by Robert McKee
You’re willing to risk people. Each morning you go to your desk and enter the imagined world of your characters. You dream and write until the sun’s setting and your head’s throbbing. So you turn off your word processor to be with the person you love. Except that, while you can turn off your machine, you can’t turn off your imagination. As you sit at dinner, your characters are still running through your head and you’re wishing there was a notepad next to your plate. Sooner or later, the person you love will say: “You know… you’re not really here.” Which is true. Half the time you’re somewhere else, and no one wants to live with somebody who isn’t really there.
The writer places time, money, and people at risk because his ambition has life-defining force. What’s true for the writer is true for every character he creates:
The measure of the value of a character’s desire is in direct proportion to the risk he’s willing to take to achieve it; the greater the value, the greater the risk.
THE GAP IN PROGRESSION
The protagonist’s first action has aroused forces of antagonism that block his desire and spring open a gap between anticipation and result, disconfirming his notions of reality, putting him in greater conflict with his world, at even greater risk. But the resilient human mind quickly remakes reality into a larger pattern that incorporates this disconfirmation, this unexpected reaction. Now he takes a second, more difficult and risk-taking action, an action consistent with his revised vision of reality, an action based on his new expectations of the world. But again his action provokes forces of antagonism, splitting open a gap in his reality. So he adjusts to the unexpected, ups the ante yet again and decides to take an action that he feels is consistent with his amended sense of things. He reaches even more deeply into his capacities and willpower, puts himself at greater risk, and takes a third action.
Perhaps this action achieves a positive result, and for the moment he takes a step toward his desire, but with his next action, the gap will again spring open. Now he must take an even more difficult action that demands even more willpower, more capacity, and more risk. Over and over again in a progression, rather than cooperation, his actions provoke forces of antagonism, opening gaps in his reality. This pattern repeats on various levels to the end of the line, to a final action beyond which the audience cannot imagine another.
These cracks in moment-to-moment reality mark the difference between the dramatic and the prosaic, between action and activity. True action is physical, vocal, or mental movement that opens gaps in expectation and creates significant change. Mere activity is behavior in which what is expected happens, generating either no change or trivial change.
But the gap between expectation and result is far more than a matter of cause and effect. In the most profound sense, the break between the cause as it seemed and the effect as it turns out marks the point where the human spirit and the world meet. On one side is the world as we believe it to be, on the other is reality as it actually is. In this gap is the nexus of story, the caldron that cooks our tellings. Here the writer finds the most powerful, life-bending moments. The only way we can reach this crucial junction is by working from the inside out.
WRITING FROM THE INSIDE OUT
Why must we do this? Why during the creation of a scene must we find our way to the center of each character and experience it from his point of view? What do we gain when we do? What do we sacrifice if we don’t?
Like anthropologists, we could, for example, discover social and environmental truths through careful observations. Like note-taking psychologists, we could find behavioral truths. We could, by working from the outside in, render a surface of character that’s genuine, even fascinating. But the one crucial dimension we would not create is emotional truth.
The only reliable source of emotional truth is yourself. If you stay outside your characters, you inevitably write emotional clichés. To create revealing human reactions, you must not only get inside your character, but get inside yourself. So, how to do this? How, as you sit at your desk, do you crawl inside the head of your character to feel your heart pounding, your palms sweating, a knot in your belly, tears in your eyes, laughter in your heart, sexual arousal, anger, outrage, compassion, sadness, joy, or any of the uncountable responses along the spectrum of human emotions?
You’ve determined that a certain event must take place in your story, a situation to be progressed and turned. How to write a scene of insightful emotions? You could ask: How should someone take this action? But that leads to clichés and moralizing. Or you could ask: How might someone do this? But that leads to writing “cute”—clever but dishonest. Or: “If my character were in these circumstances, what would he do?” But that puts you at a distance, picturing your character walking the stage of his life, guessing at his emotions, and guesses are invariably clichés. Or you could ask: “If I were in these circumstances, what would I do?” As this question plays on your imagination, it may start your heart pounding, but obviously you’re not the character. Although it may be an honest emotion for you, your character might do the reverse. So what do you do?
You ask: “If I were this character in these circumstances, what would I do?” Using Stanislavski’s “Magic if,” you act the role. It is no accident that many of the greatest playwrights from Euripides to Shakespeare to Pinter, and screenwriters from D. W. Griffith to Ruth Gordon to John Sayles were also actors. Writers are improvisationalists who perform sitting at their word processors, pacing their rooms, acting all their characters: man, woman, child, monster. We act in our imaginations until honest, character-specific emotions flow in our blood. When a scene is emotionally meaningful to us, we can trust that it’ll be meaningful to the audience. By creating work that moves us, we move them.
CHINATOWN
To illustrate writing from the inside out, I’ll use one of the most famous and brilliantly written scenes in film, the second act climax of CHINATOWN by screenwriter Robert Towne. I’ll work from the scene as performed on screen, but it can also be found in the third draft of Towne’s screenplay, dated October 9, 1973.
Synopsis
Private detective J. J. Gittes is investigating the death of Hollis Mulwray, commissioner of the Los Angeles Department of Water and Power. Mulwray has apparently drowned in a reservoir, and the crime baffles Gittes’s rival, Police Lieutenant Escobar. Near the end of the Act Two, Gittes has narrowed suspects and motives to two: either a conspiracy of millionaires led by the ruthless Noah Cross killed Mulwray for political power and riches; or Evelyn Mulwray killed her husband in a jealous rage after he was found with another woman.
Gittes follows Evelyn to a house in Santa Monica. Peering through a window, he sees the “other woman,” seemingly drugged and held prisoner. When Evelyn comes out to her car, he forces her to talk and she claims that the woman is her sister. Gittes knows she doesn’t have a sister, but for the moment says nothing.
The next morning he discovers what appears to be the dead man’s eyeglasses in a salt water pond at the Mulwray home in the hills above L.A. Now he knows how and where the man was killed. With this evidence he goes back to Santa Monica to confront Evelyn and turn her over to Escobar, who’s threatening to pull Gittes’s private investigator’s license.
CHARACTERS
J.J. GITTES, while working for the district attorney, fell in love with a woman in Chinatown and while trying to help her somehow caused her death. He resigned and became a PI, hoping to escape corrupt politics and his tragic past. But now he’s drawn back into both. What’s worse, he finds himself in this predicament because, days before the murder, he was duped into investigating Mulwray for adultery. Someone’s made a fool of Gittes and he’s a man of excessive pride. Behind his cool demeanor is an impulsive risk-taker; his sarcastic cynicism masks an idealist’s hunger for justice. To further complicate matters, he’s fallen in love with Evelyn Mulwray. Gittes’s scene objective: to find the truth.
EVELYN MULWRAY is the victim’s wife and daughter of Noah Cross. She�
��s nervous and defensive when questioned about her husband; she stammers when her father is mentioned. She is, we sense, a woman with something to hide. She has hired Gittes to look into the murder of her husband, perhaps to conceal her own guilt. During the investigation, however, she seems drawn to him. After a close escape from some thugs, they make love. Evelyn’s scene objective: to hide her secret and escape with Katherine.
KHAN is Evelyn’s servant. Now that she’s widowed, he also sees himself as her bodyguard. He prides himself on his dignified manner and ability to handle difficult situations. Khan’s scene objective: to protect evelyn.
KATHERINE is a shy innocent who has lead a very protected life. Katherine’s scene objective: to obey evelyn.
THE SCENE:
INT./ EXT. SANTA MONICA—BUICK—MOVING—DAY
Gittes drives through Los Angeles.
To work from the inside out, slip in Gittes’ mind while he drives to Evelyn’s hideaway. Imagine yourself in Gittes’ pov. As the streets roll past, you ask:
“If I were Gittes at this moment, what would I do?”
Letting your imagination roam, the answer comes:
“Rehearse. I always rehearse in my head before taking on life’s big confrontations.”
Now work deeper into Gittes’s emotions and psyche:
Hands white-knuckled on the steering wheel, thoughts racing: “She killed him, then used me. She lied to me, came on to me. Man, I fell for her. My guts are in a knot, but I’ll be cool. I’ll stroll to the door, step in and accuse her. She lies. I send for the cops. She plays innocent, a few tears. But I stay ice cold, show her Mulwray’s glasses, then lay out how she did it, step by step, as if I was there. She confesses. I turn her over to Escobar; I’m off the hook.”
EXT. BUNGALOW-SANTA MONICA
Gittes’ car speeds into the driveway.
You continue working from inside Gittes’ pov, thinking:
“I’ll be cool, I’ll be cool…” Suddenly, with the sight of her house, an image of Evelyn flashes in your imagination. A rush of anger. A gap cracks open between your cool resolve and your fury.
The Buick SCREECHES to a halt. Gittes jumps out.
“To hell with her!”
Gittes SLAMS the car door and bolts up the steps.
“Grab her now, before she runs.”
He twists the door knob, find it locked, then BANGS on the door.
“Goddamn it.”
INT. BUNGALOW
KHAN, Evelyn’s Chinese servant, hears POUNDING and heads for the door.
As characters enter and exit, shift back and forth in your imagination, taking the pov of one, then the other. Moving to Khan’s point of view, ask yourself:
“If I were Khan at this moment, what would I think, feel, do?”
As you settle into this character’s psyche, your thoughts run to:
“Who the hell’s that?” Paste on a butler’s smile. “Ten to one it’s that loud mouth detective again. I’ll handle him.”
Khan unlocks the door and finds Gittes on the step.
KHAN
You wait.
Shifting back into Gittes’ mind:
“That snotty butler again.”
GITTES
You wait. Chow hoy kye dye!
(translation: Fuck
off, punk)
Gittes shoves Khan aside and pushes into the house.
As you switch back to Khan, the sudden gap between expectation and result inverts your smile:
Confusion, anger. “He not only barges in but insults me in Cantonese! Throw him out!”
Gittes looks up as Evelyn appears on the stairs behind Khan, nervously adjusting her necklace as she descends.
As Khan:
“It’s Mrs. Mulwray. Protect her!”
Evelyn has been calling Gittes all morning, hoping to get his help. After packing for hours, she’s in a hell-bent rush to catch the 5:30 train to Mexico. You shift to her pov:
“If I were Evelyn in this situation, what would I do?”
Now find your way to the heart of this very complex woman:
“It’s Jake. Thank God. I know he cares. He’ll help me. How do I look?” Hands instinctively flutter to hair, face. “Khan looks worried.”
Evelyn smiles reassuringly to Khan and gestures for him to leave.
EVELYN
It’s all right, Khan.
As Evelyn turning back to Gittes:
Feeling more confident. “Now I’m not alone.”
EVELYN
How are you? I’ve been
calling you.
INT. LIVING ROOM—SAME
Gittes turns away and steps into the living room.
As Gittes:
“She’s so beautiful. Don’t look at her. Stay tough, man. Be ready. She’ll tell lie on lie.”
GITTES
… Yeah?
Evelyn follows, searching his face.
As Evelyn:
“I can’t get his eye. Something’s bothering him. He looks exhausted…”
EVELYN
Did you get some sleep?
GITTES
Sure.
“… and hungry, poor man.”
EVELYN
Have you had lunch? Khan
can fix you something.
As Gittes:
“What’s this lunch bullshit? Do it now.”
GITTES
Where’s the girl?
Back in Evelyn’s thoughts as a gap in expectation flies open with a shock:
“Why’s he asking that? What’s gone wrong? Keep calm. Feign innocence.”
EVELYN
Upstairs, why?
As Gittes:
“The soft voice, the innocent ‘why?’ Keep cool.”
GITTES
I want to see her.
As Evelyn:
“What does he want with Katherine? No. I can’t let him see her now. Lie. Find out first.”
EVELYN
… She’s having a bath now.
Why do you want to see her?
As Gittes:
Disgusted with her lies. “Don’t let her get to ya.”
Gittes looks around the room and sees half-packed suitcases.
“She’s making a run for it. Good thing I got here. Keep sharp. She’ll lie again.”
GITTES
Going somewhere?
As Evelyn:
“Should have told him, but there wasn’t time. Can’t hide it. Tell the truth. He’ll understand.”
EVELYN
Yes, we have a 5:30 train to catch.
As Gittes, a minor gap opens:
“What do ya know? Sounds honest. Doesn’t matter. Put an end to her bullshit. Let her know you mean business. Where’s the phone? There.”
Gittes picks up the telephone.
As Evelyn:
Bewilderment, choking fear. “Who’s he calling?”
EVELYN
Jake…?
“He’s dialing. God, help me…”
As Gittes, ear to the phone:
“Answer, damn it.” Hearing the desk sergeant pick up.
GITTES
J. J. Gittes for Lt. Escobar.
As Evelyn:
“The police!” A rush of adrenaline hits. Panic. “No, no. Keep calm. Keep calm. It must be about Hollis. But I can’t wait. We have to leave now.”
EVELYN
Look, what’s the matter?
What’s wrong? I told you
we’ve got a 5:30 train—
As Gittes:
“Enough! Shut her up.”
GITTES
You’re gonna miss your train.
(into phone)
Lou, meet me at 1972 Canyon
Drive… yeah, soon as you
can.
As Evelyn:
Anger rises. “The fool…” A shred of hope. “But maybe he’s calling the police to help me.”
EVELYN
Why did you do that?
As Gittes:
Smug satisfaction.
“She’s trying to get tough, but I’ve got her now. Feels good. I’m right at home.”
GITTES
(tossing his hat on
the table)
You know any good criminal lawyers?
As Evelyn, trying to close an ever-widening gap:
“Lawyers? What the hell does he mean?” A chilling fear of something terrible about to happen.
EVELYN
No.
As Gittes:
“Look at her, cool and collected, playing it innocent to the end.”
GITTES
(taking out a silver
cigarette case)
Don’t worry. I can recommend
a couple. They’re expensive,
but you can afford it.
Gittes calmly takes a lighter from his pocket, sits down and lights a cigarette.
As Evelyn:
“My God, he’s threatening me. I slept with him. Look at him swagger. Who does he think he is?” Throat tightens in anger. “Don’t panic. Handle it. There must be a reason for this.”
EVELYN
Will you please tell me what this
is all about?
As Gittes:
“Pissed off, are ya? Good. Watch this.”
Gittes slips the cigarette lighter back into his pocket and with the same motion brings out a wrapped handkerchief. He sets it on the table and carefully pulls back the four corners of the cloth to reveal the eyeglasses.
GITTES
I found these in your back-yard
in the pond. They
belonged to your husband,
didn’t they… didn’t they?
As Evelyn:
The gap refuses to close. Dazed. Nothing makes sense. A rising dread. “Glasses? In Hollis’ fish pond? What’s he after?”
EVELYN
I don’t know. Yes, probably.