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Aristotle's Poeticsfor Screenwriters

Storytelling Secrets from theGreatest Mind in Western Civilization

Michael Tierno

~HYPERIONINEW YORK

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Preface

I f, scarily enough, your screenplay happens to get read by

a Hollywood studio, the story analyst will sum it up using

a "coverage" form that looks something like this:

Log Line:

Brief:

Plot Summary:

Comments:

Idea:

Story:

Charaeter:

Dialog:

Producnon Values:

Absolutely everythingsubmitted to a Hollywood studio

is boiled down to its bare merits and discussed using these

nine topics of analysis. The form allows a story analyst to

write a quick summary ofthe screenplay before zipping said

summary off to an overworked story editor, who sendsit to

an equally time-taxed studio executive. Based on this cov­

erage sheet, the executive decides whether or not to look at

your script. What the items on the sheet represent are the

no-brainer essentials of a screenplay-its idea, its stbry, and

XVlZ

so forth. But you'd be surprised to find out that the criteria

Hollywood executives use to evaluate screenplays are exaetly

those the legendary philosopher Aristotle thought were the

nuts and bolts oL1ncient drama more than 2,000 years ago!

Aristotle carefully examined the fundamentals of dra- I

matic story structure in the Poetics, which is still considered

to be "the bible of screenwriting" by many Hollywood pro­

fessionals today. Sharing this view, 1 use the Poetics as a

guide to write scripts and make films, and haveused its

truths to analyze and write screenplay coverage notes as a

story analyst for Miramax Films. Since the Poeties has he!ped

me irnmense!y in both endeavors, 1 fee! obliged to share its

insights with anyone interested in writing better screenplays.

Don't worry,this book is not an academic study. It's an

introduction to tl1e Poeties ~imed specifically at scnienwrit­

ers, that seeks tobreak down many of Aristotle's brilliant

concepts ánd demonstrate how his techniques. of dramatic

story structure are still used in modern movies. 1 know how

hard it is to read the Poetz·cs in its entirety. There's that

translation-from-ancient-Greek issue, not to mention the fact

that many of the plays Aristotle refers to havé vanished or

are rare!y performed. Sorne of the conventions he describes

have no bearing in today's cinematic world, including talk.

of"dithyrambs" and other outmoded forms of dramatic writ­

ing. However, the Poetics is still useful to screenwriters be­

cause Aristotleexplained why well-structured dramatic

works affected audiences the way they did. He analyzed plot

devices, character, and everything you'd find in a Hollywood

xviii Preface I,~

I!¡

Preface

story coverage sheet today. In fact, 1 think it's safe to say

that Aristotle, besides being the greatest mind in Western

civilization, was the world's first movie story analyst!

Aristotle's examination of plays. such as OedipusRex

demonstrates time!ess urnversal truths about dramatic sto­

rytelling. In analyzing great movies like Rocky and American

Beauty, I discovered that they followAristote!ian story stI'UC­

ture, which is not to say they simply follow a bunch of rules.

On the contrary, in. these works, the art of storytelling is

alive aIldfresh, and perhaps that iswhy they emergedlike

beacons from the cluttered marketplace. In each great movie

I analyze, the screenwriters an.d directors have understood

how audiences respond to drama, which is what the Poetics

is all about. This understanding is what makes c!assicfilms

time!ess and awe-inspiring.

The passages from the Poetics I cite in the subsequent

chapteI's contain the soundest principIes of screenwriting

technique ever articulated. What parentheticalemphasis I

have added or any rearranging I have done I felt was nec­

essaryfor the sake of presenting Aristotle's thoughts on dra­

matic structure as clearly and simply as he intended. You

will notice that throughout most of the book, I demonstrate

these principIes by citing actual movies rather than screen­

plays. I fee! that screenwriters must first understand how

drama works in great movies on screen before they can make

it happen on papero

A word about the semantics of the Poetics needs men­

tioning. When Aristotle says "tragedy," he means "serious

Xl'

drama," so whenever you see "tragedy" throughout the book

(notably in the Podícs excerpts), it meansjust that-not nec­

essarily "tragic drama," in the conventional sense modern

viewers hold. In Aristotle's day, there was a hard-core split

between tragedy(drama) and comedy. Tragedy was about I

serious issues-the "tragic deed" and higher-Ievel person­

ages falling from grace. Comedy, aboutbuffoons and lower­

leve! personages that were not to be taken seriously,

amounted to a sort of "vaudeville." Aristotle informs us that

the sadder dramatic works are indeed the most potent kind,

a notion that carne to define classical "tragedy," as cham­

pioned by Shakespeare with works such as Hamlet and Kíng

Lear. But all of the principIes about tragedy laid out in the

Poetícs apply to most moviestoday, even comedies like Cal­

axy Questo.

And now the moment we've all been waiting for; ..

storytelling secrets from the greatest mind inWestern civi­

lization.

xx Preface 1~

Ii"I1!

I

INTRODUCTION

The Action-Idea

Orestes is made to say himself what the poet

rather than the story demandso

_, "e ~~hat the story dema~ds" is a concept that should

Db;~;¡;¡';;-~:;;;';en;riter'swall. It's probably

the pearl of wisdom from '!he Podícs, which Aristotle gets

at in the aboye passage. Here, he's referring to the Greek trag­

edy Iphígenía ín Taurís, a play that he feels is flawed because

the author (Euripides) made the mistake of letting his own

agenda seep into the story rather than having every plot inci­

dent come together to create a tight unified structure. In fact,

the ability to plot well or create strong story structures is not a

minor talent, and according to Aristotleit comes with maturity:

o. obeginners succeed earlier with the Diction and

Characters than with the construction of a storyo

According to Aristotle, the ability to plot, or to create a-~--~ -_..

powerful structure, is the most important aspect of writing.___________~ .__·~_e.'~ ......-'·· ..·_,~._._,__.._"'_~", .._.__._-'-.__, ,~_

Good writers serve their stories; bad writers serve their own

;g:nd.:s. Byth;;nd-;;rtlÜs ¡;;;;;k:-;;;;;II ~der;ttnd-;hiit's~;;:;'-=--------...--portant to say what the story demandso You'11 be able to judge

1

\

2 Michael Tierno¡¡III

I

Aristotle's Poetics for Screenwriters 3

for Jaws is an ACTION llpon which the entire story is built.

We could reduce the ACTIONevenfurther to read, "stop­

ping akil1er shark," an ACTION that is greater than any of

the characters in the story, even Chief Brady.

Your ACTION-IDEA should beable to move listeners

who merely hear it just asthey would be moved if they saw

an entire movie made fram your screenplay. It takes afull­

length rnovie to bring.anaudience to "catharsis," or pro-~_o,""..·,'_''''''~'''''"_~'''' ......"..;..,..."....,,"-

found emotional release,but the ACTION-IDEA should be~~_·"""'~<''-''=-<·''''''_"~V_~''~'"""",>,,,.,_~_

able to evoke a little bit of that same deep feeling on itsown.

.. So, if your ACTION-IDEA must doall this work, itmust

be a simple summaryof a story, strong enough so that when

it's expanded into a complete screenplay, it will hold and

move a.n audience. Let's Jiow give tité ACTION-IDEAil try.

Say we want to write about someone who likes cars.

That'SIlOt an ACTION-IDEA. Oby, how about sorneone

who not only likes cars but who likes them so much that he

steals thém. "Steals" is heder than "likes" because "steals"re­

fers toan action, whereas. "likes" refers to a state of inind.

But the idea of a hero who merelY steals cars isn't in and

01 itself capable of moving an audience to a catharsis. It

needs something. So, a better example of an ACTION­

IDEAwould read something like:

JJ~ THE ..lOE SCHMO STORY-JOE SCHMO

J~ steals cars to help kids in his neighborhood go to

college. but he eventually decides he's setting abad ex­

ample, so he goes to college himselfso that someday he

4 Miehael Tierno

can get a real job and earn the money to put his kids

lhrough schoo!' Al college he slruggles lo lranscend his

SO 1.0., but instead of bribing teachers to pass his c1asses,

he decides to pass on his own merits, setting the ultimate

example tor his kids.

Bravo! We did it. We crealed an ACTION-IDEA suit­

able for building into a full-length film. And notice that the

finishing touch was adding the fact thatJoe Schmo, the agent

of the action, got to make amoral choice, two important

Aristotelian concepts. Admit it, with Joe's decision to pass

college on his own merits to set an example, you can't help

but feel for him. And that's what it's all about, getting the

audience to feel and to conneet with your characters.

Of course, you might get cute and ask, "If the

ACTION-IDEA is capable in and of itself of doing emo­

tional work on an audience, why make them sit through a

two-hour movie?" The answer couId be, "What else are we

going to do on Saturday nights?" The real answer is that

undergoing catharsis through a full-length story is a richer

experience than listening to the mere summation of a story

in a few sentences.

Aceording to AristotIe, catharsis (which literally trans­

lates to "emotional purging") is the whole point of dramatic

storytelli;;g:';;;:'"eÍif~';:h;t~~~ry single story event is working

to achieve in the audienee. Your movie should take the au­

dience on an emotional and psychological journey-that is

Arístotle's Poet;cs for Screenwriters 5

what they pay foro A good movie reveals poignant tmths of

the human experience in either a small or big way, depend­

ing on the kind of movie it is.

Just hearing a good ACTION-IDEA can impart a small

feeling of eatharsis, but the bigger drawn-out one experi­

enced during a complete movie is more cleansing for the

human psyche, and even therapeutic. Bear in mind, a secret_..--_.-......to understanding catharsis is that it doesn't happen at the_ - -<~..~.......,~~~_~· .......··~,="~~c~_ ...·",;.""",,,,,,,,~_,,,",.,-,,,,~,·,;,",·.,,,·....."'''....-e'''~;'.~'''·'''''''''''''',,·,·"'·'''"~>

end of watching a movie, but builds throughout the entire__.._.,_',.,....,.,....=,....,.~""'-"'.;,~,"">4¡.; ..,~'".__"'.,.;".,.~,.-"...._"'." •.-",~""~r"~~'_;""-_..,._..".v.~_"'_ •._~."...".,,...,.,_,,~ __ .._,..._.~ ""_

story ando fli1ll;q.FSgf~:!JltI:e cnd, giving the audience a final"'~~l;;";~~''''"....'"' ""'-,.r<i" .... ~.~, '''''"''''''''''"''''''"'-''''''' ~'"- co "C~~'~c"""'__"'_~ .",~_'_~'_'_'__~"<·~'_~'

well-crafted story is needed to make an ACTION­

IDEA cathartic. Our task is to take our simple ACTION­

IDEA and develop it into a fuIl-length screenplay, without

abandoning the essence of the original idea. So now, all

that's left is for me to lead you to the master who can point

the way. The task is easier than you think.

1.

Let's Start at the VeryBeginning, Middle, and End

... a whole is that which has beginning, mid­

dle, and end.

T bis quote from the Poetics has led to the common mis­

o conception held by many screenwriters that the Poetics

preaches a three-act stmcture as the be-al!, end-all template

for a dramatic story. In fact, Aristotle never stipuIates three

acts, but he does taIk about two distinct movements in a dra­

matic story, the "complication" and the "denouement":

Every tragedy [dramatic story] is in part Complica­

tion and in part Denouement; the incidents before the

opening scene, and ... also of those within the play,

forming the Complication; and the rest the Denouement.

By)complication!r mean all from the beginning of the""_"¡"""'~-¡:;'_~"''''''''''' .".,'''',.,,'''''''''''''''"'"----...--..---

story to the point just before the chanKe in.\!l.". hero'~

f~;~;;~~;·¡;yÍD~no;~:;;;t;;¡l'fr~~··;¡;~·b;~:.ing:f the,-"~,"'•., .."'",,.,', ..~,. ~"'~..'-""".,....,._~=.',.''''. "'"'''',...,.,'O_".>p".....''''''''".,~,~~."'._,,_~_ •.·_,..·~_,··~'''''''

change to the end.<,.'-'<"''''~<.,.~"~" •.''",..''''',..,."'",,'1,.,,...---'''"''''._.

In einematic terms, the complication incIudes everything

that happens in the back story that pertains to the pIot, and

7

8 Michael Tierno Aristotle's Poetics far Screenvvriters 9

continues through the opening of the movie until right be­

fore the change in the hero's fortune occurs. That said, how

does beginning,. middle, and end apply to story structure?

Let's go to the a.ctual excerpt:

Tiagedy is an imitation of an action that is whole

and completeÍn itselfand of sorne magnitude ... a whole

is that which has beginning, middle, and end. * A begin­

ning is that which is not itself necessarily after anything

else, and which has naturally something else aftú it; an

end is that which is naturally after something itself, either

as its necessary or usual consequent, and with nothing

else after it;and a middle, that which is by nature after

one thing and has also another after it. A well-constructed

Plot therefore cannot either begm' or end al any point, . ."" ,', .

one likes; beginning and end in it must be of the kind

just described.

In other words, it is the plot action that has a beginning,

middle, and end. The plot's beginning "is riot necessarily

after anything else"; that is, the beginning of the plot action

cannot be caused by something outside it. It starts up by itself.

It's a self-initiated action, a virtual "big bang" that sets the en­

tire plot in motlon, that can be committed by either the pro­

tagonist or ant~gonist, and that is an act of pure will. For

example, in TIeGodfather, Sollozzo tries to kili the Don so

*Emphasis added.· All such emphasis in italics in the."excerpts has beenadded by the author throughout the book, unJess otherwise noted.

that he can usher in drugs, an action that sets the entire plot

in motion. But this action was muy necessary from his point

of view. In Dead Poets Society, Mr. Keating shows his stu­

dents old photos of now deceased students and tells them

"seize the day," urging them to take action before it is too late

and to follow their dreams. Nothing in the plot has caused

Keating to challenge his students in this way. Because this

kind of inciting incident is not caused by anything else in the

plot, yet sets the entire plot in motion, I call it a "first cause"__..."..¿,~~",,'~. """ __0',,,__,,.

ofaction. These inciti!,g insi<!~!lts in TIe Godfather and Dead,,·'''·'"''.·..~_C ...,·d''_'''~, ..,-=, , ""

Poets Society are perfect examples of first causes of action. , ,

It is important to understand that tJ:te.ª:~t5'.ª1!~e.?faction 11-e'~"''"'''-''--'''<-.".,.,. i

must occur after the moviebegins, not in the back story. But ;;,z.J:'::j.,"'"'~~,.,." ..., _. __ -'_ ,-- .' '""...,~.,,,.·~.~,,~»,,,-,,,,·",,~ ...·,,,.~~_w<_,,~,,,,_,., ..., " ,""', ; .. o', .. , ," ,_, , ....'"~...... ..

the fi~stCa;:;se'~f acti~n mnst happ~';:~~rIYlr;'thtn:;~'y¡e,be- !h. ,. e:"~"",~ ,_""_."'-''''''~"~''''' __~r,....",~""",,,,,,,.__ ,"

cause it must be solely responsible for setting off the chain of

events that drive the plot. To give writers sorne space to work

with before the first cause ofaction kicks the plot off, Aristode 1

offers us a tool ca.lled the ~~~Io~." A prologue connects lh¡@~"l

the back-story part of the complication (e.g., what happened

to the hero before we meet him) to the "front story" (story af-

ter the movie starts) and otherwise sets the stage before the------~,_.~--_ ,-,.""._-_.--',-,.

.ji[sL!:.\!g~!'<l.[~~!i()~"happens. In TIe Godfather, the wedding" .' '''-''--~'-'~''.',"",.

sequence creates atmosphere, introduces characters, and pro-

vides a tranquillead-up to the gunning down of the Don. Ih!;," 1\n_~~()"§",sgmltb.¡§,fimt.sª,J!ll"~,"gfi!sj;jQQ.,9,Sf.\!r§.'.~5"re_~~~t~-' 1h&.~.e_:~II1~~~!,~':,()i.!h~.p'!2.~_~~ªefu:!~d"ºy~4ristg\k~ This middle ()¡¡; gtJínis completely driven by the first cause of action and naturally , Vrv , '._'

follows after it in a cause-and-effect manner. And just as the

first cause of astíon is a dynamic jolt of energy" that drives the

middle of the story, it builds to create a "secoí;ld cause of ac-

tion" which í~,~J~.t~;1i~~I-pl~~~~;;:;t"~Tth~~~tó;:Y;~~·cÍbri;;gs;;;-i;;tºJ¡:;;d~ndll'i¡nent:'~;Z~;~d;;-;;~;;e;~;rt:>--~>-- .. '-,"_"'-'-,",;..-- -~-'--'~'<'"' ~'.'''''.';'''':'~-'.' ..'-,. '--'-""~."re~~-", ......._.__~~~.._........~.~......l

For example, in The Godfather, the middle of the pldt

terminates wheÍl Michael becomes Godfath~r .. This change

ín !lis fortune ptarks the beginning of the dellouement, dur­

ing which Micli.ael has enemies from within hi~ family killed.

The denouem~útcontinues until the last fraIIl.e of the movie;

it's not just a fi.i)al punctuation; it's an entire~nal movement

It takes time. ~d like the triiddle, it naturally unfolds in a

cause-and-effeCt way. But Aristotle is veryspecific about

what must happen in this denouement and \varns us not to

screw it up:

10 Michael Tierno

it

IAristotle's Poé'tícs for Screenwriters

Therellre many dramatists who, afterjgood Com­

plication, f¡¡jl in the Denouement. But it is necessary for

both points;of construction to be always duly mastered.

In the deeouement, al! the plot action that got "wound

up" in the middle unravels. For example, iilThe'Godfather,

the denouement begins with the change in Michael's fortune,

which is the jolt that causes the unraveling.But what really

unravels in this denouement? Wel!, since Aristotle believed

drarnatists must depict not merely life but t~6~~-;:~líif~-~f:hero, what g;;~¡;;;;¡;:r'iip'~nd;n-;~;~¡~i~ th~ ~~d;~~tcotÍ:-____ : -, ~ ,. ._ _.._.~..'.,.-~ __'_"_""_'"'O~:"_:"· ',.,,~, .._._._

cern the hera's moral conflict that developed during the

-;tory"snuaaíe~owIiatwá;Mi~h~-;;f's;;;':-al;~~fli~t ¡~ih~

\

An end is that which is naturally after something 1it~elf, ei~..er.. as its nec7ssary or usual consequent, and.·••••j.\WIth nothing else after it. '.

_.-.-",~' ='-""'''-,"",."-,~""",,,,,", ...,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

To summarize, let's touch on the key points of what

constitutes a "beginning, middle, and end." The beginningof the plot action occurs soon after the movie starts with a

"first cause of action," which is a self-initiated, incitinfin­

cident that is apure act ofwil!-nothing causes it, or makes--~·""""~'-_~~~:C_"""'~

12 Michael Tierno

it necessary. This action heralds the middle of the plot ac­

tion, which moves forward through cause and effect, real-

fhd "l""izing the first movement o t e rama, or comp lcatlOn.

The middle which naturally springs from the first cause of_________--'_,":,-_.,_~~,_.,, ,, ~~~ •.~_..,~._,, ...._....,.-_'.__ , __~_.,..c""'''''' .._._.- __..•_y •••• __._ ••• , ••-'-_~~,=".......

action drives the story until right before the change in the<.~.."~.._..,_~ ..ly~"._,_,~,~~o,<, ....." "_~;"~ __'=_'__'_"_''''=''''_'_ ...__ ., .. ~0~ '._,'_ ,"_', _, e._' ".. __o.,' .. "_", ,,_.' _. _.. .. ,', '-"---"'.''''''''''~o'-'

hero's fortune. Th!~.•~~:nge is.the "secondcause~f~:!!on,"

;hidhb;g¡~s-t1-; den~~;;~~t:·~;·~~d·~ó~;;ent. In the~---,~ _.. .." -._~...="-~..""

denouement the plot action that got wound up in the com-

plication and .that centers on the moral conflict of the bero

unravels. As a result, the conflict resolves and truth is

gained, whe~~;~li~~¡h;ili;me'orth~'~to~Wh~-ili~"~t;;;Yc~ncludes, th; auclience mtl~tG;;;-'f~;-;;~rtain that it has

and that the plót action will not continue. Al! of these major

points of dramatic story construction can be clearly deline­

ated in a simple ACTIüN-lDEA as demonstrated here:

I@.,T':lEGODFATHER-AfteranatteITl PtonDON,,,. A CORLEONE's Iife, MICHAEL, who had forsaken the

family Mafia business, killsSOLLOZZO and POLlCE CAp·

TAIN MCCLUSKEY to Save his family, then takes over the

family business, kills alLhis rivals, SQan risesto the top of

the American Mafia, and becomes the new Godfather. He

then kills all the enemies he has inside his family. His tate

as Godfather is sealed.

Expressed properly, a strong ACTIüN-IDEA-with a be­

ginning, middle, and end, a complication and a denoue­

ment~is the best springboard for writing a screenplay,

Why You Want Your Movieto Be a Bomb!

A tragedy, then, is the imitation 01an action that

is serious, has ma¡r;nitude, and is complete in itself.

eare must be taken not to misread the eloquent but

unfamiliar language of the Poetics. If you quickly read,

"A tragedy is an imitation of a serious action, one having

magnitude," you might say to yourself, "Yeab, so what else

is new?" But then you might look again at this sentenCe and

say, "Wait a minute ... an 'imitation' of a serious action?

What is Aristotle talking about?"

Good question, because you'll see the word "imitation"

used throughout the Poetics.. For the answer, we need to slow

down and deconstruct Aristotle's sentence a bit. We've al­

ready discussed that "tragedy" means all serious drama, so

let's jump to a tougher concept, that drama is "an imitation of

a serious action," The stumbling block for a screenwriter at­

tempting to use this concept might be to think "imitation"

means a direct copy ofsomething. Therefore, an "imitation of

serious action" could make him think he's supposed to mimic

serious events as they might "really" have happened. Remem­

ber the scene in The Player when a Hollywood suit thinks he

13

14 Michasl Tierno Aristotle's Poetícs for Screenwriters 15

can copy newspaper events as they are, puttf¡em directly on

screen, and make a good story? Well, that's t~e wrong way to

)go about drarn.atic writing. Any seasoned screenwriter or de­

lvelopment exic will tellyou that "reality" is óften quite boring

jand not dramatic enough to produce the kilid of engagement

!and emótion~lresponse your audience is loo)qng foro

l What Ar1stotle mean~ by "imitation" ifsomethingquite

different from'J)1st copying real-life events. Por him, the word

"imitation" réfers to how the "imitative arts"<such as painting,

music, and dtama really work. These arts re;i:reate reality but

must be deli\ierate!y ordered and shape th~resulting lIlake­

believe worldto induce emotion in their audiences. Viewers",. ,', .. '-.. -: __,,',. _._~,,,,·,.,.~,",4""'"·'''

are goingto~?':V y?ur,~tory to have ~. fai~<~.2~~!_~L~.~E~i:.

fi~~'.'. i~ii;~tt4~i~;;'~~d':d;~ii~~;-fó~g';;'it mo~~_~!!!:.~'f~~t'ili~A a~;i~;~~;~'::i~i;~;~;;~-;ff~~ti~~ly;h; the audien~e-'

_, ...... ,'.. : ,,:. ',..• .' ,,',,',', .... "0' ,:/.:.:. , ..:__ ....,,", ..._.\..O"··~'-i,'.~",',.,.,..:.,,>,\,..,•._.,.,_c,""·': ",' .,_c. '"O- "" ....,.'. _' .... ". _., .."""",,:_:,:,:.:, .•,.•,.•,~.,,_ ..'''' ",-o <:.' .. ,-'.- .-i.:. ~..,.~,~._ ..........'responds "Ú)lÍtatively" aswell, as ifto real events, their.b.r.~ns.' .. "", :... .' <.-.,--:'.:.:: ,.. -""0.', .""",-. ""', ..~'." ..-",.' ,:" ,'" ,- " " ".,•.,,'., .."'., , ,"-.."'"'".~.~.,,, -<-" .',-. ,-...,.,.)

aroused to astate ofactibn. .-

" P~rhaps jNfr~d Hi;~h~~ck said it bestwhen he claimed

that if a bombunder atable suddenly explodes out of no­

where in a movie, it's not a great ,:,!ovie. That is, the audi­

ence needs tI) know beforehand that a bomb is under the

table and that it is about to explode. This information ac·

tually puts their brains into a state of action by raising the

tense dramatic question, "Whenis the bómb going toex-

plode?" That the characte;;·ili~~~~i~~~,.;;;;-"~;:;;;;;~-~fth;.>"",/~.,;,"''''~~.}''''''. ,.'.,.,::'.' ." .' '.' .. . .

bomh engages the audience's attention and compe!s them to

heightened mental participation in the story action.

But werieed to know how to make more than just one

scene work, more than ho',\' to have just one bomb explode

under atable. We need a way for all the action in our story

to be unified and to develop into "onebig idea," one single

connected story. The besfway to do this is not by raising

a bunch of little questions, but by raisinZ l developing, .and,;:,,«,,,,,,,,,,,"!>,.,,,"",.,,;c.~~.t"'':-1;;:''''!';;~'''":ci- ..''''N'~'''-''_,",¡, ..-A~',,,,,.,.,,."""'{,.(,

answerirtg one central drámatic question in the. audience's~~""'''''''''''''''-~'''-'-'"-'''--'~'''-''--'<'''.'",,''''';~''''''~'~''+'''AI''-'-i:,":~"~""'"¡"S"'''''''''''''''''''-'')'''''''',,,,''r::'''h~\'''C~'''~'';'¡'''''~:'~'~""""~""i-"""'''._"'-"~~'-''''''''''"'_

brain. So, let's see how Dead Poets Sociely planted its bo,:,!b.

~'"'''''í;; this movie, events ;l'e chosen and shaped to raisethe

question, "Will the boys leárn from Keating to live life to

the fullest and follow th?ir dreams, or will the soulless

schoolníasters win and turn the boysinto life!ess drones?"

This question takes us all the way through the story. It keeps

the audience interested in.the outcome and contributes to

its ability to experience the.\'imitation" of emotions it wO)1ld

fee! if threatened by a realsoulless schoolmaster. In fact, it's

a goodidea to state the ACTIüN-IDEA in a way thati.m­

plies a central dramatic question:

f@•.,DEADPOETS<SOCIETy-prOfessorKEAT-,,, .

.• ING inspires young students to live for their

dreams, which causes them to start a poetry society. One

boy, NEIL, defies his FAl'f:lER and takes up acting, then kills

himself when he's trans'ferred to military school, which

causes KEATING to getfired. The boysstand on theirdesks

andhonor their teacher,as'he exits.

The whole design ofDead Poets Sociely raises the central

dramatic question beautifully, using a very strong first cause

1716 Michael Tierno Aristotle's Poetics for Screenwriters

of action. When Keating takes his students to look at 100­

year-old photos of deceased students and conveys his mes­

sage to them, "Carpe diem" (seize the day)~take actionnow

to live life to the·fullest-the "bomb" is clearly planted under

the table. The .audience is hooked as it begins ticking .. ~

AlI ihe scenes that follow are connectedto this cause of

action, through what Aristotle refers to as "probable" or

"necessary" incidents that help move the plot along and

develop the central dramatic question. Each scene arises

from the previous scene in a way that plays to the audience's

mental participation and focus, and dramatic "imitation" of

action succeedsin provoking an emotional response. Keating

doesn't just say words to inspire the boys, he makes them

rip pages out oE books and stand on their desks to read

Whitman (in "real" life, an inspirational teacher might not

be quite so dramatic). These events eventually spur the boys

to form their own Oead Poets Society. They hide out in the.

woods, where they write and read poetry aloud, bang

drums,play saxophones, dance in circles, paint their faces,

and invite girls to read poetry. The action develops as Knox

tries to date Christine and gets beaten up by her boyfriend,

and Todd throwshis desk set off the roof, in symbolic de­

fiance ofconvention and orderliness (and his parents).

As the story moves on, the bomb ticks louder. The

serious magnitude of the action in Dead Poets Society builds

to a peak when Neil gets the lead in the school play, setting

his sights on an acting career. But Neil's father is going to

make sure bis son becomes a soulless master of the universe

and pulls him out of school, enrolling him into a military

academy. Because he sees no other way out of his situation,

Neil shoots himself. The bomb has exploded!

At this point the audience is asking, "Now what's going

to happen to Keating and the boys?" Even though the action

has now gained serious magnitude, the central dramatic

question is still hanging. When the boys are forced to play

Judas and blow the whistle on Keating (blaming him for

causing Neil's suicide), the glorious answer is prepared: The

boys stand on their desks to honor the fired Keating, despite

the old schoolmaster's threat to expel them. This final action

is one that might never happen in "real" life, but it sure is

a great "imitation" of life that induces deep, cathartic emo­

tions in the audience. And itbrings home the boys'-and

the audience's-emotional journey.

Write your screenplays to raise, develop, and answer

one central dramatic question so that your reader or audi­

ence will stay hooked. Hopefully when your screenplay is

covered, the bomb of your central dramatic question willbe

heard ticking in the story analyst's head as well. And some­

day that ticking will furn into the ringing of a cash register

when you fina11y sell your script. How's that for a serious

action with magnitude!

,'3.

The Subjectils an ActionNot a Person

, , , the story, asan imitation of aetion, must

represent one aetion,

A¿s~otle b,elieved thaba drama,tic.story mus,t ha~e unity

Ir It'S gomg to move an audlence and bnng lt to ca­

tharsis. He also knew that dramatic writers were often fooled

into thinking t!Iatbecauset!Iey used one hero t!Iroughout

an entire story, this alone.lmified t!Ieir plots. Screenwriters

make the same mistake today. But the appearance of Her­

cules in every frame of a movie about Hercules, according

to Aristotle in no way ensures dramatic unity:

The Unity of a Plo( does not consist, as sorne sup:'"'''':"=_'''~''~...,.... ,,~ "....'"."_,~,~". "-..•."'".,_" ..•.....,.,,.. ,'.,_",., .. ·-.-...,";,o~">'.T'" •._,__ .. ,_, ...._... < ....~_".."',_,_. ,,_•• _'#co",," .-"'- .. -,"

pose, in its having one man as its subject. An infinity of__'...;."_~'ri""~~_,,.,"".'O'-"......,,'........-"_,_..,,;.•~.;..,,<,_."'_,_,~'"~.""_" .•.",._" .._,",.~,.,_."'""

things befall tha! one man, sorne ofwhich it is ímpossible

to reduce to unity; and in like manner there are many

actÍons of one man which cannot be made to form one

actÍon. One sees, therefore, lhe mistake of all lhe poets

who have written ... similar poems; they suppose lhat,

because Heracles was one man, the story also of Heracles

must be one story.

19

20 Michael Tierno Aristotle's Poetícs for Screenvvriters 21

,~!i,~t?~!;. ..i~~!~ts ~h~t in~ llnifi~d dralllaticsto!Yth~.§!!k:

~l~:~!~.,~~.~,:.~~on:~~t· ap~rs~n .. By presenting one strong

unified action fro;;;'á' he~~'slire, you depict the hero. For

example, if on a job interview, a potential employer asks you

to teIl him about something that depicts "you," you'd teIl

him about something significant you'd accomplished. This

would "sum you up" better than teIling him a million an­

ecdotes about what yourpersonality is like. Screenwriring

works the same way: You write a single unified acrion as a

"through line," which becomes the story's subject. Then a

hero takes the lead in that action, which has a "oneness" and

connectivity so elear that Aristotle compares it to a statue:

In the other imitative arls (like sculpture] one imitation

is always ofone thing, so inpoetry the story, aS an imitation of

action, mustrepresent one action, a complete whole.

When we see a statue of aman, it's easy to see what

the one whole thing is ... a statue. That's how tight and

unified a story's acrion must be. But while a statue is frozen,

a story moves through ti.me, so for acrion to be unified and

form a "whole," its incidents must have what Aristotle

termed a probable or ~ecessary ~~~s~~;~d:~ff~~t~o~~~;;t¡~~~._.,- --.,,'"'----_.,-, ..-

In writing an Odyssey, he did not make the poem cover

al! that ever befel! his hero-it befel! him, for instance, to

get wounded on Pamassus and also to feign madness at

the time of the call to arms, but the two incidents had

no probable or necessary connexion with one another­

instead of doing that, he took an action with a Unity of

the kind we are describing as the subject of the Odyssey,

as also of the [liad.

Homer chose for the "subject" of The Odyssey an acrion

in which each incident foIlows the previous one in a nec­

essary or probable way and at the same rime causes the story

to go forward. Such cause-and-effect linkage makes the story's

acrion coherent in the same way a statue's parts fit together to

form one image. However, there are key differencesbetween

probable cause-and-effect incidents and necessary ones.

Incidents of necessity always happen afler a given cause

of acrion and propel the story forward. For example, if you

came home and found your house broken into and robbed

you would always caIl the' police; calling the police is an

acrion that necessarily foIlows the incident of discovering

your house robbed. As we discussed previously, The God­

father's inciring incident is SoIlozzo havingthe Don shot,

j which causes Michael to kill SoIlozzo and Captain Mc­

Cluskey. SoIlozzo's action causes or makes it necessary for

I Michael to kill SoIlozzo and McCluskey in the restaurant..

Probable dramaric incidents also cause the story to go

forward but are only likely to happen. They aren't incidents

of dramaticnecessity, in terms of how the eharacters view

thei;··~;:~~::ti~;;:;.'F~r example, in Rocky it makes sense that

after Rocky gets a shot at the boxing crown, Mickey begs

him to be his manager, but this didn 't have to happen. How-

22 Michael Tierno Aristotle's Poetics:for Screenwriters 23

ever, notice th~t this probable incident caUS~$ the story ac­

tion togo forward: Mick~y trains Rocky, w~ich causeshim

to last15roti~~s. RockYitaking Mic~ey O?ialso helps the

audience like~~ckY, andsince Rocky is our/hero, we have

to likerim irt!?rder to~are ahout~hat h~ppens to hiIh.

RockY'$relati?nship withAdrienne is similarly construded,

in that their courtship is a sequenceof prob"ble events.

Because Rpcky uses lIlore probable inci~ents thannec­

essary ones its chain of cause~and-effectevents' feels looser

than The Godjaiher's, butit's still a tight, U1üÍied plot. Leú

take a look at'its ACTION-IDEA.

.A'J~ RPCKY-ROCKY desires tobe mor~!!iana bum

,~ frqrrÚhe neighbClrhood and tries to acc;Oinplish this

inmany '¡'~~s. He gets offered a chanceto fi9!itthe champ .

APOLLO CREED, ahd decides he only wantsW last fifteen

rounds tcf'prove- he's no! a bum. Hetrains fÓfthe-match

an"d does',kistflfteen r6unds.

,:',,'

The boxilfg matchbecomes an imp~rtant goal for

Rocky__if hewins, he proves he's more th~ a bum,but

everything tháthappens in the plot is abotithim becoming

more than a l>1llll (his ultimate goal).

Roeky IlDéonly has Rstrong plot, but if also develops a

great characte,ro fulfilling two essential critera for moving an .

audience. A tight plot need not be like a predictahle row of

dominoes knocking each other down. It'smore important

that the incidénts that form the plot have either a probahle

1 or necessary relatiolfship t6each other ~!,l~.E~H$"e.Jh!?,I~§~, to.move forward. Rocky dating Adrienne, Paulie puttingad;'

~~~R;;~k;;;;;~b';,Mickey training him__all of these incid~Ilts

are prob~le and cause ROFky to grow, and drawhim closer

tohis change in fortune. ~fact, !~!:~,"~~.~.~.~~2~~.~S~?,~does; Itdepicts th~ trapsf()rma~on of a hero's fortune'<lIld,

.' "-"'~"''';"<_'''''- -'-~."'~'::"",'"_,:",'''''';!'''-~'-C';''''''''>~~'''~:''''''~'~-'''''''_-t~"\;,,-,-,,,··_r., '<"-'·";"·',"'"'_">'·":__"~'_'"':,","O';"_''''~''''"'~~'~-.o= ~··'':tt-~'

the b0xÍrlg match with Appllo Creedis the supreme way it

finally happens for Rocky;

Aristotle tells us that ,,!h~,.P,~?~,.s,~,P~~.,~!,S,2.~ghUhe!.ity~utookaWllY anf~~e irtcident, thewhole would literal!Y.-­~oil~p~~': ••••.~u •• , ••,.,••• "'''''''",''''''~'''-'''''''-'---''--;-

'.,'"""' '"',.-,'''

~.

! [The plotshouldh'ave] its severa! incidents'J ,',:, ,,' " ", ':':',",-I closely cónnected that ,the transposalor withdí:awal 0['

i' ,,:,,' ,',

I anyone of themwill disj6inand dislocat" the whole. For¡ thatwhic~ makes no .R~tce~tible J~rer:~. by it~yres-;i ence.or absence is no r~alpart of the whole.

,,>-' __n...;;,.-_""...;.,.......,-~......-"'""'~_¿,,;"'~= __,..,.~~,",__ .O•••_,_....._,,_»..,;.-"~-~..\::-,,-:<-:

There is another impol't~nt passage of the Poeticsthat

pertainsto developing tight, unified dramatic action:

From what we have said it will be seen that the.'·

poet's function is to describe, not the thing that has hap­

pened, but a kind of thing that might happen i.e. whaE.

is possible [or like Jife] as being probable oÍ" necessary.

Here, Aristotle reminds Us that making a plot action unified

requires not only that theindividual incidents be connected

24 Michael Tierno!1

through probable or necessary cause and effect. He insists

that the entire chain of plot events must form a story that

seems "probable" or "necessary."

For exampk, the incidents of The Godfather and Rocky

have an overall, archetypallogic to how theyare connectéd.

The ~v~nts that unfold giv~th~ ~ppearanc~that ther ~opld

..~~~r~:~RE~i,~.:ili~~~t~9:.·\\,?rídthey.r~~~;~e~,?;.·.~tl~;stth~!.,,~~~~.Er,?~~!rh;ge~e; Ih~t'~.b~c~\,~.,~.g??~L?r~~~~stori~sde?ict uni~e~s~s of hulllan lives" and actions. ForexampYe;·i~"Th~~'G;dÍ~th~;:·~;;';th~-ki~(r.:;r;;;;;;-M~hael

Corleone is, itmakes sense that he reacts in the way that he

does; ~ence the events that occur in The, Godfather would

"always",?r "necessaril( h~ppen i~thatst6l"Y;ó~id."o;;tl~ast th~)''''ócld~'p;':;¡;abiy''''happ~~.B~t;~;;¡¡·b~wreal

life doesn't happen in a tight, unified cause-and-effect man­

ner the way movie action happens. Howev~r, movie stories

must present a believable world based on an imaginary chain

of events. This is the paradox of screenwriting.

The lesson Aristocle teaches us is this: ~~~,~,coX?);i.r .•AC~ION-IDE~ th~ dri~~g f?rcebehind every scene and

t¡;~su¡)JectófX?~i,~i?,!X;·Kii~~Y9Eii~~~~E~~~i~~;E:~~••l~ad i~ ~uch, a. tightu~ified l'ht a~tion, which is both logical~nd c¿inp~Ü;;;g,~~d ;6~'li ;;;;:';k:¿;"the kind of script Hol-

lywood movie executives will definitely notice. And who

knows! Maybe your screenplay will be an pffer Hollywood

can't refuse. Which means you can break in without h~ving

to sever any horses' heads, because like s~tues and story

action, Hollywood fol!< like their horses to remain unified.

4·

Forget Sub-plotting­the Best Plots Have

One-Track Minds

The perfect Plot, accordingly, must have a sin~

gle, and not (as some tell us) a double issue.

Aristocle's Poetics can't teach you to write all kinds of

• screenplay plots, just' the ones that work. As we have

seen, effective plots are uJiified-they have a single, not a

double, as Aristocle puts it, "issue." That is to say: no

sub-plots. Aristocle argued way back ~¡';~;;"'~h;~";;;i~-;~b~'

p¡':;;';; abad technique in dramatic writing, and it's still

abad technique in screenwriting. While it's easy to see

how The Godfather has a "single issue" plot (the war

waged on the Corleones), you could be fooled into think­

ing that American Beauty has many "issues," or sub-plots.

It doesn't. It contains a single issue, one unified action,

and no sub-plots. AlI the action, no matter how many

characters are running around performing "sub-actions," is

related through either probable or necessary cause and ef­

fect. This is important, because as Aristocle warns us in

this famous passage:

25

26 Michasl Tierno Aristotle'sPoetícs for Screenwriters 27

Episodic [pIols] are lhe worsl.I caIl afIol episodic

when therfis neilher probability nor necessity [causality]

in the seqt¡ence of ils episodes.

Th.e "s.ing.·.I...•.e..•··• issue" ae.•...t.ion. thal ti.e.• ·.S A.m~.rt.. ·. 'can Beauty.... to­gelherl; simPlr lhis: Thépereeptionof beauly and thel'ffeet

it hason ped~le's lives i~ anaetionin whi;h al! lhe .ehar­

aeters. in thei~.()wnway partieipale. Rieky Filz eomments on

this "~ingle iss~e" when he shows Janey afIoating bag and

reeounls how;this image prompled mm to ~ealize thatthere

is so mueh bé<lJ.lty in the worId, he feels astJ:¡ough hishearl

may burs!. T~s single issue, the pereeptionof beauly, with

the longing ar1~anguish it entails, beeomes.tl1e story's "one­

traek mind."~ the eharaelers are driven Jiy lhis mindse!... .. " .

Lesler ehasesAngela, Janey goes for Rieky, Angela wanls

Lesler,Leste..:~ wife Carol hooks up with ~uddy, and Col­

onel Fitz kissé~ Lesler. Obviously, a unifiedchain of evenls,

, Fór the r~ford, there is sorne separatecause and .effeel

in thesub-aeti()ns of lheseeondary eharaelers going on, bul

lhese sllb-aetipns converge lo make the slqry ONE COM­

PLETE AC1JON. AH the aetion eonneets lo Lester, the

hero who lakcs the lead; For a demonslration of how this

works,let's fit"l review ils ACTION-IDEA:

JJij AJYlERICAN BEAUTY-LESTER, a middle"

1~ aged man, whose wife and daughterthlnk he's a

loser, haslost all desire for Iife, LESTER gels infatuated

with sixteen-year-old ANGELA, eausing him get fired,

smoke pot, and work out~::He eatehes theeye of his neigh­

bor COLONEL FITZ, a Nen-Nazi homophobe. After rejeet­

ing a sexual advanee fron1.\he COLONEL, LESTER almost

has'sex with ANGELA bu{léarns she's a'.yirgin, decides not

to havesex with·her, a'nd:regains hisc:lignity. ThenCOL.,

ONEt FITZ murders him,~nd in his dying momentsLester

rea'Hzes the beautyof jusfbeing alive.

Am~rican Beauty usesinformation shown in the Sllb­

aelionsof the plot lo feed lhe audienee informalion about

whal Lester's going lhroug.h and why. Aristotle teaehesus

lhat while an audienee can, automalieal!y "get" lhe selup (a

man in mid-life crisis ehasing a teenagegirl), there. are detiUIs

aboul this aetion that an <ljdienee can't assume, ~:,}lt?1:

enee needs to ?erive infoI1ll¡ltion.ab~ut the sE~~iiie~_'?L

Whaf;'~;:i;i~;t;;;;w;9ti.;~;'~rthi;'·.i.J~~;tio~,~?-W.~'~_i;~-;-;;th~~'~h~;~~;~~~:A~Ari;¡;ífl't~ii~"~~;" ". "''"c"-

.~~c_.,~""~,,,,,.,<,,,,?,,,,,,,,",J'''!\,~ .,,'i""'~'··';"'''"..'' "-,....;'""

, A tragedy, lhen, isthe imitation of an aclion thal

serious, has magtrilude,.~nd is compIele)n ilseIf.

, In olher words, whaleverinformalión isn't universal (that

whieh an audieneeean "Mt" aulomatieal!y) must be abl~ to

be deduced from lhe slor}' world through events ín that itory

world, even if this infoITIÍation comes through sub-aetións.

For example, a big cause6f Lester'sinfatuation wilh Angela

is the f~el th~t his marriage has. diéd. But what waS the

28 Michael Tierno

IAristotle's Poetics for Screenwriters 29

nature of this love Lester lost, which is causing his crisis?

The audience can't know what he lost; this cause of the

action must he fed to them. This is done through Janey and

Ricky, their young innocent love providing a model of what

Lester once hado Ricky'spersonality, his very "being" pro­

vides the audience with information that helps it imagine the

youthful spirit Lester had, that's gone. The .details relating

to what causes Lester's mid-life crisis, like what he's lost,

must he telegraphed to the audience through minor scenes,

such as Lester huying dope from Ricky as he fondly remem­

bers his teenage years, when he flipped burgers all surnmer

in order to buy an eight-track player. The actual i;"cidents

of the story must convey the nature of what's "causing" the

character's actions: You have to "show it" ,lJ,Q.tjusU,cll.it..""""'.',,", ..~,,~.,~,,- .•. """'."_,'c'_ ~.'~'" ."".,.*,~..-..,,,-.,•.,~.<""" ........ '.' .~

To furtherunderscore how American Beauty's plot has

a one-track mind, consider how aH the characters "share"

in Lester's murder: Carol brings home a gun and charges,

into the house, ranting about "notbeing a victim," as if she

were whipping herself into a frenzy in orde~ to kill Lester.

Then she discovers his body and guiltily hides her gun.

Janey and Ricky were in the house and had previously talked

about killing Lester. And Angela, who is I()oking into the

bathroom miITor when she hears the shot, was "involved"

by mere virtue of her beauty, which caused Lester's re­

awakening and set off the chain of events that eventually

leads to his death. Finally, there is the colonel, who actually

kills Lester. So every character either contemplated Lester's

murder or had sorne causal relationship to it. This tragic

deed resolves aH the action in the story and makes it ONE

COMPLETE ACTION in a very concrete way.

American Beauty has no sub-plots, only sub-actions

driven by a single issue and thereby connected t~i¡:;~h~;~;~

action, all of it ultimately forming ONE COMPLETE AC­

TION, which is neady resolved by the murder of the hero

at the end.

Abandon the concept of sub-plots, structure your

screenplay as well as American Beauty is structured, and you

may end up with a cinematic beauty, and maybe evell an

Oscar.

5·

Plot 15 Soul

The firstessenti4l, the lije and soul, so to

ofTragedy isthe Ploi; and that the Characters

come second-comp4re the parallel in painting,

where the most beaiitiful colou1'S laid on 'Ilfithoutor­

dérJunity] will nof~ive one tkesame pleasure d& a

simple black-and-white sketch oJa portrait:,

',',:.:' :::-, -'.,.o ..:':.: -:'.". . . .'..

No",that we know ~at plot action must beunifie<i, 1

• . want to turn rou 011.to a core aspect of what is reallr

behindunified plot actien. Until n~w, JOU mighthave

thoughtthat plot-driven lll0vies and character-driven mo.vies

are mutu.al.Ir exclus.ive. B..11..t Aristode te.aches how plot.....and.' .~ _ _ _ ::,' _ _. _"~ _ _ _ _ _ : :~c

character work together VI'0Y berondjust the technicall~gic

of necessar.y and probable incidents. He tells us whYiwe

botherto link action so~ghdy. When Aristode insiststhat

randomcolors won't giv&ia spectatoras much pleasurer a

simple I:>!ack-and-white sketch of a portrait, he's not ch?os­

ing his Inetaphors lighdr:He impliesthat the unítr ofaplot

thr~u9iI.. (;~usall~ re1ated i5§id~lits f6tW~tEe;m;;g~··;:;r~h;';:··"~anbeing;!Thek~yí~ t~ha~ethe ~l~t ~;ti~~ c~nn~ct~d toJ:~.,,,~<"_ ..:, .~' ...,",--,-,:"",~"","., ..~:,"':f."";:;""'.;~"""""'. ~'__"::';"''''''''''''''''rc",,=",,.•,,%,,,,''.'''Y',~;:T:''''''''":~ "-~"'-""'_"'-"'"";"',~":''''''.","11'·''~';'>01_~~'~.'''''''''"''''

the deep desiring soui ofyour hero. This is what he means"'''''''''',_,,+' .. '.'';;;i.'":''''''-.c''".",,,,,_~",,,,''''''':''~'';'''''''-:-''''-~:'''''_"':";<o~~:¡\.'"''''''''''''''~''''"~'''''"~_''''''''':'.in the Poetics quote abo.ve, which 1 like to' parap},rase

31

down t(j "plotis ~O~I,"" When a strong desire of a hero,.~ .. ,_ .. " .. ,.,-:.. ,.,.: ',- ',' '... _·_ .._.. ,.:.,r' __'.c.:,:"_;·.,;_;,_4'"_,~ __ .,~,,,,.,, __._",,.<F""'O-~,;;.,c_,,':""""_'"~~''''''''''--

r relates to al! of the action, then the plot can depict a simple",·'c·,-,·· - :_,,_,_..:_:":"_"""':"': " ..>,'" ':""'-""¡',..:.. ,-,,,,,,:,- ..-,'",.". _,·~,_.::"_._C_-.:i:~.:'·'·"~-""_-;"~-'c-r"'_:_,_". "_"'''~_"._''~;'~'r'_~·'''''''''~·=·

"portrait" of the hero."",~/.,.,:,:,:",::,..;__.",:.,_.,,,,,,,,:,::,.. .'._._.,,,~:,,,,_,,:,.,,,"'L,· ••.,.,,,:,,.•,.'_,.;,..,,,,,

The action of Rocky is connected to Rocky's desire to

make more of his life. He dates Adrienne, argnes with

Mickey, and attempts to save a twelve-year-old girl from the

streets. Then he learns Apollo wants to fight him, and

Mickey trains him for the match. Rocky confesses to Ad­

rienne that he can't win the fight, but only wants to last

fifteen rounds so that he'll know he isn't just another bum

from theneighborhood. With this great line of dialog and

in a stroke of screenwriting genius, the story's action is gal­

vanized and its dramatic unity becomes crystal clear, because

the hero's desire. has been stated. It'~ importantfortheau­

dience tb understandthe emotiond" ;;;~~;;i;g,.~tili;·;~t¡~;","". -,. ..--'_,.,-,",. '...-".•-.... -''''.''''"-.,,,-, .. "-'.,--./.. ·",.~~·.·""",·,·'·'j~"''';;';"'';"'"'''''¡~'m"'>'''''''''''<''C.'"",,""."",,\,><,,,,,,<\,,,·t"'~¡;""""'<;."',*-';''''';'''im,)..'''''''''''''''''=·~

for the hero, which, to be moving, must be connected to a

, strong, .~ing1e.·aesr~eSfth~'he;~;~·~oul:'ln'fác¡;theer;;~ti;~;r.,'·.·:,.,.,.-.<,-" ....'~ ..._.,.._..;,:,.;-..'.I."}.-,,",,:.;<"<,.,.:,,,,.,,,-,,"",,,,,>,,,,.!,:"'_,, ..,'C,,",,,;,.,,,,-~.,,,."""',,,

experienée the audience éan get trom a movie will be akin

to the hero's emocional experience, a good rule of thumb

for the screenwriter.

In Rocky, when the movie final!y cuts to the boxing ring

for the final action sequence, the finale is completely charged

by the movie's ACTÜN-IDEA. Every punch Rocky throws

and receives is connected to every story incident that pre­

ceded it and is emotionally linked to his desire to become

somebody. pearlY',.Ro(k):~~~<;!-:ives. ~,:?/~jl§,Rlºl.¡md

not from its spectacle (the visuals of the fight). And that is

what makes it a cinematic masterpiece.

32 Michael Tierno

IliI 6.

The Ends Are Always in theMeans of the Plot

So that it is the aetion in it, i.e. its Fable or

Plot, that is the end and purpose of the tragedy;

and the end is everywhere the chief thing.

Aristotle calls the plot the story's "end" and purpose,

because to him, "plot is soul" and it's the plot struc­

ture that arouses emotions from the aud;~~~~.'When A;i~:_"",.",;"",",,,",,,,,,-,,,.;.-,.-;.;,.,,,,,.,."N"~''''''"''·'¡''';_''''f<''''~i·,§\.~~."""l'''''Vt...<,,,=,,,,.,,,",,,,,,,,,,:,,.,,,... ·",,,.',,,,,,,,,,,,, ~'~'"~,..,..,.,,,.

totle uses a term like "end" to describe plot, he's saying that

the ACTIÜN-IDEA, or plot, must always be in your mind's

eye when you are writing scenes. In other words, writing a

plot is more thanjuststitching scenes together. For example,

say 1 wanted to build a tree house. The visual image <if the

tree house wonld be my "end" or finished product, and

everything to build this house would be a means to this end.

In al! the activity of cutting down trees and hammering wood

together, I would be thinking about the final product of the

house. This image wonld serve as a point of focus gniding

the activity.

Plotting a script requires the same kind of foens froma

writer. For an example of this, let's examine The Breakfast

Club, starting with its ACTlüN-IDEA:

33

remain in theaudience's brain and be usedto develop the

story's magnitllde and emotional impact onthe audience. It

accomplishes this without adding anything that needs to be

focused on in terms of basic plot lineo Jus~ like a heart is

always present in a living bodYi strong scenes that happen

in a movie always stay present in the audience's brain and

impact everything else that happens.

Keep theplot a simple ACTIüN-IDEA. Add scenes as

organs that develop its emotional impact on the audience,

without complicating it. Otherwise, you might add extra­

neous "organs" or scenes to it, and your plot will grow a

hand out of its head, causing your screenplay to be targeted

for termination. And that's gotta hurt!

40 Michael Tierno

8.

The Four Species of Plot

There are four distinct species of Tragedy ...

first, the complex Tragedy, which is all Peripety*[reversal offortuneJ and Discovery; second, the

Tragedy of suffering ... third, the Tragedy of char­

aeter . .. The fourth constituent is that of "Specta­

ele," exemplijied in The Phorcides, in Prometheus,

and in all the plays with the scene laid in the

nether world.

A ristOtle tells us there are four "species" of dramatic

story. For us, this breaks down into four different

types of dramatic movies.

1. Complex (containing a "Reversal of FortunefDiscov­

ery"). Examples of complex plots are Angel Heart and

Rosemary's Baby. These movies are the kind where a

E!21~~~~~"~~,~"~,~~.\iV~"'~~~é'~~~~,,;yhE(f}¿vr"~~-:k;"'~'"~~~~~~,",.[e!:~~,~,~".&.i,~~:~"c<from extremely (Tood to extremelv bad instantly (or the~"""_,;,.""~,_"_""",',.,..,_";".",_.",'»',,., .. "_,_,,,,q,.(''¡;'¡''''''''''~'=!~!,}<""""~".,."~.,,,,~.,,,,, ,,,,,,.~,,.n,':'~''->:''''"''",~=~",.~,,,,,.,=,,,,.~_,,, •.,,~ ,,,,,,,,,",,,,,,,,,,,,,,_

opposite), based on a discovery or recognition. The rec-'" .-"-·"':'·"··"·'_":'·'·';··-~.c· "'''C{''·~'':'·'''''í'''''~P'''~'~'''"'<''v'''''''''"''''''''.'''''''''''''''"'.'_"'P""~·;"'A-""C~,="c,~~~'~'~"~···""·"'''''''~ """"",éC'''''"''Y'''-''ognition invo ves a switch from extreme ignoraJ:.1ce to

;~'.• --" '·"~',-,."~",.··,.".-",,,c, ,.,.:",,,,,.,·,C~'_"-_"', ,-,.'.> .~.".,","c;>~:;,,: ..'''';'~,.-,,: """'"'~'\''--;<~''l ...:.~",;,;.."",~"-,,,,~,,,,,,,'''''~-''''''''''~''''''' 'i'i,·<F'-··-'.f""~~"""-'

*Peripety -means "the change of the kind described from one state of

things within the play to its opposite."

41

3. Tragedy of character. Mike Lei~h develops hisplots

throllgh improvisationswith actors. The reslllt is liy,ely

char.a.cter studies tha.!. beco.me films like Naked C.a.'·.r....~er,'o , '-" ,,' ",,':

Girls, aIld Secrets á1ld L.ieS. Thes.e.films are more in..•••.t.•. er-

ested in.developing theinuances.ofcharacterization~and

rela~onships in a looselyplottedway that emph~sizes

personality and character traits.

the Ycry soulof lhe drama. Ingmar Bergman's workin­

volves so much psychological suffering on the párt of

thesharacters (and aUdience) thathis stories coul3be

called "tragedies of suJfering," Aristotle might saythat

in Bergman's work, "s.uffering isthe·.soul." You n¡ight

want. to check out some of his masterpieces on vigeo­

tape, works like Persona, Críes' and Whispersand, "

nroitgh a Glass Darkly.

4. Spe~tacle. Moviesofspectade areyery abundant ittto­

day's cinema. The most recent example of such a [ll~vieis Moulin Rouge. StaIlley Kubrick's work also thrives on

spectade and visual atmosphere, especially 2001. S~ec­

tade refers to the effect of the vi.suals that is thecos-,. ,.turnes, the scenery, and the actors.This brings ton#nd

the term "mise-en-sceIle," which is French for "putinto

a see:ne." Everything that isn't plot, character, chal'acter

thought, dialogue, Ofmusic track, is rnise-en-scene.Re­

melllber, spectade ir(;cinema is not just mis-en-$g~ne;

sound effects, for example, playa huge role in today's

43Aristotle's POEdics for Screenwriters

~lots are eilher simple or complh, since tile

actions lhey repreSent are natUrally ()f tbis twofold

desc¡-iption. The action, proceeding jnlhe way de­

fined~s one conti[luC)us whole 1 call~imple, when .

lhe c~nge in lhe ~ero's fortunes takesplace without

fa r~versal of fortuneJ or Discovery;ándcomplex,

whehit involves o"e or lhe olher, or ~olh.

Clerh i;i~ day in the life of a young'§onveniencestore

derk \Vh~has to show up to his boriIl~ job on his d~yoff and9~al with allthe irate custo[llers that coIIle in.

It'$ a story that uses,the degrading environment of the

lower l~v~l "slacker'>type jobs to evo~e the gloom that

Arnerica'syouth feels toward the co~g reality of the

work w()l"ld that awaits them and is ~J~ood example üf

a .simpleplot.

Michael Tierno

,~~~!~?~~:This type of plot isAristo~e's favorite,andwill be the principal sort ofplot that we'P study through-out tlrisbook. . .

It's~orth menti?ning thatAristotle also describes

what hecalls the "simple" plot:

2. Tragedyof suffering. Aristotleteaches us that aUgood

tragedyhas suffering, and most gooddramatic movies

containscertain amount of intense rhysical or mental

suffering~. or both. Some movies co.~tain suffering to

such a gegree that it would seem as iflhe sufferingwere

42

44 Michasl Tierno Aristotle's Poetics for Screenvvriter~ 45

spectade-driven cin"ma. Try and imagine Jurassic Park

without its brilliant sound e!fects. This is of interest to

screenwriters because they need to have an understand­

ing of the power of the medium they are writing foro

Their tme medium is the printed page, which is a fright­

fully reductive way of representing the richest, most lav­

ish medium of all time, the cinema.

That said, it's important to note that all four species

of drama can be used together in the same work, as

Aristode reminds us:

The poe!'s mm, then, should be to combine

every clement of interest, if possible, or clse the more

important and the major part of them. This is now

espeeially necessary owing to the unfair criticism to

which the poet is subjected in these days. Just be­

cause there have been poets before him strong in the

several sPecies of tragedy, the critics now expect the

one man to surpass that which was the strong point

of each of his predecessors.

Although Aristode tells us that we might use all four species

of drama, he reminds us not to feel obligated to do so. It

seems in his day critics were pushing dramatic writers to

create plays with every kind of pleasure in them, which he

thought was undue pressure. Indeed, most mortals are lim­

ited in the kinds of stories they can write, but a great ex­

ample of a movíe that does use all four species of drama in

one film is Titanic, a complex drama complete with a re­

versal offortunejdiscovery, spectade, and su!fering.

So you may want to combine all four species of drama

in your screenplay. The point is, you should know which

one or which combination of them you are· using and what

kind of dramatic e!fect you expect to achieve if your screen­

play is to survive in the process of Hollywood selection.

g.

What the Poetics Says1bout Epics UkeLordof the Rings

There is, however, a differenw in the Epic as

compq,red with Tragedy.". "

A.' ..ccor•..d.•·••. i.•.n g.to An•••.. stode, ...•..•••e•.•....

p•ic poetry•..•.l.·.•..s..•·..a ~~nre.u.• nto 1ts•.. e1.f.

andhas ,ts own set of lessons forwntmg.What Ar-

o istode me<ms by "epic" is a.~aITated stqry like Homer's The¡liad, orThe Odyssey:

[1'lie poet] lll~Y eitln'f(l )speakatone moment in

narrative and at another inan assumedcharacter,as Ho­

mer does;or (2)one mayremain thesame throughout,

without anY such ehange;Of (3) the inIitators may rep­

resent the whole story dramatically, as though they were

actuallfdoing the thingsdescribed.

In the.• ••· •. epic genre, a nar.I'.a.tor can sW1.·•.·tch back and fQr.•.th" ,": o" ,','---..', "",'.-'

between n~rrating the story("once upon a linIe ....") ~lld

using thei"firstperson," 'YWch is assllnllng tlIe voice <tlld

point of yiew of tlIe hero. or an epicpoem can lock iiIto

one of these two modes of storytelling<tll the way tlIro#gh

47

the story. Epic poems can also be acted out dramatically on

stage, like tragedy.

Movies often use such techniques from ancient epic po­

etry; consider how Charles Dickens's novel Great Expecta­

tions became the David Lean moVie of the same name, The

movie opens. on a shot of the physical novel and we hear a

voice-over ofPip, quoting from the novel and telling us how

he came to earn the name Pip, and so forth. Lean connects

some of the narrative dots by using Pip as a "narrator,"

combining techniques from both tragedy and epic poetry to

depict fictÍon.

In some ways, a movie is a play on the screen (hence

the term "screenplay), but the cinematic medium has huge

potential for elaborate and exotic locations, from the bowels

of the Titanic to the center of a meteor approaching the

earth, as in Armageddon. In fact, Armageddon recalls ancient

epic poems, containing multitudes of peoples, great wars,

and so on. Part of the reason such works belong to the

spoken epic genre is their scale, which made them ludicrous

on stage. In short, epic stories didn't lend themselves to the

staged dramatic medium and were best if spoken by a nar­

rator.

Whenwe think of "epic" movies, we think of them as

grand and sweeping, depicting not so much an everyday

reality but an exaggerated reality or fantasy. Even if an epic

story tells of a realistic period, ir still uses a sweeping mode

of presentation. Epic cinematic storytelling might rely on

The Epic, however, affords more opening for the

improbable, the chief factor in the marvellous, because

in it the agents are not visibly before one. The scene of

49Aristotle's Poetics ·for Screenvvriters

[Epicaiso differs from tragedy] in its length-which

is due to its action having no fixed limit of time, whereas

Tragedy endeavours to keep as far as possible within a

single circuit of the sun, [24 hours] or something near

that.

spectacle and visual effects, as well as flashier editing and

sound design, but also take place over long periods of time,

while dramas work better with compressed time:

The best tragedies take place over a single day, as in

Oedipus Rex. This makes the plot events more intense, giv­

ing the change in the hero's fortune· the greatest magnitude

and the audience the biggest rush. It's easier to make a story

"one complete action" and uniIY all irs incidents through

causality if the story happens over a day, or close to one

day. Some movies compress time to less than twenty-four

hours, like American Graffiti. Butgreat movies like The

GodJather II span decades. The GodJather II is a fusion of

tragic and epic storytelling, with an emphasis on tragic. Also

in tragedy, Aristode tells us to keep "improbable" deeds

(unrealistic ones) outside !he play (in back story). But this

doesn't apply to the epic:

Michael Tierno48

50 Mi-cheel Tierno Aristotle's Poetics tor Scieenwriters 51

thepursujiofHectorwould be ridieulous()rt the stage

the Greel>shalting instead of purstIing mlll,and Achilles

shaki~g m~ head to stop them; but in thepoernthe ap­

surdity is(jverlooked;

Epícs, .h<lpause theyiwere narrated, aJJ()wed. wrít$rs to

use anYÍmpr()hable story$vent they GouJd (ireamof, hecause

the "ªgents"were urtseen. Personany, 1 still prefer lfl0vies

that makeo/~ use mYÍrI1agírtatíort(líkeThe BlairJYitch

Project) arty day over seeirtg a gazillíclU speqí<il effects thrown

up Ort the ser~ert to mOVe me. Some of th~ JÍmítatíOlis Ar­

ístodei puts?n tt'agíc storygrew out of hís concemabout

whatcouldhe dorte on$tage versus what couJd be done

througp nar~\tíonin epícs. You cart't re-sr.eate the Trojart

War on stag~the way you cart íf you have ~narrªtor merely

t<llk about itThese lÍrnÍtatÍorts have vanished off th6faceof theearth

for th~ modern screertwríter. 1am cortvincedthat Hollywood

cart a1ul wíÚre-create a~y farttastícal reality ever penned íf

ít feel. the st()ry wíll make a great movie and a large profit.

.It seemS thatthese days, "the bígger the better."

For a gr¡"t exampleofart epíe movie,iwatchLordofthe

Rings. Specíal effects keep gettírtg better,ªrtd there ísIloth­

írtg h(}ldírtgproduGers back from puttínggteat epíc master­

píeces cm thescreen. So íryour wísh is fot~pícs~rtdfantasy,

knock yoursW out-llonywood digs blockbusterepícs!

However, beadvised, screenwriters who.wríte Hollywood

epícs mnstremember that whíle they may embellish epíc

. stories ínways that they cart'tirt straíght drama,epícs"Ild

dramas share certairt structllral requirements:

'1'he eonstruction ofits [epic]storiesshould elearly.~, ..•,.","..•~ ..".-.-:",.""",.",.,,:.,.~'(""-'"

likethat of a drama; thel~houldQe based on a single \;.,1'< ••..., ..,.".,'"•. ~"''',".:.''. , • .' "~',"'!,',-~,"""'~",o,c'>~,",.,""'~,,,..-"<"""'_,,:~.,.• ,~_;~_",,," ..""~""""',_ "

actión; one that is a completewhole in itself, with a be-""-"""''''¡i"Y:;'''~''"J'",''~O<'''~'''''''~''''''~'.o"."",<~.~"''';iV;'~i,'~".""."-,:."""''',,,,,,,,<':",,r.,,,?-,,.,-,.,,..,.-",,,,,,, ~~..~"'..,~

ginning, middle, and end, so as toenable _~-"...v.v-~~~ to''i,q".;"..~,,;,,;i;"~::·¡:""'''''>'_'.'''"'-'''!''''4';''~'"'\ _~".':'·9., ..,,",,,,,.",_;,,,:;_,,,;,,,,,,,,, ;,.';',:.>'.>.'" ~;'"<"""":'.=' ,.e.""" ';:." ...~. , . '. - .,~'~-.,~.~'

proC!uce)t,~~p_1!:!,1,R~gp~I~J?I!'.~~1!Ie_,~"Üh_<4I.Jh!c.,Q.Ig~~~~~._,;.,,,.,,,,:,.",.,''","',., ...unityof a living creature;

"",.,' ","<"__.""'..... '"'<"''''...'''·"..~':'.'''",,;_;_<e'''''.''''\''.''''

Thíspassage ís not merely a refresher on dramatíc uIlíty,

ítlets usknow thaLeven a great epíc screenplay must have .

the "dramatíc unity of a livÍttg creature." This even goesfor

puJling¡rn epic story frOIllgístory anddramatízíngít forthe

screen, líke Done With theWind:

Nor should one supppse that ther~ is anything like>

them [a story which is a.natnrally unified action] in our,·

usual histories. Amstoryhas to dealnot with oneaction,

but with one period andall thM happ~ned in that to one

or morepersons, how~verdisconnected the ,several

events may have been. Jú~t as twO events may take plac~

at the same time, e.g. the sea-fight off SalanIis and the

batdewith the Carthaginians ín Sicily, without converg"

ing to the same end, sO ·a!so of twoconsecutive events

one may sometimes co~~after the other with no one end·

as their common issue.Nevertheless most of our epiei

poeis,one may say, ignore the distínetion.

52 Michael Tierno

Sorne bad ancient poets had no regard for creating a

tight plot when depicting history beeause they were fooled

into thinking that because events had a "unity of time" (were

about a historical periQd and followed oneanother chron­

ologically), this· meant that there wasan automatic dram'atic

unity t~ thoseevents. In an epic story, you can have multiple

story lines but (hey must al! have the same end and resolve

the same issue. A recent example is the epic movie The

Mummy Returns, which has three separate plot lines moving

through it, but th~y all converge on the ret~ of the évil

mummy and the ~~bsequentw¡¡~~~;;dT;;ttl~s~ausedby him.

But remember, this strUcture differs from more somber, re­

alistic tragic structure.

Epic movies can have filler episodes surrounding the

main action for embellishments, but this doesn't stop the

story from being mostly about one action:~-._--~-----~<.,..,.,..,-,.._..~.~.~~~,

Herein~ lhen, lo repeal whal we have said befare,

we have a further proof of Homer's marvel!ons superi­

ority lo the resl. He did not attempl to deal even with

the Trojan war in its entirety, though il was a whole with

a definíte beginning and end-through a feeling, appar­

ently, that it was too long a story to be taken in at one

view, or if not thal, too complicated from the variety of

incident init. As it is he has singled out one section of, --~'-~~~~-~-'- , -- ,-,~~~'_--"----"'"the whole; many of the other in~idenís; however, he

¡;ri;;~~_·;:~·:~- episodes, using the Catalogneof lhe Ships,

for inslance, and other episodes lo relieve the unifortnily

Aristotle's- Poetícs for Screenwriters

of his narrative. As for lhe olher epic poets, lhey treat ofI~ oneman, or Qlle period; or e1se of an action which, al-

though one, has a multiplicity of parts in it.

This is probably the best advice for a screenwriter looking

to adapt a book intoa screenplay. Aristotle tells us that even

thoughthe Trojan Warnaturally had a beginning and end,

Homer singled out one section of it and made one complete

aetion of it to depict the war. He added other kinds of scenes

as episodes to break upthe monotony, but The Odyssey has

a simple ACTIüN-IDEA as narrative glue. Le!'s take a look

at Aristotle's definiiion of The Odyssey'sj\CTIÜN-IDEA:

A certain man has heen ahroad many years; Posei·

don is ever on the watch for him, and he is al! alone.

Matters at home too have come to this, that his substance

is being wasted and bis son's death plotted by suitors lo

hiswife. Then he arrives there himself afler his grievous

sufferings; reveals himself, and falls on his enemies; and

lhe end is his salvalion and their death.

Aristotle informs us that this ACTIüN-IDEA, which holds

together the massive poem The Odyssey, is all that matters

and everything else is filler:

Tbis being al! lhal is proper lo .lhe Odyssey, every­

thing else in il is episode.

53

54 Michael Tierno

Tlalrrative epic poem allows formoreJicense to thrOw

m direcdy related to the ACIION-IDEA, but

a simple <\d'I'IOl'~-llDEA still holds it aJItogether. $0 no

malttej' howi!lavish and grand-sweeping ariiepic you want to

write, relneliib'~r lo consider the fundamentals of dram~tic

otc,rvlldlinlJ' 'A.I"íst'ltle teac:hes us, in get your epic

on

/

la.

Destipv Is an AccidentV\laiting to Happenj

........ ... ' .i ~'1Even matters ~f chance seem most marvello1fs if \

:~:~~e~t:OI~: :r~;a~;~~::{ t¡s;;nn~; ~;:~; t r jmei.mzng. ' '

A.,. .nstode's favonte pl~!, OedipusR~x, is about.wh~thap­pens when you trytoescape destmy, as Oedipuslearns

tbe hard way. All bise~orts to escape bis predicte~fate

(that he< would kili bisfatherandmarry bis mother)lead

him closer lo fulfilling tllis destiny.• Many of theeventsthat

happen.in Oedipns Rex a~pear to be chance incidents.How"

'ever,as Ihe plotunfolds, itbecomesclear tbat thes~inci­

dents .. are anything butphance. Oedipus fulfills his <;l;stiny

and loses bis eyes because he didri't regard the god~'pre­

dictiori as a senous factQrin shaping his life.

Heignored destinY.And while you might thin~Ihat

modero audiencesare t?O sophistifated to desire the;9ues­

tion of destiny tobe ad~ressed in movies, thinkagai~J"iEven

chance incidents in Th~Blair Witch Project feed i~~othe

"meaning" of what's gqing on, namely, that there r~~ly isan .evil Blair Witch lurking in the .. dark Maryland ~oods,

55

5756 Michael Tierno Aristotle's Poetics tor Screenwriters

messing with the students. It's not a coincidence that those

fihu students lose their map and fipd Josh's ear after he

disappears. It al! starts to form a definitive "meaning," as

Aristotle says.It's not a good meaning for those film stu­

dents, but it's certainIy a "marvellous" one for the audienc'e.

The theme of destiny also pops up throughout the hip

film Pulp Fieti01z.For example, when the drugdealer shoots

and misses Jules, Jules interprets this fluke accident as a sign

from Cod to leave crime. He discusses his newly awakened

sense of destiny .lo Vince as they drive along, but this notion

is smashed whefl their car hits a bump, causing Vince to

accidentally shoot and kili Marvin in the hackseat. Now

events are portrayed as pure accident, almost in response to

Jules's earlier encounter with "destiny."

Story incidents that happen by chance are another build.

. ing block of action, connecting the action through cause and

effect the way incidentsof necessity and probability do. In

Pulp Fietion, the appearance of design in the story's chance

elements allows Jules t<y read his luck as destiny, although

he also witnesses Marvin's luck run out because of a fluke

accident. But perhaps, unlike Oedipus, Jules will go through

life with rus eyebal!s intact, spared from his own violent end,

.which would come about if he ignored the "signs." IfJules

had continued bis criminal behavior, he would havé de,

served whatever misfortune that would have then followed.

This is his one chance for salvation. Don't forget, as we are

watching the ending of the movie, because of its non-linear

chronology, we have already Seen Vince (Jules's partner)

getting killed by Butch the boxer, in another chance inci­

dent. This information (that only the audience knows) leads

the audience to "agree" that JJlies should heed the sign and

leave the life of crime.

Pulp Fietion is not a classical take on destiny but con­

nects story incidents of chance, necessity, and probability in

a way that enhances the story's ACTION-IDEA, as well as

its unique hipster sou!. The fluctuation between chance el­

ements and fate allows viewers to make up their own minds

about destiny. This is why the movie is much more than a

"cool flick" about two hoods spouting jive. Its structure

makes it a masterpiece, and earned Quentin Tarantino an

Oscar for best screenplay.

Evoking destiny by using the tools of chance, destiny,-~.~~-_.. .-- ...,

necessity, and probability to form ONE COMPLETE AC-

TION is a provocative way to shape screenplays. Shape

yours this way, and someday you may be strutting down the

aisle to accept an Oscar for your screenplay. And that would

be no accidento

11.

Keep It in the Family ...The Tragic D.eed

l once "'ftched aCNN reporter ask amilitary old-tim~rto

.definnvhat the"centej(!f gravity" fOjwinnin~a war,s.

Hecouldn'tanswer the reporter, but lfel! in 10'le withthe

concept of "centerof gravity" as an analogy for an importmt·

aspect ofwhat Aristotle teaches us abOtlt dramatic storyand

screenwriting. !he.centerof gravity in dramatic story issim-.L", ',~.~"~~"",.~,.•.,,,,,;-.,~_,,,,,,,,,.,.""""'''''"''''-Y!'''''~'"''''':'''''':.~~:"",,,,,,,~,,:,,,,,,,,,:-,,,,,,"<,,,.,~,,,,_~",,,,~_,,,,,,,~=,,,~,,.

pIe: It's ~aned thetragicd~ed. The tragic deedis the~.ost

¡ntens'~:-h;ribí~'thi~g'th;;happensin ~e story.!t usuanyi~caused bythe hero, or h~ppens to the hero, andit involy~s:

an action of a des~ctive or painjU! nature, such aS·murders, tortures, wou~dings, and the like.

It's agood idea to statethe tragic deed in the ACTIQN;_'r...,,,,>","",~ ..:n~~~~"""~_.". ,~~~."~""",....,~~··"" __v~.,",,..,.,-,~_.~.

IDEA soyou can keepthe center of gravity of your {t~!Y-:-=-'-»-~~-~--'='-~7:·~'-~~'~'~'~~---;-,-"';"',·_-~---':,~~--·~,:--,:_"

in mind. Fór anexample of this, let's take a look a.t an~,",.".",P,.~" ..: ,

ACTlüN-IDEA of another classic:

. .

A~ ROSEMARY'S BABY-ROSEMARY'S hus-

~ band makes a d~~lwith SATAN WORSHIPPERS to.;

haveher raped by the devil and breed his child, So that he

59

Thal Rosemary's misery is caused by her own husband

greatly adds tothe pity and horror we feel forher. Ifa sleazy

pomo directortricked her, the scene wouldbe scary, but it

In Rosemary's Baby, Rosemary's husband (Cuy), after

slipping her sleeping pilIs, delivers her to the devil worship­

pers and offers her body to Satan, who impregnates her. No

two ways abOllt it, the devil having sex with Rosemary is

the tragic deed~ Aristotle emphasizes an important aspect of

what makes it so horrific:

61Aristotle's PoeUcs for Screenwriters

. wouldn't have the same magnitude. Thetragic deed always

illv()lves. the heroal1dso~ethil1g b~i;gdone' to the hero.11

..give~.th~~t~~ ~~ight;~~·é~~¡;-;~. h6fd·;t·4o~~·a~d--k~~p-­

1;jr-th~~th~~'st~;;'~i;~~;'t~fl~~ti;'ga;~~~dit'¡¡k~"¡¡ttf~~~t~.... ~,~ ú._.__•.,,'" .'.... ,.... ,•.•" •.,' .., ...,.,..... ".'. ,'.'. "",..;.-".'> " ..•.,,_.,.• ,. ;"•. " ,,'.. ~, "',", _'-, ;'-." ,-,'"".,"" ..' '·"'C"·.••.•. "'__"'-"''-'''',,, .... '~',..." ,....~.•.,.. , ,'" ., •."·.-._e-,,, .,..'~" •.~,~,,,'.'

elIites.,~ <',","",'- ~ ,\ ~

TheoreticalIy, the tragic deed can happen anywhere in

the story. It can even happen in the back story, before the

actual movie begins, as in Oedipus Rex. Oedipus had met

his father on the road and kilIed him, without knowing.it

was his father. This deedweighs the entire story down

and ultimately connects to Oedipus blinding himself at the

end of the play. The physical pain Oedipus feels when he

gouges his eyes out matches his psychic pain. As Aristotle

teaches us, lhe tragic deed usually involves the hero ex­

periencing very intense physical suffering because of it.. In

ne GodJather, the tragic deed is that Michael must kilI

members of his family because they are lraitors. In Ti,

tanic, the tragic deed is Jack freezing in the icy Atlantic

waters as he props up lhe wood raft to save Rose. (Aris­

totle implies thal if the tragic deed doesn't actually happen

to the hero then it should, happen to a family relation or

to someone like farnily, as jack is to Rose in Titanic.)

l(eep~~tr~gic ~e~.dinthe farni1y, and use it as a strongcen;~r·~f'g;a~;t;;t~ gi~~";~~;";~;eenplay rich, dramatic

depth. 11 can happen in the beginning, as in Rosemary's

Baby, or al lhe end, as it does in Titanic. JUSI make sure it

happens.

r

can advarice as an actor. Afterward, ROSEMARV tries to

discoverw~yher pregnancy is difficult, and what herweird

neighbors want from her fetus, until she gives birth to the

devil's childand decides to mother ¡t.

Michael Tierno

In a d~ed of lhis description the parties musl nec­

essarily be ',either friends, or enemies, or indifferent to

one another. Now when enemy does il on epemy, there

is nOlhing to move us lo pity either in hisdoing or in

his meditating lhe deed, excepl so far as the actual pain

of the sufferer. is concemed; and the same is lme when

the parties are indifferenl lo one anolher. Whenever th~.. . 'C_';i_~'~_'-.,~,•. " ~,,._._-

í lragic deed, however, is done within the family-when

¡'murde;:o;'lhe'I;keis dü;¡e(;,. ;"edilaled brolher ont

brolher, by son on father, by molher on son, or son on

mother-theseare the siluations the poel should seek

afler.

60

1

Oops! 10(::auSecj'Mv Own.Undeserved Misfortune

Again

/An imitalion nfl only of ai(ompletea(tion,~ut

als~ of inddents arousing pity~nd fear . pityis

o((asioned by undeservedmisfor;~une, andfear by

thatof one like ou~selves .. .. the (hange in the .

hero'sfortunes . . .iirtust lie notin any depravity,

bui in somegreatefror on hispdrt.

T.'. .h.~ p.,oeties í.S so us.e..·.IUI to scree.n..·.writers. b... ecause..·•.•.•.•.A.,ri.s­tot!e explaíns whywe humansrespond/to draI)latíc

story. B~sícally, we resp~nd to dramatic story when we can

relate to it. We. need tofeel.. that th~ 'lIlísfortune thehe~o

suffers •ís líke";;;"~;;:;:A~;p;~í;¡¡yin:é;' g~i;{g't;;';;;:~~;~"~;;;~.....,...",...""",~,.;c',';.~v~,¡,.",,,~.';N"''''''.';''''''''?:''''d''~'%"'~""''''~?;<i'''''';''<~'''''''''::'-''+''''''¡'''''''''''<!'I';.:'',''!>"""'~i:¡"'~'''''~'(~'~:''''''''~''''''-'''':'!::'~'?7~'''''-''píty and f~ar. We mustpíty the hero's misfortune andJeel

\:~,,,,,,_,,,,,,c,,,,",,,,,,,,":~,i't'~''-''\''!''"

deeply about ít, becausethat misfortune ís undeserved, and_~,.,~""":::,,... ,.,~.,,?'.'~\:" ',;~: _.,,_,.:.:." "")"""':_ '";~""'_'''·''F''··'·''''~''''<·';'''-~h''''''\'''''#'!<''~''·V~:

wemu$tfea~it coüld ha]Jpen to us. ~íty and fear are <tpart

~rth~·d.~.~;';;~ti'.;~;r~;.'p~thy·';~ f~.el ín watchíng ~'...,~ood, ',", :.,", " ",'-, -'.'._,','...........: .'

dramatíc story, be ít ~Qcky, The Godfather,or Amo/'ican

Beauty;Bu! how do we relate to movíe heroes when wedon't

fight ín gladíator arenas,~onsort with the devíl, or battle the

63

64 MichaelTierno Aristotle's Poeticsfor Screen\Nriters 65

Evil Empire of the Death Star? The answer is that like he­

roes in drama, we make choices that cause our own misfor­

tune. We realize (after years of therapy) that we can't blame

anyone else for our fate because we ourselves have caused

it! No one was standing on the sidelines telling us' whai

choices to make. So because bad ~tuff ~appells t~ us asa

result of ~~r~",n errorsi~judgIllent,We~fte~-f~~i'fu;i~~;'~~Il.miaro;t;,úa§:,,':lJ!l4e~e~~d.,; ", '" -."." .o~._·-·'·__

Take a quick hypothetical example: Jane tries to be an

actress, risks her wholelife on (his dream, and at fifty-seven

hasn't made it and has nothing. She has caused her misfor­

tune; she made a choice, an error in judgment, and kept

pursuing acting. But she doesn't really deserve such misfor­

tune either, because at the time she made her decision to be

an actress, she didn't know that she didn't have a chance to '

make it. Although she persists in pursuing her dream against

all odds, we still feel tl-lat she doesn't deserve her misfortune

and misery.

When misfortune that befalls a hero is both undeserved

and caused by the hero,it arouses "pity" and "fear" in the

audience. The hero must use reasoning (wrong reasoning),

because drama works by illuminating the plight of conscious

humankind. Despite the gift of creation that is our higher

mind, we humans still screw up our lives. Aristotle points

out that in drama, ~o~.5~llses of!!,!isfortune can't be deprav-,/, .'''"''',,'''"'''''' .. .... -.-----.,_.._~._~_.,_~_~' .... 'o, .", .,',- .~~.".~".~.~

ity, because then the misfortune would be a result of our

'~;';;;:;'al nature and therefore not interesting. You can call

such bad judgment a "tragic flaw" if you like, but make sure'-~

you understand that Aristotle is clear on this concept: It is

poor reasoning, not primal urges, that causes the hero's mis-0t~rt;';;';e. . -.0 -....,",-.,

o," T¡:;~ beauty of an error in judgment is that you can use

it to impact every single beat of the story, or just one time

to set th~ plot up. In Gladiatar,Maximus's~rroLor.'.'tragic,,,·.·,···.~·,,···,_··,·,·.',-··n'·~""

flaw" i~hi~pride, displ~red when he refuses to honor Com-'~~d~s,.·;h~· ~~;3¡;;t;t~I~;';h~·th;;;;,;;:o-A;.;-¿rth~;;~oii!'Thi;

~;;o~ i~j~d~l1'le~;s~i~~lr~iTt¡:;;;~;~~t~o-th~~ lead to his misfor-

tune: Commodus has Maximus's wife and son killed, and

. Maximus is sent off to be executed; he escapes wounded, then

becomes a slave, a gladiator, and although he restores the

government to the people, he still dies. His pride, for which

you can't blame him, causes his downfall. Now in Maximus's

case, it's a pretty simple mistake. It happens once, and that's

all the story needs. But this error in judgment adds a rich,

tragic tone to all the misfortune that befalls him, preeisely

because he has actively caused his own fate.

Dramatic stories with happy endings use action based

on the undeserved misfortunes of the hero as well. The

obvious difference is that in happy dramatic stories, the hero

overcomes the misfortune, as in Racky. Rocky chooses to be

a thumb breaker instead of a serious boxer, but that's soon

fixed by Apollo, Mickey, and the Rock himself, who is de­

termined to overcome his loser status in life.

Now let's turn our attention to actual misfortunes and

draw on an analogy from life once again. What makes an

undeserved misfortune weighty enough to carry a plot? If

*The following lisl is drawn from The Therapy o/ Desire by Martha~Craven Nussbaum (Princeton, NJ.: Princeton University Press, 1996),

p. 87, which cites the misfortunes that cause pity, as given in Aristotle's

Nicomackean E/kics.

1. Death

2. Bodily assault or ill treatment

3. Old age, illness

4. Lack of food

5. Lack of friends

6. Ugliness

7. Weakness

8. Being crippled

9. Having your good expectations disappointed

you park your new RolIs Royce in a mn-down neighbor­

hood overnight and come back to find your window

smashed and radio stolen, is this an action on which you

can build a story? lt's a misfortune, it's (somewhat) unde­

served, and it's caused by an error in judgment. Howe~er,

an ACTION-IDEA that will arouse pity and fear in an au­

dience must be based on undeserved misfortunes of g;reat-",~..... ,~-""\-""""',,:' '-"'".--"~ ..,,": ,',.~~... :.::¡:,.•.-,,',' ..,-" -,__ .'",_ "',' "."",.'<-_ ' ..J"_'."~""C·' ",." ".,,,,,,,,,,,;, c' ,. "-",,, ... ~.""''''''''''"'-~,,,__ .,,,

mag;nitude-on serious life-changing events that make you,i1:~v".. ~·,"N""""'~-'I'\."

feel glad it isn't you. (And because it's caused by the hero's

error in judgment, it éould very welI be you!) Here is a list

of undeserved misfortunes that Aristotle, elsewhere in his

writings, outlines as subject matters that arouse pity and fear

in audiences:*

67Aristotle's Poetícs for Screenwriters

There are severa! undeserved misfortunes just in the

ACTION-IDEA: Maximus's family was murdered, he be­

comes a slave, and being a star gladiator wasn't afate to be

desired. But again, tbis chain of events is set in motion by

10. Having good tbings come too late

11. Having no good things happen to you

12. Having good things happen but being unable to enjoy

them

n~ GLADIATOR-MAXIMUS, a brillianl Roman

,~ general, refuses to honor COMMODUS, and is sen­

tenced to die. He escapes execution, and becomes a slave,

a star gladiator, and returns to Remeto avengethe murder

of his family by COMMODUS, He kills him in the arena

after being mortally wounded in the back by him. restoring

Rome to the senate as he dies.

Undeserved misfortunes destroy heroes like Maximus in

Gladiator, ~-th~h~~~rc;;-~~;ili~~~~ -;~iiock;.Th¡~key-¡;;;-you -aoñ<r]ustl;;~;;s-"the-;hok;;~rY-;;';;~; big

undeserved event, y~u buildaU the significant sc~~~saro~nd~S.~~~?:"~.~~~!:.~it~~~~~'""·''''''' , ""0'

To do this, you can use a series of misfortunes, ones

from the twelve itemized aboye, in individua! scenes. Let's

see how undeserved misfortunes work in Gladiator, starting

with its ACTION~IDEA:

Michael Tierno66

his error in judgment, occurring when he refused to ac­

knowledge Cornmodus as Caesar, for which we can't blame

him and so we pityhim when al! these bad things happen

to him. Plus, because Maximus cares about his family and

refuses the advances of Lucilla, he seems honorable to I us,

andhis humanity makes him someone we relate too In other

words, he seems like us, in ourmost tragic-heroic image of

ourselves, so we fear his bad fate can be ours aswel!.

The numeroustnisfortunes that befall Maximus serve

nOt only to propel the plot of Gladiator but to connect its

scenes thematically.For example, Maximus kilIs the barbar­

ians (death) and wishes to return home but can't (having

good things happen. but being unable to enjoy them). He

refuses to honor Commodus and is sentenced to die (death),

but he escapes and is wounded (bodily harm). He then is

captured as a slave and trained as a gladiator, where he must

defend himself against further bodily harm and death. He

fights other gladiators, who also don't deserve their misfor­

tune, and has to kilI them (death). Finally at the end, Com­

modus wounds him (bodily harm) and then he dies,

returning to heaven to join his wife and child.

. Notice that in Gladiator, all the scenes are organic and

that they make sense in relation to the movie as a whole.

They are of similar tone and style and blend together wel!,

and they create ONE COMPLETE ACTION.

Even though the ending of Gladiator isn't really tragic

. because Maximus goes to heaven when he dies, the movie

itself is still a classic tragedy. Maximus lives up to the mantra

6968 Michael Tierno Aristotle's Poetics for Screenvvriters

of "strength and honor" that he utters in the opening scene

as a general for Caesar. Because he suffers so much during

the story, his life becomes a tragicdemonstration of this very

mantra.

The tnistake in a hero's reasoning, leading to the hero's

subsequent related tnisfortunes, is a great tool in building

story action and in conveying profound tmth to the audi­

ence. But remember: Aristotelianprinciples are not rules,

they are starting points to understand how and why audi­

ences respond to drama. Examining these principIes and

how they work will hopefully give you a hanclle on how to

apply them to your own screenwriting.

May strength, honor, and peace be with you and your

future audience!

13·

Howa Little MoralizingTurned a Gladiator Gore Fest

intÓa Best Picture

Tragedy is essentidlly an imitation not of per-

sons hut action andlife.

I n the movie Gladiator, Gl-'neral Maximus tells his troop~

•• to "unleash hell" upon t1Iebarbarians immediately befare

his army's bloody clash with'them. This sequence proceed~

. Jike any gratuitous battle scene should-blood splashing,

. limbs flying, swords clanging. Then the action on the screen

.turns into slow motion, the pattle sounds dim, and the doly­

fuI musical score cranks up, The music is sad rather thall

thrilling because the movieis commenting on the fact that

slaughtering these men raiseswhat 1 call a moral contradic­

tion: It is both right for Ma#mus to kili the barbarians, ap.d

wrong at the same time because it's just that-killing.

That is how a moral contradiction works in a dramatic

story; theh~r? is ~;igh;'"ío'-'t~;';~,,~~ti~~, and. ato the same ))

time th~;~;;~~;;;;thkg ~¿~any~;'¿~g;¡th'ili;t~~ti~~-:Thi~';"_"""';"."""";"""""~"-="""'~";j.""':'"'''''''',,.,~.,, ..;,-,.,·~.(,,,",·.~, ..,.,,...,,,:»,...,,';,...~.,,,,, ..,o,~""~P-""!-<."""_"""",,".~~""""",""",···',",,,=F_~is a secret ingredient to dramatic story that the Poetics

teaches us to use, enabling the audience to see Jife imitated

through the life of a hero, who is morally compromised in

71

sorne way. Because Gladiator used this technique so effec­

tively, it won Best Picture at the 2001 Academy Awards,

despitebeing very gory-a decidedly unusual vote by the

academy.

In Gladiator, there .is no doubt that Maximus and his

armyare right in attackihg the barbarians. Not only do we

hear Caesar say that they are savages, but we watch the

Germanianshold up the messenger's severed head and later

send back his headless corpse as a response to Caesar's

request fora peacefuL surrender. But bloodshed is still

bloodshed, and the tragic batde plays asa dark comment

on the way human beings get things done. To paraphrase

Caesar, the barbarians will have civilizationbrought to them.

Ironical!y, d>e "civilized" ends of the Roman Empire must

justifr their brutal means.

Aristotle knew that his audiences were interested in

moral questions, and when he told his students that tragedy

is an "imitaH?Ilofaction aIld life," theyautomatical!y as-

sumed 'h~. ;;~lref~rringtoth~';:;;~;~-ii¡:e of7he~0.Wh~-;;~,".'.,_ .,.",.,,.':"..'. """t':: - '-"'_"_'~';"""H'._ A,_.''"".., •... "•..,.>"._."_._".'.=....-=".-_,,,."_.,,".,,.,...~=-''''''''~·

M¡n¡;imus washes blood off his hands after the batde and

stares into the bloodied water, the audience feels his anguish

for having to kilI the barbarians even though they are ruth­

less savages.His moral turmoil helps the audience relate to

him even thóugh it might not relate to the specific situation

that he is in (i.e., slave-turned-glad.iator).

Al! the action that brings change in the story must raise

the central moral question. What brings change in Gladiator

is fighting and killing. Albeit those of a· brilliant general,

Maximus's actions, as we have seen, are inherendy "right"

and "wrong" at the same time. That the gladiators he must

slaughter in self-defense aren't al! enemies but have been

victimized like himself, raises the same agonizing moral con­

tradiction. AlI this "moralizing" helps us relate to the movie.

In our day-to-day efforts to survive, we all feel like the

real world is a jungle. In showing a human tendency toward

violence and revealing this as a tragic aspect of human na­

ture, Gladiator imitates life and makes a statement about the

human condition modern viewers can appreciate.

The message to you as a screenwriter is this: Don't shy

away from using moral~ontradiction to spice up your

screenplay stories. The audience wa~ts t?~ee ripht and

~~ng addr~ss~d, b~c~~~~ e~eryo?e feelst~~t~!~:g~ts ~t theheartofwIlatit ~~'to¡'~h¡;;;';;"::Andj~~tbe glad th~~ ;o~;;~

;;'ot-geftingUpi~'¡1í~;:';:;';~;;'i;'¡g- and strapping on gladiator

gear for another day in the arena. Be glad that your own

moral contradiction probably consists in competing with' an

associate for a promotion. Be glad-yes!-that after putting

on the screenwriting armor of the Poetics, you can race out

into the brutal arena of Hollywood and shout, "Bring 'em

on!"

72 Michael Tierno Aristotle's Poetícs tor Screenvvriters 73

.,

lS.

Whatever Causes theAction Better Be Up There

on the Screen

The tragic pleasure is that of pity and fear,

and the poet has to produce it by a work of imita­

tion; it is clear, therefore, that the causes [of the ac­

tion that can arouse pity and fearJ should be

included in the incidents of his sto1).

Aristotle tells us that the "causes" of the action tIlat

. ar?llse the a~di~nc~'spity ~~d fear mustb~;~cl~d~din the'~t~rY:Whatd"éshe~e~?I;:; ~ ;'';;~h~ll, h~'~t~¡fu,g"";;sUlatiilsn"t én;;nghf¿rtb~~n(_Íié;'éét;) hé"t;)ici;;that a

héro'sfortnne h~sre~ers~cl.1'hé a';dience must experience

a systematic buildup· through~'~tages," cul~inating inili;herü's reversal offortune ina ~ay tbat arouses their em­

pathy.--For example, take a look at Citizen Kane. The causes of

the action that arouses our pity and fear are simple, starting

with the first cause of action: Young Charles Kane is taken

from his home because of an inheritance that prompts his

mother to send him away with Mr. Thatcher, a guardian his

mother has· hired to raise her son. Charles's undeserved mis-

93

leads Harry closer to rus eternal rever~al of fortune (goil}g

tohell). But the fact lhat Harry realizes the moralimpli¿a­

lÍons of his actions help us feel for him.· We have seen that

he tmly regrets his hehavior and haveknown him to bea

moral character, so we relate to him.

To close, I'd like to sum up this chapter thus:

Michael Tierno

fortune affectsihis entireJife; he becomes controlling !;md

selfish a~ an adult and dies an old, lonely m¡m. Becausewe

understapd why he got th~t way, theplot arouses ourpity

and fear. For ~ristode, aU this is reve~led by a very sp~eial

definitioÍl of character: I

There.a.re in the na.lural order <if things lherefore'... ... . .... . . .. ..,.. "

twosause~ Charaelerand Though~-of their aelions,

and eonsequendy of their sueeess or faiIure ..in their ¡ives.

To Aristode, "charaCter" refers$tricd)' to the moral

quality of apefson revealed,through his or her thoughts and

the actiqns stfmming fr0I!l these thoughls.For exampl~, if

you plotito rop a bank, YQU must first "think" about taking

suchan;actio~ before PSrforming il. But¡fs the tho~ght

behind tllÍsaclÍon that reveals your "~haracter," isn't it? In

other words,if you arerobbing a bank to. pay for your

girlfriend's diémond neck1ase, you're a "badperson." BIj.t if

you're robbil}g. a bank too feed the homeless people,that

reveals adifferent "character." lt's thesamein movies:The

"thought" that leads w the key actions reveal.s the "ch;;ac~'~t;;;;3{th~'h~r~ ••¡~"th'e'sIory··"i;;d '~u~t·. b.~~f~.~~t~;;ili~t .'arouses~e ~~die~c~,;pitY'~;,~near·."··' . ...• . .

. Leésr~t~~~t'; A~gdH;~;~'-Harry hearsEthan teUthe

back stOry OfJIOW Johnny ate a man's heart.to steal russoul.

Harry's . "therught" or retnembrance .of this deed causes

Harry to vomit, telling us that he is morally repulsed,and

lhus his moral characteris revealed. This cause of action

Aiístotle's Poetics for Screenwriters

A plót must include causes of the actio~ that can arouse

thealldience'sdeepest pity and fear. T~is means theau~

dience must understand ~he hero'sthoughts and seethose

lhoughls beeomin~ aelions, whieh in tum reveal a moral

quality (eharaeter) of thehero. This willhelp the audienee

to relate to the her'o and feel empathy tor him or her.·

95

acter Of Mike is on the bad sideof the "dividing line of

goodrtess," because he dumps Amánda for the wrong rea­

son: 1anting to have sex with as many women as possible

before; leaving cfor college.· Though he is unsuccessful· in

achie0ng this goal, he hasbeen braJlded as the bad guy in

our mirids, becáusewe're infiuencedwhen we learn his rea­

sons fór dumping his girlfriend. On;the other hand, Preston

(the hero) hasharbored a crush ortAmand~ for years. lt's

his inJ:locent beIief that he and Arnanda are meant to be

togeth9r thatri¡akes the audience ascribe a positive quality

to himand the~ctionshe takes (e.g.,giving her a love letter).

The same goes for the other characters in the movie, such

as Keriny and Denise, who, after getting locked in a bath·

room, <Jjscoyerthat they are not so different ftom each other.

Throug;h th"ir thoughts we cometo undetstand Kenny's

childish, self,d~fensive actions and why Denise is so intol·

erant of him(he was meanto her in elemeniary school). In

other words, we are allowed to lookbehindihe personas of

all thecharacters, whose actions assume hUfJlor and pathos

as a resulto

Thus we se,e how, within the frameworkpfONE COM­

PLETE ACTI9N, the moral attributes of the "agents" re­

vealedthroughthe reasoning behind.their actions give your

story its ton". ,!n more simple terms: Pay at,ention to.,tqJl~

because it willenhance thequality of your screenplay. And

remember: lt'sthe thought behind the actions that count ...

118 Michael Tierno

25·

How to Cheat If YouCar'l'tHire a Whole ChOrl..ls

The ChoruS too should be regarded as one ofthe

actors; it shoul4 be an integ;ral part of thewhole,

and take a share in the. action ...

••In Aristotle's day,staging a play üwolved usinga chorus

". line of paid actors and singers that would stand in front

pf the stage, .sing, and comment to the audience on the

action. This helped develop [the "magnitude" of the actio~

without adding extraneousinCidents to the ACTION-IDEA.

For example, in Oedipus Rex, the chorus makes a statement

after Oedipus is charged byhis subjects to find the source

,of the plagt¡e in the city:

CHORUS (Citi~ensof Thebes):

Sweet is the voiee of thegod, that sounds in the Colden

shrine of Delphi

What message has itsent to Theqes'! My trembling

Heart is torn with artguish.

Thou god of Healing, Phoebus Apollo

How do 1 fear! What has thou in mind119

120 Michael Tierno Aristotle's Poetics'for Screenwriters 121

To bring upon us now? What is to be fulfilled

From daysof old?

Tell me thís, O Voice divine

Thou child of Golden Hope

The chorus here does not move the plot along but makes

moral comments on what is happening by raising questions.

This ancient technique is not used in modern drama, al­

though modernversionsof it can be found. For example,

in Something About Mary, the two guys who sit in the trees

and sing about the action are as close to a chorus in Greek

theater as has ever existed in modern film. Notice how the

"chorus" in this movie makes appearances, comments on

the action, emhellishes its'meaning and emotional impact,

while not reaJly adding anything to the plot. Notice how this

"chorus" keeps JOu at arm's length from th~ action while

giving you a window into it. The viewer feels like a privi­

leged spectator andat the same time becomes better con­

nected to Ted the hero, who finally gets Mary. Something

About Mary is an example of a comical way to use a chorus,

serving the overall tone of the story.

Remember, the important thing in trying to use a mod­

ern chorus is to understand the chorus's job-to comment

on the action and to reinforce it in the audience's perception.

y ou can have all kinds of secondary characteis commenting

on the action. For a quick example of this, consider The

Terminator, where Reese is held in the police station and

questioned by a psychiatrist, who thinks he's crazy. The

shrink and the cops are a perfect example of "chorus" com­

menting on the action. The questions and comments of the

eops and the psychiatrist help to validate and explain the

reality of the Terminator's mission, of Reese's role, and of

Sarah's role in saving the future of the world.

In constructing theACTION-IDEA of your screenplay,

consider how using seeondary characters as members of a

"chorus" might work to strengthen it. If you're into far-·

fetched plots, a <:horus may be key in making sure the au­

dience understands what in the hell is going on.

How to Create Characters. .. .

;That Are ReallyRe'i:!lIy ReaHy Alive

In the Charaetersthere are f01!crpoints to airT!

ato First and foremost, that,t~~ys1f.ªJLQ§goo4·;Therewill be an ele'fTl,ent ofcharacter in theplay,if

(as hqsbeen observed) what a persortage says or

does reveal! acertai~:rT!oral purpose; and a goodtl­

emen( of charaeter, ifthe purposeso revealed is

good The second point ú to make them appro-

priate The third tS to make them like the real;:

ity, which is not thesame as their being good and

appropriate, in our sense of the térm. The fourth.ís

to make them consút4'¡¡t and the Same through-

out ..

One of the many thiIlgs we can tha¡{k Aristotle fo]' is

• his writings on how to create characters that se.em

both realistic and able to captivate an audience. First, make

them good enough that we'.can root forthem. Second, make

them "appropriate,"meaning give them characteristics that

make sense for the type of person they are. Third, make

them human-give them f!¡nvs or quirksthat make us believe123

124 Michael Tierno Aristotle' s Poeticsfor Screenwriters 125

that they existo Finally, whatever characteristics you do give

them, make sure JOu keep them there throughout the length

of the screenplay. As Aristotle says, make sure they are "con­

sistently inconsistent.",_,_0'-"""', _~_"~_•.•,.,__~ •••_,.., ,,"

In another passage, Aristotle elaborateson what líe

means by making a characer, realistic. Once again, he uses

painting as an analogy:

As Tragedy is an imitation ofpersons better than the

ordinary man',we in our way should follow the example

of good portrait-painters, who reproduce the distinctive

features, of a roan, and at ~e same time, without 'losing

the likeness, make him handsomer than he is. The poet

in like mannei, inportraying men quick or slowto anger,

or with similar' infirmities of character, must know how

to represent them as such, and at the same time as good

roen ...

Rocky, trying in a larger-than-life way to be more than

a bum from theneighborhood, is still oddly recognizable

as a regular guy. 'Lester Burnham from Ameriean Beauty is

the ultimate mid-life-crisis guy who eventually redeems

himself in declining to sleep with Angela. Even Michael

Corleone, the mafia son par excellence, appears noble in a

time of family crisis because he is willing to defend and

honor his family. In their actions and attributes, these

three characters illustrate the realism to ""hich tragic

drama, according to Aristotle, should aspire. Additionally,

he gives us five principIes of life that we can use to create

character in our stories:*

l. Nutritive Life

2. Desiring Life

3. Sensitive Life

4. Locomotion

5. Capacity for Rational Thought

.Because these five principIes all belong to the makeup of a

real-life person's "psychology," they can be used to create

convincing three-dimensional characters. Let's examine each

. ane.

1. Nutritive LiCe. Do you wonder about your characters'

eating habits? Wouldn't that tell you (and your audi­

ence) a lot about them? Don't your eating habits saya.

lot about you? You should braill.storm as much as you

can to get a clear picture of what the eating habits of

your characters might be, to gather clues about who they

are. How do they eat, what do they eat? Do they think

about food a lot? What do your characters' refrigerators

look like? Not that any of this ever has to make it to

the page, but it's a window into their character. 1 mean,

when Rocky gets up at 4- a.m. and drinks four raw eggs,

*The following list is derived from Aristotle's other writings, mainly De

Anima (On the SouZ).

126 Michael Tierno Aristotle's Poetics for Screenwriters 127

isn't that wQrth a gazillionpag~~_ºfp§}'Q!lplogical notGs

on hilll? That image isso powerful andevocative thit

you know without furthGr elaboration that he is serious

abo\lt this bQxing match. Look at Lester B\lrnham. What

doeshe eat?iBy the endof his transformation from mi~­

erablé mid-life-crisis guy to seekerof eternal youth, hG's

blending ancl drinking hGalth drinks. What could telllts

more. about.· Lester's new attitude toward life? What

could:makeLester seemmoie human?

2. Desiring Life. At the heart of alIaction is the desire of

the.h~r() ..Ba~ic·h~~~~ci;;;;~;~;~;Uly'~;hi¡~;;¡Z~~';h~-'.

actets come alive on the screen. In1he Godfather, when

Michael Corleonegoes tO Italy and falls id love with an

Italiallwoman from the mountaills, does\l't that make

. him 'seem truly alive? It's a probable incidGnt that fIows

withthe action, iefIecting his deep coIIlIl1itment to his

Itali<ín "roots." In Gladiator, Maximus rearns to go

home to his family and,after they have been murdered,

to join them:in eternity. In 1he Blair Witch Projeet, the

kids' ambitidn to tape the Blair Witch and make a film

leads them to their death. Desiring is at the heart of

what it means to be a living, breathing human being.

3. Sensitive LiLe. It goes. without saying that our five

senses. are abig part oE being alive. If a human being

faces the prospect of losing sight or hearing, it's devas­

tating. In fact, alI of the five senses-sight, hearing,

touch,smell, arid taste--cdefine our lives at thG most ba­

sic leve!. Lester Burnham spends alot of time mastur­

bating, doesn't he? In fact, it's'how we are first

introdl.lced to him. Whai mOre do we need to sense thilt

Lestef is real and to "know" who he is? In cinema,

perhaps the most important sense in regard to character

development is. visual perception.Great screenwriters

know how to feed inf¿rillatión to the audiente through

the eyes of characters, such as when Lester sees Angela

at thepep 'rally and fantasizes about her. Shówing h6w

characters .actually see ihings with their own eyes ena­

bies. the audienc:e to experience "causes" of (he action.

It also puts touse a powerful aspect of thecinematic

mediulIl, which is the hero's literal point of view.

4. Locomotion. Carefully depictipg movement is vital tó a......... ,""...•..- - -_.•.... , - , , -

screenplay. For exampl~, 1he Blair Witch ~rojeet is a

i.~p~~tryóf rest and locomotion, in which thecharacters'

use of their eyes andears .ls also notably importaJ:lt.

Heather, the lead character in the story, spends a lotof

time rimning around, screaming, and trying to videotape

the ground in front of her. The lifelike aspect of alI the

characters is transmitted largely by their physical mo."e­

ment,as they trudge ihrough the woods.

5. Capacity for Rational Thought.Thinking. about the

mindand thought proc~sses of people can be a fun~ay.

to brainstorm charactets into existence, In Annie Háll,

In summary,to create a real human beingforan audi­

ence you must have them do things that convince the au­

dience that they are alive, really alive, giving details that even

a scientist like Aristotle would appreciate.

128 Michael Tierno

Alvieis a rational man who has bouts ofirrationality.

This surfaces when a cop pulls him over and he tears

up his license. In Titanic Rose jumps from the lifeboat

to return to Jack,. a slightly more irrational than rational

act~but hey, thisis a love story, and romantic love ls

rooted as much in animal nature as it is in the higher

mind. (Rosels also slightly larger than life, and she's

being consistent with what we've seen of hú.)

Dialog 15 a Pieeeof the Aetion

.. .thepoet'"!~tbe m?rethepoet ofhis storiesor Plotsth~-;:--h¿ v~;~~s,i~a;much as he is a p~;tby vi;tu; of the imitati~;';lement in his work, and

it is actions that he imitates.

Like everything else in hissystem:_~ial,,-g, wh.ich Aristotle

. calls "diction," should be part of the action. For Ar­

istotle it's more important to strive to build a tight structure

than it is to digress in the elfórt to compose beautiful dialog

.that isn't part of the main action:

One will have much better success with a tragedy

which, however inferior in these respeds [dialog], has a

Plot, a combination of incidents ...

Pve covered screenplays where the writers will start olf

with great·dialog, but by the middle of the script Pm already

bored. I later examine sorne of the mid-point dialog and it

seems of the same quality as the beginning dialogo What's

wrong? The same thing that's always wrong: The plot has

not been adequately built. Dialo~ is part of the action and129

El<lb0rate Diction, h6wever, is requiredin places

where lhere ii no action, ~nd no Character 0f Thought

to be revealed. Where there is Character or Thought, on

the other hand, an Dver-ornate Diction tends to obscure

them.

Not only can elaborate dialog obscure thought, sometimes

dialog that. is "straight on the nose" can ~ina sce?e when

·~h~r~ct~~s s~ie~acÚywhatis on tlleir 'mind~~nd ¡h~;~ ¡;'­no sub-text to fhat they are saying. In (;[¿di~tor, in the

scene where Maximus and Lucilla flirt in the garden, -Ve

sense an intense unstated sexual undercurrent to theír

words. But their dialog is not 'Ion the nose," it's what's

going on insidetheir minds that's intriguingto uso What's

not said, (jr the,¡nner thoughts of the characters, is often

gets its power frOln the plot, whose e/fect builds In a cu­

mulativeaswellas line~:way.Dial;g formsst~ryaction~rld~erives lifeand energy fr~~" the action it helps build. tbis

is a symbiotic relationship. For a simple demonstration, iEl

say the line, "They're here," it's not agreat line of dialogo

But in Poltergeist, when it's theyoung child announcing the

arrival ofa house full of ghosts, it's brilliant, because it's

. concise but moVes usinto anew stage of the plot (we now

want to find out exactly wnat's "here"and why this child

,iSBO attun.ed to the new invisible guests).

Aristotle goes so far as to say that although dialog isa

building block of a drama, it can sometimes get in the way:

131Aristotle's Poetics fer Scre~n\Nriters

The Thought of the persons in a play is shown in

alI thafmust be elfected by their language-in every elfort

to pro~e or disprove, tú arouse emotioic(pity, fear, anger,

and tJ,>e like), or to exaggúate or minitnize things.

The only dilferenceis that in,ac§on the elfe~t has

to be,produced without~-"planatioh;whereas with the

spoken word it has to beproduced by the speaker, and

resuIt •from his language. What, indeed, would be the

However, language can be tricky. If ¡¡ctions speak louder

than words, they can also speak better:

more dynamic to anaudience, so it'snot a good idea to

hav~ characters saying exaetly what's o?their minds butto "

'-;';~dialogto i;Upíy~ha¡they are think!Ilg·

That's.not to saythat c()nversational dialog isn't impor­

tant~audíences love dialog like that in ~uljJFietion ,or Night

on Eartn.I lóve dialog more than theaverage moviegoer,

and> myown scripts and films ate dialog heavy. However,

in even thi; most dialog-dependent sc~ipt like My Dinn~rwitn Andr~, t!le dialog is intrinsic to theaction~tothe plot,

meaning,causality oE the incidents, amI dramatic unity. In

fact, sometimes plot actiondoes require that dialog be 'Ion

the ilose,"as in Gladiator, when Maximus gives his gladiator

team c1earinstructions on how tofight the coming onslaught

of enemygladiators. Aristotle stressesthe ÍJ.nportance oflan­

guage at every level of drama:

Michael Tierno130

132 Michael Tierno Aristotle's Poetics for Screenvvriters 133

good of lhe speaker, if lhings appeared in lhe required

lighl even aparl from anything he says?

Arislotle:s syslem of lhoughl indudes a concepl called

"~i~e.:~c::' Sounds like "dialog," doesn'l jI? Tha!'s because'

the lwo concepls .are indeed similar. Le!'s see· how they

work.

Firsl, someone makes a stalemenl, a "lhesis." Then an

opposing slalemenl is made,an "anti-thesis." These lwo

slalemenls then coilide in opposition, forming a synlhesis,

",hich is kind of a"we slarl all over again" lhesis:

JOE: (THESIS) We won'l make illhere because you're driv­

ing like my grandmother.

BOB: (ANTITHESIS) Your grandmolher's dead.

JOE: (SYNTHESIS) Exactly!

Nolice lhal inthis exchange, joe makes a stalemenllhal

Bob is driving like his grandmolher. Bob doesn'l jusI re­

spond, he uses the informalion conlained in joe's slalemenl

to make an opposing slalemenl, lhal Bob's grandmother "is

dead." This is an anlithesis: Dead grandmolhers can'l drive.

Joe lhen lakes the mini-argumenl lha!'s laken shape and

"synthesizes" il inlo a new slatemenl, "Exactly," which dar~

ifies joe's real message, thal Bob's driving is falally flawed.

Il's a fusion of lhe two ideas, thal Bob drives like joe's

grandmolher, and thal joe's grandmother is dead. Notice

lhal what gels balted back and forth is simply informalion.

!i~re, dialog is a kind of fighl lhat uses infonnalion in lh~

lasl slalemenl, and opposes il and moves tlie fighl forward.

I)ialog as dialectic is, in effecl, aclion. Compare lhe previous

exchange lo ~.er:e conversa,tion:

JOE: We won'l make il because you drive like my grand­

molher.

BOB: I'm hungry.

JO E: I hopethis car don'l break down.

Obviously, lhis is more lypical of lwo friends lalking in thal

neither listens lo lhe olher. It's mere conversalion, and does

nol move lhe aClion along.

Of course, you can blencl dialetical and conversalional

dialog any way you wanl:

JOE: We won'l make il there because you're driving like my

grandmother.

BOB: Your grandmother's dead.

JOE: Exactly!

B oB: She is? I was jusI kidding.

B oB: Death is weird ... isn'l it?

JOE: Don't gel deep on me. I lhink we should start looking

for a molel.

BOB: Yeah. Do you know anylhing aboul computers?

.J oE: Keep your eyes on the road.

B oB: I wilL Do you wanna drive afler lunch?

This exchange mjjees dialectical dialog with a mere conver­

~ation to help creare realistic dialog that moves ¡he aetion of. ' .

tbe story along bW allows a pause in it as welL

Dialog, is SOll1~times dialectic, sometimes conversation."'_.- ...",-~ .•: __ •"':"""_"_"~:_""" __':'\';""' "__ ':'__ .,' ',"" -,," ---,--, -- ,-"- -,,- .__ ••.__e,-;,e;.._.._.._.~...• ---- _., .-.•_._" ..t~

But it is always astion or part of th~, action: Do your best

to malee xo~r eharacte~s' languagederive itspo",er from the

sumulativ~whole9f the living plot. Yo';wo;:;¡t~regret it.

134 MichaelTierno

28.

Ifthe Pitch Doesn't Fill Mewith Horror and Pity, the

Movie Won't Either

T~~, PI'!Lj"!ia,cts~QuldbesoJ,[0rrt~d..t~at, ... ("{}erl;

~ith_~,,:Ls.:e"i1!r{~~~.!~ir¡'g~ t(lkPlac~, he whos.imply(

hears ,the account 01 them shaU be fiUed with horrQ!,.,"'-'-" -','",,,.,--,'.- ".- ... " ...•-. ....

and at the incideizts ...

'A'ristotle tells us that tu;~;.~x.beiIlg.tol~ the,~asic plot"•., listen,ers should be moved by it, just as they would be

. when watching it enacted 011 the s~;~en., What better wa~,

, then, to test whether your sereenplay is going to do what

you want it to do than toutter your ACTIüN-IDEA to

people andsee what kind ofteaction it gets? Dramatic story

is first and foremost an oratorical art; the ineident~ hay,,,. to

~.?ul1cd good to the ear. (and.rnind) if they' ar~'ioi~i to e;:~. ter;~i~f~; ~ylength~fti~~.-· . ., ...."

.COI1~ider the ind~pend~~t-film success The Blair Witch

Project, where you never se~. the witch. That's because tp.'e

'makers of that movie had me insight to understand the ot·atorieal aspect of dramatic storytelling. The incidents of the

movie sounded so gripping and scary that they spread over

the Internet like wildfire aIld later by word of mouth at

135

colleges. It all worked because the hasic plot, or ACTION­

IDEA, of 'The Blair Witch Projeet was so strongthat people

felt compelled to see the movie. In fact, they were scared

before they saw the movie!

The Blair Witch Projeet had the luxury (as well as thé

genius) of using a mock documentary format whereby local

residents are interviewed about the legend of the Blair

Witch, who would make one kid face the wall while she

killed the other and then kili the one facing the wall. Admit

it, you felt.something, even if you hate horror. That scenario

gets played out at the end, when it happens to the two

remaining kids: Michael faces the wall as Heather is killed.

But the incident has already been implanted in our minds,

which makes the repIay of the incident at the end more

powerful.

To take another example, how would a teenager try .to

convince his peers to see Something About Mary? They

would retell the hilarious story incidents they saw. Or, con­

sider how many people walking the American streets today

can make other people laugh by retelling the incidents in A

Christmas Story? Haven't you done that? 1 have. 1 rememher

once 1 told my screenwriter friend the plot of .creen Card

(a couple has to pretend to be married so one can get his

green card, and they fall in love). He said, "Oh wow." He

was feeling the power of the whole story, just [rom hearing

its ACTION-IDEA.

_~.tol)' has always been an oratorical arto Long ago, peo­

pie sat around the fire, telling stories to each .other for

136 Michael Tierno Aristotle's Poetics for Screenvvriters 137

information and entertainment. The printing press, hooks,

movies, and. TV are relatively recent developments in the

human scheme of things. But how we appreciate the essence

of a story hasn't changed. We sound it out in our minds to

enjoy it. It's that simple. That's why if it sounds good to

people before we write it, it is. good. Saying your idea out

loud should produce whatever effect you want it to have on

screen, or on the page. This is why the "pitch" is so im­

portant to everybody. Let's face it, the pitch is just the

ACTION-IDEA sounded out loud. And if yours doesn't

grab people the way The Blair Witch Projeet's grabbed mil­

lions of fans, your screenplay won't either.

29·

The Non-Linear Soul ofQuentin Tarantino

The Plot, in our present sens.e of the term, is

súnply this, the combination of the incidents or

things done in the story ...

T•· his ehapter will look at the. style of the highly original

screenwriter Quentin Tarantino. We'll examine a very

interesting aspect of l¡is masterpiece, Pulp Fietion,which is

its "non-linear" plot.Playing with a story's time line might

be something you want to think about when starting to bu¡ld

your screenplay's outline. This style of plot is veryprevalent

in today'scinema.

While the Poetics doesn't directly address time-bending

plots perse, it's not a big stretch fromAristotle's "arrange­

ment of the incidents" to the plot rearranging tl¡.at

characteriies many non-linear narratives. But it's important

to understand that non-linear plots are not composedof

simple flashbacks or told as memory or recollection. Their

chronologieal shuffiing must work to create meaning, and

jolts in the movie's time line must call attention to themselves

(and better be used for a good reason!). Now let's examine

a brilliant chronological rearrangement of plot incidents.

139

140 Michael Tierno Aristotle' s Poetics for Screenwriters 141

In the first scene of Pulp Fiction, we find Hpney Bunny

and Pumpkin robbing a dinero The story moves on and

different sub-actions with other characters occur, one show­

ing Vince gettingkilled. Then the story returns to a time

when Vince andJules recover Marcellus's stolenmoney from

drug dealers again. The action jumps right to Jules's speech,

·which he quotes from the Old Testament before killing the

drug dealers. This is the first time in the "chronological

story" that Jules ¡aunches into this speech bui the second

time in the story we see it. This speech is the pivot and

handle of the whole non-linear structure.

In effect, PufJp Fiction takes the middle of .lhe chrono­

logical story and slices it into the beginning and end of the

plot, giving the movie a unique twist whereby banal con­

versation (the funny dialog in the rest of the story) is con­

trasted with Jules's urgent renuneiation of his ,criminal life

and his quoting of powerful passages from the Old Testa-

· ment.Perhaps the teason Tarantino is able to be convincing

· with his unique style of plot bending is because in all his

writing he says what he really feels, from his own unique

perspective. To understand what 1 mean, consider the fol­

lowing Poetics passage:

As far as may be, too, the poet should even aet his

story with the very gestures of his personages. Given

SOme natural qualifieations, he who feels the emotions

deseribed will be the most eonvineing; distress and anger,

for instanee, are portrayed most truthfully by one who is

feeling them at the moment.

Quentin Tarantino is great at ":hat he does because

there is an "authentic feel" to his movies: They seem to

come right from his heart and sou!. Many people have tried

to emulate his style, but the results have been weak. Not

that Tarantino hasn't tapped into other films for his own

ideas, but he manages to blend his own kuowledge of other

films and genres in a unique Way.

y ou, too, have to find your soul and tap into it. It might

not be quite as marketable as Tarantino's, but at the end of

the day, Aristotle would rather see youwriting something

powerful from your own soul than trying to reproduce some- .

one else's cool style. As a story analyst, so would I.

E<:lIl'.l.try to.second-guess what the Hollywood market is

J)()king for.1'1I telÍ you a I~ttlesecret that is not such a secreto .

In Hollywood,theydon't kuow what they are looking foro

They kuow it when they see it. This is not to kuock Holly­

wood, because, as William Goldman said, "Nobody kuows

anything. Nobody knows a goddam thing." It's also not to say

go ahead and write something completely idiosyncratic, and

wonder why a studio doesn't want to invest 100 million dol­

lars to produce your fantasy. Instead you should attempt to

write from your soul and move an audience in a way that

comes naturally, but you must have "moving your audience"

as your ultimate end; everything else should fall into place.

Gene Wilder has been quoted as saying that his overall guide-

line fOI iul0""ing,vhat to write is simply this: "1 am going to

the movies tonig~t. Would 1want to see this?" •. .

Regardless o~whether Y',lU write drama, cOIpedy, horror,

science fiction, 0I action, find out what youwrte best, arid

guess what-your range is probably limited. \'ve talked tp

professional scre~nwriters who have said thatthe kinds of

scripts they writéaren't what.they'd wanted to Write. lt's hafd

'. towritea good sqript, not tomention sell it, whtch Aristody,

unfortuna\ely,sa)ts nothing about. But if you can zero in on

one kind.of genr~, you stand a better chance o(Clevelopingit

to the highest levyl possible andbreaiung through with it. Be

aware ofwhat Y0l! are actually trying to accomplish with your

scripts. What kin~ of scriptsare you trying to write, and why

do you t!link theyfit in? There are certain kindsofscripts that

come more natur~lly to me than others.1t has tO do with who

1am andwhat 1IÍke. Just be honest with yourself, experimeUt,

and be aware. lt )Viii probably save you¡ots of ti,me.

lnstead of "write whatyou k11ow," Aristotle is telling

you to write wh¡(t you can tru1y feel, or tru1yexperiencein

your heart. Hav¿ readingswith actors or frierds who can

read your screeAplays back' to you, attentively and spir;t­

edly-it will give you a feeLfor your work. lt's probably no

coincidence thatQuentin Tarantino also is anoactor.

Again, whetl1er you use a non-linear plot.or not, write

toexpress your unique selE. And always try tocommunica,te

to an audience ¡(nd move them as an audience. Write from~~~,--,"~",~<-"""~''''''''

your soul for an.audience, not for your favorite esoteric film

'direct()r'in'S;~d~;;':-'-

142 Micháel Tierno

.'3 O •

If Your Story Were aMusical, Where Wóuld the

Numbers Be?

From the point of Jiew, howe'l)er, of its quan­

tity, i. e. the separate seetions intowhich it is di­

'l)ided, atragedy has th~ following parts: Prologue,

Episode¡ Exode, and a choral portion ...

',,1. n. Aristotle's day, tragedy had music atjts c.ore, the choms'

'. sang and danced. Tragedy grew out of music:

It [tragedy1 certainly began in in:tprovisalions-as

did <!Iso Cornedy; lhe oneoriginaling with the prelude

lo the Dithyramh, the olher 'with the prelude lo lhe phal-. . ,

lic songs, which srill surviJe as inslitulions in rnany of

our cities.

The dramatic arts grew out of an early religious ritualisti9

chanting called "dithyramb,'t a primitive musical art. i¡¡)sorne ways, as a result, Greek tragedy resembles an extended

song or syltlphony, as the folk>wing passage from the Poetidpoints out:

143