An Imitation of an Action…

As we shall see when we discuss STORY in the next section, and I shall be repeating almost as often as Aristotle does, the subject of a successful screenplay, the central idea, the premise, is not a person. It is not a location. It is not an era or historical event. Not a theme or arena of thought. Rather, it is an ACTION. A doing. A thing that is done.

So The Odyssey is not a story about Odysseus. It is a story about Odysseus trying to get home. Likewise , Annie Hall is not a movie about Annie Hall. It is a movie about Alvy Singer trying to win the heart of Annie Hall. Those are actions. To return. To woo.

Jake Gittes is trying to solve the case. Sheriff Brody is trying to kill that shark. Jeffrey Lebowski is trying to get his dang rug back. After all, it really tied the room together.

These are all ACTIONS. Good dramas are based upon an action, something specific that our hero is trying desperately to accomplish. Knowing and accepting this simple truth is critical to crafting a successful screenplay.

And of course, Aristotle refers to it as an “imitation” of an action, in keeping with our earlier discussion of mimesis, reminding us that this is a construct, a fiction, a REPRESENTATION of that action and not the action itself.

…That Is Serious…

Some might suggest that Aristotle is distinguishing here between subject matter that is appropriate for a tragedy versus what is fit for a comedy, that the former must be serious while the latter may be frivolous.

But a better understanding of this part of his definition is that in Aristotle’s time as in ours, what is serious, often translated as “admirable,” is simply that which is worthy of being written about. Once upon a time, that referred to the actions of the gods, of noble people, of characters of a higher station than the audience. Their actions were worthy of representation, for their plight, their successes and failures could be seen as a lesson for the common man, the ones for whom the narrative was intended.

But Aristotle understood that the dramatic arts are an evolving medium, that in addition to such elements as the use of a chorus and the number of actors on stage, the dramatic subjects and manners of representation of his time were further along, more complex, than those of his forebearers.

And as Aristotle predicted, that evolution has not ceased. Nowadays, what is worth writing about includes just about anything that gets at the heart of the human experience. Not just gods and nobility, but WE are worthy subjects. OUR actions and desires are serious and admirable.

In fact, you can trace the evolution of narrative subject matter from the time of the Greeks to today and see that it is really a history of the broadening of that sense of serious, from Oedipus Rex to Willy Loman to Jeffrey Lebowski. Our stories today still remain about an action that is admirable; only our sense of what constitutes admirable has been democratized along with most every other aspect of our society.

…Complete…

The narrative has closure. It starts at the beginning of the story, a bunch of stuff happens, and then it ends at the story’s conclusion. Seems basic enough, though this simple clause will form the basis of our entire approach to structure. Much much more on this to come.

…And of a Certain Magnitude…

The drama is an appropriate size. Not too small, not too big, as Goldilocks might say, in terms of subject matter, scope, and duration. It is composed of just the right number of events in order to tell the story of this action, to get from the beginning to the end, with nothing extraneous or tangential in between. This will also be a vital concept when it comes to determining a story’s proper structure.

…In Language Embellished with Each Kind of Artistic Ornament… Found in Separate Parts of the Play…

Aristotle goes on to explain that this passage refers specifically to the use of song and verse in a drama, literary devices very much in vogue in the tragedies of his time. Not so much today. But as we’ve noted, Aristotle acknowledges the art of dramatic writing continues to evolve, so some specific elements (like those awesome dithyrambs) may have changed or fallen by the wayside.

Still, song and verse continue to play a role in movies, whether we’re discussing an outright musical like Singin’ in the Rain or La La Land, or a more conventional story embellished with a musical score or soundtrack to help convey the narrative and enhance the emotional impact.

But beyond literal music, the concept of “language embellished with artistic ornament,” sometimes translated as “language made pleasurable,” will become more relevant when we discuss the crafting of actual script pages. As we’ll see, the choice of specific words and phrasing is never incidental, but always intended to create the most pleasurable experience for both the film’s audience hearing those words, and the screenplay’s readers reading them.

…In the Form of Action, Not Narrative…

Pretty straightforward. The story is told through actors, not a narrator. This is what separates drama from all other writing mediums, epic poetry, novels, short stories, etc. No one is telling the story. It is being acted out by the characters within it as it transpires. As we shall see, this creates something unique from all those other forms, the fact that the audience is never TOLD what is going on. Rather, they are SHOWN.

And finally—

…Through Pity and Fear Affecting the Proper Purgation of These Emotions.

And now we circle back to our original discussion of why we tell stories, that drama creates an emotional experience, allowing for an expunging or purification of those emotions. But why pity and fear? Is he talking specifically here about tragedy, the genre we might expect to elicit those powerful emotions? Or can we take away something broader here?

Let’s start by examining the difference between these two very specific emotions. We pity someone because we feel sorry for what is happening to them. In dramatic terms, we pity them because they don’t deserve their fate. The key here is that we see them as separate and distinct from us. Pity comes from a place of superiority. We aren’t having their bad luck, so we can stand in judgment of it.

On the other hand, fear comes about when we ourselves feel affected, when we are in danger. When experiencing a drama, we feel fear because we realize that the same fate might befall us.

So by choosing these two distinct emotions, pity and fear, Aristotle demonstrates that an effective drama creates an emotional experience by having us objectively OBSERVE the actions and the characters experiencing them (pity), while at the same time having us directly IDENTIFY with what they are going through (fear).

As a result, when we experience these two emotions, we are simultaneously WATCHING and PARTICIPATING in the action.

Hmm, are you having a bit of déjà vu all over again? Watching and participating may enable us to experience both pity and fear, but if you’ve been paying attention, you’ll recall they are also the dual activities that allow us to both LEARN and FEEL. Mimesis and catharsis.

So our definition of WHAT constitutes a dramatic narrative has come full circle back to the WHY of it. AGP #1! A good drama must compel us to both watch and participate in the action in order to allow us to learn about ourselves through an emotional experience.

Simple enough, right?

Yeah, right.

Truth is, even after we embrace the ramifications of Aristotle’s definition of drama—and we’d be foolish not to, it’s pretty solid, with little to add or argue—the question remains: How do we, as modern screenwriters, make use of these admittedly abstract truths to help us write effective screenplays?

We may now have a sense of what we need to end up with, but how do we get there?

Well, every journey begins with a single step. And our first step is simply to acknowledge the most important element of any dramatic narrative. The alpha and the omega of every good screenplay.

So let’s do that… and begin our journey.