The Plot Against Character:

Towards a Character-Centred Model

of Screenwriting

By Anthony Mullins
(Bachelor of Arts, Media Studies and Media Production,
Griffith University)

A feature film screenplay and exegesis submitted for the

requirements for the award, Master of Arts (Research).

Faculty of Creative Industries

Queensland University of Technology
2004
 i

Keywords

Screenwriting theory, character, turning points, acts, plot, arc, structure.

 ii

Abstract

Summary of exegesis
A review and critique of some of the most popular screenwriting concepts as
well as a proposal for a screenplay model that seeks to conceptually synthesise
character with structure.

Summary of Screenplay
When Andrew's infamous punk band is forced to earn extra money playing
part-time as a children's act they unexpectedly discover a potentially lucrative
market for their music. Unfortunately, playing to screaming three year olds is
not the rock and roll lifestyle Andrew was hoping for as he approaches his
thirtieth birthday. Tensions within the band grow and the old friends are
forced to decide not only the future of their music, but also rest of their lives.
 iii

Table of Contents

Keywords………………………………………… i
Abstract…………………………………………... ii
Table of Contents………………………………… iii
List of Illustrations and Diagrams……………....... iv
Statement of Original Authorship…………..……. v
Acknowledgements…...…………………………... vi

Screenplay: The Curlies…………………………. 1

Exegesis…………………………………………... 109
Introduction………………………………. 110
Methodology…………………………….... 113
Literature Review………………………... 113
Analysis…………………………………… 126
Conclusion and Further Analysis of The Curlies 147

Bibliography and Filmography……………………. 151

Bibliography………………………………. 151
Filmography………………………………. 152
 iv

List of Illustrations and Diagrams

Table # 1 – Comparative Table of Field, Seger, McKee and Vogler… 114

Figure # 1 – General Character Traits…….…………………………. 130

Figure # 2 – Conflict………………………………………………… 131
Figure # 3 – Existing Conflict 133
Figure # 4 – Act One (Character)…………………………………… 134
Figure # 5 – Commitment at the End of Act One…………………… 137
Figure # 6 – Act Two (Challenges)…………………………………. 138
Figure # 7 – Commitment at the End of Act Two…………………… 141
Figure # 8 – Act Three (Crisis)……………………………………… 142
Figure # 9 – Commitment at the End of Act Three…………………. 144
Figure # 10 – Act Four (Change)……………………………………. 147
 v

Statement of Original Authorship

The written work contained in this thesis (creative work and exegesis) has not
been previously submitted for a degree or diploma at this or any other higher
education institution. To the best of my knowledge and belief, the thesis
contains no material previously published or written by another person except
where due reference is made.

Signed:……………………………………

Date:………………………………………
 vi

Acknowledgements

Thanks are due to the academic and general staff of the Creative Industries
Faculty at the Queensland University of Technology. Special Thanks are due
to Gerard Lee, Stuart Glover, Kris Kneen, Shane Armstrong, James Cowen,
Mark Enders, Ross Hope, Shane Krause, Steven Lang, Grant Marshall, Els
Van Poppel, Michelle Warner, Charlie Strachan, Mark Chapman Veny
Armanno, Owen Johnston.
 110

The Plot Against Character: Towards a Character-Centred Model of

Screenwriting

Introduction
The last twenty-five years have seen a dramatic rise in the number of books on
screenwriting theory available to the budding, as well as the established, writer.
Despite the regular publication of scenario manuals since at least the 1910s, the
release of Syd Field’s Screenplay-the Foundations of Screenwriting in 1979 heralded
an unprecedented interest in books seeking to explain the inner workings of the
screenplay. A simple search of the category ‘screenwriting’ on the website
Amazon.com uncovers 565 books about the screenwriting process and/or paperback
versions of produced screenplays. Naturally there has been a corresponding
expansion of the terminologies employed to describe the various conventions of
screenwriting. Not all of these terms are new or exclusive to screenwriting but all aim
to demystify and facilitate the process of writing a screenplay.
The most widely promoted terminologies in the last twenty-five years largely
focus on a description of screenplay ‘structure’ at the expense of ‘character’. Terms
like ‘turning point’, ‘inciting incident’, ‘acts’, ‘midpoint’, ‘climax’ and ‘resolution’,
while proving immensely useful in describing the structural shape of the screenplay’s
events, fail to adequately and transparently describe how the protagonist relates to
these events.
This is not to say that popular screenwriting theorists do not recognise the
importance of synthesizing character and structure in a screenplay. All of the most
popular theorists have described how a coherent screenplay intimately designs
character into the structure so that the two concepts become one. However, while it
seems popular screenwriting theory has developed a range of terminologies to
describe ‘structure’, far fewer terms have been developed to describe ‘character’ and,
almost none, to adequately describe how the two are connected.
Ironically, this has happened in a way that has alienated a wide range of writers
while concurrently empowering associated non-writers such as studio executives,
government funding agencies, critics, producers, and directors by arming them with a
list of technical prerequisites for a successful screen story. With such a wide variety
of terms available to analyse structure, writers who approach their work from the
starting point of ‘character’ are often impeded within the resulting process. Even
 111

writers who engage structural processes may feel frustrated with choices that sacrifice
an original character design for a formulaic structural demand.
In the few instances where a more character-centred approach has been
developed, such as Christopher Vogler’s The Writer’s Journey (based on the writing
of Joseph Campbell), the terminologies employed verge on the esoteric. Terms like
‘Approach the Innermost Cave’, ‘Seize the Sword’ or ‘The Ordeal’ are of limited use
to writers who have not thoroughly read and memorised Vogler’s book. This
example highlights a second problem with current screenwriting terminologies: a
tendency towards the highly technical or abstract that can create confusion rather than
clarity. For example, during a recent screenwriting process, in which I participated,
the question was raised ‘what’s the first act turning point?’ The ten members of the
group gave ten different answers to this simple question. There were numerous and
varying understandings of what a ‘first act turning point’ actually is, and this is not
counting those who denied that such a thing even existed. In this instance, one of the
most popular concepts of present day screenwriting theory was rendered analytically
useless.

A Character-Centred Approach to Screenwriting

With these issues in mind, is it possible to define a screenwriting model that uses
transparent and easily understood terminologies that synthesise character with
structure? Furthermore, is it possible to do this in a way that acknowledges and
incorporates the widely adopted structural approaches to screenwriting developed
over the last twenty-five years?
I will be arguing that this may be achieved by adopting a more character-centred
approach to screenwriting. To demonstrate this I will be proposing a character-
centred model that has the potential to combine concepts of character with concepts of
structure in a few easily understood common language terms that are consistent and
complimentary to the most popular structural terms developed by screenwriting
theorists.
The defining feature of the ‘character-centred’ model is its conceptual focus on
the central character’s evolving relationship to the other narrative elements over the
course of the story. In other words all principles and explanatory terms are centred on
what the central character is experiencing in relation to the other story elements such
as family, friends, enemies, events, social and the natural environment, and how this
 112

defines the story. I will be arguing that this conceptual focus on the central
character’s experiences presents the opportunity to establish a terminology, based on
common language concepts, that has the potential to be widely comprehensible to
both writers and associated practitioners. Additionally, due to the use of a small set of
common language concepts, the ‘character-centred’ model can also be easily
represented graphically, for improved accessibility.
The character-centred model uses four key terms to define the narrative focus of
each part, or ‘act’, of the structure. These are:

• Character
• Challenges
• Crisis
• Change

In essence, the character-centred model argues that mainstream screenplays are

structured around a story where a ‘Character’ experiences a conflict that presents
them with a series of ‘Challenges’ that lead to a ‘Crisis’ which has the potential to
‘Change’ their life in some way. It also uses four key terms to closely relate the
character to this structure. These are:

• Internal Characteristics
• External Circumstances
• Conflict
• Commitment

The main character is defined using the variables of ‘Internal Characteristics’ (values,
beliefs, fears, desires, memories, etc) and ‘External Circumstances’ (family, friends,
career, social and natural environment, etc). ‘Conflict’ is defined as the growing
tension between these two variables. Each act of the structure is divided by a
‘Commitment’ made by the main character to a particular goal they hope will resolve
the conflict. The aim of the character-centred model is to define these principal
concepts in a way that integrates character with story so that an analysis of one is an
analysis of the other.
 113

Methodology
In an attempt to define such a model I wish to spell out its component parts. Initially,
however, I will review the principal concepts from four of the bestselling
screenwriting books of recent times: Syd Field’s Screenplay—the Foundations of
Screenwriting; Linda Seger’s How to Make a Good Script Great; Christopher
Vogler’s The Writer’s Journey; and Robert McKee’s Story. The concepts I will be
investigating in relation to the four texts are ‘acts’, ‘turning points’ and ‘midpoints’
Drawing from these concepts, I will propose a ‘character-centred’ model that
synthesises character and structure using transparent terminologies. It will be
demonstrated by the model’s application in the analysis of a number of the recent
critically and commercially successful screenplays: The Truman Show, The Others,
Adaptation, and Insomnia. All of these films have received a significant level of
critical acclaim with two of them being nominated for American Academy Awards in
writing. They cover a range of genres and target markets and had a range of
commercial success: The Truman Show had significant box office appeal, The Others
and Adaptation performed solidly, while Insomnia had disappointing returns despite
positive critical reviews. I have chosen films produced with principally American
finance because, apart from the North American market continuing to produce and
distribute the largest volume of films worldwide, the screenwriting manuals I will be
reviewing are all written by American authors with a focus on Hollywood
filmmaking. Similarly, I have chosen films that generally conform to the expectations
of mainstream Hollywood filmmaking as promoted in the reviewed literature. In
addition to examining these films I will examine my own screenplay, The Curlies, as
an example of an attempt to put the character-centred model into practice.

Literature Review
Four of the bestselling commentators on screenwriting theory have been Syd Field,
Linda Seger, Christopher Vogler and Robert McKee. Each has developed a range of
theories, terminologies and processes to describe their ideas. There have been many
others writers with varying theories and terminologies including a number of software
and web-based applications. One in particular, ‘Dramatica’, uses 148 key concepts
relating to story structure and character that claim to assist in the writing process
(Phillips and Huntley 2001: 278—330).
 114

Unsurprisingly, a review of the respective approaches (see Table 1) uncovers

many similarities, particularly relating to the elements of the three-act structure. As
Seger explains:

All it is, is semantics. I wouldn't be a bit surprised if I looked at John Truby's

22 points (a popular American screenwriting lecturer) and I found that a lot of
what he's doing is what I do—but I'm calling it something totally different.
Teaching is finding a vocabulary to explain a concept, to explain something
that works (Coleman: para 22)

Comparative Table 1
Fields Seger Vogler McKee
- Set-up The Ordinary World Inciting Incident

Catalyst The Call to Adventure

Act One

Set-up

Act One Refusal of the Call Progressive

Complications
Meeting with the Mentor
st st
Plot Point # 1 Turning Point Crossing the 1 Major Reversal
1 Threshold
- Development of Act Tests, Allies and Progressive
Two Enemies Complications

Pinch # 1 Approach the Innermost

Cave
Confrontation
Act Two

Mid-Point The Mid-Point The Ordeal Mid-Act Climax

Scene (Major Reversal)

Pinch # 2 - Rewards -

nd
Plot Point # 2 Turning Point The Road Back Major Reversal
2

- - Crisis
Act Three

Resolution

Climax Resurrection Climax

(Major Reversal)

Resolution Return with the Elixir Resolution

However, despite their obvious popularity, many writers, including Academy

Award nominees like Simon Beaufoy, screenwriter of The Full Monty, have found
many of these new concepts less than helpful and often confusing;
 115

I keep getting sent these screenwriting magazines from the States, and I find
them absolutely blood-curdling: “How to start your script! Ten ways to end
Act One!” They use a lot of jargon which I’ve never heard of, and it makes
me think I know nothing about screenwriting (Owen: 282).

Charlie Kaufman, who famously lampoons both his own writing processes, as
well as those of Robert McKee in the Academy Award nominated Adaptation,
displays a high degree of ambivalence towards popular screenwriting concepts:

I don't have anything negative to say about McKee. I feel like it's not my
background, it's not my way of working, but I don't want to dictate to anybody
else how they should go about learning their craft. If people find it helpful
then they find it helpful. What I do is what I do for me (Topel: para 11).

Perhaps part of the reason for this problem is because non-writers, such as
producers, directors, studio executives, and film funding bodies, have vigorously
adopted these terms as a means to influence, for better or worse, the script
development process as Rupert Walters seems to suggest:

I do sometimes look at something and think, “We’re not really getting into the
story fast enough here”, but the language of “inciting incidents” is difficult to
understand. It’s difficult not to use it, because it’s the language of
development meetings, but it’s much more important to understand what the
story is and what the point of telling it is (Owen: 34).

Even some of the oft-quoted theorists are disturbed by what could be perceived as
a misuse of their theories. For example, content from a number of lectures given in
Rome by Robert McKee were used in writer’s contracts for the Italian network RAI
until McKee himself forced their withdrawal:

They toss terminology at the writer— “what's the controlling idea, what's the
spine?”—not in an effort to develop the screenplay, but in an effort to impress
and intimidate the writer that they've got some kind of knowledge, which they
don't have (Robert McKee in Coleman: paras 45-46).

Apart from the general confusion surrounding, and misuse of, various
terminologies, another important reason for these issues I would argue is that some of
the most pervasive screenwriting terms are defined with an emphasis on plot rather
than a synthesis of character with plot. For example, the term ‘Turning Point’ is often
 116

described as ‘an incident, episode or event that “hooks” into the action and spins it
around into another direction’ (Field 1984: 30). From this example, while it is clear
the term refers to something external to the protagonist, it is not clear how the
protagonist relates to the ‘incident, episode or event’. Did they cause the ‘turning
point’ to happen? In what way will it affect them? Does the protagonist experience
the ‘turning point’ or is it something they are unaware of? When does it start? When
does it stop?
This is not to say that screenwriting theorists have not also recognized the
importance of synthesizing character with plot as McKee states:

We cannot ask which is more important, structure or character, because

structure is character; character is structure. They’re the same thing, and
therefore cannot be more important than the other (100).

As Dancyger and Rush argue, the intimate combination of plot with character is a key
feature of mainstream Hollywood filmmaking with plots devised to simultaneously
develop the action of the story as well as convey character development (21). All
four theorists reviewed dedicate significant sections to the synthesis of character and
plot. Unfortunately, there are very few widely-used terms that adequately describe
this synthesis. With concise terminology being a very effective tool in describing
complex ideas it seems this vital idea of synthesizing character with plot has the
potential to be overlooked in script development processes.
To demonstrate the plot-focussed nature of many screenwriting terms I will
examine three of, arguably, the most pervasive and widely used terms relating to
screenplay theory. They are, using the most commonly used terms, ‘acts’, ‘turning
points’ and the ‘midpoint’.

Acts
The idea that a screenplay is broken up into three large sections described as ‘acts’,
using the theatre term, developed throughout the 1970s, with Act One and Three
being half the length of Act Two. Despite Syd Field being widely credited as the
originator of this idea it is clear, as Thompson points out, others were playing with
this formula too. Constance Nash and Virginia Oakley released The Screenwriters
Handbook in 1978, which divided a screenplay’s structure into three ‘acts’ with Act
One being approximately thirty pages long, Act Two sixty pages and Act Three thirty
 117

pages (22). Field describes acts as ‘blocks of dramatic action’ which are divided by
‘plot points’. Apart from proposing that there are three acts in each screenplay Field
rather prescriptively insists that Act One is thirty pages long, Act Two sixty pages and
Act Three thirty pages. He also argues that each act has a different dramatic context:
Act One is about ‘set-up’, the establishment of character and dramatic action, Act
Two is about ‘confrontation’, the development of the dramatic action, and Act Three
is about ‘resolution’, the resolution of the dramatic action (1984: 25-38). He, along
with many other writers, equates the three acts with Aristotle’s idea that a story has a
beginning, middle and an end. But as Dancyger and Rush point out, this is a fairly
vague foundation for describing story structure:

After all, was Aristole completely serious when he said, ‘A middle is that
which is itself after some other thing and after which there is something else
(19).

Seger, drawing on Field, defines the act proportions a little more loosely and
suggests a similar purpose for each act—‘set-up’, ‘development’ and ‘resolution’.
Each act is separated by what Seger calls ‘turning points’. The specific purpose and
separation of each act helps to ‘move and focus the story’ (Seger 1994: 19):

The acts for a feature film usually include a 10-15 page set-up of the story,
about twenty pages of development in Act One, a long second act that might
run forty five to sixty pages, and a fairly fast-paced third act of twenty to
thirty-five page. Each act has a different focus. The movement out of one act
into the next is accomplished by an action or an event called a turning point
(Seger 1994: 20).

Vogler, while not suggesting proportions, breaks his twelve stages of the ‘Hero’s
Journey’ into three acts and specifies a purpose for each act:

Movies are often built in three acts, which can be regarded as representing 1)
the hero’s decision to act, 2) the action itself, and 3) the consequences of the
action (18).

Joseph Campbell, on who Vogler based his model, called these three stages
‘Departure’, ‘Initiation’ and ‘Return’ (30). In the preface of the second edition of The
Writer’s Journey Vogler further defines what he means by ‘act’:
 118

Each act is like a symphony, with its own beginning, middle and end, and with
its own climax (the highest point of tension) coming just before the ending of
the act…each act sends the hero on a certain track with a specific aim or goal,
and that the climaxes of each act change the hero’s direction, assigning a new
goal (xxi-xxii).

McKee describes an act as ‘a series of sequences’ that ‘turns on a major reversal

in a value-charged condition of the character’s life’ (41). He also proposes the
proportions of the acts for a three-act structure:

The first act…typically consumes about 25 percent of the telling, the Act One
climax occurring between twenty and thirty minutes into a 120 minute
film…In the ideal last act we want to give the audience a sense of
acceleration, a swiftly rising action to Climax…So last acts are generally brief,
twenty minutes or less (219).

McKee, however, argues these proportions are only a ‘foundation, not a formula’
with many variations depending on everything from the number of protagonists to the
worldview of the writer (218).
In summary, all of these writers acknowledge the need to organise the individual
scenes of a screenplay into larger sections collectively referred to as ‘acts’. Each act
ends with a major development in the story and, for Field, Seger and Vogler, each has
a particular focus. There is also a general consensus that Acts One and Three are
approximately half the length of Act Two in a three-act screenplay.
As Kristen Thompson in Storytelling in the New Hollywood points out, the idea
that screenplays are broken up into large sections—with numerous minor climaxes
leading up to a major climax—has been around since the early days of cinema citing
early scenario manuals that frequently refer to intervals of rising and falling action
across a narrative of several parts (21).
This would seem to be consistent with the dominant idea that the acts of a
screenplay are separated with some sort of climax or major development in the story.
However, as we have seen, the idea that a screenplay is broken up into specifically
three ‘acts’ is a recent development in screenwriting education, which despite its
enormous popularity and influence, has not been without its critics. Truby in ‘Why 3-
Act will Kill Your Writing’ suggests:
 119

The so-called 3-act structure is the biggest, most destructive myth ever foisted
on writers. I would like to call it obsolete. But that implies that it worked in
the first place (para 6).

Independent producer Alex Epstein is more moderate. He sees the three-act structure
as only applicable sometimes:

Maybe half of all truly great movies have three distinct acts, and in some of
those, you have to stretch to figure out where exactly the act breaks are.
Where are the act breaks in Hard Day's Night? All that Jazz? How about
Spartacus? Forrest Gump? Apollo 13? Annie Hall? Or the superbly written
Wild Things, which has about five or six major twists (2002).

Despite these, as well as many other, detractors, the idea that a screenplay is
broken up into three ‘acts’ is the most pervasive concept to develop in screenwriting
theory in the last thirty years. As indicated above, it is used by many writers as well
as other associated film professionals to analyse the viability of screenplays, despite it
being at odds with the previous sixty years of screenwriting theory as well as other
narrative arts like TV and theatre which break stories into more than three acts.

Turning Points
The concepts of ‘turning points’ play a vital role in marking out the end of an act and
the beginning of the next. Broadly speaking ‘turning points’ are understood to be a
major development in the story that changes its direction at the end of an act. Syd
Field calls them ‘plot points’ and defines them in the often-quoted terms of ‘an
incident, episode or event that “hooks” into the action and spins it around into another
direction’. He goes on to describe ‘direction’ as a ‘line of development’ (30). Field
generally implies that a turning point is something external to the protagonist, rather
than their emotions or behaviours, and is usually some sort of narrative ‘event’: ‘A
plot point can be anything: a shot, a speech, a scene, a sequence, an action, anything
that moves the story forward’ (30).
Seger has popularised the use of the term ‘turning point’ as opposed to ‘plot
point’. This may be because, as Thompson argues, ‘turning point’ implies a major
event whereas ‘plot point’ seems to mean a significant event that may or may not be a
major change: ‘Indeed, Field confusingly claims that there are plot points within acts,
citing ten in Act Two of Chinatown’ (23). Seger, like Field, generally defines the
 120

function of a ‘turning point’ as being to turn the action around in a new direction at
the end of an act: ‘The movement out of one act and into the next is usually
accomplished by an action or an event called a turning point’ (20). While generally
implying a turning point is a type of narrative event external to the protagonist, Seger
does note that it can sometimes be ‘a moment of decision or commitment on the part
of the main character’ (29).
Vogler refers to two significant ‘turning points’ in his model:

The First Threshold marks the turning point between Acts One and Two…The
Road Back is a turning point, another threshold crossing which marks the
passage from Act Two to Act Three’ (18, 161, 195).

Vogler, in the first edition of The Hero’s Journey describes ‘The First Threshold’ in
these terms:

Now the hero stands at the very threshold of the world of

adventure…Crossing the First Threshold is an act of the will in which the hero
commits wholeheartedly to the adventure (127).

‘The Road Back’ is Vogler’s term for the turning point at the end of Act Two:

Once the lessons and Rewards of the great Ordeal have been celebrated and
absorbed, heroes face a choice; whether to remain in the Special World or
begin the journey home to the Ordinary World (193).

As suggested by these two examples, Vogler sees turning points as a moment of

decision for the main character, whether imposed by an external force or, by what he
refers to as, ‘internal events’.
Although McKee does not actually define the term ‘turning point’ he does use it
to argue that every scene should (ideally) end in a ‘turning point’ in which ‘the values
at stake swing from the positive to the negative or the negative to the positive,
creating significant but minor changes in their lives’ (217). Additionally, the turning
point at the end of an act, which is at the end of a ‘series of sequences’ (which is also
presumably at the end of a scene) creates a ‘major reversal’ in the character’s life
greater than any preceding sequence. This is the key structural feature that separates
one act from the next (217). McKee also refers to ‘story events’ that ‘create
meaningful change in the life situation of a character’ although it is not clear how this
 121

is different to his use of ‘turning points’. He does, however, argue that story events
must ‘happen to a character’—which may indicate that McKee also emphasises the
external events around turning points rather than the character’s reaction to them.
As we can see, all four writers make significant use of a key structural feature at
the end of each act that changes the direction of the narrative. The general
implication, with the exception of Vogler, is that it is usually an ‘event’ of some sort,
external to the protagonist. This feature has most widely been referred to as a
‘turning point’.
One of the key problems with the idea of a ‘turning point’ seems to be locating
exactly where they take place in an unfolding narrative where one scene flows into
the next—in an ongoing flow of cause and effect. My own experience, outlined
above, of a screenwriting class that came up with numerous first act turning points for
the same film, seems to be consistent with Epstein’s experience of the concept:

In The Fugitive, does the second act begin when Dr. Richard Kimble escapes
the prison bus, or when he escapes the following manhunt? When does the last
act begin? When he discovers the one-armed man? When he confronts Dr.
Charles Nichols at the doctor convention? When Marshal Samuel Gerard begins
to realize that Dr. Kimble is innocent (2002).

Part of the solution to this problem may be, as Thompson points out, to re-examine
the way in which the terms ‘turning point’ and ‘acts’ are defined. As we have seen
the common definition of a ‘turning point’ is centered on a directional change in the
story’s ‘action’. Thompson, however, suggests that the most frequent reason for a
change in the narrative’s direction is a shift in the protagonist’s goals (27) and that
this shift should be the basis of an analysis of a film’s acts rather than the assumption
that each film should have three acts. This argument would be consistent with the
assertion by Vogler, and to a lesser degree Seger, that each act climaxes with a
‘moment of decision’ for the protagonist. It would also accommodate McKee’s
argument that there can be more than three acts in a screenplay depending on the
content and style of the piece. It would also throw a greater emphasis on an analysis
of the protagonist’s response to the events around them, rather than solely on the
events themselves.
 122

The Midpoint
Another recurring idea that emerges in screenwriting manuals is the idea of a
‘midpoint’. This is broadly thought of as a major event in the middle of Act Two.
There are numerous speculations on the exact nature and function of this event might
be. In The Screenwriter’s Handbook (1984) Syd Field recalls a conversation with
Paul Shrader (writer of Taxi Driver) where Shrader always felt like ‘something
happens’ on page sixty. Field, also frustrated with the enormous length of the second
act, revisited his paradigm and, after trying it on a number of classes, developed the
‘midpoint’. He defined it as an ‘incident, episode, event, line of dialogue, or decision’
that links the first half of Act Two with the second half. It is interesting to note that
Field uses similar terms for his definition of ‘plot point’ but does not call it
one—instead preferring to call it a link that makes the second act easier to write
because of its reduced length (1984: 131—139).
Seger refers to the ‘midpoint scene’, which, like Field divides the first half of act
two with the second half and provides the added function of:

creating a direction for the first half of Act Two, and giving a change in
direction for the second half of the act, while still keeping the overall focus of
Act Two which has been determined by the first turning point (35).

It is worth noting Seger’s reference to a ‘change in direction’ at the midpoint

scene, although it is not made clear how the story changes direction while still
maintaining the overall direction of the first turning point. Seger, despite using
similar concepts, does not describe the midpoint scene as a turning point. Also, Seger
while acknowledging the structural usefulness of the midpoint scene, argues that not
all scripts have one, although she later concedes that:

if the writer begins by first creating a clear three-act structure, often a

midpoint will naturally emerge. Then, in the rewriting process, the writer can
further strengthen and focus the scene (36).

Vogler quite clearly spells out a crucial scene in the middle of the screenplay that
has a major impact on the overall direction of the story. He refers to it as ‘The
Ordeal’:
 123

Now the hero stands in the deepest chamber of the Inmost Cave facing the
greatest challenge and the most fearsome opponent yet. This is the real heart
of the matter, what Joseph Campbell called The Ordeal. It is the mainspring
of the heroic form and the key to its magical power (159).

Vogler defines ‘The Ordeal’ as ‘the central event of a story, or the main event of
the second act’ and defines it as a ‘crisis’ to differentiate it from the ‘climax’ at the
end of the third act. In the preface to the second edition of The Writer’s Journey,
Vogler attempts to clarify the relationship between the turning points of each act and
this midpoint ‘Crisis’ in the middle of Act Two. In essence, he makes it into another
turning point: ‘each act sends the hero on a certain track with a specific aim or goal,
and that the climaxes of each act change the hero’s direction, assigning a new goal’
(xxii).
Using a diamond, Vogler argues that each turn in the figure represents a major
change in direction for the protagonist with the first turn at the end of Act One, the
second in the middle of Act Two, the third at the end of Act Two and the final turn at
the climax as the protagonist resolves all conflicts and the story ends. Strangely,
Vogler sticks to the three-act model despite essentially demonstrating, by his own
definition, a four-act model with each act having ‘its own climax (highest point of
tension) coming just before the ending of the act’ (xxi). Vogler does, however, with
the concept of the ‘delayed crisis’, present a variation which breaks into three acts. In
the ‘delayed crisis’, the space between the turning points of the ‘Ordeal’ and ‘The
Road Back’ are truncated. Both events happen very close to one another, effectively
making them the same turning point into Act Three (162). This may take account of
Seger’s assertion that not all screenplays have a ‘midpoint scene’. Neither Vogler nor
Seger speculate why this may be so. It seems clear, however, that Vogler sees this
midpoint crisis as another moment of choice, like turning points, that marks a change
in the protagonist’s goal.
For McKee, like Seger, a midpoint crisis is optional. Instead, he emphasises the
‘major reversals’ that end each act and that three acts is the minimum requirement for
a complete screenplay. Curiously, however, McKee briefly refers to a ‘Mid-Act
Climax’ that, as Seger, Field and Vogler suggest, breaks Act Two into two halves
creating an ‘Isben-like rhythm of four acts, accelerating the mid-film pace’ (220).
Apart from the contradictory terminology implying a climax in the middle of an act
 124

rather than at the end, this would seem to be consistent with Vogler’s suggestion that
the midpoint is in essence another turning point.
In summary, all four writers indicate the presence of a scene or sequence half-
way through a screenplay that break the second act, as well as the overall story, into
two. The function of this ‘midpoint’ is less well defined than ‘acts’ and ‘turning
points’ but there is a strong implication that it influences the ‘direction’ of the story in
a significant way.
Thompson, applying the idea that a ‘turning point’ is defined by a significant
change in the character’s goals, argues that the midpoint is actually just another
turning point. The result of this analysis is that Act Two is actually two separate acts.
Thompson goes further and argues that a great many films actually have four acts
rather than three. Each act is around twenty to thirty minutes of screen time and is
separated by a turning point that sees the protagonist change their goal, which moves
the story in a new direction. Maybe this is just a strategy to maintain audience
interest or a culturally determined tradition, but this pattern, Thompson argues, is
consistent from the earliest cinema to the present day (27—37). As we have seen,
from our discussion of the ‘midpoint’, this is not an entirely radical idea and is indeed
supported by the observations of a range of three-act advocates. It would, in part,
account for variations in the number of acts in a feature film. Longer films of
approximately three hours may have between four and six acts, with films of around
ninety minutes only having three acts with no fourth act or ‘midpoint’.
Thompson further defines the presence of four acts in many screenplays by
suggesting each act has a specific function that differentiates it from the other acts.
Both Seger and Field have specified a ‘dramatic context’ for each act with Act One
being ‘set-up’, Act Two being ‘confrontation’ (or ‘development’ in the case of Seger)
and Act Three being ‘resolution’. Thompson drawing on these, as well as other,
commonly used terms outlines four acts, each with a different purpose—Act One is
‘the set-up’, Act Two ‘the complicating action’, Act Three ‘the development’ and Act
Four ‘the resolution’. Thompson’s definitions for ‘set-up’ and ‘resolution’ are largely
consistent with those of Field and Seger. For Thompson, ‘set-up’ establishes the
character’s situation and goals, and the ‘resolution’ services the outcome of their
goals.
The principal difference in Thompson’s model is the use of the second act of
‘complicating action’ and the third act called ‘development’. Thompson defines ‘the
 125

complicating action’ as a counter set-up , which is motivated by the protagonist’s

radical change of direction at the end of Act One. In other words, it works in a
similar way to the ‘set-up’—in that it is largely concerned with orientating the
protagonist to the new and unexpected situation they find themselves in (28). This is
consistent with Vogler’s concept of the ‘Special World’ of Act Two which sees the
protagonist enter a new and unfamiliar situation they must learn to live in (Vogler :
19). Next Thompson defines the ‘development’, which sees the protagonist trying to
overcome various obstacles and challenges but actually making very little headway
towards achieving their goals (29). This also may align with Vogler’s idea that
through much of the second half of act two the protagonist is in ‘crisis’ with little idea
of how to move forward (Vogler: 159-179).
Thompson also argues that the use of the middle two acts of ‘complicating action’
and ‘development’ depends on the length of the film. If a film is less than ninety
minutes the function of the ‘complicating action’ and ‘development’ are combined to
make one act. If a film is more than 120 minutes then, Thompson argues, either the
‘complicating action’ or more frequently the ‘development’ is simply doubled with a
‘turning point’ separating the additional act (1999: 37). The strength in this argument
is that it allows for a greater degree of flexibility in the analysis of screenplays
structures beyond the analysis of predominately 120 minutes films that traditional
three-act models provide. It worth noting that, despite the focus on character in the
definitions of the four acts, Thompson does not give these terms names that might
transparently reflect this, preferring instead to use names that have been generally
used to describe various parts of a narrative. For example, it is not transparently clear
from the name ‘development’ what part of the character’s progress through the story
is being dealt with. Similarly the use of the term ‘turning point’, despite the
clarification of its definition, leaves questions about its purpose and continues to
emphasise plot rather than a synthesis with character. It also assumes a reasonable
knowledge of existing screenwriting theory and terminology.

Summary
As we have seen, there are a number of recurring and popular concepts in
screenwriting theory. Unfortunately, many of the most pervasive concepts emphasise
plot over character in a way that is not always helpful to writers, or to associated film
professionals. These concepts can generate flawed assumptions about the structure of
 126

mainstream screenplays. Thompson’s more plausible definition that a turning point is

a significant shift in the protagonist’s goal allows for a more accurate analysis of the
structure and frequency of acts through a wide range of feature films. It also provides
the opportunity to define a precise and unique function for each act. As a result
Thompson’s model is a useful starting for point for conceiving a character-centered
model of screenwriting that utilises transparent common use language.

Analysis: Character-Centred Model of Screenwriting

I now intend to propose a model of screenwriting that will attempt to address the
range of issues outlined above by provided a more character-centred analysis of
screenplay structure. Using Thompson’s observations of mainstream screenplays as a
starting point, the model is based around eight key terms that map out the main
character’s relationship to the narrative shape of a screenplay. Each term of the
model is designed to maintain a focus on the main character of the story using
transparent and widely understood concepts.
For each term I will, firstly, define its place and function in screenplay structure
and how it specifically relates to the character’s progress through the story. Secondly,
I will demonstrate the term’s relevance to a number of recent commercially and
critically successful films from a range of genres: The Truman Show (1998), The
Others (2001), Adaptation (2002), and Insomnia (2002).
The Truman Show tells the story of Truman Burbank, who comes to suspect that
everyone is his life, including his family and friends, is involved in an elaborate
conspiracy to prevent him ever leaving his home town of Sea Haven by exploiting his
fear of water and the relative safety and comfort of home. The story concludes when
Truman finally discovers his life is actually a twenty-four hour television show and,
despite pleas from the show’s producers to remain in a controlled world ‘without
fear’, he choses to leave the show and explore the world outside. The Others centres
on the story of Grace, a strongly religious young woman, who is desperately waiting,
with her two children, for her husband to return from the Second World War. When
their servants inexplicably disappear one day from their large Victorian manor,
strange noises and occurrences begin to haunt the house. The story concludes with
Grace discovering that she has killed herself and her children in her desperation and
that they are actually ghosts haunting the manor. Adaptation tells the story of Charlie,
a successful but socially inept screenwriter, who is trying to write the follow up to his
 127

latest success—an adaptation of a book he admires. Unfortunately, the distractions of

his brother, who has also decided to become a screenwriter, and anxieties about his
own disastrous social life, lead to a crippling case of writer’s block. The story
concludes with Charlie overcoming his fears of rejection and failure, completing the
screenplay and telling the girl of his dreams how he feels about her. Insomnia centres
on the story of Dormer, a veteran police detective who is sent to investigate a small
town murder to avoid an internal affairs investigation into his procedures. When
Dormer accidentally kills his partner, who was going to talk to internal affairs, he tries
to cover up the crime. Unfortunately, the killer they were investigating knows this
and frames Dormer. The story concludes with Dormer having to choose between his
hard won professional reputation and the capture and conviction of the killer.
I will also use my original screenplay The Curlies (2003) as an example of an
attempt to put the character-centred model into practice. The Curlies tells the story
Andrew, a lovable but self-centred singer in a desperately uncommercial punk band,
who is forced by his fellow band members to earn money as a children's act when one
of them discovers they are having a baby. Despite some success with their unique
punk approach to children’s songs, this is not the rock and roll lifestyle Andrew was
hoping for as he approaches his thirtieth birthday. Tensions within the band grow and
the old friends are forced to decide not only the future of their music, but also rest of
their lives. The story concludes with Andrew recognising his selfishness and
accepting that his life has moved on. The first draft of The Curlies was completed
one month before, and without knowledge of, the release of Australian film The
Wannabes (2003), which tells the story of a group of criminals who form a children’s
band to rob a rich widow. Apart from the broad premise (‘a group of misfits form a
children band’) the two scripts have no similarity.
Each of the films selected conforms to the narrative expectations of mainstream
Hollywood filmmaking in that they feature a clear central protagonist who drives a
story line that clearly relates external conflict to inner tension (Dancyger and Rush:
29). Additionally, drawing on Thompson’s model, I will be arguing that each film
features a four-act structure with a significant character change or ‘arc’ at the end of
the story.

The Key Concepts

 128

The character-centred model uses four key terms to define the narrative focus of each
stage, or ‘act’, of the structure. These are:

• Character
• Challenges
• Crisis
• Change

In essence, the character-centred model argues that mainstream screenplays are

structured around a story where a ‘Character’ experiences a conflict that presents
them with a series of ‘Challenges’ that lead to a ‘Crisis’ which has the potential to
‘Change’ their life in some way. It also uses four key terms to closely relate the
character to this structure. These are:

• Internal Characteristics
• External Circumstances
• Conflict
• Commitment

The main character is defined using the variables of ‘Internal Characteristics’ (values,
beliefs, fears, desires, memories, etc) and ‘External Circumstances’ (family, friends,
career, social and natural environment, etc). ‘Conflict’ is defined as the growing
tension between these two variables. Each act of the structure is divided by a
‘Commitment’ made by the main character to a particular goal they hope will resolve
the conflict. The aim of the character-centred model is to define these principal
concepts in a way that integrates character with story so that an analysis of one is an
analysis of the other.

‘Character’
The first term in the character-centred model of screenwriting is ‘Character’ and
provides the focus for the first act of a screenplay which can be summarised as: A
character’s life is disrupted by a developing conflict.
 129

Drawing on the common term ‘set-up’ the structural objective of the first act of a
screenplay is to set-up who the protagonist, or main character, of the story is and what
the problem is that emerges in their world.
Firstly, in defining the protagonist of the story, the character-centred model
establishes two variables that will assist in shaping their background and various traits
in order that they may be related to the structure of the story. These variables are
their ‘internal characteristics’ and ‘external circumstances’. The two character
variables essentially give an insight into the emotional and physical world the
protagonist, and consequently the story, inhabits.
The ‘internal characteristics’ of the protagonist are broadly defined as the various
elements of their emotional, intellectual and spiritual life. Beliefs, hopes, fears,
desires, philosophies and memories are all a part of a protagonist’s ‘internal’
characteristics. For example, a protagonist who has a traumatic childhood memory of
a dog attack may have a specific fear of all canines, regardless of actual danger a
particular dog presents.
The ‘external circumstances’ of the protagonist are basically everything else.
They are broadly defined as the various elements of their physical, interpersonal,
social and natural environment. Gender, body-type, family relationships, sex, career,
wealth, war, poverty, avalanches and meteors from space are all a part of a
protagonist’s ‘external circumstances’. Even the protagonist’s behaviour (habits,
physical talents, etc) is a part of this ‘external’ world because they are physical
manifestations of their ‘internal’ life. A character that panics around dogs is behaving
that way because of an internal emotional state. Their potentially irrational behaviour
is an expression of this. Similarly, the interpersonal relationships the protagonist has
with family, friends and colleagues are ‘external circumstances’. Even though they
may have ‘internal’ emotions towards various people, the source of the emotion, the
person themselves, is ‘external’ to the protagonist. These two variables are categories
which organise the protagonist’s world (see Figure # 1 below).
 130

Figure # 1

General Character External Circumstances

Traits gender, body type, family,
relationships, career,
philosophies, social status, weather, etc
gender, hopes, body
type, family, Character
relationships, beliefs, hopes, fears,
beliefs, social status, desires, philosophies,
fears, desires, memories, etc
memories, career,
weather, etc, etc, etc Internal Characteristics

For example, Charlie in Adaptation, could be described as a shy, insecure, but

highly intelligent (internal characteristics) screenwriter who, despite writing a hit
screenplay, is socially invisible, cannot get a girlfriend and still lives with his
outgoing and highly irritating brother (external circumstances). Similarly, Dormer in
Insomnia could be described as a cynical, pragmatic, and determined (internal
characteristics) police detective who, despite his distinguished career, has not always
played by the rules in his investigations and is consequently under investigation by
internal affairs (external circumstances). Andrew in The Curlies is a fun loving,
irresponsible, but somewhat insecure (internal characteristics) singer in an irreverent
punk band who, despite being almost thirty, still lives with his parents and works in a
dead end job at a video parlour (external circumstances).
Obviously, each of these characters could be described in more detail depending
on the individual processes of the writer. However, regardless of this, the character-
centred model encourages the sorting of various traits and conditions into ‘internal
characteristics’ and ‘external circumstances’ in an attempt to describe the emotional
relationship the character has to their physical world. From this analysis the model is
able to begin describing the relationships between the character and story. Within the
character-based model, a key task of the first act of a screenplay, is to identify any
existing conflicts that exist between the characters’ internal life and external life. In
order to do this we must first define what the character-based model means by
‘conflict’
 131

Conflict is often identified as being an essential ingredient of any dramatic story.

Linda Seger argues that:

Conflict is the basis of drama. It’s the stuff by which drama is made…In good
drama, characters enter into a dynamic relationship that emphasizes difference
(165).

In other words, the world around the character is in someway different to the way
they desire it to be. It might be because of a war, or alternatively, the loss of a
childhood toy. Both Seger and McKee categorise different types of conflict. Seger
refers to ‘inner’, ‘relational’, ‘societal’, ‘situational’, and ‘cosmic’ conflict
(165—174) while McKee similarly outlines inner’, ‘interpersonal’ and ‘extra-
personal’ conflict (213—216). Each moves outward from the character’s
emotional/philosophical conflicts and into the familial, social and natural world
surrounding them. The character-centred model, however, treats conflict slightly
differently.
The character-centred model defines ‘conflict’ as the tension between the
‘external circumstances’ and ‘internal characteristics’ of the main character. If the
external circumstances of the character are different to how their internal values or
desires then tension, or ‘conflict’, is created (see Figure # 2).

Figure # 2 External Circumstances

gender, body type, family
relationships, career,
social status, weather, etc

Character Conflict

Beliefs, hopes, fears,

desires, philosophies,
and memories, etc

Internal Characteristics

In other words, ‘conflict’ is always defined as the character’s internal life having a
relationship to the external world, rather than being a separate area of conflict on its
own. McKee and Seger both argue that there is a separate type of conflict called
 132

‘inner’ conflict but I would argue that any sort of ‘inner’ conflict would inevitably
have a relationship to an outside circumstance. For example, Truman in The Truman
Show has always wanted to explore the world outside of his hometown of Sea Haven.
In particular he would like to track down a childhood sweetheart who he thinks lives
in Fiji. However, because of an accident at sea as a child, resulting in a fear of open
water and guilt about his father’s apparent death (internal characteristics), as well as
discouragement from those he thinks are his friends and family but are really actors in
a 24-hour a day television show (external circumstances), he has never pursued those
dreams. Truman’s ‘internal’ emotional world is in conflict with the ‘external’
interpersonal world around him.
Of course, it is hard to think of a person, either fictional or real, who doesn’t have
some sort of conflict in their life. Indeed, everyday life throws up regular conflicts
that we struggle against to fulfil our ongoing need for food, shelter, love, sex,
television and so on. With this in mind, when shaping the internal characteristics and
external circumstances of a character, it is vital to establish which of these are already
in conflict with each other. For example, Charlie in Adaptation, despite being a
successful screenwriter, is deeply insecure and socially inept. Grace, in The Others,
not only has to care for her light-sensitive children when her servants unexpectedly
leave, she is also desperate for news of her husband who left for the war a number of
years earlier.
Similarly, a character does not need to fully comprehend the extent or the nature
of the conflicts in their life. For example, Grace is yet to fully comprehend the
shocking reasons for the disappearance of the servants. Truman, in The Truman Show,
is unaware that his life is actually part of a TV show. Indeed the entire story is
structured around Truman discovering the full extent of the deception. Similarly,
Andrew in The Curlies, despite being in open conflict with Tim’s girlfriend, and
generally ignoring the wishing of his parents, does not recognise just how far he has
grown apart from his friends. The story is structured around his recognition of this
fact and his response to it.
The character-centred model defines recurring or established conflict in a
character’s life as ‘Existing Conflict’. This existing conflict is an important
component in developing a well-defined central character as it has the potential to
create a dynamic relationship between the emotional life of the character and their
external circumstances. Additionally, as suggested above in the examples from The
 133

Others, The Truman Show and The Curlies, existing conflict can help indicate where
the story is going.
However, ‘existing conflict’ alone does not constitute a story. For example, The
Truman Show would be less of a story if the focus remained on Truman’s ignorance
of the TV show around him and his inability to pursue his dreams of travel and
finding his love Sylvia. While it could be argued that Truman as a character,
especially given his unique and bizarre circumstances, is extremely interesting, these
circumstances alone do not constitute mainstream screen story. This is because the
conflict is not ‘growing’. Nothing is happening. All we have is a portrait. An
interesting character with possibly a few quirks. The conflict is constant and will,
eventually, become monotonous (see Figure # 3).

Figure # 3

External Circumstances
gender, body type, family
relationships, career, social
status, weather, etc

Existing Conflict

beliefs, hopes, fears,

desires, philosophies,
and memories, etc

Internal Characteristics

Mainstream screenplays rely on a particular sort of ‘conflict’ to make a story—

what Robert McKee refers to as ‘progressive complications’:

To complicate means to make life difficult for characters. To complicate

progressively means to generate more and more conflict as they face greater
and greater forces of antagonism, creating a succession of events that passes
points of no return (208).
 134

What McKee is arguing is that progressive complications develop conflict in the

circumstances of the character’s life so that the story moves forward. Without this
development, the character’s life is static. In other words, ‘something must happen’.
Until there is a growing problem in the character’s life everything is mostly normal.
Mainstream screenplays rely on a growing conflict of some sort to move beyond a
portrait of a character and into a story about a character. Here, in the character-based
model, this sort of conflict is called ‘Developing Conflict’ (see Figure # 4).

Figure # 4 Act 1 - Character

A character’s life is
disrupted by a
developing
conflict.

External Circumstances
gender, body type, family Developing
relationships, career, social Conflict
status, weather, etc

Existing Conflict

beliefs, hopes, fears,

desires, philosophies,
and memories, etc

Internal Characteristics

For example, in The Others the occurrence of strange ghostly events moves the story
forward beyond a portrait of a lonely isolated mother and her strange light-sensitive
children. In Insomnia, a developing conflict is created for Dormer when his partner
Hap tells him he wants to do a deal with Internal Affairs that might implicate Dormer
in tampering evidence. In The Curlies, Laura’s pregnancy forces Andrew’s band to
find a reasonable way to make a living, despite Andrew’s protests. Andrew’s
situation is made worse when the solution is identified as forming a children’s band.
Of course, conflict is a relative concept. Indeed if the character were Superman
the conflict would need to be significant to create a problem in his life. If the problem
were your average bank robber then it would just be just another day in the
 135

phonebooth. If, however, it were Lex Luther planning to blow up the World with a
bomb then this conflict might get Superman’s heart beating a little faster—especially
if Lois Lane was tied to the bomb…and Superman was planning to marry her on the
weekend. So, if the screenplay is going to move beyond a static portrait and into a
dynamic story then the developing conflict needs to have the potential to become a
more urgent problem than any ‘existing conflict’.
Additionally, in mainstream screenwriting the developing conflict invariably
comes from the external world of the character rather than their internal life. For
example, in The Truman Show, a series of strange events—including a falling lighting
rig, a strange isolated rainstorm, the apparent reappearance of his father and a radio
show that seems to transmit his every move—make Truman aware that something
odd is going on around him. In Adaptation, despite Charlie’s enthusiasm for
attempting an adaptation of The Orchid Thief, he is constantly distracted by thoughts
of food, his brother’s decision to become a scriptwriter and his inability to tell Amelia
how he feels about her.
The reason this developing conflict usually emerges from the character’s external
world is possibly because in stories, as in real life, the world around people shifts a lot
more freely than their emotional world. We may cry one second, and laugh the next,
but those responses are generally predictable and only change slowly over time. In
contrast, the external world constantly shifts according to the individual needs and
desires of billions of human beings. Add to that the variables of economics, politics,
technology, religion, culture, nature, the weather, and the cosmic alignment of the
planets and we have a distinct picture of a world in constant flux.
To summarise, the character-centred model of screenwriting argues that the first
act of ‘Character’ should ideally establish the main character of the story as well as
the ‘Existing’ and ‘Developing’ conflicts in their life. The narrative focus of the act
can be summarised as : A character’s life is disrupted by a developing conflict.
The main character is defined by their ‘Internal Characteristics’ (beliefs, values, etc)
and their ‘External Circumstances’ (family, friends, career, environment, etc). The
conflict is defined by the tension between the ‘internal’ desires and ‘external’ reality
of the character.
As can be seen, the intimate linking of conflict to the character’s ‘internal
characteristics’ and ‘external circumstances’ is a key feature of the character-based
model as it essentially defines conflict in relation to the main character. The evolving
 136

shape of the conflict will at once describe the dramatic progress of the story as well as
how that conflict relates to the character.

‘Commitment’
At this point it would be worthwhile defining the term ‘Commitment’ as this is the
feature of the model that will provide the transition between each act of the
screenplay. Drawing on Thompson’s definition of a ‘turning point’ as a significant
shift in the protagonist’s goals, the character-centred model defines the transition
between acts as a ‘Commitment’. It can be summarised in this way: The character
commits to a goal to overcome the conflict when the conflict develops
significantly.
For example, in Insomnia Dormer commits to trying to cover up his accidental
killing of Hap, who was threatening to talk to internal affairs, when he lies about a
second shot being fired by the suspect they were chasing. This commitment is
confirmed in the next scene when he hides the suspect’s gun under the floorboards in
his hotel room. In The Truman Show, Truman, after discovering an elevator that
looks like the inside of a film set, tells Marlon, his best friend, that he is going to Fiji.
In The Others, Grace becomes convinced that there are intruders in the house when
she hears the voices in the junk room and, consequently, plans a thorough search of
the entire house. In The Curlies, Andrew is presented with a choice—either agree to
forming a children’s band or disband their punk band. He reluctantly agrees.
In all examples, the character is making a clear commitment to solving the
problem in a specific way. It should also be noted that this commitment is invariably
motivated by a significant shift in the character’s external circumstances which has
the effect of increasing the conflict they are experiencing (see Figure # 5).
 137

Figure # 5 Act 1 - Character

A character’s life is
disrupted by a
developing
conflict.

Developing Conflict
Existing Conflict

Commitment

The goal they set will, they hope, overcome the conflict. Like Thompson, I would
argue that it is this character response to the developing action that signifies the end
of an act, rather than the action itself as is implied by common definitions of ‘turning
points’ by Field and Seger, as it gives a clear indication of where the next act is
heading. With this commitment a question is established for the audience—will the
character achieve their goal? The stage is set for the next act of the story.

‘Challenges’
The second act of the character-centred model is called ‘Challenges’ and is
focussed on the attempts of the character to gain control over the developing conflict
in their life. It can be summarised in this way: The character faces numerous
challenges, with varying results, in order to overcome the developing conflict.
As we have seen above, characters will usually have some level of manageable
conflict in their life at the beginning of a story. A new conflict develops, however,
when their external world changes in some way—putting more stress on their internal
life. This creates various challenges for the character to try to overcome. Truman, in
The Truman Show, tries unsuccessfully to book a flight, catch a bus and drive out of
Sea Haven. Dormer, in Insomnia, must lie to his fellow officers, tamper with
evidence and track down the killer on his own to get out of the mess he is in. In The
Others, Grace must search the house, investigate the strange photos she has found and
find out the history of the house from Mrs Mills. What the character is struggling to
 138

do is reduce the level of tension between their internal and external lives to a
manageable level. Understandably, the character will often draw on ‘tried and true’
methods of fixing things in their life to do this. They may call on old abilities,
strategies, habits, friends, relationships, etc. Why not? They’ve worked before. They
may even learn a few new skills and make new acquaintances to help fix the problem.
Dormer, in Insomnia, tries tampering with evidence and ignoring police procedure as
he has done before. Charlie, in Adaptation, sticks to his principles of artistic and
personal integrity. Andrew, in The Curlies, continues to undermine the needs of
everyone else by sabotaging the children’s band concept so that he can reform his old
punk band.
However, once this ‘developing conflict’ has emerged in the character’s external
world there is a tendency for it to spread conflict into other areas of the characters life
(see Figure # 6). Even though there is often one particularly urgent conflict that
emerges early in the story, it is as if the developing conflict, once it is set in motion,
creates a domino effect so that conflicts begin to emerge from every aspect of their
life.

Figure # 6
Act 2 - Challenges

The character faces numerous

challenges, with varying
Act 1 - Character results, in order to overcome
the conflict.

familial, interpersonal,
social, environmental
conflicts
Developing Conflict
Existing Conflict

Commitment

For example, in Adaptation, Charlie’s inability to write the screenplay brings him into
conflict with his brother, his boss, his would-be girlfriend, the author of the book he is
adapting, her lover, and (hilariously) Robert McKee, as well as what he sees as the
‘artless’ industry he finds himself working in. In Insomnia, Dormer’s reluctance to
come clean about tampering evidence brings him into conflict with his partner, his
 139

partner’s wife, the small town police officers, Internal Affairs, the killer, the victim’s
boyfriend and best friend, as well as the values of the police force that hails him as
one of their best. In The Others, the ghostly occurrences bring Grace into conflict
with her daughter, son, servants, and her husband about the cause of the haunting as
well as challenge Grace’s strong religious beliefs.
These extra levels of conflict often form the basis of sub-stories or plots that
emerge alongside the central developing conflict. For example, in The Curlies,
Andrew’s reluctance to make a living playing music sets up a range of sub-stories
involving conflicts with other parts of his life: the new leisure interests of his band
mates, Tim’s commitment to fatherhood, Andrew’s professional and romantic clashes
with Julie, his growing fondness for Jimmy, the unresolved relationship with his
parents, as well as his ambivalence about Australia ‘growing up’ and becoming a
republic. Sub-stories are common to feature length films, which often require a
variety of stories and developing conflicts to sustain audience interest. They also
provide the opportunity to develop fully the thematic shape of the film’s narrative as
each sub-story conflict explores a different angle of the central themes.
These sub-story conflicts (overlaying the central developing conflict) do not
necessarily lead to the character being overcome with troubles scene after scene,
sequence after sequence. Mainstream screenplays are driven by the central
character’s response to conflict. Sometimes their response will reduce the conflict.
Other times it will increase it dramatically. This dynamic variation—between the
relative wins and losses of the character—is a strategy employed to avoid the story
becoming flat and monotone. For example, in Adaptation, Charlie rejoices when he
thinks the answer to his writers’ block is writing himself into the screenplay—only to
despair in the very next scene when he realises how pretentious and self-indulgent he
is being. In The Truman Show, Truman devises a way to drive over the bridge (a
significant fear) in order to escape, only to be stopped on the other side by an even
bigger problem—an apparent nuclear accident. Conversely, in The Curlies, Andrew
is forced to babysit Jimmy only to discover to his delight that Julie, much younger
and with very different hair, was once in a rock band that he admired—indeed he had
a teenage crush on Julie.
Despite these various turns of fortunes, however, the general level of conflict
should increase for the protagonist—‘one step forward, two steps back’. As McKee
argues, mainstream screenplays rely on the conflict continuing to develop through the
 140

story so that the character is always confronting bigger and bigger obstacles to the
resolution of their problem:

A story must not retreat to actions of lesser quality or magnitude, but move
progressively forward to a final action beyond which the audience cannot
imagine another (210).

To summarise, the second act of the character-centred model is called

‘Challenges’ and focuses on the main character’s attempts to overcome the
developing conflict in their life. It can be summarised in this way: The character
faces numerous challenges, with varying results, in order to overcome the
developing conflict.
The external circumstances of the character continue to shift. This results in
greater and greater conflict for the character. The conflict may begin to spread into
other aspects of the character’s life as a result. Sometimes they will make progress
towards a resolution of the conflict but in general it will continue to develop.

‘The Commitment at the End of Challenges’

At the end of the second act of ‘Challenges’, like at the conclusion of ‘Character’, the
main character will once again make a commitment to a strategy to overcome the
conflict (see Figure # 7). As we have seen, despite setting a goal previously, and
experiencing a few wins along the way, the situation has only got worse. The
challenges they have either won or lost have not reduced the conflict. Generally, as in
the first act, a shift in their external circumstances makes the character aware of
another approach to the problem. For example, in The Others, Grace becomes
convinced the intruders are ‘not human’ when the door and piano open of their own
accord and, therefore, adopts a new strategy and sets out to get a priest from the
village. In Insomnia, Dormer must abandon his plans to frame Finch when the killer
reveals he has secretly tape-recorded their conversations. Dormer’s new goal is to try
and save the murder victim’s boyfriend—who Finch is hoping to make the ‘patsy’. In
The Truman Show, Truman, after attempting to escape, is reassured by his best friend
and is reunited with his father. Truman, seemingly, commits to staying in Sea Haven,
despite secretly planning to escape again. In The Curlies, Andrew assures everyone
that the ‘Rock the Republic’ concert will be the last for his punk band and after that
he will commit to the children’s band. As these examples demonstrate, the new goal
 141

sets the character off in a new direction, in an attempt to overcome the developing
conflict. In all of these examples the main character makes a commitment to a
specific goal they hope will reduce the conflict. This provides the transition into the
next act.

Figure # 7
Act 2 - Challenges

Act 1 - Character

Developing Conflict
Existing Conflict

1st Commitment 2nd Commitment

‘Crisis’
The third act of the character-based model is called ‘Crisis’ and focuses on the
character coming to an apparent dead end in their attempt overcome the conflict. It
can be summarised as: The character experiences a crisis when it appears they
might not overcome the developing conflict.
As we have seen, in the first two acts ‘Character’ and ‘Challenges’, the character
has attempted a variety of strategies to try and overcome the conflict. What the
character finds is, despite a few wins along the way, the problem does not go away.
The conflict just gets worse. The world around them has changed so much, creating
so much conflict, that the old ways of doing things no longer seem to work. They are
at a ‘crisis’ where the way forward, to overcoming the developing conflict in their
life, is no longer clear. For Charlie, in Adaptation—despite writing himself into the
story, attempting to meet the writer whose book he is adapting as well as reluctantly
going to a workshop by Robert McKee—he still cannot write the screenplay. In
Insomnia, Dormer hits a dead end when, after his foiled attempts to plant evidence on
 142

Finch and the arrest of the murder victim’s innocent boyfriend, he realises he will not
achieve justice unless he confesses to his improper investigations and destroys his
reputation. In The Curlies, Andrew comes to realise that his reckless actions at the
‘Rock the Republic’ concert have destroyed any hope of getting his punk band back
together and ruined a great opportunity for his friends. Furthermore, he has probably
lost his best friend in the process. The character’s progress toward a resolution of the
conflict grinds to halt throughout this act. This is the character’s lowest point. This
apparent collapse of the character’s progress, forces the protagonist into a moment of
introspection as they examine why they have failed. What they come to realise is
what the audience probably knew all along: despite their ‘external circumstances’
shifting dramatically over the course of the story, the protagonist’s ‘internal
characteristics’ have barely moved at all. By and large, despite learning a few new
skills, meeting new allies and taking a few new risks, they still cling fast to the same
old values, beliefs, hopes and fears that they did at the beginning. As a result they
still have the same ‘existing conflicts’ (See Figure # 8).
For many protagonists this is the stage where they acknowledge these existing
conflicts so they can more fully prepare to confront the new and developing conflict.

Act 3 - Crisis
Figure # 8 The character
experiences a
crisis when it
seems they might
not overcome the
Act 2 - Challenges developing
conflict.
Act 1 - Character

Developing Conflict
Existing Conflict
nd
st
1 Commitment 2 Commitment

In other words, unable to manage the external world, the character needs to change
‘internally’ to reduce the conflict in his/her life. For example, Truman realises he
must overcome his internal fear of open water if he is going to escape Sea Haven.
Truman’s suspicion that his father is a part of the apparent conspiracy around him,
 143

presumably, helps heal this ‘existing conflict’. In Insomnia, Dormer’s questionable

methods of investigation are what put him in conflict with internal affairs in the first
place. In order to conclude solve the case satisfactorily, Dormer realises he must re-
evaluate his problematic internal beliefs about justice. In Adaptation, when Robert
McKee tells Charlie that his characters must ‘change’, Charlie realises the reason he
cannot write is because his own life is stagnant and unfulfilled, a fact that has been
clear to the audience since the beginning of the film. In The Others, after Grace
confesses to Charles about the day she went ‘mad’, she tells him she always felt he
went to war to get away from her. This eventual recognition by the protagonist of an
‘existing conflict’ that has hampered their progress is an extremely common feature in
mainstream screenplays.
To summarise the third act of ‘Conflict’ is focussed on the character recognising
that there are very few opportunities left to overcome the developing conflict. The
character experiences a crisis when it appears they might not overcome the
developing conflict. This crisis forces the character to reflect on why they have
failed. It is usually the case that they will recognise an inability to overcome an
‘existing conflict’ has impeded their progress.

‘The Commitment at the End of Crisis’

At the end of the third act of ‘Crisis’, the character will once again make a
commitment towards a strategy to overcome the conflict. However, the commitment
that occurs at the end of this act is slightly different to those made during others
stages. The reason for this is that it will often feature a radical shift in the character’s
approach to the problem. As we have seen, at the end of ‘Crisis’, the character is at a
loss and, for much of the act, cannot see their way forward. It is only on
acknowledging an ‘existing conflict’, and the ‘internal characteristics’ that have
prevented them overcoming it, that the character can see a new way forward. It will
usually involve the character making a significant internal ‘change’ in order to
overcome a long suffered existing conflict. In other words, the character must be
prepared to ‘change’ the beliefs, values or fears that have stalled their progress.
Whatever new goal or strategy they commit to at this point will probably be an
attempt to do just that (see Figure # 9).
 144

Act 3 - Crisis
Figure # 9 The character
experiences a
crisis when it
seems they might
not overcome the
Act 2 - Challenges developing
conflict.
Act 1 - Character

Developing Conflict
Existing Conflict

3rd Commitment
nd
st
1 Commitment 2 Commitment

As with earlier commitments, this new goal may be motivated by a significant

shift in their ‘external circumstances’—which in this instance helps the character
make a commitment. For example, in The Others, once Grace is reconciled to her
fear of abandonment by Charles, she is better equipped to deal with the ‘intruders’ in
the house. When she wakes to find Charles gone, she also finds the curtains have
been taken down, exposing her light-sensitive children to danger and signalling a new
level of antagonism from the intruders. In Adaptation, Charlie commits to seeking
help from his brother Donald to finish the script when Robert McKee (who Donald
suggested Charlie go and see) highlights a flaw in not only his script, but his whole
life. In The Curlies, Andrew, after being rejected by Tim and Julie, recognises his
irresponsible behaviour and moves out of the squat he has set up at his parent’s old
house. As he washes his clothes for the first time in months he rediscovers the
recording industry contact. He calls them and, to his surprise, they want a meeting
about the band, which he commits to.
One of the other differences, however, with the commitment made at the end of
the ‘Crisis’ is that it does not necessarily have to be motivated by a significant shift in
external events. Because of the deeply introspective nature of the ‘Crisis’, the
character may become self-motivated in the setting of their goal. For example, in
Insomnia, Dormer covertly discusses his situation with the hotel manager. She tells
him it all comes down to what he is willing to live with. The next morning Dormer
 145

picks up his badge and, with the inevitable risk of destroying his professional
reputation, commits to arresting Finch. Similarly, in The Truman Show, Truman,
despite pretending to return to his daily routine, finally commits to making his escape
from Sea Haven via the open sea.
In summary, the commitment made at the end of the ‘Crisis’ will often see the
character make a commitment to a new strategy to overcome the conflict. Part of this
strategy will usually be a recognition that they will need to change ‘internally’ in
order to overcome an existing conflict that has impeded their progress.

‘Change’
The final act of the character-based model is called ‘Change’ and focuses on the
character’s potential to change in order to finally overcome the developing conflict.
Indeed, I argue that: The character’s potential to change determines the outcome
of the conflict. A common question that is asked of a screenplay is ‘does the central
character have an arc?’ Various commentators have attempted to describe this
concept:

This is a term used to describe the gradual stages of change in a character: the
phases and turning points of growth (Vogler: 211).

In the best of films, at least one of the characters becomes transformed in the
process of living out the story (Seger 1994: 186).

The finest writing not only reveals true character, but arcs or changes that
inner nature, for better or for worse, over the course of the telling
(McKee:104).

At its most basic, the ‘arc’ of a character refers to the amount of change their
‘internal characteristics’ and ‘external circumstances’ undergo as a result of the story.
The last act of a mainstream screenplay is principally concerned with amount of
change that the main character undergoes as a result of the conflict. As we have seen,
there has been a great deal of change in the protagonist’s ‘external circumstances’
throughout the story. The focus in the last stage, however, is generally on the change
that is displayed in their ‘internal characteristics’ and the final balance that is achieved
with the world around them. The narrative question that is often implied by the
 146

commitment at the end of the ‘Crisis’ is about whether or not they will be able to
change ‘internally’ in order to overcome the conflict.
Another way to think about is if the central character were described at the
beginning of the story using the variables of ‘internal characteristics’ and ‘external
circumstances’, they would usually be described differently at the end of the story.
For example, Charlie in the beginning of Adaptation is nervous around women and is
unable to tell Amelia that he loves her. By the end, however, despite still being
generally insecure, he is able to be honest with her (even to the point of a brief kiss)
and is happier as a result. In The Truman Show, Truman overcomes his inertia in
order to find Sylvia and explore the world outside Sea Haven. In The Others, Grace
has not only overcome her fear of abandonment by her husband but has also had her
strong religious beliefs overturned by the realisation that she and her children are
actually ghosts. In Insomnia, Dormer regains his integrity by accepting his mistakes
and preserving the evidence that will destroy his reputation but will achieve justice.
In The Curlies, Andrew comes to appreciate the needs of those closest to him and
finally makes a living as a musician. In all of these examples, as well as most
mainstream films, the last stage of the narrative is focussed around the main
character’s commitment to change and to overcoming their ‘internal’ flaws in order to
finally confront the developing conflict. The narrative question that is implied by the
stage of ‘Change’ is that the character’s potential to change will determine the
outcome of the conflict. Will it be better, worse, both or completely unchanged?
The commitment to change, or otherwise, is not fully tested until the climax of
the story. Until then the character can relent and, as a result, possibly change the
outcome of the story. For example, Dormer in Insomnia is given the opportunity to
destroy the evidence that would keep his reputation intact, but he forgoes it. Truman,
after surviving a tremendous man-made storm, is given the opportunity by Christof to
return to a life ‘without fear’ but refuses it. Charlie, in Adaptation, is presented with a
familiar situation where he can tell Amelia how he feels about her and, for the first
time, actually does. Andrew, in The Curlies, actively encourages Tim for the first
time to take centre stage and sing at the audition. Grace, in The Others, after being
confronted by the séance that confirms that she and the children are ghosts, admits
that she doesn’t know where limbo is, thus confirming her acceptance that her
previously strict religious beliefs may not be correct. In all examples, the main
character’s commitment to an internal change is confirmed by the final stage of the
 147

story. This change, or otherwise, confirms the outcome of the conflict and whether or
not the main character has overcome this conflict and their challenges (see Figure #
10).

Act 4 -
Figure # 10 Change

Act 3 -
Crisis

Act 2 -
Challenges
The
character’s
Act 1 - potential
Character for Change
Developing Conflict
determines
the outcome
of the conflict.
Existing Conflict

st nd rd
1 Commitment 2 Commitment 3 Commitment

In summary, the final act of the character-based model is called ‘Change’ and
focuses on the character’s potential to change in order to finally overcome the
developing conflict. It is based on the idea that: The character’s potential for
change determines the outcome of the conflict. And this potential for change will
be confirmed in the final climactic stages of the story.

Conclusion and Further Analysis of The Curlies

As we have seen, the character-centred approach is an attempt to develop a model of
screenwriting that integrates the structural function of each act with the defining
features of the main character—using transparent terminology. The approach draws
on the observations of some of the most popular screenwriting commentators of the
last twenty-five years, as well as the critiques Thompson has made of these
approaches. To summarise, I will outline the principle concepts of character-centred
model using my original screenplay The Curlies as an example.
The character centred model defines the main ‘Character’ according to two
variables. These are:
 148

• Internal Characteristics (the character’s internal beliefs, hopes, fears,

desires, philosophies, memories, etc.)
• External Circumstances (the character’s external physical traits, family
relationships, social relationships, natural environment, etc.)

The ‘internal characteristics’ of Andrew, the main character in The Curlies, feature a
strong rebellious streak, a desire to be the centre of attention, as well an aversion to
change and responsibility. Andrew’s main ‘external characteristics’ feature an overly
protective mother, a dismissive father, questionable talents as a singer, limited job
prospects, and a group of more mature friends who are beginning to tire of Andrew’s
antics.
The model defines ‘Conflict’ as the tension between the character’s ‘internal
characteristics’ and ‘external circumstances’. It delineates between two types of
conflict, which are:

• Existing Conflict (the pre-existing conflict in the character’s life at the

beginning of the narrative)
• Developing Conflict (a new and growing conflict that emerges in the
character’s external circumstances at the beginning of the narrative and
continues until the end of the narrative).

Andrew’s ‘existing conflict’ is that his casual and irreverent approach to life has lead
to a situation where, at almost thirty, he has few job prospects, a delicate relationship
with his parents, particularly his father, loyal but increasingly distant friends, and little
hope of playing music for a living as he had always dreamed. Andrew’s ‘developing
conflict’ emerges when Tim, his best friend, has to quit the band in order to earn a
living to support his pregnant girlfriend. This development sees Andrew and his
friends form a children’s band, which causes an enormous amount of conflict for
Andrew dreams of being a rock singer. The success of the children’s band, as well as
Andrew’s continued relationship with Tim, is in question until the very end of the
story.
The character-centred model also provides a narrative focus for each of the four
acts that form the structure of the story. The narrative focus of each act is related to
the character’s progress through the story. The four acts are:
 149

• Act 1 – Character (A character’s life is disrupted by a developing conflict)

• Act 2 – Challenges (The character faces numerous challenges, with varying
results, in order to overcome the developing conflict)
• Act 3 – Crisis (The character experiences a crisis when it appears they might
not overcome the developing conflict)
• Act 4 – Change (The character’s potential for change determines the outcome
of the conflict)

The Curlies can be summarises using the above definitions as a template:

• Act 1 – Character (When Andrew's best friend Tim has to consider quitting
their infamous punk band, The Pubes, to support his pregnant girlfriend, the
old friends hit on an idea to earn money playing as a children's band called
The Curlies).
• Act 2 – Challenges (Despite finding an experienced and attractive female
manager, playing to screaming three-year-olds is not the rock and roll lifestyle
Andrew was hoping for as he approaches his thirtieth birthday and he does
everything in his power to sabotage the group).
• Act 3 – Crisis (When Andrew’s irresponsible actions get the band arrested
during a concert Tim quits, taking up a dull job in a shopping centre, and The
Curlies break up, forcing Andrew to reflect on the deterioration of his
friendship with Tim).
• Act 4 – Change (Fortunately, Andrew is presented with an opportunity to get
The Curlies a recording contract and, with new found charm and
responsibility, convinces Tim to rejoin for a risky audition that ultimately
secures a successful future for the band).

Finally, the character-centred model divides each act of the structure with a
significant shift in the protagonist’s goal, called a ‘Commitment’:

• Commitment (The character commits to a goal to overcome the conflict when

the conflict develops significantly).
 150

This ‘commitment’ is often motivated by an accompanying shift in the protagonist’s

external circumstances. In The Curlies there are three significant changes to
Andrew’s goals that each provide a transition into the next act.

• Commitment #1 (end of Act 1) – Andrew is forced to commit to trying the

children’s band idea when Tim says he has to quit.
• Commitment #2 (end of Act 2) – Andrew commits to taking The Curlies
seriously if the band will reform The Pubes for one last concert for his thirtieth
birthday.
• Commitment #3 (end of Act 3 under a Four-Act scheme) – Andrew
commits to trying to get The Curlies back together after finding the old
business card for the record company in some old washing.

As demonstrated the character-based model, using the above terminology, is able

to accurately describe the structure of The Curlies as well as a range of mainstream
films from varying genres. This analysis, of course, is a tentative starting point for
the application of the character-centred model. There are a variety of screenplay
structures that are yet to be explored using the model including screenplays that
feature dual, parallel and multiple protagonists, protagonists that do not display an
‘arc’, stories that feature unresolved conflict, as well as episodic and non-linear
narratives. Another area of further research would involve testing the model with a
range of films of varying lengths to fully explore the ways in which act structure and
frequency may vary. The model does, however, place character to the centre,
hopefully providing the screenwriter with a set of concepts that effectively synthesise
structure with character.
The usefulness of a model in communicating story ideas and concepts to
screenwriting students, practitioners and associated professionals must also be a fair
test of it. The accessibility and relevance of the model could be tested in a variety of
ways in order to indicate potential strengths and weaknesses. While I have found, and
demonstrated, the model to be a useful method of writing my own screenplay, as well
as analysing a range of widely appreciated films, the model can only claim to be
another, in an increasing long line of attempts, to understand the mysterious process
of screenwriting.
 151

Bibliography

Aronson, Linda. Screenwriting Updated—New and Conventional Ways of Writing for

the Screen. Sydney, Australia: Australian Film, Television and Radio School,
2000.
Berman, Robert A. Fade In—The Screenwriting Process. Studio City, USA:
Michael Wiese Productions, 1997.
Cambell, Joseph. The Hero with a Thousand Faces. London, Great Britain: Fontana
Press, 1993.
Coleman, Todd. Story Structure Gurus. Written By Magazine. Writers Guild of
America. Los Angeles, USA: June 1995. 19th December 2003
<http://www.wga.org/WrittenBy/1995/0695/gurus.htm>.
Collins, Brandilyn. Getting into Character—Seven Secrets a Novelist Can Learn
from Actors. New York, USA, John Wiley and Sons, 2002.
Dancyger, Ken and Jeff Rush. Alternative Screenwriting—Successfully Breaking the
Rules. Woburn, USA: Focal Press, 2002.
Elbert, Lorain. ed. Why We Write. Beverley Hills, USA: Silman-James Press, 1999.
Dawson, Jonathon. Screenwriting—A Manual. Melbourne, Australia: Oxford
University Press, 2000.
Epstein, Alex. Crafty Screenwriting—Writing Movies That Get Made. New York,
USA: Owl Books, 2002.
Field, Syd. The Screenwriter’s Workbook. New York, USA: Dell Publishing, 1984.
Field, Syd. Screenplay—The Foundations of Screenwriting. New York, USA: MJF
Books, 1994.
Froug, William. ed. The New Screenwriter Looks at the New Screenwriter.
Hollywood, USA: Silman-James Press, 1992.
Froug, William. ed. Zen and the Art of Screenwriting—Interviews and Insights.
Beverley Hills, USA: Silman-James Press, 1996.
Goldman, William. Adventures in the Screentrade—A Personal View of Hollywood
and Screenwriting. London, Great Britain: Abacus, 1997.
Horton, Andrew. Writing the Character-Centered Screenplay. Los Angeles, USA:
University of California Press, 1994.
McKee, Robert. Story—Substance, Structure, Style, and the Principles of
Screenwriting. London, Great Britain: Methuen Publishing Limited, 1999.
 152

Owen, Alistair, ed. Story and Character—Interviews with British Screenwriters.

London, Great Britain: Bloomsbury Publishing, 2003.
Phillips, Melanie and Chris Huntley. Dramatica—A New Theory on Story. Burbank,
USA: Screenplay Systems Inc., 2001.
Rabiger, Michael. Developing Story Ideas. Woburn, USA: Focal Press, 2000.
Seger, Linda. The Art of Adaptation: Turning Fact and Fiction into Film. New York,
USA, Henry Holt and Company, 1992.
Seger, Linda. Making a Good Script Great. Hollywood, USA: Samuel French
Trade, 1994.
Seger, Linda. Making a Good Writer Great. Beverley Hills, USA: Silman-James
Press, 1999.
Smith, Evan. S. Writing Television Sitcoms. New York, USA: Perigee Books, 1999.
Thompson, Kristin. Storytelling in the New Hollywood. London, Great
Britain: Harvard University Press, 1999.
Topel, Fred. An Unorthodox Adaptation: Deciphering Charlie Kaufman. Ed.
Christopher Wehner. 11th January 2004
<http://www.screenwritersutopia.com/interviews/charlie_kaufman.html>.
Truby, John. Why 3-Act Will Kill Your Writing. 10th January 2004
<www.truby.com>.
Vogler, Christopher. The Writer’s Journey—Mythic Structure for Storytellers and
Screenwriters. London, Great Britain: Pan Books, 1999.

Filmography
Adaptation. Writ. Charlie Kaufman. Dir. Spike Jonze. Columbia Pictures, 2002.
Insomnia. Writ. Nikolaj Frobenius and Erik Skjoldbjærg. Dir. Christopher Nolan.
Warner Brothers, 2002.
The Others. Dir./Writ. Alejandro Amenabar. Dimension Films, 2001.
The Truman Show. Writ. Andrew Niccols. Dir. Peter Weir. Paramount Pictures,
1998.