Writing Extreme Characteristics

A couple of weeks ago, Jurassic World was on t.v., and I watched the starting of it. Now, I like that movie, but from a writing perspective, there are a few things about it that, for me, make it feel like it was written by an intermediate writer rather than a professional, Hollywood screenwriter. One of those things is Claire's characterization. Within the first few minutes, the film shows us (basically back-to-back) multiple instances that illustrate how distant and cold Claire is to other living things. Dinosaurs, people she works with, family members, one-time love interests. She doesn't even understand why it's a problem the I. Rex has no socialization.

Claire isn't just kind of distant and cold.

She's really distant and cold.

Those attributes of her are extreme.

Most human beings aren't that extreme. Sometimes when I'm writing, I have to remind myself that very rarely is someone 100% anything. Instead, it's more like human beings have boundaries. It's the villain who is killing people left and right, but then opens a can of cat food for a stray feline. It's the hero who swears he'll never kill anyone, but when he can't find a way out and wants to protect other innocents, he pulls the trigger. The other day I was researching how Thomas Jefferson owned one of the largest plantations and yet spoke out against slavery.

When you boil behaviors down like these, it feels quite hypocritical or contradictory, but that's because we've cut out the thought processes and details and complexities. The realities are that all of us have characteristics that have conditions or boundaries. As I've said before, smashing contrasts in characters, and then exploring those is how we create complexity. Political opinions aside, let's look at Thomas Jefferson as an example of a real human being like this. Jefferson spoke out against and fought slavery, but he also had a tremendous amount of debt, and didn't think it was helpful to simply release slaves with no place to go or no means of employment. The more you dig into his relationship with slavery--a seeming contradiction--the more you understand his thought process--whether or not you agree (again, just using him as an example of a real person like this).

But once in a while you run into characters who are walking extremes. And they can be very difficult to write, simply because of what I've just talked about. If they don't have boundaries and conditions, and they are extreme, they often don't feel complex. They may feel unreal or flat.

Claire has a character arc, and yet, when I watch her on screen, she still feels rather flat to me. Part of this is because she's so extreme. The other part is that the filmmakers made the mistake of illustrating the same extreme characteristic back-to-back-to-back, moment after moment, scene after scene. It almost feels as if distance and coldness are the only characteristics Claire has.

I've said this a lot lately: hitting the same thing over and over in a story doesn't make it stronger to the audience, it makes it weaker.

Because Claire is so distant and cold, we really only needed one or two (and definitely no more than three) moments that showed us that in the beginning, not 100. We get it.

Something like that might work in an "unreality" story, like a Dr. Seuss book or  Lemony Snicket, where seeing it back-to-back is sorta of tongue-in-cheek or comical or serves a higher purpose in and of itself, beyond the character.

So how do you make an extreme character work?

If you have an extreme character, it's almost always important (as it is with any character) to give them multiple dominating qualities.

(Sorry, not sorry, but I recently saw Hamilton and loved it, so I'll probably be referring to it in some of my posts.)

Hamilton is extreme as well. In fact, I heard his thematic line ("I'm not throwing away my shot!") so many times that I was sick of it before I even gave the musical a chance (now that I'm familiar with the story, it doesn't bother me). It's an important line and characteristic because it relates directly to the theme and his character arc. And he's extreme. Hamilton never says no to an opportunity to move ahead and doesn't consider opportunities and lifestyles that he views as stagnant--he's determined not to throw away his shot, regardless of what others--Burr or Eliza or Angelica or George Washington--say or imply to him.

It's extreme. Like Claire, when we meet him, he's in it 100%.

But it's not his only dominating attribute that we are introduced to.

We get plenty of others. He's "obnoxious, arrogant, loud," a powerful writer, ambitious to the point of being a workaholic, and popular with the ladies ;)

We now have several characteristics to hit and play with through the story, rather than his most extreme.

If you have a main character that has an extreme attribute, it's highly likely it's going to come into play in the character arc (aka how the character grows). If the extreme attribute doesn't relate primarily to the arc, it will probably be secondary to it.

It's hard to have a dominating extreme characteristic through the whole novel without an arc, because it's difficult to sustain. It becomes stagnant. It's not changing or contrasting and it draws so much attention. It's hitting the same thing. As Brandon Sanderson says, what's interesting about Superman is not his extreme, larger-than-life abilities, it's his limitations--it's when his superpowers are undone by kryptonite.

What's interesting about Hermione is when she actually breaks rules, not adheres to them. If she went through the entire series without ever breaking any, it'd be annoying because there is no change.

In Hamilton, it's Hamiltion's own extreme characteristic that brings his undoing. When he's writing the Reynolds Pamphlet, what does the song say? "Wait for it, wait for it, wait for it"--and it gets louder the closer he is to completing the pamphlet. But does he wait for it? No. Because he's extreme, he's at 100%. Not even his own family gets considered before he publishes the thing. But the result and what happens after forces him to change, forces him into a character arc--because it ruins both his public and personal life.

At one point, even when Hamilton is trying to say no to something, literally praying to God to help him to say no something, he still fails--"I do not say no!"

The only way to get him to change is to force him by having him wreck havoc upon himself. The story wouldn't be half as interesting or half as meaningful if he'd stayed at 100% the entire time.

Worth noting, too, is that he's foiled nicely by Burr, who is extreme in the opposite direction. He never takes risks; he never stands for what he truly believes. He waits around and only gets involved when it's safe. But with that attitude, he's not excelling at the rate Hamilton is. But again, Burr doesn't stay the same. He has his own arc. In fact, as foils, Burr and Hamilton intersect and end up on different sides. Hamilton throws away his shot, and Burr takes his too quickly.

Setting up foils like this also helps round out extremes, and again, having contrasts gives the story complexity, because it allows us to explore the differences in the opposing ends. That's what gives us depth. (I've heard people argue that Shakespeare was amazing because he used foils so well.)

Whatever extreme characteristic you are dealing with, it almost always needs some kind of motion. Luckily, Claire does get an arc, but it would have been richer and more powerful if it included other characteristics.

For Hamilton, all his other dominating characteristics feed into the arc of his most extreme:

Because he's such a non-stop workaholic, he refuses to go on vacation, worried he'll lose his job . . . but ultimately ends up losing his whole political career by staying behind.

Because he likes ladies, is good with ladies, and has a reputation for it . . . he makes a great target for a setup with one. And he's more likely to give in, when in a state of weakness and loneliness (from staying behind).

Because he's a loudmouth and always speaks his mind he's sure (maybe to the point of being arrogant) that being honest in the Reynolds Pamphlet will save him from political problems.

Because he's a fantastic writer, he thinks the answer is writing his way to safety.

These don't all have to be direct, but notice how his other qualities fed into what happens.

I was watching Lucy the other day, and I felt bad for Scarlett Johansson, because the character she plays is extreme and has hardly any other dominating characteristics and little motion on the personal level. Time and again it's just Lucy getting smarter and more powerful with little emotional development. Boring. And one of the reasons the movie was a flop.

BBC's Sherlock Holmes, on the other hand, is another great example of a character with extreme qualities, in fact, several extreme qualities--and they are in motion. Sure, even those that aren't at first glance, like his great deductions, still have moments of limitation and at one point work, like Hamilton, to bring havoc upon himself because Sherlock wants things to be more complicated than they are.

Even if the qualities are universally considered good, they probably need to be in some kind of motion. For example, it's good that Hermione isn't a rule-breaker. But as the series goes on, she becomes more of one, and that's interesting.

However, if you are working with a dominate character that is extreme and yet doesn't change, you have to make up for it by ramping up the costs. For universally good qualities, you do this by following the motto "No good deed goes unpunished"--the cost of adhering to that extreme needs to be huge, but worthwhile. Choosing to be 100% something--it takes a lot. In Les Mis, if Fantine made a decent salary, it'd be easy to send that money to Cosette, and that's a good thing to do. But she doesn't have a decent salary; she has to sell her hair, teeth, and body in order to do a good thing--"No good deed goes unpunished." (Note that while Fantine isn't an "extreme" character, it illustrates my point.)

Here is another one. It's a good idea to rescue people. But what if pushing a child out of the way of a car meant that a renowned doctor would have to live the rest of his life paralyzed? That's a big sacrifice, not only for the doctor doing the rescuing, but for the community he's helping. The cost and sacrifice to be 100% anything is a lot. Life isn't clear-cut. It's messy and complicated.

So when working with extreme characteristics, here are some things to consider:

1. Give them additional dominating qualities (bonus points if they can play into the arc of the extreme in some way)

2. In the opening, don't illustrate the same extreme quality in ten different situations. Trust that the audience will get it with one or two good instances then move on with the story. Remember that hitting the same thing over and over makes it dull and annoying, not stronger and more interesting.

3. The more extreme and dominating the quality, the more likely it needs to be part of the character arc.

4. In any case, put it in some kind of motion or at least explore limitations or how it can be used against them.

5. Set up a foil to help create more depth and complexity in the story.

6. Look at the cost and sacrifice it takes to maintain an extreme and maybe the havoc and pain it brings upon the individual adhering it and those around him or her.

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The Most Important Part of Sequels and Retellings

You've probably noticed like the rest of the world that we are living in a period of entertainment where everything is or has a sequel, a reboot, a remake, an adaptation, or a familiar story source (fairy tales for example). People in the entertainment industries, especially Hollywood, have finally caught on to the idea that making an addition to an existing story or franchise is not only safer, but smarter--you are guaranteed to make money--because it already has a ready-made audience, and when marketing your material, you don't have spend money and energy educating the audience as much on what story you are selling. You make the tenth Peter Pan movie (too late, it's already in the works), and people already know what sort of plot they are getting. An added bonus (read: draw) is that it resonates with what audiences are already familiar with.

If you are like me, you are starting  for the 4th year continuing to wish Hollywood would put out more original stories and more standalones, even if you love series and fairy tales and superhero movies. I mean, wouldn't it be so refreshingly great to go to an amazing movie with a brand new story you haven't heard before? And then something like the Nutcracker is announced and you repent of your complaining, because I mean, oh my gosh, did you see the trailer?

Now that Hollywood and much of the world have discovered the power and (monetary) benefits of resonating closely with previous works (whether it be another installment or retelling) and the ease of having a ready-made audience, I don't think we are going to see an end to this phase any time soon, if ever.

And while I'm tired of the market being saturated with sequels, remakes, and reboots, the truth is, I love a story that stretches over several installments, and I even love retellings of stories I'm familiar with (though a little less now than previous because of saturation).

With all of these sequels and retellings (and me watching the new season of X-Files), I've been thinking a lot lately about what the most important part is to get right when writing one. After all, some of the remakes can seem widely different than their predecessors--different plot, different characters, maybe even different setting--and yet still be hugely successful. Others may still have those same components and fall on their faces.

This is because the most important part of continuing or revisiting a story is hitting the right emotional draws.

What were the original emotional draws in the previous installment(s)? If you are writing a sequel you need to hit those same emotional beats. If you are retelling a "classic," you need to hit the same emotional beats of that classic.

What are emotional beats and draws? They are the emotions that the story hits on. In a romance story, you need to have romance beats. In a horror story, you need to have horror beats. In a comedy, you need to have comedic beats.

It's obvious when we talk about them that way. But not all stories are as clear, and if you want to write a successful sequel, you need to go beyond generalities and hit the right kind of romantic beats. The right kind of comedic beats. All stories have more than one emotional draw. They may have one prominent one, but it will have others in it. Some have two, three, or four prominent ones, and still others.

There are some sequels that have different characters or settings (harder to pull off, but it can be done), but are still successful. Why? Because they hit the same emotional beats of the original.

If there is ONE thing that is MOST important about writing a sequel, it's including the same emotional beats.

Let's look at one of the highest grossing sequels of all time: Jurassic World.

You've probably seen it and will recall that the plot and characters were so-so. In fact, both the plot and characters were criticized and made fun of. But Jurassic World nailed its emotional beats. Nailed them.

The primary emotional draw for any speculative fiction, is a sense of wonder--that feeling of being enthralled and captivated, that sense of curiosity over potential possibilities, that sense of what if ____ could happen. Jurassic Park inherently has that, because of the subject matter: dinosaurs. But the film amplified it by having specific moments and shots that hit that exact beat, like meeting the Brachiosaurus. There is a lot of sense of wonder going on in that scene.

The secondary emotional draw for Jurassic Park is horror--something goes wrong and characters have to try to survive and outwit carnivorous dinosaurs. Whether it's the T-rex trying to get into a car, or the raptors getting through closed doors.

Then there are less prominent beats. Most horrors (there are some exceptions) tap into our primal need to survive. So Jurassic Park also has the same beats survival stories have. Likewise, a lot of wonder feeds into beats of wish-fulfillment. At on point or another, most of us have probably wished we could actually see a real dinosaur, and even if you take out that, most of us have wished at one point or another that we were on vacation at a theme park. Then it breaks down to even more beats, to a few comedic concepts and a few moments that relate to relationships between the characters. Then there are the intellectual beats that ask us to consider morals.

Jurassic Park has an extra oomph of power, because it's two primary emotional draws, wonder and horror, are actually opposites. And when you cross opposites in storytelling (as I explained in this big fat post 2 1/2 years ago), you get amplified emotional power.

Okay, so then Jurassic World came out. It's easy to be skeptical because this is the fourth movie in the franchise--I mean, what else can you do with it that won't be dumb? (Thankfully, they changed it up a bit (and amplified that sense of wish-fulfillment) by having the park be open and functional).

It was a huge success. Why? Because it nailed the same emotional draws of the originals: wonder, horror, survival, wish-fulfillment, a few comedic concepts, relationship moments, moral questions.

If Jurassic World did not hit wonder and horror, survival and wish-fulfillment, it would have not been successful.

This is why in some series you can even change characters, settings, or (to some degree, plot)--it's harder to pull off and not recommended for the majority--but what matters most is hitting the same emotional draws.

Look at Chronicles of Narnia. If I asked the average American who the main character is, most people would probably tell me Lucy--a few wise people might say Aslan, which goes into a different tangent for another post (main character vs. protagonist vs. viewpoint character). But if any of you have read the whole series, Lucy and her siblings aren't even in all the books. Lucy is only a principal character in three of the seven books, and a minor character in two others. You can argue that the books are all about Narina, I mean, it is called the Chronicles of Narnia, right? That may be true, but the first book The Magician's Nephew seems to take place in other worlds that are just as important as Narnia. It may be "about Narnia," but Narnia as we know it doesn't even exist until the end of the volume. Is it a failure?

No.

It hits the same draws: wonder, danger, spirituality, morality, allegory.

Same thing with the X-Files. When they started this new season on right now (no spoilers here), I knew the kinds of episodes it would have, because regardless of changes in plot or character dynamics--writer Chris Carter knows to hit all the same beats.


-There will be an episode about the overarching plot of the whole series, that hits the drama beat, with Smokey Man and the agents, Mulder and Scully, Scully and her child.

-There will be a standalone episode about a legendary creature or monster

-There will be a lighthearted comedy episode, that reminds you not to take the show too seriously and that the creators aren't afraid to poke fun at themselves.

-There will be a conspiracy episode, about something the government is testing on people. Mulder and Scully will work with those people.

-There will be an episode that relates to aliens.

-There will be an episode about someone who has supernatural abilities.

- At least one of these will have a horror feel, another will have a relationship draw, another will have suspense or thriller beats, another will have mystery undertones, another will capitalize on being creepy, and it goes on.


And while you might point to the fact that I mostly listed types of episodes instead of emotions--each of those types have their own specific draws.

Each individual draw may not appeal to everyone. This is why among X-Files fans you may hear some people complain about the drama beats because they only want monster-wonder ones, or some who will claim that the lighthearted comedy episode is the best one of the season while others are scratching their heads at it, or why some swoon over the relationship beats between Scully and Mulder (did you know X-Files is where the term "shipping" originated?) while others are waiting to get to the government conspiracy.

When the new season started, I had couple of family members say after the first two episodes: "Oh, this is gonna be like the old X-Files."

Yes.

Why?

Because the writers understand the franchise's emotional beats. They may do some things with the plot that you may find questionable or even . . . inaccurate. They may try to bring in other characters that most people don't like. But they know what all the emotional beats of the franchise is, and they will hit all of them by the end of the season.

They could narrow in and only do a few specific draws like most successful t.v. shows do these days--such as the overall plot with Smokey Man--but if they did, they'd be axing the viewers who love the legendary creature stories the most. They need to hit all the same beats.

And they will.


X-Files is interesting because it has a lot of specific niche beats inside of its primary ones, whereas Jurassic Park has more generalized draws (a more generalized wonder and horror--and also more primal draws). But even if you look at it, you will find some that do break down more specifically. For example, every movie in the franchise has a moment where a character is trapped in some sort of vehicle with a T-rex-like dinosaur trying to get in.

Which leads me to my next point--one of the biggest pitfalls of sequels: trying to do the exact same thing as the previous installment(s). This can go really flat with comedy in particular.

As one of my friends in college once said, "The thing with sequels is they try to do the same thing that was funny in the last movie, as if it's still going to be funny."

Sequels can easily fail when people confuse plot with emotional beats--which is easy to do.

See, the plot absolutely inherently affects, helps determine, and creates your story's emotional draws--but they aren't the same thing.

When it comes to sequels and retellings, people want the same thing . . . but different.

That sounds so vague, right? What the heck does that mean?

It means they want the same emotional draws and beats, not the exact same events and lines and contexts.

I don't want to hear the exact same joke in the sequel. I want to hear the same kind of joke.

In the sequel, you can take things from the original, and twist, tweak, flip, or invert it, to make it different, but the draws 99.9% of the time need to be the same.

You can take the last joke and build and twist it to make it funny again, and hit that same humor beat, but you can't do the exact same thing over and over again. It's annoying and falls flat.
 

Sure, the Jurassic movies always have a T-rex-like dinosaur trying to get in a vehicle where people are trapped, but each situation varies somewhat, and unless you are a writer, you may not even be conscious of how often this set-up happens over and over.

Jurassic has very generalized and primal emotional draws--things all humans can relate to. It doesn't need to be as varied in its installments as other franchises do. In fact, because of the nature of the story set-up (how many different ways can you put humans and dinos together in this age?), it can't be without falling on its face. It needs to stick to somewhat of a formula. A different franchise with more primal and generalized draws may have more freedom and need to utilize it in its set-up. For example, the Maze Runner movies have different set-ups each movie, but still the same generalized, primal draws. Wouldn't it be annoying if each movie really was the exact same thing, the exact same maze, over and over?

In order to hit the right emotional beats, the installments or retelling may follow a close pattern or formula, but that's not always necessary. What matter most is that they hit them.

The fifth Indiana Jones movie probably can't be a spy romance that takes place in New York City because it's very unlikely you will be hitting the primary beat of the franchise: adventure. And not just adventure, but the franchise's specific type of adventure.

Other times you may even have the same characters, setting, or a similar plot, but it doesn't hit the right specific emotional draws, and falls flat.

Again, this why it's so important to see emotional draws as something different than plot. They relate and overlap, but they aren't the exact same thing.

 A couple years ago, the new Ghostbusters movie came out. I haven't seen it, I admit, so I can't give my opinion on it. But I can tell you a fact: the trailer is the most disliked video in Youtube history--1 MILLION thumbs down, and only 302k thumbs up. Some people said it was because others were sexist, which could be true, but when I started listening to what the dislikers were saying, what they were really complaining about was that it had different emotional beats. That the trailers for the new version weren't hitting the same specific beats--particularly the more serious and sinister beats--that the original trilogy hit. People were even complaining that the theme song sounded too comedic and campy and dub-steppy, and when the original had come out, it had a somewhat creepier, sinister undertone. I haven't seen any of the movies for a long time, and think I'd probably actually enjoy the new one, and I'm sure you have your own opinion, but I'm just using this as an example to teach the point I'm trying to make.

Emotional beats are where it's at. They are the reason professionals in the industry tell you to pitch your novel by comparing it to other stories (for example, "It's X-Men meets The Notebook")--which drives many readers and fans crazy. This pitch method is used to quickly communicate the sorts of beats and draws your own story has.

You can even take this all a step further and include specific emotional beats to appeal to specific audience.

A couple of weeks ago, a family member called me on the phone, and then started talking about Stranger Things. "It's reminds me of Harry Potter," he said. Then after a pause, "Even though they are completely different. . . ."

Are they completely different?

In characters and plot and setting, they definitely are.

But the reason it reminds him of Harry Potter is because Stranger Things hits most of the same emotional draws and beats. I was going to list them out, but this article is getting rather long. So instead, if you want to test yourself and you're familiar with each story, I'll leave it to you to consider: What emotional draws and beats do Harry Potter and Stranger Things share?

Is it really so surprising that Stranger Things is the most successful show to grace Netflix?

In closing, I think it's important to leave a note that some retellings (not sequels) work off slaughtering the original beats--for example, spoofs do this. Perhaps you want to write a story where Cinderella is actually evil. People will be drawn to that story because of different reasons than the Disney version. And even if you go to the original recorded fairy tales, they are very different than what we have today. So part of hitting the right beats, is going off what today's modern audience is familiar with. And sometimes going against the previous beat is blatantly intentional, but for almost all retellings, and definitely almost all sequels, you need to hit the same beats.

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