by Paolo Braga
(a beat)
Now, what do you see, John?
NASH
Recognition.
HELINGER
Well, try seeing accomplishment.
NASH
Is there a difference?
HELINGER
John… You haven’t focused. I’m
sorry, but up to this point, your
record doesn’t warrant any
placement at all.
(a short beat)
Good day.
The excessive amount of value Nash places on intellectual success at the beginning of the conversation prevents him from understanding ← 74 | 75 → how he is being held back by his own ambition. His professor’s words end up cracking this monolithic vision and, without any intention of hurting him, impel him to change his perspective on values, which Nash still finds difficult to accept. His professor’s words also make it crystal clear which path he needs to embark on to improve and fulfill his own self. The conflict present in this twist is in the new point of view Nash must adopt and in the friction produced from the inversion of positive and negative accents. Nash begins placing more value on fruitful humility and less on excellence, which allows for the accomplishment of concrete and complete results. The spectator identifies with the protagonist and is surprised by this unexpected change in perspective. It brings about new awareness on what matters most when having to choose between lines of conduct that are incompatible with those in question.
Another good example of a value-related change in perspective is found in a dialogue that takes place towards the end of the film. Here again, a response that is the exact opposite to what Nash expects pushes him to re-consider consolidated convictions, creating dramaturgical theme-based conflict.
Nash has come a long way in his difficult maturing process and has almost won his battle over schizophrenia. Nash’s wife convinces him to go and talk to Martin (Josh Lucas), an old friend and rival from the university who the protagonist had concentrated his competitive inclinations against. Years have passed now. Martin has become a professor and now holds the same position Prof. Helinger once had. Nash goes to his office to ask him for help in getting a job at the university. In order to do this, however, Nash must confront the pathological impulse to excel that still has such a strong hold on him. This ill-fated inner impulse gives life to the habitual hallucination of his roommate Charles (Paul Bettany) who, obviously only seen by Nash, enters the office to egg him on:
CHARLES
John. John. I’m sorry, but you have
to tell him. Tell him you’re a
genius! You’re a genius, John! Tell
him your work is critical. John,
please!
← 75 | 76 → Nash, however, does not give into his hallucination. He squashes it with a rash gesture and then apologizes to Martin, who reacts in a way which is totally unexpected for the protagonist. Throughout the development of the dialogue, in fact, Martin induces him to take another look at the competitiveness that ruled his interpersonal relationships for such a long time:
NASH
(referring to his reaction against
the hallucination)
Is there any chance that you
could ignore what I just did?
MARTIN
(with affection)
Of course, what are old friends
for?
NASH
Is that what we are, Martin?
Friends?
MARTIN
John, of course. Of course. We
always have been.
Nash is dazed. He forces himself to speak:
NASH
Alicia and I think that… That
fitting in, being part of a
community, might do me some good.
That a certain level of attachment,
familiar places, familiar people,
might help me… elbow out these…
These certain delusions that I
have.
(a beat)
← 76 | 77 → It’s a lot to ask, and now that
I’m here, I’m quite certain that
you will just say no. But I was
wondering if I could hang around.
After a pause…
MARTIN
(a beat)
Will you be needing an office?
NASH
No. No, I could just work out of the
library.
Martin is a true friend.
At the beginning of this scene, the audience clings to Nash’s own perspective and is aware of the old resentments he has towards Martin. The audience thus expects Martin to seek revenge (Nash has come to him in a state of need and Martin could easily throw his own professional success in his face). The master screenwriter, however, takes advantage of Nash’s hesitation to exalt, with an element of surprise, the heart-felt value of friendship, undermining the value of personal affirmation.
For Nash, this reversal represents an invitation to change completely. Conflict is found in behavioral standards that are turned upside down. This non-aggressive conflict suddenly makes the audience give importance to alternative values.
The following are additional examples of excellent films with theme-based conflict.
In Collateral, the protagonist, cab-driver Max, says a lot of good things, but never takes any action. Some news is revealed. Max has astonishing business plans that he has been conjuring up for years without ever acting on his ideas. Max criticizes passengers afflicted by the stress of their jobs when he avoids it all together. He sees the world from a neutral position, from the reassuring shelter of his own cab, where he can easily judge right from wrong. Screenwriter Beattie explains his character as a “talker”, not a “doer”, a man who must improve on practicing what he preaches.
← 77 | 78 → This change is linked to deep moral questions. In fact, Vince, a killer who lacks all moral principles as is reflected in his behavior, steps into Max’s cab. Max is now forced to defend his beliefs in practice. He is forced to uphold the notion that there is a reason we have norms and that they must be respected through action.
Practically every dialogue in the film revolves around this theme and puts Max under pressure. For example, the cab driver discusses job stress with the woman he falls in love with, the power-hungry lawyer (Woman: “I love standing in that courtroom. At the same time, I get this clenched-up thing the night before the first days.” Max: “You need a vacation.”); the killer reasons in a simple and provoking way (Max: “You just met him once, and you kill him like that?” Vince: “What, I should only kill people after I get to know them?”). Max is even forced to learn some hard lessons about how a man of actions talks…
Little Miss Sunshine (directed by Jonathan Dayton and Valerie Faris, written by Michael Arndt, USA 2006) tells a story based on the theme of acceptance. What must someone do to be accepted? Must one excel or is it more important to be loved by the people closest to you? The theme is seen clearly through the protagonist, Richard (Greg Kinnear) – a father who fancies himself as being a great life coach, but holds conferences that no one attends and is unable to find even a second-rate editor willing to publish his “9 steps to success” theory. The story, the characters and, consequently, dialogue are completely shaped to grill Richard on the question of knowing how to accept himself.
The story. Sheryl, Richard’s daughter, convinces him to bring her to California for a child beauty pageant where (as Richard will soon discover to his dismay) young girls wearing heavy make-up and dressed according to TV glamour standards perform in front of exalted parents, greedy for their child’s success.
The characters. Richard’s heroin-addicted father, his gay brother-in-law who attempted suicide when his partner left him and his teenage son who refuses to speak because he is angry with the world. Apart from Richard’s wife, each one of the characters has a personal problem and asks to be understood and accepted.
Dialogue. Given that each family member is designed to force
Richard, the protagonist, to open his eyes and abandon his obsession ← 78 | 79 → with becoming successful, and given that the protagonist knows each of their backstories, every time they speak to him about anything at all, they end up provoking his ill-fated impulse (conflict) to give advice that hasn’t been asked for or to lecture them with one of his “how to be successful” theories (producing more conflict).
Another example can be found in Up in the Air (directed by Jason Reitman, co-author of the screenplay with Sheldon Turner, USA 2009). Ryan, the henchman played by George Clooney, is the personification of individualism. He believes in independence and holds conferences to teach that only disposable interpersonal relationships make people happy.
Given that the maturing process of the character leans towards the value of stable relationships (marriage and family), the screenwriter gave him a young assistant who is distraught, having just been left by her boyfriend. Thus, Ryan is surrounded by the young woman’s venting sessions in search of someone to share her sentimental anguish with, not a cynical, unrepentant man. Here again, the theme of the story produces conflict in dialogue.
In The King’s Speech (directed by Tom Hooper and written by David Seidler, United Kingdom 2010), Bertie (Colin Firth) stutters because he believes other people judge him since he is a prince. His speech therapist Lyonel (Geoffrey Rush), in maieutic dialogue where he treats him like a common citizen and friend, inflames (producing conflict) his fears. In this way, Bertie is able to change. He begins to see his subjects as fellow citizens who are equal to him despite their different social rankings and are friends who support him. Bertie’s royal blood ends up becoming a reason for being close to his people rather than isolating himself from them.
Once again, the film’s theme (friendship – the story teaches us that there is only communication through friendship) fuels conflict in the dialogue.
Excellent examples of mastery shown in linking values and conflict, both in plot and dialogue, can be seen in the cartoons produced by Pixar. The following are two examples.
The theme of Toy Story (directed by John Lasseter, who wrote the screenplay along with Pete Docter, Andrew Stanton, Johel Cohen and Alec Sokolow, USA 1995) is friendship. This value is hindered in the ← 79 | 80 → protagonist, Woody, by his jealous attachment to Andy, the little boy the cowboy doll (and the other toys in the story) belongs to.
To play havoc with Woody’s existence, a new toy, Buzz Lightyear, arrives to join their group. Buzz Lightyear is a space ranger hero whose special features and science-fiction characteristics make him become Andy’s favorite toy, putting the cowboy in second place. What’s more, Buzz is humorously out of touch with the real world. Ignorant of the fact he is only a toy, he believes to be an astronomical hero proud of all the special features he has to save the universe with.
This thematic/dramaturgical foundation gives rise to conflict each time the two characters speak to one another. When Buzz converses with Woody, his interplanetary ego and constant self-praise always end up arousing, unintentionally, the jealousy of the protagonist, striking Woody’s in his weakest spot.
The theme in Finding Nemo (directed by Andrew Stanton and Lee Unkrich, written by Andrew Stanton, Bob Peterson and David Reynolds, USA 2003) is that trust is an essential element to raising a child. The tragic loss of his wife has caused the protagonist, Marlin the clownfish, to become overprotective of his young son and, more generally, has inhibited his ability to trust anyone, always fearing the worst.
This instability is fostered even more, generating conflict, by the absent-minded Dory, a blue tang with short-term memory loss who flanks Marlin in his search for his kidnapped son.
The development of these characters, inspired by the theme of the story, gives rise to conflict in dialogue. Dory’s memory losses continuously break-up her conversations with Marlin, forcing him to make a real effort to trust his friend’s word. Marlin is thus constantly driven by Dory to overcome his lack of trust.
The pressure that restrains Marlin from growing as a father is at the base of all conflict, even when he has to deal with the other characters he runs into during his journey through the ocean.
A significant example of this is found in Marlin’s dialogue with Crush, the blissful sea turtle who is a father just like Marlin (father of Squirt, a young son like Nemo), but who has a whole different outlook on trust. Crush is confident in his young son’s ability to get by in life and grow through his own experiences.
← 80 | 81 → Crush speaks on his ideas about what being a parent is all about while Squirt entertains himself by swimming in and out of the powerful East Australian Current. Marlin is bewildered at the sight. Crush, instead, is proud of his young son and says some things that unintentionally make Marlin (nick-named “Jellyman” by Crush having just make an extraordinary escape from a school of jellyfish) call into question his “nagging” approach:
CRUSH
(to Squirt)
Curl away, my son!
(to Marlin)
It’s awesome, Jellyman. The little
dudes are just eggs. We leave ‘em
on a beach to hatch… and then,
coo-coo-cachoo… they find their way
back to the big ol’ blue.
MARLIN
All by themselves?
CRUSH
Yeah.
MARLIN
But, but… dude, how do you know
when they’re ready?
CRUSH
Well, you never really know. But
when they know, you’ll know, you
know? Ha.
Crush speaks with no hostility, he simply has a different view on what it means to be a parent. He emphasizes an alternative value that will still take Marlin a long time before he is able to accept and will require a great effort on his part to do so. This is the conflict that animates the scene. The audience experiences the problem through the eyes of the ← 81 | 82 → protagonist, through his own expectations and with his own inclinations (this dialogue takes place right after Marlin has a whirling taste of the power of the East Australian Current). These new ideas on values push the main character, and thus also the audience, towards a new awareness of different codes of behavior.
We could carry on with many other examples of how the link between theme and conflict provides the key to understanding the power of dialogue in successful films, but this same discussion leads us to take a more detailed look (through a sequence of beats) into how dialogue can benefit from the exploration of different sets of values. It is the objective of the following study, which ends this chapter. I will analyze a scene from a high-quality miniseries. Given the planting and gathering of thematic elements in it, the scene is as coherent and as complete as a short story.
John Adams. “My sons…”
John Adams (USA 2008) is a seven-episode miniseries on the life of John Adams, a politician who later became the second president of the United States of America. Kirk Ellis wrote the screenplay based on the biography of John Adams by David McCullough. Given the professionals working on the series (directed by Tom Hooper, the same director of The King’s Speech, starring Paul Giamatti and Laura Linney) and the high quality of the screenplay, the series (produced by HBO) represents a reference point for the biopic genre.
The scene analyzed here is not only note-worthy for its technical dialogue. It also emphasizes one of the dramaturgical aspects this series has been characterized for ‒ the capacity to join hagiographic tones with the expression of the main character’s (played by Giamatti) fragility and irritable personality. Adams is a true patriot who is passionate about the idea of becoming a Founding Father. Nevertheless, the man has great self-esteem which tends to turn into rhetorical and controversial extremes.
The theme of the series, found in the protagonist’s inner difficulties, can be summarized as “one needs to sacrifice their own self and put their own needs to the side ‘for a great cause’” (laying the foundation of the United States of America).
← 82 | 83 → The dialogue in question deals with this issue, with the sense of sacrifice. The following scene explores this theme by challenging the image Adams has, and loves to have, of himself, which is a man with a sense of institutionalism who is very committed and influential.
THE EPISODE. The year of 1778. John Adams, a member of the Continental Congress, is on a diplomatic mission in France at the court of Louis XVI in search of allies for the War of Independence from England. The trip has forced him to separate from his family for a long time. Back in America, in fact, his wife and children are dealing with these dark times of war all on their own, not to mention the contagious epidemic of smallpox that has broken out.
To make things worse, unlike Benjamin Franklin (Tom Wilkinson) who has accompanied him on the mission, Adams is like a fish out of water in high-society France. Nothing could be more different from his harsh puritan education than the pomp and laziness of this new environment.
THE SCENE. It is the third episode of the series. The scene takes place inside a noble residence in Passy, at a sumptuous feast packed with guests. There is a very long table where wigged dames and cavaliers are seated.
The protagonist and the mistress of the house are seated one in front of the other. Adams has been waiting days for Versailles to agree to receive him. He is present out of sheer reluctance and feels he is only wasting time. He feels trapped by this leisurely world when he would like to be actively committing his heart and mind to pleading the case of his country.
Seated in front of him is Madame Helvétius (Judith Magre) and Chevalier de La Luzerne, who helps the conversation along in his best English. The woman is the mistress of the house, the hostess of this cultural parlor that promotes the hedonist way of thinking of her late husband, philosopher Claude Audrien Helvétius. The thick layer of powder over her face and head of hair makes her scream with old age. She looks like a paramour getting up in the years. Her vacuous and naive ways are overblown and it’s not clear if this is the Madame’s true nature or if it is all a charade.
Benjamin Franklin, the famous scientist, seems to be the link between the two worlds, making a virtue out of necessity. He is skilled at building relationships and, in France, has made his way up with the bon ← 83 | 84 → vivant. He becomes a celebrity. Even this banquet is being held in his honor and the porcelain plates are adorned, depicting his profile.