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Plotting Commercially Successful Screenplays: Two disparaging words often used by film critics are disappointing and predictable. Ironically, anything disappointing fails to meet expectations. And anything that meets expectations is predictable. The critic will counter that he expected the film to be unpredictable, that is, original. In fact, an original plot is far riskier than one that delivers the expected. For instance, several classic films celebrated today for their originality—e.g., “Bringing Up Baby” (1938), “The Wizard of Oz” (1939), "It's a Wonderful Life" (1946), “Vertigo” (1958)—were panned by critics and disappointed at the box office. They became classics thanks to profits from re-releases and television. Plots of commercially successful films gratify moviegoers’ expectations more than their imaginations. Film is a medium that appeals instantaneously to emotions rather than reflectively to the intellect. The expectations that are gratified or disappointed are shared by moviegoers, ergo their origins are cultural and biological. I do not need to think in order to expect George Clooney get the girl or Denzel Washington to vanquish Russian gangsters. The geneses of these expectations are usually less important than a century of cinema that hardwired them into moviegoers. Decades of filmmakers learning what does and what does not gratify audiences has made audience expectations ever more acute and the risk of disappointing them ever more perilous. And yet, this truth is so counter intuitive that it is taboo for critics and invisible to moviegoers. Both criticize something a film does when often they are disappointed by something the film does not do. But while visuals and dialogue create the illusion of plot originality, moviegoers are beginning to sense something is stale about the traditional two-hour feature film. We will examine here why the need to gratify expectations is responsible for this perception and how some filmmakers are trying to solve the problem. Be aware that the only measure of a successful or unsuccessful film in this analysis is its box office profitability. II. MOVIEGOER EXPECTATIONS Since the advent of sound, Hollywood has drawn heavily on novels for plots and plot devices. That is particularly true today given the imperative for a film to succeed during its opening week and even opening weekend. The box office of a film based on a bestseller usually benefits opening week from fans of the novel. That’s not to say that this guarantees success. Sell 10,000 copies of a novel during the first week of publication and it becomes a New York Times bestseller. Sell 10,000 tickets opening week to a $20 million feature film and the film will lose theater screens quickly on a fast track to not being screened at all. Adapting a novel into a screenplay for a general audience requires, like any successful screenplay, ensuring the plot gratifies moviegoer expectations that have been instilled by the Motion Picture Production Code, the structure of the film’s genre, and other sources specific to cinema. a.) The Motion Picture Production Code (Hayes Code) In 1930, Jesuit priest Daniel Lord and Catholic parishioner Martin Quigley proposed a code that would require Hollywood films to depict “the correct standards of life.” The Motion Picture Producers and Distributors of America (MPPDA) approved the code that year, but did not enforce it until 1934 when the industry feared government intervention. The code would become popularly known as the Hays Code, named after Will H. Hays, president of the MPPDA from 1922 to 1945. The code reflected the values of Caucasian law-abiding church-going heterosexual monogamous Americans. Its censors would reign over Hollywood until 1968, when the Hays Code was replaced by a movie rating system overseen by the Classification and Rating Administration. Although gone, the Hays Code is not forgotten. Most of its do’s and don’ts still govern films rated “G” (all ages admitted), “PG” (parental guidance suggested), and PG-13 (parents strongly cautioned). Moreover, there are expectations instilled in moviegoers by the Hayes Code that makers of “R” and “NC-17” films dare not disappoint. Among them: No villain shall go unpunished. By villain we do not mean any criminal or wrongdoer, such as the protagonist conmen in “Oceans 11, 12 and 13” (2001, 2004 and 2007) or even the protagonist Dean Whipple (Zac Efron), guilty of involuntary manslaughter, in “At Any Price” (2012).¹ A villain is decidedly evil compared to the protagonist or, if the villain is the protagonist, compared to his or her antagonists. Most villains kill, maim or otherwise wrong morally superior people for profit, amusement and/or ego gratification.
Rare are films like Hitchcock’s “Vertigo” (1958) which somehow escaped censorship under the “villain rule.” The film’s murderer, Gavin Elster (Tom Helmore), has run away to Europe with his slain wife’s fortune when his hapless accomplice, Judy Barton (Kim Novak), plunges from a mission bell tower to end the film. One senses that the Hayes Code is the butt of a joke when Hitchcock chooses a nun to frighten Judy over the edge. In any case, Kansas girl and department-store clerk Judy takes the fall for rich sociopathic megalomaniac Gavin. As previously mentioned, “Vertigo” disappointed critics and disappointed at the box office. Probably we would expect villains to be punished had there never been a code. It seems likely that American mores would have eventually rewarded films that punished villains and punished films that did not. However, the key word here is eventually. Enforcement of the Hays Code began in the middle of the Great Depression when anti-establishment sentiment made folk heroes out of criminals like John Dillinger and Al Capone. This populous sentiment was one big reason why the Hays Code was proposed, adopted and enforced. Sans the code, who can say when moviegoers would have begun to expect villains to be punished and be disappointed when they were not? We do know that repeal of the Hays Code was no reprieve for most villains. Quite the opposite: filmmakers discovered that punishing villains with a severity befitting their villainy translated into profits. Laying the foundation for this expectation were the bitter ends of super villains such as Professor Moriarty in the Sherlock Holmes franchise starring Basil Rathbone. The character of Moriarty appeared in three films, was played by three different actors and was killed screaming as he fell 1) from the Tower of London [“The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes” (1939)], 2) through a trap door to the sewer 60 feet below [“Sherlock Holmes and the Secret Weapon” (1942)], and 3) from a crumbling penthouse ledge [“The Woman in Green” (1945)]. But while the Holmes franchise is an example of the detective mystery genre, the action crime genre has profited most from liquidating super villains. Leading the way was the James Bond hit “Goldfinger” (1964), in which we see the seemingly indestructible thug Oddjob fried as he tries to separate his steel-brimmed bowler from an electric cable, and a rotund Auric Goldfinger sucked through a smashed window of his private jet at 30,000 feet. Electrocution and fatal falls would become the action genre’s favorite ways to whack super villains. Our favorite examples include:
The rule is audiences tolerate displays of super villainy with the expectation of catharsis at the climax. In “Silver Streak” (1976), we see mass murderer Roger Devereau (Patrick McGoohan) wounded, lying on his side and extended from a locomotive as he sees a passing locomotive about to smash his face. Audience reaction: Sweet! In the box office underachiever “Firewall” (2006), Bill Cox (Paul Bettany),the leader of kidnappers holding hostage the family of Jack Stanfield (Harrison Ford) hostage, dies instantly and without much of a struggle when Stanfield swings a pick back over his shoulder and by a fluke strikes Cox in the back. Audience reaction: Gyp! This generic plot structure shapes most Hollywood scripts in practically every genre. Analyzing how plots comply with their genre’s three-act structure reveals expectations moviegoers bring to that genre. Anyone aspiring to plot a successful screenplay is wise to learn the expectations of its genre. This includes screenwriters adapting literature for the screen. The three acts consist of set-up, conflict and resolution, a formula that dates back to plays of ancient Greece. A spinoff of this formula was dialectic—thesis, antithesis and synthesis—which, according to philosophers such as G.W.F. Hegel and Karl Marx, is the process by which history progresses. For these philosophers, history’s final synthesis is, like the final act of most Hollywood films, a happy ending. Below is a basic outline of cinema’s generic three-act structure: Act 1 (Set-Up)
Act 2 (Conflict)
Act 3 (Resolution)
c.) Three-act Structure in Romantic Comedies Below we break down the three-act structures of seven highly successful films in the romantic comedy genre. Please note that audience expectations of this genre differ from other romance genres. For instance, in romantic comedies, conflict arises between boy and girl. In a romantic thriller, conflict arises from an outside force pitted against boy and girl, e.g., the Nazis in “Casablanca” (1942); an elitist and homicidal fiancé and sinking ship in “Titanic” (1990); the Adjustment Bureau in “The Adjustment Bureau” (2011). Successful Romantic Comedies & Protagonists
Act 1 (Setup) For reasons we will discuss, the romantic comedy is an urban -oriented genre set in the here and now. The vast majority of romantic comedies, good and bad, are set in New York City. Time & Place
First Plot Point First Plot Point: The urban setting is one where boy and girl can meet as strangers. The genre became a Hollywood staple in the late 1950s and early 1960s coinciding with young women leaving home en masse to attend college or join an urban work force rather than live with their parents until married. Accordingly, moviegoers expect to see the start of the romantic relationship. They also expect this first meeting to be cute if not “meet cute,” a term defined as a first meeting that is not only cute but by chance.
Subplots
Act 2 (Conflict) Character Arcs In romantic comedies, Act 2 includes the beginnings and ends of the character arcs for both the boy and and girl protagonists.
Second Plot Point
Act 3 (Resolution)
The Happy Ending
Subplots & Main Characters
d.) Audience Expectations in Romantic Comedies Based on the above films save one, the three-act structure of the romantic comedy is boy finds girl, boy loses girl, boy gets girl. This is the structure Hollywood found successful with audiences and continued to deliver causing audiences to expect it. The one exception on our list is Woody Allen’s “Manhattan.” This film so departs from the romantic comedy structure that, contrary to popular labeling, we must conclude “Manhattan” is not a romantic comedy at all. Clearly the film is a comedy; ergo the issue is whether the film is romantic. The social change that inspired the romantic comedy argues that it is a genre more popular with women. That’s not to say that men do not appreciate films like “Pillow Talk” or “Trainwreck.” However, films in the romantic comedy genre are often and for a reason tagged “chick flick.” Never mind that romantic comedy fans would likely be disappointed by “Manhattan’s” a semi-happy ending for a homely middle-aged man and an attractive 17-year-old high school student. The definitive question here is: Who would go to a film starring Woody Allen expecting Woody to get the girl? Answer: Not many—especially female fans of romantic comedies. While Bill Hader is no Clark Gable and Owen Wilson is no Rock Hudson, these actors are far more suited to be romantic leads than Woody Allen. Compared to Allen, Wilson and Hader are endearing not only in looks, but in personality. Gratifying the expectations of female moviegoers is critical to success in this genre. The leading man should be someone with whom female moviegoers can vicariously become involved. The sex appeal of the female protagonist is less important to female moviegoers than that she be someone with whom they can identify. Gratifying this expectation is more important than treating men to a 10. Men are drawn to these films largely because they are “date movies.” Other than “Manhattan,” the films above indicate the following expectations should be gratified to ensure a successful romantic comedy:
e.) The Cost of Disappointing Expectations The importance of gratifying the above expectations is evidenced by the many box office failures that disappointed them. Of course, criticism of these films never includes: “The plot was not what I expected.” But despite the different critiques of feature film bombs, a plot analysis almost invariably reveals a disappointed moviegoer expectation. Conversely, the list is short of films that ignored one or two expectations but nonetheless succeeded. Examples of each are two films directed by Rob Reiner: the very successful “When Sally Met Harry” (1989) and the bomb “And So It Goes” (2014). “When Harry Met Sally” (1989)
Rob Reiner wouldn’t be so lucky 15 years later: "And So It Goes" (2014):
The foremost testimony to the power of expectations is the number of failed films that disappointed the same expectation. Such is the case, for instance, of the flops "Simply Irresistible" (1999) and "Accidental Love" (2015). "Simply Irresistible" (1999): Expectation
What's in a name? Nothing that romantic comedy fans care to see if the leading man is named “Mr. Wrong.” “Mr. Wrong” (1996)
Comedy in romantic comedies should not come at the expense of audience expectations about romance. Such is the lesson of . . . “All About Steve” (2009) f.) Signature Content Expectations Signature content is specific action and/or dialogue expected from a genre, franchise or filmmaker. In the movie “Scream” (1996), characters joke about the signature content of slasher films, each joke followed by the action joked about. Rose McGowan’s character, for instance, tells partying friends she’ll “be right back,” a signal, her friends say, that she is about to be murdered, which she is fetching beer alone in a garage. But why would slasher fans be disappointed by the absence of signature content? For one, it relieves tension. For instance, “I’ll be right back” alerts the audience to brace for a horrific murder. The most horrific horror films are those in which moviegoers never know what to expect next, e.g., “Psycho” (1960), which originated the slasher genre. Some content deemed signature of a franchise did not originate with the franchise. Fans of “Scream” extol the originality of the film’s opening scene, which became a franchise signature. The scene consists of a leading female star, Drew Barrymore, alone in an isolated locale where she is stalked indoors by a bizarrely disguised maniac and finally and shockingly stabbed to death with a butcher knife. However, replace Drew Barrymore’s name with Janet Leigh’s and you have the shower scene in “Psycho.” The originality of “Scream” lay in making this scene its first. The perceived risk of “Psycho’s” originality forced Alfred Hitchcock to film in black and white, use Universal’s television crews and finance the film himself for $807,000. Psycho’s budget would have amounted to $4.2 million in 1996 when “Scream” was produced for $15 million. “Scream” earned a box office of $173 million despite its mimicry. Of course, if noticed, such mimicry is easily explained away in Hollywood by one word: “homage.” Signature Endings Signature endings are more common than signature beginnings. An example of a simple signature would be the endings of the James Bond franchise from 1962 to 1985, in which Bond (Sean Connery or Roger Moore) cuddles with his leading lady. The image of the couple lying not standing gratifies the expectation of Bond fans that this happy ending is about lust not love. Lust may have had something to do with the signature ending in gothic horror movies starring Vincent Price. The ending has Vinny grandiosely incinerated at night inside a burning mansion, castle or museum. The film’s lame plots suggest that the toasting of Vinny is an ending by default. However, these are “make-out movies,” so-called in the 1950s and 1960s because their fans were teenage drive-n moviegoers who appreciated that few people, particularly their parents, would want to see a make-out movie. The blaze that consumes Vinny and his domicile provides a shock of light that drive-in moviegoers expected as an alert that the film is about to end. The most plentiful and most substantive signature endings come to us from detective film franchises. Below are four signature endings, each of which begins with signature dialogue and/or action that signals to the audience that the solution to the mystery is about to be revealed.
Signature Character By signature character we do not mean the screen persona of an iconic actor, particularly stars of Classic Hollywood whose screen images were crafted, nurtured and maintained by studios. It’s true that leading actors forge personas or types that moviegoers come to expect. Conversely, playing against type can be risky business no matter how popular the star, e.g., John Wayne playing Genghis Kahn in the bomb "The Conqueror" (1956). However, type is an issue for casting not screenwriters. By signature character we mean a character archetype played by different actors that becomes expected in the work of a specific filmmaker. A leading example is the “Hawksian woman,” a female character found in the films of director-producer Howard Hawks over the course of three decades. The Hawksian woman was an independent and self-assertive woman before the modern feminist movement. She was capable of teasing John Wayne until he blushed and Humphrey Bogart until he whistled. She becomes one of the good guys earning her own nickname, e.g., Rosalind Russell is “Hildy” in “His Girl Friday” (1940), Lauren Bacall is “Slim” in “To Have or Have Not” (1944), Margaret Sheridan is “Nikki” in “The Thing From Another World” (1951), Angie Dickinson is “Feathers” in “Rio Bravo”(1959), Elsa Martinelli is “Dallas” in “Hatari!” (1962), Michele Carey is Joey in "El Dorado" (1967). The Hawksian woman made Hawks' films a favorite of early feminists who came to expect this character and made Hawksian woman a term of art. III.) ADAPTING A SCREENPLAY FROM LITERATURE A must-read novel does not necessarily translate into a must-see movie. Film is a visual medium that appeals primarily to emotions as opposed to literature, which appeals primarily to the intellect. Reading about the slaughter of children in the novel The Hunger Games is one thing; watching children slaughtered on film is another. The challenge of the screenwriter is to tell a novel’s story as faithfully as possible while gratifying moviegoer expectations. a.) Bringing Literary Plots Up to Code—and Down For good reason was author James Elroy giddy over Hollywood buying the rights to his crime novel “L.A. Confidential.” Describing the novel set in 1950s Los Angeles, one critic wrote: “Elroy's disdain for Hollywood tinsel is evident at every turn; even the most noble of the characters here are relentlessly sleazy.” Those characters are mainly LAPD detectives, including the novel’s three protagonists. The film ends happily for one protagonist, an ambitious Edmund Exley (Guy Pearce), whose character was dialed down by screenwriters Curtis Hanson and Brian Helgeland from homicidal sociopath to antihero. In the film, Exley bravely corners and shoots three armed black men suspected of murdering nine people at the Nite Owl café. In the novel, the men are unarmed and offer solid alibis to Exley, who nevertheless shoots them in cold blood. At the angelic end of the spectrum is “Troy” (2004), a film based on Homer’s epic poem “The Iliad,” whose plot was modified to vilify certain protagonists. Despite being popular since the Bronze Age, “The Iliad” posed a structural problem for filmmakers, i.e., Homer portrays major combatants, both Greek and Trojan, as heroes. Considered the Bible of ancient Greece, “The Iliad” embodies the belief that immortality consists of society remembering an individual’s heroism. The “Iliad” is a testament to heroism. War film audiences, however, expect to root for one side over the other. To present heroes on both sides invites emotional ambivalence that moviegoers usually attribute to a confusing plot. However, vilifying the Trojans was impractical because their leaders, King Priam and his eldest son Hector, are arguably the noblest of Homer’s characters. Vilifying the Greeks, on the other hand, was a nonstarter because it would not only vilify star Brad Pitt (Achilles), but the cultural origin of Western civilization. The solution of screenwriter David Benioff was to vilify the two Greeks most responsible for the war—Menelaus, king of Sparta, and his brother Agamemnon, king of Mycenae. Menelaus (Brendan Gleeson) is portrayed as a brute largely to blame for wife Helen fleeing Sparta with house guest Paris of Troy. Moviegoers would not share the cultural value of ancient Greeks that Paris’ violation of Meneleus’ hospitality was an unforgivable sin. Agamemnon (Brian Cox) then seizes upon Helen’s desertion as an excuse to plunder Troy. To underscore Agamemnon’s opportunism, the screenplay conveniently ignores that events set in Troy were the final weeks of a 10 -year war. Agamemnon also defiles a woman intimate with the Greeks’ foremost hero, Achilles (Brad Pitt). True to the Hays Code, both Menelaus and Agamemnon die in the film. This contradicts not only “The Iliad,” but its sequel “The Odyssey,” in which Menelaus and Helen are together again in Sparta. It also ignores mythical history that inspired Aeschylus’ “Agamemnon,” a play in which the king returns home from Troy only to be murdered by his wife Clytemnestra. b.) The Risk of Lightening the Dark Side When John Huston adapted The Maltese Falcon into the 1941 film that he would direct, two movie versions of the Dashiell Hammett novel had already been released—“The Maltese Falcon” (1931) starring Ricardo Cortez and Bebe Daniels; and “Satan Met a Lady” (1936) starring Warren William and Bette Davis. Huston’s film would eclipse both of its predecessors thanks partly to performances by Humphrey Bogart and Mary Astor, but more importantly because Huston seized an opportunity rarely available to screenwriters: he scripted a film meticulously faithful to the novel. By contrast, the 1931 pre-Code version written by Maude Fulton and Brown Holmes emphasized sexual themes that would become taboo in 1934. The 1936 version written by Brown Holmes emphasized comedic scenes à la the box office hit “The Thin Man” (1934), also based on a Dashiell Hammett novel. Huston’s film would emphasize the shadiness of the novel’s characters and be credited with introducing a new genre to Hollywood detective films—film noir. The 1940s and 1950s would see Hollywood produce several film noir detective films, including classics such as “Laura” (1944), “Murder, My Sweet” (1944), “The Big Sleep” (1945) “Out of the Past” (1947) and “The Narrow Margin (1952). The pattern which doomed the 1936 comedic film was repeated as recently as 2015 in the making of “Victor Frankenstein” starring Daniel Radcliff and James McAvoy. Here screenwriter Max Landis wanted to imitate the box office successes of “Sherlock Holmes” (2009) and its sequel “Sherlock Holmes: The Game of Shadows” (2011). Specifically, he wanted to bring to the horror genre modern and snappy repartee displayed by Sherlock Holmes (Robert Downey Jr.), Dr. John Watson (Jude Law) and other characters in these detective films. Like screenwriter Brown Holmes, who thought detective films required no further classification, Max Landis believed a horror film is a horror film. Aggravating his mistake was the title “Victor Frankenstein,” a name synonymous with gothic horror, a genre in literature a century before it was introduced to film in the 1920s. Gothic horror gave us Frankenstein, Dracula, the Wolfman, Ligeia, the Phantom of the Opera, Princess Asa Vajda, Hugh Crain, etc. The title “Victor Frankenstein” would appeal most to gothic horror fans expecting a mad baron, a grunting hunchback, grave robbing, a mob with torches and pitchforks and, above all, a monster terrorizing the countryside. What they got is mainly a bromance between Victor Frankenstein and Igor that blossoms when Victor removes a cyst that is the cause of Igor’s hunchback. Igor is a circus clown who has, when not clowning, devoted his time to studying medical textbooks. So impressive is Igor’s expertise (in anatomy, physiology and biochemistry, not clowning) that Victor adopts him as his protégé. The two men conduct experiments on animal parts at Victor’s university until Victor is expelled, then travel to Scotland and resume their work at the estate belonging to a rich friend of Victor. In the meantime, Igor becomes romantically involved with an attractive trapeze performer named Lorelei (Jessica Brown Findlay), who then causes a rift between the two protagonists. So it goes—on and on—until the film’s closing minutes when we finally see the monster. So disappointing is (it? he?) to Victor and Igor that they mortally stab each of the monster’s two hearts. So disappointing was “Victor Frankenstein” to moviegoers that its $34.2 million box office fell short of its $40 million production cost. Gothic horror is a genre that can be spoofed but not lightened. Spoofs (e.g., “Abbot and Costello Meet Frankenstein” (1948) and “Young Frankenstein” (1974)} actually belong to the comedy genre (gothic horror comedy). We should also note that some critics have categorized “Victor Frankenstein” under the neo-noir horror genre. Assuming this classification is valid, the lesson here is that makers of neo-noir horror films should not use gothic horror icons for their characters. Every element of the human experience that can be plotted has been plotted, most several times, by filmmakers over the last century. This conclusion is evidenced by 1) the burgeoning number of movie remakes and homages, 2) the profitability of series and serial movies, and 3) the success of films in the fantasy and science fiction genres. Judging by commercially successful films, originality is best left to actor personas, clever dialogue, camera blocking, production design, special effects and locales—not plot. a.) Make It Again, Sam A wave of remakes began at the turn of the millennium and continues to surge today. The number of remakes is so extensive that our sampling below consists of a remake for a different genre each year from 2001-2018. Our examples also bear the names of their respective original films, something many remakes do not. We include the dates of the original films and their remakes.
Homages, on the other hand, have been countless for decades not only because of their number, but because so many go undetected. Moviegoers often don’t connect the dots when an homage is based on an old movie, lesser still when the old movie is rarely broadcast, lesser still when the old movie is in black and white, and lesser still when the homage is brief. For example, an iconic scene in “Jaws” (1975) shows the point of view of the shark as it rises underwater to the legs of a female swimmer. The shot mirrors one in “Creature from the Black Lagoon” (1954). b.) Flight to Fantasy and Science Fiction Challenged to devise original plots that reflect actual human experience, Hollywood has turned to super human experience and fantasy. Of the 20 top grossing films in history, 17 involved genres of science fiction and fantasy.
Make no mistake—audience plot expectations remain largely the same and must be gratified for these films to succeed. Whether an audience is taken to hunger games; domains of vampires and zombies; a Victorian England with modern technology; or a galaxy far, far away, it brings with it the same expectations about romance, villainy, heroism, etc. These genres do, however, rejuvenate old plot formulas by packaging them in make-believe worlds where every type of person--man, woman and child—can be a “kick ass” protagonist. Of the films above, one that is lauded for its originality is the biggest moneymaker of 2013, the animated musical-fantasy “Frozen.” This film dared disappoint an expectation instilled by the Brothers Grimm fairytale and the 1959 Disney film “Sleeping Beauty.” In “Frozen,” a troll tells Princess Anna she will freeze solid unless “an act of true love” reverses a spell. Kristoff, who loves Anna, rushes to the castle where the princess is held captive. In the nick of time is Anna rescued, but not by a kiss from Kristoff, but by a hug from Anna’s sister, Elsa. Some commentators credited the success of “Frozen” to the feminist empowerment movement. What is certain is that “Frozen” owes its success to the demographic of pre-schoolers to second-graders—both boys and girls. As for its ending, could the film’s prime demographic had no romantic expectation to gratify and identified more with sibling love than romantic love. c.) The New Originality: The Feature Film Serial “The Godfather Part II” (1974) is often described as the best sequel ever filmed. We argue that “The Godfather” (1972) and “The Godfather Part II” are better regarded as one six-hour film that had a two-year intermission. That same decade, George Lucas plotted the Star Wars trilogy presaging the two characteristics that have come to define most modern blockbusters—a science fiction or fantasy genre plotted as part of a two-, three- or more part serial. By serial, we mean a series of films that are episodes of an overarching plot, as opposed to a series of sequels with common characters but unrelated plots. Lucas, who said he was inspired by B-film serials of the 1930s, conceived the plots of “Star Wars” (1977), “The Empire Strikes Back” (1980) and “Return of the Jedi (1983)—known also as Episodes IV, V and VI—before the first film “Star Wars” was produced. These plots and the films’ overarching plot were indeed B movie. But every film in the trilogy proved to be a blockbuster because, in addition to A-movie production value, 1) the science fiction genre enabled creation of an original physical reality, and 2) each film is a subplot to an overarching plot which allowed for multiple plot points, character arcs and subplots within subplots. Since then, many of Hollywood’s biggest moneymakers have been serials largely plotted before film production—e.g., the franchises of The Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter, The Twilight Saga, The Hunger Games, etc. The one difference from the Star Wars franchise: the serial plots of all were based on serial novels. The feature film serial enables a plot and even subplots to span multiple films. It also permits the development of multiple and more detailed character arcs in different genres to commence in one film and conclude in another. It’s true that structures of two and even three genres—e.g., action romance drama—can be found in traditional feature films. However, only so many three-act structures can successfully be accommodated by a two-hour film. While audience expectations remain largely the same for feature serials, different genre structures can coexist and climax at different points. To wit: only an episode in a serial would dare end with co-protagonist Han Solo embedded in carbonite as a prisoner of Jabba the Hut. Rather than disappoint expectations, this ending in “The Empire Strikes Back” whets the audience’s appetite for the serial’s next episode, “Return of the Jedi!” Countless combinations of plot points and character arcs restore to film plotting the potential for originality. Uncertain is whether 1) a successful feature serial can be in a genre other than science fiction or fantasy, and 2) whether future feature serials can join the Star Wars franchise as one based on original screenplays? d.) Can there be Original Screenplays in the New Originality? With the extinction of B movies and broadcast network made-for-TV miniseries, original serial production has been the province of cable networks like HBO and AMC, and the video-on-demand provider Netflix. These companies now deliver the production value of medium budget feature films and have seen their profits boom with “must-see” serials like “Sex and the City” (1998-2004), “The Sopranos” (1999-2007), “Entourage” (2004-2011), “Mad Men” (2007-2015), “Breaking Bad” (2008-2013), “The Walking Dead” (2010-) “Game of Thrones” (2011- ), and “House of Cards” (2013-18). Two of these serials—“Sex and the City” and “Entourage”—Inspired feature films after their television runs. The film “Entourage” (2015) flopped, but “Sex and the City: The Movie” (2008) grossed $450 million on a budget of $65 million, and its sequel, “Sex and the City 2” (2010), grossed $294 million on a budget of $95 million. Interestingly, some critics dismissed “Sex and the City: The Movie” as an extended episode of the cable television serial. We would argue that this was a reason it succeeded so well. However, nothing other than the Star Wars franchise suggests a successful original feature film serial can be produced today. The Sex and the City movie franchise is not only based on an HBO television serial, but the HBO serial is based on a book authored by Candace Bushnell. Moreover, the most recent cable serials listed above are also derivative—“The Walking Dead,” based on Marvel comic books, “The Game of Thrones,” based on novels by George Martin, and “House of Cards,” based on novels by Michael Dobbs. The fact that two of these serials are in the fantasy genre suggests cable networks are beginning to imitate the motion picture industry, not the other way around. Industry economics make cable networks far better suited to producing original serials than feature filmmakers. Acquiring financing for any original screenplay is a hard sell unless an A-List director and one or more A-List actors have committed to the project. Most films today are remakes of old films or are based on history, novels, graphic novels, comic books, plays, television shows, video games and even a Disney World attraction. Plots are commodities whose value is ideally proven by print or stage media. Absent that, the task of financing a movie is daunting, let alone arranging financing for a serial. To extend plot lines from one film to another means that the first film will not gratify all moviegoer expectations. For a serial to be successful, the moviegoer must leave the theater not disappointed that some of his expectations must wait two or more years to be gratified. Finally and most important, cable networks own and control the means of their film distribution. In this sense they resemble the studios of Classic Hollywood, which owned and controlled the theaters that screened their films. That luxury was lost in 1948 when the U.S. Supreme Court ruled that owning the means of both film production and theaters for their distribution violated antitrust law. Because they control when they are presented, cable networks can afford to give their productions time to build an audience. Motion picture producers, on the other hand, are at the mercy of theater owners. If a film does not succeed its first week—or weekend—or even opening day—the number of screens showing the film will quickly be reduced to none. V. GENRES BASED ON SERIES OF EXPECTATIONS James Mallahan Cain, author of the novels The Postman Always Rings Twice and Double Indemnity, famously dismissed genres as a meaningless invention of critics. Cain was entitled to his opinion—at least regarding film critics—because critics had labeled films based on his novels as film noir. As we will see, film noir is a nebulous term used to label a variety of black-and-white detective and crime films. Cain’s criticism is also justified by the different genres that have been ascribed by different sources to a single film, e.g., the genre of “Now You See Me” (2013) is “mystery suspense,” according to Rotten Tomatoes; “heist thriller,” according to Wikipedia. Worse yet are the multiple genres ascribed to single films by single sources, e.g., the genre of “Sherlock Holmes” (2009) is “action, adventure, crime, mystery, thriller” according to IMBd. For us, genre does not consist of every category of artistic composition in a film. We define genre as a unique series of plot expectations which can be classified by genus (e.g., comedy) and species (e.g., romantic). The function of our genre is not to inform moviegoers nor suggest direction or cinematographic style. It is to apprise screenwriters, filmmakers, investors and anyone else with a vested interest in a screenplay’s success of the set of expectations upon which that success will likely depend. a.) Case in Point: Detective Genres For example, let us classify the aforementioned "Sherlock Holmes” (2009) and its sequel “Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows” (2011). The character Sherlock Holmes has the distinction in literature and cinema of being the first “consulting detective,” a term that became "private detective" when reality caught up with fiction, and simply "detective" when fiction introduced sleuths such as a lawyer (Perry Mason), several journalists (e.g., Humphrey Nogart in "Deadline U.S.A.." {1952}), a priest (Father Brown), British spinster (Miss Marple) and even a bobby-socks teenager (Nancy Drew). Given the great number of detective films, this leads us to posit “detective” as the genus of the genre. Two terms most associated with detectives are “mystery” and "crime." At first blush, the two appear synonymous; every detective mystery involves a serious crime or crimes. And yet, an analysis of detective films initially indicates two species: 1) the "whodunit," in which the mystery centers on who among known suspects committed the crime, and 2) the "crimebuster," in which the who of the crime is less important than its what, where, why and how. In species #2, the criminal is either known to us from the outstart (e.g., Al Capone {Robert De Niro} in the "Untouchables" {1987}, serial killer Christopher Gill {Rod Steiger} in "No Way to Treat a Lady" {1968}) or is unknown or unidentified until the film's end (e.g., serial killer John Doe {Kevin Spacey} in "Seven" {1995}, corrupt police captain Dudley Smith {James Cromwell} in "L.A. Confidential" {1998}). At this juncture, we should ask whether any of the other "genres" listed by IMBd--action, adventure and/or thriller--warrants a detective species? To qualify, a term must modify detective in a way that identifies a set of plot expectations distinct from other detective species. Many detective films are full of action and thrills, but none are without either a mystery or a crime to be solved. Though entertaining, thrills and action are unessential to detective films because they give the detective nothing to detect. The same can be said of adventure, although this more selective term is commonly applied to films like the two Holmes films which are either 1) set in a yesteryear world [e.g., “Mogambo” (1953), “Swiss Family Robinson” (1960}, “Raiders of the Lost Arc“ (1981),“Around the World in 80 Days” (2004)}, or 2) set in a world of science fiction {e.g., “Star Wars” (1977) and “Inception” (2010)], or 3) set in a world of fantasy [“The Princess Bride” (1987), “The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey” (2012). Past, future and fantastic settings enable filmmakers to portray locales foreign, exotic, mysterious, foreboding and largely unknown. Journeying to such locales is the first and primary moviegoer expectation of the adventure genre. “Mogambo” takes us on a safari to 1950s deepest darkest Africa, “Swiss Family Robinson” to an uninhabited South Seas island during the Napoleonic era, “Raiders of the Lost Ark” to 1930s Tibet and Egypt, “Around the World in 80 Days” to 19th Century Asia and the American Wild West. Holmes, on the other hand, leaves England only in the sequel, and then to travel to turn-of-the-century Paris, hardly parts unknown thanks to Manet, Monet, Renoir, Degas, Rodin, Toulouse-Lautrec, Debussy, Ravel, Mistral, A. France, Chanel, Eiffel, Maxim, etc. b.) Film Noir: Detective Genre, Cinematographic Style or Both? Another genre attributed to “Sherlock Holmes” (2009) by sources such as Wikipedia is “neo-noir”--neo being Greek for new, noir French for dark. The term refers to hard-boiled detective and crime films pdistinct film noir films, which resumably represent the "old" noir. Defining neo-noir, therefore, begins with a definition of film noir. Film noir was a term coined by French critics to describe a wave of American black-and-white films released between 1941 and 1955. In this sense, film noir resembled a passing fine art movement such as Impressionism or a music craze such as Disco. It reflected the dark mindset of moviegoers instilled by World War II, its characters and plots offering a sharp contrast to Hollywood’s customary idealized heroes and happy endings. A question never definitively answered is whether film noir is a cinematographic style or a film genre. In terms of style, film noir uses shadows and diagonal composition to create a mood of tension, foreboding and fatalism. By this standard, many films qualify—too many, in fact—because the same style applies to many black-and-white dramas not labeled film noir, such as "Frankenstein" (1931), "The Roaring Twenties" (1939) and "Citizen Kane" (1941). Although the term film noir originated with French critics to describe a Hollywood cinematographic style that conveyed tension, foreboding and fatalism, the roots of that style were in German expressionist cinema, which focused more on projecting states of mind than storytelling. However, no German expressionist film is regarded film noir today. Even so, the label of cinematographic style does explain why the end of film noir coincided with the emergence of color in filmmaking. Not only did the color process become affordable in the mid-1950s, it was considered a must for motion pictures to surpass the production value of television. Adding to the complication is that film noir also applies to specific plot structures. Judging by film noir’s classic films, plots gratify one of two series of expectations that other detective and crime films do not. As such, they fall under one of two genres—what we call detective film noir and crime film noir. In other words, film noir is a species that attaches both to the detective genus and the crime genus. And distinctly linking both genres--that which makes film noir--is cinematographic style combined with one signature character: the femme fatale. Below are femme fatales of acclaimed films in the detective and crime film noir genres, each followed by the respective plot expectations of the femme fatale in each genre: Detective Film Noir:
In this genre, the femme fatale is a woman of mystery—a mystery that the "detective" protagonist tries to solve. Helping motivate him is the charm and seeming vulnerability of a woman attractive if not drop-dead gorgeous who appears to be in distress. The protagonist soon suspects the lady’s secret involves her link to one or more suspects in a murder or suspicious death that the protagonist is investigating. His suspicions narrow to the femme fatale’s connection to the film’s primary villain. The protagonist’s character arc ends when he learns the femme fatale’s secret and realizes she is either innocent or evil. The solution of her mystery is also the final piece of the puzzle to solving the criminal mystery. If evil, the femme fatale dies or is arrested for murder. The film “Laura” offers a twist to the beginning of this scenario. Detective Mark McPherson (Dana Andrews) becomes obsessed with advertising executive Laura Hunt through her letters, diary and portrait while investigating what he mistakenly believes was her murder. In fact, the victim of a shotgun blast to the face was one of Laura’s models, Diane Redfern. When the detective discovers Laura is alive and that the victim was Redfern, the plot proceeds true to form. The detective finally arrests Laura for the murder, but only to interrogate her in the official surroundings of the police station, where she erases any doubt he has about her innocence. Simultaneously he is convinced that the murderer is columnist Waldo Lydecker. Crime Film Noir
Again the femme fatale is beautiful and seductive, but in this genre she uses her charms—or appears to use them--to induce the male protagonist to commit a crime. She is married or attached to an affluent man whom the protagonist consciously or subconsciously aspires to replace despite his being a man of lesser means. His misguided objective is to get the girl, get the means to support her, and get away with it. This causes him to become hopelessly entangled in the femme fatale’s intrigue to escape if not murder her husband/boyfriend. The protagonist’s character arc ends with the realization that he has been trapped by the femme fatale in a situation likely fatal. The femme fatale dies violently and the protagonist, if a knowing accomplice, dies or faces prison. Deserving special mention is "Out of the Past" (1947), a classic that is both detective film noir and crime film noir. Detective film noir: Private detective Jeff Markham (Robert Mitchum) is hired by villain Whit Sterling (Kirk Douglas) to find Kathie Moffat (Jane Greer), whom Whit claims shot him and stole $40,000. Jeff suspects Kathie was abused by Whit and planned to harm her once she is found. When he locates Kathie in Mexico, he pursues her romantically rather than alert Whit to her whereabouts. The lovers steal away to California but are finally located by Jeff’s former partner, Fisher, who demands money to keep quiet. When the two men fight, Fisher is shot in cold blood by Kathie, who then disappears, leaving Jeff to dispose of the body . . . Crime film noir: Now calling himself Bailey, Jeff is a gas station owner discovered by Whit’s thug. Meeting with Whit, he is surprised to be reunited with Kathie and is lured into a scheme supervised by Kathie intended to kill Whit’s tax lawyer and frame Jeff for the murder. Wanted for murder, Jeff confronts Kathie and Whit only to cause Kathie to murder Whit and leave Jeff with no choice but to run away with her. Jeff dooms both of them with an anonymous telephone call that leads to both being shot to death by police at a roadblock. B. Neo-Noir: Film Noir in Color It follows that neo-noir films are color films with the same plot expectations as either detective film noir or crime film noir. The "neo" represents color; the noir represents the darkness of plots, but not cinematographic style. For instance, about every neo-noir list includes “Chinatown” (1974), a film in which director Roman Polanski reportedly took great pains to capture the particular golden tint of Southern California sunlight. To identify films in both genres, namely detective neo-noir and crime neo-noir, we look at post-1955 color detective and crime films with femme fatales comparable to those of film noir: Detective Neo-Noir
(*We include “Vertigo” because of its success after it was a box office disappointment.) Crime Neo-Noir
Our analysis has so far led to three detective genres: 1) detective whodunit, 2) detective crimebuster and, because our genres are based on plot expectations irrespective of cinematographic style, 3) detective noir. We add to these three comedic versions:
Characters may range from bumbling to parodied, situations may be bizarre and action downright goofy, but there is an essential series of plot expectations that make a comedy genre’s DNA identical to that of its dramatic genre counterpart. For instance, as we’ve seen with noir dramas, the detective need not be “hard boiled,” e.g., Holly Martins (Joseph Cotton) in the “Third Man” (1949), Dr. Sam Rice (Roy Scheider) in “The Still of the Night” (1982). He must, however, be drawn to a femme fatale who is somehow connected to the mystery he is investigating in a way that may or may not be villainous. The same is true of a detective noir comedy—that is, the detective need not be a hard-boiled parody, but he must be involved with a femme fatale, e.g., Oxford professor David Pollock (Gregory Peck) with femme fatale Yasmin Azir (Sophia Loren) in “Arabesque” (1966), book publisher George Caldwell (Gene Wilder) with femme fatale Hilly Burns (Jill Clayburgh) in “Silver Streak” (1976), etc. The striking thing about the detective noir comedy genre is that it has not been the basis for a significant box office success during this millennium. Moreover, the same can almost be said of detective noir films. A database could be created to determine when and when not a screenplay gratifies its genre’s plot expectations. Step 1 would involve identifying genres according to like expectations created by structure, character types, dialogue, the Hayes Code, etc. in a lineage of successful films. Genres would be based on successful films only because the database would be a tool intended for filmmakers and investors, not film buffs and historians. Step 2 would involve identifying the few films that succeeded despite ignoring certain expectations. Step 3 would identify films that failed to gratify one or more expectations and consequently failed at the box office. If such a database already exists, we must assume it was compiled on a proprietary basis given the many failures that could have avoided heeding such a database. Of course, a screenplay could be evaluated by identifying how its plot compares to those of successful films that best represent its genre. However, given the magnitude of the filmmaker’s risk, the need for exactitude argues for a comprehensive approach to identifying genre expectations. Our sense is that screenwriters are wise to be creative in everything—situations, locales, dialogue, and add-ons such as action, comedy, unique characters, etc.—except for moviegoer expectations in their screenplay’s genre.
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