).
Three Acts
The structure underpins the story and
has some basic 'rules'. Harris points out that '99.9% of feature
films, 90-120 minute television dramas and television drama episodes
work best in three acts'.
Most screen stories have three acts with a
'central' question at the heart that moves the story forward geared
by concrete external positive motivation, a life and death problem,
focused opposition, and one to three subplots. The standard three
acts will normally follow the pattern:
Act 1 is the setting of the world and
the story when an inciting incident disrupts normality. The act ends
with a surprise/climax/first turning point, i.e. a decision made by
the protagonist that flips the story into a new direction.
Act 2 starts with the denial of change
followed by a symbolic acceptance of change. Commitment to change
grows into total commitment followed by a (often) romantic interlude.
The crisis escalates leading to frustration and another climax or the
second turning point. As in Act 1, a key decision takes the story to
a new level of crisis/tension and leads to Act 3.
Act 3 is the final battle. It focuses
and reflects Act 1 but ends with an irreversible change. The first
engagement in the battle leads to a false ending; then there's a
re-engagement, the climax and the resolution.
It's not where you think it is
When Harris makes us think about our
own stories in relation to this 'standard' structure, he gives us a
hint about Act 1: usually, the first turning point is not where we
think it is.
The inciting incident disrupts the world of the
protagonist, who reacts to it and tries to get on with their plan to
restore normality, but then they can't carry on and have to re-adjust
their strategy, which is the first turning point. It's a significant
decision but it's only an external change.
The internal and real
change only happens at the end, such as with Dustin Hoffman in
Tootsie where he is a caring, good actor who can't find a job because
of his temper and nobody wants to work with him.
His 'sex change' is
the first turning point of the story but it's not a real change; it's
an external one. The revelation of his true identity at the end of
the story is more than a physical transformation; it shows the
character's inner change.
Another interesting notion Harris
introduces is the 'Second Act project' when the protagonist devises a
plan to achieve their goal, which has a number of stages.
For
instance, in Almodovar's All About My Mother, the death of a boy is a
powerful inciting incident. Act 2 is the boy's mother's attempt to
deal with his death by taking a road trip to find the boy's father.
What she's really trying to do is to remain in denial but, as the
story progresses, life will not allow her to do so and she will
slowly but steadily come to terms with it.
Sub-plots
Sub-plot structures will follow the
same basic pattern, sometimes more loosely, and will often provide
dimension and emotional depth to the main story. Their turning points
should coincide with or be closely lined up with the ones of the main
plot.
However, it is crucial to ascertain whether they really need to
be there. What would happen to the story if they were removed? If
they can be removed at all, just do it. Harris pointed out some
useful devices to connect sub-plots to the main plot, for instance,
repetition of motifs, themes and places. Another device to help make
sub-plots work better is to try and keep turning points happening at
the same time as the main plot.
The outer story is what the story is
about and the protagonist's inner story is what the story is really
about.
Breaking the rules
Non-linear structures can take any
shape. Usually flashbacks are used to break linearity, to increment
the story and to reveal more details about the story. Expositional or
incremental flashbacks contribute to the understanding of the main
timeline, as in Slumdog Millionaire.
However, this is quite tricky in
that exposition using flashback needs to be fully dramatised or it
will weaken the script. If in doubt, don't use it.
The Usual Suspects offers another type
of clever use of non-linear structure. It starts the story at the end
of Act 3, the climax, then tells the story in flashback. The
antagonist of the 'now' timeline is the protagonist of the flashback,
which offers an interesting inversion.
One can argue that most scriptwriting
books will do the job of teaching you how to deal with structure.
Once the writer is aware of the basic Three Act structure, it is
possible to produce a viable script.
Some writers will venture
through more dangerous waters and try to subvert the rule – some
will achieve interesting results, others won't. The trouble is not in
deciding which structure best fits your story; it is thay many
writers are not even aware of what kind of structure they are using
or want to use, so they cannot make it work to its best potential.
A flashback also has to be carefully
placed in the structure. If you're using multiple timelines, like in
Once Upon a Time in America, you shouldn't simply flashback from any
point to any point of the story; you should always go from a high
point to a high point, from crisis to crisis, as is brilliantly
achieved in the Sergio Leone's epic. A big cliffhanger grabs the
attention and avoids a drop in the audience's concentration.
Harris' TNT approach paid off for me.
It was an intense working day trying to apply the rules to my own
projects but there was certainly a positive outcome. I now have a
deeper understanding of how structure works and more elements to play
with. I also know how to take better advantage of them.
(c) Monica Solon, Twelvepoint