Thanks Ron
Buy my Complete Idiot's Guide to Screenwriting and read it. Sounds like
your ticket.
--
A wide screen just makes a bad film twice as bad.
-- Samuel Goldwyn
All the best,
Skip Press, the Duke of URL
Hollywood and Somewhat Important News at
http://home.earthlink.net/~skippress/
>Buy my Complete Idiot's Guide to Screenwriting and read it. Sounds like
>your ticket.
Yeah Skip, and it sounds just like *your* meal ticket.
Nesci
"You live in an age when people would package and standardize your life for you
- steal it from you and sell it back to you at a price. That price is very
high." -- Granny D.
The FAQ for m.w.s is http://www.communicator.com/faqs.html
Go to the closest bookstore or Amazon.com or somesuch place and buy a copy
of David Trottier's "A Screenwriting Bible". It'll tell you everything you
need to know to get started.
Go online to any of the sites that have scripts to download and read ten or
twenty or a hundred of them. Here are a few of them:
http://www.dailyscript.com
http://www.script-o-rama.com
http://www.screentalk.org
Also, check out:
http://www.scriptsecrets.com
http://www.wordplayer.com
http://www.hollywoodscriptwriter.com
That'll keep you busy for a few minutes. Get crackin'. Good luck.
Gene
good luck
--
Thomas L. C.
---------------------------------------------------
"When the going gets weird, the weird turn pro"
-HST
"Ron" <numb...@yahoo.com> wrote in message
news:e6912d87.01090...@posting.google.com...
Way to go, Gene.
Doug
Terrific choice. Terrific book
Gary
Stories begin when we are introduced to the problem that a central
character needs to solve. The scene where that happens should come
early on. Real early. Page 1 isn't too soon.
Lots of people think that you need to introduce your characters,
establish their relationships, set the mood, lay out the exposition.
Balderdash. Start off with the problem. Until you do, whether they are
consciously aware of it or not, your audience is sitting around
waiting for the story to start.
All that other stuff, and I'm not suggesting that any of it is
unimportant, should happen either while you are introducing your
central problem (scenes are allowed to do more than one thing at a
time), or afterward.
This is about giving your audience enough information to allow them to
become active participants in the unfolding of the story. That can
only happen when you give them enough information so that they can
start trying to figure out how the story is going to unfold.
Take "Jaws".
First scene -- girl eaten by shark. People think -- "Hey -- that's a
real problem. They've got a shark there."
Second scene -- here's the guy who's going to have to solve the
problem. And now, as we find out about him, we learn this stuff in
light of what we already know about the shark -- that he's new to the
island, he's never been there during a summer. That's he's never had
experience with such a thing before. He doesn't know the procedures.
And so, because we're now learning about him in light of this earlier
knowledge, we start to trying to tell the story. Newcomer who isn't
familiar with the island. Now he has to deal with this shark. Oh, this
is a "summer town" -- the mayor and the town council don't want him
closing the beaches -- and on and on.
But what in the world would this have been like if we'd first
introduced all of these characters and given all of this exposition,
and only then had the shark attack? You would have had half a dozen
scenes about nothing -- because it is the central problem that allows
an audience to organize the information about character,
relationships, environments in terms of *expectation.* Without the
shark, you end up with a lot of screen time where the audience would
be wondering what the hell this thing is going to be about. You
haven't given them enough information to permit them to form any
expectations as to where the story is going.
And managed expectation is at the heart of story-telling. To get
people thinking, wondering, involved, imagining what they might do in
the same situation, to set them up, to misdirect them. It's all part
of the process. But it is a process that starts with a problem.
It is the central problem that a movie is "about" -- it's what you
answer when somebody asks you what a movie is about.
So where do you begin? Page 1. The shark attacks.
NMS
>Start off with the problem. Until you do,
>whether they are consciously aware of it
>or not, your audience is sitting around
>waiting for the story to start.
Actually, this is a common method for horror
and thrillers -- but some great films don't
start with a central problem:
_Chinatown starts with b/w pictures of a tuna
fisherman's wife getting laid from a dozen positions
in the woods.
The purpose is to introduce Gittes as a two-bit
gumshoe -- but a nice guy who doesn't press his
poor clients for payment.
This shows him to be a perfect target to be fooled
by the low-class-Mrs.-Mulwray-impostor in the next
scene.
Obviously, you could argue that the first scene
shows Gittes' essential metier: spying on people's
dirty linen: but in this story, the central
problem (Noah Cross trying to kidnap his
granddaughter and make millions selling
water) doesn't become apparent until near
the end.
Of course, the script is structured so the
little mysteries unravel into bigger mysteries:
so you could say that the smaller digressions
are really manifestations of the central problem
-- but my point is that while many bad scripts
meander for 30 pages: some great ones take
their time.
In a certain sense, one can argue that the first
shot of any movie *is* the central problem manifested.
The barren landscape of _2001 could be said to
show the genesis of man's struggle for survival
-- even though it takes a long time for the first
plot point when the apes fight over a water hole,
and the themes of agression, dominance, social,
technological, and eventually: spiritual evolution:
become gradually apparent.
Again, it's true that most good films focus on
narrative mechanics very early -- and it's a
good habit not to break until one is accomplished
at transcending and shading the medium effortlessly
and instinctively.
James Joyce (in his play: _Exiles_) said: "the
movements of a woman are always interesting."
So beginning a movie with a woman taking
a shower for no good reason, may not be
stalling at all.
Oscar Wilde said: "The chase after a beautiful
woman is always exciting."
This is the structure of Preston's Sturges'
_Palm Beach Story_ (which does introduce the
central problem (a young couple's money troubles)
in the first scene where the landlord is trying
to rent their apartment while theyre still living
there).
But there are many good films that start off
digressively and slowly and pick up steam: Kubrick
once said that the first half hour of a great film
should be unbearably boring.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
---------------------------------------------------
---------------------------
kawliga stands there
lonely as can be
wishing he was still
an old pine tree
-- hank williams
> nmst...@msn.com (nmstevens) wrote:
>>Start off with the problem. Until you do,
>>whether they are consciously aware of it
>>or not, your audience is sitting around
>>waiting for the story to start.
Not necessarily Neal. One way to get into it yes, but not always the best way.
Some, myself included, like to start off with a big joke or something mood
setting that puts people at ease. Get them relaxed and laughing, then you can
"stick it to them".
I don't agree that audiences are "sitting around waiting for the story to
start" if you don't slam a problem in their face immediately. Those that want
immediate tension or conflict are merely thrill junkies. Hell, have you ever
ridden a good roller-coaster? It's the slow inexorable climb to the top that
gets them screaming on the way down.
D. Kroft says:
>Again, it's true that most good films focus on
>narrative mechanics very early -- and it's a
>good habit not to break until one is accomplished
>at transcending and shading the medium effortlessly
>and instinctively.
To bring up a film that most people regard as brilliant, The Big Lebowski
starts with a tumbleweed that meanders around til it gets to the City of
Angels. Is there a problem there? Besides the tumbleweed avoiding LA traffic of
course.
>Oscar Wilde said: "The chase after a beautiful
>woman is always exciting."
>
>This is the structure of Preston's Sturges'
>_Palm Beach Story_ (which does introduce the
>central problem (a young couple's money troubles)
>in the first scene where the landlord is trying
>to rent their apartment while theyre still living
>there).
A few great examples. Wilde, Sturges, and Joyce are no slouches when it comes
to good narrative structure.
If it takes THX enhanced World Wide Thermonuclear devastation to wake up an
audience from the git-go, we're truly in a sad mind-numbed state of
civilization.
>>Start off with the problem. Until you do,
>>whether they are consciously aware of it
>>or not, your audience is sitting around
>>waiting for the story to start.
>
>Actually, this is a common method for horror
>and thrillers -- but some great films don't
>start with a central problem:
>
>_Chinatown starts with b/w pictures of a tuna
>fisherman's wife getting laid from a dozen positions
>in the woods.
>
>The purpose is to introduce Gittes as a two-bit
>gumshoe -- but a nice guy who doesn't press his
>poor clients for payment.
I'd say Neal is right and this is the problem.
People cheat on each other all the time in
all kinds of ways because that's human nature
("That's Chinatown")
Jake Giddes is pure device (private eye =
the camera = us the audience = observer
of human nature). He sorts out the truck driver's
dirty little problem, then he sorts out Evelyn Mulwray's
dirty little problem. At the end of the day Noah
Cross's dirty scam is just as petty as the truck
driver's wife.
Richard
> Stories begin when we are introduced to the problem that a central
> character needs to solve. The scene where that happens should come
> early on. Real early. Page 1 isn't too soon.
(snip)
Thanks, Neal - this one's a real clip-and-save
--
Life Continues, Despite
Evidence to the Contrary
Steven
Send it all to me, Number 6, and I'll let you know if I think I can . . . if
*we* can make a quick buck out of it.
Standing by.
regards,
derek
--
"You have the most eyes I have ever seen on a woman."
>In article <a8f80314.01090...@posting.google.com>
>nmst...@msn.com (nmstevens) writes:
>
>> Stories begin when we are introduced to the problem that a central
>> character needs to solve. The scene where that happens should come
>> early on. Real early. Page 1 isn't too soon.
The film "Rocky" doesn't do this. And there are certainly many
others. The inciting incident in Rocky doesn't happen until Rocky
meets Adrian, etc. etc.
If it weren't structured this way Rocky wouldn't have anyone to
"prove" himself to. What? Just himself? He hasn't up until that
point in his life.
So, something like getting the audience identification for the
protagonist in the right spot would be probably the only reason to
delay the inciting incident.
Other than that, I agree with Neal. Might as well start the story,
like NOW. Or at least as soon as possible.
Doug
>I don't agree that audiences are "sitting around waiting for the story
>to start" if you don't slam a problem in their face immediately. Those
>that want immediate tension or conflict are merely thrill junkies. Hell,
>have you ever ridden a good roller-coaster? It's the slow inexorable
>climb to the top that gets them screaming on the way down.
Ah, but it's the anticipation of what's coming that holds their attention
on the way up. So in a way, they *are* introduced to a "problem" very
early, as in "Oh, shit, I'm about to be dropped straight down at a zillion
miles an hour. Am I gonna live through it?"
It's not like it's a purposeless excursion. We can see where it's going,
which was part of Neal's point, I think.
>To bring up a film that most people regard as brilliant, The Big
>Lebowski starts with a tumbleweed that meanders around til it gets to
>the City of Angels. Is there a problem there? Besides the tumbleweed
>avoiding LA traffic of course.
No, no problem with the tumbleweed. The Dude's problems don't begin on
page one, but they begin very soon after, when he finds his head slammed
into a toilet bowl. I don't know what page it is, but it's gotta be before
page ten. The first few pages introduce the Dude, and, of course, the
Coens are masterful at such stuff. In lesser hands, the story could have
wandered aimlessly, which is what Neal was arguing against.
I think what Neal's point was that the problem has to be introduced early,
not necessarily page one, but if page one works, great. If not, soon
thereafter. The longer it's delayed, the harder it is for the writer to
hold the reader/viewer's attention. It's not impossible, of course.
>If it takes THX enhanced World Wide Thermonuclear devastation to wake up
>an audience from the git-go, we're truly in a sad mind-numbed state of
>civilization.
I agree, and myself, I like stories that start slowly and build up a head
of steam. But I agree with Neal that the audience/reader needs some hint
of where the story's heading pretty early on, or they'll give up on it
because they have no feeling of anticipation, no sense of what the
narrative is all about.
Gene
--
"Bunny Lebowski. . . She is the light of my life. Are you surprised at my
tears, sir?"
"Fuckin' A."
------- The Big Lebowski
> I agree, and myself, I like stories that start slowly and build up a head
> of steam. But I agree with Neal that the audience/reader needs some hint
> of where the story's heading pretty early on, or they'll give up on it
> because they have no feeling of anticipation, no sense of what the
> narrative is all about.
I agree. But I think the critical element in that paragraph is "needs some
hint of where the story's heading." Granted, there are certain genres and
stories that lend themselves to an immediate jump-starting on, if not page
1, then page 2. But there are also many stories where one's enjoyment of
the story will be diluted if the proper context and/or foundation is not
laid. In the movie Pretty Woman, the two main characters don't even meet
until page 12. The important thing is to not let your audience feel like
the story's meandering *aimlessly*. They need to feel that what they're
seeing is taking them someplace. But it's okay if the story is not 100%
crystal clear by page 10 so long as the reader is eagerly anticipating page
11.
My mileage...
--
Dena Jo
ICQ: 116627453
I'm going to add three things.
1. pick 5 of the scripts that you found, read them, read them a second
time, read it a third time. Then go and rent the movie. watch it. Now
watch it again with the script in your hand so you can follow how the
words on the page go up to the screen.
2. go read 5 novels (since you are thinking about writing your idea as a
novel). at least 5.
3. take those notes of yours and read them over. do you get any new
ideas from them. good write them down. keep those notes with you all the
time. Go and buy one of those groovy 'cow print' composition notebooks
and carry it everywhere you can. then if you get an idea at some odd
moment, you can write it down. start thinking about your characters and
what's going to happen to them and how they will react. How will Bob
react when he finds out that he might have cancer. Does he break down
and cry and break stuff. or is he a stoic, preferring to believe that
everything is okay. does he start making plans for someone to care for
his little girl. can he finish that murder investigation or does he ask
for it to be reassigned to someone else. etc.
if you are in the LA area then you can come visit my bookstore (that I
work at, not that I own) and I can set you up with several of the books
that folks have mentioned (and a few others that haven't come up yet but
I'm sure they will soon)
My exposition is generally about 2 pages long. In my last script it was
5. But it set up something that played into the climax, as well as
setting up the main character (what he does, what kind of guy that he
is, etc), so I'm not freaking about how to get rid of it.
> Lots of people think that you need to introduce your characters,
> establish their relationships, set the mood, lay out the exposition.
>
> Balderdash.
I agree and disagree here. You do need to set that stuff up. But the
very, very, very first scene of the movie isn't always the right place
to do it. not in all styles of movies. Teen movies tend to set up the
characters (at least the main one or two) first and then hit the
problem. But action flicks will almost always jump right in and then
step back. and so on.
> First scene -- girl eaten by shark. People think -- "Hey -- that's a
> real problem. They've got a shark there."
>
> Second scene -- here's the guy who's going to have to solve the
> problem. And now, as we find out about him, we learn this stuff in
> light of what we already know about the shark
excellent example (just what I said a minute ago about a kick and then a
step back). This is the way that the audience has come to expect things.
scare them and then let them breathe. works for openings and throughout
the story.
the real reason why the Jaws thing works is cause of dramatic irony. The
audience sees what the level of danger is and then this guy, who is
obviously our hero. and you're sitting there thinking "oh shit, this guy
is a total loser. everyone's dead." and then as he shows that yes he
knows he's a loser but isn't giving up, you start to cheer for him and
want him to pull it off. Sucks you right in.
> And managed expectation is at the heart of story-telling. To get
> people thinking, wondering, involved, imagining what they might do in
> the same situation, to set them up, to misdirect them. It's all part
> of the process. But it is a process that starts with a problem.
that is a good way of summing it up. especially the misdirecting part.
My latest has that twice. Once in a suicide that wasn't (and that fact
was almost totally missed) and in a bad guy that looked like a good guy.
The audience gets a dropped hint early on but the other characters, esp
the hero, don't catch it until later. Gave the readers some fun.
> >The purpose is to introduce Gittes as a two-bit
> >gumshoe -- but a nice guy who doesn't press his
> >poor clients for payment.
>
> I'd say Neal is right and this is the problem.
> People cheat on each other all the time in
> all kinds of ways because that's human nature
> ("That's Chinatown")
It actually isn't the problem as much as the theme. But it does kick
start things in an interesting way .
that is the big thing that you want, an interesting opening. Whether you
scare the shit out of folks with a murder, or something else, you need
to have something that gets your reader sucked into the script. and make
it tie in some way to the big picture. Otherwise, it's fluff.
Okay. Granted. To a certain extent. But I don't think that the first
scene in Chinatown is simply there to establish Gittes character and
profession. It establishes a theme that the subsequent events of the
movie explore -- a kind of inconsistency in Gittes character that
permits him to photograph couples "in flagrante" but sends his
secretary out of the room to tell a dirty joke -- he draws a
distinction between the realms of propriety and impropriety. Then he
finds out that that's not true at all. There is no such distinction.
Obviously in many movies, and Chinatown is one, one can't draw a
precise line between character scenes and story scenes, because the
nature of the character is at the heart of the story.
But the time for exposition and character information to come before
central problem is when we must have that information in order for the
events of the story to make sense.
Just as the information about Chief Brody ought to come in light of
our knowledge about the shark attack, the morasse into which Gittes
falls ought to come in light of our knowledge of his character. In
both cases, the latter is only clear in light of the former.
In both cases, the principle of "managed expectation" is at work. In
general, audiences will give you a couple scenes to play around with.
They'll wait that long. But three, four, five scenes go by and they're
still waiting to accumulate enough information to figure out where the
story is likely headed -- then you're in trouble.
So even though the first scene in "Raiders of the Lost Ark" doesn't
have anything to do with the Ark, it not only gives us information
about Indiana Jones, it also sets up the rivalry with Bellocq -- and
so we've given the audience, at least, a clue as to what's going to
happen later. He's going to run into Bellocq again. And so, even if we
know nothing more, at the end of that first scene we figure that the
rest of the movie's going to be some major battle over the acquisition
of some archeological treasure, and he's going to come up against
Bellocq again and beat the pants off him. Two scenes later, we know
what the artifact in question is. And so even in that brief interval,
we're given enough information to make an educated guess about where
things are going -- and we are proved right two scenes later.
In the same way, the opening scenes of Chinatown, that opening scene
gives us information not only about Gittes, but about the theme that
the story is likely to explore -- that it's going to be something
about a nasty secret, that Gittes odd sense of chivalry is going to be
tested and that it won't endure -- just as he tries to shoo his
secretary out of the office only to have the dirty joke overheard by
the ersatz Mrs. Mulwray (God, I hope I'm remembering this right --
it's been awhile).
So a lot of times, scenes that, on the surface don't seem to address
the central problem directly, often are doing so symbolically, by
casting a smaller problem as a preview of the larger problem that the
protagonists are soon going to face.
To my mind, starting off a movie by "introducing a character" --
unless those qualities that you are introducing *are* in fact, key to
the central problem -- it's just not enough. First scenes should do
more work than that.
Having said that -- I fully realize that there are whole classes of
movies to which none of these paradigms apply. Latter day Fellini --
it's all just mood and image and wonderful quirky little scenes and
characters. I don't even think that you can say, rightly, that these
things are stories in a traditional sense. They're still wonderful --
but I couldn't begin to parse out the rules as to what makes them
wonderful.
NMS
But when you start off with a joke -- what's the joke? I'd be prepared
to bet that it isn't simply some random gag -- but something that's
setting us up for the story to come -- that's giving us information,
in a funny way, that allows an audience to start telling the story in
their heads.
Clearly, any scene that's funny, or interesting, or exciting, in and
of itself, will maintain audience interest for as long as the scene is
going in. So if the opening scene is funny but doesn't give us any
information about where the story is going, people will watch and
laugh. Same for scene two. Maybe for scene three. But after three
funny scenes with no information about what the story is going to be
about, the laughs aren't going to be enough. People will give you a
few scenes. Beyond that, if they don't have enough information to have
at least a general idea of what the story is about -- you run the risk
of losing them.
And it's not about action versus comedy versus drama. Three pointless
action scenes in a row, or three pointless big-things-blow-up scenes.
Same deal. If we aren't gaining information that lets us anticipate
where the story is going, both on the short term and the long term, we
start to give up on the movie.
>
> I don't agree that audiences are "sitting around waiting for the story to
> start" if you don't slam a problem in their face immediately. Those that want
> immediate tension or conflict are merely thrill junkies. Hell, have you ever
> ridden a good roller-coaster? It's the slow inexorable climb to the top that
> gets them screaming on the way down.
It's not about tension or conflict or thrills. The opening of "Seven
Samurai" starts with the brigands riding up, realizing that the crops
aren't ready and resolving to return in the fall -- months away. A
villager has overheard and runs down to tell the others. No immediate
thrills. No satisfaction for the action junkie in that opening.
What it does do is tell us -- in scene one -- what this movie is going
to be about.
And the thing about the roller coaster is that it gives us
information. We know, at the bottom that we're climbing toward a big
drop -- and that there are going to be wild twists and turns and spins
after that. In other words -- we start the ride with enough
information to be able to anticipate what's coming -- and of course,
the makers are aware of those anticipations and part of what they do
is to play with them. So that we think we know what's coming and then
are surprised. And clearly, that's enormously more effective than if
you got in the thing and then it just dropped you down the track, with
no build up and no expectation.
> D. Kroft says:
>
> >Again, it's true that most good films focus on
> >narrative mechanics very early -- and it's a
> >good habit not to break until one is accomplished
> >at transcending and shading the medium effortlessly
> >and instinctively.
>
> To bring up a film that most people regard as brilliant, The Big Lebowski
> starts with a tumbleweed that meanders around til it gets to the City of
> Angels. Is there a problem there? Besides the tumbleweed avoiding LA traffic of
> course.
That's exactly the central problem. Lebowski is a tumbleweed. If left
to his own devices, he'd just roll along. That's all he really wants.
It's only the influences of things and people around him that compel
him to go this way and that -- and in the end, all he really wants is
to go back to tumbling. The Dude endures.
>
> >Oscar Wilde said: "The chase after a beautiful
> >woman is always exciting."
> >
> >This is the structure of Preston's Sturges'
> >_Palm Beach Story_ (which does introduce the
> >central problem (a young couple's money troubles)
> >in the first scene where the landlord is trying
> >to rent their apartment while theyre still living
> >there).
>
> A few great examples. Wilde, Sturges, and Joyce are no slouches when it comes
> to good narrative structure.
>
> If it takes THX enhanced World Wide Thermonuclear devastation to wake up an
> audience from the git-go, we're truly in a sad mind-numbed state of
> civilization.
Never said anything about nuclear devastation -- didn't say anything
about what the story problem might be. The issue is the same with any
problem -- how you let people know what it is and when.
Opening of "Searching for Bobby Fischer" -- First scene, the kid
wanders away looking for the baseball, finds the chess piece -- and
then he's confronted by the street guy -- he's got the ball. He holds
it out -- wants the chess piece back. That's what the movie is about.
That choice -- normal life, as embodied by the baseball, or chess --
which will he choose -- or can he have both?
It doesn't have to do with explosions. It has to do with most
effectively managing the expectations of your audience.
NMS
>(BrickRage) wrote
> Some, myself included, like to start off with a big joke or something mood
>> setting that puts people at ease. Get them relaxed and laughing, then you
>can
>> "stick it to them".
>But when you start off with a joke -- what's the joke? I'd be prepared
>to bet that it isn't simply some random gag -- but something that's
>setting us up for the story to come --
Well yes, of course. That, I would think is a given.
>So if the opening scene is funny but doesn't give us any
>information about where the story is going, people will watch and
>laugh. Same for scene two. Maybe for scene three. But after three
>funny scenes with no information about what the story is going to be
>about, the laughs aren't going to be enough.
Well Neal, let's just say I'm savvy enough to know this. Humor without
information is the work of hacks who don't know how to set-up a story. My only
disagreement had to do with immediately introducing a problem.
>And it's not about action versus comedy versus drama. Three pointless
>action scenes in a row, or three pointless big-things-blow-up scenes.
>Same deal.
Very true. But I'm sure you could come up with recent examples of films that
are perfect examples of that kind of blunder.
>That's exactly the central problem. Lebowski is a tumbleweed. If left
>to his own devices, he'd just roll along. That's all he really wants.
And that's not a nice big metaphoric joke? The Dude is tumbling around a
supermarket in a bathrobe smelling cartons of Half&Half. Bush Sr. is blathering
on a TV about setting up lines of aggression. He goes home and is, through no
fault of his own (except for his last name) thrown into a problem and a toilet.
If the story started with his being threatened, it would be a cheap beginning.
>The Dude endures.
Uh, that's "The Dude abides".
>It doesn't have to do with explosions. It has to do with most
>effectively managing the expectations of your audience.
Exactly. My only concern was that some readers of this ng might interpret what
you posted as a paradigm for the "ideal" opening scenes of a script.
I think Neil's comments are especially relevant when developing a spec
script, given the predisposition of readers to start passing judgment around
page 10 and consider chucking the thing altogether if they're not sucked
into a story by page 20.
As a practical matter with feature films, however, I find it hard to accept
that an audience is gonna pack up and walk out of the theatre if it isn't
readily apparent what the problem is in the opening sequences. In "The Big
Lebowski," the metaphor of the tumbleweed is only evident in retrospect,
after we get a sense of who and what the Dude is.
Partly because it was written on the fly (and certainly it is on another
era), "Casablanca" can get away with not introducing Ilsa until 30 minutes
into the film. A script structured that way today wouldn't get past a junior
reader. At the very least, it'd probably be criticized for starting out
about spies and intrigue before turning into a love story.
Joe Myers
"I stick my neck out for no one."
>It doesn't have to do with explosions. It
>has to do with most effectively managing
>the expectations of your audience.
Not necessarily: the beginning of _Touch of Evil begins with
an explosion in the first shot; same with _Die Hard 3, and
lotsa movies.
A movie should have a beginning, middle, and end -- but not
necessarily in that order.
-- J.L. Godard
"Managed expectation," or "Narrative mechanics," or "character
exposition," -- whatever you use: there are no rules if you're
a compelling writer.
In real life, the majority of mainstream moviegoers head to the theater
*because* they've seen 17 commercials, promo pieces and print plugs for that
film. And if they happen to have seen the trailer ahead of time, that gives
them all its plot points and surprise twist ending too.
Even people who go to the theater for, say, "that new Julia Stiles flick," and
find out that O is sold out, will *ask* the cashier what Jeepers Creepers is
about before they plunk down $8.50 to see it.
So people who went to see Pearl Habor doggedly sat through 45 minutes of
boy-meets-girl, because *they knew ahead of time* -- because guy in the next
cubicle at work told them -- that there'd be great war scenes later on in the
movie.
I think your points apply moreso to script readers. Sure, they'll just start
thumbing through the next spec in the pile, but haven't they at least glanced
at a logline before agreeing to read it? So they know, for example, that Spec
A is supposed to be a family flick about a blind lion tamer, as opposed to a
Desert Storm actioner.
Lois
P.S. And yes, I realize that script readers are a spec writer's only real
audience. But I think you may have confused people by talking about audience
expectations of finished films.
------------------------------------------------
In essentials, unity.
In non-essentials, liberty.
In all things, charity.
-- Augustine
>So people who went to see Pearl Habor doggedly sat through 45 minutes of
>boy-meets-girl, because *they knew ahead of time* -- because guy in the next
>cubicle at work told them -- that there'd be great war scenes later on in the
>movie.
You know what, Lois? I don't think that's why they went. I think they
went for heroes. We don't have many heroes in movies any more and
whether you thought Ben Affleck was dumb with that hat cocked to the
side, he played a real hero in that movie. Michael Bay's great at making
that kind of movie and Jerry Bruckheimer's great at producing them.
And PH made $430 gross worldwide so far. Not bad.
--
The challenge of screenwriting is to say much in little and then
take half of that little out and still preserve an effect of leisure
and natural movement.
-- Raymond Chandler
All the best,
Skip Press, the Duke of URL
Hollywood and Somewhat Important News at
http://home.earthlink.net/~skippress/
> Obviously in many movies, and Chinatown is one, one can't draw a
> precise line between character scenes and story scenes, because the
> nature of the character is at the heart of the story.
Seems to me it always should be.
Gary
>And PH made $430 gross worldwide so far. Not bad.
$430?
I knew it sucked.
That's just the amount it made from people who liked it and didn't feel
ripped off when it finished.
If you add the people who came out of the cinema saying "What a load of
crap" I think it adds another $429 million.
By the way as far as I know it didn't "make" this much profit. This was B.O.
BEFORE costs.
Gary
You start a quiet sensitive melodrama with a flying duck --
and boom! it gets shot down on the first page.
Then you think: who cares about a dead duck, so you go back
and show the duck with its baby ducks.
Then you say: people will be bored watching a movie start with
a duck pond, so you show delinquent kids putting rat poison in
their duck bread: pushing back the duck shoot to scene 3.
Then you wonder who shot the duck: and add a guy with a duck
hunting cap, shopping at a gun show. Then you wonder why he's
buying an Uzi to go hunting.
So you show him the night before -- coming home finding his
drunken wife in the arms of his schizophrenic hunting partner.
A hundred drafts later: the movie is now a spy thriller. The
duck is shot in the last scene, before being served -- filled
with rat poison -- to the Secretary of State's children.
Ah yes! A retrospective.
Doug
>You know what, Lois? I don't think that's why they went. I think they
>went for heroes. We don't have many heroes in movies any more and
>whether you thought Ben Affleck was dumb with that hat cocked to the
>side, he played a real hero in that movie.
You know what would be an interesting book or essay, if it hasn't been done
already: an analysis of how heroes were depicted in film pre-1975, as compared
to post-1975.
I picked 1975 because Watergate plus the end of the Vietnam War* probably
propelled American culture into the Age of Cynicism & Irony that we live in
now.
Lois
*Vietnam War: I'm reading Hearts in Atlantis by Stephen King, which will be
released (starring Anthony Hopkins) in a few weeks. I'm curious to see how
they adapted the story for the movie. The book seems to be about the Vietnam
War and malovent space aliens. Very, very weird. Anybody seen the script?
Or how the anti-hero stuck his head out in the seventies and then
practically vanished from movies.
> I picked 1975 because Watergate plus the end of the Vietnam War* probably
> propelled American culture into the Age of Cynicism & Irony that we live
in
> now.
Maybe it was novel then that our heroes were fallible and therefore
interesting. Now it's an absolute norm.
HOLLYWOOD movies.
> > I picked 1975 because Watergate plus the end of the Vietnam War*
probably
> > propelled American culture into the Age of Cynicism & Irony that we live
> in
> > now.
>
> Maybe it was novel then that our heroes were fallible and therefore
> interesting. Now it's an absolute norm.
I wonder how many people ever regarded 90% of politicians as heroes.
Gary
> I'm Skip & You're Not <skip_pre...@excite.com> wrote:
>>And PH made $430 gross worldwide so far. Not bad.
>$430?
Yeah, that was Ben's bar-bill for the party on the aircraft carrier.
And now he's paying $44,000 a month at Promises Malibu.
http://www.promisesmalibu.com/index.html
>I knew it sucked.
I did too. That's why I didn't contribute to the $430 worldwide gross.
I think it's a given if one is a good writer writing a good script.
But anybody who's worked as a reader knows that, in the trenches, it
isn't at all a "given" that the first scene -- or any scene in
particular, is actually advancing the story.
>
> >So if the opening scene is funny but doesn't give us any
> >information about where the story is going, people will watch and
> >laugh. Same for scene two. Maybe for scene three. But after three
> >funny scenes with no information about what the story is going to be
> >about, the laughs aren't going to be enough.
>
> Well Neal, let's just say I'm savvy enough to know this. Humor without
> information is the work of hacks who don't know how to set-up a story. My only
> disagreement had to do with immediately introducing a problem.
No criticism aimed at you -- I'm simply making my point that one has
to get on with things, in a "story" sense, whether you're using
comedy, or action, or suspense, or drama.
The impression you seemed to gain from my earlier post -- probably
because I used "Jaws" as an example, is that every movie should start
off with some kind of action scene.
Not at all. It isn't about action, but about setting the problem. And
generally, problems in stories have two components -- the external
issue -- like the terrorists taking over the building, or you find out
you have a fatal disease -- and the internal issue -- what a does a
person confronted with the problem apparently lack, in respect to who
and what he is, that he then has to find or invent in himself in order
to resolve the problem.
And so clearly, in some sense, character always intersects story
problem -- and so an opening scene that develops that character --
that reveals the lack that must be fulfilled in order for the problem
to be solved -- is doing much the same thing.
It's giving people a sense of what the story is going to be about.
It's still telling us about the problem -- but starting from the
internal rather than external direction.
But clearly, the construction of scenes calculated to do that requires
a writer being aware of the importance of those aspects of character
in the larger scale of the story.
>
> >And it's not about action versus comedy versus drama. Three pointless
> >action scenes in a row, or three pointless big-things-blow-up scenes.
> >Same deal.
>
> Very true. But I'm sure you could come up with recent examples of films that
> are perfect examples of that kind of blunder.
Well -- sure. And not just at the beginning. Ronin figures that one
super duper car chase just wouldn't be enough. So they have three.
It's all part of the "if a little is good, more is better" mindset.
But I don't think that makers of movies should do that sort of thing.
I don't think it makes for good movies.
>
> >That's exactly the central problem. Lebowski is a tumbleweed. If left
> >to his own devices, he'd just roll along. That's all he really wants.
>
> And that's not a nice big metaphoric joke? The Dude is tumbling around a
> supermarket in a bathrobe smelling cartons of Half&Half. Bush Sr. is blathering
> on a TV about setting up lines of aggression. He goes home and is, through no
> fault of his own (except for his last name) thrown into a problem and a toilet.
> If the story started with his being threatened, it would be a cheap beginning.
It would be a less effective beginning, because the problem isn't
simply guys shoving his head in a toilet. The problem resides both in
who he is, and in what happens to him. Just as the problem of Jaws
resides both in the shark and in Chief Brody's inexperience and
uncertainty. And both things are established within the first three
scenes in Jaws. And both things are established within the first three
scenes of Lebowski.
The order has to do with which we need to know first. Chief Brody's
inexperience isn't enough -- it's dull and unfocused without having
the shark first. With the shark first, we see all of these small
details within the light of what we just saw. That informs the scenes
that follow.
But we need to know Lebowski first, so that when he's dunked, we kind
of understand just who it is who's gotten his head stuck in a toilet.
If the character we're introduced to in that first scene is Bruce
Willis, and then we see him get dunked, we have a whole other set of
expectations as to how this story will unfold. And so there's a reason
to get the "character" leg of the problem first -- then the external
leg of the problem.
"Die Hard" does it the same way. First we get the "character" leg --
what the internal problem is. Then we get the external leg of the
problem -- the terrorists.
As you yourself point out -- Lebowski wouldn't work nearly as well if
we had no clue as to who this guy was before he gets dunked.
For that matter, neither would "Die Hard".
>
>
> >The Dude endures.
>
> Uh, that's "The Dude abides".
Okay. Okay.
>
> >It doesn't have to do with explosions. It has to do with most
> >effectively managing the expectations of your audience.
>
> Exactly. My only concern was that some readers of this ng might interpret what
> you posted as a paradigm for the "ideal" opening scenes of a script.
And for straight narrative story-telling, I firmly believe that,
ideally, within the first three, four scenes tops -- you should have
enough information to be able to at least predict, with reasonable
accuracy, what the large-scale issues of the story are -- what the
problem is that needs to be solved. If the problem is a shark -- we
should see the shark within the first few scenes. If the problem is
terrible working conditions at the mill, showing the mill and the
terrible working conditions therein ought, it seems to me, come pretty
early on. First few scenes would seem to be about right.
For non-narrative stuff -- ignore the above. I have no advice to give
on that subject. When that stuff works, it just seems like black magic
to me.
NMS
That is an excellent example. Especially since pages 1-11 are filled
with us learning just how opposite these two are (on the outside). makes
the ending even better.
But we go from the tumbleweed directly to him -- wandering through the
all night store in his bathrobe. We immediately see the one in light
of the other.
What if, instead of a tumbleweed, it had been a guy with a jackhammer,
or birds flying, or Niagara Falls? It wouldn't have made any sense.
Audiences understand the idea of visual metaphors. Forrest Gump.
There's a feather being blown around. Feather -- Forest. Right. We
get it. The feather isn't simply something to fill in under the
opening credits. It informs us, metaphorically, what the story to come
is going to be about.
>
> Partly because it was written on the fly (and certainly it is on another
> era), "Casablanca" can get away with not introducing Ilsa until 30 minutes
> into the film. A script structured that way today wouldn't get past a junior
> reader. At the very least, it'd probably be criticized for starting out
> about spies and intrigue before turning into a love story.
Because Ilsa isn't his central problem. The central problem is that,
because of what he perceives as a romantic betrayal, he's become a
cynic -- he's lost his sense of duty, his faith in humanity. "I stick
my neck out for nobody." That's his problem. That is what the events
of the story ultimately solve. And so it's absolutely right that that
should be what comes first. Ilsa's arrival isn't the start of his
problem -- it's the beginning of his solution. His love for her is
re-awakened, and with it, his sense of obligation to humanity -- and
so it is because he loves her, that he must ultimately give her up.
I don't think that an audience will walk out if the story doesn't get
going in the first few scenes. But I think that you run the risk of
losing the audience emotionally.
Figure, going in -- after all, you've paid your money. Based on what
you heard, you wanted to see the movie. So you're expectation -- your
interest is high. Figure maybe seven out of ten. The trick is to
manage -- to maintain that level of interest. Inevitably, it will rise
and fall during the course of any movie. But the further it drops, the
more work you have to do to get it back up where you want it.
That initial interest will carry an audience through a few scenes
without going down very much (unless what's on the screen is just
dreadful). But if you haven't found the means -- by engaging them --
by managing the expectations of the audience -- within those first few
scenes, the interest level starts to go down. They want to be able to
figure things out. That's what's engaging to an audience. But to do
that, you have to give them information that draws them in -- makes
them start to figure things out, -- and then they're hooked. They're
waiting to see if they've gotten it right, if they've put the story
clues together in the right way. There's a certain satisfaction that
comes from guessing correctly. There's also a certain satisfaction
that comes when the clues we've interpreted one way take us to an
ending we didn't anticipate, but realize, in retrospect, we should
have.
Without story information early on -- there's nothing to anticipate.
We're still just waiting -- and whether the opening scenes are
internally exciting, or funny, or moving -- if they're not also giving
us information that allows us to start to figure out the story (and
you need to know the central problem in order to do that), the
audience is apt to lose patience. I've seen movies where a half hour
has gone by and I have no clue what the damned movie is about. My
initial "seven" is starting to brush down around a two or a one. And
I'm saying to myself, if somebody doesn't give me a clue of what this
stupid piece of shit is about pretty damned soon, I'm out of here.
You don't ever really want an audience full of people thinking
thoughts like that. That's a deep well to have to climb out of.
NMS
Well, certainly people knew that "Jaws" was about a shark -- but does
that mean that we ought to wait twenty minutes before the shark first
shows up? Ten minutes? Five minutes? Why? What are we going to put in
those five minutes? The movie's about a giant killer shark. So on a
list of things that ought to come right up front in the movie, I would
think that "giant shark kills somebody" would have to be close to the
top.
We know "Searching for Bobby Fisher" is about a young chess genius.
Does that mean that we should have ten or fifteen or twenty scenes
with this kid before he ever learns anything about chess? Why?
And if you did, and the audience started getting annoyed and asking
itself -- "I came here to see a movie about a kid chess champion. When
is this freaking punk gonna start playing some damned chess?" --
they'd be absolutely justified in feeling that way.
Because if ten scenes, or ten minutes go by and you still haven't let
people in on what the movie is about -- even if they know because
they've seen the trailer -- you're still doing something wrong. You've
started too early.
NMS
I knew that one was coming:)
> And if you did, and the audience started getting annoyed and asking
> itself -- "I came here to see a movie about a kid chess champion. When
> is this freaking punk gonna start playing some damned chess?" --
> they'd be absolutely justified in feeling that way.
>
> Because if ten scenes, or ten minutes go by and you still haven't let
> people in on what the movie is about -- even if they know because
> they've seen the trailer -- you're still doing something wrong. You've
> started too early.
I'd say it depends on your intent. It takes "The StraightStory" a long time
to get going. But that time is valuable.
Gary
Well, I'm off to see a terrific Japanese movie called "Kaira" this
afternoon. The same director's movie: "The Cure" is one of the best serial
killer/horror movies ever made (actually it's so good it goes way beyond
those genre boundaries). Last week I saw Korean movies "The Isle" and "Il
Mare". One good thing about living outside of the US is that you DO realise
other countries have interesting directors and you do get to see their work.
Gary
Bravo, Joe. As worthless a load of nonsensical advice and straight
bullshit as I've read since Press told Paula Rubia that a crazed fan of
his tried to stab him in the arse with a plot-point while he was dining
with Tom and Nicole at an upscale restaurant in beautiful East LA.
Paula, naturally, believed him. Nothing more gullible than a gullible
Texas gal. Poor Paula reads omnivorously with practically no results.
I hope that none of these kids take seriously the crap that you guys so
adeptly shovel on them by the ton. The truth is that if you're talented
enough and devious enough and blessed with a bit of larceny you might
become one of the chosen 400 who will sell a script this year.
I'm e-mailing you the story of a pal of mine up in Maine named Joel
Strunk who is a school dropout. He told me a few years ago that he
wanted to write screenplays but he didn't think he could write anything.
He was a hand on a fishing boat in those days.. You be the judge as to
whether or not anything we could have told him would have helped or
hindered.
After you read Joel's story, please don't embarrass me by saying
"...Golly whiz, Mr. McDonough, I sure wish I could be right all the time
like you, and I promise I'll never again use campus terms like "plot
holes" or "act three", even though my friend and mentor L. Skip Press
said I should...." Such kudos are not necessary, Joe. Just counsel the
newbies no more and write no further screenplays about dead babies.
God, that's disgusting! Achhh...
Enjoy the Joel Strunk story, Joe lad.
Regards,
Guy Who Was Always Bored By CASABLANCA.
("...Yes, your honor, I admit that I stabbed him with my hat pin, but it
was because the filthy pig tried to grope me in my plot hole....")
Don't know what all that was about -- but I suspect it's meant to
suggest how stupid and philistine it is -- how, gasp, *Hollywood* it
is -- to start your story on page 1.
Stories are about problems to be solved. Until the audience forms some
clear sense of what that problem is, the story hasn't started, because
you haven't given the audience enough information to start to tell the
story in their heads -- and it doesn't matter what the subject matter
is, or whether it's serious or entertainment or a "film" or a "movie."
It doesn't have anything to do with pandering to an audience's
impatience. An audience that has paid to see a story has an absolute
right to expect that that story, whatever it is, should start round
about the beginning of the movie and not ten minutes or twenty minutes
in. And if you do that, you're not being subtle or artful. You're just
starting too early.
I never said it had to be the first scene, or the first page. I said
that the first page wasn't too early to start. It's not. Sometimes
there are reasons you can't. But if you haven't done it by the time
you're three or four scenes in, chances are you've started too early.
NMS
It's one way only. In not every movie is STORY the be all and end all, as
even McKee admits.
> Stories are about problems to be solved.
Not all. "The Dead" wasn't, but I thought it a terrific film. I'm not sure
'Under the Volcano" was either.
> It doesn't have anything to do with pandering to an audience's
> impatience. An audience that has paid to see a story has an absolute
> right to expect that that story, whatever it is, should start round
> about the beginning of the movie and not ten minutes or twenty minutes
> in. And if you do that, you're not being subtle or artful. You're just
> starting too early.
I think the audience has to know you are in control and you are planning to
take them somewhere. I have seen some superb films that have taken their
time.
Gary
<snip>
>But if you haven't found the means -- by engaging them --
>by managing the expectations of the audience -- within those first few
>scenes, the interest level starts to go down. They want to be able to
>figure things out. That's what's engaging to an audience. But to do
>that, you have to give them information that draws them in -- makes
>them start to figure things out, -- and then they're hooked. They're
>waiting to see if they've gotten it right, if they've put the story
>clues together in the right way. There's a certain satisfaction that
>comes from guessing correctly. There's also a certain satisfaction
>that comes when the clues we've interpreted one way take us to an
>ending we didn't anticipate, but realize, in retrospect, we should
>have.
This concept has an interesting sort of parallel with a study that was done
years ago by the Children's Television Workshop. They wanted to know what
segments of Sesame Street held children's attention the most.
The study seemed to indicate that the segments with animals in zoos and
such, wandering around and doing their normal animal things, held the least
amount of interest to the kids, apparently because there was no "story"
involved.
What held the children's attention the most were segments that had what the
researchers called "semi-predictable outcomes." The kids could predict to
some extent what was going to happen, therefore, their anticipation was
heightened. When Cookie Monster comes into the picture, you know he's
going to eat SOMETHING, you just don't know what. So you watch to find
out. You have an idea of where they story is going.
I think "semi-predictable outcomes" hold adults' interest as well. Just
make sure they're not "totally predictable". Which ain't always easy.
Gene
Tom
>I don't think that an audience will walk out if the story doesn't get
>going in the first few scenes. But I think that you run the risk of
>losing the audience emotionally.
Many movies also use a device such as "the vastness of space", or "the
murky depths of the ocean", or "the foggy streets of old London" to
take the audience out of their everyday "cares and worries" to get
them into the "moment of the movie".
This can help a lot in preparing the audience for what comes next.
Now they're ready to accept the story that's being offered to them and
are willing to perhaps wait a bit to get to the event that actually
starts the telling of the story. (Which should come early)
This event should have the purpose of "hooking" the audience
emotionally and intellectually (hopefully both) as well as giving the
audience a sense of what level of emotional involvement is going to
be expected of them.
This beginning story event should somehow give the audience a sense of
the pace of the story.
And lastly, this beginning story event should put in the audience's
mind that there must at some point at the end of the tale be a scene
where the problem that is stated at the beginning is solved once and
for all. (the Obligatory Scene) Usually the Protagonist directly
confronts the Antagonist.
The beginning is the most important part, although it's all important.
Everything "hinges" on a good beginning.
Except maybe the trashy trailers that we all see...
Doug
[snip]
> I think "semi-predictable outcomes" hold adults' interest as well. Just
> make sure they're not "totally predictable". Which ain't always easy.
In the ad biz there was often a recurring struggle with clients who wanted
to tell everything about their products. Research has shown that the most
memorable ads incorporated a bit of ambiguity, engaged the
reader/viewer/listener and forced them to fill in the blanks. Clients too
close to the product always worried that people would mis-interpret,
mis-infer, or just "not get it." Which, of course, probably happens. The
point of the research, though, was that explicitly laying out all the facts
in an ad made it too easy to ignore. Intriguing people...even to the point
of running the risk that they might spin the message the wrong way.
We had a campaign once, for an investment firm, that was based on the tag
line, "Let's talk tomorrow." The context of the ads was to talk about
setting up college funds, retirement programs, setting goals and working
toward them. The client struggled with the idea, worried that we were
telling people we didn't want them talking to the firm today.
Joe Myers
"People don't want quarter-inch drills.
People want quarter-inch holes."
Which is a very eloquent way of repeating the Marketing 101 adage: People
don't buy products or services, people buy satisfaction of wants and needs.
Tom
>I think the audience has to know you are in control and you
>are planning to take them somewhere.
So long as you give them a good ride -- even if they don't
like the destination.
>I have seen some superb films that have taken their time.
Like? Don't keep us in suspense.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
---------------------------------------------------
---------------------------
kawliga stands there
lonely as can be
wishing he was still
an old pine tree
-- hank williams
>I've been a reader for one of the contests, and I
>can tell you that the story had damn well better
>start quick and tell me where it's going, or I
>start assuming that it's never going to try to tell
>an interesting story
That's because 99.9 percent of scripts in a contest, are from
tyro writers who suck.
Great writers captivate you from the beginning --
whether plot, character, or masturbatory fantasy.
Read the first psage of any Dostevesky novel and you
immediately say: who cares about these losers -- but I want
to keep reading because this author is twisted and funny.
Western narrative literature is 3,000 years old and there are
maybe a few hundred world class writers at best -- but
screenwriting is only a hundred years old, so it's mostly
propagated by droolers, either infantile or senile.
Dena Kroft wrote:
> In article <9n7u9d$9g...@imsp212.netvigator.com>,
> "Gary Pollard" <gpono...@netnovigator.com> wrote:
>
> >I think the audience has to know you are in control and you
> >are planning to take them somewhere.
>
> So long as you give them a good ride -- even if they don't
> like the destination.
>
> >I have seen some superb films that have taken their time.
>
> Like? Don't keep us in suspense.
One that immediately comes to mind is "All The Way Home". I saw this film about eight or ten
years ago, but I think it was made in the 50's or 60's and based on the book by the guy who
also wrote "Let Us Now Praise Famous Men"???. I'm sure it's in IMDB. It meanders around
defining character before getting to the meat of the story. Contrary to the current bullets
and breasts genre, it might now be called a "chick flick".
slbarger wrote:
Yes, IMDB... James Agee wrote the book (couldn't bring his name to mind) produced in 1963. I
remember liking it, and remember the line uttered by the Robert Preston character "We all come
so far from who we are." - or something like that.
All right. I always find myself a little stuck in respect to
terminology when the discussion takes this turn.
Clearly, there are many movies that don't have a traditional narrative
structure and none of the comments that I've made previously apply to
those kinds of movies. "Radio Days" doesn't establish its central
problem in the first scene or the fiftieth. It doesn't really have
one. And it works fine.
The trouble is, when somebody says, "I'm going to tell you a story," I
pretty much expect that it's going to something that is framed in
terms of a problem and somebody acting to solve it.
I don't know if you'd call "Radio Days" a "story" -- at least in that
traditional sense as I understand it. I'd have to say that, while
there are smaller stories within it, as a whole, it doesn't really
have a story. It's a different kind of work.
So I don't know quite what to call those movies that lack large scale
central problems and protagonists and complications and resolutions --
these sort of "non-story" stories.
What in the world would be the logline for something like "Radio Days"
-- not that it ever really had one, I suspect.
And so -- I guess when I offer up the advice in reference to stories
-- I'm talking about that category of narrative that is traditionally
thought of as a "story" -- somebody has a problem. They try to solve
it. If you start off saying, "No, that's not the kind of thing I want
to do. I'm not going to have a central problem" -- well, first of all,
good luck to you, because that's a real tough thing to pull off
successfully -- but also, obviously, there's no need to introduce the
central problem early, given that you don't have one.
But if you are telling a story, that has a central problem, and
somebody who needs to solve it -- I still firmly believe that the
problem should be introduced early. Within the first few scenes.
NMS
> I've been a reader for one of the contests, and I
> can tell you that the story had damn well better start quick and tell me
> where it's going, or I start assuming that it's never going to try to tell
> an interesting story
Then that's your priority. It's not as if some of those Hollywood script
competitions aren't resolutely commmercial. But I don't tend to want to SEE
the OVER plot-driven movie (give me Kieslowski over Lucas any time) so I
don't tend to write them. Not everyone here IS writing on spec. I write for
myself to direct or for people who have hired me. That being the case we try
to push things a little further. Narrative may well usually be necessary,
but it IS interesting to stretch it in my view.
> If the
> director/producer/star want to tack on ten minutes of mood stuff at the
> beginning, let them make that decision.
In my experience, if that kind of stuff is NOT in the script it probably
isn't going to be put in later. More likley, given prevailing pressures,
that even if it IS in there it will be taken out.
Gary
----------
In article <a8f80314.01090...@posting.google.com>,
nmst...@msn.com (nmstevens) wrote:
> And so -- I guess when I offer up the advice in reference to stories
> -- I'm talking about that category of narrative that is traditionally
> thought of as a "story" -- somebody has a problem. They try to solve
> it. If you start off saying, "No, that's not the kind of thing I want
> to do. I'm not going to have a central problem" -- well, first of all,
> good luck to you, because that's a real tough thing to pull off
> successfully -- but also, obviously, there's no need to introduce the
> central problem early, given that you don't have one.
>
Grief, I know what you mean, but there are many mainstream films that
don't exactly fulfill this very simple criteria. One of my favourites -
Picnic at Hanging Rock - certainly does not have this basis. In no special
order A Man for All Seasons. Field of Dreams. Onibaba. The Last Picture
Show. Many others.
----------
In article <9640-3B9...@storefull-115.iap.bryant.webtv.net>,
com...@webtv.net (Tom McDonough) wrote:
> Poor Paula reads omnivorously with practically no results.
No, probably reads a little with no results.
Sorry P.
>But if you are telling a story, that has a central problem, and
>somebody who needs to solve it -- I still firmly believe that the
>problem should be introduced early. Within the first few scenes.
>
>NMS
This works for me.
I liken myself to a bus driver when writing a movie script. I own the
friggin' bus and my first order of business is to...
1. Get as many people onto the bus as soon as I can. (Why not!?)
2. Give them the best possible ride that I can. (You want them to
ride again.)
Doug
> So where do you begin? Page 1. The shark attacks.
>
This is a Rule, right? Like in the Top Ten Rules for Writing a
Screenplay? Or just thrillers? Or just Speilberg thrillers? Let's
see -- AFI voted Psycho the top thriller of all time, number one.
That starts right off with a statement of the Problem, which is that
Janet Leigh isn't getting enough to eat, because she's spending her
lunch hour having sex instead of dinner. So the rest of the movie
shows her in pursuit of a decent meal.
BobT
Man, a bus driver with attitude who wants to take us on an exciting ride.
What's the matter -- didn't qualify for the Indianapolis 500? mean, if I
was on a bus, I really wouldn't want an exciting ride -- just getting from A
to B is enough for me.
Seriously, Doug, wouldn't this concept work better with a roller coaster
than a bus?
>> 1. Get as many people onto the bus as soon as I can.
>> 2. Give them the best possible ride that I can.
On one hand, every artist wants a big audience, since
attention is the currency of art.
Homer and Shakespeare command the most attention over the
longest period -- so they are considered to be among the
greatest writers.
On the other hand, a classic is also something that has bored
the most students, the longest; and most people in the world
ignore it, in favor of sensation and immediate gratifications.
But great artists will tell you that they're only trying to
please themselves: because when they try to please everyone --
they please no one (i.e., Hollywood).
>voted Psycho the top thriller of all time, number one.
>That starts right off with a statement of the Problem,
>which is that Janet Leigh isn't getting enough to eat,
>because she's spending her lunch hour having sex instead
>of dinner. So the rest of the movie shows her in pursuit
>of a decent meal.
Actually, that's the plot of _2001 <spoilers in the
next paragraph>:
The apes eat raw meat; the astronauts eat synthetic
paste; and when the old apparition finally sits down
at a table at the end: he breaks his cup and is too
weak to eat and must lie down and get reincarnated
into a baby sucking his thumb.
"Ah, Humanity!"
-- Melville
_Bartleby, the Scrivener_
I'm surprised that Brick hasn't noticed to backwards interrobang.
>>1. Get as many people onto the bus as soon as I can. (Why not!?)
>
>I'm surprised that Brick hasn't noticed to backwards interrobang.
I did. I did. But I figured Doug was worried about Dennis Hopper wiring a bomb
to his speedometer, so I let it slide.
Nesci
"You live in an age when people would package and standardize your life for you
- steal it from you and sell it back to you at a price. That price is very
high." -- Granny D.
The FAQ for m.w.s is http://www.communicator.com/faqs.html
Act 1, Scene 1:
It was a dark and stormy night. [...]
Lars J
--
This is your life and it's ending one minute at a time.
I am sorry for my impudent remarks. I just learned about your bus company,
"Magical Mystery Tours."
>Man, a bus driver with attitude who wants to take us on an exciting ride.
>What's the matter -- didn't qualify for the Indianapolis 500? mean, if I
>was on a bus, I really wouldn't want an exciting ride -- just getting from A
>to B is enough for me.
>Seriously, Doug, wouldn't this concept work better with a roller coaster
>than a bus?
Quite possibly, Adam. But I don't know how to drive a roller coaster.
And a roller coaster is always so restricted by location. Ya just
can't get away from that cheap tin-speakered carney music.
Vrrrrrroooooom!
Doug
>Vrrrrrroooooom!
Uh, Doug?
Oh, never mind.
>In article <PvWl7.7506$C57.8...@news1.telusplanet.net>,
> "Adam Fulford" <ad...@fulford.com> wrote:
>>
>><Douglas...@newman.com> wrote in message
>>news:3b982a56...@allnews.nbnet.nb.ca...
>>> On 6 Sep 2001 13:52:48 -0700, nmst...@msn.com (nmstevens)
>wrote:
>>>
>>> 1. Get as many people onto the bus as soon as I can.
>
>>> 2. Give them the best possible ride that I can.
>On one hand, every artist wants a big audience, since
>attention is the currency of art.
>
>Homer and Shakespeare command the most attention over the
>longest period -- so they are considered to be among the
>greatest writers.
>
>On the other hand, a classic is also something that has bored
>the most students, the longest; and most people in the world
>ignore it, in favor of sensation and immediate gratifications.
Uh huh, because a classic has been around the longest and most people
in the world ignore it...
>But great artists will tell you that they're only trying to
>please themselves: because when they try to please everyone --
>they please no one (i.e., Hollywood).
Well, at the moment, I don't consider myself to be a "great artist"
and I don't happen to consider that to be a "career goal", as least
for me, at this time.
I don't rub shoulders with any self-proclaimed "great artists" in my
neck of the woods, so they really couldn't tell me that they only
please themselves anyway. (And if a "great artist" ever *did* tell me
that, I'd have to tell them that I thought they were being perhaps a
tad self-indulgent.)
The point is, perhaps, "Why do we write?". I suspect that there are
a great variety of reasons why a person might want to write, and it's
entirely possible and even very likely that there would be multiple
reasons. There are for me, for instance. The more reasons, the
better!
Doesn't that sound good, everyone?
The more reasons the better?
Doug
>Douglas of Newman,
>
>I am sorry for my impudent remarks. I just learned about your bus company,
>"Magical Mystery Tours."
Yes, Adam. And for every tour... there is a price.
Doug
>>From: jea...@aol.com (Jeaibe)
>
>>>1. Get as many people onto the bus as soon as I can. (Why not!?)
>>
>>I'm surprised that Brick hasn't noticed to backwards interrobang.
>
>I did. I did. But I figured Doug was worried about Dennis Hopper wiring a bomb
>to his speedometer, so I let it slide.
>
>Nesci
I'm still trying to get out from under my pile of Sucking Dead
Bunnie's Debt...
Ok, Brick. Last offer. I paint your house and we call it square?
Doug
Just a virtual guy... in a virtual world.
>I'm still trying to get out from under my pile of Sucking Dead
>Bunnie's Debt...
>
>Ok, Brick. Last offer. I paint your house and we call it square?
Call it what you will, Senor Maritimer, but my house is rectangular. With a
smidgen of hexagonal thrown in.
No deal.
As I recall, the opening scene of Psycho establishes that Janet Leigh
is desperate for a permanent relationship with Sam, which she can't
have because they don't have enough money. That establishes the
central problem of "her" story -- which ends when she decides to go
back home and return the money. BY then, we're already primed with our
knowledge about Mom "going a bit mad sometimes" -- and so when she's
stabbed to death, it no longer has anything to do with her story. It's
now a major complication in Norman's story -- his crazy mother has
just killed something. By that time, Norman's problem has already been
established (within the first few scenes of our meeting him) -- he has
a mother whom he loves, but who goes crazy every so often. Then,
later, when the sister is introduced, we have (in that very first
scene when we meet her)her problem -- namely that her sister has
vanished mysteriously and she needs to find out what happened to her.
Psycho, like Pulp Fiction, is really three stories, connected by some
shared characters, but overall by thematic concerns. And the problems
of each of those stories -- Marion's, Norman's, and the sister's --
are introduced almost as soon as we meet the respective characters.
And indeed it is a very good movie -- and the fact that it sets up the
problems of each of its characters' stories early is one of the
reasons that it is.
NMS
This seems to me to be stretching a lot.
"Titanic" (not that I like it) is another movie that takes a long time to
get ti its central story. It didn't seem to worry most.
Gary
>>From: DouglasOfNewman
>
>>I'm still trying to get out from under my pile of Sucking Dead
>>Bunnie's Debt...
>>
>>Ok, Brick. Last offer. I paint your house and we call it square?
>
>Call it what you will, Senor Maritimer, but my house is rectangular. With a
>smidgen of hexagonal thrown in.
>
>No deal.
>
>Nesci
Damn you, Senor Brick! You've outwitted me once again with your agile
use of the portable math and compass set.
I count myself lucky. You could have been packin' a parallelogram.
(which is illegal in this country.)
>"Titanic" (not that I like it) is another movie
>that takes a long time to get to its central story.
Actually, the central character conflicts are revealed
immediately: Jack begins by gambling his future; Rose is on a
journey to the "prison of marriage."
Her first narration clearly states that while the ride is a
vacation for most -- for her it's a slave barge.
Cal's character immediately reveals that his fiancee is
property to him -- like her Picasso paintings which he
disdains.
I think it was supposed to be Cameron's attempt at humor
-- that she brings a bunch of Picasso's most famous paintings
onto a sinking ship. Funny, they didn't look wet when I saw
them 75 years later.
_Titanic, for all its soggy schmaltz and bombast -- is a
paradigmatic Hollywood disaster melodrama: the doomed lovers
are introduced early; get into trouble with various authority
figures in act ii; and try to escape their initial fate during
act iii.
Cal's character is too 1-dimensional comic book
moustache-twirling scum -- but I was thinking that if he were
humanized, then Cameron was probably afraid that it would make
Rose look like a slut for running off with the Bohemian: and
since it's a family tent-pole movie, it would make her look
adulterous, instead of a santized allegory for woman's
suffrage.
Part of the one dimensionality is Cameron's clunky limitation
in character development, since the narrative is foreshortened
Dickensenian didactic social class fable; but if the movie
were rated-R and Cal was humanized and shaded: then the
heroine could've been portrayed as bed-hopping out of genuine
girlish adventure and curiosity.
Also, what bugged me was that the lifeboats weren't rocking
in a fierce wind -- since we see the daytime water as choppy
with big waves: but at night (since theyre on a set with water
tubs) -- the boats look like they're in a bathtub instead of
the icy north atlantic.
It's at least 10 minutes into the movie before we even see Rose or Jack.
We begin in the modern day. The "young" Rose appears even later.
Gary
>And indeed <_Psycho> is a very good movie --
It's more than "very good" -- it's one of the few scripts that
can be considered literary art in its spareness, irony, and
murderous pity for doomed, alienated, disenfranchised,
small-town Americana in the static prosperity of the
do-nothing Eishenhower late-1950's.
The funny part is that I can't think of one black person in
any of Hitchcock's 60+ movies. Maybe that's an exxageration
but Hitch sure was Mr. Whitey Bread.
>and the fact that it sets up the problems of each of
>its characters' stories early is one of the reasons
>that it is.
Hitchcock's early sound film: _Rich and Strange_ from about
1927, deals with his favorite themes of his early British
films: a young lower-middle class bored routinized married
couple goes on an adventure, and ends up glad for the boredom
of Home Sweet Home.
_Blackmail_ has the same working-class couple-in-a-jam
structure; also does the original _Man Who Knew Too Much_
-- with an upper-middle class/luxury couple on vacation (with
Peter Lorre as the villian).
_Psycho shatters any illusion of a nuclear family --
by showing 30-something socially-damaged and sexually
dissatisfied suburbanites.
In _Rich and Strange_ they immediately go on a trip -- but
suppose a story spent the whole first half hour having them go
through their daily routines -- with no hint of any conflict.
Then after a half-hour in the movie, they go on a major
bone-cracking adventure -- for an hour.
The last half-hour brings them crawling home with a new
perspective on the values of benign domesticity.
In such a scenario, the first half hour must consciously have
no central conflict, other than the purity of their quotidian
routines.
In such a scenario, their entrenched mundane existence is not
inflected until put into relief by the chaos of act ii. While
you're watching the beginning, it is relentlessly benign.
In _Rich and Strange_ the husband is immediately shown to be
unhappy with his domestic hamster wheel, but I think it would
be more interesting to show people living a happy life, and
then thrust into a maelstrom by pure bad luck -- and are
forced to adapt or be destroyed.
In such a scenario, the protagonists' conflict doesn't even
develop until they become fish-out-of-water -- and in the end,
while they are glad to return to normality, the point of the
film is that they take the daily grinds in the same gentle
stride as they navigate the bumps of wild adventure.
So, in that instance, there is never any central problem --
other than getting home.
>It's at least 10 minutes into the movie before we even see
Rose or Jack.
>We begin in the modern day. The "young" Rose appears even
>later.
The treasure hunter bookending the movie is a symbol for the
ambitious director himself: at the beginning, his central
problem is finding the diamond.
<spoiler in this paragraph:>
At the end he tosses his little phallic victory cigar
overboard unsmoked, after renouncing greed, not realizing
the old woman is about to toss the diamond overboard
(wherein he probably would've strangled her).
If you tore off the bookends of the movie and just had a
period piece, then the doomed lovers are given individual
social and emotional conflicts immediately (however sappy).
If you add the bookends, the bounty hunter's central problem
of greed -- is established immediately.
Personally, I would've rather watched the old woman making him
go south on her in her stateroom in exchange for telling him
the location of the diamond.
When I first saw it, I thought she was dreaming that she threw
it back.
> >It's at least 10 minutes into the movie before we even see
> Rose or Jack.
>
> >We begin in the modern day. The "young" Rose appears even
> >later.
>
> The treasure hunter bookending the movie is a symbol for the
> ambitious director himself: at the beginning, his central
> problem is finding the diamond.
Maybe. But it's not the central story. Or the "problem" of the central
story. In the scheme of things it's pretty trivial. Many of those who did
like "Titanic" almost seem to forget Bill Paxton was even in it.
Rose and Jack took their time to get going.
Gary
That's right. There are two interrelated stories. Two central
problems. You have a wraparound story, the problem of which is
introduced right up at the beginning of *that* story. And then you
have the main story, the problem of which is introduced right up front
at the beginning of *that* story.
In the scheme of things it's pretty trivial. Many of those who did
> like "Titanic" almost seem to forget Bill Paxton was even in it.
>
> Rose and Jack took their time to get going.
We knew the young Rose's problem, which the events of this story
solve, albeit at the cost of a gigantic ocean liner and thousands of
deaths, almost as soon as we meet her. The sinking of the Titanic is
not the central problem of this story. It is a complication in the
story. Rose's problem is the central problem. That's what drives the
movie. That's what the events of the main story explore and resolve.
Of course, now you have me trying to remember how "A Night To
Remember" begins -- since, clearly, the sinking of the Titanic *is*
the central problem of that movie. Anyone remember how soon after the
movie opens that it hits the iceberg?
NMS
I never said that the conflict needed to be established or underway in
the first few scenes. I never said that an "inciting incident" had to
happen in the first few scenes. I said that the "problem" had to be
established in the first few scenes. They are not the same thing.
You yourself, in your precis above, describe, precisely what the
problem is, as it is established at the beginning. They are stuck in a
humdrum domestic life that they want to break out of.
And there are lots of movies about people who start out living happy,
unconflicted lives until something comes along and screws around with
them. Poltergeist starts off with everything pretty much hunky-dory
for the family -- except right up front we've seen that something odd
is happening in the house and that the little girl is at the heart of
whatever it is. So, once again, even though the central characters, as
yet, don't even know that there is a problem -- and don't figure it
out for quite some time, WE, the audience, know that there is, and so
we can watch their happy domesticity in light of that knowledge - we
know that something bad is coming.
To do it the other way around -- to have a half hour of happy
domesticity, with no hint of any problem, and only *then* introduce
the problem -- to be honest, I think you'd have the audience ripping
down the screen.
Conflict arises when the protagonist acts to achieve his goal and
meets opposition. Before the conflict, you have to have established a
problem.
NMS
Presuming that you are somebody who goes in and sits down to watch
Psycho, knowing nothing about Norman being his own mother. First scene
-- Marion with her lover -- they don't have the money to get married.
Next scene -- the office. The guy comes in with the money, which is
given to Marion to deposit.
Okay. Where is the story going? What is it about?
Answer -- Marion is, stupidly, going to steal the money to try to buy
a new life with her boyfriend.
And that's exactly what she does. And that problem -- her trying to
get to Sam with the money, is the only problem addressed up until
Norman and his eccentric mother come on the scene. Marion undergoes a
change of heart and resolves to return and face the consequences.
That's the end of that story. Of her story. And then she's killed.
Honestly, I don't know what's being stretched. It's not as if we have
forty minutes of a woman going on a road trip with no problem and no
issue and no story -- only to have her abruptly killed. The first part
of Psycho has a story -- Marion's story. And that story has a central
problem that has nothing to do with her being attacked and killed by
Norman's mother. And that central problem is established right up
front.
So where, exactly, is the stretch?
>The first part of Psycho has a story -- Marion's story. And
>that story has a central problem that has nothing to do with
>her being attacked and killed by Norman's mother. And that
>central problem is established right up front.
Your analysis makes perfect sense because _Psycho is a near
flawless narrative construction.
However, one of the few problems I have with the script is
that Arbogast calls Lila from the motel to tell her that
Marion had been there before she died -- and that the desk
clerk was acting suspiciously; and that Arbogast will contact
Lila in an hour (just before he is killed).
The problem is that Arbogast was hired by the drunken real
estate magnate -- so why isn't Arbogast calling him with the
information?
You could argue that Arbogast felt sorry (as Lila points out
later) for Lila and Sam, but you would think after Arbogast
was so professionally determined to visit all those motels:
that he would at least contact his employer after calling
Lila.
In fact, only Lila and Sam pursue the disappearance that night
and the next day with Sheriff Chambers: but the guy who lost
his $40K (plus Marion's boss) -- are never heard from again,
even after the order of the social structure is restored when
Norman is captured and psychoanalyzed by the shrink's long
monologue in the police station.
Obviously, you don't need them to tie up the story -- but
since the illicit $40K was the catalyst which unites both
stories of Marion and Norman, it's strange that the owner of
the money is dropped -- halfway through -- from the story.
Incidentally, the introductory shot of Arbogast (a menacing
medium close-up staring into the hardware store from behind
glass)-- was used almost exactly by the blackmailer in
Hitchcock's _Blackmail_.
In the script, Arbogast was said to have "an uneasy smile" --
and Hitchcock uses both these characters visually as symbols
of the repressive authoritarian super-ego.
When Arbogast finally loses his expedient private
investigator's hostility toward Lila, Sam (while increasing
his hostility toward Norman) -- while warming up to Lila --
Arbogast is immediately killed viciously.
When Norman's benign milk-and-sandwich-eating pre-oedipal
momma's boy feels threatened by Arbogast's authoritarian
questioning -- a transference occurs: Norman becomes hostile
and murderous, while Arbogast pays with his life for
momentary letting down his authoritarian persona and
empathizing with Lila, while not calling his own employer.
Norman's repressed libido suddenly and irrevocably punishes
Arbogast for Arbogast's momentary lapse of expedience.
Trivia: Five or six years later, Martin Balsam (who played
Arbogast) was originally cast to play the voice of HAL 9000
computer in Kubrick's _2001. Kubrick decided to use Douglas
Rain's voice instead, because it had a more "bland
mid-atlantic tone."
But, the year before _Psycho_ -- Balsam was seen in _Twelve
Angry Men_ -- playing a passive mediating jury foreman. His
teeth are synthetic: white and clean. In _Psycho, which came
afterward: he's got his natural twisted front teeth with a
crooked space: "the uneasy smile," required by the script.
Conversely, in _2001, it was his "uneasy voice" which Kubrick
replaced by the smooth, adolescent, effeminate sound of
Douglas Rain.
This is interesting because the narrative of _2001 is based on
the same structure as _Psycho. Both use the
"monster-in-the-basement" paradigm.
HAL, and Norman are both lonely naifs, trapped in boring
existential occupations. Norman runs a lonely motel with no
guests, routinely changing the linens every week like
clockwork: HAL runs the quiet spaceship filled with
hibernating astronauts.
Both feel suddenly and combustibly insecure for multiple
murders -- first in panic, then in pre-meditation, as a
guilty cover-up.
When Marion dies after Norman spies on her voyeuristically:
the camera zooms in on her single eye in the bathtub. When
HAL is ticketed for disconnection, there's a close-up of his
cycloptic eye, lip-reading the astronauts' conversation.
Arbogast is killed: HAL is disconnected. If Kubrick had cast
Balsam for HAL's voice, imagine the historical irony.
It's been a while, but... isn't Lila assisting Arbogast with the
investigation? Also, the real estate magnate isn't so much interested
in Marion's safety; he just wants his money back. Lila is worried
about her sister. Would Arbogst call Real Estate Boy and tell him that
he's found a used car salesman who sold her a car? Would he call him
and tell him he spoke with a Highway Patrol cop who woke her up? Not
too likely, unless his employer is one to micromanage beyond belief.
Lila, on the other hand, would want to know more of the details about
her sister, and could also be a source of information for Arbogast.
"So, I'm out here on Route 19, headed south... ring any bells? You
gals have any family out this way? Someplace she might have been
headed?"
It doesn't seem like that much of a problem, to me.
> In fact, only Lila and Sam pursue the disappearance that night
> and the next day with Sheriff Chambers:
Not too surprising, given that Arbogast hasn't checked in with his
employer yet. It might be days before he even knows his free-lance
employee has been killed. In the late 1950s, a PI out on the road
following up a missing persons case might not check in every _week_,
let alone every day. Given that the client is just her employer (and
so doesn't know a lot about her personal life, and so isn't likely to
be able to add a lot to any clues that come up), pretty much any report
that doesn't start out "I've found her" reads as just "I haven't found
her yet."
> but the guy who lost
> his $40K (plus Marion's boss) -- are never heard from again,
> even after the order of the social structure is restored when
> Norman is captured and psychoanalyzed by the shrink's long
> monologue in the police station.
But the money is. The cops (IIRC - it's been a while) mention that
it's been sunk with the car; niether Norman nor his mother had any
interest in it. Real Estate Boy will be notified, in due time -
someone will call him in the morning to tell him that his money was
recovered, along with the rest of the details. But he's not likely to
get on a train and head out to pick it up himself; at most, someone
from the police department will have it wire transferred back to him
> Obviously, you don't need them to tie up the story -- but
> since the illicit $40K was the catalyst which unites both
> stories of Marion and Norman, it's strange that the owner of
> the money is dropped -- halfway through -- from the story.
Not really - it's a catalyst, but not even a McGuffin. Really, it's
only a part of Marion's story, so when Marion's story ends (with her
decision to go back and return the money), it ceases to be important.
The story is tied up (with regard to the money) at the very end, when
the cop mentioned that it was in the car, and that Norman (et al) had
no interest in it.
>This is interesting because the narrative of _2001 is based on
>the same structure as _Psycho. Both use the
>"monster-in-the-basement" paradigm.
That, actually, seems like a bit of a stretch.
>When Marion dies after Norman spies on her voyeuristically:
>the camera zooms in on her single eye in the bathtub. When
>HAL is ticketed for disconnection, there's a close-up of his
>cycloptic eye, lip-reading the astronauts' conversation.
>
>Arbogast is killed: HAL is disconnected.
By this logic, the HAL 9000 is now Norman, and Marion, and Arbogast.
--
Life Continues, Despite
Evidence to the Contrary
Steven
> > > The treasure hunter bookending the movie is a symbol for the
> > > ambitious director himself: at the beginning, his central
> > > problem is finding the diamond.
> >
> > Maybe. But it's not the central story. Or the "problem" of the central
> > story.
>
> That's right. There are two interrelated stories. Two central
> problems. You have a wraparound story, the problem of which is
> introduced right up at the beginning of *that* story. And then you
> have the main story, the problem of which is introduced right up front
> at the beginning of *that* story.
This is what I dislike about some of the insistence on formula thinking. The
use of reverse engineering and the stretching of terms so that they become
meaningless. Any number of times characters have gone through a whole movie
without niticeably changing, as jack does in this one, and people who are so
insistent on "arcs" will say "of course he arced, he went from living to
dead", which - in dramatic terms is not an arc.
Ask a million people out there what the central story of "Titanic" is and
almost none will tell you it has ANYTHING to do with Bill Paxton. If any old
problem - which we are going to drop after twenty minutes - will do in the
first few pages then the idea starts to become meaningless.
> > Rose and Jack took their time to get going.
>
> We knew the young Rose's problem, which the events of this story
> solve, albeit at the cost of a gigantic ocean liner and thousands of
> deaths, almost as soon as we meet her.
To the extent of bad writing caricature, but it's Rose and jack who are at
the centre of the film, and we meet first Paxton, THEN old Rose, THEN young
Rose. And this slowness in getting going fazed the audience not in the
least.
> Of course, now you have me trying to remember how "A Night To
> Remember" begins -- since, clearly, the sinking of the Titanic *is*
> the central problem of that movie. Anyone remember how soon after the
> movie opens that it hits the iceberg?
A long long time. The opening of the movie is Kenneth More leaving his wife,
and travelling to the port by train to get on the boat. The movie also cuts
to Irish immigrants leaving to get on the boat.
Gary
--
"nmstevens" <nmst...@msn.com> wrote in message
news:a8f80314.01090...@posting.google.com...
> > > As I recall, the opening scene of Psycho establishes that Janet Leigh
> > > is desperate for a permanent relationship with Sam, which she can't
> > > have because they don't have enough money. That establishes the
> > > central problem of "her" story -- which ends when she decides to go
> > > back home and return the money.
> >
> > This seems to me to be stretching a lot.
>
> Presuming that you are somebody who goes in and sits down to watch
> Psycho, knowing nothing about Norman being his own mother. First scene
> -- Marion with her lover -- they don't have the money to get married.
> Next scene -- the office. The guy comes in with the money, which is
> given to Marion to deposit.
Earlier you disagreed with someone who said that expectations formed by
marketing and what goes on outside the cinema by any leeway in following the
formula. Now you are invoking that.
The work has to stand by itself. Those oyutside expectations are not
relevant. And, in fact, every effort was made to stop people knowing that
before the movie began. When I first saw it i had no idea what it was about.
> So where, exactly, is the stretch?
The stretch is that this is not the central problem of the movie. It's
essentially a prologue.
Even if you believe in the formula to the exclusion of all else, there's no
shame in admitting that not EVERY successful movie folllows it you know.
Gary
>> Arbogast calls Lila from the motel to tell her that
>> Marion had been there before she died -- and that the desk
>> clerk was acting suspiciously; and that Arbogast will
>> contact Lila in an hour (just before he is killed).
>>
>> The problem is that Arbogast was hired by the drunken real
>> estate magnate -- so why isn't Arbogast calling him with
>> the information?
>the real estate magnate isn't so much interested
>in Marion's safety; he just wants his money back.
That's my point: After a week of dead ends
Arbogast confirms that Marion was there --
and Abrogast is suspicious enough of
Norman to all but accuse him of "gallantly
protecting" her for a price: "you would know
if you were being used, wouldn't you?"
Norman is apoplectically defensive:
"I'm not capable of being fooled: not
even by a woman."
Arbogast: "I wasn't making a slur on your manhood."
Norman: "<...> She may have fooled me, but she didn't
fool my mother."
Arbogast: "Oh, so your mother did meet her! Can
I talk to your mother for a minute?"
Norman: "No -- she's an inva -- inval -- invalid --
Arbogast: "<...> sick old women can be pretty sharp. Maybe
there's some detail you missed..."
****
Arbogast is only concerned with the money --
not about Marion's welfare. He still believes
she's guilty of theft -- and has no reason to
think she's in danger, let alone a victim of murder.
Admittedly, he feels sorry for Lila -- and tells
her that he's deduced that Sam did not help Marion
steal the money. But still, he should've at least
asked Lila to call Marion's boss and let them know
he's got a lead at the Bates' Motel.
Also, since Arbogast is employed by the Real Estate
Mogul -- Sheriff Chambers should have contacted the
employer before proceeding with the investigation
after Arbogast disappeared.
>
>It doesn't seem like that much of a problem, to me.
It's only the end of the world for Arbo.
>> In fact, only Lila and Sam pursue the disappearance
>> that night and the next day with Sheriff Chambers:
>
>Not too surprising, given that Arbogast hasn't
>checked in with his employer yet. It might be days
>before he even knows his free-lance employee has
>been killed.
He's got $40K of undeclared cash on the loose.
He's not interested in Arbogast. He's probably
sitting by the phone -- but not even the sheriff
calls him before they solve the crime and the murder.
>In the late 1950s, a PI out on the road
>following up a missing persons case might
>not check in every _week_, let alone every day.
After a whole week of checking motels --
he's finally found where she stayed with
the forty grand. I think he would've
contacted his employer immediately
with great excitement that they've
located an actual trail for the money.
Narratively, you could attribute it to
a momentary lapse in his authority in
surrender to his empathy for the sister.
But he pays for this humanistic lapse,
with his life, moments later.
>Given that the client is just her employer (and
>so doesn't know a lot about her personal life,
>and so isn't likely to be able to add a lot to
>any clues that come up), pretty much any report
>that doesn't start out "I've found her" reads
>as just "I haven't found her yet."
You're going down the wrong road: he's not
reporting on her. He's looking for the
$40K and he's just got his first confirmation
of her whereabouts in a week's worth of
dead ends.
He doesn't climb those stairs to his death,
worrying for Marion's safety. He still thinks
Marion might be bribing the mother and son to keep
quiet.
My point is that the reason he doesn't call his boss, is
because he succumbs to a momentary lapse of expedience, owing
to his empathy for the worried sister.
This is the theme of the film: repressed libidinous affections
which find sudden expression, are immediately punished by
death.
When Marion is killed in the shower: it's really Norman's
personality being killed by Mrs. Bates -- for his
repressed lust.
When Arobgast is killed by Mrs. Bates: Arbogast is being
punished for his not-calling his boss, and succumbing to
momentary empathy for the sister he just accused.
He digresses from his functional loyalty to his employer, and
wants to absolve himself for accusing the sister: but he pays
mortally for that privilege.
That tug-of-war between the bullying libido and the
sympathetic conscience -- was Hitchcock's narrative trademark.
(snip)
All true.
But none of it is a reason to call Real Estate Boy - at least, not yet.
Forget about Lila completely. Remove her from the equation, just for
the moment. Here's Arbogast's situation - he's been hired to find a
woman who absconded with a large chunk of cash, by her employer/victim.
He's been combing hotels and motels in a likely direction for a week
or so, with no luck so far.
Now, he runs across a place where the clerk is a little twitchy, and he
thinks the guy might have an idea where she is, or where she's gone, or
at least when she was there last.
Is this enough of a reason to call the client?
It still boils down to, "I haven't found the money yet," and there's
nothing that the client is likely to be able to add to the information
that Arbogast has come up with in the field. We also don't know if
Arbogast had called to check in just the day before, or if he's waiting
to have more substantial information before he calls.
> Arbogast is only concerned with the money --
> not about Marion's welfare. He still believes
> she's guilty of theft -- and has no reason to
> think she's in danger, let alone a victim of murder.
Exactly. He's looking for a live, healthy Marion who's trying to hide,
so calling Real Estate Boy isn't going to do him any good - REB doesn't
know where Marion is, or might be. That's why he hired Arbogast..
But, remember Lila?
Lila is Marion's sister, and Lila's worried about her sister's safety.
Doesn't matter that Arbogast isn't, he knows that Lila is, and that
makes Lila a good source of information. She not only knows her sister
much better than either Arbogast or her former employer, but she's also
less likely to try to help the sister escape, if she's genuinely
concerned for her safety.
> Admittedly, he feels sorry for Lila -- and tells
> her that he's deduced that Sam did not help Marion
> steal the money. But still, he should've at least
> asked Lila to call Marion's boss and let them know
> he's got a lead at the Bates' Motel.
Again, why? Real Estate Boy isn't looking for Marion, except that she
has or can point him to the missing money. The Highway Patrol cop and
the used car salesman were also leads; would he have called those in to
the client as well, or just followed up on them?
A private investigator will follow up on perhaps dozens of leads, most
of which will turn out to be dead ends. If he's working for a client
who has a life outside of the investigation, he's not going to call and
report in every time something promising pops up. He's going to check
in on a schedule, when he needs more money, or when he has something
concrete to report.
> Also, since Arbogast is employed by the Real Estate
> Mogul -- Sheriff Chambers should have contacted the
> employer before proceeding with the investigation
> after Arbogast disappeared.
We don't really know that he didn't. What would the client have told
the sheriff, anyway? That Arbogast was looking for a woman named
Marion Crane, who stole a wad of cash from him... didn't the sheriff
already know this?
> > It doesn't seem like that much of a problem, to me.
>
> It's only the end of the world for Arbo.
But of course, Arbogast didn't know that. First week on a missing
persons case, subject has a fistful of cash and could be on a plane or
train to Canada, Mexico, or almost anywhere else... all he's got is a
motel where a week ago, she might have spent the night, or might not
have...
> > > In fact, only Lila and Sam pursue the disappearance
> > > that night and the next day with Sheriff Chambers:
> >
> > Not too surprising, given that Arbogast hasn't
> > checked in with his employer yet. It might be days
> > before he even knows his free-lance employee has
> > been killed.
>
> He's got $40K of undeclared cash on the loose.
...and a professional private investigator out looking for it, so he's
back leading his normal life. When Arbogast has something to report,
he'll call.
> He's not interested in Arbogast. He's probably
> sitting by the phone -- but not even the sheriff
> calls him before they solve the crime and the murder.
Real Estate Boy doesn't have any idea there's been a murder, let alone
two. He's just after his $40K.
The sheriff, on the other hand, is looking at a slightly larger problem
- local businessman Norman Bates has gone nuts, has been keeping his
dead mother in the attic, has killed a couple of young women and dumped
the bodies in the pond, and has now killed a big-city PI and is sitting
in a cell convinced that he's his own dead mother.
Oh, yeah, and there's a bundle of cash in the trunk of the car they
pulled out of the lagoon. Somebody'll have to call the PI's client and
let him know, as soon as we get a handle on the rest of this. Maybe
tomorrow, after the judge decides whether the money has to be held as
evidence...
> After a whole week of checking motels --
> he's finally found where she stayed with
> the forty grand. I think he would've
> contacted his employer immediately
> with great excitement that they've
> located an actual trail for the money.
But like I said, it really isn't such great news - yet. It's a lead,
nothing more. A motel where she might have stayed, or might not have.
A twitchy clerk who might know exactly where she is, or who might just
have handed her the key in the evening and found it hanging in the knob
the next morning. The call to the employer still boils down to, "I
haven't found your money yet, but I have an idea about a guy who might
know where the woman who stole it was, a few days ago..." Not a call
to get greatly excited about, on either end.
> > Given that the client is just her employer (and
> > so doesn't know a lot about her personal life,
> > and so isn't likely to be able to add a lot to
> > any clues that come up), pretty much any report
> > that doesn't start out "I've found her" reads
> > as just "I haven't found her yet."
>
> You're going down the wrong road: he's not
> reporting on her. He's looking for the
> $40K and he's just got his first confirmation
> of her whereabouts in a week's worth of
> dead ends.
Right - he's looking for the money. But the only lead _anyone_ has is
that she's the one who stole it, so step one is going to be finding
her.
Which he hasn't done yet.
All he has is a lead - and not the first one - that might lead him to
her. Or not. And she might still have the money, or not. She might
claim to never have had the money. No matter how you slice it, it's
still too early to call the client.
> He doesn't climb those stairs to his death,
> worrying for Marion's safety. He still thinks
> Marion might be bribing the mother and son to keep
> quiet.
Or any of a thousand other possibilities - the very least likely of
which is that the missing $40K will be wrapped up with a bow at the top
of the stair, with a nice note apologizing for the inconvenience. It's
still too early to call the client.
> My point is that the reason he doesn't call his boss, is
> because he succumbs to a momentary lapse of expedience, owing
> to his empathy for the worried sister.
If you find that version thematically resonant, then great - go with
God and enjoy your version of the movie. It still seems much more
likely (to me) that he's calling the sister because he thinks the
sister might be able to help him out in his investigation.
> This is the theme of the film: repressed libidinous affections
> which find sudden expression, are immediately punished by
> death.
But libido and empathy are very, very different things. You're
stretching your interpretation beyond the bounds of reason; reverse
engineering the film's story(s) to fit your format, so to speak.
> When Marion is killed in the shower: it's really Norman's
> personality being killed by Mrs. Bates -- for his
> repressed lust.
Really? Then why wasn't Norman's personality already dead from the
_first_ time mother killed a girl Norman had the hots for? Remember,
Marion Crane wasn't the first.
> When Arbogast is killed by Mrs. Bates: Arbogast is being
> punished for his not-calling his boss, and succumbing to
> momentary empathy for the sister he just accused.
Again, a moment of pseudo-empathy for a stranger seems like it's in a
whole different ballpark from Norman's repressed lust.
> He digresses from his functional loyalty to his employer, and
> wants to absolve himself for accusing the sister: but he pays
> mortally for that privilege.
"Absolve himself for accusing the sister?" Again, it seems like a bit
of a stretch. He's investigating the disappearance of Marion Crane and
the $40K. He gets Norman to say that his mother might have had a
conversation with a woman who might or might not have been Marion
Crane. He goes up to talk to her himself, which seems a very
reasonable, responsible, and even functionally loyal thing to do, under
the circumstances. He gets killed, not for abandoning his job, or for
lust (repressed or otherwise), or for a momentary lapse in efficiency,
but because he's a threat to Norman's world. Just like Marion was (by
arousing his repressed sexuality), and the previous victim was (ditto),
and even Norman's flesh-and-blood mother was, when she had the affair
he discovered (which caused him to kill her in the first place).
> That tug-of-war between the bullying libido and the
> sympathetic conscience -- was Hitchcock's narrative trademark.
Perhaps one of them, but the list of Hitchcock's narrative trademarks
is long and varied.
>A motel where she might have stayed, or might not have.
This is where your analysis falls apart.
He *knows* Marion stayed there after seeing her name in the
register.
He tells Lila, and informs her that contrary to his previous
accusation against her and Sam, he now feels that Sam is
innocent.
Despite her excitement and agitation, he tells her to stay
put, and that he'll be back in an hour, but makes no mention
to, or of, his employer (Tom Cassidy, the lubricious oil exec
and real estate buyer) before going into the Bates house to
get killed.
It's clear Cassidy is no longer needed in the story, and after
the long expositional phone call to Lila -- bringing Cassidy
back would only complicate the narrative, and he would need to
be accomodated in the later scenes.
In the original script by James Cavanaugh (who was hired for
Hitchcock by Hitch's producer, Joan Harrison) -- Sam and Lila
fall into a passionate romance at the Bates Motel while
investigating.
Hitchcock then paid Cavanaugh his remaining salary and had
someone inform him that they were hiring a new writer.
In the completed film, most scenes (excepting the opening
motel tryst) up to this point were based on Cavanaugh's draft,
but after the next writer: Joseph Stefano came on board to
re-work the second half -- he and Hitchcock agreed that a
sexual relationship between Marion's sister and boyfriend was
an insult and dilution of the gravity of Marion's death.
> In article <9nfaoc$1tu4$1...@zook.lafn.org>,
> az...@lafn.org (Steven J. Weller) wrote:
>
> >A motel where she might have stayed, or might not have.
>
> This is where your analysis falls apart.
>
> He *knows* Marion stayed there after seeing her name in the
> register.
He knows someone named Marion stayed there.
A week ago.
But just for fun, let's say he _does_ know that it was, indeed, _the_
Marion Crane, the woman who stole the $40K, who was there a week ago.
She's got a lot of untraceable cash, a new car, there's no such thing
as a credit card to trace her, and she doesn't need a passport to get
into Canada or Mexico, or even ID (remember, this is the late 1950s) to
get on a plane, train, or bus.
How far away could she have gotten in a week? How deeply could she
bury herself with $40,000? A couple of weeks ago, I drove from
Michigan to Los Angeles in three days, and if I'd been using cash, I
never would have had to give anyone my name or other personal
information.
What reason is there to call Cassidy, just yet?
> He tells Lila, and informs her that contrary to his previous
> accusation against her and Sam, he now feels that Sam is
> innocent.
Right. Basic detective stuff. He followed up on what sounded like a
promising line of inquiry (the semi-secret lover with no money, that
actually _did_ motivate the crime), and when it seemed like it wasn't
panning out, changed his approach. But in a real-world situation, he
wouldn't have completely written Sam off as a co-conspirator. If he's
involved, then it's a better plan than he originally anticipated -
perhaps they were just waiting for an opportunity to put it into effect
when there was a large enough pile of cash on the table.
> Despite her excitement and agitation, he tells her to stay
> put, and that he'll be back in an hour, but makes no mention
> to, or of, his employer (Tom Cassidy, the lubricious oil exec
> and real estate buyer) before going into the Bates house to
> get killed.
Right, because there's nothing worth reporting yet. And why would he
talk about Cassidy to Lila or Sam, or ask Lila or Sam to talk to
Cassidy?
> It's clear Cassidy is no longer needed in the story, and after
> the long expositional phone call to Lila -- bringing Cassidy
> back would only complicate the narrative, and he would need to
> be accommodated in the later scenes.
Actually, it's clear that Cassidy is no longer a _part_ of the story.
Bringing him back into it would be as fruitless as bringing back
Marion's boss, or the gal who sat at the next desk. His function in
the narrative - as the voice of authority that's trying to bring Marion
to task for her transgression - has been taken over by his agent
Arbogast.
No, I am saying exactly the opposite. One who sits down and watches
the movie without knowing that Marion was going to be murdered would
conclude, at the beginning, that the problem dealt with Marion's
impulsive theft of $40,000 dollars.
Did you, watching it for the first time, having no idea what it was
about, come to some different conclusion?
>
> The work has to stand by itself. Those oyutside expectations are not
> relevant. And, in fact, every effort was made to stop people knowing that
> before the movie began. When I first saw it i had no idea what it was about.
>
> > So where, exactly, is the stretch?
>
> The stretch is that this is not the central problem of the movie. It's
> essentially a prologue.
The movie, as a whole, has no central problem. It has three stories,
each with a central problem, that are connected thematically. A story
problem is that which the central character or characters must act to
overcome in order to achieve their goals.
Marion has a problem. Norman has a problem. Lila has a problem. Three
different problems. Three different stories.
If you assert that Norman, the secret murderer, is the "central"
problem - then not only is Marian's story the "prologue" -- but
essentially the entire movie becomes a prologue. Norman the secret
killer isn't the problem that Marion acts to solve. It jumps on her
and kills her after she's decided to return the money. Norman the
secret killer isn't the problem that Norman has to solve -- he,
presumably, isn't even aware that he is the killer. And that leaves
Lila -- and, honestly, it's a "stretch" to suggest that, even in her
case, Norman the secret killer is the story problem that she has to
solve. Rather, Norman turns out to be the resolution to the problem
she's trying to solve -- the mystery of her disappeared sister.
>
> Even if you believe in the formula to the exclusion of all else, there's no
> shame in admitting that not EVERY successful movie folllows it you know.
I'm not particularly ashamed about it. I love latter day Fellini and I
don't think that any of this stuff about story problems, early,
middle, or late, has anything to with those films. And they work
brilliantly.
There are movies that aren't "stories" in the traditional sense. There
are also movies that consist of multiple stories and multiple
protagonists connected by common themes. Magnolia, whether one likes
it or not, does something like this. That movie, unlike Psycho, has a
prologue that lays out the large scale themes that are going to
connect the *multiple* interconnected stories that follow. Then, as
each story is introduced, we find out, early on in each, what the
central problems of each are going to be.
First time we meet Marion -- we find out what her problem is. Second
time we meet Norman, his putative problem (crazy mom) is established.
First time we meet Lila, her problem is established.
If there is some other central, overarching problem that all of the
central characters have to solve -- what is it? And how do they all
act to solve it? If the entire story of Marion is, as you suggest, a
prologue occupying close to half the length of the entire movie --
when does the story proper start? And who is the protagonist in that
late-starting story? Marion, just before she gets knifed? Norman?
Lila? Arbogast? Norman's Mom?
I don't know. It all seems to make perfect sense to me as three
interrelated stories, each with a protagonist who acts to solve a
separate problem, with the problem being introduced right up front as
each of the characters is introduced.
Look, for every paradigm, there's some pain in the ass genius who
violates it successfully. I'm perfectly aware of this, and I'm sure
that there are such examples, where story problems, neither external
to, nor internal to the central characters, genuinely aren't
introduced early -- and yet the story works.
But Psycho isn't one of them.
NMS
Well, in strictly a story sense -- why have such a scene? You need him
to call Lila so that Lila knows about Norman which then propels the
rest of the story. So would you have him make two calls? Or have him
finishing one call, with our not hearing its contents, "Yes, good-bye
Mr. Employer, I'll be back to you with the info" -- and then have him
call Lila? That wouldn't work, because everybody would be wondering
why we saw him call his employer.
Also, the purpose of scenes is to change the trajectory of a story.
His call to Lila changes *her* trajectory, by giving her new
information upon which she can act when Arbogast doesn't show up. But
if he calls the employer and says, "I talked to this guy. I think his
mother may know where Marion went. I'm going to go talk to her," --
what's the employer going to say, except, "Fine. Why are you making a
long distance call on my dime? Go talk to her."
Even presuming that a real detective would have called in -- and I'm
not sure that one would, without something a little more definite --
in movie terms, it would be a scene for the cutting room floor.
>
> You could argue that Arbogast felt sorry (as Lila points out
> later) for Lila and Sam, but you would think after Arbogast
> was so professionally determined to visit all those motels:
> that he would at least contact his employer after calling
> Lila.
>
> In fact, only Lila and Sam pursue the disappearance that night
> and the next day with Sheriff Chambers: but the guy who lost
> his $40K (plus Marion's boss) -- are never heard from again,
> even after the order of the social structure is restored when
> Norman is captured and psychoanalyzed by the shrink's long
> monologue in the police station.
I believe that the reason is simple. When Marion dies, her story is
over, and the issue of the $40,000 no longer plays any significant
part in either Norman's story (he never even knows about it), nor in
Lila's -- who's interested in her sister, not the money.
I think that the extent to which the money is addressed at the end '--
"Who got the money?" -- "The swamp. This was a crime of passion, not
profit" -- pretty much ties that end up as much as it warrants.
Again, after Norman's capture, are we really going to go back and have
a scene with the real estate guy bemoaning the loss of his money? Who
needs it?
>
> Obviously, you don't need them to tie up the story -- but
> since the illicit $40K was the catalyst which unites both
> stories of Marion and Norman, it's strange that the owner of
> the money is dropped -- halfway through -- from the story.
>
> Incidentally, the introductory shot of Arbogast (a menacing
> medium close-up staring into the hardware store from behind
> glass)-- was used almost exactly by the blackmailer in
> Hitchcock's _Blackmail_.
>
> In the script, Arbogast was said to have "an uneasy smile" --
> and Hitchcock uses both these characters visually as symbols
> of the repressive authoritarian super-ego.
>
> When Arbogast finally loses his expedient private
> investigator's hostility toward Lila, Sam (while increasing
> his hostility toward Norman) -- while warming up to Lila --
> Arbogast is immediately killed viciously.
>
> When Norman's benign milk-and-sandwich-eating pre-oedipal
> momma's boy feels threatened by Arbogast's authoritarian
> questioning -- a transference occurs: Norman becomes hostile
> and murderous, while Arbogast pays with his life for
> momentary letting down his authoritarian persona and
> empathizing with Lila, while not calling his own employer.
But that construction would only really work if there was another
course that Arbogast would have taken had he not softened toward Lila
and had called his employer that would have kept him from dying. If,
for instance, he'd had some other course open to him and, out of
sympathy to Lila, elected a different course -- namely going to see
Mom. But there's no suggestion that that's the case.
Clearly, as it's constructed, whether he called the guy or not,
whether he'd called Lila or not, he'd still have gone into the house,
and still been murdered. He knew that Norman was hiding something --
believed, because Norman told him, that his MOther had talked to
Marion, and because, as Lila says later, "they didn't want to involve
the police" -- he wouldn't have gone to the Sheriff.
The story really gives him nowhere else to go, and no other fate seems
possible for him other than death.
> Norman's repressed libido suddenly and irrevocably punishes
> Arbogast for Arbogast's momentary lapse of expedience.
Again -- wouldn't his employer have simply told him to proceed, thus
leading to the same end for poor Arbogast?
To be brutally honest -- they needed a device by which Lila and Sam
could be pointed toward the Bates Motel, with some, but not a lot of
information -- and Arbogast served that story function. But, of
course, for them to go, Arbogast needs to "go" first -- in a more
permanent manner. And for Lila to find out, Arbogast has to call her
and tell her. So he does, in a scene that, honestly, feels a bit
clunky in an otherwise scrupulous movie.
NMS
>> >A motel where she might have stayed, or might not have.
>>
>> This is where your analysis falls apart.
>>
>> He *knows* Marion stayed there after seeing
>> her name in the register.
>
>He knows someone named Marion stayed there.
He positively matches her handwriting, and even Norman
concedes that she used a pseudonym.
From this moment, Arbogast's suspicion is deflected from Sam
and Lila, to Norman. As Norman's repressed guilt begins to
messy up his alibis, Arbogast accuses him directly of hiding
information.
When Norman refuses to allow Arbo to talk to his mother,
Arbo has reasonable certitude that Mrs. Bates is somehow
involved -- and he trespasses into the house after informing
Lila -- just before he's killed.
Calling Cassidy was the proper move, but Arbo felt sorry for
Lila, and, while he could've called Cassidy later --
subtextually, Hitchcock punishes him for his momentary lapse
of professionalism and his indulgence in digressive sentiment,
however fleeting.
Structurally, Cassidy had no further purpose in the narrative
(other than not wanting to "kiss off forty thousand dollars"),
but Arbogast could've had Lila call Cassidy and reiterate that
he'll have more answers in an hour.
>What reason is there to call Cassidy, just yet?
Cassidy pays his salary, not Lila. Imagine if you lost forty
grand in cash and your private detective called the suspect's
sister and bankrupt boyfriend instead of you -- and told them
he'd get back to them in a hour after further investigation.
You would be happy to hear that the irresponsible moron got a
butcher knife in the heart.
>Actually, it's clear that Cassidy is no longer a _part_ of
>the story.
He's not the protagonist, but it was his forty grand that
catalyzed the whole tragedy -- so narrative symmetry beckons
for him to get back his muddy money from the swamp.
In the original draft screenplay by Cavanaugh -- and the novel
by Robert Bloch (which was based on his short story called:
"My Silent Friend" -- Norman gets a foreclosure letter just as
Marion shows up -- so both of them need the forty thousand to
save their empty lives.
I think Hitchcock took it out to bring down the length.
>Bringing him back into it would be as fruitless as bringing
>back Marion's boss, or the gal who sat at the next desk.
Hey, that gal is Hitch's daughter, Pat. Show some respect, or
Teddy will get furious.
>His function in the narrative - as the voice of authority
>that's trying to bring Marion to task for her transgression -
>has been taken over by his agent Arbogast.
Actually, at first, Cassidy is an id symbol: "it's hot as
fresh milk out there'" "forty thousand dollars doesn't buy
happiness, but buys off unhappiness;" "it's my private money;"
"your boss and I are going to get a little drinking done;"
"you just spend the weekend in bed."
After he's ripped off, his hedonistic whimsy darkens to
vengeance: "I ain't about to kiss off forty thousand dollars,
even if it means crushing her sweet little neck."
Ironically, Marion -- who needs the money to get married -- is
stealing Cassidy's daughter's wedding gift for a dream house.
Marion never ends up in an archetypal post-war American
nuclear family's dream house: but treks nomadically from
single-room-to-single-room: a cheap hotel, a bland real estate
office, a murderous motel room.
After switching from a white bra to a black bra as she steals
the money -- she's an allegory for the dark alienated victims
of placid Eisenhowerian suburbia -- cast outside the
archetypal post-war security of the American nuclear family
myth.
In Norman's parlor, with the stuffed birds, she only gets to
finish the sandwich she left uneaten at the beginning in the
other hotel -- before she's butchered in her cleansed
nakedness.
Her wholesome suffering symbolizes the death of the post-war
American suburban panacea myth.
>Well, in strictly a story sense -- why have such a scene? You
>need him to call Lila so that Lila knows about Norman which
>then propels the rest of the story. So would you have him
>make two calls?
My compromise was to have Arbo call Lila, to have her call
Cassidy.
But that would bring Cassidy back into the later scenes where
he's not needed, so Hitchcock obviously just dumped Cassidy
(though I think it was an oversight).
The story must conform to common sense -- not the other way
around.
If you lost forty grand in cash, and your private detective
had nothing for a week, you'd want to know the minute he found
the suspect's signature in a hotel register under a pseudonym.
It's his professional obligation to inform you as soon as
possible, in case you want to bring in the police.
It's the writer's job to incorporate this exposition --
however awkward -- into the forward narrative.
>When Marion dies, her story is over, and the issue of the
>$40,000 no longer plays any significant part in either
>Norman's story (he never even knows about it), nor in
>Lila's
As I mentioned: in the book, and first draft by Cavanaugh --
Norman gets a foreclosure letter and needs the forty thousand
to save his motel.
This could've added more levels to the cover-up. When Marion
was killed, I was hoping that Norman would notice the forty
thousand (wrapped in her L.A. Times), and then, after throwing
Lila and Sam off the Marion scent -- Norman ends up getting
caught with the money: but Marion is never found in the swamp,
and her secret goes to the asylum with Norman at the end.
That would be much more ironic, but Hitchcock had the dual
forty grand symmetry removed from the second draft to speed
up the story.
Rebello's book on the making of _Psycho_ is very informative
-- though overly expository.
>If there is some other central, overarching problem that all
>of the central characters have to solve -- what is it?
Loneliness.
The subtext portrays the disintegration of the late 1950's
myth of American suburban utopia, and the nuclear family.
Marion, Norman, Mrs. Bates, Arbogast, Lila, and Sam, are all
alienated, unmarried ions, drifting helplessly in their
mundane voids.
Donald Spoto's Hitchcock book spotlights this theme -- though
the whole book is nauseatingly obsequious: there isn't one
negative comment about any of Hitchcock's films.