by Linda Seger
■ A thirty-five-year-old man who never wears suits because of his anti-establishment bias
■ A forty-year-old man who always has jazz music playing in the background
■ A professional woman who is known for her unusual earrings (worn only among friends) of bananas, flamingos, cockatoos, and boomerangs
Some of the most memorable characters are remembered because of such details: Murphy Brown breaks number-2 pencils when she's under stress; Indiana Jones hates snakes, and always wears his favorite hat; Archie Bunker's pet name for his son-in-law is "Meathead."
Details can be actions, behaviors, use of language, gestures, the clothes one wears, the way a person laughs, the unusual approaches the person takes to a situation.
These details often come from the person's imperfections. In The Power of Myth, Joseph Campbell says, "The writer must be true to truth. And that's a killer, because the only way you can describe a human being truly is by describing his imperfections. The perfect human being is uninteresting. ... It is the imperfections of life that are lovable. . . . Perfection is a bore, it's inhuman. The umbilical point, the humanity, the thing that makes you human and not supernatural and immortal . . . the imperfection, striving, living . . . that's what's lovable. "7
We can see these human imperfections in such critically acclaimed films as A Fish Called Wanda (Ken stutters), sex, lies and videotape (the lead character is consumed by thoughts of garbage), and When Harry Met Sally. In this last film, written by Nora Ephron, Harry talks about the unique details that make up Sally's personality.
INT. NEW YEAR'S EVE PARTY—NIGHT
HARRY
I've been doing a lot of thinking. And the thing is, I love you ... I love how you get cold when it's 71 degrees out. I love that it takes you an hour to order a sandwich. I love that you get a little crinkle right there when you're looking at me like I'm nuts. I love that after I spend the day with you I can still smell your perfume on my clothes. And I love that you're the last person I want to talk to before I go to sleep at night. And it's not because it's New Year's Eve. I came here tonight because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.
EXERCISE: Think about your friends and acquaintances. What small details distinguish them and make them memorable? Which of these details are endearing? Which are annoying? How might you incorporate them into a character?
A CASE STUDY: "MIDNIGHT CALLER"
"Midnight Caller" premiered in the fall of 1988. The creator of the series, Richard DiLello, discusses the creation of the complex character of Jack Killian:
"I always start with a character's name. I'll spend a couple of days writing lists of names. I figured Jack Killian was a man in his thirties. In his backstory, I wanted to have some major event occur in his life that would bring him from being a cop to this other place where he wound up—as the Nighthawk. I thought that killing his own partner would be the most extreme. I was afraid that this might be too big a leap for the audience to take, but then I realized that you needed that one moment in the dark when you couldn't turn back the clock.
"In the pilot, there are two terse scenes which show him losing himself in a conventional way, going into the bottom of the bottle and cutting himself off from the rest of the world. The character of Devon King comes in and redeems him. She's the one who gives him a chance to come down from the crucifix where he has nailed himself.
"In some ways, Jack is a typical cop. He's blue-collar. He doesn't have a formal education. Face it, you don't get out of Harvard Business School and become a police officer. He likes sports and rock and roll.
"His own eclectic reading makes him different and sensitive to the world. He reads contemporary fiction—I had always imagined he'd be a great fan of Jack Kerouac and Raymond Carver. Killian is trying to form his own philosophy in life. He is not a conscious intellectual; he's more of a street intellectual. He operates from his gut. He shoots from the hip and makes a lot of mistakes. But he's totally different because most cops become totally cynical. They walk in the blackness of their own work and basically leave humanity. But he's always remained sympathetic and caring of other people's problems. Maybe he can't deal with a lot of his own problems so he finds it easier to help others. He can't organize his own life very well. He can't find a stable relationship with someone else but he can certainly help you find one and tell you what to do.
"I think he realizes that there was more in life he could have gone for and opportunities to socialize were missed. He's more emotionally expressive than most cops—not stoic or repressed—and he doesn't like it about himself; he'd prefer to be a little cooler. But he's responsive, he gets angry at the pomposity in other people, at their hypocrisy, at injustice and the things that aren't fair. He gets frustrated with having to deal with the bureaucracy. What he likes are the simple things—a good meal, listening to Elvis Presley records, seeing the Chicago Cubs do well.
"He's definitely a loner, but he'd prefer not being a loner. The great love of his life has AIDS, and he's angry at the
man who knowingly gave it to her. His emotional life is still growing.
"Killian works out of his own moral imperative, his own set of values. His humanity is the most important thing about this show. His attitude is always humanistic, but sometimes masked by a touch of black humor. Jack definitely is filling the function of helping the audience understand their world. At the end of every show when Jack signs off he makes a statement about what he's learned in that hour. It was always my intention that he was, in fact, heroic—but a different kind of hero. His summing up at the end shows him to be a man of thought as well as of action."
APPLICATION
Since much of character creation comes from observation, a writer is continually "in training." As an exercise, study a character at the airport, at the grocery store, or in your work environment. Ask yourself the following questions:
■ If I were to describe this character in a strong, broad stroke, what would that description be?
■ What might I expect to be true of this person, given his or her context? Can you imagine paradoxes that might make an interesting character?
Then, as you look at the main characters in your story, ask yourself:
■ Do my characters "make sense"? Have I shown a number of qualities that my characters might have?
■ What makes my characters interesting? Compelling? Fascinating? Different? Unpredictable? Do my characters do the unexpected at times? Do these paradoxes contradict any of the consistent qualities I've created, or are they used to expand my characters?
■ What are my characters concerned about? Are these values understandable? Are they conveyed through action and attitudes, rather than through long monologues?
■ Is it clear how my characters feel? Does each individual character have a broad range of emotions, rather than repeating the same ones?
■ Have I used my characters' attitudes to help define character?
The process of creating character is ongoing. Even when not writing, writers need to store up details, looking to reality for inspiration and ideas. As advertising director Joe Sedel-maier says, "It always starts in reality. If I'm gonna copy, I'm gonna copy reality. "
SUMMARY
Barry Morrow says creating a character is similar to the work of an artist: "It's like shaping a lump of clay, or like whittling a stick. You can't get to the fine stuff until you get the bark off of it." Shaping the clay of your character is a six-step process:
1. Through observation and experience, you begin to form an idea of a character.
2. The first broad strokes begin to define the character.
3. You define the character's consistency, so the character makes sense.
4. Adding quirks, the illogical, the paradoxical, makes the character fascinating and compelling.
5. The qualities of emotions, values, and attitudes deepen the character.
6. Ad
ding details makes the character unique and special.
When you first meet someone in real life, are you often curious about the person s background? Have you ever asked these kinds of questions:
■ Where was he from? Why did he move to your city?
■ Why did she decide to take this particular job? What jobs has she had in the past?
■ How long have they been married? Where did they meet?
We're curious about the past, because we know there are interesting stories behind every decision. Some might involve intrigue ("She was forced to leave town"), or romance ("They met at the top of the Eiffel Tower when they were both students in France"), or corruption ("The politician used government money to pay for his Bel Air home"). The current situation is a result of decisions and events from the past. And the choices that have been made will determine other choices in the future.
Every novel and screenplay focuses on a specific story, one we might call the front story. That's the real story the writer wants to tell. But the characters in the front story do what they do and are what they are because of their past. This past might include traumas and crises, important people who came into their lives, the negative and positive feedback they've received, childhood dreams and goals, and of course influences from society and culture.
The backstory provides two different types of information. One is the past events and influences that directly affect the construction of the story. Films and books such as Sibyl, The Three Faces of Eve, Hamlet, Ordinary People, and Citizen Kane all have crucial backstory events that created the front story. Both audience/reader and writer must be aware of these events to understand the story.
Some backstory information is part of the character biography. This information may never be conveyed to the audience, but the writer needs to know it to help create the character.
Characters are born in a writer's mind and are given a specific set of attitudes and experiences. The backstory helps the writer discover which of these attitudes and experiences are essential in order to fully create the character.
WHAT BACKSTORY INFORMATION DO YOU NEED TO KNOW?
Many actors do considerable work upon the backstory of their characters before playing a role. The famous actor, director, and teacher Constantin Stanislavski recommended that actors write out specific biographies about their characters. Lajos Egri, in his book The Art of Dramatic Writing, recommends that writers do the same. A character biography might include the following information:
PHYSIOLOGY: Age, Sex, Posture, Appearance, Physical Defects, Heredity.
SOCIOLOGY: Class, Occupation, Education, Home Life, Religion, Political Affiliations, Hobbies, Amusements.
PSYCHOLOGY: Sex Life and Moral Standards, Ambitions, Frustrations, Temperament, Attitude toward Life, Complexes, Abilities, I.Q., Personality (extravert, introvert).1
Carl Sautter comments on this approach: "There is a danger to doing the three-page character biography. I still encourage writers to do it, but then I basically tell them to throw it away. Do it and know all of that but let other elements evolve as your character evolves. In a lot of ways that character is being born in front of you. Anybody can come up with a three-page history for a character, and you do find lots of good and useful elements through that exercise that you're able to use later on. But it can't stop there."
Frank Pierson (Dog Day Afternoon, Cool Hand Luke, In Country) adds: "What you need to know about the characters is what the actors need to know to play the scenes. What is important are the sense memories. It is not important what happened to them but how they felt about it. If you want to ask questions, don't ask the characters questions like: 'What school did they go to? Did you ever work in a factory? Was your mother a domineering woman?' . . . What you want to ask the characters is, 'What was your most embarrassing moment? Did you ever feel like a fool? What are the worst things that ever happened to you? Did you ever throw up in a public place?' You need to bring out those emotions, because those are what a character carries into a scene and colors everything he does."2 The backstory will be different for every character. The biography by itself won't always give you relevant information. If you're writing Hamlet, it's not necessary to know what childhood games Hamlet played, or who was his childhood sweetheart. If you're writing Fiddler on the Roof, this information may be essential.
For many writers, the process of creating backstory begins first with creating a character and beginning to work on the story. As they write, they realize they don't have certain information they need about their character. Or they discover that their character is having unexpected reactions to events and people. Perhaps they don't know how their character would respond in particular circumstances. The backstory is discovered by a process of asking Why and What questions about their character.
■ Why did Karen Blixen go to Africa? What was it in her life in Denmark that motivated her to move?
• Why was Alex in Fatal Attraction so desperate to marry Dan and have a child? What influences in her life led her—at the age of thirty-six—to the point of madness?
■ Why is Beth in Ordinary People so afraid of feelings? What was she like when her children were young, when she couldn't control everything?
■ What in Murphy Brown's past led her to become an alcoholic?
■ Why did Bruce Wayne become Batman?
Getting to know the backstory of a character is similar to getting to know the past of a new friend. The information from the past deepens the relationship. Coleman Luck describes backstory in this way: "You start by looking at your character as having a fully faceted life—a life that needs to be explored. It's like going back and discovering your grandfather. Are you going to sit there and define him by listening to all the facts about him ... or by asking key questions to try to find the essence of his character?"
Finding the backstory is a process of discovery. You begin by asking questions of your character. Then you go back to try to figure out what happened in the past that might influence decisions and actions in the present.
When Bill Kelley and Earl Wallace were writing Witness, Bill wondered why John Book didn't have a woman in his life. He asked Earl, and together they tried to construct an answer.
"John Book was something of an enigma," Bill says. "He didn't seem to have a great deal of romantic experience; so I asked Earl, 'Why doesn't he?' and Earl said, 'Well, he doesn't have time—he's busy.' And I said, 'Come on, Earl, I know two of the busiest cops in L.A. and they have plenty of time for romance and they're both married.' So he says, 'Well, he's not a prude,' which helped define him for me. Earl did most of the work on John Book in the script, but when I started writing the novel, I had to define him even more closely. Gradually, I turned him into sort of a stiff-back, not really available to romance, the sort of person who kept asking incisive questions and scaring women off. You know Rachel may have been only the third woman in his life—ever, and that includes his sister."
James Dearden explains Alex Forrest's character: "Alex had had a long affair with an older married man which ended about six months before the story began. She thought he was going to marry her, but he didn't, so she was on the rebound. Originally there was a scene in the film about her loneliness, and about this affair, but we took it out."
Backstory information does not always have to appear in the story. In both these examples, the writer needed to know backstory information to understand the character; but it was not necessary to the story line.
Kurt Luedtke explains: "I don't think we ever do enough work on backstory. I've never known a situation where backstory was completely solved before writing the screenplay. You think you have it down but as you go down the road you see a situation and realize you don't know where that attitude comes from. Sometimes a scene will feel flat, partly because it's clear what the character is going to do. Sometimes I'll ask, 'What if he doesn't do this particular thing that most people would do? What if she doesn't say what you expect—but the opposite?'
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p; And sometimes, one in four times, it gets interesting. And that requires more exploration of backstory."
WHAT DOES BACKSTORY REVEAL?
Backstory helps us understand why characters behave as they do. Sometimes it gives us information about the past that helps us to understand the psychology of the character in the present.
In Fatal Attraction, while running with Alex in the park, Dan falls down and plays "dead." His action brings out information about her backstory:
ALEX
That was a shitty thing to do.
DAN
Hey, I'm sorry. I was just fooling around. ALEX
My father died of a heart attack. I was seven years
old. It happened right in front of me.
Knowing this piece of information helps us understand much of Alex's behavior. As a result of the death of the most important male figure in her life at an early age, she distrusts men yet feels dependent upon them. The trauma—particularly if he did die in front of her—contributes to her sense of fear and insecurity. Although Alex denies her father's death minutes later, Dan discovers that it was true. This important childhood event answers the question of why Alex reacts the way she does.
In the play Les Liaisons Dangereuses (Dangerous Liaisons), the Marquise explains how her social context determined her attitudes:
VALMONT: I often wonder how you managed to invent yourself.
MERTEUIL: I had no choice, did I, I'm a woman. Women are obliged to be far more skilful than men. . . . You can ruin us whenever the fancy takes you: all we can achieve by denouncing you is to enhance your prestige. ... So of course I had to invent: not only myself, but ways of escape no one else has ever thought of, not even I, because I had to be fast enough on my feet to know how to improvise. And I've succeeded, because I always knew I was born to dominate your sex and avenge my own. . . . When I came out into society I'd already realised that the role I was condemned to, namely to keep quiet and do as I was told, gave me the perfect opportunity to listen and pay attention: not to what people told me, which was naturally of no interest, but to whatever it was they were trying to hide. I practised detachment. ... I consulted the strictest moralists to learn how to appear; philosophers to find out what to think; and novelists to see what I could get away with. And finally I was well placed to perfect my techniques.3