Mark Moran

Prof. Milena Jelinek, T.A. Monica Nordhaus

Script Analysis – First Paper

7 October 1999

Analyzing Classical Structure

Robert McKee is probably the most famous and most successful screenwriting teacher in the world.  McKee’s recent book Story is one of the more comprehensive books on film writing and structure, but there are dozens of others which say essentially the same thing.  McKee, like nearly all of the hundreds or thousands of screenwriting teachers and authors, has not really written any significant drama works himself.  Nor will more than a tiny fraction of his readers or students.  This is because there really is no good way to teach people how to write a screenplay.  The only way to learn to write a film is the same way people have learned since the invention of drama – by analyzing the stories that work (and those that don’t).  Fortunately, although writing can’t be taught directly, how to analyze a film is something that can be taught.  And McKee is quite good at it.

Before a film can be analyzed, one must identify what type of film it is.  News programs, music videos, and sketch comedy shows are all types of films, but they do not have a story line in the way that conventional feature films do.  Even within feature films, there is a wide-range of story-telling methods.  Some films, particularly independent or smaller budget films, have open endings, or multiple or passive protagonists, or deal primarily with internal conflict.  McKee refers to these films as minimalist or “miniplot.”  Even less common, some films, such as experimental films, have inconsistent realities, or nonlinear time, or rely on coincidence.  McKee labels these films anti-structural or “antiplot.”  Then there are movies which do not even have a plot or story, which he naturally calls “non-plot.”  (McKee 43-58)

However, the vast majority of films and nearly all mainstream Hollywood films fit into the category of classical design, which McKee calls “archplot.”  Classically designed stories have an “active protagonist who struggles against primarily external forces of antagonism to pursue his or her desire, through continuous time, within a consistent and causally connected fictional reality, to a closed ending of absolute, irreversible change” (45).  Classically designed stories have been so successful throughout time that their structures have been well-studied.  These stories also share enough common elements that they are the most straightforward plots to analyze.  For this reason and because most films are classically structured, these are the types of films that our class and McKee’s book are concerned with examining.

The first step when analyzing a classically structured film is to identify the main plot or story line of the movie.  Identifying the main plot requires identifying the protagonist(s) as well as the forces of antagonism.  Doing this also reveals which story elements form sub-plots, and what roles various characters play in the film.  The next step is to identify where the major reversals in the story are, which divide the movie into separate parts called “acts.”  There are generally, though not always, three acts in a classically structured movie, with the first and third acts each being about ¼ of the movie’s length and the middle act twice as long.  In general, the first act introduces the audience to the characters and sets up the main problem or goal for the protagonist.  (The protagonist is sometimes two or more characters who have the same goal or problem and thus function as a single character.)  The first act ends when the protagonist takes a decisive action that substantially changes his life.  The long second act consists of the progressive series of complications that prevent the protagonist from reaching his goal, usually culminating with the character appearing as far from his goal as possible.  The final act contains the climax and resolution, in which the protagonist ultimately confronts his dilemma and affects a monumental change in himself or his world.  (McKee 41-42, 208-232)

Many analyses only break the film into its acts; however, it is possible to further examine the individual acts of the film.  This requires closer investigation of the story and determining exactly what values are at stake for the characters and at which moments they change.  McKee uses the term “story values” to refer to these “universal qualities of human experience that may shift from positive to negative, or negative to positive from one moment to the next” (34).  He calls the moments of change “story events.”  A typical film, he writes, has 40-60 story events, each of which should constitute a “scene.”  Each series of scenes (generally 2-5) that function together to form a bigger change in the story or character is called a “sequence.”  Using this terminology, an act can then be described as a series of sequences which function together to affect a major story reversal.  Going the other direction, McKee also describes how to break a scene into smaller components, which he calls “beats.”  Beats are the exchanges of behavior, often an action and reaction, that cause minor changes within a scene and push it forward.  These are the smallest elements of story structure. (33-42)  This level of beat analysis is usually not necessary in analyzing scripts except to closely studying how one or two particularly critical scenes develop.

 

The first film we looked at in class is one of the best examples in recent years of a classically designed film.  The Verdict, by David Mamet, is an excellent script to study because it elegantly demonstrates classic story-telling within the three-act paradigm without being predictable or cliché.  The film’s plot is a redemption story about a down-and-out Boston attorney who is offered an easy-money-making case but turns it into a chance to redeem himself.  The protagonist is Frank Gavin, a corrupt, self-destructive, bankrupt and alcoholic attorney who hasn't won a case in years.  The inciting incident occurs when he is offered a malpractice lawsuit which he can settle out of court and collect a $70,000 retainer for virtually no work.  The first act ends when he decides to refuse the settlement offer and take on the Catholic Church, which owns the hospital, and their unbeatable law firm.  In the second act, various events unfold, some positive but most negative, which make it extremely unlikely that Gavin will win the trial.  Even worse, he has illegally forfeited his clients’ right to their settlement money and he now is at risk of being disbarred.  The final act begins when, by coincidence, he is able to steal a telephone bill and get in contact with the one witness who can possibly save his case.  The story ends with a resounding court victory for Gavin, who is now sober, ethical, and on his way to becoming wealthy and successful again.

The value at stake in The Verdict (and in most other redemption plots) is the protagonist’s soul (or, less dramatically, his self-respect).  Gavin begins the film in a state of self-loathing, what McKee calls the “negation of the negation”, the lowest possible value for his self-respect (320).  As the story progresses, he gradually becomes more confident in his ability and self-worth, even though victory in court seems farther away.  By the middle of the film, his confidence is high enough that he is capable of falling in love with a woman.  This love story, the film’s only major sub-plot, ultimately complicates the main plot because the woman turns out to be a spy for the opposing law firm.  By the end, however, Gavin’s self-esteem has risen so high that not only is he a competent and respectable attorney, but he also has the personal confidence to reject the woman who betrayed him.

David Mamet’s scripts are famous for pitting the unlikely hero against seemingly invincible antagonists, such as the Boston Archdiocese or an ultra-powerful technology company.  What makes his screenplays compelling, however, is their continual escalation of tension and risk.  For example, a character might initially be at risk only of being cheated out of his royalties, then of losing his job, then of losing his freedom (being framed and imprisoned), and finally of losing his life (as in his recent film The Spanish Prisoner).  With each progressive complication, the stakes are higher because the story value is more important.  In The Verdict, Frank Gavin initially has nothing to lose.  Then he risks giving up an easy $70,000.  As Act II progresses, however, our concern increases because we realize that he not only is going to lose his law license, but ultimately his last chance for salvation.  Stories like this take us to the limit of human emotion and experience, and they show us what a great film can be made from a solid, classically structured script.