SPECIAL EDITION WRITING TIPS

This week, we are taking a look at IN THE LINE OF FIRE, a film by Wolfgang Petersen, starring Clint Eastwood, and ranking, in this columnist’s opinion, as one of the five best thrillers ever made. The special edition DVD includes a treasure chest of extras designed to dig into the great details filmmakers included to achieve authenticity. More importantly, the film itself stands as a wonderful piece of pacing and characterization into which we will delve with further detail in a moment.

But first, I want to thank Drew Melbourne for his undying patience, as I had to take a little time off for the Spring Break crazies. Let me clarify. School is always a rushing river of madness and ignorance as the little turds I teach day-in, day-out do everything they can to make sure they do nothing they’re supposed to.

So it goes. The weeks leading up to break always carry with them a lot more pressure. In other words, it’s been a while. But I’m back.

Recharged. Rejuvenated. Ready to watch some movies and special features. Make some observations. And figure out how it all makes sense to us comic book writers.

Now don’t misjudge me, nor call for my head, when I attempt to explain my reasoning for choosing Clint Eastwood’s IN THE LINE OF FIRE over his earlier effort as the iconic Harry Callahan in 1971’s masterpiece DIRTY HARRY.

In no way am I saying the former is better than the latter. Just different. And for my purposes this week, it is more suited to this column’s subject… finding redemption for your characters, and giving them a journey worth our time.

Eastwood stars as Frank Horrigan, a tormented Secret Service agent called back into service, to capture a ruthless psychopath out to assassinate the President.

Horrigan has more than one demon in his closet, the first and most vital, his failure to prevent JFK’s assassination. Now retired from Presidential detail, he spends most of his time busting counterfeit operations. In fact, it is here that we first meet Frank, alongside his partner, a younger agent (and family man) who isn’t quite up to the chances Horrigan takes.

“Go home and hug your wife and kid,” Horrigan tells his partner immediately after one close encounter. He knows how important it is, implying a past experience, yet he also volunteers to check out the apartment of a wacko, who has designs on terminating the President; so we know that whatever that past experience is, is no more.

Frank not only knows about failing at his job, he also carries guilt over another human being’s death, and he allows alcohol to run off his wife and daughter where they are no longer a part of his life, as the killer reveals in their first conversation.

Responsibility for the nation losing its leader.

Responsibility for a broken marriage.

Responsibility for letting go of his role as a father.

That’s a lot of baggage for one man to carry, and might even drive many to an early grave. But here Frank is, entering the twilight years, and still lamenting what could have been. He is a character ripe for the redemptive journey.

Now as storytellers it’s important for us to note the severity of what has passed in Frank’s life, and what is yet to come. Though his wounds are serious before we first meet him, they do not compare to the struggles he must face, if there is to be a story. While one setback may not seem as severe as his back-story, keep in mind that this journey is the last chance he has to salvage his soul. In that regard, even the most minor of details threaten to fracture all hope, when before, he still had some reason that pushed him along through the daily chores of living. Placed under that microscope, Frank’s current actions matter a lot more than any previous tragedy or accomplishment.

For the redemptive character on his journey, this means the worst failures are yet to come. As writers, don’t be afraid to lather on the roadblocks, disappointments, and tragedies.

Before Frank Horrigan redeems his life, he must survive a lot more trouble, the least of which includes his age subjecting him to the butt of practical jokes; the greatest of which includes causing the death of his partner. As is often true in life, things must get a lot worse before they can get any better.

Horrigan’s disappointments are peppered throughout with a few successes. Eventually, he gets under the killer’s skin and discovers the more personal details that will enable him to win out in the end. But before that, he will live with the knowledge that he could have stopped his partner’s death. He will also be removed from Presidential detail, and ordered to San Diego, miles away from the dinner where assassin Mitch Leery plans to kill the President.

He may even have to take that fatal shot.

As I mentioned before, IN THE LINE OF FIRE has breathless pacing and top-notch characterization. Nowhere is this more noticeable than in the film’s final act. If you could place its structure on a timeline of events, you would notice that line gets pretty crowded around the climax and resolution. Each setback faced in this region of the story means disaster for Horrigan as he moves forward on his journey. Likewise, realize that your hero must face his toughest challenges on the way to that one defining moment where he will succeed or fail.

Say our hero is too far away to save his girlfriend from the killer he knows is coming to her apartment, where she watches TV oblivious to the fact. He will have to call her and give a warning. It’s this moment where she refuses to answer because of the fight they had last night. She won’t accept his calls, so the one sure way he has of warning her in time is no longer available to him.

All hope is lost.

Will he carjack a banker on the street outside so he can race home and save the day, or will he resign to the knowledge that she’s as good as dead, and go out for a slice of Chicago-style deep dish? The setbacks and how he reacts to them will decide how he will react in that one defining moment. Make sure each new aggravation is more important than any your character has experienced so far. Failure breeds conflict.

Conflict breeds purpose.

And purpose means the redemptive hero is in the driver’s seat to arrive at his destiny. It’s his last chance. With a good writer’s help, he will have a journey worth taking, and the spiritual constitution to complete it successfully.

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.

I know what killed me. Approximately two hours of sitting through I KNOW WHO KILLED ME on DVD. And if that doesn’t segue appropriately enough for talking about a crappy movie like this one, I’ll simply have to make due.

Grotesquery is the word of the day. Let me ask, what the hell is wrong with this movie? I KNOW WHO KILLED ME, currently available on DVD after its oh-so-short theatrical release subjects us to the slow, senseless torture of a girl who may or may not be Aubrey Fleming (but is probably Lindsay Lohan).

Left for dead, she theoretically resurfaces in the form of Dakota Moss, a girl with a shockingly different account of her identity from the versions of her loved ones. Dakota is sure she isn’t Aubrey, and she’s got the story to prove it. But Aubrey just so happens to be a writer – perhaps she’s been sucked in to the story she is creating?

Ah… therein lies the question.

Of course, the only things sucking in this film are the performances. But this is a blog about writing… particularly about the use of film and DVD to improve our writing. So the performances technically have nothing to do with it.

(Nor does direction, which is a good thing, considering the movie wins no awards in that area either.)

First thing: I am an optimist. Show me any anal rock-monster that gets produced and I’m sure I can find some kernel of corn worth re-digestion.

(Okay, that was disgusting, but give me a break: writing a blog is quite time-consuming, and one must grasp at whatever straws are available.)

The film does have its qualities. Its intriguing premise and sometimes characterization are highlights. Unfortunately, the script fails for a variety of reasons, acting and direction notwithstanding.

Lohan’s dialog as bad girl Dakota Moss often tears from her lips like prose in a trashy romance novel. The plot twists are convoluted to say the least. The climax (and “shocking” reveal) is far less intriguing and more ridiculous than what would have been had the plot followed a normal, obvious path. For once, I was upset that a film did trick me because: a) the twist is ludicrous; and b) the entire third act hammers said twist into place like a square peg through a round hole.

Moss is a slutty stripper, who seems to have taken over where good girl Aubrey left off. But are they within the same body? Has Aubrey created Dakota to “take over” her long life of crowding expectations and overachievements?

It’s not exactly subtle where the story leads us, and this could be the reason thrills are sparse; however, it is a rather clear use of the “foils” literary device we can sink our teeth in to for the purpose of this column.

By forgetting who she is, she shirks the ties that bind her… the desire to be more than she feels capable of… the undue pressure… even the parental restraints. It’s the fantasy of many kids that feel Mom and Dad are coming down too hard on them.

(Hell, I have those desires every time I go to work or pay bills.)

A foil is an opposite… a character that contrasts another in some specific way. While I KNOW WHO KILLED ME fails on many counts, it does give us an excellent model for how foils are constructed. Aubrey is an accomplished writer, an excellent piano player, and the ideal daughter to two nearly perfect parents. She is the girl next door in every sense of the term. But her fictional creation Dakota is a stripper, daughter to an overdosed crack-head, and a foul-mouthed, chain-smoking, promiscuous slut, with loads of street moxie and fierce independence.

Gone are the gray areas: one wears the white hat, the other black. Foils needn’t always be so cut-and-dry. Have you ever had a friend with whom you shared much in common with, but they differed from you in some way of major importance? Perhaps you both take pleasure in the misfortunes of others. You play practical jokes. But maybe your jokes are limited by a moral compass, and your friend’s is broken. While you enjoy the same things… even share certain interests in ideologies… your consciences come to a fork in the road and take different paths.

However you choose to do it, foils are great creations for the drive of your story. Think about the character you are writing. For every character trait you give them, come up with an opposite. At first, it helps to be extreme. Go the full 180 degrees if you have to. But as you grow more skilled at this “opposite game” mentality, bring the traits closer to center. In what ways are they different? In what ways are they alike? What fundamentals do they share? In other words, how close are their core beliefs? Are they Democrat, Republican, Green? Have they at long last wised up and realized their vote is wasted on the richest person and not the most capable?

It’s up for you to decide. Your characters are what make your story. And in the case of foils, your characters are what make your characters. For a fantastic character worksheet, go to http://www.writerswrite.com/journal/jun98/lazy2.htm. You don’t have to answer every section. But don’t neglect the intellectual/beliefs portion. That, after all, is what will drive your character and lead to the creation of others.