Article: The Looking-Glass Character

Like any partnership, over time we have accumulated unique sets of words and phrases - and in some regrettable instances, noises - each with their own complicated explanation.

This post is the story behind two of our phrases we have found invaluable.

The Looking-Glass Character

And The Fixed Character

For the longest time, we were developing a show concept, and though the idea was solid and the characters interesting, something wasn't working. The show hinged on it's main character, yet it didn't matter how much we polished, perfected, balanced and fleshed him out - something didn't click.

Don't get me wrong, I think this character is one of the most intriguing, watch-able characters we've created but while the show was interesting... it wasn't engaging.

This didn't come as a complete surprise, to be honest. We were trying something we hadn't tried before and that is hardly regarded as a foolproof strategy.

You see: Our main character is what we now call a Fixed Character.

The Fixed Character

Now, the Fixed Character concept is a tricky one to explain, but I'll have a go:

In most movies, characters undertake a journey in which, along the way, they grow as a person - Fixed Characters have already reached the end of the line, for better or worse.
Most characters are aware of their flaws on some level, or at least have the capability to realise something isn't working - Fixed Characters have no flaws, or if they do they aren't treated as flaws. They are larger-than-life and are who they are and cannot be anything else. They are often the Christ-Like figure, who is there to teach, rather than learn - such as Gandalf or Tin-Tin.
Most characters adapt and compromise according to their situations - Fixed Characters seem to adapt the situations to themselves. They have no ability to compromise their own personality in any way but are still able to make it work.

In The Incredible's making-of, director Brad Bird was describing the character of Edna Mode when he said she had the 'strongest sense of self' of any character in the movie. She is what I'd call a Fixed Character - one who has already completed their journey, perhaps in some earlier unreleased film, and is completely comfortable with herself.

Imagine 'E' having a character arc in The Incredibles, learning a lesson or changing in any way - it just wouldn't have been 'E', darling. It would literally be out of character to change.

It's the difference between the two Willy Wonkas portrayed in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory (1971) and Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (2005). The original's Willy Wonka was a Fixed Character, and the latter's was not.

In the original, Wonka was this eccentric, compelling and unknowable character - the only thing he learnt in the whole movie was whether or not Charlie was worthy. It is about people's reactions to him, not about his reactions.

In Tim Burton's 2005 remake, Wonka is still eccentric but he is knowable. He is an interesting, yet relatively normal character. He also knows he isn't yet perfect, even if it is only on some unconscious level. In the end he asks Charlie for help, and Wonka's character arc is completed by reconciling with his father.

Now this isn't a judgement between the two, but watching the 1971 version was the first time I had ever witnessed such a strong and intriguing character. I find Fixed Characters are desperately tricky to come up with, desperately tricky to fit and balance and just as hard to summarise once I do - but used right, I think they can often be the single most memorable thing about a show.

So what's the problem?

We had established that Fixed Characters done properly are fantastic, and we were 99% sure that our character was done properly - but still, something wasn't clicking.

The problem was arising, we found, from him being the main character. Our theory is for most shows, audiences need to look through a character's eyes - to find that grounding point, that character who has the lesson to learn, to find that one person they can identify with. Apparently a technically flawless, larger-than-life character is hard to relate to. Most Fixed Characters have a kind of 'distance', a mystery and unpredictability about themselves makes them great to watch from the outside but never 'lets you in'. Our main character was no different.

The following problem was that the whole show revolved around him and his actions, and that 'demoting' him from that central position would literally collapse the idea.

It had to be possible to keep him as he was! We could think of many examples where it had worked:

- Doctor Who (mainly during the Golden Tom Baker years) was a Fixed Character, and the whole show was named after him
- Asterix, Willy Wonka, Bernard Black and Tin Tin were also titular Fixed Characters, as well as the BFG
- Early Superman was both a Fixed and Main Character
- 'prot' was both a Fixed and a Main Character
- Rorschach was both a Fixed and a Main Character
- Elwood P. Dowd was both a Fixed and a Main Character
- Chance the Gardener was both a Fixed and a Main Character
And they were only from things I'd read/watched recently. They were just the tip of an iceberg.

That settled it, there had to be some trick or balancing act we were missing.

Now in a 'eureka moment' we did eventually work it out - but it wasn't until I read an article, The Subtle Hero, by the embarrassingly insightful and knowledgeable Craig Mazin that I fully understood why our solution had worked.

The Looking-Glass Character

You can read the article yourself, but basically Mr. Mazin was working on adapting Harvey, and running into an eerily similar problem. Even though Elwood P. Dowd was "...the man who is in every scene of import [and] the man who delivers the big monologues..." focusing on him as a main character didn't work. The solution was to treat the doctor who cares for him as the main character - a character with a tenth of the lines!

Our solution was to introduce a 'Looking Glass Character.' A Main Character who is flawed, relatable, and basically needs what our Central Character is selling. A Frodo to Gandalf's wise leadership, Sophie to the BFG's confuddled benevolence, an Elizabeth Swann or Will Turner to Captain Jack Sparrow's wildly unconventional plans, an Alan Shore to Denny Crane's hilarious arrogance or even a C-3PO to everyone else's selfless heroics.

Back during the time of Tom Baker, Doctor Who would take its audience on this crazy adventure every week, and each week The Doctor would handle it with his usual calm flippancy and knowledgeably fix the situations. He is one of my favourite characters of all time, but I have to admit it wouldn't have worked if it was only him - He wasn't relatable, and he shouldn't have been. He was interesting to watch because he wasn't relatable.

You can't ask an audience to both feel as if they're travelling to places out of their depth AND like they're calm and in control. So the show always had a Looking Glass Character, in the form of an assistant. It was the assistant's job to scream at the monsters, to be confused at the technology and to learn the lesson at the end - everything the audience was meant to feel.

Since then, we’ve witnessed other ways to make it work. For example, fairytales often seem to keep the audience at a distance - encouraging them to be objective observers - hence the recent movie The Tale of Despeiuroueaix (or however you spell it) was able to have a Fixed Character as the Main Character. Or Star Trek, full of enlightened humans teaching aliens about love and creativity, which is very almost a cast of Fixed Characters put into strange and morally ambiguous situations. District 9, with its documentary style could have had any kind of character it wanted, as I don't think it really needed a main character at all.

But the Looking-Glass Character worked wonders in our idea, and I hope to use more Fixed Characters in the future.

Inspiring Idea: Feel The Music

If your brain immediately leapt to highly abstract and suspect places upon reading that title, then we share something in common.

A while back Mutt and I started a group called Ink Harvest. This group was made up of several budding young writers (ourselves included) who were looking to flex their creative muscles. How, exactly? We would take it in turns playing a piece of instrumental music from our respective collections and then spend the next ten to twenty minutes transcribing whatever imagery it inspired.

Usually we'd try to write a cohesive scene from a larger story that we'd never get to read, but sometimes it would only be an abstract image or a vague story outline that came out. Whatever it inspired we would share with the group without fear of criticism or judgement. Here's something I wrote one time (pretty try-hard poetic, but sometimes the music warrants it):

It's a remarkably liberating experience and it really helps you to find your natural groove and style. I've learned so much over our Ink Harvest sessions about how I write and little things I fall back on when I'm being lazy. Even better, it helps stretch you as a writer. There's nothing like a little healthy competition amongst writers and Ink Harvest was no exception. Although whenever Tim would attend he would automatically win... stupid jerk.

You can mix up this formula too. Here are some variations we've come up with:

1) Choose an image instead of a piece of music and try to write the potential story behind it.

2) Draw or paint an image instead of writing what is inspired by the music.

3) Come up with an unusual, slightly ambiguous sentence, then try to write a story around it.

What are you waiting for? Flex those creative muscles!

Rule Of Thumb: The Writer's Responsibility

This isn't technically a rule of thumb, but this seems as good a place as any for it.

A writer should be fully aware of what message their script is sending and take full responsibility for it.

Now obviously this is delving more into the realms of personal philosophy, but read on and see if you agree with me.

The instant anyone puts what's in their head to paper with the intention of selling it, they lose the right to absolute artistic freedom. Whether they like it or not, their work is no longer just for them... there is a bigger responsibility now. If any individual wishes to keep their artistic freedom, they should not attempt to have their work published.

My reasoning for this seemingly unreasonable claim is that art, commercial art, has a big impact on those who witness it. It inevitably influences them to some degree. So if I were to write and sell a film that glorified rape, I could not then proceed to deny responsibility for those that took the message on board.

The fact is that all films possess both constructive and destructive elements that impact the world for better or worse, so as a writer it is my job to sift through my work and ensure that I am communicating as few destructive messages as possible.

Now, let me be clear that I am not suggesting that we all start writing sickeningly perky tales with flawless protagonists that work at homeless shelters and save drowning puppies in their spare time. Heck, the number of writer suicides would skyrocket if that happened. No, I am suggesting that we look at our own work and carefully examine what we are really glorifying and what we are really vilifying.

In that scene where the psycho killer was torturing that vulnerable girl, was the act appropriately vilified? Or, really, did the scene exist just to satisfy and feed some perverse quality in the heart of the viewer?

In that scene where the student really stuck it to his teacher with that hilarious monologue, was the teacher acting destructively enough to justify it? Or, really, did the scene just promote rebellion purely for rebellion's sake?

They can be small messages contained subliminally within single scenes, or even be the whole point of the script. Regardless of their prominence or relevance, writers needs to ask themselves what they are saying and what effect it's having on their audience.

---

Of course, messages can always be misinterpreted in ways unintended by the original author, but assuming the original author did all they could to be clear it cannot be helped. You can only take responsibility for what you've actually written.

So, did you find yourself nodding as you read this? Or were you shaking your head with a furrowed brow? Let's hear your thoughts!

Article: The Climax

Hey, do you guys remember that awesome scene from Stargate where Daniel Jackson stands on the threshold of the portal and dances his fingers upon it's rippled surface it in glorious wonder? No? Well, nobody does because it wasn't in the best part... the climax!

What? You've never seen Stargate? Oh... well... it's a pretty good movie. I mean... I liked it...

What was I saying poorly? Ah yes, the climax! It's the pinnacle of a picture and, if done right, leaves you re-entering the real world on a real high. Are there any common threads between the best of them? Let's find out!

Climaxes

Or "Villain Exploding + More Explosions + Hero Striking A Pose = Awesome"

Every great story needs a climax. While it's form can alter dramatically from film to film, it will always serve the same purpose; to bring the heroes journey to it's penultimate peak. The following list is my attempt to boil the best climaxes I've observed down to their base elements.

It is no doubt incomplete, and I would love to hear any corrections or additions you might have to contribute. And remember that in writing there is no such thing as an unbreakable rule. Let's begin.

1) The Calm Before The Storm/Setting The Stakes

In A Nutshell:

If the audience doesn't know that they're watching the climax, it's game over. It's vital to milk the tension and the atmosphere, make the viewer feel the weight of what's coming before it hits. Most movies do this by having a 'here's the plan'/suiting up sequence followed by a quiet moment with the main characters dramatically emphasizing how they "don't have a choice", in the process establishing just how steep the odds are, the cost of failure and exactly what their objective is. It helps to at least hint where the finish line is as early in the movie as possible.

Example:

Flyboys is a perfect example of how not to do this. Never once in the movie is it clear what the story is building up to or what the protagonist's goals are. Worse still, there is a big zeppelin attack sequence that feels like a disappointing climax... but then the movie keeps going. Almost immediately the real climax begins and they don't tell the viewer. Afterwards, the movie just ends. It's messy stuff, folks.

2) Change Of Plans

In A Nutshell:

You know the plan? The one the heroes were banking on to win? Yeah, throw that out the window, it's no good here. Having the heroes plan fall apart is the best possible way to raise the stakes. Suddenly all bets are off and they have to wing it. Anyone could win! Well, the heroes are probably going to, but now it's off their sheer will and cunning!

Example:

In A Bug's Life, the plan is the bird. Once P.T. Flea is thrown in the mix, however, and he lights that sucker on fire the whole plan is shattered. What follows is a new plan that wasn't... well, planned, but it provides a surprisingly superior poetic solution to the problem.

3) The Villain Gets Serious/The Hero Gets Awesome

In A Nutshell:

These are two (or more) moments that, to me, always make the difference between a good climax and a great climax. First, the villain's calm and cool composure vanishes and they suddenly understand that the hero is a real threat. It adds serious cool points to the hero and raises the stakes because the hero no longer has the advantage of being underestimated. Second, the hero has to warrant that level of reaction. Launch their cool points into the stratosphere and make them kick ass and look cool doing it. If only for a moment, make it appear as though evil never stood a chance. This also applies (to a lesser degree) to secondary hero characters.

Example:

To use another Disney example, I refer you to The Lion King. That moment when Scar first saw Simba atop Pride Rock thinking he's Mufasa and that lighting struck, Scar was ready to head for the hills. Better yet is the moment when Simba corners Scar and starts closing in on him. Scar, the cunning and clever, is actually cowering and Simba never stops giving him that dangerous look. Awesome climax.

4) Exhaust Every Option

In A Nutshell:

Let's see, am I at the end of the climax? Check. Are my heroes clothes still neatly ironed and their face nice and clean? Yes. Wait... that's bad. The hero needs look look like they've been to hell and back in order to win. Beat them to within an inch of their life, make sure they've used every last option available to them (the more callbacks to previously set up gadgets or tricks the better) and hopefully, if done right, the hero will literally collapse after delivering the final blow. Same goes for the villain. If there's a line he would never cross, have him not only cross it, but go way, way beyond.

Example:

Speed Racer. He literally races that car to death in the climax. When it grinds over the finish line, it's dead. The tires have melted, the super high-tech engine is obliterated and the paint work on the car is scratched like no tomorrow. He gave 110% and earned every last bit of that sweet, sweet victory. Mutt said I should also mention The Lord Of The Rings: The Return Of The King, another excellent example.

5) The Hero's Poetic Victory

In A Nutshell:

In 99.9% of stories the hero wins, so the question is... how do they win? Usually simply knocking the bad guy out isn't enough. However the final blow is dealt it must reflect in some way on the hero character and the themes in the story. Perhaps it's something as simple as self-sacrifice, in which case the hero could lay down their life to win the day. It all depends on what the respective theme or themes are.

Example:

Another animated movie, Kung Fu Panda. The whole film was about Po thinking that in order to be worth something you had to have some secret ingredient, then learning the truth... there is no secret ingredient. As a result, Po defeated Tai Lung in the end using his master's ultimate technique. Not very thematic, right? Well, it would be except that he was never taught how to do it. He figured it out for himself, thus fulfilling the movie's theme.

6) One Last Strike

In A Nutshell:

There is no such thing as a climax where the villain doesn't try for one last "nuts to you" before kicking the bucket. It might literally be the villain getting back up after the hero thought he was down for the count and delivering one final cheap shot out of spite. In most movies, however, it's something the villain leaves behind. Usually, after killing the bad guy, his evil plan will still be in effect and thus the final hurdle is not the villain himself, but his plan. Another possibility is that both the plan and the villain are dead, but his evil fortress starts collapsing. I'm always fighting to be original with this one, because the less you see it coming the more awesome it is.

Example:

How about Scream? Sure, it technically wasn't a hurdle to overcome and one of the characters actually predicted it, but that's the point. Scream took a classic climax trick and turned into a really iconic moment. Also, it was a horror movie, so the 'one last strike' only had to be a scare.

7) Glory

In A Nutshell:

I hate it when any movie rolls the credits the instant the climax is over. I don't care what they say, the movie is not over yet and people are not getting ready to leave. You've gotta play the beat of basking in the glory for a bit otherwise it just feels... anti-climactic. We won! That's awesome! Whether there's a huge crowd celebrating, the hero collapses onto his back and laughs or the hero realizes that he gets all the bad guy's treasure, no matter what you've gotta have that beat!

Example:

Any good movie. Seriously, just scan your collection and skip to the end. How did they handle it?

---

Of course, this is all assuming you're not writing some deeply internalized personal drama set in suburbia. If that's you, good luck with that... cause I'm too stupid to be of any help in that department. Still, if you've got an addendum or a favourite climax to share, post away! We love our film discussion.

Oh, and we know it's a big call, but Mutt and I reckon Speed Racer has the greatest climax of all time. Feel free the flame the heck out of us for that one, but we're more than ready to defend our choice.

Rule Of Thumb: Reactionary Devices

For me, balancing a cast of personalities is hard work. And though creating a strong line-up of characters that bounce off each other is really satisfying, I still find it a frustratingly... instinctual process.

Without writing half a dozen episodes, I find it an uphill battle to tell a) If they're working and b) If they're not, what's missing. The only thing to do is to 'feel it' - to play with the characters over and over in my head and judge it by instinct.

'Feeling it' I believe to be a vital part of creating - but I also find it can be the most untrustworthy. I try whenever possible to partner it with some kind of flexible rule, tick list, or template to fall back on. For me, that is why I find 'rules of thumb' important - it's about balancing the right side of the brain with the left, and creativity with structure.

In some ways, I picture writing like journeying through a dark cave, feeling your way by instinct and talent, and navigating through a knowledge of structure and formula. I find having rules of thumb to be like having emergency flares, able to light a small bit of the cave and make sure I'm on the right track.

While balancing a cast's personalities, instinctually I could outline some vague ideas about contrast, overlap and conflict but for this post, I thought I'd copy down the only solid light source I have for balancing personalities: The Reactionary Device.

Let me give you some examples of a Reactionary Device from a kid's show we're writing:

Character #1 is monumentally stupid but also sweet, naive and child-like.
That's his personality.
He is always eager to help, but he usually makes things worse - often by helping the wrong side.
That's his Reactionary Device. It's a reaction I can use in most situations if I need it.

Character #2 is boring, grouchy and safety conscious.
That's his personality.
If something doesn't make sense he'll complain about it, ignore it, or try and fix it.
That's his Reactionary Device. Very useful in a world based on silly cartoon rules as I can use it to both drive him towards something, or drive him away from something.

Now imagine all your main characters are in a situation not unlikely in your idea: They've just found out one of them is a traitor, or a Doctor has just told them someone died, or even a genie has just given them one wish each.

A character without a Reactionary Device would act very predictable, either being suspicious of the others being the traitor, or reacting with shock at the death, or simply making a wish. I believe a cast of characters that all react the same way to an event is not only boring to watch, it's hard to write. Once or twice while I've been writing a scene and I need to get my characters from A to B, I'll realise that none of them would push the others to 'B' because I had no Reactionary Devices to exploit.

Now obviously not everyone can react unpredictably to everything, that would be insanely hard to create and be very strange to watch but in every situation I aim to have at least one person act interestingly.

The Cat's crippling narcissism, Toby Zeigler's love of debating, or even Marty McFly's inability to cope with being called yellow are all excellent Reactionary Devices because they allow the writer to 'control' the character.

Arrested Development is one of the best study cases for this. Every time something happens, one or more of them will react in a plot altering way, be it the mother's need to manipulate, or Buster's need to prove himself or even Michael's need to fix everything. Imagine if the characters from Arrested Development found out one of them is a traitor, or if a Doctor told them someone died, or even if they all got a wish.

They almost write themselves.

EDIT: I came across this old Homestar Runner cartoon: 'Homestar's Pumpkin Carve-Nival' - what it does well is illustrate how having a well defined, non-overlapping cast writes itself.
If you had to write a scene/short/episode where all your characters carved pumpkins, would your characters alone give you enough material?

Blog: Intermission

Normal posting shall resume on Tuesday next.

All 95 of the sketches for the book are done, and we have finally entered Phase 2.

Admittedly I am kind of making this up as I go along, but while Phase 1 was Surveying and Sketching, Phase 2 consists of Continuity and Context.

It's a pretty important phase. For example, I found 11 separate pictures in which I forgot to draw the main character with pants. 11.

It basically means putting all the pictures in a row and making sure they all line up with proportions and detail, as well as putting them in the book and seeing how they do in context - which is a long and tedious job. It is also a job I fully intend to get out of the way by the end of the week.

Phase 3, for the curious and the alliteratively inclined, is Improving and Inking.