SPECIAL EDITION WRITING TIPS

Last week we looked at THE STING and focused on proofreading, feedback, and revision, asking the question, “How much is enough?” This week we dig a little deeper into the supplemental material of the recent Legacy Series release, as well as the film itself, for a look at character, and how it should drive our stories.

When developing a character, ask yourself the following question: What baggage does he/she bring to the story? In other words, what difficulties will your characters face because of their back-stories?

BAGGAGE CLAIM

In THE STING, Johnny Hooker, a small-time con man played by Robert Redford, comes face-to-face with the dangers of his job when a friend and colleague falls victim to the murderous Doyle Lonnegan (Robert Shaw). Hooker knows he’s dealing with a man of great power, and he knows head-on confrontation will not end well. Enter Gondorff (Paul Newman), a down-on-his-luck genius, who just might have what it takes to give Hooker the revenge he is looking for. But before these two can enact any sort of plan for retribution, they must overcome their pre-film baggage.

Hooker and Gondorff each have two forms of baggage with which they must contend: the physical and the emotional. Hooker’s physical baggage manifests itself in the form of an obsessed, tough-talking detective (Charles Durning), who watches every move of the young con artist, waiting for that day when he can put Hooker away for good. Emotionally, Hooker is a “hot head,” as Gondorff points out in their first meeting.

Gondorff, on the other hand, has made a very powerful enemy out of a top politician, who decides to sick the FBI on him as some form of payback. As a result, Gondorff is now down-and-out, living in a tenement that deeply contrasts all the stories Hooker has heard about his reputation. The dashed expectations lead to an early dislike, and possible distrust, between the two characters. This will factor in with double importance later. Emotionally, Gondorff now sees himself as a failure. Let’s face it – that’s what he is. How are these two men going to “sting” one of the biggest gangsters in town with the heat they bring to the table breathing down their necks?

And so, tension is born – tension between Gondorff and Hooker; tension between Hooker and Lonnegan; tension between Gondorff and Lonnegan; tension between the FBI and Gondorff; tension between the stubby detective and Hooker; all created not within the film itself, but in the events leading up to the film.

Let’s pause for a moment and apply. What lurks in our characters’ histories that might make their current lives very difficult? If your character has a goal to achieve – something they cannot ignore till it’s accomplished – decide what immediate complication could jeopardize the entire operation.

(And make sure you screw your characters good.)

Don’t make it easy for the bastards. They take away valuable free time, and they usually get off easy in the end. They deserve to be punished, so let ‘em have it.

A NEED TO KNOW BASIS

Unfortunately, in a column such as this, I fear certain spoilers are a necessity. That’s why I request you watch this film before proceeding, if you haven’t already.

With that said, it’s time to examine how writer David S. Ward uses our own knowledge against us to create the groundbreaking twists and turns that, in essence, left THE STING so emblazoned in the minds of filmgoers everywhere.

Let’s think back to our baggage claim. Remember the FBI? The FBI certainly remembers Gondorff. He was probably subject to heavy FBI probing before the film opens, which may or may not have been anal in nature. It’s that knowledge we have of the situation that leads us hook, line, and sinker, into the film’s biggest trap. We know Gondorff’s history. We also know he’s plenty capable of staging the elaborate, as seen in the setup of Lonnegan’s dupe. These elements combine to complete the film’s greatest challenge – convincing us the real FBI has stormed the place and gunned down Gondorff in the film’s twisty-turvy finale.

Ward plays the audience against their own knowledge throughout the second and third acts. He uses the tension created from Hooker and Gondorff’s initial meeting to make the audience believe it’s possible for one to turn on the other. To audiences of the seventies, a decade opposed to the norm of the Hollywood ending, THE STING could have been another in a long line of depressing films. By the time it came along, a double tragedy wouldn’t have been far-fetched. In this case, the differences between our heroes are just enough to create the possibility for betrayal.

Tying the two together – the FBI presence and character conflicts – we actually see a double-cross go down, ending with Gondorff shooting Hooker, and the FBI shooting Gondorff. A puzzled Lonnegan, having lost his money on our heroes’ illegal gambling operation, has no choice but to flee or face certain jail time. Our stubby detective, in an effort to play kiss-up to both the FBI and Lonnegan rushes the mobster away from the premises to never again see his money. Both are unwitting pawns – dupes, if you will – to “The Sting,” which has gone down right before their eyes. The “FBI” is a phony group slapped together by Gondorff. The blood seeping through our heroes’ high-dollar suits are from exploded squibs.

Lonnegan has been had – and so have we – all because writer Ward took the time to set those expectations in our heads.

Ward creates baggage. He establishes specific facts early regarding the characters. He tells us only what he wants us to know when he wants us to know it. We follow the bread crumbs he lays out for us to the great big boiling pot at the end. And that pot burns us with the very information we took for granted earlier in the film. But it burns us without lies or cheap tricks. It burns us fairly. And at the end of the day, there’s nothing an audience enjoys more.

It’s a delicate line to walk. How do we do it?

A good way of determining what the audience should know, and when they should know it, is to outline our stories ahead of time. We must know our endings. We must, like our characters, have a goal to work for. Also like our characters, we have plenty of complications. Neglecting this step runs the risk of overcomplicating things. We have too many options, and we can’t decide which one is best. So, we end up writing ourselves in circles till frustration sets in, a wide maniac’s grin takes our faces, and we run every page of our work through a confetti shredder.

Switching gears to characters, define who they are. Give each a goal. Give that goal as many complications as possible. Then, let them work with and/or against each other to see those goals through. As we fill in these blanks, scenes will take shape. From there, it’s time to determine what the audience should know, and what the scene should accomplish amid the story’s whole.

I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but what these factors usually mean is you won’t finish quickly and be ready for acceptance from the hottest publishers. It took David S. Ward over one year to write a screenplay. Screenplays are traditionally accomplished in a much shorter length of time – at least under the watch of one writer. But in the end, the time and care earned a very young writer the highest honor in his field. Don’t rush it. Quality takes time, even for the best. You can’t expect the ideas to evolve over night, and magically draw in the big money offers.

Time and care – both are necessary for revision, but don’t let the quick drafters out there fool you: they’re equally vital to the creation process.

So slow down if you haven’t – and put some smarts into it. See you next week.