Nobody wakes up in the morning and says I hope I get into a huge fight today.
“It would be wonderful if I experienced a painful altercation with an intimate friend later today. Wouldn’t that be awesome?”
No.
Most people get up and hope to have day where everything goes great. In fact, what do we often tell other people?
“Have a nice day!”
What’s a nice day?
One without conflict.
Yet as a screenwriter, I must run directly towards conflict. My work requires that I generate and develop conflict to underpin my script with the emotional power to effectively engage the audience.
People go to movies expecting to see characters they identify with. They want to see people like themselves overcome a problem. They experience gratification watching a character resolve conflict because it validates the challenges they face in their own lives. The greater the problem they solve, the larger the positive experience for the audience.
This is a heartbreaking challenge of screenwriting for me. Developing problems is something I personally want to avoid, but my work as a storyteller demands robust conflict.
But the greatest source of conflict I face is not the conflict I devise for my fictional character. It is the conflict I face within me as a human being in the act of creative writing.
Suspension of disbelief is a sexy phrase for telling the audience to ignore stupid stuff in a story. We ask our audiences to believe something in our movie that would never happen in their own lives.
Audiences naturally identify with a story that mirrors their reality. When they believe it could happen on planet Earth in the life they have experienced, measured by their own life experiences, the emotional experience succeeds, word of mouth occurs, and the movie is profitable.
When I ask an audience to care about a story that doesn’t match their lives, people will often reject this transaction. Sometimes they will suspend their disbelief, but often generally people will feel dissatisfied because it doesn’t reflect the conflict they face and the solutions they have employed in their own lives.
The conflict screenwriters avoid is the job of telling the truth. I know for me it’s easier and quicker to make up stuff that would never happen to any of us to advance my plot. When I make a character do something my audience will not recognize as humanly motivated, the people watching my story emotionally detach, which means they don’t care. The story has failed, and I am the author.
Screenwriters are the first people in a movie theater to point out something that is not logical in a plot. They will be quick to observe that a character would never make choice in a story. Why can’t I do this in my own script?
I can! I do! I know something is lazy and fraudulent and illogical and dumb. I can see it. And when I can’t fix it instantly, I get frustrated with my plot or my character or my big idea that doesn’t seem to fit where I wanted it to go. My goal of fame and riches and awards and triumph seem further away.
I cannot run from the battle of the right, great story within me. I must fight for it. I must trust that when I recognize my script problems for what they are and commit not to cover them over with lies about living and placeholder, hokey nonsense, I will come out the other side.
Telling the truth in screenwriting is the action of trusting an answer to your story’s problems will arrive. It’s not copping out. This is the reason there is a discussion of whether movie theaters will survive. They will not disappear because of streaming or phones. They will leave if I refuse to write a completely credible human story.
I remind myself today of my responsibility. Nothing has changed. The history of cinema has spoken. Share with us the truth and we will love you forever.
I hope this message supports you today with your writing as we solve the great beautiful problem once again together, in our seats, eyes on screen.
.
Thank you, Gordy. This is EXACTLY what I have been wrestling with in a script rewrite this week. You’ve helped realize that it’s a common challenge for us screenwriters.
You’ve stoked my courage.
I can do this!
You explain it so well, Gordy
Reality can be as defined by our wishes as by our experience.
We wish we could fly — and are willing to “believe in Superman.”
We wish we could discern Truth — and “believe” in Wonder Women’s magic lasso.
We wish we could solve all problems with just our own ingenuity — and “believe” in Iron Man.
We wish we could learn from our past mistakes and finally end up with the ‘correct’ spouse — and we “believe” in When Harry Met Sally.
We wish when faced with life & death choices, even if we’re deeply flawed we will make the righteous choice — and believe we would be the hero in Schindler’s List.
As long as movies let us fulfill our wishes, but with a dash of realism, they will survive.
Moods reinforce moods. If the people around you walk prouder, then you do as well. When crowds left Rocky, they all felt they could struggle, suffer and “go the distance”, It was cheaper than therapy and way more effective. We couldn’t wait to spend our money to feel that way again.
It’s when they want us to emotionally leave the theater imagining ourselves as less than when we entered, rather than more than when we entered, that we resent spending money to become less. (We have Real Life to knock us down. Don’t need help.)
We’re not deluded into believing we are really Superman or Rocky or even Sally, but for a while, we were and that attitude carries over to ways we can be ‘super better people’ in real life.
Movies that make us proud of being human are worth spending money on. The group experience enhances that value.
The greatest humans surmount a struggle, be it overcoming the world or their own past weaknesses. Heroes choose the struggle and not the ‘Easy Out.’ We want to be taught how to be heroic.
Let us leave the theaters celebrating and we will keep buying tickets.
Force us to face our flaws without a road to redemption, we will refuse to buy tickets.
Hollywood Producers, you live in a jaded world. Stop trying to force the rest of us into your pessimism. We have better places to spend our money.
Thank you!
Truth voices from the tree tops. It carries authenticity and is what people are looking for. Non fiction sales for a higher price than fiction. We want what’s real; what we can touch, feel and weigh in our own lives. It comes as art, as well as craft. We know it when we hear it. We are drawn to it and identify with it. Emotion runs deep, but it runs deeper when it wields truth. Imagination benefits from the truth as well. A healthy dose of it is leaves an indelible mark. I love conflict, without it you have no story. When the plot is stark and truth stares you in the eye, it’s hard to look away. Perhaps, that’s why we’re enamored with it because of its rarity. Thanks for your perception. Something that also arouses originality…
Well said!
I loved reading this. Telling the truth in daily life can be an exhaustive endeavor. But it’s the only way to ‘truly’ connect. The same applies to the page.
Does contrast with “write it bigger than life” and “the page absorbs a lot” advice. Such a balancing act.