Schellhardt Laura. Screenwriting for Dummies

Подождите немного. Документ загружается.

Lester is told that he may lose his job unless he writes a report convincing

them that he’s a valuable employee. Carolyn fails miserably at selling a house.

Jane meets the new boy across the street, Ricky Fitts. He silently films her.

The audience meets his family — his silent, withdrawn mother and his father,

a homophobic, retired military colonel. Lester meets Jane’s seductive friend

Angela. He becomes infatuated with her. He embarrasses his wife at a social

function, leaving her to flirt with a rival real estate tycoon. Lester smokes pot

with Ricky. He begins to work out and buy marijuana from Ricky on a regular

basis. The family takes the first major turn. Lester blackmails his company

into a great severance package and takes a job at a fast-food restaurant.

Carolyn begins an affair with the tycoon. Jane begins seeing Ricky. Colonel

Fitts suspects him of having sexual relations with Lester. Carolyn buys a gun

and takes up shooting lessons. Lester reminds the audience that he’ll be dead

soon. Their lives take the second major turn. Lester discovers his wife’s

affair. Jane ends her friendship with Angela. Colonel Fitts kicks Ricky out of

the house. Ricky and Jane decide to run away together. Angela decides to

sleep with Lester.

Obstacles: Internal obstacles abound in this film, too many, in fact, to list.

Suffice it to say that most of the characters are their own antagonists; much of

the action involves altering their mindsets and thereby changing the course

of their lives. Other obstacles include Colonel Fitts, Lester’s boss, and Carolyn’s

career, but these external obstacles take a back seat to the internal conflicts.

Exposition: Lester provides most of the necessary exposition through his

narration. He tells us what his life is like, he tells us what his flaws are, and he

tells us what he’d like to change. Colonel Fitts’s own comments suggest the

homophobia, Ricky tells Jane that he’s recently returned from a mental insti-

tution, and everything else is revealed visually in scenes or through narration.

Status: All sorts of power changes hands in this film. Sexual tension erupts

between Jane and Ricky, Lester and Angela, and Carolyn and the tycoon.

Lester defeats his boss; he and Carolyn square off time and again; Angela

loses social control over Jane but gains sexual power over Lester; Ricky and

his father pit intellect against brute strength. The score is always in flux.

102

Part II: Breaking Down the Elements of a Story

13_345405-ch07.qxp 5/22/08 7:13 PM Page 102

Chapter 8

Plot Part III: Endings

In This Chapter

 Pinpointing your story’s conclusion

 Tracing your character arcs

 Protecting your script from destructive elements

 Taking a look at successful movie endings

ow do you know when your story’s finished? It’s finished when the

characters triumph over adversity, the villain disappears, the conflicts

are efficiently resolved, and everyone goes home smiling, of course. You

don’t believe me? What if I said that your story’s finished when the charac-

ters, who have undergone so much turmoil that they can hardly stand, finally

give up the effort entirely and let the world collapse around them? You still

seem skeptical. Well, good for you because, for a strong script, neither of

those endings fits the bill.

Regarding your story’s conclusion, I have both good news and bad news. The

good news is that if all your second-act pieces are in place — if you’ve crafted

dynamic actions, intimidating obstacles, and formidable foes — your ending

should write itself. The bad news is that at the end of a first draft, your

second-act pieces are rarely in place.

A convincing conclusion is one in which the conflicts that you’ve inflated in

Act II find resolution, the characters achieve their goals or stop vying for

them, and the new world you’ve created makes some kind of sense — how-

ever unorthodox that sense may be. Your ending relies on every moment that

precedes it. If the second act offers no solution, your only resort is a forced

wave of the magic wand (so to speak) to sum things up, which will leave your

audience dissatisfied and confused.

This chapter offers suggestions on ways to recheck both your opening and

second act to steer them toward the appropriate finale and on how you may

craft that finale when you get there. (For more info on crafting your first and

second acts, see Chapters 6 and 7.)

14_345405-ch08.qxp 5/22/08 7:14 PM Page 103

How Do You Know When You’re Done?

The end of your second act is a precarious place to be. Your protagonist is

either embroiled in chaos and ready to abandon hope, or she’s just beginning

to acknowledge a bright and promising future. The antagonist is closing in,

ready to fight to the death if need be, and time is running out. The only ques-

tion left to answer is, “Will your protagonist be successful?” In other words,

will she overcome the obstacles and achieve her goal? After you answer that

question, proceed to the following questions. They may help guide you to a

fitting conclusion for your script.

 Has your story been written before? If so, how does it differ from prede-

cessors with a similar concept?

 Do you understand your characters more thoroughly now than when

you began?

 Are your rules still intact? (See Chapter 6 where I discuss rules.)

 What have you discovered about your story so far?

 Have your story’s central themes or questions changed? If so, what are

they now?

 Does each portion of your story address those themes or questions in

some way?

 Has your story reached the point you anticipated reaching? If not, are

you content with where it is?

 Have your characters changed? Have their worlds altered? How?

 What has been gained and/or lost for the characters, the environment,

and the audience?

The first six questions address elements of your opening and second act,

which you may need to adjust in retrospect. If you’ve discovered a movie

that shares too much in common with your own, you’ll want to enhance the

portions of your script that make it unique.

You should know more about your characters now than when you started. If

you don’t, your action is probably fueled by events rather than people. Go

back and see what you can discover in hindsight.

The rules of your film refer to its consistency. In other words, are you writing

the same film now that you were at the beginning? If not — if characters

have mysteriously disappeared, the genre has changed, or the ultimate goal

shifted — you’ll want to check to see where the plot became muddled. The

same note applies to your story’s central themes and questions. You may find

that the themes you arrive at are more compelling than those that began the

journey. If that’s the case, rewrite your beginning to match your end.

104

Part II: Breaking Down the Elements of a Story

14_345405-ch08.qxp 5/22/08 7:14 PM Page 104

The final three questions on the list speak to the all-important aspects of any

film — the elements of discovery and change. Unless your characters have

learned something about themselves or the world in which they exist, and

unless both venues have changed accordingly, you won’t know how to end

your story. The film’s final moments rely on an acquired knowledge on the

part of your characters and, hopefully, in the audience as well.

Tracking the change: What’s different now?

A strong story chronicles the most important or compelling moments in a char-

acter’s life. And the most compelling moments involve the most difficult and,

therefore, enlightening transitions. Consider revelations in your own life —

moments when you discovered something horrific or awe-inspiring about

yourself or your environment. I’d venture to guess that they included or were

followed by personal growth and maturity. Your characters will experience

the same phenomenon as the script progresses, and what they learn will affect

where you lead them, a journey known as the film’s dramatic arc.

A dramatic arc refers to the trajectory of a character, a community, or an envi-

ronment from one state of being to another. The transition can be monitored

through changes in behavior, in points of view, or in moral codes that, in turn,

alter the story’s action.

Reconsidering your story’s time clock

Your story’s time clock refers to the grand event your script is tiptoeing or

barreling toward. In Chapter 5, I discuss several different kinds of time clocks

and their advantages, but regardless of which time clock you chose, you’ll

want to reconsider it now. If your story is moving toward an external event,

as in 3:10 to Yuma, the culminating moments will involve watching the 3:10

train pull into the station. If your story revolves around an internal crisis, as

in the Nick Nolte film Affliction, your final moments will determine whether

he bests the past that haunts him, or whether it destroys him.

Generally speaking, the film ends fairly quickly after the culminating event. So

if you know what the story’s time clock is, and if you’ve built a plot moving

the viewers toward it, you’ll know exactly what the final moments of your

script should entail.

Tracking character arcs

Before you begin crafting a conclusion, look back at what your characters

have undergone so far. Hopefully, they’ve altered dramatically as a result.

You’re tormenting them for a reason, right? And it’s not so that they can

remain passive or content. It’s your job to challenge and, if necessary, harass

105

Chapter 8: Plot Part III: Endings

14_345405-ch08.qxp 5/22/08 7:14 PM Page 105

your characters into a new way of life. They’ll become the sum of all the

experiences you toss at them, so keep track of those experiences and, more

importantly, of their effects. In doing so, you’ll discover the following:

 Whether the stages of transformation are clear and consistent

 Whether your audience has been privy to the transformation

 Whether you’ve omitted key moments

 Who your character may ultimately turn out to be

If your character exits one scene as a millionaire and appears two scenes

later begging for change on a street corner somewhere, your audience won’t

trust the transformation. Why should they? You might know exactly how he

got from one state of being to the next, but don’t forget to let your audience

in on the actions that brought him there. The most dramatic scenes in this

scenario connect the character from wealthy Point A to impoverished Point

B. If you show me his gambling habit, the demise of his business, and a hefty

divorce settlement that favors his two ex-wives, I’ll not only understand his

monetary transition, I may even expect it.

The preceding scenario is an example of an external change, which is gener-

ally less difficult to dramatize. Other external changes may affect the follow-

ing aspects of your character:

 Appearance

 Mode of expression

 Profession and/or financial status

 Circle of family and/or friends

 Habits, hobbies, and personal tendencies

Many external changes don’t necessitate lengthy dialogue. If your main

character begins his journey hobnobbing with the elite and ends warming

his hands over a back-alley fire pit, I’ll visually note the change in his social

circle. In The Talented Mr. Ripley, Matt Damon transforms from a middle-

class nobody to a mirror image of his upper-class idol with virtually no dis-

cussion at all.

External changes generally mark key stages in the story’s dramatic arc. Lester

Burnham of American Beauty begins working out just as his life begins to

improve in all capacities. In Good Will Hunting, the protagonist initially

speaks like a Boston construction worker, but in later scenes, he verbally

holds his own with world-renowned scientists. However, shifts in the charac-

ter’s physical person or circumstances may also be the result of some internal

transformation. Internal transformations include shifts in the character’s

106

Part II: Breaking Down the Elements of a Story

14_345405-ch08.qxp 5/22/08 7:14 PM Page 106

 Psychological health

 Confidence

 Anxiety

 Sexuality

 Opinions or beliefs

 Passions or dreams

 Awareness of others

 Compassion or lack thereof

 Religion or faith

External changes are simple to dramatize; internal shifts require more skill.

Unless you visually re-create the mind or spirit of the character, much as the

writers do in Being John Malkovich, it will be the character’s altered behav-

ior that clues me in to the transformation. Brody begins his journey in Jaws

as a man desperately afraid of the water, yet by the end, he’s battling the

shark alone on the ocean, clutching a piece of driftwood for support.

Spielberg illustrates the change in his phobia by scenes in which Brody

moves closer and closer to the water. He then makes it a matter of life and

death that Brody charter a boat.

You’ll also want to track the internal and external shifts for the other

characters — support staff included. Though many villains shift from bad

to worse, even the slightest transition affects their actions. Capone may

remain a monster to the end, but by the film’s conclusion, he becomes a des-

perate monster, and he’s learned an important lesson: He’s not untouchable.

After you know what alterations your characters have undergone prior to

your resolution, you should be able to determine what the last step in that

transformation is and whether it will aid or prevent the character from

achieving her goal. The scenes in which the characters experience that

moment become your climax, which leads to the resolution.

The climax represents the most intense and, generally, the grandest scene

of the film in which the protagonist makes one last attempt at achieving his

goal. The climax is the culmination of any struggles or transformations the

character has experienced prior to it; it marks the story’s final battlefield.

The resolution occurs immediately after the climax and comprises the film’s

last scene. This is the time characters and audiences alike absorb the impact

of the final battle. It marks the character’s first walk as a changed person in

the new world of your script. It also marks the end of your film. In some

instances, all that remains of a film after the resolution are the end credits.

107

Chapter 8: Plot Part III: Endings

14_345405-ch08.qxp 5/22/08 7:14 PM Page 107

Altering the world of your script

Characters are so closely linked to their environments that it’s often difficult

to distinguish changes in one realm from changes in the other. The world of

your script will shift as the characters shift; in fact, the world may directly

reflect their changes, both internal and external. You want to track these

transformations through the opening and second act as well in order to

better predict where you’ll ultimately end up. Here are two important ques-

tions to consider while constructing your final landscape:

 What sort of world have I crafted?

 Why have I led my audience to that world?

The first question speaks to your script’s general climate. By climate, I mean

both the actual landscapes and the social, political, and economic condi-

tions, all of which may alter with the action. The climate may change in any

of the following ways:

 Physically

 Politically

 Socially

 Spiritual

 Ethically

 Sexually

A change in climate makes something possible that wasn’t possible before, or

it removes a possibility entirely. In Lord of the Rings, a beautiful and serene

setting becomes dark and ominous. The landscape shifts, and it becomes

more difficult for good to prevail. In The Green Mile, the spiritual climate

shifts. People who once did not believe in the supernatural find themselves

witness to it. As a result, they view a convicted murderer with very different

eyes. To further understand what I mean by climate, you may want to com-

plete this phrase:

“My story ends in a world where _____ is no longer possible/acceptable

and where _____ can now occur.”

You should be able to complete at least one part of that statement by the

end of your script. At the end of The Untouchables, Chicago is a city where

extortion is no longer acceptable and where justice can now occur. At the

end of A Beautiful Mind, psychological stability is no longer possible, but

an honest way of life can now occur. Bear in mind that a shift in one of these

realms doesn’t necessarily mean that the climate will change within the

boundaries of your story. You may only be concerned with leading up to the

shift itself; the repercussions may belong in a different script. However, a

108

Part II: Breaking Down the Elements of a Story

14_345405-ch08.qxp 5/22/08 7:14 PM Page 108

shift in one of the realms always suggests the possibility of a change in cli-

mate. You may explore that change on-screen, or let your audience imagine it

long after the credits roll.

The second question speaks to your responsibility as a writer. You’re not

going on this journey alone; you’re taking an audience with you. That audi-

ence expects to gain or feel something along the way — preferably something

grander than disgust or lowbrow humor. It expects to leave the film changed

in some way. You’re giving the audience a gift of some kind — the gift of

laughter, of knowledge, and even of extreme pain if enlightenment is the

result. Spielberg’s Schindler’s List is an example of a world full of bigotry,

destruction, and death. Yet at the film’s conclusion, relatives of the deceased

leave stones on the graves, honoring the victims together. The audience may

leave feeling mortified and/or ashamed, but it will also remember the victims.

The world you craft need not be neat, predictable, or safe. Your audience

members probably don’t live in a world where all three of those conditions

exist, and they might not believe it if they saw it. Your characters don’t need

to end up happy or more ethically sound; that phenomenon also rarely

occurs in everyday life. However, in order to fully satisfy your audience, the

ultimate world of your script should do a few things clearly:

 It should evolve out of the previous action.

 It should represent the changes that your main characters have under-

gone along the way.

 It should allow or prevent your characters from achieving their goals

and/or solving their problems.

 It should offer hope in some direction.

The last item on that list also speaks to responsibility. Hopefully, your story

represents a change for the better or offers that distinct possibility. Yes, your

main character may die, but can that death lead to some ultimate good?

Lester Burnham’s death in American Beauty leaves the other characters

(and possibly audiences) questioning bitterness in themselves and the life

they take for granted.

Crafting your story’s conclusion

An epiphany is a sudden intuitive realization, an unexpected comprehension

of reality. The key words in that definition are unexpected and realization. In

grand cases, epiphanies are accompanied by a sharp intake of breath and an

awakening of the senses as they struggle to absorb a new way of understand-

ing something about the world. In more subtle terms, an epiphany feels like a

great “Aha!” and a mild relief at the solution to a mystery. Get to know this

word epiphany. It’s the heart of a strong conclusion.

109

Chapter 8: Plot Part III: Endings

14_345405-ch08.qxp 5/22/08 7:14 PM Page 109

You can conclude your film in numerous ways, yet the classiest endings seem

to exist in two parts: the climax and the resolution. In a sense, the rising action

runs you up the hill where you fight the final battle (known as the climax), and

at the end, you roll down the other side of that hill into the resolution. By the

end of the second act, you should know roughly what that resolution will be.

Even if you’re a writer who loathes outlines, you know what your characters

want, and you know where they’re going. Start painting a picture that tells your

audience what you already know.

Climax — the final frontier

The climax marks the first and most important part of your story’s conclu-

sion. If you’ve done your job, audiences have some idea of what’s coming

next, and they’re ready for it. Your action up to that point creates expecta-

tions that your climax will probably fulfill. But no pressure, right? With so

much riding on this scene, it really helps to take it step by step.

A strong climax will do the following:

 Be the grandest scene in your script in weight, scope, and action. All

scenes lead to this one, so don’t disappoint your audience by skimming

through the climax. Consider your genre. If your film is a romantic

comedy, the romance blossoms or ends here. If your film is an

action/adventure, the greatest, most exciting battle occurs here. If your

film is a tragedy, the climax marks the time of greatest loss. Remember

that time is running out; the actions that your characters once shied

away from must happen now if they’re to happen at all. If you make bold

decisions anywhere, let it be here.

 Toss your protagonist into a moment of choice. Your characters have

undergone changes for a reason. They’ve acquired skill and knowledge

for a reason. They’ve done so because that expertise will be necessary

in the climax. Place your characters in a moment of uncertainty when

they must choose which way to act and let them use their newfound

knowledge to decide what to do. If things simply happen to your main

character, the audience will leave dissatisfied, uncertain whether she’s

truly strong enough to solve the problem or is simply lucky.

 Begin at the moment that the protagonist experiences the greatest

despair or the first indications of hope. The choice you make here

often determines whether you end triumphantly or with tragic repercus-

sions. A character that begins the climax in anguish has nowhere to go

but up. Something will happen in the next moment to convince him to

turn things around, and he’ll face the enemy refreshed or, at the very

least, determined. On the flip side, a character who’s full of great hope at

the onset of the climax has the most to lose. The character will either

experience that loss in the final scenes or experience it and then make a

miraculous recovery at the end.

110

Part II: Breaking Down the Elements of a Story

14_345405-ch08.qxp 5/22/08 7:14 PM Page 110

 End when the protagonist resolves his problems. Resolving the prob-

lem doesn’t necessarily mean achieving the goal. However, if your char-

acter doesn’t achieve his goal, his failure to do so should somehow

solve the problem. Scarlett O’Hara doesn’t find romantic fulfillment,

but her inability to do so ends her false marriage and puts a dent in her

unhealthy way of life. Luke Skywalker doesn’t decisively defeat Darth

Vader until the third film of the Star Wars Trilogy, but he solves the

ultimate problems in the first two films.

Your character is waging a dual war in the climax:

 A war with the external antagonist/villain. Keep track of your villain or

your chosen antagonist. That villain has learned alongside the hero, and

that villain has acquired a support group alongside the protagonist. That

villain is ready to win, as is the hero. They should be evenly matched.

 A war with himself. Something internal has been barring your character

from complete success. He needs to overcome that something here or

use it to his distinct advantage. In either case, overcoming this internal

conflict becomes an important part of your protagonist’s primary jour-

ney or arc.

Ask yourself what event would force these people together, where would they

choose to wage a last war, and who is the strongest of the pair. That scene is

your climax.

Your audience should leave your film satisfied. Notice that I don’t say thrilled

or grief-stricken, but satisfied. In Chapter 7, I speak about reincorporation,

the art of weaving key bits of thematic information continuously through

your story. Those bits culminate here. The climax marks the final reincorpo-

ration of images, ideas, skills, and traumas. Luke Skywalker loses his aunt and

uncle, who act as his parents at the beginning of the Star Wars Trilogy; he

finds his real father in the trilogy’s final climax. George Lucas reincorporates

the idea of parenting and guidance one last time, and somehow, the story

feels complete. The Sixth Sense begins with a violent break-in and shooting

in the protagonist’s home. It’s not until the final moments of the resolution

that we discover the true ramifications of that beginning, and they affect how

we look back at the entire plot. Your climax releases the tension that you’ve

constructed between characters, and it completes some pattern, be it behav-

ioral or thematic. The ending of that cycle is very satisfying.

Resolution — the final lap

Your film’s resolution is the audience’s final grace note, the time to linger

with the characters just long enough to feel what’s shifted in the world. Here

are some final questions that may help you clarify that scene when you get

there:

111

Chapter 8: Plot Part III: Endings

14_345405-ch08.qxp 5/22/08 7:14 PM Page 111