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ConflictPART IOne of the first things youīll have to learn as a screenwriter is that conflict is good. Without conflict there is no drama, and without drama, there is no excitement. Ergo, you shouldnīt be afraid of conflict. Yeah, I know. I heard the pitch too... The problem with that statement is that itīs only partially true. But letīs start with what is true.
Still, you sometimes get into conflict, because you are properly motivated. If you feel strongly about something, you allow yourself to be dragged from the comfortable conflict-free zone youīre usually occupying, in order to acchieve something that hopefully will ensure an even more comfortable conflict-free zone. "So, what has that to do with writing?", you ask. Well, you will have to keep in mind that thereīs a difference between starting or participating in conflicts, and using conflicts as a driving force in a story. Youīre not a troublemaker, because youīre looking for conflict. Youīre a writer. But how do you get that, I mean, really understand that, deep inside? How do you overcome the feeling that youīre doing something wrong when youīre intruding on someone elseīs life, or tease someone just to see their reaction? Itīs not as easy as people would have you believe. But you can use the shield of "Iīm a writer" by dividing yourself into part writer, part human being. When youīre normal, you can ease about, you can shy away when people are angry, and so on. BUT, when youīre a writer, you can eavesdrop, you can enjoy personal tragedies, and you can even borrow your friends secrets. Thatīs okay, youīre a writer. You wonīt believe it now, but youīll get used to it. Because you will find ways of defending it to yourself. Also, itīs your job. It will undoubtedly take some time to get used to this rift in your personality, but itīs no different from doctors who donīt want to examine their friendsī possibly infected wounds. Itīs not that different either from cops who donīt want to interrogate their immediately family. Soon you will be able to tell the difference between your two roles, but during the first period you will probably have to spend some time feeling a nosy, cold, evil bastard. It takes time to develop that hardened heart, but you will reap the benefits later: an unending inflow of material. And it will not mean that you will feel that way forever. Itīs just a phase. You can still be a loving person... (if you ever were loving, that is...)
And this conflict will have to increase over the story, so that the protagonist will face even bigger obstacles, and will experience even more pain. The sooner you realise this and strive to make it so, the sooner your writing will improve. To increase something that you feel uncomfortable with, is not easy. But that is the entire point of conflict. When your audience seek out fiction, they do so because they want to experience a challenge that they know that they can win. They want to be challenged just so much that they think that they can take no more, and then get their release. This means that you will have to go beyond the normal level of conflict. The audience wants it, and unless you give it to them, they will not listen to your stories.
This doesnīt mean that fictional characters donīt suffer from fear of conflict. But when they do, itīs for a reason: as a character trait, or to create more conflict. Thatīs the reason why characters in horror movies go into the haunted house, or the policeman accepts the case in cop movies. Theyīre not like you or me. Theyīre motivated. And properly motivated, even you would go into that haunted house. You donīt know it yet, but your unwillingness to go into a haunted house will help you. Because, if youīre unwilling, then youīre perfect for the job of finding a reason that would change your mind. Would a helpless child stuck inside the house change your mind? Or some great treasure? Or the medicin that could save your life? Thereīs always something you can use to motivate your characters.
Now, letīs go on to the good stuff. Letīs examine how that oft-repeated statement can be false...
Arguing, silence filled with subtext, action sequences, union striking, sibling rivalry, natural disasters, and all those things in between, can easily be categorised as conflicts, and yet you wouldnīt treat them in the same way, except on some basic levels. Any advice directed at those basic levels will become very hollow. Instead, we need to look at the different types and levels separately if we are to learn something. That also why a definition wouldnīt give you much help with your writing. So letīs go not even go there.
The great guru himself, Robert McKee, in Story, compares conflict in stories with sounds in music. Each art are temporal, and the artistīs task is to "hook our interest, hold our uninterrupted concentration, then carry us through without an awareness of the passage of time." (Story (1998), p 210.) To examine the truth of this, just imagine what would happen if the orchestra would stop playing. I agree with McKee, but what McKee fails to tell us is that music is also based on variation. You wouldnīt want to hear a song that only has a single note, played over and over again. And to take an example closer to what youīre doing: imagine hearing your neighbours arguing. At first you may be inclined to hear what theyīre saying, but if the arguing would continue for hours, days or weeks at an end, you would stop caring. This is pretty self-evident, isnīt it? So why is not one book and web site about screenwriting writing about it? Well, I am. And later on, I will explain how you can insure your story from being as boring as your neighbours quarrelling. Later...
Read that sentence again, and Iīll explain soon what I mean. You have to find exactly the right conflict that fit into your universe and fit your characters, and that serve your overall story in the best possible way. Itīs not hard to find examples of what happens when you just throw together different conflicts. Just imagine a story where someone is getting a death sentence, and starts fussing about the spelling in the verdict. Of course this behaviour could be appropriate in a comedy, or as a way to show how the character is in denial, but if done seriously, it would do damage to the story in a big way. And Iīve seen similar things done. Sometimes you will meet a conflict that will have to be adressed, but you donīt want the story to be about that petty conflict. You have bigger fish to fry. How do your do that? Donīt gloss over it. Pretend itīs going to be the big conflict and then let one of your characters say something like: "Of course I donīt believe that you want to marry me just because you stand on one knee. Why are you standing on one knee?"
Of course there are scenes without conflict. Just look at love making scenes. Or party scenes. Or scenes where someone just walks from their car to the murder suspectīs house. The conflict may lie around the corner, but that single scene may be totally conflict-free. I wonīt forbid you to put in some scenes without conflict. Itīs just when all scenes lack sufficient conflict, that the problem arises.
Later, Iīll defend conflict again, but for now Iīll let you think about those questions.
There are several types of conflict. This you know. In fact, I bet that you could exemplify quite a number of types of conflict without skipping a beat: arguments, feuds, struggles, wars, disputes, rebellions, quarrels, etc, etc. Thatīs good. But thatīs not types of conflict. Thatīs synonyms, describing the same type of conflict: two sides engaging each other, either by words or actions. You could call this type the clash. The difference between the synonyms is the level of conflict (more on that later.) A completely different type of conflict is the block. Here one side is pursuing something, while the other is putting obstacles in the way. The obstacles could be words (such as reciting a law, threaten, or giving misinformation), or actions (such as locking a door, destroying the last vehichle out of there, or hurting the protagonistīs fellow traveller). The protagonist can very well be the one doing the blocking, as in THE BODYGUARD. And of course, the antagonist may be non-human, as in almost every disaster movie. Related to this type of conflict is the attack, where one side attacks the other, verbally or physically, while the other side is passive, at least in that heīs not attacking himself. The protagonist can be both attacker and attacked. Rivalry is another type of conflict, where you not only have two sides, but also some kind of measuring rod or judge to name the winner. You can compete in sports, in wits, at corporate level, at state level, as a bet, or a hundred other ways. A somewhat different conflict is the mystery, where the absence of one side is the whole point. The side of the antagonist is missing, hidden or misunderstood, and the solution to the conflict is finding the antagonist and dealing with him/her/it. (This is one way of putting the audience in inferior position. Another is to make the protagonist of the entire story a mystery in a scene, like this: "What the devil is Hugh Grant up to now?") A popular type of conflict is the dilemma, where the protagonist is forced to make a difficult decision, either between two equally good alternatives, or between two equally bad alternatives. You should always take good time in describing the "other" alternative. In comedies and thrillers, there are conflicts about misunderstanding, where the truth and the lie, or a different interpretation, are in focus. The protagonist and the antagonist serve as vessels for the different points of view, and can each be the misunderstood part. Thatīs pretty much it! Thatīs all the conflict you need. But whatīs the use of knowing these types of conflicts? What do you do with them? Iīm not suggesting that you should pick one and then write a story, because I know thatīs not how stories are created. And Iīm not saying that you should know this because "theory is good". Iīm telling you these types of conflicts so you can see that there arenīt that many types out there, and consequently, you can focus more on strengthening the conflict you have. I will show you exactly how you can use it, and when.
Instead, levels of conflict has to do with the intensity, the power, of the conflict. Itīs like comparing the volume on a stereo to the emotion of the recording played on the stereo. Of course, intensity has to do with strength. In a scary story, more violence, more ghosts, etc, can cause more screams, and more romantic moments can certainly beef up a love story. So when you strive to make a story more powerful, take a look at the genre youīre writing in, and USE the conventions of that genre to your advantage. Actually, sit down and count the sequences that make your story a sci-fi story, a psychological thriller story, a black humour story, or whatever. Donīt be satisfyed with one such sequence, or two - pack the story full. There is strength in numbers... But as you know, intensity is not always about size and strength. For example, you could have two vast armies, staring each other in the eye, and not doing any actual hand-to-hand fighting, but engage each other in a fierce battle of tactics, that will keep the audience hanging on the edge of their seats. Or you could have a quiet emotional calm in the middle of a farce, which will move the audience instead of making them laugh. So how do you know when to add more, and when to go another direction? The answer lies in diversity. You should never double a conflict. If you have a block conflict, shy away from the same type of conflict for a while. But also shift the level of conflict. You donīt want a story where all conflicts are based on shouting, or on looks. You will want an conflictual rollercoaster. Enough. Letīs go into the different levels of conflict:
Internally your conflict can encompass...
Externally your conflicts can include...
What is relevant in deciding what level of conflict to use is not the apparent power of the conflict, but the risk involved for the protagonist, and by association, the individual in the audience. By this I mean that if the protagonist is willing to sacrifice his life, then an attempt on his life doesnīt provoke as much conflict for him, and excitement for the audience, as when his Achilleīs heel is found. What is a person that is willing to sacrifice his life afraid of? Not being certain of why heīs risking his life, perhaps. Or the life of a loved one. Or dying before his mission is finished. Whatever you choose, you will have to believe yourself that your protagonist, a person whoīs willing to give his life, would stop to think. Without a risk, the conflict becomes flat, all dialogues lose their punch, and the characters lose their focus. Think about it. The protagonist must be afraid to lose something. And that is what the conflict is about. As the story draws closer to the end, the stakes go up, and the danger of actually losing what is risked is more dire. Also, the risk needs to be personal. Very personal. Itīs not enough to have some general threat, or some distant risk. You need to place it as close to the protagonist as you possibly can. To increase the risk, you can go back to psychologist Maslowīs chart of the human needs, start at the top and work yourself downwards. Here it is:
I v The aesthetic I v The need to know and understand I v Esteem and self-respect I v Love and belonging I v Safety and security I v Survival Initially, you may feel unwilling to risk your protagonistīs self-respect, or his life, because you identify so close with him and you donīt want him to lose something which you cherish so much. But thatīs why you need to give the protagonist a very good reason to engage himself in this particular conflict. Why is your protagonist not at home, chilling with his friends, instead of searching for his long-lost brother? Why is she not at work, which she loves, instead of fighting for her new-found love? Thatīs up to you to give us that answer. Donīt shy away from that question.
If conflict feels so bad in reality, why should it be entertaining to watch? If you feel uncomfortable writing about conflict, donīt you think thereīs a reason for it? Now is the time to answer them. I hope you have two good answers yourself, or you will be reluctant to use enough conflict in your stories. Thatīs how important those questions are. If you havenīt thought of a answers yet, now is the time to do it. Iīll wait.
Right, so hereīs my answers, and if you have other answers, thatīs just fine: Iīll answer the second question first. I do think that if youīre feeling uncomfortable writing about a conflict, thereīs a reason. But the reason is not that conflict is bad for the story. Rather, the problem is that the conflict youīre using is not right for the story, or that youīre cheating when youīre presenting the conflict, either by giving one side too much power, or by not making enough of an effort in giving a "true" solution to the conflict. Without two balanced rivals, the conflict will feel biased, partial, subjective. Without a working solution, the story will end weakly, and you will try to rush the writing to get past the climax. This will infect the entire story. In answer to the first question (real conflict feels bad, why should fictional conflict feel better?), I think that fictional conflict should feel as bad as real conflict feels. And not just because Iīm a sadistic bastard. If the conflict stirs no emotions in the audience, you are on thin ice. Then everything else in the story will fail as well. The reason for this is the difference between real conflict and fictional conflict, and itīs that the audience can rely on you to take care of everything, except the feelings. You present characters for them to identify with, a problem that they recognise (either from their own lives or from other stories), and a solution. Itīs the solution that makes all the difference. In most conflicts we face in real life, there are not clearcut answers, there are no miracle cures and no Supermen to save the day for us. Conflicts in real life take months or longer, can change oneīs everyday life forever, and are mixed up with everything else we do. But we wish there were solutions. We wish it so much that we invest our money in storytellers lying to us and saying that there are solutions, they will come in 2 hours (or in 1 hour, if weīre watching TV), and they will be so relatively painless. Thatīs why itīs so important to "make believe", to make us believe that the conflict is for real, and that the solution is for real.
Outside his apartment, John sees a man with a TV in his arms, and then he notices a broken window in his building.
Outside his apartment, John sees a man with a TV and then a broken window.
Arnie hears a crash. He goes out and sees a TV on a trolley. When he picks it up, a man shouts. He pulls his knife on Arnie.
Arnie hears a crash. He goes out and sees a TV on a trolley. When he picks it up, a man shouts. He pulls his knife on Arnie.
Plus, as I stated above, only hold on for the conflict as long as there is nothing more interesting on the way.
Arnie is doing the dishes, when he hears a crash. He goes out and sees a TV on a trolley. When he picks it up, a man shouts. The approaching big biker pulls his knife on Arnie.
In this scene, Arnie could feel compelled to lie about what heīs doing there, if he felt that the real reason was stupid, or hard to believe under the circumstances.
In this scene, one way of doing it, is by letting John think that he knows why Arnie steals - and then condemning for thinking that way.
I also hope that your conflicts will be more interesting, because I donīt want to read any more flat, quarrel scenes when I ask for more drama. And if you donīt agree... well, thatīs too bad. īCause then we have a conflict. And itīs a conflict that I will win.
By Lennart Guldbrandsson |
Chapters Part I You The story Your characters
Part II Part IV - The ten commandments
Part V - The nuts and bolts
Part VI - Making it interesting |
