Save the Cat! Strikes Back: More Trouble For... (8 page)

Dorie Barton at the Board in one of our first classes (taken with one of the first cell phone cameras).

And there is no better way to vet this, or test if your scene has conflict, than putting it up on The Board.

Some writers are surprised to learn how many ways the beats of the BS2 can offer insight into storytelling. In fact, it can be used for any story, no matter what length or type. And yet here's a shocker for many of you:

The 15 beats can also be used to write a scene!

Did I just blow your mind?

I hope so.

To repeat, a scene is like a mini-story. Like a whole movie, it has emotional shift and conflict. It also has a Midpoint, Breaks into Act Two and Act Three, and a definite All Is Lost. It's amazing… but true. I also hold to the idea that pinpointing the All Is Lost is the key to getting your bearings. If you can't identify the beats of the scene you are writing, or watching, identifying the “death moment” about three quarters of the way in is a good place to look.

We begin every scene, like every movie, with a hero who has an expectation. He also has an obstacle: a person, a problem, a question that needs answering. And at any given point in that scene, there is a “death.” In class, I dissect the scene in
Godfather 2
where Michael Corleone (Al Pacino) meets with his wife, Kay (Diane Keaton). He's just outwitted Senate investigators and wants to tell her his next move and his plans for their future together, expecting her and their children to snap to…. Well, think again, Al! After the Set-Up — Al in charge — and the Break into Two — laying out his plans — Al is surprised when Diane says: “No.” That's the Midpoint “bump” of the scene.

This “raising of the stakes” is a definite turning point in Al's expectation, and the Bad Guys Close In section sees him reeling, trying to figure out what's going on. But it's the All Is Lost point and its “Whiff of Death” that solves the mystery. It's the shocking news Diane reveals to Al that her “miscarriage” wasn't. “It was an
abortion, Michael!” Diane tells him. Well, not only is this a death moment of the Corleone marriage but of the scene, too. Whatever expectation Al had at the start is over.

Death is even found in a 30-second commercial that hits ALL the beats. Take a look at a story we'll call:

The Day I Discovered Pledge

Opening Image – A downcast housewife. Home a mess. Dust everywhere. This “Before” snapshot depicts the Set-Up, and even a Stasis = Death moment, for it looks like things won't change.

Catalyst – Then our hero discovers… Pledge!

Debate – “Should I use it?”

Break into Two – Yes!

Fun and Games – With a spray can of her B Story ally, the delighted homemaker flies through the house, dust vanishes like magic, tabletops glow. And the “false victory” at Midpoint shows that she can live this way all the time. But there's a problem…

Bad Guys Close In – To have the “new,” she must give up the “old.” Can our hero face the truth of what she must sacrifice?

All Is Lost – What “death” has to occur? What “old idea” must be gotten rid of? What is the “All Is Lost” moment of our Pledge commercial? Why it's dropping Brand X in the trash! It's the furniture polish our hero used to use, that is now obsolete.

Break into Three – Having dispensed with Brand X, the synthesized pair finish up the housework with delight and…

Final Image – Dressed in her tennis outfit, racket in hand, a newly together housewife walks out the door, leaving the primally named Pledge atop a very shiny table to guard her home.

The End

That's a lot of drama for 30 seconds!

But it's there: a transformation — a story with drama, fun, and yes, even a “death” before its final triumph!

More than that, it's proof the BS2 can be used for any story, of any length, where a narrative arc is found.

I frankly love it every time I work with writers in small groups and start hearing pitches. Out there our problems are seemingly insurmountable, but in here, wherever our classroom is, we're in charge. We can mold our stories, invent characters and situations, pitch out wild set pieces and even wilder showdowns.

And we don't have to commit to any of it.

This is sketching. Like an artist, we start with a faint idea. And as we work it out, we go from rough drawing to filled-in outline, to painting — trying out details as we go. And at any given stage, if we're any good, we can back off and say: None of it works! We can erase parts and start again, and the benefit of the
Save the Cat!
method is: We have yet to type Fade In. Our motto: Be flexible. Because that's so empowering!

What often stops empowerment from happening is the writer's unwillingness to let go — or to see his or her story in a new way. That leads to special trouble when these same old problems keep popping up. So let this be a warning to writers of the following:

►
“This happened to me!”
– I shudder every time someone comes in with a so-called true story. Sorry! But let me say, when I start to twitch, when I realize the hero of your pitch is… you… it hurts. Why? Because one's life seldom makes a good movie. The other reason is if there's even a slim hope we can make something of it, you are less likely to be flexible. “That's not how it happened” is your comeback, and mine is: “We don't care.” You think these events are cool. You may be the only one. Story first. Reality second. Story first. How it felt second. Story first. True stories… rarely.

►
Copying
– I am a big believer in “give me the same thing… only different.” I am against copying. Many times we will be halfway through a pitch and a vague recollection will come to me: I've heard this story somewhere before. Not kinda the same: the same. This is a direct result of a writer who has discovered a very obscure movie, and whose intention is to retell it — exactly. Usually I am
pretty good at spotting this. I am the man with 10,000 plots in my head. I've seen them all — or most. But this is a non-starter. If you are taking this tack, please reconsider.

►
Fantasy worlds
– Again I hark back to my warnings in
Chapter 1
about “Heaven” stories. I have found after a 20-year career as a screenwriter, and several years wrestling with writers in the classroom, that the single toughest story nut to crack is when you bring me a story of an original “fantasy world” the hero lives in or travels to. You may think you see it, but you don't. And when I ask simple questions like “What's the problem?” or “What are the rules?” of this new world, you often are offended. I am only trying to let you know that the specialness of your special place may be covering up the real problem: no story! To sell us on it, you'll have to work extra hard to make your fantasy real.

The success stories that have come from using the method we've perfected in class are remarkable. But the biggest lesson I've gleaned from watching so many writers crack their stories is it's best to walk in the door with an idea that's just beginning to germinate. That, and flexibility — plus a willingness to listen — are key.

And being the most excitable person in that room, I often have to be contained from jumping up and down as I watch a story that was barely there blossom before my eyes.

But it happens all the time.

Recently, a writer came in with just a title and the barest semblance of a pitch, and within the first weekend had 15 beats that were ready to go. But wanting to make sure, she came back and did her 40 cards and, honestly, it got even better. It was such a great pitch, I called her afterward to tell her that what she had was pure gold.

She wrote the script in a week. And we're still waiting for it to go “out to the town.” But the joy of watching that slim notion become a story is the payoff.

Because for me it's proof that the method works.

Wherever two or three are gathered, or even if you apply these principles on your own, we can all find our way out of the pitfalls, back up from any seeming dead end, get out of any jam, and find our way to the winner's circle.

So long as we remain open to new ideas.

My favorite expression in class, and one that boggles the minds of many when I say it with a big smile on my face, is:

It's easy!

You are struggling, drowning, confused, and hating it all, and I'm beaming at you, repeating this horrible phrase like I have the answers at the back of the book and won't show you!

It's easy! I say… because it is. There is always an answer!

Within every story is the potential for not only a fix — but greatness. And I'm smiling because I not only know you can do it, but the process of doing it is so much fun — if you let it be.

Because I know magic can't be far behind.

Blake's Blog /
August 2, 2007

“We transform every day, re-awaken to new concepts about the world around us, overcome conflict, and triumph over death… only to start again each morning. It's why stories that follow this pattern resonate. Because each day is a transformation machine, and so are our lives.”

Overcoming hurdles.

That's what
Save the Cat!
is about.

Yet when it comes to the topic of “structure,” which I think makes
Save the Cat!
a breakthrough for any screenwriter, the trouble I've gotten in for being a structure advocate is puzzling.

We all have deficits in our writing skills. Some of us are missing the “idea gene,” some are horrible at titles, but without structure we're sunk. Yet the fights I get on this topic astound me, and lead me to believe I haven't quite made my case. The good news is: Of the skills it takes to be a great storyteller, structure is the easiest to learn — if you're open to it.

And if you are, it is also the most empowering!

I think the biggest misconception about structure, and the biggest block for many writers, is the sense that I'm asking you to do something “formulaic.” Can I be honest with you, just you and me? This objection exhausts me. Let's just say for now that those who argue against structure on the basis that it is stopping you from “being free,” or feel that if you follow my advice you'll be
doomed to write
Big Momma's House 2
over and over, are wrong. And if you've read my second book, which applies this so-called “formula” to everything from big studio hits like
Spider-Man 2
and
Forrest Gump
to Indies like
Open Water
and
Saw
, and you
still
aren't convinced these a) hit the beats, and b) are extremely different, well… you will have trouble with structure, and that's no fun!

And yet…

I grant you there are times when having diligently followed my suggestions, and worked out your structure as I prescribe, there is unease to having it all so nice and neat. There is something about it that feels mechanical, too “clean,” or too simple. And that's no good either. If you've worked out your story but haven't started writing, it may be because you've lost the reason for writing it; the inspiration's gone, you're not
feelin’
it! It might be because you know too much about your tale to be surprised when you actually put cursor to computer screen.

And if you have written a draft, you may have hit all the beats like a master, and the pieces are in place, but the emotion isn't. Your hero seems so much like an order-taking automaton that neither you, nor we, have much interest in seeing where he goes.

If any of the above applies, it feels like trouble indeed.

Whether you bridle at the idea of churning out duraflame® logs that seem so much like firewood, but aren't, or if you just plain don't get it yet, take heart. This is the chapter where we answer your structure dilemmas once and for all, so you will feel confident every time you fully flesh out any story you write.

We must start with the fact your story is not unique.

I know! I know!
That sounds bad. I can see you now, in your garret, with your bowl of Top Ramen, cursing me!

But it's true.

You can break up time, as they do in
Memento
and
Pulp Fiction
; you can have anti-heroes as seen in
American Psycho
and
Election
; you can intertwine multiple stories, as in
Babel
and
Crash
; you can pull the rug out from us by saying “And then I woke up, it was all a dream!”
as exploited in
Atonement
and
Stranger Than Fiction
. Yes, you can break all the rules, with varying degrees of success, but you will never evade the principles that come by conquering structure — for until we find a way to live on Earth without lessons on how to do it, we're going to be stuck with storytelling principles all writers must master.