by Jeff Kitchen
As we play with the possibilities, keep a laser focus on the dilemma. Every idea, every extreme that we try on, it all impacts, improves, and compounds his dilemma. We’re turning Story into Drama. This is the process in real time. Our detective’s dilemma is really that of a mouse pondering a mousetrap: He knows it’s a mousetrap, but the damn cheese is so awesome that he can’t walk away from it. Let’s look at a two-column chart of his dilemma to clarify things:
Damned If He Keeps the Job Damned If He Quits the Job
Worst thing that ever happened to him Best thing that ever happened to him
She’s big trouble She’s irresistible
She’s got a real enemy He refuses to be intimidated
She makes him crazy He’s having the time of his life
He’s losing control emotionally He’s opening up to life
She’s crazy and unpredictable She’s vulnerable and she needs him
He can’t sleep He can’t live without her
Danger Adventure
Death Fun
Disaster Freedom
Trouble Too boring if he quits
Panic Challenge
She’ll cost him his detective license He’s living the high life
He can’t trust her She saves his ass
He could get killed She could get killed
The mystery is deadly The mystery is too intriguing
Is he being played for a fool? The money is too good to quit
He’s jealous of her lovers He won’t get to be with her
She’s a trouble magnet She’s tough, and good in a fight
This list could go on and on as we explore the material and expand upon it. Now that we can see the dilemma clearly, you should stop and work on this plot yourself. Where can you go with it? How far can you take it? What’s the most intense that this dilemma could be? What’s the tone of the movie? If it’s comic, then how dark is too dark before you puncture the tone? If it’s a thriller, how much comic relief strips it of its teeth and claws? It could go in the direction of The Big Lebowski or become more like Body Heat. This is the process. Work it like a fanatic. Go off the deep end. Fill pages of notes. Turn it inside out and upside down. Change the characters’ genders. Attack the audience. What’s the scariest you can make it? What’s the funniest? What’s cliché about it? What’s fresh about it? Why do you like it? What bores you about it?
Put yourself in the detective’s shoes and live the dilemma. Describe it to yourself from this first person point of view. Think, “I’m this detective and I’m caught in this tough spot.” Are you caught in a similar dilemma in your own everyday life? How do the dilemmas in your life match up? Does adventure call to you even though it will cost you your security? Does your buddy want you to drop out of college and travel the world with him? Do you want to quit your job and start a risky but potentially profitable new business? Find a similarity in your own life; it will help you make the connection. The more you can articulate it, the more you’ll be able to communicate it. There is no substitute for taking on the role of each of your characters, because it enables you to see their point of view explicitly rather than indirectly and abstractly. Put yourself in the wife’s shoes. Or be the killer—how badly do you need to kill this wacko bitch? Even if the killer is totally psychotic, his take on why she deserves to die can be extremely valuable: It can take the story to the next level.
Just exploring in this way can explode your plot into new dimensions. Go back and forth between extreme subjectivity and extreme objectivity. Roll the dilemma around in your subconscious. Brainstorm as hard as you can with it. Do some research on what a bodyguard does. See movies and read novels that play with these concepts; study how masters of the genre handle them. Take plenty of time so the obvious aspects of this type of story become apparent. Twist them, play with them, and tell a great story. Mix your raw storytelling skills with your craft as a dramatist.
Now let’s lay out a full statement of the dilemma, including all its aspects, layers, and dimensions. It’s unacceptable for Zack to let go of this job because: he’s head-over-heels in love with Minky, the pay is incredible, he’s having the time of his life, he’s being dragged kicking and screaming into really living for the first time, he has a shot at going to bed with her, the mystery is too challenging, he’s angry that someone has tried to hurt them both, she needs him, and he’s having pure adventurous fun. It’s equally unacceptable to keep doing the job because: it’s dangerous and he may well get killed, she’s all kinds of trouble, he’s being dragged out of his emotional safety zone, he’s going crazy, he can’t trust her, he’s afraid he’s being set up, she makes him insanely jealous, there’s something really odd about her, and all his instincts tell him to run the other way. Remember this dilemma when we pick up our demo plot again and things really heat up.
THE FUNCTION OF CRISIS IN DRAMATIZING A PLOT
The second element Aristotle noticed that tends to be common to the most gripping dramas is Crisis, the point at which the dilemma comes to a critical juncture: the make-or-break point. Crisis forces the protagonist to react immediately to his dilemma instead of being able to contemplating it from a distance. Figuratively, it’s the gun to the head, the moment of truth. While dealing with the dilemma, the protagonist has been worrying, “What am I going to do when I have to make a choice?” Crisis now forces that choice, demanding an immediate response.
In submarine terminology, a sub sinking toward the bottom of the ocean will hit what’s called “crush depth,” where it will implode from the pressure. In a plot, crisis is that moment when the dilemma reaches crush depth. A good, strong dilemma will hold the audience captive with sustained tension, but crisis takes that dilemma and hyper-compresses it, amping the pressure through the roof. The cornered wild animal is now pushed to the limit and ready to pounce. Watch out!
The crisis is the decisive moment, the point of imminent failure. Any number of things in the protagonist’s world might be collapsing—his goals, emotions, physical health, romantic connections, sanity, plans, friendships, partnerships, finances, or basic daily operations. Crisis is the crunch point and it generates intense Dramatic Action. Review the line of proportion:
Dilemma has simmered long enough now to reach the boiling point of Crisis, which happens at about the two-thirds or three-quarters point in the script. (Again, this provides just a rough sense of proportion and is not meant to specify page 30, 60, 90, and so on.)
Think about a crisis in your real life. Your spouse is mad at you, the kids are sick, you’re late for work, the car won’t start, you’re on the verge of being fired—and then something really bad happens. Crisis is when all the worst possible things happen at the worst possible moment. In your script, it should invite the question, “How many anvils can you drop on your protagonist’s head at once?”
The Use of Crisis in Training Day
When searching for the crisis in a movie you’re watching, you may think you’ve found it . . . but then discover that things get even worse for the protagonist. Sometimes you can’t be sure until after the dust has settled. In studying Training Day, it appears at first that Jake’s crisis occurs when Alonzo insists that Jake claim he shot Roger. This crisis may seem so obvious that you never question it. But further study reveals that, in fact, the dilemma continues after the shooting when Alonzo manages to chill Jake out in the car. Jake doesn’t appear to yield or agree but seems perfectly mellow in the next scene when he follows Alonzo up to the Hillside Gang’s house. He’s hanging out, playing cards, and apparently trusting Alonzo again (at least to a certain degree), and it’s not until Jake discovers that Alonzo left him there to be murdered by Smiley (Cliff Curtis), the gang leader, that he really snaps and goes beyond the point of no return. So in Training Day, Jake’s actual crisis comes when he’s literally staring down the barrel of a gun, and the fullness of who Alonzo really is hits him like a Mack truck.
The Use of Crisis in What Women Want
In What Wom
en Want, just as Nick’s vengeful plan to get rid of Darcy is bearing fruit (he has stolen her idea and landed the Nike account), he finds he has fallen in love with her—and is sweeping her off her feet, too. The crisis point comes as they make out in her new apartment, but then he learns that she’s been fired for not doing her job well. It is ironic that just as his revenge is coming to fruition, so is the relationship that reading her mind made possible.
The Use of Crisis in Minority Report
In Minority Report, John Anderton’s crisis occurs when he’s in the hotel pointing a gun at Leo Crow, the man it was predicted he would murder—he has learned that Crow abducted and murdered his son—while Agatha screams that he can choose to not fulfill the very murder she predicted. Anderton’s whole world is warping and ripping in half at this crisis point, and the rest of his life hangs in the balance.
The Use of Crisis in The Godfather
Crisis arises in The Godfather following the attempt on Michael’s life that kills his Sicilian bride, and the murder of his brother Sonny. The family is in trouble: Barzini (Richard Conte) is muscling in, and Tessio and Clemenza (Abe Vigoda and Richard Castellano), Don Corleone’s lieutenants, want to break off. When Don Corleone puts Michael in the hot seat by appointing him head of the family, it propels everything to the next level. Michael is thrust into a leadership crisis.
The Use of Crisis in Tootsie
Tootsie displays a good example of multifaceted crisis. Michael’s crisis essentially occurs when, dressed as Dorothy, he tries to kiss Julie and she freaks out. Their cozy relationship is over, but he’s stuck being a woman because the producer won’t let Dorothy out of her contract. But notice how many other catastrophic things happen just when Michael’s at his most vulnerable. After he kisses Julie, when he tries to tell her that he’s really a man and that he’s in love with her, the phone interrupts them—it’s her father. Believing Dorothy is a lesbian, Julie now insists that Dorothy go out with Les and let him down easy. Les then proposes marriage, and as Dorothy runs away from him, she is grabbed at home by John Van Horn, who tries to rape her. As soon as John leaves, Sandy is at the door to chew Michael out when he admits he’s in love with another woman. All the lies that Michael has been juggling throughout the movie come crashing down on his head all at once.
In the midst of this flurry of breaking points, it’s important to put your finger on one key element that ignites the crisis. In Tootsie this is when Michael tries to kiss Julie. Everything else complicates the crisis and adds to its crushing weight, but when she blows up at him, he’s lost the one thing that was making his life work.
A crisis doesn’t have to be that complicated. But in the same way that a complex dilemma can be more sustaining than a simple one, so too can a crisis be most riveting when many systems collapse simultaneously. One useful trick in compounding a crisis is to examine your story around the two-thirds or three-quarters point and pinpoint the elements that are coming unglued. See if you can focus them or make them all gang them up on your protagonist at the crucial moment. While complications aren’t necessary, they can certainly enhance the intensity of your crisis.
The Use of Crisis in Blade Runner
In Blade Runner, Deckard’s dilemma about killing the replicants comes to a head when Roy Batty (Rutger Hauer) kills Dr. Tyrell and Sebastian (William Sanderson), the genetic scientist/toymaker. Roy has now killed one of the top industrialists in the solar system on Deckard’s watch, and Deckard can no longer debate the fate of the replicants. He is sent to Sebastian’s apartment where he runs into Pris (Darryl Hannah), the basic pleasure model replicant, who attacks him and attempts to kill him. His dilemma has reached its crisis point—he must take action.
LET’S ADD A CRISIS TO OUR DEMO PLOT
Now let’s experiment with our story about the detective hired to protect the wild, sexy client. We’re looking to force his dilemma to a head somewhere around the two-thirds or three-quarters point in the plot. We’ve got him in a corner—he cannot keep protecting her yet he cannot walk away—and we want to bring all the issues to a crunch point. Let’s ask ourselves some questions about bringing the story to a crisis: How bad can it get? What’s an entertaining way for this disaster/adventure to come to a head? How risky can she get? How screwed can he get? How close is he to solving her case? What’s a humorous way to blow it all up? What’s a dangerous way to blow it all up? How can everything get much, much worse? How does the husband factor in? What if Zack finds out Minky’s a blackmailer, throwing things into an entirely new light? What if he discovers that it’s a much more dangerous game than he ever suspected? What if Minky is truly insane? What if he’s been played for a sucker? What if he’s now completely in love with her, right at this critical juncture? What if they’ve finally made love and it was beyond fantastic? What if they’ve finally made love and she starts acting even crazier? What if the threats to her become extremely dangerous? What if he’s losing his mind? What if he discovers she has betrayed him? What if he suspects she has sold him out? Who are the people who are trying to hurt her and what are they really up to?
When working a dilemma such as this to its crisis point, at that critical moment things can be both right on the edge of success as well as courting disaster. For instance, because Zack’s dilemma is partially about his inability to leave her, it will amplify the crisis if we really raise the stakes. So we have them finally make love, and now he’s totally smitten with her. Adding intensity to that, she also seems to be in love with him, and is perhaps even ready to leave her husband for him. Maybe Minky brings out genuine strength in him, so that he’s finally acting like a real man instead of a half-broken guy who can’t stand the heat. Maybe he’s also very close to finding her attackers. Maybe the husband gives him a huge bonus after a particularly dangerous fight so now he’s got some significant savings for the first time in his life. With the addition of all these elements, Zack is now really close to succeeding as well as really close to failing. The crisis will be all the more engrossing.
So here is our crisis in simple form: Right as our detective is closest to discovering who’s after the woman he’s protecting, they sleep together and fall madly, deeply in love. He’s high on life, feeling like he can move mountains, but then learns from her attacker that she’s really a blackmailer, and that she’s been using him and may have betrayed him. She’s seriously on the edge, and his own sanity starts to crack. And right at this juncture, while he’s balancing on the edge of the razor where success and failure meet, we’ll add that extra weight: They are attacked by her enemy. Our script has reached its crisis.
THE FUNCTION OF DECISION & ACTION IN DRAMATIZING A PLOT
A crisis forces the protagonist to make an immediate decision and take action, This is the turning point in the script, for good or bad. The word decision means “to cut off from”; at this point the protagonist will be forced to cut off the questioning process in which his dilemma has trapped him.
Decision & Action in the face of crisis reveals the true character of the protagonist—the mask is stripped off. A classic example is when the big, strong guy jumps up and runs out screaming while the little guy jumps up and saves the day. Think about how you never know who your real friends are until you’ve been through a crisis with them. Someone you thought was your friend may desert you when things turn critical, while someone you didn’t really know or like may step in and save the day. The audience is fascinated with seeing the mask stripped off. Why? Look at how infrequently we see this kind of naked human emotional reality. Pretence, subterfuge, diplomacy, self-deception, and layer upon conventional layer all cover up reality so that, in fact, it’s a rarity to see the true face beneath the mask.
Crisis also offers a crack in reality that can be taken advantage of by the opportune. The Chinese word for crisis is made up of two characters: one for danger and another for opportunity. It is said that great moments are born of great opportunity. Seemingly impossible things can be accomplished in the teeth of a
crisis. Scoundrels can overturn a government; adventurers can seize the moment and steer things their own way; desperate people can find strength and courage they never suspected in themselves and use these assets to forge their destinies.
In real life it is people’s ability—or inability—to make decisions in critical circumstances that makes them who they are. Those who stand out are good at making decisions in the highest-pressure situations. It’s what sets them apart. People rise to positions of leadership based on their ability to handle stress, think clearly, sort through possibilities, and operate using instinct, brains, and character. Great leaders are extremely effective in a crisis. A great compliment among sailors is, “He’s a good man in a storm.” Conversely, someone who’s unable to marshal their forces to get it right, someone who simply cannot work their way through a catastrophic situation, will fail. Decision and action in a crisis is a test of character, and that’s why it makes such compelling drama.