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Character Ark

Yes, I know how to spell. That’s a pun. You’ll see.

I discovered from the blog of stupidity that a screenwriting forum I no longer read (because, honestly, it got too full of people like her) has had somewhat of a debate on character arcs, prompted by a post by this guy. His take is decidedly an argument against arcs. Her take?

But that doesn’t mean authority is always wrong either, because that would be equally short sighted. So I say, if your script calls for character arcs, knock yourself out. And if it doesn’t, knock yourself out with that too.

Way to be Switzerland!

I’ve always found McKee’s Story (the book that prompted this debate, apparently) as more of a beginner’s tool. As the title suggests, it gives you the nuts and bolts of story, and while it has a pretty rigid methodology for placing these nuts and bolts into the script itself, most writers realize — slowly or quickly — that screenwriting doesn’t require a “kitchen sink” approach. Much like Ikea furniture, even if you follow the instructions, you’re bound to have a few screws left over.

That said, I will reluctantly admit I agree with my stupid-blogging-nemesis’s bottom line — not every script needs a character arc in order to succeed. I disagree with the general contention that it has more to do with story than a writer’s particular tastes, because my personal experience always starts with a character arc, tied tightly to the story, but more often than not, these arcs either get changed or eliminated in later drafts.

The first draft of a screenplay I’ve been working on for over a year had a pretty simple character arc: the protagonist had a strong, active desire to not act anything like his father, but the machinations of the plot put him to the test, and as a result he reluctantly turns into his father (quite literally; long story). By the fourth draft, which I’ve just finished, the arc is about the relationship between the protagonist and his sister; they each have arcs that are intertwined, and they couldn’t be more different from the first draft. (In fact, in the first draft, he didn’t even have a sister, and by this draft, the father thing has almost become such a red herring that it may disappear in the next draft.)

Meanwhile, I couldn’t find the narrative throughline to my war screenplay until I started thinking about potential characters, many of them inspired by former friends, and I stumbled on the most obvious solution: one of the characters grows so disillusioned with the inanity of this “war,” and the increasing violence and chest-thumping of his friends, that he ends up turning his back on these formerly close friends. Suddenly, it turns into a coming-of-age story, with this character as the anchor. From there, I can figure out all the surrounding characters, plot the major beats of the story, and within a few weeks, I’ll have a serviceable first draft.

Notice how intertwined the storyline is with the protagonist’s emotional journey. That’s just the way I work. Story depends on character motivation, and if a story goal changes, it’s either because of an external factor…or the character’s motivation has changed. What changed it? That’s the arc, and in my scripts, usually it’s the story that changes the character and his or her motivation — that’s why they’re tied together so tightly. However, I have one friend who is so story-focused his early drafts have flat caricatures, and another who is so character-focused her “stories” just kind of amble on without purpose, like a Richard Linklater movie or any one of my blog posts.

With regard to “Mystery Man,” I don’t wholly disagree with him. His blustery “character arcs are stupid and I have proof!” attitude is a little unnerving, but his point holds up in more than just the examples he provides. Countless noir (anti)heroes go through the entire film without changing — that’s the whole point. They have a hardwired code of ethics that they stick to, unwavering, no matter how the shit flies around them. His example of The Maltese Falcon is great. In both the novel and the film, Sam Spade’s character unspools as the film does. At first glance, he appears to be just as sleazy and conniving as the sordid bunch he’s mixed up with, but as the story moves, we learn he’s abusing them (just as they try to abuse him) to find out what he needs to know to uncover who murdered Archer, his partner. Not because he liked Archer, particularly — it’s part of his code. If his partner’s murdered on a case, he owes it to the partner to find the culprit. (In the novel, Spade also mentions it’s bad for business if your partner gets killed and you aren’t a good enough detective to solve the case. I haven’t seen the movie in awhile, but I believe they omit this callous but hilarious explanation.)

Still, character arcs exist even when they don’t appear to. I’ve seen some super-thin, bordering-on-unnecessary character arcs — it doesn’t take much to establish your character, then force them into a situation that allows them to change or be changed as a result.

To take one of Mystery Man’s examples, I thoroughly disagree that Indiana Jones remains fundamentally unchanged. Throughout the trilogy, yes, an argument could be made, because he pretty much has the same arc in all three movies, meaning the changes that occur within each movie clearly don’t last. However, pretend for a moment it’s 1981, Raiders of the Lost Ark has just hit the big screen, and we’re seeing Indiana Jones for the first, and possibly last, time.

At the beginning of Raiders, there’s the great sequence with the idol and the giant rolling ball and the double-cross by the rival archaeologist and his native pals. Indy has a slightly jumpy guide who dies pretty quickly in a booby trap. This leaves Indy pretty much unaffected; he keeps going, because at that point, nothing matters but grabbing the idol. Human lives, with the possible exception of his own, don’t matter.

By the end of the movie — well, he’s not willing to blow up the Ark of the Covenant with the rocket launcher, but by that time his priorities have definitely shifted from getting the Ark for the State Department. Now he has two goals: keeping Marion safe and keeping the Ark out of the Nazis’ hands. These are story goals, but they represent change inherent in the character — as soon as the Ark has been dug up and Indy realizes the awesome power that’s been unearthed, he knows it shouldn’t fall into the wrong hands. He’d never destroy an artifact of that magnitude, but he’s definitely lost interest in having it just to have it. At the same time, he understands the value of people over artifacts. Not huge arcs, but they’re definitely there.

Temple of Doom downplays the “I can’t let this awesome power fall into the wrong hands” angle, but they it has a similar “people over objects” arcs, with Short Round (and to a much lesser extent, Willie). As Mystery Man rightly points out, the start of Indy’s mission this time is pretty selfless — he’s set on a quest to find a sacred stone that he has little personal interest in, so he can save an Indian village (and the children who have been enslaved). If you’re a robot or a monster, you can argue that Indy finally embracing the surrogate father role with Short Round — with Shorty’s declaration of love finally snapping him out of blood-nightmare hypnosis — did not fundamentally change him. After all, Temple of Doom takes place a year before Raiders, and Short Round is nowhere to be found. His absence does not appear to have any real bearing on Indy, but who knows? A lot can happen in a year, especially when you’re Indiana Jones.

Last Crusade brings back the exact same arcs: Indy’s priorities change when he learns the Nazis want the Holy Grail. How does this not reflect a transformation in his character? It’s blunter than usual, which is maybe why this is the only one Mystery Man was willing to acknowledge. If his character remained unwavering in his commitment to find the Holy Grail above all things, the Nazis would be little more than annoying, difficult-to-swat houseflies. He’s still willing to grab that cup for himself, but he’s only willing to do so after his father is safe and the Nazi threat has been neutralized. As with the other movies, his external goals have shifted in a way that shows a change in the person we understand him to be.

These inner changes are so subtle and quick, so intertwined within the story itself, they may have been unintentional — but that doesn’t mean they aren’t there. They don’t have to necessarily happen over the course of the entire movie, or in the third act, as the misleading term “arc” (and the more-misleading McKee) might have you believe. In The Parallax View, Joe Frady starts out as a confirmed skeptic, unwilling to believe any wild government conspiracy theories. He changes his tune by the second act, and although he remains pretty much unchanged through the rest of the movie, his early change is significant. In fact, he wouldn’t have any external goals for the entire movie if he didn’t experience a fundamental inner change — but it’s not something people would traditionally think of as an arc, since it happens in the first 20 minutes. It’s advantageous, though, because in a film like this we get to see the change — not just have hints of its possible future impact.

For all my arguing and complaining, like I said, I don’t fully disagree with Mystery Man. His underlying point is valid. The bulk of his other examples are either solid enough for me not to poke holes, or I just haven’t seen the movies recently enough one way or the other. I agree that a great screenplay doesn’t, by necessity, have to have a character arc. I do, however, believe that many films have subtle, barely-there arcs that shouldn’t be ignored. They’re there for a reason, and they add to the overall story. If Indiana Jones had seen Nazis and said, “Eh, they’re an emerging, misunderstood political party. I still want the Ark, but it’s not like they’re pure evil,” or if he had found out they kidnapped Marion and said, “Eh, we used to do it, but I really want that Ark,” it would have revealed new information about his character without making fundamental changes to the “obsessed playboy archaeologist adventurer professor.” But do you think it would have made a better movie? Indy’s goals needed to change, but in order for that to happen, he needed to change.

As Mystery Man says somewhere in the middle, “I should acknowledge that gurus and theorists have different interpretations about arcs.” I don’t think this is applicable just to gurus and theorists, but to all writers. With something so subjective, you can only go back to the filmmakers themselves to find out if my interpretation of Indy’s arcs are what they had in mind, or if Mystery Man’s belief that Indy remains fundamentally unchanged holds true. As with my Die Hard contention, none of us wrote the screenplay, so we can all make well-supported, valid, but completely separate arguments about the usual dramatic conventions.

It doesn’t mean any of us are right.

Posted by Stan on March 27, 2008 2:33 PM  | Permalink | Career-Based Rambling, How Not to Write a Screenplay | Digg It