by Linda Seger
Finding the story line within true-life stories is often even more difficult than finding it within novels or plays. The latter will usually have a thread that works its way through the material. But true-life stories often don’t have a clear story thread or may have too many. It’s often the psychological insights that make a writer choose the material. The relationships or significance of a theme or topicality may pique a producer’s interest in the material. Or it may be the subject’s place in history that makes an executive choose the material, in spite of the lack of clarity about which aspect of the story, of many possible ones, should be told.
These projects need structure because they tend to be shapeless. Many of them are of epic proportions, some covering so many years in a person’s life that the films need a change of actors at some point in the material. Epics begin to fall apart when they’re too episodic, or when the focus is split among a variety of themes. Most of the best-known true-life stories concentrate on one story arc. Lawrence of Arabia focused on his time in the desert. Gandhi focused on his crusade for nonviolence.
Other techniques can be useful when working with biographical material. If the epic begins during childhood, be particularly careful about spending too much time on the child, who might fascinate us too much. We may not want to get involved with the adult if the child actor is taking too much of the focus. (This happened to some extent with Cinema Paradiso.) Generally, changing an actor at any point within the first act seems workable. If the change comes much later, it can cause problems. In GoodFellas, the adult actor entered fifteen minutes into the film. In My Left Foot, the adult Christy Brown was introduced immediately, and then became the main actor by the end of Act One.
Radical time changes can be handled in a variety of ways to give movement to a story. Some films will use a frame. Perhaps the adult character is telling the story, and the body of the film is a flashback. Although this is sometimes overused, it does have the advantage of introducing the main character as an adult, and of adding a reflective tone to the film. It can give structure by framing the film as a whole, or even by bringing in the character to interject and remind us of his or her presence throughout the film. This frame can be structured both to enclose sections of a script and to give movement to the story.
This kind of frame was particularly well used in My Left Foot, when Mary read Christy’s book while staying with him. This frame had its own beginning-middle-end structure, which was the growth of their relationship. It began with their meeting and moved to their developing interest in each other, then to his asking her for a date, and their going out.
The structure of the book was also used to give structure to the film. The book is divided into chapters such as “Mother,” “Home,” “The Artist,” and so forth. These chapter headings then provided a frame for action within these sections.
The film also relied on several scene sequences for movement, such as the scene sequence of Christy’s teacher’s engagement, and the scene sequence of building his own room. Since much of the film was episodic, it needed all these structures to give it shape.
Time can be telescoped in a true-life story, so the flow of the story isn’t constantly being interrupted by signposts such as “five years later” or “six months later.” Although you may occasionally need to tell the year, it isn’t always necessary. Think about the careful handling of the passage of time in Driving Miss Daisy. We are never told the year on the screen, but we are given considerable clues. We see the changing of the seasons. Hoke tells Boolie that it took him six days before Miss Daisy would allow him to drive her. We see a calendar on Boolie’s desk that announces the year. There are birthdays and Christmases and new car models that tell us about the time change.
Visual cues also helped set time changes in Avalon. Although this was not a true-life story, it was loosely based on Barry Levinson’s mother’s family and, according to Levinson, is “seventy-five percent based on fact.” In this film, notice that time changes rely on visual cues. The Thanksgiving dinners and the Fourth of July celebrations help set time frames. Sam’s voice-over of “I came to America in 1914” sets the time. The growth and demise of the business shows time passing.
WHEN THERE’S NO STORY
Suppose you want to adapt a nonfiction book that contains only ideas. Sometimes there will be case studies that can be expanded, in much the same way you’d expand a short story, in order to find a plot. Many times, however, you will need to treat the material as if you were writing an original screenplay, and create a totally new story line. On the Waterfront, Chinatown, and The French Connection, all based on articles, are examples of this technique. A number of television films, such as Games Mother Never Taught You: Corporate Gamesmanship for Women and Having It All, have also been based on nonfiction books.
With any material, fiction or nonfiction, there are easy adaptations and difficult ones. If you find the dramatic arcs, scene sequences, and three-act structure, it’s a good indication that the adaptation will work. If there isn’t a story line, I would seriously reconsider trying to adapt the material, unless you’re willing to make a number of changes to make it work. If the story doesn’t work, the theme and characters won’t be able to create an effective film by themselves.
At the same time, don’t give up on a story because the arcs are subtle or unclear, or the story line slim. You may need to build up the story, switch the order of scenes to create greater momentum, cut some subplots that aren’t going anywhere, or even create a story line to reinforce your theme and characters, but you can often make these changes without destroying the essence of the material.
Anything is possible if you understand the concept behind storytelling. There are many ways of telling a story, there are many ways of applying these concepts. Warning signs don’t necessarily mean you shouldn’t do a certain project. But do make sure you’re able to resolve the problems before spending thousands of dollars on an option, or millions of dollars on a film.
CASE STUDY:
The Phantom of the Opera
In 1990 Warner Brothers announced that they were going to adapt Andrew Lloyd Webber’s long-running musical The Phantom of the Opera to film. It was due to be released in December 1991—about the time of the publication of this book. Several months later, the filming was delayed, with no specific future date set for the film’s release.
While writing this book, I began looking for a play or book that we could discuss before it was adapted. It would serve as an example of ways to think through a project, analyzing the strengths and weaknesses inherent in the material. Since many of you are probably familiar with the Phantom story, this seemed like a good choice. In the next four chapters, we will discuss this musical in relation to the script elements of story, character, theme, and style.
In 1911 Gaston Leroux wrote a novel called The Phantom of the Opera. A number of films have been adapted from the book, including the Lon Chaney version in 1925, the Nelson Eddy version in 1943, and at least one version in every decade since the 1960’s.
The Warner Brothers plan, however, was not to go back to the novel, but to adapt the Andrew Lloyd Webber musical. Here is a brief synopsis of that story line.
The Story
Christine is a singer and dancer in the chorus of the Paris Opera. In secret, she has been tutored by a mysterious figure at the opera house (the Phantom) who would like to see her perform as the lead. When the leading lady, Carlotta, is almost hurt by a falling backdrop (let loose by the Phantom), she refuses to perform. Christine is the only one prepared for the role and performs beautifully.
It so happens that her childhood friend, Raoul, is in the audience that night and becomes reacquainted with her, eventually falling in love with her.
After the performance, Christine’s “Angel of Music”—the Phantom, whom she equates with the spirit of her dead father—takes her to his lair deep within the opera house.
He’s obsessively in love with her and becomes jealous when he sees her g
rowing interest in Raoul. He sees this interest as a betrayal, and determines to cause “a disaster beyond your imagination.” At the end of Act One (the play is performed in two acts with one intermission), a disaster does occur—a chandelier falls at Christine’s feet.
At the beginning of Act Two, Raoul and Christine have entered into a secret engagement, although she still fears the revenge of the Phantom. The Phantom, who has been silent for six months, returns, insisting that the opera he’s been writing be staged at the opera house. Raoul, the police, and the managers of the opera house determine to use the opera to ensnare the Phantom and destroy him. Their plan goes awry, and the Phantom captures Christine, and then Raoul, and threatens to kill Raoul unless Christine stays with him. She realizes the distortion of the Phantom’s soul, but in an act of courage she chooses to kiss him. The Phantom allows both Christine and Raoul to leave, and disappears before the mob can find him.
Analysis
At first glance there is much in this story line that shows a strong, well-structured story. Although the play is written in two acts, it still contains the three-act structure with a beginning, middle, and end. The analysis begins by identifying what would be the Third Act of the film. From this story line we can see that the performance of the Phantom’s opera, the chase, and the threat to Christine and Raoul have all the makings of a strong Third Act with high stakes, jeopardy, action, and a clear dramatic buildup to a strong climactic scene. This last sequence is cohesive, focusing on one main event so the action won’t dissipate. In terms of the Third Act of the film, there doesn’t seem to be any implicit story problem that would interfere with a workable adaptation.
Much of the middle of the story is only implied in the play. There’s a six-month period of time between the play’s Act One and Act Two, during which time Christine and Raoul renew their relationship, fall in love, and become engaged. This development is combined with the implied development of Christine’s movement away from the Phantom, which is interpreted by him as a betrayal. These implied scenes could be created for the film, adding character and story development to create the film’s second act. There is some danger in this, however, since this middle section of the film would need to develop two relationship plot lines—that of Christine and the Phantom and another of Christine and Raoul. Part of Act Two in a movie could be created by expanding the growth of the Christine-Raoul relationship, which is currently taking place offstage.
Act One, however, could present some problems. The play begins with the sale of the opera house in 1905 and the auctioning of various stage props and artifacts discovered in the building. The action then flashes back to 1881 to the middle of a rehearsal for an opera. Christine is introduced as a singer in the company who comes to the forefront because she is the only one who can take over the part when Carlotta refuses to sing. At the beginning of the play there is little emphasis on her; rather, it is on the context of the opera rehearsal. When we do find out more about Christine, this information is conveyed through what she says about herself, rather than through images or actions.
This works fine in the play, but Christine’s “telling about herself” is not cinematic. Although the context of the opera is clear, the context of Christine is less clear, and nothing in the material implies a method for introducing Christine in a clearer, more cinematic way.
Christine seems to be the central character in the play, since most of the action revolves around her. A case could be made for the Phantom being the main character in the play, although I don’t think that would be workable for a film. In the novel, Raoul is the central character. In most of the Phantom films, Christine is. If this is the choice made for the film, there would need to be more clarity about her introduction. When do we first see her? How will her importance as the central character be established? What do we need to know about her before we learn about her place in the story?
Act One is further complicated because there are three major backstories that need to be established for this story line to work. Christine’s backstory relates to the death of her father. She responds to the Phantom because she thinks that it’s the spirit of her father. Without this backstory information, her response may seem naive and not believable. Raoul’s backstory tells us that he had once known Christine, and is meeting her again. We are not seeing their first meeting, but a meeting where he remembers her. This backstory could be changed for the film, since there’s no reason why he needs to know her in the past in order to fall in love with her in the present. The Phantom’s backstory relates how he came to be deformed, how he yearns for love, why he’s living in the depths of the opera house, and why he’s driven to revenge and murder.
The obvious approach to this backstory material would be through flashbacks. But this means considerable flashback material about three different story lines. Although obvious, this is also the most predictable and the least interesting technique. It also creates problems, since a flashback usually means we’re “going inside someone’s head” as she or he remembers a certain incident. Usually in a film all flashbacks are from one point of view, that of the main character. Even if flashbacks were used for the main character, how would the other backstory information be conveyed?
Since the setting of the story is very tight (in the opera house), any flashbacks are going to open the story up so that possibly the only time we are away from the opera will be when we’re in the past. This could very easily work against the style of a story that stays within the context of the opera house. And it could create flashbacks that are informational rather than dramatic.
Conveying the backstory through dialogue is not a cinematic or dramatic way to get across such information. This is another alternative, but not a very interesting one, unless lines can be kept to a minimum.
One could decide to start the film with scenes of Christine as a young girl, or even scenes of the Phantom’s backstory. But in making that choice, one character’s backstory would be introduced, and the other backstories would still need to be handled somewhere in the material. From these examples, we can see that the play is a bit “backstory-heavy.” This is a problem that can be solved—but it needs to be solved deftly and creatively.
Analyzing the story line raises the questions, What is the A story and what are the subplots? At first glance it looks as if the important story line is about the relationship between the Phantom and Christine, which could lead to a decision to make this the A story. But earlier in this chapter we discussed the dangers of that approach. If the relationship story is the B story, then which is the A story?
Since we’re defining the A story by movement and direction, if we analyze where the movement is coming from we can look to the end of the story to see how this A story might be defined.
We know in the last section (probably Act Three of the film) that the police and the people at the opera house want to capture the Phantom and put a stop to his threats and to the killings. We know that the Phantom has traditionally manipulated the owners of the opera house—insisting that his box be kept free at the theatre and that he be paid a salary. And we know that the middle of the story shows a conflict between his wishes and the wishes of the new owners of the opera house.
This story line can give good movement to the film, provided that it’s clear throughout. It is really a story line that could be defined as “trying to stop the Phantom” and the Phantom “trying to remain in control.” Elements of stopping the Phantom include such actions as the owner’s decision to refuse to pay him, to permit others to sit in his box seat, and not to go along with his casting demands. The Phantom’s actions include his writing the opera, taking Christine, and his innumerable threats and contrivances to make others do his bidding.
In the play the strongest action on this story line occurs in Act Three, and there are only occasional references in Acts One and Two to some of these actions. This plot could easily be built up enough to give directional movement to Acts One and Two, without overpowering the relationshi
p stories that will still take more screen time.
The play does have several subplots that can provide additional movement to the film. There is the relationship subplot of the Phantom and Christine, which is integrally connected to the A story, the relationship subplot of Christine and Raoul, and the development of their relationship.
There is also a small subplot about the Phantom writing the opera that is performed in Act Three. We see a moment in Act One when he’s writing the opera, and we can presume that he is writing during the six-month period when he’s silent (this occurs offstage during the play’s intermission). It’s a workable subplot since it can give us further information about the Phantom, can provide movement to the story, can work as a possibility for additional music in the middle of the story, and can even make us more sympathetic to the Phantom if the writer so chooses.
In analyzing the material, we can see that the problems that need to be addressed include (1) finding a way to express considerable backstory material without interfering with the style or tightness of the context and the story line; (2) adding additional development material to the relationship of Christine and Raoul; (3) clearly establishing Christine as the main character; and (4) rethinking the first two scenes of the play in order more clearly to establish the characters and context.
This adaptation will not be a matter of just “filming the play” but will take some serious rethinking and redeveloping to make the story work.
6
CHOOSING THE CHARACTERS
It’s difficult to know what characters are necessary to tell your story, whom to include and whom to leave out. Many writers identify with Christy Brown’s frustration in the book My Left Foot.
Often I’d start a story with about twenty characters in it, but about half-way through I’d become confused and wouldn’t know what to do with them all, so I’d let them all be shot in turn till only about two of the main ones were left. My jotter would often become a graveyard.