« Tired of Rage | Main | Inside Jokes for Outside Viewers »

It Was Symbolism; He Was Mad!

The more I read shitty scripts, the more it occurs to me that many screenwriters haven’t mastered intermediate elements of storytelling. They often have the basics — tedious goals, bland conflict, dunderheaded protagonist “growth,” revealing every single detail using expository dialogue rather than visual clues — but it creates a hollow reading experience that will translate to a hollow viewing experience. Say what you will about Steven Spielberg — and I’ll say many great things unless you try to talk to me about any of his recent work — fun “popcorn” flicks haven’t been the same since he stopped making them. You could say, “Well, he’s not really a writer,” but the man’s PRODUCED BY stamp is almost as firm as his DIRECTED BY stamp. You can watch The Goonies, Back to the Future, Gremlins, Poltergeist — even later stuff like Men in Black — and see the Spielbergosity of them. I mean, Gremlins and Poltergeist are pretty fucked up, the kind of thing you’d think he’d maybe get stuck with and then limit his involvement to “big name that gets the greenlight,” but no — they’re as full of Spielberg spirit as Close Encounters of the Third Kind and Raiders of the Lost Ark.

Spielberg knows how to tell a story. He understands audience expectations and knows how to push them, sometimes defy them, but not go so far that the audience will rebel. His early movies show that he realizes kids aren’t fucking retards, that “family” movie means more than “kiddie horseshit,” but more than that, they show he understands character, tone, and subtle symbolism — three things these newer scripts lack. The first two, they trade worn-out stereotypes and ape the tonal beats of similar, successful movies; they very rarely have a bit of the latter.

What I mean when I write “subtle symbolism” is the kind of symbol that isn’t a symbol for the sake of symbolism — something that coheres with the story, characters, or setting without overwhelming them, pointing and saying, “SYMBOLISM!!!!” Here’s an example of the most egregious example of “symbol for the sake of symbolism” in the history of cinema: at the end of Jane Campion’s overrated shitstorm The Piano, Holly Hunter’s character (Ada?) wants her piano tossed overboard. When Harvey Keitel does it, she intentionally sticks her foot in the ropes and drops into the water with it, but then she decides to live and severs the connection with the piano and is “reborn” as she is pulled back into the boat. It’s the kind of dunderheaded, ham-fisted symbolism I can’t stand — the kind of thing that allows “art films” to break into the mainstream because idiots who watch it think it’s really deep and smart, when in fact it’s simple-minded and obvious. And this is coming from a guy who doesn’t particularly like symbol-heavy, nonsensical “art films.” I’d rather have them be batshit insane in a fascinating way than obvious and heavy-handed.

Although Spielberg’s symbolism has gotten a little more heavy-handed and, well…pointless over the years (the Blue Fairy in A.I.? the sex scene in Munich?), many of his earlier films feature the perfect kinds of symbols: first, their meanings are open to interpretation; second, you can watch the movies as pure entertainment, without consciously grasping the layering of symbols. For an example of both: E.T., on the surface, looks like the simple story of a stranded alien trying to get back home. Symbolically, there’s some deep shit happening: you have E.T. de-fracturing the broken home, turning Michael from asshole brother to sworn protector, even making Elliott himself into a father figure for the lost, confused alien. As for the “subtle” symbolism, think about the scene where Elliott flips out and releases all the frogs. Depending on how you interpret it, he’s either embracing a nonconformist, hippie spirit or just turning into your ordinary joe who will stand up for things he believes in, even if he gets in trouble. In the straight narrative, it’s merely “Elliott’s deep, psychic connection to E.T. causes him to flip out and spare the frogs.”

Symbolism and subtext like this form literature. Good writers — and good filmmakers — have the ability to utilize this without seeming to. Sometimes it goes too far into obvious territory. For instance, it’s clear very early in Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom that Indy is the father figure to Short Round, and he goes too far when Short Round declares, “I love you!” to help break the goofy trance. I will admit, it’s still kind of a powerful moment, but it turns something that’s all about symbol and subtext and turns it into…well, text. But when it’s done well, this kind of thing will wash over a viewer (or a reader) and they’ll love the story even if they can’t pinpoint why. They’ll withstand the test of time because they’re about something universal and human, not about Richard Dreyfus building a giant Devil’s Tower in his living room.

I’ve started to call this “symbolic duct-taping,” a phrase that hasn’t exactly caught on. In my novel, Cedar Point, as relationships decay, there’s a recurring joke starting with one character who has the physical strength to tear a motel room door off its hinges. The main character keeps taping it back to the door frame, only to have it knocked down by another character who’s enraged with him. Even when I started writing it, I didn’t intend for the duct-taping to mean anything, but it occurred to me that it means everything: they knock down the door (representing the damage to the relationship!) and the main character is forced to fix it, and although it’s not the same having a door duct-taped to the frame rather than screwed to its hinges, it’s still basically a functional door (i.e., the relationships are never back to 100%, but there’s been enough repair for them to be functional).

For me, the accidental symbolism and subtext is the best kind, but it’s a pain in the ass. If you don’t recognize that it’s there, it’ll end up muddled and not meaning anything. If you do recognize it, you run the risk of overplaying your hand and turning it into a piano tied to your protagonist’s ankle.

Posted by Stan on May 21, 2008 9:07 AM  | Permalink | Career-Based Rambling, How Not to Write a Screenplay | Digg It