Sam Peckinpah: Visual Metaphor, Theme and Story Structure

Syd Field wrote Screenplay: The Foundations of Screenwriting back in 1979. The book deals with screenplay structure, but also shares many anecdotes about key Hollywood figures. 

Syd Field was born and grew up in L.A. He was an extra in a Frank Capra movie at the age of 10. He attended Hollywood High School. One of his best friends knew James Dean; their high school gang became models for the gang in Rebel Without a Cause. 

When I first read some of the details of his early life, it put me in mind of a quote from Terry Rossio's WordPlay, a quote that intimidated me for years:

At age 21, George Lucas was hanging out with Francis Ford Coppola and Peter Bogdanovich. Who are you hanging out with?

The following excerpts are from Chapter 4 (Building a Character) and Chapter 11 (The Sequence) of Syd Field's book:

When I first began writing screenplays, I had the good fortune of hanging out with Sam Peckinpah during the time he was writing The Wild Bunch. His niece, Deneen Peckinpah, and I had both worked with Jean Renoir on the world premiere of his play Carola when we were students at UC Berkeley. When she came to L.A. seeking an acting career, she stayed with Sam at the beach.

Sam was amazing—brilliant in his visual awareness, talkative when he felt comfortable, and, of course, moody and self-destructive when he was drinking too much or thought someone had gone behind his back or broken their word to him.

One of the things I like most about Sam Peckinpah as a filmmaker is the way he designs his sequences in what I call "the contradiction of image." Things we don't expect begin to play upon and affect the central core of the action.

The Wild Bunch opens with the outlaws, led by Pike Bishop (William Holden), wearing soldier uniforms and riding into a small town. They pass a group of kids setting fire to a scorpion, a little visual aside to what's about to come. [Actually, when they ride into town several scorpions are being overrun by angry ants. When the gang escape after the robbery, we see the kids setting the scorpions on fire. So there are two visual metaphors here: the people (in the form of the bounty hunters) rising up against the gang, and the final pyrrhic victory of their shootout with the Mexicans.]

When the Wild Bunch rides into town, they pass a preacher standing underneath a tent, denouncing the evils of alcohol. In almost every Peckinpah film, there is some kind of reference to the evils of alcohol.

Pike's character reveals his sympathetic side immediately; as the group prepares to enter the bank, he inadvertently bumps into a little old lady and knocks her parcels to the ground. Everybody freezes, but with the decorum of a gentleman, Pike picks up the packages, extends his arm, and helps the lady across the street.

The bank robbery does more than just set up for an action sequence. Peckinpah sets up his characters and situations in order to illustrate his theme, which is "unchanged men in a changing land." The relationship between the two main characters, Pike and Dutch, is established immediately. In the first scene we see they've ridden together, stood by each other, and fought each other; they have a history between them. They know that the days of robbing banks and railroads are "closing fast," and they're locked into a dead-end future where the only alternatives are death, prison, or living out a meager kind of existence in a small Mexican village.

Late one afternoon, after Sam had finished his day's writing on The Wild Bunch, we were enjoying a beer and watching the sunset when I asked how he structured his stories. He paused for a moment, then told me he liked to "hang" his stories around a centerpiece. Typically, he said, he would build the action up to a certain event, about midway through the story, then let everything else be the result of that event.

In The Wild Bunch it is the train robbery, done in almost total silence. It's a magnificent sequence; once he sets up the story and the characters, everything leads to the train robbery and the rest of the movie unfolds as a result of that sequence.

First posted: 12 August 2013

Theme, a dilemma

Alan Watt

For many people, Theme is the most puzzling element in screenwriting. The following article was published by Alan Watt in The Huffington Post, a year ago, under the title How to Make the Three-Act Structure Work for Your Book.
Although this article was written for novelists, there is plenty here for screenwriters to think about. 
 
Alan Watt is a novelist, a playwright, a teacher, a publisher, and currently executive producer of a film being made from his novel Diamond Dogs. I'm hoping to have an interview with him ready for the start of the new year.
________________________________________________________________________

Many novelists resist the idea of three-act structure because they understandably fear it will limit their creativity and lead to formulaic writing. This misconception is sometimes the result of structure's being taught by story analysts whose gifts lean more toward an ability to deconstruct the anatomy of an existing work, than in exploring the nature of what the author was attempting to express.

This can leave the student with a keen understanding of how a particular story was "assembled," while struggling with how to translate the lesson into completing his or her own work. Although one might eventually begin to grasp the inner workings of structure by staring at the various lifeless parts of a work of art, there is perhaps a more direct approach.

Story structure actually has little to do with plot. In fact, the "structure" that's being alluded to is actually the underlying theme. But what is a theme exactly, and how does working with one help you structure your story?

Here's how:

Many books on writing speak of there being a dramatic problem at the heart of a story. In fact, there isn't one. There's a dilemma.

Here's the difference: Problems are solved, while dilemmas are resolved through a shift in perception.

The purpose of story is to reveal a transformation -- to show, through conflict and complication, the world in a new way. Einstein stated, "One cannot solve a problem at the same level of consciousness that created the problem." What he's describing is a dilemma.

For example: Jimmy Stewart must leave Bedford Falls in order to have a wonderful life. King Lear must find a worthy heir by determining who loves him most. Initially, these appear to be problems, but as the story progresses, we begin to see that solving one problem only leads to another, until eventually, the protagonist wakes up to the reality of his situation and realizes the fundamental flaw in his thinking, thus necessitating a shift in perception. (Note: transformation does not mean a happy ending.)

Every character in your story has a relationship to this central dilemma, whether you're aware of it or not. This is not accidental. It is theme. You don't have to hope that you're doing it right. Working with story structure is not about "getting it right." It is about making your story as clear and specific as it can be. Focusing on your characters' desire or goal will lead you directly to the dilemma at the heart of your story.

If all that happens in your story is that your protagonist achieves his goal, your reader will be disappointed. The reader's interest lies not in the hero getting what he wants, but in getting what he needs. The dilemma lies in the protagonist's attempts to square these two opposing ideas. Jimmy Stewart needs to understand that he already has a wonderful life. Lear needs to understand that truth does not lie in flattery.

Writers tend to get stuck when they try to figure out their story. Just as your protagonist is struggling with a dilemma, so are you. This is because the desire to write is the desire to evolve. At some point in the story (usually the end of Act Two), your protagonist discovers that what he is confronting is impossible to achieve, thus necessitating a surrender. And because on some level you are the hero of your story, through the act of writing, you are going to experience a death of this old identity. It's only through this dark night of the soul that your protagonist begins to reframe his relationship to his goal, thus making it possible to achieve it, if it still belongs in his life.

What's so thrilling about inquiring into the dilemma is that it invites your imagination to stretch. When you read a well-told story and wonder, "How did the author come up with that?" the answer is probably that she made herself available to a process that led her characters to places she might not have otherwise ventured.

Working with structure allows the writer to see his story from a wider perspective. Sometimes you'll write a scene, only to realize that the situation doesn't belong in your story, but if you inquire into the nature of the conflict, i.e., the dilemma, you may discover that what was essential finds its way in.

The three-act structure is not limiting, though it does demand that you be rigorous with your ideas, because story structure holds your ideas accountable to universal truths. This means that anything you imagine can be contained by structure if you're willing to distill your ideas to their nature. Story structure keeps you connected to your theme by placing your focus squarely on your character's primal desires, and in doing so, plot naturally emerges.

First posted: 15 November 2012

Brian McDonald, "The Godfather," and how to find the Theme

Brian McDonald is the author of Invisible Ink: A Practical Guide to Building Stories that Resonate, and The Golden Theme: How to make your writing appeal to the highest common denominator. 

   He is an award winning screenwriter who has taught his craft at several major studios, including Pixar, Disney and Industrial Light & Magic. His award-winning short film White Face has been shown all over the USA. 
   I had the privilege of asking him some questions back in January. That interview will be published here shortly. Today we're focusing on a question I asked him about Theme and everybody's favourite movie, The Godfather. Is the theme of that movie, Family is all?
   Instead of simply answering my question, he went one better and answered a question I've been asking for years: How can you know what is the theme of any given movie? _______________________________________________________________________

The way to find a story’s theme is to look for clues as to what the story is proving. Think of the three acts this way: 

Act One: The Proposal

The proposal is where the theme of the piece is first introduced in some way. For instance you might introduce a pacifist character who believes there is never a cause for violence. Or you may have a character who strongly disbelieves in anything supernatural.
   In The Godfather we are introduced right away to the idea of Justice-versus-Revenge. It’s the very first thing that happens in the film. We learn that even in this world of gangsters and crime, there is a sense of what is just. Marlon Brando, the Godfather, tells us explicitly the difference between justice and revenge when a man, whose daughter was nearly raped and was beaten so bad that she was hospitalized, asks the Godfather to kill the men who did this. The Godfather refuses to kill the men because the girl did not die—that would not be justice, he says. But he will hurt these men as much as the girl was hurt.

That is not justice. Your daughter is still alive.

Then we are introduced to the rest of the gangster family—the Corleone family. We meet Michael Corleone, one of the sons. He is not part of the family business. He must be squeaky clean for the story to work, so when we meet him, he is in uniform—he is a war hero—and he is with his girlfriend, who is beyond squeaky clean. 
   Michael tells her a story about his father and a violent threat he made to get a man to sign a contract. Michael says, “My father assured him that either his brains or his signature would be on the contract.” The girlfriend almost can’t believe what she’s heard. Then Michael says, “That’s my family, Kay, it’s not me.”

That's my family, Kay. It's not me.

So we know who Michael is, we know who his family is, we know the rules for this world, and we have an idea that this piece will explore the idea of Justice-versus-Revenge. And we know that this family is close—they love each other.

   More things happen in Act One of this film, but you get the idea.

Act Two: The Argument or Proof

In Act Two, you set out to explore the thematic premise of the first act. You argue—prove or disprove—that theme. The very first thing we learned in the story is that revenge is not good. That’s one aspect of the theme. But there is also Michael’s statement, “That’s my family, Kay, it’s not me.” Now Michael must be forced, by the story, to confront that idea. Is it him?

   Michael’s father is shot in a gang hit. He does not die, though he is badly hurt and is hospitalized. Michael goes to see his father and finds out that some men are coming to finish him off. To save his father’s life, he moves his bed into another room to hide him from the would-be killers.

Just lie here, Pop. I'll take care of you now. I'm with you now.

This is the beginning of Michael becoming more like the rest of his family. It starts off innocently enough. Most of us would do the same thing. This is his father and he loves him. 
   Then, at the hospital, Michael is roughed up pretty good by a dirty cop who works with the rival gangsters.

Take a hold of him. Stand him up. Stand ’im up straight.

Michael is angry and decides he wants to kill these guys who did this to his father. Notice, how like the girl in the opening of the story, the Godfather is alive, but badly hurt and hospitalized. These two characters are in the very same condition. But what does Michael do—seek justice? No, he seeks revenge. He kills the men responsible and sets off a violent gang war.

... a guarantee: No more attempts on my father's life.

He flees to Sicily to avoid being killed himself, but the retaliatory violence reaches him even there and kills his young wife.
   There was something wrong in seeking revenge rather than justice—it brought even more violence.

Act Three:  Conclusion

This is where we see what the other acts have added up to. What the third act of this film asks about Michael is, Who is he now? Does he learn the lesson that revenge isn’t worth it, or not? 

   No, he doesn’t. He orders a ruthless killing spree of his enemies.

Don Corleone...

In the end, Michael is corrupted. His statement, “That’s my family, Kay, it’s not me,” is no longer true.
   So you ask yourself, what does the story prove? Does it prove Family is all? I don’t think it does.
   You can express a theme in many ways, even with the same story. The purpose of drama is to prove a point through the use of emotion, so sometimes themes can be hard to put into exact words. But a few ways to state this theme might be:

• It is better to seek justice than revenge.
• Revenge corrupts.
• Revenge brings pain to the avenger.

Or, if you word it in character terms, you might say something ike:

• Anyone can be corrupted.
• No one knows what he is capable of becoming, given the right circumstances.

I’m sure there are more ways to word it, but whatever you think the theme is, it has to be something that the characters and events prove, through the movement of the story.

---

First posted:  4 February 2012

Sam Peckinpah: Visual Metaphor, Theme and Story Structure

Syd Field wrote Screenplay: The Foundations of Screenwriting back in 1979. The book deals with screenplay structure, but also shares many anecdotes about key Hollywood figures. 

Syd Field was born and grew up in L.A. He was an extra in a Frank Capra movie at the age of 10. He attended Hollywood High School. One of his best friends knew James Dean; their high school gang became models for the gang in Rebel Without a Cause. 

When I first read some of the details of his early life, it put me in mind of a quote from Terry Rossio's WordPlay, a quote that intimidated me for years:

At age 21, George Lucas was hanging out with Francis Ford Coppola and Peter Bogdanovich. Who are you hanging out with?

The following excerpts are from Chapter 4 (Building a Character) and Chapter 11 (The Sequence) of Syd Field's book:

When I first began writing screenplays, I had the good fortune of hanging out with Sam Peckinpah during the time he was writing The Wild Bunch. His niece, Deneen Peckinpah, and I had both worked with Jean Renoir on the world premiere of his play Carola when we were students at UC Berkeley. When she came to L.A. seeking an acting career, she stayed with Sam at the beach.

Sam was amazing—brilliant in his visual awareness, talkative when he felt comfortable, and, of course, moody and self-destructive when he was drinking too much or thought someone had gone behind his back or broken their word to him.

One of the things I like most about Sam Peckinpah as a filmmaker is the way he designs his sequences in what I call "the contradiction of image." Things we don't expect begin to play upon and affect the central core of the action.

The Wild Bunch opens with the outlaws, led by Pike Bishop (William Holden), wearing soldier uniforms and riding into a small town. They pass a group of kids setting fire to a scorpion, a little visual aside to what's about to come. [Actually, when they ride into town several scorpions are being overrun by angry ants. When the gang escape after the robbery, we see the kids setting the scorpions on fire. So there are two visual metaphors here: the people (in the form of the bounty hunters) rising up against the gang, and the final pyrrhic victory of their shootout with the Mexicans.]

When the Wild Bunch rides into town, they pass a preacher standing underneath a tent, denouncing the evils of alcohol. In almost every Peckinpah film, there is some kind of reference to the evils of alcohol.

Pike's character reveals his sympathetic side immediately; as the group prepares to enter the bank, he inadvertently bumps into a little old lady and knocks her parcels to the ground. Everybody freezes, but with the decorum of a gentleman, Pike picks up the packages, extends his arm, and helps the lady across the street.

The bank robbery does more than just set up for an action sequence. Peckinpah sets up his characters and situations in order to illustrate his theme, which is "unchanged men in a changing land." The relationship between the two main characters, Pike and Dutch, is established immediately. In the first scene we see they've ridden together, stood by each other, and fought each other; they have a history between them. They know that the days of robbing banks and railroads are "closing fast," and they're locked into a dead-end future where the only alternatives are death, prison, or living out a meager kind of existence in a small Mexican village.

Late one afternoon, after Sam had finished his day's writing on The Wild Bunch, we were enjoying a beer and watching the sunset when I asked how he structured his stories. He paused for a moment, then told me he liked to "hang" his stories around a centerpiece. Typically, he said, he would build the action up to a certain event, about midway through the story, then let everything else be the result of that event.

In The Wild Bunch it is the train robbery, done in almost total silence. It's a magnificent sequence; once he sets up the story and the characters, everything leads to the train robbery and the rest of the movie unfolds as a result of that sequence.

Theme, a dilemma

Alan Watt

For many people, Theme is the most puzzling element in screenwriting. The following article was published by Alan Watt in The Huffington Post, a year ago, under the title How to Make the Three-Act Structure Work for Your Book.
Although this article was written for novelists, there is plenty here for screenwriters to think about. 
 
Alan Watt is a novelist, a playwright, a teacher, a publisher, and currently executive producer of a film being made from his novel Diamond Dogs. I'm hoping to have an interview with him ready for the start of the new year.
________________________________________________________________________

Many novelists resist the idea of three-act structure because they understandably fear it will limit their creativity and lead to formulaic writing. This misconception is sometimes the result of structure's being taught by story analysts whose gifts lean more toward an ability to deconstruct the anatomy of an existing work, than in exploring the nature of what the author was attempting to express.

This can leave the student with a keen understanding of how a particular story was "assembled," while struggling with how to translate the lesson into completing his or her own work. Although one might eventually begin to grasp the inner workings of structure by staring at the various lifeless parts of a work of art, there is perhaps a more direct approach.

Story structure actually has little to do with plot. In fact, the "structure" that's being alluded to is actually the underlying theme. But what is a theme exactly, and how does working with one help you structure your story?

Here's how:

Many books on writing speak of there being a dramatic problem at the heart of a story. In fact, there isn't one. There's a dilemma.

Here's the difference: Problems are solved, while dilemmas are resolved through a shift in perception.

The purpose of story is to reveal a transformation -- to show, through conflict and complication, the world in a new way. Einstein stated, "One cannot solve a problem at the same level of consciousness that created the problem." What he's describing is a dilemma.

For example: Jimmy Stewart must leave Bedford Falls in order to have a wonderful life. King Lear must find a worthy heir by determining who loves him most. Initially, these appear to be problems, but as the story progresses, we begin to see that solving one problem only leads to another, until eventually, the protagonist wakes up to the reality of his situation and realizes the fundamental flaw in his thinking, thus necessitating a shift in perception. (Note: transformation does not mean a happy ending.)

Every character in your story has a relationship to this central dilemma, whether you're aware of it or not. This is not accidental. It is theme. You don't have to hope that you're doing it right. Working with story structure is not about "getting it right." It is about making your story as clear and specific as it can be. Focusing on your characters' desire or goal will lead you directly to the dilemma at the heart of your story.

If all that happens in your story is that your protagonist achieves his goal, your reader will be disappointed. The reader's interest lies not in the hero getting what he wants, but in getting what he needs. The dilemma lies in the protagonist's attempts to square these two opposing ideas. Jimmy Stewart needs to understand that he already has a wonderful life. Lear needs to understand that truth does not lie in flattery.

Writers tend to get stuck when they try to figure out their story. Just as your protagonist is struggling with a dilemma, so are you. This is because the desire to write is the desire to evolve. At some point in the story (usually the end of Act Two), your protagonist discovers that what he is confronting is impossible to achieve, thus necessitating a surrender. And because on some level you are the hero of your story, through the act of writing, you are going to experience a death of this old identity. It's only through this dark night of the soul that your protagonist begins to reframe his relationship to his goal, thus making it possible to achieve it, if it still belongs in his life.

What's so thrilling about inquiring into the dilemma is that it invites your imagination to stretch. When you read a well-told story and wonder, "How did the author come up with that?" the answer is probably that she made herself available to a process that led her characters to places she might not have otherwise ventured.

Working with structure allows the writer to see his story from a wider perspective. Sometimes you'll write a scene, only to realize that the situation doesn't belong in your story, but if you inquire into the nature of the conflict, i.e., the dilemma, you may discover that what was essential finds its way in.

The three-act structure is not limiting, though it does demand that you be rigorous with your ideas, because story structure holds your ideas accountable to universal truths. This means that anything you imagine can be contained by structure if you're willing to distill your ideas to their nature. Story structure keeps you connected to your theme by placing your focus squarely on your character's primal desires, and in doing so, plot naturally emerges.

Brian McDonald, "The Godfather," and how to find the Theme

Brian McDonald is the author of Invisible Ink: A Practical Guide to Building Stories that Resonate, and The Golden Theme: How to make your writing appeal to the highest common denominator. 

   He is an award winning screenwriter who has taught his craft at several major studios, including Pixar, Disney and Industrial Light & Magic. His award-winning short film White Face has been shown all over the USA. 
   I had the privilege of asking him some questions back in January. That interview will be published here shortly. Today we're focusing on a question I asked him about Theme and everybody's favourite movie, The Godfather. Is the theme of that movie, Family is all?
   Instead of simply answering my question, he went one better and answered a question I've been asking for years: How can you know what is the theme of any given movie? _______________________________________________________________________

The way to find a story’s theme is to look for clues as to what the story is proving. Think of the three acts this way: 

Act One: The Proposal

The proposal is where the theme of the piece is first introduced in some way. For instance you might introduce a pacifist character who believes there is never a cause for violence. Or you may have a character who strongly disbelieves in anything supernatural.
   In The Godfather we are introduced right away to the idea of Justice-versus-Revenge. It’s the very first thing that happens in the film. We learn that even in this world of gangsters and crime, there is a sense of what is just. Marlon Brando, the Godfather, tells us explicitly the difference between justice and revenge when a man, whose daughter was nearly raped and was beaten so bad that she was hospitalized, asks the Godfather to kill the men who did this. The Godfather refuses to kill the men because the girl did not die—that would not be justice, he says. But he will hurt these men as much as the girl was hurt.

That is not justice. Your daughter is still alive.

Then we are introduced to the rest of the gangster family—the Corleone family. We meet Michael Corleone, one of the sons. He is not part of the family business. He must be squeaky clean for the story to work, so when we meet him, he is in uniform—he is a war hero—and he is with his girlfriend, who is beyond squeaky clean. 
   Michael tells her a story about his father and a violent threat he made to get a man to sign a contract. Michael says, “My father assured him that either his brains or his signature would be on the contract.” The girlfriend almost can’t believe what she’s heard. Then Michael says, “That’s my family, Kay, it’s not me.”

That's my family, Kay. It's not me.

So we know who Michael is, we know who his family is, we know the rules for this world, and we have an idea that this piece will explore the idea of Justice-versus-Revenge. And we know that this family is close—they love each other.

   More things happen in Act One of this film, but you get the idea.

Act Two: The Argument or Proof

In Act Two, you set out to explore the thematic premise of the first act. You argue—prove or disprove—that theme. The very first thing we learned in the story is that revenge is not good. That’s one aspect of the theme. But there is also Michael’s statement, “That’s my family, Kay, it’s not me.” Now Michael must be forced, by the story, to confront that idea. Is it him?

   Michael’s father is shot in a gang hit. He does not die, though he is badly hurt and is hospitalized. Michael goes to see his father and finds out that some men are coming to finish him off. To save his father’s life, he moves his bed into another room to hide him from the would-be killers.

Just lie here, Pop. I'll take care of you now. I'm with you now.

This is the beginning of Michael becoming more like the rest of his family. It starts off innocently enough. Most of us would do the same thing. This is his father and he loves him. 
   Then, at the hospital, Michael is roughed up pretty good by a dirty cop who works with the rival gangsters.

Take a hold of him. Stand him up. Stand ’im up straight.

Michael is angry and decides he wants to kill these guys who did this to his father. Notice, how like the girl in the opening of the story, the Godfather is alive, but badly hurt and hospitalized. These two characters are in the very same condition. But what does Michael do—seek justice? No, he seeks revenge. He kills the men responsible and sets off a violent gang war.

... a guarantee: No more attempts on my father's life.

He flees to Sicily to avoid being killed himself, but the retaliatory violence reaches him even there and kills his young wife.
   There was something wrong in seeking revenge rather than justice—it brought even more violence.

Act Three:  Conclusion

This is where we see what the other acts have added up to. What the third act of this film asks about Michael is, Who is he now? Does he learn the lesson that revenge isn’t worth it, or not? 

   No, he doesn’t. He orders a ruthless killing spree of his enemies.

Don Corleone...

In the end, Michael is corrupted. His statement, “That’s my family, Kay, it’s not me,” is no longer true.
   So you ask yourself, what does the story prove? Does it prove Family is all? I don’t think it does.
   You can express a theme in many ways, even with the same story. The purpose of drama is to prove a point through the use of emotion, so sometimes themes can be hard to put into exact words. But a few ways to state this theme might be:

• It is better to seek justice than revenge.
• Revenge corrupts.
• Revenge brings pain to the avenger.

Or, if you word it in character terms, you might say something like:

• Anyone can be corrupted.
• No one knows what he is capable of becoming, given the right circumstances.

I’m sure there are more ways to word it, but whatever you think the theme is, it has to be something that the characters and events prove, through the movement of the story.