Three Acts, Many Uses

I was going through my worklist of the last several weeks, and realized I'd consulted or worked on two sci-fi features, several commercials, a documentary, a couple dramas, a historical epic, a buddy movie caper, a musical, a horror flick and, of course, Mr. Gary on the Feedback Show.

I'm a little amazed. What's amazing to me is what all these have in common: the three-act structure. It doesn't matter if your movie is 30 seconds long or 3 hours. It needs that basic structure, and, in each case, there's a structure that your viewer is already conditioned to expect.

Now the specifics of how you hook a viewer into your personal documentary is quite different from how you hook them into a horror movie. But the mechanism is the same. You frame up your story. You ask a big question. You point to the central struggle. And then you follow through.

The same can be said about just about any other beat in the structure. The climax of a commercial can be defined with the same elements as the climax in the musical, or the sci-fi epic, or Mr. Gary. Your choices and your execution will be very, very different of course. But how you come up with those choices is much the same.


Screenwriters read lots of books about the three-act structure. They quibble over Syd Field vs. Robert McKee vs. Linda Seger. Just remember that what they're all talking about is really audience reception -- that boilerplate that's burned indelibly into our skulls through years of watching movies, musicals, commercials, and whatever else. They have different ways of talking about this structure. And they differentiate themselves out because it helps sell books.

But the three-act structure is nothing more or less than the gateway into a mystery. It's there, and you know it when you see it. But it's too slippery to be a straightforward roadmap. It's a set of guideposts that let you figure out your story. When I'm consulting with a filmmaker, they give us a way to navigate our thoughts. When I'm working alone, the structure is my devil's advocate, telling me what doesn't work, and why. The key is listening to that audience member in your head. Sometimes he's the best collaborator you'll find.

Props Manager: The Game

I'm not a big fan of writing games. There's one that's nearly unavoidable at screenwriting seminars. Drives me nuts. The guru du jour will walk among the lowly participants, asking us to close our eyes and imagine answers to questions like:

What's in your main character's pocket? Name five things.

What did your character have for breakfast?

Who is your main character's favorite person?

Et cetera. The guru then proceeds to have us read our lists out to the audience. While other writer's character's pockets are full of lockets with poems from their girls, bloody daggers, ransom notes, and secret codes for unleashing disaster, my characters have invariably chosen this day to carry a stick of gum, a bus transfer, half a movie ticket, some cookie crumbs. That's four things. And keys. Keys to unleashing disaster? No, regular keys.

The guru will then ask what my boring list tells us all about my character. When it's time for coffee and cookies, everyone oohs and ahs about how much they've learned about their characters. I stand aside, with my character smirking as I sneak a cookie into my pocket for later.

So no, I don't really like writing games. What I do like is work. Hard work. Lots of work. I don't think there's a way around it. Lucky for us, writing work is all about listening and noticing. It's about paying attention, getting it down on the page, then doing it again. It's about tweaking things until they work.

Think, tweak the scene, and LISTEN to what that tells you. And then do it again.

And so, a writing game, Scriptwrangler-style: PROPS MANAGER!

The goal of the game is to make the props guy on your set earn his keep.

1. Find a scene you're having trouble with.

2. Underline the PROPS (the objects in the scene).

3. Think about each prop. Come up with two alternatives, and tell your props guy to go get 'em! These can be the same object described with another word (say, 'six-shooter with mother-of-pearl inlaid handle' instead of 'gun'). They can also be completely new (say, 'banana' instead of 'wallet').

4. Now the important part: LISTEN to the scene. NOTICE what you've changed. Realize you do have the power to effect major changes with some fairly small moves.

You can do the same thing with verbs (call the game "Acting Coach") or adjectives (Art Director). And there's definitely a game called "Locations Managers".

One more thing. It's natural to help characters out by giving them the tools they need. But did you happen to notice that it can be a lot more interesting if you make it hard on them?