by Paolo Braga
on my shoulders and call themselves
tall, they have a right to give it
a try, but there’s no requirement
that I enjoy sitting here listening
to people lie. You have part of my
attention.
(a beat)
You have the minimum amount. The
rest of my attention is back at the
offices of Facebook, where my colleagues
and I are doing things that
no one in this room, including and
especially your clients, are intellectually
or creatively capable of
doing.
(a beat)
Did I adequately answer your
condescending question?
The “rebellious, stubborn, I make no excuses for myself young man vs. the adult with authority” frame has been undermined by the “creator of a revolution in the history of human communications vs. a man of the past absorbed by mediocre legal disputes” frame.
Here, however, the audience does not receive all the positive energy of a comeback because Zuckerberg’s reaction is more evasive than ← 62 | 63 → the confrontation deserves. This is also because of how the story is set up. The protagonist is an antihero, thus his victory is bittersweet. Sorkin created Zuckerberg as an egocentric character whose own ambition restrains his relationships with others. For this reason, his comeback, which rolls in on the wake, clearly demonstrates that something is missing from his personality. There’s something bitter about him. In practice, the “slingshot” scheme is applied here to make the young man step deeper into his own solitude, into his closure towards others.
On the other hand, the new frame that Zuckerberg uses to defeat his antagonist puts him in a whole new light in the eyes of the audience. It suddenly focuses their attention on a truth that has been hardly considered until now. A truth that does not have much to do with the testimony he is giving or the logic of the investigation, it’s just a truth. This exceptional young man has made an extraordinary creation. There is nothing extraordinary, instead, about this legal battle, it is just as ordinary as the people who work on such cases and who, resentfully, pursue them.
The third example, taken from Moneyball (directed by Bennett Miller, screenplay by Steven Zaillian and Aaron Sorkin, USA 2011), demonstrates the use of unpublished information to reverse the fate of a conflict that seems to take a turn for the worse.
THE SCENE. Billy Beane (Brad Pitt) is the general manager of the major league Oakland baseball team, a team made up of undervalued players and with little money to operate on, a situation that Beane, an ex-baseball player, is trying to resolve. In order for his operation to be successful, he needs the help of locker room leader David Justice (Stephen Bishop), the only famous player left on Oakland’s team.
Beane wants to ask him to help the team and approaches the pitcher’s mound where Justice is practicing his swings.
TRAPPED IN A CORNER. Justice is immediately annoyed by Beane’s friendly approach. The manager comes up against a prima donna who is determined to make his life difficult.
BILLY
Mr. Justice. Had a few thoughts…
← 63 | 64 → JUSTICE
Yeah?
BILLY
Yeah.
JUSTICE
Gonna teach me some things?
BILLY
Excuse me?
JUSTICE
Never seen a GM talk to players
like that.
BILLY
You never seen a GM who was a
player.
JUSTICE
Huh.
BILLY
We got a problem, David?
JUSTICE
No, it’s okay… I know your routine.
It’s patter. It’s for effect. But
it’s for them, all right? That shit
ain’t for me.
BILLY
Oh, you’re special?
JUSTICE
You’re paying me 7 million bucks a
year, man, so… yeah, maybe I am, a
little bit.
← 64 | 65 → Beane has struggled for weeks to build the team up in the locker room and Justice has just tossed all of that out the window. The “capricious Prima donna who wants special treatment” frame has been set.
COUNTERATTACK. Beane flaunts some information that the audience has not been made aware of, thus turning the relations of power upside down and putting himself in a position that requires the other to listen to him:
BILLY
No, man, I ain’t paying you 7.
Yankees are paying half your
salary. That’s what the New York
Yankees think of you. They’re
paying you three and a half million
dollars to play against them.
The Yankees, the toughest team in the World Series, did not have any qualms about handing Justice over to Oakland and retaining joint ownership of him, obviously because the Yankees did not deem this athlete any big loss, nor did they think he could do much to strengthen the adversary team. Quite the opposite, as Billy maliciously suggests, alluding to the fact that part of Justice’s salary is still paid by the Yankees themselves.
His words sting.
JUSTICE
(docile)
Where you going with this, Billy?
BILLY
David, you’re 37. How about you
and I be honest about what each of
us want out of this? I wanna milk
the last ounce of baseball you got
in you. And you wanna stay in the
show. Let’s do that.
(a short beat)
← 65 | 66 → I’m not paying you for the player you
used to be. I’m paying you
for the player you are right now.
You’re smart. You get what we’re
trying to do here. Make an example
for the younger guys. Be a leader.
Can you do that?
JUSTICE
(a beat)
All right. I got you.
BILLY
We’re cool?
JUSTICE
(a beat)
We’re cool.
When Beane brings up a fact that has not been made known until now – the joint-ownership of Justice (Billy insinuates that the team Justice thinks he competes equally against is actually willing to pay him to compete against them) – the conversation adopts a new frame: “Champion at the end of his career with one last chance to prove himself”.
A screenwriter, however, must be very shrewd in using information that has not been disclosed previously in a film. If the information is in any way detached from what has been previously told in the story or abruptly reveals extra information that had nothing to do with the protagonist before or that the protagonist had no way of knowing about whatsoever, the film risks having the audience feel the forced hand of the screenwriter. The information would then appear artificial, like an external aid that rushes on over to help the character bring the story along, but at the detriment to leaving the audience in disbelief.
In the case of Moneyball, even if it has never been mentioned that half of Justice’s salary is being paid by the Yankees, there were a few scenes that made it clear that when smaller teams buy players, the purchase is subjected to the consent of the stronger teams. It had already ← 66 | 67 → been demonstrated several times how Beane himself was meandering inside these same mechanisms of control. His ace in the hole is thus very plausible.
The counterattack can also be less smooth than the ones in the three scenes considered above. This happens when the last frame is aided by a lie on behalf of the protagonist. In these cases, the protagonist pretends to raise the stakes. The following last two examples make this type of counterattack clear.
The first example is from Miami Vice, the film directed by Michael Mann based on the 1980s TV series of the same title (co-written by director M
ann and Anthony Yerkovitch, USA 2006).
THE SCENE. When two police detectives, Sonny (Colin Farrell) and Rico (Jamie Foxx), go under cover as drug smugglers, they are finally admitted into the drug traffickers’ lair. Their plan, however, to infiltrate the organization is almost immediately jeopardized by the boss’ diffidence.
TRAPPED IN A CORNER. The leader of the organization is persistent. Before deciding to use their services, the man wants Sonny and Rico to give him some references. He wants the names of other people “in the business” they have worked for besides the middleman who introduced them…
BOSS
Yeah, your business. How much
volume you do? Whose product
you move? Who you work with? Other than
Nicholas, who the fuck knows you?
Since the cops have no actual criminal record, the conversation seems to take a turn for the worse that can only blow their cover.
Rico and Sonny avoid the question by taking a fatal risk. They invert the burden of proof by placing it on someone else…
THE COUNTERATTACK. The cops proceed with their attack. Sonny takes out a grenade and holds it in his hand, threatening to blow up everyone present. At the same time, the two “drug smugglers” respond to the Boss’ diffidence with their own indignant diffidence:
← 67 | 68 → SONNY
You want us to be telling you about
our shit? You can’t find out on your
own? Why do I not buy that?
RICO
You with DEA? The Feeb? What’s up?
They targeting our transpo line?
You with the Man?
SONNY
You wearing a wire?
Given their reaction, the Boss can only assume he’s talking to two top-notch drug traffickers.
Sonny and Rico have left their adversary speechless. They beat him at his own game by taking the situation and inverting the roles. The protagonists robbed the antagonist of a frame that already seemed to have assigned the roles required of them (the Boss with the role of the diffident criminal and the police with the role of the men suspected of collaborating with the justice system). The frame is turned upside down. The situation has revealed a potential (and fortuitous) ambivalence.
The second example of a counterattack based on a lie is from the film Collateral, also directed by Michael Mann (screenplay by Stuart Beattie, USA 2004). The protagonists are Vincent (Tom Cruise), a professional killer, and Max (Jamie Foxx), a taxi driver who is forced to drive the killer around, from one victim to the next, throughout a dramatic night in Los Angeles.
THE SCENE. The cab is parked in an alley. The cab driver and killer are suddenly surprised by sound of the cab radio and the annoyed voice of the owner of the cab company the driver works for. The owner is in a bad mood and warns the cab driver to come straight in with the car because the police have phoned in that the vehicle has been damaged.
TRAPPED IN A CORNER. The cab driver is backed in a corner. Neither the police or the owner of the cab company know that the cab ← 68 | 69 → has been damaged in a terrible homicide. The owner would certainly never imagine that there is a cadaver lying in the trunk of the cab either. Overall, the owner has no idea that there is a killer on board the taxi who would never let the cab driver go back alive. For all these reasons, the voice of the cab company owner, who takes it out on the cab driver saying he will be held responsible for all damages to the car, increases the pressure on the cab driver:
BOSS
Do I care what, where or why?
You’re paying.
From a situation that seemed to have no way out, the unfortunate cab driver is suddenly saved by his fearful passenger.
THE COUNTERATTACK. Vincent sits in front and picks up the receiver. He makes brilliant use of a lie to get the cab driver off the hook and to put the owner of the cab company in his place:
VINCENT
He’s not paying you a damn thing.
BOSS
Who the hell is this?
The killer flips down the sun visor to make sure the insurance slip for the car is there:
VINCENT
Albert Ricardo, assistant
U.S. Attorney, a passenger in this
cab, and I’m reporting you to the
DMV.
BOSS
(scared)
Let’ not get excited.
← 69 | 70 → VINCENT
Not get excited? How am I supposed
to not get excited, listening
to you try to extort a working
man? You know goddamn well your
collision policy and general
liability umbrella will cover the
damages. Now, what are you trying
to pull, you sarcastic prick?
Using a fake identity and playing on the technical information he has in front of him (the insurance policy), the killer took the “employee shirking responsibility” frame imposed by the owner of the cab company and imposed the “boss who takes advantage of employee” frame instead. In this way, he gave the timid cab driver a lesson, on how to attack, on the best method of defense.
The scene ends with the killer forcing the cab driver to demonstrate he has learned his lesson. Vince forces Max to end the conversation with his boss by insulting him over the radio.
Dialogue, conflict and values
Dialogue with conflict is made up of revelations, direct attacks and sudden backlashes. As already mentioned, conflict develops meaning within the story, forcing the protagonist to change and mature. I would like to elaborate on this point by examining the link between conflict in dialogue and the values at stake in a character arc. If dialogue is really part of the story, then conflict within it should be based on value-related oppositions, which are the essence of the protagonist’s drama. This is one of the differences between dialogue in A-list films and dialogue in a B movie. Conflict in a B movie feeds on resent, spite and lines for effect that are merely based on aggression. In A-list films, ← 70 | 71 → dialogue tries to change relationships and transform characters through values40.
The turning points in successful dialogue are greatly inspired by the moral theme that guides the creation of the protagonist and the story itself. When a situation is completely turned upside down, value-awareness and the perception of right and wrong are enhanced. Certain values are suddenly recognized as more important than others, and their importance is enriched with new implications. Since dialogue is meant to be action, it has the same calling to create authentic emotions and, as McKee notes, emotions are not created so much by unexpected events but by new perceptions of values (values that have been or need to be acquired and one’s awareness of them)41.
Great films normally confirm the truth of this dramaturgical aspect. The difficulties faced by the protagonist while interacting with the other speaker almost always stem from moral themes42.
← 71 | 72 → The following are some examples.
In order to fulfill his own self, John Nash (Russell Crowe) in A Beautiful Mind (directed by Ron Howard, written by Akiva Goldsman, USA 2001) must come to understand that he can only be happy if he opens his heart, not his mind. The film’s theme focuses on a love that is able to surpass any sort of difficulty, even the schizophrenia that the scientist-protagonist is affected by. Nash is trapped inside his own obsession towards ambition (a part of his psychological problem and maybe even a fundamental part of his genius), which is a moral obstacle to his own self-fulfillment and to his ability to save his marriage.
Since the film is based on the opposing forces of “love vs. ambition”, the majority of the scenes are inspired by this opposition, which develops conflict, “attacking” the protagonist in his weakest spot. This is because each and every character (i.e. his university colleagues who are all occupied with prestigious academic publications, his light-hearted roommate – who we later find out was only one of Nash’s ← 72 | 73 → hallucinations – who encourages Nash to live and not just study, th
e professor who reminds the future Nobel-prize winner of the humiliating fact that he still hasn’t published anything at all, the secret agent – another hallucination – who fuels Nash’s obsession by challenging him to de-code the Soviet military codes, etc.) was conceived in light of this value-related anti-thesis.
Thanks to the characters inspired by the film’s theme, dialogue continually fuels Nash’s ambition or (through his wife) gives him a glimpse of the difficult, but only true way of escape ‒ the one that has nothing to do with intelligence, but with affection.
There is a dialogue in the first act of the story that demonstrates particularly well how the dramaturgical root of conflict is not found within aggression, but within the protagonist’s pain-staking awareness of a dissonance in his own prioritization of values. In the example below, Nash confronts Professor Helinger (Judd Hirsch), the professor the young student must present his research to.
At Princeton, this future Nobel prize winner has reached a stalemate. Nash is victim of his own drive towards excellence and is unable to come up with an original idea for his scientific article that will get him a job in a laboratory, an essential requirement to continue working at the university.
Nash follows Helinger into a reception hall, promising him that a great piece of work is on its way. He pleads him to forgive the delay and to support his desire to emerge:
NASH
I’ve been working on manifold
embedding. My bargaining stratagems
are starting to show some promise.
If you could just arrange another
meeting… If you’d be kind enough,
with Professor Einstein… I’ve
repeatedly asked you for that.
HELINGER
Now, John…
← 73 | 74 → NASH
I’d be able to show him my
revisions on his – –
HELINGER
John…
He hesitates. Then the professor, understanding Nash’s concern, points to a table where an older teacher is being congratulated by a group of colleagues. Each of them, for the occasion, gives him a pen as a gift.
HELINGER
Do you see what they’re doing in
there? It’s the pens. Reserved
for a member of the department
that makes the achievement of a
lifetime.