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A human being may be undisturbed; that is, he feels no pain. Then pain may be inflicted upon the human being, which means that a disturbance is created. We must understand that the disturbance is a combination of two factors: the human being and the thing which inflicts pain. After the motive is created through pain, this motive results in an intention, and this, in turn, results in a struggle with opposing difficulties. After the intention has won the struggle, a state of adjustment is gained.
This lets us recognize four stages:
The undisturbed stage.
The disturbance.
The struggle.
The adjustment.
The Undisturbed Stage
No intention and consequently no action can result from an undisturbed state of affairs. There is no pain inflicted upon any person. Therefore the person has no motive for any action. Before the disturbance occurs, the story cannot be a series of incidents, but remains a description of circumstances.
No fully undisturbed state of affairs is possible. We are born with continuous disturbances like hunger, thirst, cold, and others. These motives result in the average actions of our lives. However, a story does not concern itself with the average and common actions, but with the specific disturbances and intentions. This does not mean that we should only tell about outstanding people and their outstanding actions; but it means that we should only tell about the specific disturbances and intentions, even if they are of average people.
The story may begin with the undisturbed stage, or with the disturbance, or sometimes during the struggle. Often it may be advantageous to begin with the undisturbed stage in order to show the contrast between this stage and the disturbance. If you begin with the disturbed stage, the exposition of the disturbance becomes much simpler. For instance, you show the happy life of a family before visitors from outer space intrude. But should you want to begin with the disturbance, you have to imply an undisturbed stage: You begin with the accident of a husband, and imply that he lived happily with his wife.
The Disturbance
The human being must be disturbed in order to get into action.
A person is disturbed when something or somebody inflicts pain. Thus it is clear that a disturbance is a combination of two parts: one part is capable of “loving” or “hating” and therefore can feel pain; and the other part is this somebody or something which arouses such love or hatred.
In order to create a disturbance by a combination of two such parts, their characteristics must either repel or attract each other. To satisfy this condition, two prerequisites must be fulfilled: first of all, the two component parts must have distinctive characteristics because nonexistent or vague characteristics will neither repel nor attract each other. This, however, is not yet sufficient. There may be combinations of distinctive characterizations, which, nonetheless, remain indifferent to each other. Therefore the second prerequisite to create a disturbance is to match the characteristics of the two component parts in such manner as to produce affinity or repulsion. Thereby the writer creates the basis for a disturbance and for the resulting struggles. But he has not yet created the disturbance itself. Take for instance the combination of a man and a woman who love each other. The component parts are attracted to each other. If they are happily married, no disturbance exists. Or if a man in New York and a man in Chicago dislike each other. We have repellent characteristics. But if no relation between them exists, they will not feel disturbed.
The final step in creating a disturbance is to separate the parts with affinity or to force together the parts with repulsion.
It is comparatively simple to separate the parts with affinity. For instance, a man likes money and has none. Or a man likes a woman whom he cannot get. But no disturbance exists if the man who likes money is wealthy, or if the man who likes the woman is married to her.
It is more difficult to cause a disturbance through repulsion because the repelling parts must be forced together. If they are not, any resulting action may be compared to shadow boxing. As long as the two fighters remain in their corners, they cannot do more than look threateningly at each other. Only when they meet in the ring can they begin to fight.
We all know examples of family members who love each other as long as they are living in different cities. But if they are compelled to live in the same house, they begin to fight with each other. Many a husband is dearly beloved by his wife as long as he is on a trip, but as soon as he returns, the quarrel renews.
There are different kinds of forces or relations holding together parts with repulsion. For one thing every human being, by reason of his birth, has a relation to the outside world, that is, the circumstances surrounding him. If circumstances and character are in accord, there will be no disturbance. But if they are not, a disturbance is created. For instance, a professor of biology works in a drugstore. An innocent man is in jail. A thief is employed as sales manager in a jewelry store. A peaceful man goes to war, or an ambitious man rises from low origins. There can be a jealous woman in a harem or a courtesan in a nunnery. In all these cases we find a discord between characterization and circumstances; a disturbance is the result.
Next we find that relations exist between various people. There are family relations like parents and children, or marriage; there is friendship, or the relation between boss and employee, between people working in the same office or traveling on the same train.
These relations can either be disturbed or undisturbed, depending on the accord or discord of the people within the relation. A loyal husband and wife form an undisturbed marriage. A philandering man and a faithful woman represent a disturbance if they are married. If they are not, there is no disturbance because there is no relation between the repelling characterizations. Or a hard working son and a lazy father form a disturbance. Likewise a thrifty boss and a squandering employee. Or people living in the same house with a tenant who plays the trombone. But they will not care if a tenant in another city plays the trombone.
Finally, a relation can be created through somebody’s intention. In that case it is his intention to force himself upon you. It may be that the other person’s intention is agreeable to you — then there is no disturbance. But if he does something which you don’t like, there is a disturbance. A relation exists if a man wants to steal a thousand dollars from you. The relation continues as long as you fear he will take the money from you, or, in case he has taken it, as long as you want to get it back.
Now it is clear that we must keep the disturbance in effect as long as we need action — that is for the entire length of the dramatic story. But the very nature of the forces of affinity and repulsion is such that they desire the elimination of the disturbance; this notwithstanding the fact that they are the preliminary requirement to cause a disturbance. In other words, the forces of affinity desire to form a relation between the parts which are attracted to each other and which are separated; and the forces of repulsion desire to break a relation which holds together the parts “hating” each other. Therefore we must take care that they cannot achieve their goal as long as we need the disturbance for the dramatic purposes of the story.
By now we understand the nature of the disturbance. However, the matter is further complicated by the fact that both affinity and repulsion can exist in the same combination. A boy can love a girl, but she does not return his love. Or they both love each other, but they belong to different factions [West Side Story, 1961). There is affinity between their characters but repulsion between their circumstances. There may also be affinity between some characteristics and repulsion between others. Many marriages are that way: husband and wife love each other physically, but detest each other mentally.
The very fact that affinity and repulsion exist in the same combination may make a disturbance possible without the help of outside forces. The repulsion prevents the affinity from ending the disturbance by forming a relation while the affinity prevents the repulsion from ending the disturbance by breaking the relation. The disturbance can only end when either the affinity or the repulsion is eliminated.
This is the basis of almost every love story. The author asks himself, Why do they want to get together? And why can’t they get together? Within this circle lies the story. Consider Romeo and Juliet. Affinity through youth and beauty of the lovers, repulsion through the enmity of their families. Neither repulsion nor affinity remains victorious, therefore the tragic ending of the story, destroying the exponents of repulsion and affinity.
The only two ways in which a love story can be told dramatically are to show how the lovers realize their love, which is simply a slow process of affinity coming into effect, or that the lovers are conscious of the affinity but repulsion prevents them from getting together. The standard motion picture love story begins with the slow realization of affinity and thereafter it brings to the fore repulsion of some kind.
Until now we have spoken only of very simple characters with clear and distinct desires. Of course, characters are never that simple, they are not all wicked or decent, nor are they beautiful or ugly. A man may be courageous and undecided, lascivious and puritanical. The character can comprise qualities which contradict each other or stand in contrast to each other.
Different characters have different tastes, different likes or dislikes, different loves and hates. If these characteristics stand in contrast, it may result in a person wanting a thing and not wanting it at the same time. Affinity and repulsion are within one person. The clash is within the same human being. It can only be ended by eliminating the power of one or the other characteristic.
Two people with different affinities, unless held together by a relation like marriage, will simply separate. But one person cannot separate; therefore if opposite affinities are in one character, the person will be “tom.” This can be the case with a lascivious and puritanical man: he may be married to a decent wife and love her and the children very much. At the same time, he may have a mistress who corresponds to the sensual qualities in his character. Between the two women, the one man may be tom. Such people are often mysteries to their friends. The explanation is that they have opposing characteristics and opposite affinities.
Examples for such disturbances are as frequent in real life as in literature. Goethe in Faust says, “Alas, two souls I have in me.”
Robert Louis Stevenson goes even further in dramatizing the conflict of one person in Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. He creates the same person in two different issues, which look and act differently from each other.
The institution of the opposing God and Devil is a dramatization of the conflict in the human soul. It is difficult to understand that a disturbance through opposite characteristics like good and bad can actually take place within one and the same character. Therefore, there is the tendency to extend the conflict to two different personalities such as God and Devil.
The conflict between opposing characteristics within the same person is one of the most valuable dramatic effects. It leads up to the test of character. After the opposing characteristics have been established, the person should be forced to a choice. Invariably, this brings about a climactic scene of true dramatic force.
The conclusion from this theoretical examination is that action is not possible without characterization. The stronger an action we desire, the more careful a characterization we must create. There is no alternative: characterization or action. The two are inseparably connected. Moreover, though a script may have distinct characterizations, it may not produce disturbances if the combinations are not well fitted to each other. People who do not want anything from each other or find anything which they do not want, cannot possibly get it or not get it. From disinterested characterizations, although each one might be interesting by itself, no action can result. Very often the writer will simply “create” action. The result is painful and false. The falseness will become apparent in many scenes because people will do things for which they have no cause. This mistake is common with novelists and epic writers who try themselves in dramatic technique. Frequently, they fail to realize that the drama requires not only interesting characters, but also combinations of characters which create disturbances.
Turning our attention to the practical application of our findings, we realize that we must begin the creation of the story by inventing characterizations which will produce affinity or repulsion. This primary effort can clearly be recognized in every successful play or motion picture.
After these combinations of characterizations have been fitted together, we must strictly discriminate between the forces of affinity and the forces of repulsion. Because in order to set them to work, we must keep the parts with affinity separated and the parts with repulsion together. It is not possible to have a person run after something which he already has, nor will a man try to eliminate something which he does not have. In order to keep the parts with affinity separated, we must have the reasons for their separation, and in order to keep the parts with repulsion together, we must have the forces which prevent them from splitting.
Frequent mistakes with respect to affinity result because the writer offers no good reason for the lovers to stay separated. Such writers should go to see their pictures in small neighborhood houses where they may overhear remarks like “Why doesn’t the guy kiss her?” Or “Why don’t they get married?” Such remarks are very often based upon a true dramatic feeling of affinity which is not obstructed.
Similarly, it is a frequent mistake that the force which holds the parts with repulsion together is weaker than the force of repulsion. In this case the relation would simply be broken. But this may not be the writer’s intention: he may need action through enmity. This leads to absurd situations which again are shown up in the neighborhood movie houses. The people there ask: “Why doesn’t the guy give up the job?” if they witness a violent struggle between a boss and an employee, the latter being able to get another position, while the boss could get another employee. The force which holds the contrasting parts together is weaker than the struggle between them.
The Struggle
A story without a struggle can never be a dramatic story. It remains purely a descriptive story. This does not necessarily mean that it is a story about an undisturbed state of affairs — an idyllic story; even it if tells about people who are resigned to the permanent acceptance of a disturbance, it still remains a descriptive story. For the core of the dramatic story is the struggle, the desire to eliminate pain through acquisition or repulsion.
There are millions of different kinds of struggles, but in all this variety the dramatic struggle has its definite requirements. It is a struggle to eliminate the disturbance. The escapades of a drunken rowdy do not represent a struggle; but the persons upon whom he inflicted pain will struggle to regain an undisturbed state of affairs.
As such, the struggle appears as the transition from motive to intention to goal, and underlies all the rules which we found for this transition.
A human being will react differently to different types of motives, and the same motive will have different effects upon different human beings. Consequently, the quality of the struggle is a product of the nature of the motive and the characterization of the human being.
Consider a gangster of given character. He will react differently, that is, he will have different intentions, if you stand on his feet, refuse food to him, threaten him with a pistol, or kill his daughter. The same man with different causes for pain will have different intentions. In the first instance, the intention of the gangster may be to slap you in the face, in the second case to steal the food, in the third to eliminate your pistol, and in the last a terrible vengeance.
Now let us consider the reaction of different people with respect to the same motive. Somebody kills the daughter of a gangster, of a simple citizen, of a detective, of a religious fanatic. It is likely that the gangster intends to shoot the murderer himself, that the ordinary citizen will go to the police, that the detective goes to find the murderer, not to shoot him but to hand him over to justice, and that the religious fanatic puts a curse upon the murderer. Each human being has different reactions to the same motive and different methods by which to eliminate pain according to his nature and the means at his disposal.
But the power of the intention is determined by the strength of the pain which the motive inflicts and by the strength with which the human being is capable of reacting.
Therefore the proportion between the strength of the motive on one side and the strength of the intention on the other is of vital importance. In no event can a weak motive give rise to a strong intention.
At times, however, the strength of the cause may add to the strength of the human being. A man can grow beyond himself, if the cause warrants it.
Now we are ready for the investigation of the transition from intention to goal.
The setting of the goal follows with the same necessity as the intention results from the motive. In any and all cases, the goal is the elimination of the motive. The goal is to regain an undisturbed state of affairs. As such, the goal is clearly defined by the motive. It is not possible to struggle blindly in all directions. If our pain is caused because we want money and do not have it, our goal — as caused by this specific disturbance — cannot be to go swimming or to play the piano, but to acquire money. The piano playing, in this case, could only be a means of acquiring money and not a goal by itself.
Each intention has obstacles to overcome in order to attain the goal. The struggle is a result of intention and difficulty.
It must be evident that without an intention, that is, without wanting something, we cannot possibly have any difficulties. On the other hand, a difficulty does not exist by itself, but only through the desire of somebody to get something. A mountain is not an obstacle by itself, but only if somebody wants to get to the other side. The dramatic story of which the struggle is the essential part cannot exist without intentions and difficulties.
We find three essential types of difficulties: the obstacle, the complication, and the counterintention.
The obstacle is a difficulty of circumstantial nature: in physics it may be the law of friction against the law of continued movement. With respect to the human intention, it may be a mountain which must be climbed or lack of money or failure to understand a foreign language.
The complication is of accidental nature. For instance, a jet is grounded by bad weather, a messenger who wants to bring a message breaks his leg, a thief who wants to break into a house is prevented by the accidental arrival of a few drunks strolling along the street.
The counterintention is the definite intention of another person to prevent the fulfillment of the first person’s intention. The counterintention is also called the counterplot. The difference with respect to complication lies in the fact that the counterintention is directed toward the same goal, thereby requiring the frustration of the first intention, while the complication may be the result of the accidental arrival of an obstacle or of the unintentional interference with the first intention by another intention which, however, is directed to another goal. To use the above mentioned examples for complications: the storm is simply a meteorological disturbance without having the definite purpose of forcing the airplane down. But if the jet is grounded because of an attack of the enemy, or because of the work of saboteurs, then you have a counterintention directed to the negative goal while the intention desires the positive goal. The broken leg of the messenger is not a counterintention but an accident. The accidental arrival of a drunk who prevents the thief from breaking into the house does not represent an intention to prevent the thief from fulfilling his plans. But if the policemen arrive after the thief has touched off a burglar alarm, they represent a counterintention.
Because it is directed to the same goal and represents a conscious desire to obstruct the first intention, the counterintention is the most effective dramatic difficulty. The advantages lie in the fact that the struggle continually gains new aspects, and that the chances of victory or defeat are rapidly changing.
In comparison, the complication is less effective; because of its accidental nature, it arouses resentment in the spectator: it is neither planned nor desired by anybody, it could not have been prevented or foreseen by the actor, and therefore it is no real test of the human being’s power to execute his will. Furthermore, because it is accidental, it cannot persist; it is a temporary difficulty, since the storm will dissolve into good weather, the leg is going to heal, and the drunk will leave the street. But the counterintention will only cease to exist when the first intention is fulfilled or frustrated.
The obstacle’s disadvantage is caused by its tendency to remain static — its circumstantial nature cannot undergo any sudden changes. The mountain remains a mountain throughout the story. Therefore, while obstacle and complication are satisfactory temporary difficulties, they should not be employed as the main difficulties for an entire story. However, they can be used advantageously to strengthen the counterintention.
Just as the intention, the difficulty is characterized through quality and strength. Not anybody or anything is a difficulty for a certain intention. The quality of the person or thing in relation to the quality of the intention can cause opposition. Only a person or thing which opposes the path of the intention can be a difficulty.
Furthermore, we find that every difficulty has certain strength. It appears as the power to resist. Therefore it can only become manifest through the clash with the intention.
If you want to smash a window, the difficulty has little strength because the glass has little power to resist. If you want to break into a safe, the difficulty is stronger because the steel offers greater resistance. Although it exists constantly, the strength of the difficulty becomes manifest only if somebody intends to break the resistance. In the same way, the power of the intention remains latent; that is, it cannot exert its force if the goal is attained easily. This does not mean that the intention is less strong if it has no difficulties to overcome. It simply means that its power can only become manifest by virtue of the power of the difficulties which it overcomes or which it wants to overcome. Both the man who wins over strong difficulties and the man who fails reveal strong intentions. It is neither success nor failure in the desire to overcome the difficulties which reveals the strength of the intention, because success or failure depends upon fate, competence, good or bad luck. But the strength of an intention is already revealed by the strength of the difficulties which it attacks.
If a man loves a woman very much, his desire to be united with her is very strong. If he lives in Long Island and she in New York, the difficulties going from one place to the other are very weak. But if the man is in China and the woman in New York, the difficulties are considerable. In both cases the intention of the man to be united with the woman is equally strong. But in the first case the strength of the intention cannot become manifest, because the difficulties which he has to overcome are small, whereas in the second case the strength of the man’s intention becomes manifest. Whether he gets to New York or not has nothing to do with the strength of the intention, which is already revealed by the simple fact that he attempts such a difficult task.
For these reasons, it is not practicable to “talk” of the strength of intentions in the dramatic story; instead their power must be made manifest through the clash with strong difficulties. Many an author is so convinced of the strength of his protagonist’s intentions — particularly, if the story is true — that he fails to make them manifest. But the spectator has no proof of the strength of emotions or intentions; he is reluctant to believe the words of the author as well as the words of the actor. He will only believe it when the strength becomes manifest through the clash with difficulties. Even the theatre allowed the hero to proclaim at length how much he loved the heroine; but the theatre is limited in the quantity and variety of intentions. The motion picture, however, with its possibilities of showing many intentions has the duty of making them manifest through the clash.
As such, the struggle is a fight between opposing forces, whether they are attack and resistance or attack and counterattack. Any fight between opposing forces must end in victory and defeat unless the fight is interrupted or ends in a draw. Such an interruption is not permissible in the dramatic story. Victory and defeat are identical with the fulfillment and the frustration of the intention, respectively. The final decision is rendered in the climax. After the climax no change is possible. The climax, however, is not identical with the goal. The climax decides the defeat of one side, after which the victorious side may proceed to attain the goal, which may be attained instantly or at some later date.
Thus we find a number of factors with conclusive relations and proportions between them. We find an interwoven and interconnected system of laws which is easily violated. The resulting mistakes are not easily recognized.
From the motive we can conclude to an intention, from the intention to the goal; therefore we can also conclude from the motive to the goal. From the intention alone we can conclude backwards to a motive and forward to a goal. From the goal we can conclude to a preceding intention and from there to a motive. The only factor remaining outside this circle of logical conclusion is the fulfillment or frustration of the intention.
The difficulty of the material often tempts the writer to overlook or violate these relations. At times, he may show a motive without following it up with an intention. At times, he may show intentions without motives. This is particularly tempting when he needs an intention for a certain story development for which he has no motive. Then again, it happens that, through the developments in his story, motives are created which are not wanted by him. He is not interested in the intentions resulting from these disturbances and therefore is tempted to disregard them. But this is not possible: whether undesired or overlooked, violations of these conclusive relations are mistakes. The writer must learn to respect these laws. In order to find the motive, he can ask, Why would a man act like that? In order to find the intention he can ask, How would a man act if this happened to him? The failure to realize latent motives might be expressed by the somewhat exaggerated example of a man who stays in bed even though his room is afire, which should be sufficient motive for him to run away.
Another frequent mistake results when the writer may have given a motive, but would like the actor to attain a goal which is more practicable for the story purposes. Then he has a motive without resulting intention and goal, and he has a goal which lacks intention and motive.
Furthermore, the strengths of motive and intention stand in proportion. They must be of equal strength. It happens very often that the clash with the difficulties reveals a stronger intention than the motive warrants. Let us consider this example: The boss of an engineering firm sends one of his employees to a factory which is losing money. The engineer goes there. His motive is simple: it is his job, he gets paid for it. Upon his arrival, he finds that arsonists from a competing factory are trying to ruin the machinery. In the course of the conflict both sides get into great danger: they risk their lives. Now let us review the motives: He makes five hundred dollars a week. For that he has to risk his life. It does not make sense. Now let us attempt to improve the strength of the motive in order to make it equal to the strength of the intention. The engineer has tried everywhere to get a job and has failed; he is about to starve when he is offered this assignment. This motive makes sense. If he does not accept the job, he might starve. If he takes it, he is liable to get killed. Or let us try another way: the saboteurs are from outer space. If the engineer risks his life, he does not do it for five hundred dollars a week, but for the planet Earth. That is strong enough to account for a strong intention.
These are the dangers resulting from the interconnection of these laws. But there are also advantages.
If these relations and proportions are so firm and strict that we can conclude from one to the other, we can dispense with showing and exposing each and all of them; it will be sufficient to expose one in order to know the others. This is of inestimable value in telling the motion picture story.
On the other hand, if the writer fails to take into consideration this automatic exposition of the factors between themselves, and hopes to avoid contradictions simply by showing only one or two factors, he could be compared to an ostrich who puts his head into the sand.
Now we come to a very important point: The only exception with regard to these automatic conclusions is the fulfillment or frustration of the intention. But this possible uncertainty underlies equally firm rules. We know that the intention has the desire to attain the goal. Therefore we conclude that it will attain the goal. The only case where the uncertainty comes into effect is when the intention is opposed by difficulties. To be uncertain about the fulfillment or frustration of the intention, we need knowledge of the existence of opposing difficulties.
This has prepared our understanding for one of the most essential facts about motion picture writing. Now we are in a position to transform our theoretical knowledge into the rules for its practical application.
In reality, the transition from motive to intention to goal takes time. If we want to walk from Washington to New York, our undertaking will require a long time. If we want to light a cigarette, the time required is short.
It is our desire to represent those intentions which require a long time as well as those which require a short time. But the motion picture has only about two hours at its disposal while the intention to walk from Washington to New York requires probably two weeks. Nevertheless, the motion picture is able to contain such time-absorbing actions because of the interruptions between scenes. We remember that during the change from one scene to another an undefined lapse of time occurs. Consequently, the transition from motive to intention to goal may have taken place in this lapse of time.
This is a singular advantage of the motion picture because the theatre, which has only few scenes, and thus few lapses of time between them, must nearly always execute the entire transition; it must show the entire development, except for the rare intermissions or exits and entrances of the actors. The disadvantage is twofold: first, it makes the movement of the story slower, and second, the stage has to discard many developments which would take too long to execute.
But the motion picture can make use of our ability to conclude with regard to the transition from one factor to the other by pushing the actual time-absorbing transition into the lapse of time between scenes.
Thus we can decide which happenings should occur in the lapse of time and which should be presented in a scene. Every action, every happening or event, every development to which we can conclude, should be pushed into the lapse of time. It is without interest to us. If something to which we can conclude is shown to us, it has the same effect as if we were told again what we already know. It is as if it were told to us twice, thereby boring us and slowing the progress of the picture.
Only those developments and happenings to which we cannot conclude with certainty are interesting to us, and they should be shown. Now we found that the only factor which is beyond the reach of our conclusion is the attainment of the goal, if we have the knowledge of opposing difficulties. The execution of an intention becomes interesting only if there is a possibility of its frustration. In reverse, this means that in order to be permitted to show the execution of an intention, we must create an opposing difficulty. As soon as this possible opposition disappears, we conclude to the fulfillment of the intention and the picture must lead us immediately to the goal.
Let us consider an example: A man intends to go to Florida. He has the money, he has the time, and there is no doubt connected with the attainment of the goal of this intention.
The picture would be forced to show him immediately in Florida. It would be entirely without interest to show him buying the tickets, going to the station, taking the train, and then arriving in Florida. In order to make it possible to show all these things, we would have to establish that something or somebody wanted to prevent him from going there, because then we could not conclude with certainty that the man’s intention would attain the goal.
This applies also to the love story. If a man and a woman with perfect affinity and no obvious difficulties meet each other, there is no doubt that they will attain their goal. The picture would have to show their marriage in the next shot, since we have no doubt of the fulfillment of their intention. All love scenes in between are without any interest. In order to show these love scenes, we must give the spectator a knowledge of some difficulties to prevent him from concluding to the goal.
The opposite case is equally wrong. When we have the knowledge of some opposing difficulties, it would be false if the picture led us immediately to the goal, because then we could not conclude to the attainment of the goal. There is a doubt about the fulfillment of the intention, therefore the execution of the intention must be shown For instance, a man wants to drive from one town to another. We know that some criminals have prepared a trap on the highway. It would be wrong to show the arrival of the man in the next scene. This is a very obvious example, but there are cases where the intention is confronted with difficulties which are not particularly desired by the writer. If you cross from the living room to the bedroom, there are no apparent or obvious difficulties confronting your intention. But if a man crosses the Amazon jungle, he is confronted with enormous difficulties. It would be impossible to conclude to the successful fulfillment of his intention. The writer is forced to show instances where the intention successfully overcomes the opposing difficulty — escape from hostile tribes or the killing of snakes — or he must prepare beforehand such a safe way of executing the intention that we conclude to the successful attainment of the goal. Or he may tell us afterwards how he was able to overcome the difficulties. But in no event is the writer allowed to ignore the difficulties which oppose an intention.
With this, we have investigated all the rules with regard to the struggle and their practical application to the motion picture story.
The Adjustment
The adjustment takes place when the goal is attained. It means that the purpose of the struggle is fulfilled: the disturbance has ceased to exist.
The disturbance is the point of beginning and the adjustment the point of end. The transformation from one to the other can either be gradual or sudden, which means that in the first case the process of adjustment is slow and distributed over the whole story; in the second case the adjustment is rapid, made possible through a sudden event. In either case the struggle is continuous.
We find only three possible ways of achieving adjustment: either we destroy the forces of affinity or repulsion, or we form a relation between the objects of affinity, or we disrupt a relation between the objects of repulsion.
A relation can be formed or disrupted suddenly and momentarily. We can get married quickly after the difficulties which may have stood in the way have been overcome, and we are quickly and suddenly relieved if our enemy is shot. But in order to annul the forces of affinity or repulsion we must either change the characterization or the circumstances. Circumstances may change quickly or slowly; for instance, we may acquire money in a poker game or lose it in a bank crash, or we may get another job on the other hand, we may save money slowly. But characterization can only be changed in a slow process. A character may deteriorate in the course of years, or improve in the course of months, a vivacious person may become depressed and a sad person optimistic, a stupid person can learn, and a carefree person become disciplined. But it is not possible that a thoroughly bad person becomes good instantly, nor a brutal person mild, nor a liar a truthful man. For these reasons an adjustment where the forming or disrupting of a relationship is involved, or where an annulment of affinity or repulsion through a change of circumstances is needed, can take place rapidly. But where a change of character is necessary, the adjustment must be gradual and slow.
It happens often that the writer is little concerned with the adjustment until the latter part of the story. This is possible if the adjustment is to take place rapidly, but if it is to be achieved by reason of a change of character, it must be prepared long before. Failure to recognize this results in very silly situations: the writer searches for something which will suddenly change the wicked fellow into a good person. He will search in vain, for there is nothing strong enough to change a character suddenly. But here we remember that a character may consist of two contrasting sides. If this is the case, a certain event may cause the victory of the good or the bad side; however, this is not equal to a change of character but to a victory of one characteristic over the other. For this reason it must be established beforehand that both sides exist in the one character.
A good example of the change of character is Shakespeare’s Taming of the Shrew. Kate starts out as a wild girl, and is slowly transformed into a mild and subdued woman. But even there we should assume that in all her original wildness is a desire to be subdued, which again is equal to two different sides of one character. The disadvantages of such a slow adjustment lie in the fact that no climax is possible, and that Petruchio’s intention to subdue her gradually loses uncertainty because it becomes more and more evident that she will be subdued as her character changes into mildness. This gradual change toward certainty of the outcome diminishes our interest gradually, equally so in the musical Kiss Me Kate.
Adjustment means that an undisturbed state of affairs has been attained. This undisturbed state of affairs can either be the same from which we started out or another one. It is very dangerous to return to the same state of affairs, because then — even though things have happened — nothing has been changed. The audience will feel dissatisfaction if it is led back to the starting point, like the man in the desert who returns via his own tracks. If nothing has changed in spite of all the forces that were aroused, the spectator is liable to ask, Why tell this story? If the adjustment is achieved through the marriage of a formerly unmarried couple, you have a change. Or if the adjustment results from a divorce, you still have a change. But if you have a story of a married couple, and of a third person who arrives and threatens to break up the marriage — if this story ends with the outside person being pushed away and the married couple continuing to live happily — you have no change. To make this story workable it will be necessary to show at least that the married couple fights over little things. Suddenly, real trouble comes along in the form of a third person. After this person is eliminated, the love of the couple becomes stronger and sublimated. There will be some change at least.
It is interesting to note that in Alfred Hitchcock’s picture Suspicion (1941), most spectators feel intense dissatisfaction after the ending. There seems to be no obvious reason, because it is a happy ending. The explanation is that no change is achieved through the struggle. Cary Grant and Joan Fontaine are happily married before and after. This is further accentuated because the straggle arises not from a real cause but from a fictitious one. The public resents having to take part in suspicion and suspense for no actual reason and with no actual result.
This explains the nature of adjustment with regard to disturbance and struggle. It must be realized, however, that within the story not all intentions can achieve adjustment. To the contrary, in a story with intention and counterintention, the one must be prevented from achieving adjustment in order to let the other attain it. Even though not every intention can be adjusted, every intention must be brought to an end, which can mean frustration, whereas adjustment means that the intention attains its goal by being fulfilled.
If the writer has brought all intentions to an end, he has a right to hope that the audience is satisfied, but soon he will find out that the audience will not accept definite frustration of a good intention, nor will it believe in the final adjustment of a bad intention. Its verdict is likely to be that the story is not at an end because it would only be finished after the good had won.
Therefore an unhappy ending caused by a failure of adjustment that might possibly be achieved at a later time is a false unhappy ending. As long as man lives, he will continue to strive, to hope, to desire an adjustment. We expect the persons whose intentions apparently have been frustrated to try sooner or later to achieve adjustment. We can take such an unhappy ending only as a temporary situation. We know that the unhappy person’s mind is not at rest, because it still feels pain; and feeling pain, the person will act to eliminate the cause for pain. Audiences are not satisfied because they want to know how the next attempt to achieve adjustment will come out.
The acceptance of a constantly disturbed balance is called resignation. To a certain degree, it may constitute a point of rest and consequently a proper ending for a story. The only difficulty is that no human being is ever entirely resigned, while someone may be entirely satisfied. The disturbance is latent and can be aroused at any time. Therefore the audience refuses to accept the ending as final.
A true unhappy ending exists when the exponent of the good, or one of the lovers, dies. Then it is impossible to achieve an adjustment at a later time. The tragic effect caused by such an unhappy ending is not a result of faulty dramatic construction but of story content. Perhaps ironically, director Arthur Hiller’s Love Story (1970), a smash hit, has a true unhappy ending when the girl dies. If both lovers die, however, we have no real unhappy ending, because then the lovers are united in death. It is interesting to notice that an audience does not resent such an unhappy ending, because it feels that the lovers are not separated. You feel no dissatisfaction at the ending of Romeo and Juliet (most recent film version, 1996) or Bonnie and Clyde (1967), because in those stories the lovers are united in death. The explanation or our lack of dissatisfaction from the structural point of view is that no disturbance remains, as it does in those cases where one lover remains alive.