Psychology for Screenwriters

by William Indick

  THE VILLAIN’S COMEUPPANCE

  The key to the villain’s character is that he is amoral. As an expression of id energy, the villain could care less about the moral quality of his behavior. Guilt, remorse, and regret are anathema to his character. So, just as the naughty child must be punished for his immoral behavior by his parents, the evil villain must be punished by the hero. The villain must get his comeuppance. Furthermore, the villain’s comeuppance should ideally be tantamount to his crimes. If the villain raped, ravaged, and murdered his way through a host of the hero’s closest family members and friends, a punch in the face or a jail sentence does not provide a sense of dramatic justice to the viewer. The villain must suffer greatly, preferably at the hands of the hero.

  At the end of the original Dracula (1931), the Count’s (Bela Lugosi) demise is not even shown on screen, it is merely indicated by a short grunt as we see Von Helsing (Edward Van Sloan), from a distance, drive a stake into Dracula’s coffin. This uneventful death lacks the emotion needed at the climax of the film, and it also cheats the audience out of a necessary sense of dramatic justice. In Hammer Films’ 1958 remake with Christopher Lee as Dracula, the Count’s comeuppance is suitably dramatic and painful – complete with screams of agony and gory violence splattered with lots and lots of blood. One popular way to punish the villain, as seen in Die Hard (1988), is to have him fall to his death off a tall building or cliff. The falling death allows for a long, drawn out shot of the villain’s screaming face as he drops 100 stories to his doom. The agonizing fall also symbolizes his descent to hell – where his soul will be punished for eternity. Being blown to pieces, hacked up, eaten by wild animals, or ironically destroyed by his own elaborate killing device are also popular ways of killing the villain, which are much more dramatic than a simple gunshot.

  THE EGO AS HERO

  After the id, the next unconscious structure to develop is the “ego.” While the id represents the “pleasure principle,” the ego represents the “reality principle” – the need for the individual to reconcile his id drives with parental and societal demands for appropriate behavior. Translated from Freud’s German, “das Ich,” the ego is the “I” – the central representation of the self. The ego is constantly developing, constantly learning new ways to adjust to the demands of society, and hopefully becoming stronger and healthier as each day passes. In this way, the psychological function of the ego is directly parallel to the function of the hero. The hero is also developing. He is trying to master his environment, overcome obstacles, and defeat the depraved villains out to get him. If the hero is not in some way better, healthier, or stronger by the end of the film, then his character has not developed. While the plot of a film may deal with any number of issues, the heart and lifeblood of the movie is the development of the hero’s character. The hero is the “Ich” of the film, and his character must develop in order for the film to communicate on a psychological level. And, just as the ego’s job in the unconscious is to repress and control the id, the hero’s job in a film is to capture and defeat the villain.

  The triumph of the hero over the villain symbolizes the triumph of the ego over the id. In the traditional plot structure of “the maiden in distress,” a villain or monster kidnaps the maiden to satisfy his own immoral and libidinous desires. For example, in Dracula (1931), the vampire (Bela Lugosi) takes Mina back to his castle to make her a demonic undead creature. In rescuing the maiden, the hero foils the villain’s unholy schemes and redeems the maiden so they can be married in a wholesome and socially appropriate manner. In this sense, the hero’s triumph recalls the Oedipal drama, in which primal libidinous desires are defeated by the symbol of social restraint. In destroying his rival and rescuing the maiden, the hero symbolically destroys the troublesome id drives, and transforms the taboo desire for mother into a socially appropriate desire for the nubile young maiden.

  THE SUPEREGO AS MENTOR

  Often times, films have no external villain character. The problem of libido desires is an internal conflict within the hero, represented by inner demons and temptations. The internal force needed to control the dark power of the libido is supplied by the third unconscious structure, the “superego.” Translated from Freud’s German, “das uber-Ich,” the superego is the “over-I,” the unconscious representation of the morals and social conventions instilled into the individual by authority figures such as the father. As the son grows older, his feelings of aggression toward the father transform into a sense of respect and admiration. By identifying with the father as a role model, the son internalizes all of the father’s moral values and beliefs. In essence, the superego is the psychological embodiment of the boy’s identification with his father.

  VISUALIZING THE MENTOR

  Neurotic conflict between the id and superego is resolved by the ego. Since film is a visual medium, it is difficult to represent internal conflict on the screen without a physical embodiment of the two forces in conflict. While the id and superego in the unconscious are internal figures, the conflicting forces of primal impulses and moral conscience in film are usually represented by external figures. The id usually plays the part of the villain, and the superego is typically cast as a mentor character. The mentor provides the hero with a father figure or role model who informs the hero of his moral obligations and gives him the psychological strength he needs to succeed. Obi Won Kenobe (Alec Guiness) in Star Wars (1977) inspires his hero, Luke, to accept the moral challenge of fighting against the evil Empire. Obi Won also tutors Luke in the use of the “force,” giving him the spiritual and psychological power he will need to face the Dark Lord.

  The Mentor: Alec Guinness as Obi Won in Star Wars (1977).

  In writing your script, it might be useful to add a physical representation of the superego, to give the audience a visual cue to the internal conflict going on in the hero’s psyche. In Jerry Maguire, Jerry recalls some wise words given to him by his mentor, an old sports agent he worked with long ago. Though this mentor figure only appears once in a brief flashback, it adds a much needed physical and visual presence to the ethereal sense of moral integrity that Jerry is trying to achieve. Similarly, The Natural (1984) begins with a short sequence in which the hero plays catch with his father. The father is not seen again in the film, but the short scene creates an indelible link in the audience’s mind between Roy’s internal representation of his father (his superego), and Roy’s ardent desire to succeed as a baseball player. When the film ends with another short scene of Roy playing catch with his own son, a sense of emotional resolution is expressed in a way that could not have been achieved through dialogue, voice over, or a written epilogue.

  The emotional power of film is linked directly with its appeal as a visual art form. Even if the hero’s conflict is internal, your primary job as a screenwriter is to express this internal struggle visually, so that the conflict is readily apparent on the screen, and not just through words. Creating external representations of internal psychological structures (i.e., id as villain and superego as mentor), is a traditional method of visualization.

  THE CRISIS OF CONSCIENCE

  When a character does not have a strong or present mentor figure, his struggle may center around the issue of an underdeveloped superego. This character’s weakness may be displayed through egoism, selfishness, or a general unwillingness to dedicate himself to the heroic cause at the core of the plot. Han Solo (Harrison Ford) in Star Wars exemplifies this sort of self-involved hero. (The character’s name, “Solo,” gives away his predisposition toward going his own way and avoiding selfless causes.) While Luke dedicates himself to the rebel’s struggle early on, Han expresses his unwillingness to join in the rebellion against the Empire throughout the film. He constantly maintains that he is only involved in Luke’s mission for the money, and he refuses to help Luke in the big battle to destroy the Death Star, because there’s nothing in it for him. Characters like Han develop through a crisis of conscience, in which they must reevaluate their priori
ties. The guilt behind this crisis comes from the character’s role model or mentor – the physical embodiment of that character’s superego.

  Luke’s heroism develops quickly because he has a strong superego, represented by his mentor and role model, Obi Won. Han lacks a mentor figure, so his development as a hero is stunted. By the end of the film, Luke’s character has developed so much that he becomes a mentor to Han, setting up the sudden change of colors at the climax of the film, when Han suddenly appears out of nowhere to save Luke from certain death – finally sacrificing himself for the sake of the cause. When writing the character that is struggling to develop his own superego, remember that the superego develops when the boy identifies with his father as his primary role model. When your character finally develops his or her superego and is ready to fight the good fight, ask yourself: “Who is this character’s role model?” The answer to this question will typically provide the key to your character’s primary motivation for fighting.

  COWARDLY CHARACTERS

  Often times, the character struggling with his own conscience or integrity can be a comical figure, a cowardly sidekick whom the hero must drag unwillingly into dangerous situations. Scooby and Shaggy from the Scooby Doo cartoons epitomize this kind of cowardly character. These figures recall the humorously chicken-hearted antics of comic heroes such as Abbot and Costello, Laurel and Hardy, and the Marx Brothers. Whether the cowardly heroes are the stars of the movie or just comic relief, their reluctance to face danger throughout the film is a typical set up for a surprise development in the end, when the cowards suddenly overcome their fear and courageously face the dangerous foe and save the day. No matter how many times this formula is used, it still remains effective, because it addresses a universal psychological issue of character development that everyone can identify with. Nevertheless, the coward-who-finds-courage theme should be used with care and subtlety. Don’t make it too obvious that this character will eventually change colors, because audiences (especially children), can still be joyfully surprised when the goosey scaredy-cat becomes a brave hero in the end.

  THE ANTIHERO

  American movie heroes tend to be men who are dominated by their id drives rather than their moral consciences. Western outlaws, mobsters, thieves, and criminals are just as often cast as heroes as the typical do-gooders. The antihero is a character with a strong libido and a seriously underdeveloped superego. He gets his way by breaking laws rather than enforcing them. John Wayne, James Cagney, Humphrey Bogart, Henry Fonda, Robert Mitchum, and many other movie superstars became popular as antiheroes in Westerns, Film Noir, gangster, and heist films. While the initial goal for these figures is to break the law and satisfy their own primal urges, the antihero usually gets involved with another goal which is related to the development of his moral character. The resolution of this second goal is the psychological crux of the film, because it represents the progression of the hero’s character from selfish egoist to selfless champion.

  The antihero (Alan Ladd) in Shane (1953) starts out as a lone outlaw, a wandering gunslinger running away from his shady past. He is interested only in self-preservation and the possibility of making a fresh start. But as Shane’s relationship with a family of homesteaders grows closer, he cares less about himself and dedicates himself more and more to the homesteaders’ struggle against the evil cattle baron. In the end, Shane sacrifices his chance for a new beginning and puts his own life on the line to help the homesteaders defeat the bad guys. Shane’s courageous act of selflessness epitomizes this type of character’s primary goal – to develop from an id-centered antihero who only cares about himself, into a true hero who sacrifices himself for others.

  When writing the antihero character, it is crucial to link his goal with more than just physical rewards such as money, prestige, or power. These antiheroes may be fun for a while, but they lack psychological depth because their motivations are one-dimensional. The antihero’s original egoistic goals must be replaced by a need to redeem himself, creating a second dimension to his character. A third dimension arises from an internal conflict, when the antihero realizes that the only way he can redeem himself is by belying the nature of his original character, and committing himself to self-sacrifice rather than self-indulgence.

  THE FALLEN HERO

  When writing your script, you need to be very clear about the motivations behind your characters, as motivation provides the key to character development, and consequently determines the dramatic structure of the entire story. If the hero breaks the law in order to help others, then he is a two-dimensional antihero… like Jesse James or Robin Hood. If the hero breaks the law merely to help himself, then he is a one-dimensional antihero, like the crooks in The Score (2001) and The Heist (2001). These heroes are quickly forgotten because their motivations are too simple. When these heroes triumph in the end, we feel a vicarious sense of pleasure in the fact that they got away with the loot, but there is no feeling that the character has developed at all. He started out as a crook, and he ended as a crook. But when the bad man’s dark acts lead to his own downfall, the dramatic structure of the triumphant hero is transformed into a tragedy, and the character gains some crucial psychological depth. He is not just a crook or a criminal – he is a fallen hero.

  The dramatic quality of the fallen hero’s story lies in his motivation. The fallen hero wants to better himself in some way. Unfortunately, the fallen hero chooses a shady path toward self-redemption, which inevitably leads to his own destruction. The tragedy within the story emerges from the irony of the fallen hero’s situation. It is his own desire for redemption that precipitates his demise. In Scarface (1983), Tony (Al Pacino) robs, kills, and intimidates his way to the top of the drug world. He has done far too many evil things for his character to be redeemed, yet his final downfall comes after he refuses to kill the innocent wife and children of a man whom he was supposed to assassinate. Ironically, despite all his evil deeds, it is Tony’s one moral act that destroys him.

  Similarly, in The Godfather trilogy, Michael Corleone’s (Al Pacino) primary motivation is to extricate himself and his family from their insidious life of organized crime. However, his attempts to legitimize his family’s name always lead him into more killings and more illicit conspiracies. The tragic irony in the fallen hero’s story elicits compassion and sympathy in the viewer, and gives the character a tremendous amount of psychological depth. The fallen hero is doomed. Like a man stuck in quicksand, every effort to pull himself out just plunges him further in. The key to writing the fallen hero character lies within this sense of doom and dread – the character’s desperate struggle against himself – and his true desire to be better than the man that he’s become.

  THE GUILT COMPLEX

  The classical heroes – the white knights on white horses – typically start out with well-developed superegos. Rather than having too much libido, these heroes often suffer from too much guilt. Despite their superpowers, the superheroes in Superman (1978) and Spider-man (2002) are defenseless against their own superegos, and the crippling guilt that rules their lives. When Clark Kent’s adoptive father (Glenn Ford) dies of a heart attack, young Clark (Jeff East) inexplicably blames himself. He doesn’t understand why he has so many awesome powers, if he couldn’t even save his own dad. This guilt complex leads Clark into his new identity as a selfless superhero, which Superman (Christopher Reeve) sees as a way of redeeming himself and justifying his special abilities.

  Spider-man’s genesis is an even more direct portrayal of a guilt complex. In the 1st act, Peter Parker (Tobey Maguire) is using his superpowers to benefit himself, as an undefeatable professional wrestler. Peter doesn’t even stop a criminal after the lowlife robs Peter’s boss. But when the criminal goes on to kill Peter’s uncle (Cliff Robertson), Peter believes that he must justify his own existence in order to atone for his sin. As Spider-man, Peter will use his powers only for good, and his life will be dedicated to fighting crime.

  The guilt complex is an intrig
uing character element and a strong motivation for any hero, not just superheroes. It helps when the character’s guilt is really justified. Every person has done bad things – we all feel guilty about something – so audiences can easily identify with a hero’s feeling of guilt, and his desire to redeem himself. In Drugstore Cowboy (1989), Bob (Matt Dillon) is the ultimate egoist. An unapologetic junky, he cares only about where his next fix will come from, and he’ll do anything to get it. But when Nadine (Heather Graham), an innocent young girl in his crew, kills herself in reaction to his gross insensitivity, Bob is motivated to change his life. The guilt he feels over destroying Nadine inspires Bob to redeem his own life. Though Bob is not a superhero, his dedication to his new cause is just as powerful and inspiring.

  The primary psychological themes of sin, guilt, and redemption are extremely resonant. Audiences will instinctively identify with characters who are experiencing this crisis, but it is not an instant formula – the crisis must be carefully structured. The heart of this structure is the hero’s father figure (i.e., mentor or role model). Bob’s life in Drugstore Cowboy is conspicuously absent of a father figure. But right after Bob decides to go straight, Father Murphy (William Burroughs) appears on the scene. Father Murphy is an elderly priest from Bob’s past who is also kicking the habit. He provides a much-needed role model for Bob at the time of his metamorphosis. Though Father Murphy’s part is miniscule, his presence is a necessary piece in the puzzle of Bob’s character – a puzzle piece you’ll need to address when writing your own guilt-ridden hero.