Jule Selbo - Film Genre For The Screenwriter-Routledge (2014)

Film Genre for the
Screenwriter
“Want to write a screenplay that will appeal to your audience? You’d better
know the genre you’re aiming for—and Jule Selbo’s Film Genre for the Screen-
writer is the best guide out there to all film genres.”
—Diane Lake, screenwriter of Frida, Emerson College
“Attention Screenwriters: whether you are writing a horror movie, rom-com,

or sci-fi epic, Selbo’s book will give you a roadmap of how to embrace the
conventions of your genre and give them a fresh twist!”
—Pat Verducci, Writer/Director of True Crime, Co-producer of
Somewhere Between, UCLA Extension Screenwriting Instructor
“In Film Genre for the Screenwriter, Jule Selbo insightfully reveals how dispa-
rate film genres blend into and enrich each other, bringing a gifted screen-
writer’s clarity and concision to her task and encapsulating the full spectrum
of commercial films without becoming reductive. This book is an invaluable
tool for film teachers and for working screenwriters, one that enables them
to truly see the big picture.”
—Guy Nicolucci, Screenwriting Instructor at NYU
“As comprehensive in scope as it is exhaustively researched, Jule Selbo’s Film

Genre for the Screenwriter succeeds in doing what few books of its kind usually
can: be as fine a textbook for students as it is a practical instruction manual
for working screenwriters. Explicating the ever-elusive aspects of storytelling
style and craft with scholarly flair, Selbo has written a book that is every bit
as entertaining as it is analytical. Covering every film genre and subgenre in
great detail, she deftly synthesizes the thinking of a great many great minds,
all the while adding a good deal of penetrating analysis of her own. The
result? A smartly organized, easy-to-read, authoritative manual for under-
standing exactly what ‘genre’ is—and what it isn’t—and why knowing the
difference matters. Which is why it belongs as much in the classroom as it
does on the bookshelf of the most accomplished screenwriters.”
—Jim Jennewein, screenwriter (The Flintstones, Richie Rich, Major League II ),
novelist and current Chair of Screenwriting at the Burbank campus of
The New York Film Academy
“Jule Selbo’s book is a must-read for the working professional or even the
newcomer contemplating writing their first screenplay. Her clear and con-
cise understanding of the fundamentals of every film genre will not only
help everyone tell more satisfying stories, but also allow them to have fun
while doing it—Selbo literally gives the reader the inside scoop on how to
play with the conventions of any particular genre, and even turn them on
their head. With an industry that is becoming more and more obsessed and
defined by genres, I don’t see how anyone can pass this up.”
—Keir Pearson, screenwriter of Hotel Rwanda and Cesar Chavez
“Jule Selbo’s text is an unpretentious and practical guide to screenwriting

that never loses its sense of history. She successfully draws from her own
experience and expertise to make screenwriting relatable and exciting. I
highly recommend it.”
—Liz Manashil, filmmaker and national film critic for Just Seen It
Film Genre for the Screenwriter is a practical study of how classic film genre
components can be used in the construction of a screenplay. Based on Jule
Selbo’s popular course, this accessible guide includes an examination of
the historical origins of specific film genres, how and why these genres are
received and appreciated by film-going audiences, and how the student and
professional screenwriter alike can use the knowledge of film genre compo-
nents in the ideation and execution of a screenplay.
Explaining the defining elements, characteristics and tropes of genres
from romantic comedy to slasher horror, and using examples from classic
films like Casablanca alongside recent blockbuster franchises like Harry Potter,
Selbo offers a compelling and readable analysis of film genre in its written
form. The book also offers case studies, talking points and exercises to make
its content approachable and applicable to readers and writers across the
creative field.
Jule Selbo, PhD, heads up the M.F. A. in Screenwriting Program in the Radio-
TV-Film Department at California State University, Fullerton. She is an
award-winning playwright and screenwriter with work in theatre, feature
film, network and cable television and animated series; produced credits
include projects for Disney, Columbia Pictures, Paramount and Universal.
Film Genre for the
Screenwriter
Jule Selbo
First published 2015
by Routledge
711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017
and by Routledge
2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN
Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business
© 2015 Taylor & Francis
The right of Jule Selbo to be identified as author of this work has been
asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright,
Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced
or utilized in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other
means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and
recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without
permission in writing from the publishers.
Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks
or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and
explanation without intent to infringe.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Selbo, Jule.
Film genre for the screenwriter / Jule Selbo.
pages cm
Includes bibliographical references and index.
1. Motion picture authorship. 2. Film genres. I. Title.
PN1996.S3846 2014
808.2′3—dc23
2014004469
ISBN: 978-1-138-02081-8 (hbk)
ISBN: 978-1-138-02083-2 (pbk)
ISBN: 978-1-315-77817-4 (ebk)
Typeset in Stone Serif
by Apex CoVantage, LLC
CONTENTS
Acknowledgments vii
Preface viii
Introduction x
CHAPTER 1 Film Genre for the Screenwriter 1
CHAPTER 2 Creating the Mental Space 9
CHAPTER 3 Overview of Film Genres 51
CHAPTER 4 The Uber Genres: Comedy and Drama 69
CHAPTER 5 Romance, Romantic Comedy

and Buddy 92
CHAPTER 6 Speculative Genres 120
CHAPTER 7 Horror 124
CHAPTER 8 Science Fiction 147
CHAPTER 9 Fantasy 170
CHAPTER 10 Western 187
CHAPTER 11 Thriller 203
CHAPTER 12 Action and Adventure 229
CHAPTER 13 Disaster and War 259
CHAPTER 14 Coming-of-Age and Fish-Out-of-Water 289
v
vi CONTENTS
CHAPTER 15 Balancing Film Genres 301
CHAPTER 16 Conclusion: A Practical Tool in the

Screenwriter’s “Toolbox” 315
Index 319
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I would like to thank those who have encouraged and helped me in the
constructive phases of this book, especially William Higbee PhD at the
University of Exeter for his guidance and encouragement and Susan Hayward
PhD, Graeme Harper PhD, Sam North PhD, Mark Winkworth, Caroline Lindy,
Lisa Kettle, Austin Farmer, Lilliana Winkworth, Bill Walden, the fine folks
at Routledge and my comrades in the International Screenwriting Research
Network who, like myself, have a passion for film genre. I would also like to
thank all my students who explored film genre in my classes and shared my
excitement in learning how to use film genre in building their screenplays.
vii
PREFACE
As an American screenwriter working in Hollywood for nearly twenty years I

have worked in film and television, writing live action as well as animation
projects. I resisted categorization of my capabilities or strengths as a writer; I
wrote a romantic comedy for Columbia Pictures, drama/fantasy for Paramount,
a bio-pic for Disney, action/adventure/coming-of-age scripts for George Lucas’
Young Indiana Jones Chronicles, melodrama for Aaron Spelling’s Melrose Place,
sci-fi for 20th Century Fox, horror and sci-fi for George Romero’s Tales From
the Darkside and Monsters, comedy for Comedy Network and adaptations of
children’s literature for Disney, Fox, PBS and others. I jumped into writing in
these genres relying almost entirely on the surface knowledge I had gained
over years of reading literature and viewing films. Because I enjoy the analysis
of film, even as I worked as a professional screenwriter I continued studying
my craft in classes in the area of story structure—mostly because I never came
across classes dedicated to the understanding or dissection of film genre for
the screenwriter. To my mind, an analysis of genre was a blind spot in the
teaching and writing on the craft of screenwriting. This lack of attention to
the question of genre became even clearer to me when I began my academic
career and it became my task to instruct students in screenwriting. Popular
American screenwriting how-to books such as those by Syd Field (1987, 2005),
Robert McKee (1997), Christopher Vogler (2007) and Linda Seger (1999, 2003,
2010) and others concentrate on structure (the three-act structure, the steps
of the Hero’s Journey and more), but do not go deeply into the constructive
use of film genre for the screenwriter. In my own screenwriting manual
Rewrite (Selbo, 2008), I dedicate forty pages to explication of classic film genre
components but do not explore the use of genre during the constructive
phase of a screenplay. Neill D. Hicks’ book, Writing the Thriller Film: The Terror
Within (2002) and Tamara McDonald’s Romantic Comedy: Boy Meets Girl Meets
Genre (2007) are of use for the screenwriter, but again do not investigate
specifics about using film genre in the construction of a screenplay.
My focus in this book is American filmmaking, being a national cinema
that has embraced film genre from its early days. As film theorists David
Bordwell and Kristin Thompson note:
In the late 1940s André Bazin and his contemporaries started to point
out that different sorts of films had standardized their forms and styles
quite considerably. Bazin attributed the success of Hollywood cinema
viii
PREFACE ix
to what he called ‘the genius of the system.’ In (our) view, his phrase
referred not to the studio system as a business enterprise but rather to
an artistic tradition based on solid genres and a standardized approach
to cinematic narration.
(Bordwell and Thompson, 2010: 2)
I will examine what film genre is, the screenwriter’s and the audience’s reac-
tions to film genre as well as their understandings of various film genres.
Most importantly, I will examine how a screenwriter can use film genre in a
practical manner in the construction phase of the creation of a screenplay.
REFERENCES
Bordwell, David and Kristin Thompson (2010) “The Buddy System.” Observations
on Film Art, http://www.davidbordwell.net/blog/2010/09/.
Field, Syd (1987) The Screenwriter’s Workbook, Bantam Doubleday Dell Publishing,
USA.
Field, Syd (2005) Screenplay, The Foundations of Screenwriting, Delta Publishing,
USA.
Hicks, Neill (2002) Writing the Thriller Film: The Terror Within, Michael Weise
Productions, USA.
McDonald, Tamara (2007) Romantic Comedy: Boy Meets Girl Meets Genre, Wallflower
Press, UK.
McKee, Robert (1997) Story: Substance, Structure, Style, and the Principles of Screen-
writing, Methuen, UK.
Seger, Linda (1998) Creating Unforgettable Characters, Holt (Henry) & Co, USA.
Seger, Linda (2003) Advanced Screenwriting, Raising Your Script to the Academy Award
Level, Silman-James Press, USA.
Seger, Linda (2010) Making A Good Script Great, Silman-James Press, USA.
Selbo, Jule (2008) Rewrite: First Draft to Marketplace, Garth Gardner Publishing,
USA.
Vogler, Chris (2007) The Writer’s Journey: Mythic Structure for Writers, 3rd Edition,
Michael Wiese Productions, USA.
INTRODUCTION
Why is it important for a screenwriter to understand the components and

use of film genre and how to use them in the construction of a screenplay?
A few reasons: screenwriters are storytellers. Stories have been told since
the beginning of mankind and have not lost their importance or potency
in our lives. And stories come in all shapes—inspiring, scary, emotional,
factual, tall tales, fairy tales and more. Certain people are drawn to certain
stories, meaning they are attracted to different types of story, be it comedy
or drama or romance or horror or other types of tales. Therefore it stands to
reason that film-going audiences choose the film they are going to view by
its marketed type of story—the genre of the story. Executives at studios look
for screenplays in particular genres because they know that audiences are
drawn to stories told in identifiable genres.
Audiences are attracted to specific kinds of stories that connect with
them on an emotional and visceral level—and those stories are, for the most
part, identified with certain genres.
One way of viewing film genres, in simplistic terms, is as types of sto-
ries told in the film medium. Film genres have been examined from many
perspectives—originally categorized into groups similar to prose and
poetry and other broad literary groupings (romance, western, war and oth-
ers) and gradually relegated to somewhat arbitrary groupings, which may
include literary groups but also non-literary groups such as independent,
documentary, low-budget and blockbuster to suit the various needs of film
historians, film critics, film scholars or film marketers (Staiger, 1997: 188;
Bordwell, 1989: 148; Stam, 2000: 14). Film genre studies, mostly focusing
on the Hollywood commercial/studio film,1 began to emerge in the early
1950s, though genre, as a marketing tool, had existed before that. Over
the years there has been a narrowing of the study towards specific perspec-
tives that has expanded the breadth of interest in the field (Altman, 1999:
7–11). However, in my opinion, there are certain limitations to these stud-
ies, mostly due to the fact that scholars, out of necessity, concentrate their
dissections on a canon of existing films. These limitations raise questions
regarding one of the initial sparks of the filmmaking process: what of the
film narrative that does not yet exist? What are the constructive elements
of film genre—from ideation to polished screenplay—that contribute to the
clear communication of the storyteller’s intent?
x
INTRODUCTION xi
A film genre promises a journey that the film-viewer/script-reader wants

to experience. Comedy explores the ironic or silly or satiric or comic frail-
ties of the human condition and promises to elicit laughter. Drama seriously
examines the human condition of the everyman or everywoman. The hor-
ror genre promises plots where evil forces or evil characters upset the world
order; the audience of a horror film wants to be pulled into the idea that just
under the surface of normality there is a world of danger and malevolence
that could be pervasively destructive if unleashed. They want to scream,
feel anxious, cringe and experience an adrenalin rush due to the fear factor.
The classic western genre promises a look into the past (America between
the Civil War and 1900) and into a nation and set of characters that are
struggling, in most cases, to find justice and/or a sense of personal freedom
in wide open spaces. Romance promises an examination into the veracity,
strength and/or purpose of strong romantic love connections—there are
audience expectations of empathy and sympathy, an invitation to weep for
a thwarted love. The disaster genre promises to examine human reactions
in the face of outrageous destruction and possible annihilation. The adven-
ture genre promises to set up a seemingly impossible goal and characters
that will take on the challenge of reaching it. Each of these film genres
and other classic genres promise—to the audience—a certain experience.
If the story does not deliver, the disappointed audience feels annoyance,
regret and sometimes downright anger. That’s a lot of pressure for “genre”—
a French-based word that was originally meant to simply denote “type” or
“category”—but one that has now taken on a much more important place
in the lexicon of film narrative.
Like many writers, I felt I understood the components of various
genres by some sort of osmosis process, supported by thousands of hours
of film viewing. When I began to seriously investigate and study how an
understanding of film genre could be used as a tool in the construction of a
screenplay, I conducted a survey of 100 working Hollywood screenwriters.
Amazing and surprising results. One hundred percent of those surveyed
agreed that the audience chooses the film it wishes to view primarily because
of its marketed genre elements, such as movie ads or posters featuring visuals
that bring to mind horror or action or romance or another specific genre.
Of those screenwriters I surveyed, 50% believed that if the film’s genre(s)
did not deliver on a conscious level, the audience felt dissatisfaction or
disappointment. The remaining 50% believed the audience’s dissatisfaction
or disappointment was felt on a subconscious level. A large percentage of
the screenwriters surveyed (70%) responded that they did take genre into
consideration when approaching new work—however, like me, a high
percentage (85%) felt the need for a deeper understanding of specific genre
criteria (for instance, the eight steps of romance and the various forms of
xii INTRODUCTION
comedy that we will get into in this book) when tackling new work in a
specific genre. They, like me, relied on “sensing” the elements that made
up a romantic comedy or a horror or a sci-fi film or other genre and had
never actually put aside time to explore a certain genre’s classic components
or examine the audience’s reasons for enjoying a particular genre. Only
20% of all screenwriters surveyed felt that in absolutely no situation would
they take into consideration classic genre criteria when approaching their
creative endeavor because, in doing so, they feared they would endanger
their individuality and originality (Selbo, 2011).
It is interesting to note that a small percentage of surveyed screenwriters
worry that too much knowledge may endanger originality. It’s important
to keep in mind that creativity is often approached from two perspectives.
The first is the 18th century Romantic idea of poetic inspiration—creativity
is fabricating something absolutely and irrevocably new from a virginal,
intuitive wellspring (Bennett, 2007). An alternate approach is the more
normative definition: creativity is essentially the synthesis and adjustment
of existing elements in ways that bring about a sense of newness. It is my belief
that this latter definition is better suited to the professional (commercial)
screenwriter for a variety of reasons: screenwriters cannot live in vacuums,
it is their task not only to know the past and present of film literature, but
also to stay up to date with trends, societal shifts and social dilemmas. I agree
with screenwriter Budd Schulberg2 in his observation, “I believe the (writer)
should be an artist-cum-sociologist. I think he should see his characters in
social perspective. I think that is one of his obligations” (Harrison, 2005:
10). Commercial film is at its best when it reflects and examines themes and
mores relevant to contemporary society. Therefore the screenwriter, in order
to create something of interest, must reflect what has come before and be
relevant to the present. Margaret A. Boden writes: “Creativity is not a single
capacity. Nor it is a special one. It is an aspect of intelligence in general, which
involves many different capacities; noticing, remembering, seeing, speaking,
classifying, associating, comparing, evaluating, introspecting and the like”
(Boden, 2003: 4–5). By embracing the normative approach of creativity, the
screenwriter may point to the obvious—that the startling and marvelous
moment of inspiration does not, in most cases, leap out of nothingness. It
follows that the more one is exposed to information and innovations, the
more opportunities one has to cherry-pick elements, to revise, manipulate
and deeply examine—go beyond the already created—and use the known as
a springboard to create the next extrapolation or hypothesis or observation
and thus create a sense of newness. In a profession where great lip service is
paid to the desire for originality but where a marketplace tends to reward
the more familiar, a screenwriter’s task often becomes finding ways to make
the familiar film narrative (and film genre) feel fresh, novel and original.
This may seem paradoxical because the term “genre film” often refers to
INTRODUCTION xiii
a product that has been termed formulaic or imitative. Therefore before

examining film genres’ uses, it is important to create a common definition/
understanding of just what film genre is for the screenwriter.
When I began to teach screenwriting seminars and noticed participants
struggling with making their stories “pop”—or struggling to get to the base
of the kind of story (themes, point of view) they wanted to write—I realized
that sometimes there was no commitment to a film genre in the proposed
story or draft of a screenplay. The writer was at sea, and so was the reader. I
began to see how helpful a deeper understanding of genre could be and how
genre could be used as part of the craft of screenwriting (along with story
structure and character work). So I spent the last few years examining each
film genre and its components, themes and structures separately (western,
romantic comedy, disaster, war, buddy, etc.) and how to use them in the
construction phase of a screenplay. In using this tool myself and in helping
other screenwriters use this tool, I found there was more ease in the writing
tasks when the right film genre and right film genre hybrid for a screenplay
was embraced. Genre hybrid? Yes—you read that correctly. As we know, most
stories do not live and breathe in just one genre, thus most film narratives
are film genre hybrids (Neale, 2000: 51).
It’s obvious the subject matter of a film can be handled in various
ways. Consider four films in the sports genre revolving around the world of
soccer: sports/family drama Gracie (2007), sports/broad comedy Kicking and
Screaming (2005), sports/drama/coming-of-age/romance Bend it Like Beckham
(2002) and sports/action/comedy/martial arts film Shaolin Soccer (2001).
The screenwriters’ choices in the use of the overriding film genre3 and their
choices of supporting genres set the films apart from the others; they helped
present an authorial voice and clearly appealed to different sections of the
film-going audience.
How does the screenwriter let the audience know they are in good
hands—let them know their chosen film will deliver on its genre and fulfill
their expectations? There are various techniques, one of them being leading
with genre. For example, many horror films benefit from an early introduction
of danger or eeriness or a glimpse of the evil nature about to be unleashed.
Likewise, a narrative led by the action genre will more quickly connect with
its targeted audience when an action sequence is woven in near the opening
of the story, just as a comedy that elicits laughter or embraces a specific
light tone in its opening sequences will alert the audience to an allowed
reception. This nod to the overriding genre in the early stages of the film
helps to appease as well as pull in the audience; they are more likely to feel as
if their expectations (promised through the marketing of film) are set to be
satisfied.4 The idea of using film genre as a short circuit (Altman, 1984: 6) to
enhance story comprehension is of great value to the screenwriter who has,
in a classically constructed commercial film narrative in America, limited
xiv INTRODUCTION
amount of space (90 to 120 script pages) and/or time (90 to 120 minutes
of screen time) to create a full story with satisfying plot, complications
and character arcs. Using film genre components to help establish story
“type” may aid in giving the screenwriter more space/time to explore other
elements designed to build a narrative (or even to use film genre elements
in new ways to illuminate a narrative) that feels new and fresh and original.
These and other ideas and tips will be explored in depth in this book.
In all narratives, knowledgeable use of film genres is very important;
genres can do a lot of the heavy lifting of the story. How? They can frame
and lead (more on this later in the book) the story. Each of the film genres
will give the writer ideas for plot and character arcs and for setting up of a
world. Choosing the supporting genres will help the writer flesh out charac-
ter and plot points, therefore the blank-page challenge of a new project can
feel less daunting—more structurally sound—and thus more enjoyable as
the construction processes take place. Understanding the audience expecta-
tions of each of the genres, their desires for intellectual and visceral experi-
ences will also help.
Sounds simple? In a way it is, as long as you understand the basics—the
classic and “new classic” forms of each film genre—and learn to use them as
building blocks while creating the scenes and sequences of the film narrative.
The understanding of and the implementation of the components of
film genre is an excellent addition to the screenwriter’s craft. The conventions
and historical provenance of each specific genre are of importance to the
screenwriter who is intent on pushing film stories into new territories.
This book will examine the most recognized film genres: comedy, drama,
romance and romantic comedy, horror, science fiction and fantasy, western,
adventure, crime, thriller, film noir, action, war, disaster, coming of age and
more. It will also examine how these genres can work together, why specific
audiences are attracted to specific genres and how a screenwriter can meet the
expectations of their targeted audience by creating a mental space composed
of framing techniques, an understanding of the audience and taking into
account how perception and reception of the audience shifts over time.
Film genre, as it pertains to the screenwriter, refers to an active component
in the creation of a screenplay. There are three areas to consider:
– film genre’s role in the creation of a short course of comprehension

of narrative for the audience;
– a film genre’s appeal to a particular audience and how the screen-
writer can benefit from understanding the reasons for specific audi-
ence preferences;
– film genre as a tool in the craft of screenwriting to be used by the
screenwriter to reach a targeted audience.
INTRODUCTION xv
But first, an exploration of the terms often used (and mis-used) in the film
industry when talking about genre. In Chapter 1 we will explore the terms and
then concentrate on a working definition of film genre for the screenwriter.
NOTES
1 “Genre has always been the prime seedbed of American films. The neo-realists
and the European school in general . . . have usually treated the individual
film as a work situated in the history of art, or in the eternity of nature, while
(in consideration of ) even the most ambitious as well as the most perfunctory
American films, it is the pressure of the history of film displayed in genre form
that has been the most crucial factor” (Braudy, 1986: 18).
2 Budd Schulberg, novelist and screenwriter: On the Waterfront (1954), What
Makes Sammy Run (1959), A Face in the Crowd (1957) and more.
3 Overriding genre refers to the dominant film genre evident in a specific film
narrative. Although most films are genre hybrids, generally one genre will be
dominant, the other genres will be supporting the dominant genre, therefore
can be termed “supporting genres.” It benefits the screenwriter to identify
the overriding genre as the dominant frame of the film (more on this later in
the book).
4 This brings up a question—what about films that are not married to a specific
film genre? I would like to posit that all narratives embrace genre in some way,
some more avariciously than others, some through choice of tone and point
of view (such as comedy or drama), some with story elements (such as mystery
or crime) and themes (such as horror and romance).
REFERENCES
Altman, Rick (1984) “A Semantic/Syntactic Approach to Film Genre.” Cinema
Journal, Volume 23, No. 3, Spring.
Altman, Rick (1999) Film/Genre, British Film Institute, UK.
Bennett, Andrew (2007) Wordsworth Writing, Cambridge University Press, USA.
Boden, Margaret A. (2003) “Precis of ‘The Creative Mind: Myths and Mecha-
nisms.’” Brain and Behavorial Sciences, 2nd Edition, Weidenfeld & Nicolson,
UK.
Bordwell, David (1989) Making Meaning: Inference and Rhetoric in the Interpretation
of Cinema, Harvard University Press, USA.
Braudy, Leo (1986) “The Sacraments of Genre: Coppola, DePalma, Scorsese.” Film
Quarterly, Forty Years—A Selection, Volume 39, No. 3, Spring, pp. 17–28.
Harrison, Stephanie (2005) Adaptation: From Short Story to Big Screen, Random
House, USA.
Neale, Steve (2000) Genre and Hollywood, Routledge, UK.
Selbo, Jule (2011) “The Constructive Use of Film Genre for the Screenwriter:
Creating Film Genre’s Mental Space.” University of Exeter Ph.D. Dissertation
Files, UK.
Staiger, Janet (1997) “Hybrid of Inbred: The Purity Hypothesis and Hollywood
Genre History.” Film Criticism, Volume 22, No.1, Fall.
Stam, Robert (2000) Film Theory: An Introduction, Wiley-Blackwell, USA.
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CHAPTER 1
Film Genre for the Screenwriter
Terms to understand: film genre, genre film, mode, classic, revisionist, deconstructed
The clock has struck thirteen; we had best call in the theoreticians. The
more genre criticism I read, the more uncertainty I note in the choice or
extent of essential critical terms.
(Altman, 1984: 27)
FILM GENRE VS. GENRE FILM

To be able to use film genre as an active element in the craft of screenwriting,
it is important to identify a practical definition for the screenwriter.
Let’s look at a prevalent misunderstanding of the word “genre” in the
film industry; this misunderstanding is mostly due to negligence of tak-
ing into account the vast difference between the term “film genre” and the
often-negative term “genre film.”
The use of the word “genre” in literature refers to the division of work
according to style, shape, subject matter and content. There is the poetry
genre, within the poetry genre there is the Romantic genre, the epic genre,
free verse, narrative poetry and many more. In books there is the non-fiction
genre, historical fiction, detective fiction, mythology and many more. Genre,
in regards to literature, refers to a type or style of artistic work.
The film industry uses the term genre in two ways: “film genre” refers to
the type of story and “genre film” refers to imitative works of lesser quality
and little originality.
Barry Keith Grant’s Film Genre Reader IV (1986) appeared just when the
university academics’ interest in the study of film genre began to grow. Grant
featured this observation: “Genre movies are those commercial feature films
which, through repetition and variation, tell familiar stories with familiar
characters in familiar situations” (Grant, 1986: xv). Film theorist Steve Neale
identifies Grant’s definition (which clearly, in my opinion, leans towards the
examination of genre films) as the one that, unfortunately, most film critics,
film marketers and those that categorized films began to use—sometimes
interchangeably—with the term film genre (Neale, 2000: 9).
1
2 FILM GENRE FOR THE SCREENWRITER
In 1999 film theorist Rick Altman provided a distinction that helps

remind us of the vast difference between “film genre” and “genre film”:
“Film genre” is the type of story, be it science fiction, horror, comedy,

drama, western or other specific family of story.
“Genre film” is a film of lower artistic value due to its unoriginality
and close emulation of previous work.
(Altman, 1999: 20–24)
The term “film genre” has nothing to do with repetition, close facsimi-
les to familiar stories and/or characters and/or familiar situations. Whereas
there is often a negative connotation to the term “genre film,” there is no
qualitative assumption attached to the term “film genre”; there is no “good”
or “bad.” There is no “interesting” or “not interesting.”
Is this splitting hairs? No. This is an important distinction for the
screenwriter.
It benefits the screenwriter to consider the distinction between film genre
and genre film in relation to the building of a film narrative. By knowing the
components of specific film genres, a screenwriter can help shape and focus
his or her original ideas; for example—all westerns exist in the western film
genre, but not all westerns are genre films. Think, for example, of the ground-
breaking westerns such as The Searchers (1956) and High Noon (1952) in rela-
tion to less originally conceived “B”1 westerns such as the overly-predictable
westerns featuring somewhat one-dimensional characters (think of those
portrayed by Buster Crabbe, Hopalong Cassidy or Big Boy Williams) acting
out familiar story patterns—ones where the hero tracks down the “bad guy”
(usually a bank robber or cattle rustler or violent gambler) and, in all cases
(because these are genre films), saves the day. Likewise all horror films exist in
the horror film genre, but not all horror films are genre films. This equation
is applicable to romantic comedy, sci-fi, war, action-adventure and all film
genres. Therefore, a screenwriter (often the first creative source in the film-
making process) who desires artistic respect, when approaching a story set in a
specific film genre, may be wise to consider marrying a fresh perspective on
the narrative—and also a fresh perspective on the film genre in order to gain
a “sense of newness.”
Genre films may contain imitative or overly familiar elements, but are
they all of “lesser quality?”
GENRE FILMS
It is my opinion that there are laudable “genre films” and there are also weak
and disappointing genre films. The lowest form (and the one least likely to
gain artistic respect) is the re-telling of familiar material that does not feature
new or original characters, motivations or points of view (most prevalent
FILM GENRE FOR THE SCREENWRITER 3
in “B” westerns or horror or sci-fi films); what film historian Leo Braudy
describes as films where the “creator is gone and only the audience is pres-
ent” (Braudy, 1976: 104). Consider the glut of giant monster “genre” movies
in the 1950s; the storylines basically featured a giant monster terrorizing a
community or city or nation of humans—the monster was out of control
and destructive and man, somehow (through scientific hubris or by not pay-
ing attention to the environment), was partly—or wholly—responsible for
creating the dire situation. The storyline and “genre” were set; the fun for
the audience of these films—at the time of their releases—was in the special
effects. Perhaps a clear example are the films of the era that explored the
results of the atom bomb: as a result of nuclear fallout, there were giant
insects attacking the world—such as the giant spider in Tarantula (1955),
giant ants in Them (1954), a giant spider in Earth Vs. Spider (1958), a giant
man in The Amazing Colossal Man (1957) and a giant woman in The Attack of
the 50 Foot Woman (1958). Similar stories, similar backstories, similar destruc-
tions, all told in similar fashion—except for a change of “monster.” Think
of all the “teen” coming-of-age films that followed screenwriter/filmmaker
John Hughes’ breakout film Sixteen Candles (1984). Hughes himself followed
it with Pretty in Pink (1986) and Some Kind of Wonderful (1987), essentially
creating “genre films” from his own original blockbuster. Teen coming-of-age
films such as Can’t Buy Me Love (1987), Calendar Girl (1993) and Can’t Hardly
Wait (1998) basically covered comparable narrative territory. Similar stories,
similar backstories, similar problems. Then new ground in this film genre
was explored in Clueless (1995) and American Pie (1999). Note that Clueless
and American Pie “live” in the teen coming-of-age film genre but they con-
tain fresh elements, fresh points of view and fresh authorial voices.
A group of genre films that may garner more critical interest are in the
“franchise” category—popular series such as the Indiana Jones films, the Back
to the Future films, the Pirates of the Caribbean films or the James Bond films.
There are also the lampoons such as Airplane! (1980), Scary Movie (2000)
and Tropic Thunder (2008)—these films feature generic genre elements and
plot points but are exaggerated for humor and sometimes for social com-
mentary and rise above the negative “genre film” category.
Genre films, no matter the production values, rarely enjoy kudos for
narrative excellence at the film industry’s requisite awards ceremonies (the
Academy Awards, Cannes Film Festival, BAFTA Awards and others) and
rarely gain a high artistic reputation, but their appeal to audiences is often
evident at the box office. Certain genre films, despite lack of critical acclaim,
may inexplicably achieve “cult status” if they catch the imagination of the
audience.
Those who understand the decision-making process of financing
commercial films as well as the vagaries of film production, comprehend
that even “genre films” demand vast amounts of time, energy, talent and
financial resources—thus grouping all types of genre films in one pejora-

tive category seems inaccurate. However, no matter their artistic values, it
is important for the screenwriter to note that all genre films exist in and
employ elements of specific film genres; at its core a film in the horror film
genre examines evil and its existence in an ordinary world; a western is set
in a specific time frame in a specific area of the American West; a romantic
comedy has, at its heart, a journey towards true love. The films that closely
ape those that have gone before are likely to be termed “genre films.” The
film narratives that embrace a sense of newness in storyline, character moti-
vation, themes and genre revisionism represent a stellar use of the compo-
nents of “film genre.”
There is value for the screenwriter in Altman’s distinction between
genre films and film genres, especially in the examination of films that have
already been produced. However, the constructive use of film genre that a
screenwriter can employ has yet to be fully explored. What, for example, are
the unique building blocks of the horror film genre? (Or western or adven-
ture or sci-fi or buddy or . . . ?) What areas of film genre need to be examined on
a more multifaceted level—areas that go beyond a general definition and
beyond the study of groups of produced films and into an exploration to aid
the screenwriter in the creation process? Accepting that certain audiences
are attracted to certain genres, what are the audiences’ expectations and the
reasons for those expectations?
MODE
An important concept for a screenwriter’s deeper understanding of film
genre is David Bordwell’s distinction between mode and film genre: mode
is the vehicle of delivery (Bordwell, 1989: 147). Is it a documentary? Is it an
animated film? Is the film made with computer generated images (CGIs)?
Is it a short film? A web-series? The vehicle of delivery (form or mode) does
not tell us anything about the type of story or the film genre content of the
story (drama, comedy, buddy, disaster, romance or other genres). Film genre
is an integral part of the film narrative and alerts the audience to the type of
content of the story they will be experiencing. The mode is the delivery system
and, for the most part, does not imply specifics about content or types of
narrative.
Consider Disney’s Beauty and the Beast (1999); it is an adventure/romance/
fantasy/musical film presented in an animation mode. Finding Sugarman
(2012) is a mystery/drama presented in a documentary mode. Likewise, Game
of Thrones (2011–2014) is a fantasy/epic/war/drama delivered in a mini-series
mode on television.
Simply letting the potential viewer know that the film narrative will be
an animated movie does not inform about the type of story; it could be a war/
drama such as Grave of the Fireflies (1988) or a fantastical comedy like Cars
(2006) or a dark and bloody horror movie like Blue (2000). A documentary
may explore a sports event such as Bicycle Dreams (2009) or it may explore a
disaster like the Katrina Hurricane in Trouble With the Water (2008) or it may
be comedic like Good Hair (2009). Obviously, television shows come in all
sorts of genres, as do web-series.
In order for film genre to be a working tool for the screenwriter, it is
advantageous to concentrate on the story and tonal elements that are inher-
ent in each film genre. Let the delivery system be just that—the mode in
which the story is presented.
FILM GENRE AND BUILDING THE SCREENPLAY

Screenwriter Nora Ephron (1941–2012), whose credits include Sleepless in
Seattle (1993), When Harry Met Sally (1989), Heartburn (1986), Silkwood (1983)
and other films, likened the filmmaking process to making a pizza. She was
alluding to the contributions of writer, director, cinematographer, actors and
others, but I would like to extrapolate her analogy to focus on the creation
of the screenplay.
Let us say you start with the crust—everyone understands the pizza
crust. It supports all the pizza elements—sauce, spices and toppings. It
depends on what you add to the pizza that makes it unique. The crust is the
form—just as the feature film is the form (mode) and is, in most cases, 90 to
120 minutes of story. There are likely ingredients that most people enjoy
about pizza—for instance, the sauce and the cheese—these ingredients keep
people coming back for pizza over and over and over. This is similar to cer-
tain film genres; audiences will return over and over to experience a story
in their favorite film genre. Now it is time to make the film unique, to
show the screenwriter’s personal artistry. The chosen elements to enhance
each particular film are unique characters, locations, dilemmas, conflicts
and choice of supporting film genres to elucidate the story and make the
narrative seem fresh and new.
Classic film genres can be manipulated and/or massaged in order to
reveal a fresh presentation of a film narrative. Two approaches that have
been used to good advantage are deconstruction and revisionism.
DECONSTRUCTION
Deconstruction refers to the commenting on the film genre or story elements
during the presentation of the film narrative. Consider Scream (1996), written
by Kevin Williamson; this slasher horror film clearly uses the idea of genre
deconstruction—and that’s the fun and brilliance of this film. Williamson
builds a serviceable horror story, but gives it a deconstructive (lets the genre
reflect on itself ) twist—the characters in the film are slasher horror fanatics
and especially knowledgeable about the film genre. This is set up immediately
in the film when the unidentified, mysterious “slasher” telephones one of his
initial victims, Casey (Drew Barrymore), and asks her the title of her favorite
scary movie. Unsuspecting and slightly flirtatious (attitudes that spell danger
for a female in a slasher film), Casey rattles off her picks. Soon she realizes
she is in a very real slasher horror story. Other characters constantly reference
horror movies and familiar horror genre tropes. The commenting on the hor-
ror genre as a horror narrative is in progress deconstructs the film genre and
allows the target audience to enjoy the film on various levels—intellectually
and viscerally.
An example of a deconstructed western is The Assassination of Jesse
James by the Coward Robert Ford (2007); the film features characters that com-
ment on the myths and legends of the American West (in this case Jesse
James, his brother and the romantic notion of the Wild West’s charismatic
villains) as the western tale plays out. As mentioned previously, this gives
the audience a chance to experience the film on various levels, intellectually
and viscerally.
REVISIONISM
The classic western, extremely popular from 1920–1960, features a moral
protagonist (usually a sheriff or marshal) who wears the “white hat” and
stands for justice in the wide-open Wild West where a multitude of oppor-
tunities are available for good men. A revisionist western such as Unforgiven
(1992, written by David Peoples) features a sheriff as the “bad guy” and a
former outlaw and gun-for-hire as the anti-hero main character. Munny
(Clint Eastwood) is a man with a dark past who is trying to change his life in
hopes that he may, eventually, be forgiven by God and be reunited in heaven
with his deceased wife. Munny is unable to remain true to his reformation
promises and sinks into terrible violence. The audience is still connected to
his character and, through his story, comes to understand that the “classic”
good guys and bad guys of the Wild West were, in reality, much more com-
plicated men. When Harry Met Sally (1989, written by Nora Ephron) is a
romantic comedy that presents a revised version of the typical romantic com-
edy; its characters, Harry (Billy Crystal) and Sally (Meg Ryan), meet as college
students and both are filled with varying opinions on romantic love. As a
decade or more slips by, their honesty with each other makes up for their
initial dislike. They become best friends and support each other through
many failed relationships with other people. They finally realize that the
true love they both seek is right in front of their eyes: each other. Ephron
uses revisionism and deconstruction in this narrative and it received kudos
for its fresh approach to romantic comedy.
ACTIVE AND PASSIVE GENRES

Each film genre has distinct characteristics; some are more “active” (in that
they give the screenwriter more structure and/or clues to content) and some
are more “passive” (in that they suggest tone and little else). This observation
comes as a result of considering film scholar Andrew Tudor’s question: is it
the attributes of the film that place it in a film genre grouping or is it the inten-
tion of the filmmakers (Tudor, 1995: 4–10)? The answer to Tudor’s question—
as it pertains to the screenwriter at this point in time—is both attributes and
intent. As an example, comedy intends to bring about laughter, its attributes
(type of characters, locations, themes and others) may vary from film to film,
whereas a western has certain attributes (takes place in the American West
between 1860–1900, has specific iconography and character types) and its
intentions may vary from film to film. An examination of the active and pas-
sive genres will be presented in the chapters on the specific genres.
FILM HYBRIDS
Film theorist Steve Neale notes that most films make use of two or more
genres; his term for this amalgam is “genre hybrid” (Neale, 2000: 51). How-
ever, in most cases, one overriding genre will be dominant; the other genres
will be supporting the dominant genre and can therefore be termed “sup-
porting” genres. For example, Casablanca (1942) employs the war genre as
its overriding genre and the narrative is supported by the romance genre.
Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (1969) is written in the western genre and
is supported by the buddy genre and the romance genre.
The choice of film genre affects the story. The treatment of a subject matter
can also vary because of a choice of genre—the prime example being, is it con-
structed as a comedy or as a drama? Note the difference between two films that
explore kidnapping—the western The Searchers (1956), and the black comedy
written and directed by the Coen brothers, Raising Arizona (1987). The former
was constructed in the western/drama genres, the latter in the black comedy/
crime genres. Another example is the exploration of possession by the devil—
The Exorcist (1973) is built in the horror/drama genres, while The Mask (1994) is
constructed in the comedy/horror genres. One can also compare the intimate
Casablanca (1942), built in the war/romance genres, and Gone With the Wind
(1939), constructed in the epic/war/romance/drama genres. The screenwriter’s
choice of film genres obviously appeals to specific audiences.
DEFINITION
By understanding the successful use of film genre within the limited format of
a screenplay, the screenwriter is able to include cues that allow the audience
to quickly grasp key storyline elements. This can be of benefit. A thoughtful
use of film genre can leave the necessary room for original narrative elements,
visual, aural, emotional and thematic content in a script designed to serve as
a detailed narrative blueprint for the production of a film.
In other words, the chosen film genre can be one of the elements that
make a film appeal to the audience. Choosing specific film genres to support
the overriding film genre can help make the narrative unique. Here is a prac-
tical definition of the term film genre for the screenwriter.
Film genre, for the screenwriter, refers to the type of film story and its
essential elements such as locations, iconography, characters, themes,
mental space and certain filmic and story attributes and intentions of
the filmmaker—which have a historical heritage known to attract and
emotionally affect a particular audience.
This book will expand the tools in the screenwriters’ toolbox and explore
the constructive use of film genre. Let’s move to the next chapter to go deeper
into the theory of film genre and the components of mental space and how
to apply them to the use of film genre.
NOTE
1 The term “B” movie refers to low-budget pictures of lesser artistic quality. Stu-
dios originally sent out their “B” unit to shoot a less expensive film to be
paired with the “A” film in a double feature; thus the name “B” movie.
REFERENCES
Altman, Rick (1999) Film/Genre, BFI Publishing, UK.
Bordwell, David (1989) “A Case for Cognitivism.” Iris, No. 9.
Braudy, Leo (1976) The World in Frame, University of Chicago Press, USA.
Grant, Barry Keith (1986) Film Genre Reader IV, University of Texas Press, USA.
Tudor, Andrew (1995) “Genre,” Film Genre Reader II, University of Texas Press,
USA.
CHAPTER 2
Creating the Mental Space
Terms to understand: attributes of genre, intention of genres, hybrid, idealized

cognitive model, mental space, schematic, specific and relevant knowledge
Film theorist Steve Neale, in his book Genre and Hollywood, defines genre as
“a multi-dimensional phenomenon.” He notes that its dimensions “centrally
include systems of expectation, categories, labels and names, discourses,
texts and corpuses of texts, and the conventions that govern them all”
(Neale, 2000: 25). There are different schools of thought about the hierar-
chy of importance of the components of genre. Whereas Neale attempts to
offer a comprehensive approach that incorporates multiple forms of genre
classifications, I intend to be uniquely and deliberately narrow in scope: to
explore film genre as it pertains specifically to the task of the screenwriter’s
construction of a film narrative; in other words to define how a screenwriter
can use the functions of genre in creating a film story. Neale, noting a gap
in the understanding of film genre and its perimeters and categorizations,
supported Rick Altman’s observation that “genres might serve diverse groups
diversely” and that “multiple genre practitioners use genres and generic
terminology in potentially contradictory ways” (Neale, 2002: 2–4). The
recognition of the gaps in film genre study as well as the acknowledgment
of the various needs of filmmaking’s “multiple practitioners” serve as insti-
gators of my research. In my opinion, the screenwriter needs to approach
genre from a wholly unique perspective, more conceptual than empirical,
more creational than deconstructive. It is in the ideation stage, in the con-
structive stage of the narrative that the screenwriter can make efficacious
use of film genre. I will explore the “how” in the following pages.
My interest is not the rewriting of genre theories as presented by film
study scholars such as Steve Neale (1995, 2000, 2002), Rick Altman (1984,
1995, 1999), Barbara Klinger (2003), Thomas Schatz (1977, 1981, 1983)
and many others, but to expand on these existing explorations and apply
them directly to the practice of screenwriting. I want to examine how film
genre can be understood and used as part of the screenwriter’s craft—in the
ideation and writing stages of film narrative. It is my assertion that a knowl-
edgeable use of film genre theory and an understanding of individual genre
9
10 CREATING THE MENTAL SPACE
histories can aid the screenwriter in his/her abilities in building a script for
film production and also in the ultimate examination of the narrative in
the rewrite and final stages of the writing process before it is committed to the
filming process.
Rick Altman’s examination of the inclusive and exclusive practice of
genre as well as its semantic/syntactic elements contributed to the new
interpretations of film genre (Altman, 1984: 6–18). The inclusive practice of
film genre refers to a “simple, tautological definition of the genre” (Altman,
1984: 8): all “true” musicals have diegetic music, all “true” westerns take
place in the American West between 1860 and 1900, all “true” crime genre
films include an investigator—be it an official detective or untrained charac-
ter set on the task. This knowledge can aid the screenwriter in constructing
a screenplay through consideration of using or adjusting classical elements
in themes and plots.
Considering the exclusive traits of specific film genre can also be helpful
for the screenwriter; for example, classic western themes include examinations
of justice and/or personal freedom, classic crime films include examinations of
social justice and/or personal morals. Altman’s work on the language (seman-
tics) as well as the structure (syntactic elements) of film genre is also helpful
to the screenwriter; for example, a classic horror film sets out to unsettle and
create anxiety as it explores evil elements in our society, thus implementing a
structure that is unsettling and meant to keep an audience on edge. A romantic
comedy sets out to explore the veracity of true love and classically employs a
“boy gets girl, boy loses girl, boy gets girl back” structure. Thomas Schatz’s his-
torical examinations in the early 1980s note the popularity of certain genres
in certain socio-political eras. This observation opened new dialogues on film
genre (Schatz, 1981: 11). John G. Cawelti’s ritual approach, the relationship
between formula and culture, examined the necessary evolution of genres due
to ever-changing cultures and audiences (Neale, 2000: 220–221). The screen-
writer, in a constant pursuit of a “sense of newness” may be wise to consider
how classic film genres can be manipulated and/or massaged to bring about a
deconstructed1 or revisionist2 bent—this can help provide a “newness” to the
use of a specific film genre. Attempts by film critics, historians and theorists
to construct strict genre categorizations induced film analyst Andrew Tudor to
argue against “extreme genre imperialism” (Tudor, 1995: 4–10); he applauded
film theorist Jim Kitses’ assertion: genre is “a varied and flexible structure, a
thematically fertile and ambiguous world of historical material shot through
with archetypal elements which are themselves ever in flux” (Kitses, 1969).
Neale notes that genre gives the audience “a means of recognizing and under-
standing” (Neale, 2000: 31)—essentially agreeing with Altman’s observation
in 1984 that film genre is a means to create a short course to narrative com-
prehension by using familiar and iconic elements that are quickly recognized
and understood (Altman, 1984: 6).
CREATING THE MENTAL SPACE 11
The work of theorists such as Kitses (1969), Will Wright (1975), Laura
Mulvey (1975), John G. Cawelti (1996, 1999, 2004), Carol Clover (1993),
Thomas Elsaesser (1995) as well as Linda Williams’ descriptions of body
genres (1991/2000) have illuminated patterns and themes of specific genres
such as horror, romance, western and melodrama. The screenwriter, under-
standing the classical patterns that have helped shaped audience expecta-
tions, is better able to construct or deconstruct elements that will satisfy a
film genre savvy audience. The screenwriter will also be more cognizant of
possibilities to create a “sense of newness.” Film theorist Janet Staiger, in her
1997 article in Film Criticism, “Hybrid or Inbred: The Purity Hypothesis and
Hollywood Genre History,” argues that Hollywood films have never been
“pure” (as in implementing a sole genre). A screenwriter, when construct-
ing his or her screenplay, can be aided by recognizing these observations
as guiding principles and by taking care to fulfill each film genre he/she
employs in a film narrative.
Scholars and analysts have completed distinguished and methodi-
cal work in the field and simultaneously made obvious areas of film genre
study that could benefit from further examination—such as the screen-
writer’s use of film genre in narrative construction. By understanding the
successful use of film genre within the limited format of a screenplay, the
screenwriter is able to include cues that allow the audience to quickly grasp
key storyline elements. This thoughtful use of film genre can leave the nec-
essary room for the induction of original narrative, visual, aural, emotional
and thematic content in a script designed to serve as a detailed narrative
blueprint for the production of a film.
I have mentioned that, for the screenwriter, the term film genre, to date,
has mainly suggested/reflected two considerations: first a tonal approach
(comedy or drama) to the narrative and second, character delineation (per-
sonality traits considered light and comic or traits considered serious and/or
possibly tragic). Film genre also has contributed guidelines in the plotting of the
narrative (as in romance the broad strokes of boy gets girl, boy loses girl, boy
gets girl back or as in horror the broad strokes of an evil force versus hero/
heroine). I believe there is a possibility for a third, more cogent approach,
and in the following pages I intend to illuminate these possibilities by evok-
ing the concept of what I term the “mental space” of film genre.
Genre and literary theorist John Frow writes that genre “gets a certain
kind of work done” (Frow, 2005: 14). In my endeavor to substantiate this
notion for the screenwriter and to understand how this observation could
be of use in the construction of a film narrative, I began my research on how
a screenwriter might build a “mental space” for an audience by drawing on
the codes and conventions of film genre. I came upon a theoretic construct
presented in the area of linguistic philosophy called the “idealized cogni-
tive model” (Fauconnier, 1994: 8). In the 1990s, cognitive scientist Gilles
Fauconnier proposed the idea of mental space corresponding to possible

worlds in philosophy.
Possible worlds are not exact—but they are close representations of the
world as it is assumed to be or might be (Fauconnier, 1994: xi, foreword
by Lakoff ). The main difference between a mental space and a possible
world, they assert, is that a mental space does not have to contain a faith-
ful representation of reality; it can be an idealized cognitive model of a possible
world. I submit that “idealized” in this context does not have a qualitative
(good or bad) connotation but is used to mean “imagined” or “imitative,”
as in Aristotle’s assertion in his Poetics (335 BCE) that successful narratives
are “imitations” (mimesis) of life—stories taken from life but structured to
contain a certain beginning, middle and end and actions throughout
to keep the narrative moving forward (Tierno, 2002: 13). Extrapolating this
idea, it can be argued that a film is not a complete world—but, to borrow
Fauconnier’s term, an idealized cognitive model (an “ICM”). This theoretic
construct suggested correlations that could be of benefit to the screenwriter’s
understanding of film genre.
FILM STORY AS A “MENTAL SPACE”

OR “IDEALIZED COGNITIVE MODEL”
Components of Film Genre of Practical
Use to the Screenwriter
I want to propose that the screenwriter, in each screenplay, constructs a spe-
cific universe for specific characters suited to bringing out distinctive story-
line elements and thematic threads and discards other “real world” elements
that could distract the audience from narrative and thematic comprehen-
sion. For example, the ICM (mimesis or imitation, the idealized cognitive
model) constructed for the film adaptation of the Mario Puzo novel, The
Godfather (1972, adapted by Mario Puzo and Francis Ford Coppola), focuses
on Michael (Al Pacino) and his initial reluctance and ultimate decision to
engage in the family business, the Mafia. Other areas of the protagonist’s life
that would create a more complete “possible world” (hobbies, friendships
from his military service, relationships to his children, daily machinations
of existence) are not examined in the film at all and other areas of his life
such as the relationship with his wife and time spent in exile in Italy exist only
as they pertain to the understanding of Michael’s change and trajectory to
power in the crime “family.” The ancillary illuminations of character are not
necessary to the story, thus are not parts of the idealized cognitive model of
this coming-of-age/crime drama. Likewise, the ICM of Casablanca (1942) is
limited to an exploration of two areas of the life of Rick (Humphrey Bogart)—
his nightclub/café that serves as a gathering place for multinational refugees
displaced by the war and his obsession to understand a woman’s romantic

feelings for him. Full delineations of other areas of his life (his home, his
hobbies, his past in America) are not necessary (or—as Aristotle points out in
Poetics—are not desired) in order to fully comprehend the intended narra-
tive, thus these delineations are not part of the “idealized cognitive model”
of the narrative.
ICMs are matched to the world in complex ways. What counts here
is only the idealized assumption that, in a given situation and for a
given match-up between elements and real-world objects, the space fits
or does not fit the situation, in the sense that the objects have or do
not have the properties assigned to the space elements associated with
them.
(Fauconnier, 1997: 68)
Fauconnier purports that people achieve (or try to achieve) an understand-

able model of a circumstance by constructing a mental space using long-term
schematic knowledge—a recognizable structure such as a boxing match or a tea
party or funeral—and long-term specific knowledge—the individual’s personal
memory/experience of events such as a boxing match or tea party or funeral
(Fauconnier and Turner, 2002: 104–106). In transferring these ideas to the
examination of film genre, I propose an examination of the mental space (the
components that add up to an idealized cognitive model) a screenwriter can
build using film genre: the schematic (or structural) knowledge as it is applicable
to framing a film with the film genre—and the examination of specific knowl-
edge as it is applicable to an audience member’s personal memory that aids in
experiencing a specific film genre.
Just as Fauconnier investigates the use of language in order to under-
stand the meanings of why sentences/thoughts are understood in a unique
way, the film can also be approached in this manner. Fauconnier asserts,
“Meaning in everyday thought and language is constructed at lightning
speed. We are not conscious of the staggering complexity of the cognitive
operations that drive our simplest behavior” (Fauconnier, 1997: i). This idea
can also be used to look at how a film’s meaning is perceived cognitively by
the audience through a use of film genre.
I would like to add another component to the idea of the mental space
of the ICM, one that would relate specifically to the construction of film
narrative: relevant knowledge. This component relates to the social and ideo-
logical milieu of the contemporary audience and takes into consideration
the use of film genre to generate a sense of currency in the approach to the
film narrative. I intend to use this to explore Thomas Schatz’s observation
in his book Hollywood Genres, “<A>ny genre’s narrative context imbues its
conventions with meaning. This meaning in turn determines their use in
individual films” (Schatz, 1981: 10). For clarity: mental space goes beyond
Schatz’s concept of spatial context, which refers to conventionalized set-

tings or locales or generic milieus of specific film genres (Schatz, 1983: 67).
An example of spatial context: a story focusing on the organized crime
underworld is usually set in an urban setting, with a community of charac-
ters that are easily identifiable by their sociopathic traits. This is the spatial
context of this subset of the crime genre. The western is likely to take place
in the western area of the United States between 1860 and 1900, in ter-
ritories not yet under the federal umbrella, where “the fastest gun” settled
most disputes. The spatial context is, however, not interchangeable with
the idea of the mental space of film genre, for spatial context only pertains
to physical location. Mental space refers to an imagined narrative/diegetic
“world.” I propose, for the screenwriter, that this “world” includes the plot,
characters, location, themes, genres and other components of an entire
film narrative.
These three areas—schematic knowledge, specific knowledge and rel-
evant knowledge—will be dissected as they relate to film genre so as to gain
maximum insight into how a screenwriter’s approach to film genre can be
active and aid in the creation of the screenplay.
MENTAL SPACE OF FILM GENRE
Every film is unique. Production and promotion are therefore governed

by the need to recognize and celebrate difference as well as by the need
to reuse capital assets and to recycle and signal the presence of tried and
tested ingredients.
(Neale, 2000: 4)
Schematic Knowledge
Consider film genre as the frame of the film; this is the first step in the cre-
ation of a short course to comprehension of narrative intent. Traditional
film narrative has evolved over more than a hundred years of filmmaking
and, in its most successful guise, presents itself as a system of visual and
verbal clues—a puzzle, if I may—where puzzle pieces are buried in scenes
and sequences and are revealed to fit within a certain story frame to reveal
character and plot. I suggest that the film’s frame (the opening and closing
and also interior framing using the dominant genre in specific scenes) is its
overriding genre, be it comedy, tragedy, romance, mystery, western, action
or adventure, thriller or other film genre.
[S]ubject matter is the weakest criterion for generic grouping because it

fails to take into account how the subject is treated.
(Stam, 2000: 14)
Film theorist Robert Stam’s observation supports the need to understand

film genre’s purpose for the screenwriter. Because a story can be told using a
variety of film genres—drama, comedy, horror, western and so on, the choice
of film genre, as discussed previously, is of paramount importance to the
screenwriter due to its inherent ability to comment on the narrative.
Identifiable genre patterns frame unique story elements and thematic
threads, thus giving shape to an incomplete (but seemingly complete) model,
an ICM. Thus the concept of film genre as a framing element of an impres-
sionistic story puzzle (the screenplay) may be helpful to the screenwriter who
understands that an audience does not need (or desire) a realistic moment-to-
moment enactment of a character’s journey, only impressions of that journey
(enough to build a recognizable ICM) that allow for narrative comprehension
and audience satisfaction of the story. Screenwriter Terry Rossio commented:
People tend to think of screenplays the way they think of novels. In

truth writing a script is much more like writing poetry. The form and
structure are paramount, and the goal is to convey as much information
as possible in as compact a form as possible.
(Rossio,3 1997)
As noted previously, Altman observes that use of film genre can short-
circuit (create a short course to) normal narrative comprehension (Altman,
1984: 8). This refers to the viewers’ rapid understanding of the cues
implanted by the screenwriter—cues such as framing that allow the audi-
ence to determine if the film story is a romance or a western or sci-fi or
fantasy or war or other film genre. Altman’s observation falls in line with
Fauconnier’s point that most people have an ability to recognize features
present in nature and are able to conceptualize these features and “relate
them to other aspects” of life (Fauconnier, 1997: 19). Extrapolating on this
observation, one can reasonably suggest that people are also able to rec-
ognize features present in art and literature and assess them in relation
to one another and subsequently form groupings of particular features.
Fauconnier points out that this schematic induction (ability to perceive a
framing)—though one of the mysteries of cognition—is so commonplace
that it is taken for granted. Film genre theorist Thomas Schatz writes, “A
viewer’s familiarity with a genre is the result of a cumulative process” (Schatz,
1981: 11). Therefore, I suggest that it may be beneficial to the screenwriter
to assume that the film-viewing audience raised in a culture where films are
readily available for viewing in the commercial theaters as well as on televi-
sion, computers and home-viewing devices, has garnered a sense (conscious
or unconscious) of the framing device of film genre, and is able to accept
certain variations on the frame but will ultimately reject films that do not,
in some way, satisfy a perceived category. If, using the results of my survey of
fifty Hollywood screenwriters (see Introduction), one accepts that audiences
desire film genre satisfaction, a screenwriter may be advised to take into

consideration inclusion of elements that satisfy film genre categories.
I would like to provide technical examples to further elucidate the fram-
ing process of film genre and highlight how it has been used in produced
films as a short course to narrative comprehension. I shall attempt to do this
through a series of case studies that follow over the next few pages. Here I
will look at specific films that, in my opinion, make good use of schematic
knowledge (the framing of the narrative with film genre elements) in three
areas of the narrative: at the outset of the story, internally to frame supporting
genre scenes or sequences (thus keeping the overriding genre primary) and then
finally in the concluding moments of the film. Noting the less than desirable
position of using examples of produced films that have been shaped by a col-
laborative team (writer, director, producer, actor, etc.) where the screenwriter’s
initial work may not be absolutely clear, I will begin with a broad example of
framing and move into specifics in the scripting process. Perhaps one of the
most recognizable frames is that of the popular action genre—a film genre
that, invariably, uses as an element of its framing an opening chase or action
sequence to alert the audience to the type of film they are about to view.
Quantum of Solace (2008, written by Paul Haggis, Neal Purvis & Robert
Wade4) is the twenty-second James Bond film and the first screenplay for a
Bond film that was not an adaptation of an Ian Fleming novel. The narrative
quickly demonstrates the action genre as its overriding genre and clearly
frames its narrative accordingly. The film opens with a two-and-a-half minute
action sequence and, at its conclusion, employs a nearly six minute climac-
tic action sequence. Interspersed in the produced film are nine other action
FIGURE 2.1 Daniel Craig and Judi Dench in Quantum of Solace (2008)
sequences that vary in length (twenty seconds to three minutes) totaling

approximately twenty-seven minutes. Action scenes and sequences make up
nearly thirty-six minutes of screen time. The film runs nearly 102 minutes
(without the requisite Bond credit sequence), leaving approximately seventy
minutes to fulfill the narrative needs of plot and character explication. The
supporting genre of Quantum of Solace is the crime genre, a genre that calls
for a set-up of a criminal act, complications of execution and/or deduction
of the act and a strong antagonist that is not only intent on carrying out
the criminal act but that will serve as a worthy opponent of the protagonist
(in this case James Bond). Quantum of Solace devotes sixty-three minutes of
screen time to the crime genre (set up and complications and final outcome
of the crime). The remaining seven minutes of the film serve to reveal con-
necting character, emotional and thematic threads; two somewhat motherly
scenes where M ( Judi Dench) worries about Bond (Daniel Craig) and where
the question of trust (a thematic thread) is discussed as well as a scene where
Bond connects on an emotional level with Camille (Olga Kurylenko) due to
commonalities of personal betrayals (relating to the thematic issue of trust)
in their pasts.
The action genre frame is not only manifested at the beginning and end
of Quantum of Solace but also internally as scenes focusing on the crime and
personal/emotional conflicts are themselves framed by action sequences.
How does the use of action sequences as a framing device in this film
relate to narrative comprehension? Perhaps the most obvious is charac-
ter elucidation; the opening action sequence introduces James Bond as a
man who moves fast; he is fit, resourceful, fearless, cool under pressure and
indomitable. Another element is pacing—the audience is quickly informed
that this narrative will move at breakneck speed (often an expectation of
the action genre). Locales are also important; for example in the action/
international crime genre hybrid, exotic locations are requisite; the audience
expects (and enjoys) globetrotting. Given that action films attract male view-
ers (Meagher, 2003: 3–4; Oliver, 1993: 315–342), the relatively short emo-
tional scenes framed by action sequences assure the targeted audience that
“feelings” will be minimally explored; this film will be more like a carnival
ride than a session with a mental health specialist. Within moments of the
opening of the film, the audience comprehends the type of film they are
about to view and enjoy the experience of the familiar as they expect (hope
for) original components in the narrative.
Further examples of framing (use of schematic knowledge) as a technical
tool for the screenwriter will focus on two classics included in the American
Film Institute’s list of Top 100 Films (2007)—Casablanca (1942) and The
Philadelphia Story (1940). The choice of films was determined by the expecta-
tion that these films are widely known so as to make the examples quickly
understood.
The opening of the dramatic Casablanca (written by Philip Epstein &

Julius Epstein and Howard Koch) is clearly framed in the war genre—in the
opening scenes of the screenplay and at its conclusion.
The war genre is also used internally to frame supporting genres, most
specifically the romance genre. The first scene in the screenplay:
Insert—A revolving globe. When it stops revolving it turns briefly into a con-
tour map of Europe, then into a flat map.
Superimposed over this map are scenes of refugees fleeing from all sections of
Europe by foot, wagon, auto and boat, and all converging upon one point on
the tip of Africa—Casablanca.
Arrows on the map illustrate the routes taken as the NARRATOR describes the
migration.
NARRATOR (V.O.)
With the coming of the Second World War,
many eyes in imprisoned Europe turned
hopefully, or desperately toward the freedom
of the Americas . . .
(Casablanca, 1942: 1)
The Academy Award winning script continues, highlighting the dramatic

desperation of war refugees’ intentions of finding a safe haven away from
war-torn Europe. The screenwriters build the opening sequences (using maps,
images of strong military presence in Casablanca, anxious refugees angling
for transit papers in outdoor cafés, military police shooting a criminal with
false papers) to set the war genre schema. Ex-patriot Rick Blaine (Humphrey
Bogart), the main character, is not mentioned until page ten of the screen-
play and does not appear until page eleven, nearly ten minutes into the film.
He is referred to as a man who does not take sides in the war. The support-
ing genre (romance) does not present itself until page thirty-four when Ilsa
(Ingrid Bergman), Rick’s former lover, enters Rick’s Café. Despite Casablanca’s
position as number one on the AFI List of Most Romantic Films, it is inter-
esting to note how the overriding genre (war) dominates the narrative—the
romantic desires and decisions are continually weighted in regards to a world
at war. Even the lovers’ guarded, subtext-filled exchange when meeting again
for the first time in Rick’s Café stays in the war schema. The exchange is set
up by Police Captain Renault (Claude Rains); he is intrigued to discover Ilsa
has known the mysterious American, Rick, prior to his arrival in Casablanca.
RENAULT
I can’t get over you two. She was asking
about you earlier, Rick, in a way that made
me extremely jealous.
ILSA
(to Rick)
I wasn’t sure you were the same. Let’s see,
the last time we met—
RICK
It was “Le Belle Aurore.”
ILSA
How nice. You remembered. But of course, that
was the day the Germans marched into Paris.
RICK
Not an easy day to forget.
ILSA
No.
RICK
I remember every detail. The Germans wore gray,
you wore blue.
ILSA
Yes. I put that dress away. When the Germans
march out, I’ll wear it again.
In the final moments of the film, the audience awaits Rick’s decision: will he
choose romantic gratification with a woman he deeply loves or a re-connection
FIGURE 2.2 Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman in Casablanca (1942)

with the world—which means taking sides in a world war? Rick clearly chooses
the re-connection, again reflecting the overriding genre, war.
RICK
We’ll always have Paris. We didn’t have, we’d
lost it, until you came to Casablanca. We got it
back last night.
ILSA
And I said I would never leave you.
RICK
And you never will. But I’ve got a job to
do, too. Where I’m going, you can’t follow.
What I’ve got to do you can’t be any part of.
Ilsa, I’m no good at being noble, but it
doesn’t take much to see that the problems of
three little people don’t amount to a hill
of beans in this crazy world . . .
Casablanca consistently remains on Top Ten Lists of best films ever made. Using
the war genre as a frame enables this film to stand out from other romances
that did not (do not) tackle relevant issues of the time (such as war). Inspired
by Stanley Solomon’s observations on the structural elements of film genre
(Solomon, 1976: 7), I suggest the use of film genre as a framing element in a
screenplay allows the screenwriter to encode impressions of the story (enough
to build a recognizable ICM) that allow for the audience to comprehend the
intent of the narrative. Using film genre scenes or sequences to frame sections
of narrative can help orient the audience as to tone and purpose (as in using
war genre scenes/sequences to give perspective to the love story in Casablanca).
Romantic comedy is, obviously, a blend of two genres: romance and com-
edy. The components of the romance genre rely on the acceptance of the pri-
macy of the couple, of the belief in or desire for true love (McDonald, 2007: 13).
The components of the comedy genre center mostly on a lighthearted or ironic
view of human existence, focusing on foibles, flaws and sometimes exagger-
ated physical and mental “pratfalls” (Dirks, accessed 2011). Romantic comedy,
a film genre that struggles to gain respect from film analysts (McDonald, 2007:
7–8), often examines the idea of “true love” and “soulmates.” The origin of the
idea of soulmates is credited to Plato; in Plato’s philosophical play Symposium,
the character of Aristophanes presents this idea: humans originally consisted
of four arms, four legs, and a single head with two faces. Zeus feared their
power so he split them in half, condemning humans forever to be “in search
of their other half” ( Jowett, 2001). The “other half” is often related to the idea
of a soulmate—the person who “completes” another person; in other words
FIGURE 2.3 Cary Grant, Katharine Hepburn and James Stewart in The Philadelphia
Story (1940)
the person who makes up for what may be lacking in temperament (such as
passion, freeness of spirit or other trait thought desirable in a well-rounded
and appealing person). The pursuit of love (and even better, the pursuit of true
love) must be paramount in a romantic comedy. The comedy element must be
evident, but it is secondary to the romance.
The opening of the Academy Award winning screenplay, The Philadel-
phia Story (written by Donald Ogden Stewart, based a play by Phillip Barry),
overtly frames the romantic comedy genre. The couple, relatively recent
newlyweds, are in a personal war. Tracy Lord (Katharine Hepburn) ejects her
husband C.K. Dexter Haven (Cary Grant) from their home, tossing his bag of
golf clubs at him, setting up the break-up of a romance/marriage.
Dexter responds with a gentlemanly but firm flat hand to Tracy’s face
that causes a comical upending of her arrogant sense of entitled dignity (lit-
erally and figuratively). The seriousness of the romantic situation is evident;
the comedy is evident.
Screenwriter Donald Ogden Stewart frames the comedy as a “troubled
romance” in the opening scene. He moves the screenplay narrative quickly
to a year later to reveal the still unbending and judgmental Tracy, a woman
who expects her own personal perfection and absolute perfection in others,
is still in pursuit of being part of a perfect couple (she is about to be married
again and wedding preparations are in progress). This pursuit of the perfect
marriage will be difficult because intelligent, beautiful Tracy cannot accept
faults in others, she expects (and demands) people “be perfect.” Dexter is
charming and caring but he does have flaws; he doubts himself, drinks too
much at times (it is insinuated that this reliance on alcohol may be because
he is afraid of never achieving the perfection Tracy expects). However, Dexter
has the ability to understand the human condition—that people are made
up of strengths and weaknesses—and he celebrates this condition. He also
has the ability to forgive, something that Tracy is incapable of doing. Because
of their differences (their ability to complete each other) the audience under-
stands these two people should be together. However, Tracy is about to marry
a social climber (romantic comedies often examine social hierarchies and
movement between upper and lower classes, rich and poor, educated and
non-educated, etc.). This social climber is the annoying “working man”
George ( John Howard); he worships Tracy—he wants to keep her on a meta-
phorical pedestal. The romantic comedy framing is evident throughout the
narrative—action sequences and comedic sequences are consistently pre-
ceded and followed by scenes examining the importance of love, the ability
or inability to love and what constitutes “true love.” Also, the supporting
stories feature romance or romantic problems between Tracy’s mother and
father, the reporters who arrive to cover the society wedding, Tracy’s uncle’s
flirtations, and Tracy’s younger sister’s fascination with all that concerns
love. And finally all comes to a happy conclusion as Tracy experiences a
maturation (part of the supporting coming-of-age genre) and understanding
of “true love” when the “fiancé-we-love-to-hate” takes umbrage with Tracy
for a perceived imperfection. Finally, reflected in his misguided judgment
and arrogance, Tracy sees her own weaknesses. Tracy calls off the imminent
wedding, allowing for another quick proposal from Dexter and a second
exchange of vows between the now wiser and more forgiving Tracy and her
“soulmate” C.K. Dexter Haven.
The external and internal framing of The Philadelphia Story narrative by
romance genre driven scenes or comedy driven scenes or romantic comedy
driven scenes helps to assure the audience that the tone and narrative will
deliver to their expectations.
The schematic framing evident in the above examples, Quantum of Sol-
ace, Casablanca and The Philadelphia Story are excellent examples for the
screenwriter to consider when contemplating a “framing” of a screenplay in
a specific genre.
Summing up the Schematic Knowledge Component

of the Mental Space of Film Genre
The use of the schematic knowledge component of the mental space of film
genre—the framing of the narrative with genre to create a short course to
audience comprehension—is evident in classically structured screenplays,
especially in the opening and closing sequences. For example, a “stranger”
entering a small western community and then departing, after his task is
completed, at the end of the narrative often frames classic westerns. This
stranger either brings justice with him (he is then, most likely, the hero),
or is bent on destroying the thin stronghold of justice in the community
(he is then, most likely, the villain). These schematic uses help to fulfill the
expectations of the audience—an audience drawn to westerns because of
narratives that often explore the conflict between the West as garden and
as desert, between culture and nature, community and individual (Kitses,
1969). The schematic choices used in the framing of classic horror films are
also familiar; the threat of an evil force is often introduced in the opening
sequences and thus alerts the audience to the type of narrative they are about
to experience. It is equally important and of benefit to the screenwriter to
understand that internal framing is also important—the use of scenes and
sequences in the overriding genre to frame narrative threads in the “B” sto-
ries that often feature storylines that “live” in other film genres.
The schematic component of the mental space of film genre can
therefore be grasped relatively easily and should be considered an impor-
tant and practical implement in the screenwriter’s craft. The notion of
external and internal framing of scenes and/or sequences with film genre
helps to assure the audience that the tone and narrative will deliver to
their expectations.
Specific Knowledge
Film genre is a touchstone for audience recognition. There are at least two
types of audiences: real and intended. The real audience is anyone who reads
or perceives the author’s message and the intended audience is the target
group that the message-sender has in mind as he creates (Chandler, 2000:
1–3). Commercial films are designed to attract a paying audience; these view-
ers obviously vary in age, temperament, preference, social and economic
positions. Therefore the task of constructing a story that appeals to everyone
is not only daunting and constricting but, in most cases, undesirable and—I
would argue—impossible. It is reasonable to assume, for example, that a
sci-fi film based on a video game may not appeal to a middle-aged female
whose passion is romance novels. Likewise, a teen comedy may not appeal
to all sectors of the population. Therefore the screenwriter, when choosing
to pursue a narrative and creating the characters to inhabit that narrative’s
idealized cognitive model (ICM), must consider embarking on the task of
identifying his or her intended audience.
As important as any relationship happening between characters on

screen is the relationship between protagonist and audience.
(Rossio, 1997)
Terry Rossio, co-author of the Pirates of the Caribbean cycle, Shrek and
other box-office successes, is focusing on the empathetic or sympathetic
connection of a film character and the audience, thus supporting the idea
of the need to build an ICM for the audience. It stands to reason that the
understanding of the audience is of equal importance to the understand-
ing of construction of characters. If the characters act in ways that honestly
reflect ritualistic or mythic or psychologically understood behaviors and
still do not draw the audience into the story, the work of the screenwriter
may (will) be deemed unsuccessful. Likewise if the choice of genre does not
engage the audience, the film may not satisfy expectations. Therefore, how
does a screenwriter use “the specific knowledge” component of the mental
space of film genre to tap into an audience’s memories or expectations or
deeply embedded needs to ensure there is a connection to a film’s narrative
or author’s intent?
Audience preferences and film production are inextricably linked. The
film-goer searching the internet or newspaper for what is playing at the local
cineplex or ordering a film for home viewing will, in most cases, choose to
view a film that reflects his or her preferred genre.
Genres do not consist only of films: they consist also, and equally, of
specific systems of expectation and hypothesis that spectators bring
with them to the cinema and that interact with films themselves during
the course of the viewing process. The system provides spectators with a
means of recognition and understanding.
(Neale, 1995: 160)
Instructional texts on screenwriting, to date, have tended to focus on

internal elements of the screenplay. Texts have extrapolated work by social
scientists such as Sigmund Freud (1856–1939), Bronislaus Malinowski
(1884–1942) and Joseph Campbell (1904–1987) and their explorations of
social interaction through interpretations of rituals, dreams and myths and
how they might be used in the creation of a film story. What, in my opinion,
needs more examination is an external element—the desired reactions of the
potential audience. How does a screenwriter encode into his or her narrative
the elements that will evoke memories of experiences or visceral connec-
tions that erupt from past associations to enhance a link to the audience?
This encoding relates to the building of the specific knowledge component
of the mental space of film genre.
The Author’s Intent

In his examinations of the effect of media in the area of Cultural Stud-
ies, Stuart Hall explores the traditional sender–message–receiver process that
is part of the cultural or creative text being transferred from production
to consumption by focusing on the transfer of the author’s intent. Hall

believes that when the author (the sender) successfully encodes the message
he or she intends to send, the audience decodes the message in the way the
author intends it to be understood (Chandler, 2000: 1). Hall notes that
this dominant (successful) encoding occurs when the author’s “preferred
reading” of the media text is what the author intends and the audience
receives (Hall, 1973/1980: 1). However, Hall notes that not all receivers
(audiences) will read the text as the author prefers because of variant social
situations and backgrounds (such as place of birth or residence, education,
familial ties, financial circumstances and more). He calls this variant read-
ing the “negotiated” reading of the work. An “oppositional” reading is also
possible—the occasion where the audience’s social position or background
may put them in direct conflict with the preferred reading. Hall asserts that
due to groupings of social cultures and mores, the understanding or mean-
ing in a text cannot be totally individualistic (Hall, 1973/1980: 135). This
brings to mind film theorist Andrew Tudor’s work in Film Genre III; Tudor
comes to a similar conclusion concerning film audiences, asserting that
each culture assesses films in different ways as a group, therefore he sug-
gests that strict genre “rules” can never be completely functional (Tudor,
1973: 3). For example, teenagers in the 1950s differ from teenagers in the
post-millennium years, and—a broader example—various nations on dif-
ferent sides of the world will “see” a film narrative differently depending
on national customs. Philosopher Bertrand Russell differs in his assessment
of audience perception, preferring the idea of absolute individualistic per-
ception (Russell, 1927/2009: 137): “What I see, no one sees, what I hear,
no one else hears; what I touch, no one else touches and so on.” Russell
acknowledges that experiences may be similar (depending on social perim-
eters and age), but they will always be individualistic. This suggests—in
simple terms for the screenwriter—that the film story is always “in the eye
of the beholder.” This becomes evident in a perusal of an assortment of
the yearly awards for top films; some are compiled by critics and some are
compiled by industry professionals such as writers, directors and actors,
such as the Golden Globes, the Academy Awards, the BAFTA awards as well
as the Directors Guild of America (DGA), Screen Actors Guild (SAG) and
Writers Guild of America (WGA) awards. There are also lists compiled by
diverse bodies of audiences such as the People’s Choice Awards and Audi-
ence Favorites Awards at various film festivals. These lists rarely feature
exactly the same films. One must take into consideration that metropolitan
areas with diverse populations are more likely to embrace a broader variety
of product such as mainstream, experimental, edgy, ethnic, controversial
or artist-driven films. Mainstream studio films tend to dominate in less
populated and less sophisticated areas because access to alternative fare
may be limited, thus leaving tastes uncultivated or unsatisfied. Therefore it
is evident that the voting by the audience for “audience favorites” is rarely
based on an even playing field.
Although Russell, Hall and Tudor differ on the extent of individual
perception (Russell believing in absolute individualization, Hall and Tudor
believing in collective interpretation that must also account for “local”
variants among collective audiences and individual spectators), all leave
room for potential audiences to be distinct and to experience the film
story in a distinct manner. Therefore it is of paramount importance for the
screenwriter to build the specific knowledge component of the mental space
of film genre by encoding his/her message (story and themes) with exem-
plary clarity in the hope of maximizing the possibility that the author’s
intent is clear and successfully communicated. Screenwriter Steven de Souza5
notes:
You must keep in mind you’re always writing for the reader first, not
the movie audience that will see the collaboration (on the screen) of
200 people a year later.
(Iglesias, 2001: 141)
Because the first hurdle on the track to production is the reader (be it
a film or development executive or director or actor or financier), and that
reader needs to acknowledge the production and marketing potential of the
script, it is the task of the screenwriter, using only the words on the page, to
bring the reader to the most common possible experience (dominant decod-
ing of the screenwriter’s intent) of the story. What role does film genre play
in this communicative task? How does the screenwriter use film genre to
make a strong and effective connection with the reader so as to increase the
likelihood of successful connection (empathetic or sympathetic) to the film
narrative, without aid of a soundtrack, specific actors and filmic visuals? Editor
and novelist Gordon Lish points out, “It isn’t what happens to the people
on the page—it’s what happens to the reader in his heart or mind” (Iglesias,
2001: 139).
Screenwriter Ron Bass,6 in an interview in 101 Habits of Highly Successful
Screenwriters, notes:
You definitely write a script knowing that someone is going to read it . . .

I communicate intent to the reader, who may be the studio executive,
the director, or the actress . . . what you say between the lines helps the
reader get the idea and the feeling of the atmosphere of what’s going on,
compensating for the fact that you’re not watching the movie.
(Iglesias, 2001: 139)
To help explain the above points, I propose an example: in using

Fauconnier’s idea of long-term schematic knowledge (the audience’s
knowledge of as well as the audience’s expectations), Writer A (Betty) is
considering writing a screenplay in the horror genre. She understands

the audience, when choosing to view a horror film, expects an examina-
tion of evil, expects being “played with” psychologically and physically—
experiencing a disturbing, unsettled, anxious state of being. The long-term
specific knowledge Betty may expect a reader/audience to bring to the expe-
rience might include a memory of psychological or physical danger—or
fear of the unknown. Perhaps a memory of abuse or fear of abuse—or fear
of being alone or, even more specifically, a creaking closet door, a power-
outage, a strange noise in the middle of the night that activated the imagi-
nation and caused, most importantly, a specific knowledge (memory) of a
rapid heartbeat, dilated lungs, the formation of goosebumps as a defense
mechanism and the adrenalin released to allow blood to the muscles for
the “fight or flight” impulse. All human beings are designed to experience
fear; some enjoy it and seek the rush—others avoid it. Science writer David
Meyers, in the American Psychological Society magazine The Observer,
states: “We fear what we cannot control, we fear what’s immediate, and
we fear what’s most readily available in our memory” (Meyers, 2005). The
specific knowledge the audience brings to the horror film—and desires in
a horror film—is a re-enactment of a physical memory. These clues to the
audience’s psyche inform the screenwriter, Betty, regarding the mental
space of the horror genre. She would be advised to take these clues under
consideration and build scenes or sequences that would activate memo-
ries of fear, memories of lack of control or power or security, memories of
feeling helpless and vulnerable, memories that instigate a strong, mostly
negative, physical response. The screenwriter is, essentially, imagining
a targeted audience and using the specific knowledge component of the
mental space of film genre to build an ICM for that audience.
As a side note, it’s interesting to consider Alfred Hitchcock’s attempts
to shape the audience’s reaction to 1960’s Psycho (written by Josef Steph-
ano based on a novel by Robert Bloch). When the film was first released,
Hitchcock asked theater management not to let anyone into the theater after
the beginning of the film because he wanted to control the audience’s decod-
ing of what I term the mental space of genre—he wanted them to be deep
into the “sleep of the film-going experience” (Hitchcock’s terminology) so
that when the horrific scenes eventually played out, the audience would be
primed to experience the adrenalin rush created by the sudden excitation of
“fear.” Another way to describe Hitchcock’s ploy (whether it was for market-
ing or purely artistic reasons) is that Hitchcock was deliberately building
an ICM for his audience; each frame, scene and sequence was designed to
activate certain sensations in the audience (such as the feeling of anxiety
that is endemic to successfully encoding the horror genre). The script thus
reflects the building of the mental space of the horror genre. In the opening
action lines of the film, the tension of frustrated illicit desire and destructive
discontent is presented even as the film lures the audience into “the sleep”
of the dark theater and the passive role of the spectator: “The very geography
(of the seedy side of town with transient hotels) seems to give us a climate
of nefariousness, of back-doorness, dark and shadowy. And secret” (Psycho,
1960). The screenplay suggests the camera peep into the cheap room. The
screenplay suggests there is a sense of heat and airlessness—that flies buzz
around egg salad sandwiches and into the faces of the lovers. The mental
space of the film genre is being built by (encoded by) the screenwriter with
description of images that relate to a specific knowledge of the reader (in this
instance the first reader was, presumably, Hitchcock) and gives that reader
the opportunity to imagine visuals (shots, camera angles, pacing, etc.) to
successfully decode the intent of the screenwriter.
The study of the specific knowledge component of the mental space of film
genre can also be further explored by the recent work in audience cognition.
Because films engage mental processes, cognitivist film theorists have

looked to theories of normal human cognition and emotional response
to help account for the experience of cinema.
(Hampton, 2006: 150)
Film theorist Torben Grodal explores developments in neuroscience and

cognitive science in relation to narrative theory and film theory as they relate
to the audience’s experience of cinema. The breakdown of his PECMA model
(perception, emotion, cognition and motor action) focuses on the flow from
the film audience’s perception of a filmic situation or intent and the experi-
ence of an emotional activation and/or cognitive processing that results in a
physical (or motor) reaction. Grodal strives to explore the reasons for audi-
ence preferences in film genre and narrative by keeping in mind the accepted
theories of evolution (not just physical but mental) as well as human predi-
lections “embedded in our cognitive DNA” (Grodal, 2009: 5). Grodal notes
critics of his work (he lists Asbjorn Gronstad, Tico Romao, Christer Mattson
and others) point to what they see as an overly psychological/cognitive
approach to film theory—projecting their opinion that the more “filmnost”
approach (a Russian term for close textual and piecemeal production analy-
sis) is a more appropriate domain for film studies (Grodal, 2006: 1).
In Grodal’s exploration of the key aesthetic phenomena in an audience’s
experience of film, he points out that it can be understood only in relation
to the brain’s way of processing information from the screen:
our eyes and ears pick up and analyze image and sound, our minds
apprehend the story, which resonates in our memory; furthermore, our
stomach, heart and skin are activated in empathy with the story situa-
tions and the protagonists’ ability to cope.
(Grodal, 1997: 1)
Using research in a variety of sciences, Grodal makes his case: each

person is not self-created, there is a DNA heritage specific to the evolution of
physicality as well as to emotions and even a deeply embedded heritage of
thought (Grodal, 2009: 5). Referring to Fauconnier’s work on mental space,
Grodal asserts that films utilizing narratives in the action genre quickly create
a strong connection to the audience due to working on long-term memory.
For example, the popularity of the hunter-versus-hunted scenario in action,
crime and horror genres can be traced to early man’s need to battle beastly
predators as well as human enemies for survival. Grodal supports the theory
that the “fight or flight” impulse is not being learned in the real time of
one human life, but it is an impulse embedded in human nature due to oft-
repeated experiences of previous generations: “When we watch a film, our
heart rhythms change, we sweat, and our muscles alternately tense and relax
throughout . . . These bodily changes are linked to emotional reactions that
also play a central role in memory, cognition and consciousness” (Grodal,
2009: 4–7). This might be used to partly explain the popularity and financial
success of the action genre; franchises featuring the action genre, such as
Star Wars, Indiana Jones and Pirates of the Caribbean are among the top gross-
ing films of all time.7 Eight of the USA’s top ten grossing films in 2007 were
in the action genre and seven out of ten in 2006. The top grossing films in
2012 were action movies: The Avengers (based on Marvel comic characters),
Skyfall (in the James Bond franchise), The Dark Knight Rises (featuring Bat-
man, originally created at DC Comics). The popularity of this genre (espe-
cially when narrative and character elements are also successful) speaks to
the audience’s desire to experience increased heart rate and the adrenalin
rush as well as identify with a protagonist who is able to overcome great
odds. It is a rare action/crime genre film that does not revolve around a
successful protagonist who bests the “bad guy.” In relation to an unsuccess-
ful “righting of wrong” or an unsuccessful capture of “the bad guy” it is
interesting to take into consideration Raphaelle Moine’s work in her book
Cinema Genre; she points to the audience’s desire for a sense of reassurance
(comfort) as a desired narrative component, noting the audience’s penchant
for reaffirmation of “normative social values” (Moine, 2008: 74). The screen-
writer may choose variations on the protagonist’s reaction to achieving his/
her immediate goal—such as a sense of personal renewal or increased self-
esteem or increased social standing (Die Hard (1988), Gladiator (2000), The
Bourne Identity cycle (2002, 2003, 2009), Alien (1979), Salt (2010), Captain
Phillips (2013), The Wolverine (2013)). Alternately, the screenwriter may opt
to explore a duality: the protagonist may experience a lack of personal grati-
fication (romantic or social) in order to follow socially accepted mores (law
and order) or become doubly cognizant that criminal tendencies and/or evil
will always exist and his or her recent success is only one small—perhaps
even insignificant—triumph against social disorder. Examples include the
sci-fi action film The Matrix (1999), the crime/noir/action films L.A. Confi-
dential (1997) and Chinatown (1974) and the crime/horror/action film No
Country for Old Men (2007).
My research into the use of the specific knowledge component of the
mental space of film genre seems to also connect to Grodal’s examination of
film genres in relation to the innate (embedded) attraction of those genres to
the audience. He uses research in brain chemistry to examine why film sto-
ries exploring physical and emotional security appeal to children, pointing
out that attachment “is linked to two estrogen derivatives, oxytocin which
influences the bonding of mothers and babies, and vasopressin, which influ-
ences male parenting behavior.” Grodal’s point is that an audience who
seeks to activate feelings in this area will support films that explore parent/
child bonding (Grodal, 2009: 27). It is interesting for the screenwriter to note
Hollywood films in the recent decades presenting narratives that explore
this attachment between parent and child enjoyed high grosses in their ini-
tial domestic releases—films such as Lion King (1994), grossing nearly $318
million, Monsters Inc. (2001), grossing nearly $256 million, Spy Kids (2001),
grossing nearly $113 million, Finding Nemo (2003), grossing nearly $340 mil-
lion, and the successful Harry Potter cycle, each of the first six films (2001–
2009) grossing between $250 million and $317 million in their first hundred
days of release (Imdb, grosses reflect initial USA releases). Taking into consid-
eration Grodal’s observation that family films featuring a narrative about parent/
child bonding do strike a chord with the audience, a screenwriter might
consider this information when plotting the initial narrative that falls into
the family genre (one that appeals and is appropriate to a young (ages 3–12)
teen (ages 13–19) and adult (ages 20–90) audience). Grodal also explores the
romance genre. He notes the evolutionary reasons for emotions connected
with sexual or romantic desire. The romance genre is often a supporting
genre in many screenplays (top action films such as the Bourne cycle (2002,
2004, 2007), Pirates of the Caribbean cycle (2003, 2006, 2007) and Indiana
Jones cycle (1981, 1984, 1989, 2008)). Many crime films feature a romance
line (a “B” or “C” supporting story), as do horror films, war films, westerns
and other genres that have strong appeal to the male audience. This points
to the deep-seated human desire for intimate connection whether it is for
survival, for procreation, for status, or for self-esteem. Grodal also notes (and
this is important for the screenwriter) how the longing for love forces action
and conflict, two components at the base of most successful screenplays.
Grodal asserts that pitting the female’s desire for long-term bonding—and
her use of negotiation to achieve that end—against the male’s acceptance
of anonymous (or at least non-bonding) sexual relations, is an immediate
discord that fuels much of the romance genre.
In looking at Grodal’s work in relation to other writers on the craft
of screenwriting, one can find sympathetic comparisons. Lajos Egri
(1888–1967), author of the highly regarded and widely used text The Art
of Dramatic Writing, notes that it is not enough to know the attitudes of
characters, it is of utmost importance to know the why—why the char-
acter is as he or she is (which could be extrapolated to a consideration
of Grodal’s notion of “cognitive DNA”), what drives a character from
within (Batty, 2010: 294). In addressing the issue of creating characters,
Egri writes,
We have found that every human being consists of three dimensions:

physiological, sociological and psychological. If we make a further
breakdown of these dimensions, we shall perceive that the physical,
social, and mental make-up contains the minute genes—the builder, the
mover in all our actions which will motivate everything we do.
(Egri, 1965: 89)
Another popular screenwriting how-to text is former film development

executive and now screenwriting guru Chris Vogler’s The Writer’s Journey:
Mythic Structure For Writers (2007), based on the work The Hero With A Thou-
sand Faces (1949/1972) by noted anthropologist and mythologist Joseph
Campbell. Campbell’s book maps his mono-mythic “Hero’s Journey”; this
is the work that writer/director George Lucas cites as seminal in his build-
ing of the screenplay Star Wars (1977). Campbell was a strong believer in
the unity of human consciousness and made it a goal to prove, despite
environmental and educative and tribal variances, the similarity among
all human beings: a “monomyth” (a single story type that contains similar
patterns of a hero character and plot) that all humans (in all cultures) have
created. Campbell writes: “<t>he unconscious sends all sorts of vapors, odd
beings, terrors, and deluding images up into the mind—whether in dream,
broad daylight, or insanity; for the human kingdom, beneath the floor of
the comparatively neat little dwelling that we call our consciousness, goes
down into unsuspected Aladdin caves” (Campbell, 1968). Vogler adapts
the Hero’s Journey to aid screenwriters in the use of mythic structure and
in the construction of characters that embody universal archetypes. Vogler
notes that the surface of a human being may present itself in a multitude of
ways, however the subterrain is always universal (Batty, 2010: 295). Vogler
also supports the idea that humans share a universal understanding of
goals, fears, tensions, and desires. He notes that if a screenwriter creates for
the audience a story that connects them to one or more of these universal
elements, the chances of his or her screenplay satisfying an audience are
increased. Egri’s focus is not on illuminating film genre but on illuminat-
ing the need for writers to consider the deep desire of characters. Vogler’s
focus is not on film genre but on the use of Campbell’s ideas on the mon-
omyth and the universality of character archetypes. These are excellent
sources for the screenwriter in the area of character construction. In 1999,
Hollywood screenwriting guru Robert McKee brought some of these ideas

together, “the archetypal story unearths a universally human experience,
then wraps itself inside a unique, culture-specific expression” (McKee,
1997: 4). These screenwriting analysts (along with other how-to-write-a-
screenplay coaches and film theorists) have provided some of the ground-
work for Grodal’s explorations; for example, McKee writes that while the
protagonist may be unaware of his subconscious need, the audience senses
it (McKee, 1997: 138). What is important for the screenwriter is that Grodal
is working more specifically in the area of film genre. He notes that types
of stories (film genres) and the types of characters that inhabit specific film
genres are important elements in creating a meaningful and relatable expe-
rience for the audience. Whether or not one accepts Grodal’s evolutionary
theories, it seems that certain stories employing certain film genres have
a deep effect on the audience that tends to seek out certain experiences
(physical and psychological) and will stimulate or comfort. These ideas
connect to my interest in the specific knowledge component of the mental
space of film genre.
Raphaelle Moine examines the audience’s interaction with film genre
from a different viewpoint. “For some (theorists) genre expresses the
desires, aspirations and beliefs of the audience; for others, conversely,
genre is a repressive structure of ideological containment that shapes and
formats its viewers” (Moine, 2008: 71–75). When exploring the former
option one might ask: if genres are expressing for the audience, what is it
that the audience wants expressed? Grodal might point to bio-chemical
satisfaction (identifying with characters in a love story, thus experienc-
ing a rise of endorphins) or a desired physical reaction (rapid heartbeat,
shortness of breath in a thriller or action or horror film) or a longing
for a deeply embedded “DNA” connection (connection with a mothering
instinct or a survival determination or desire for an understanding of the
universe or a desire for immortality or fear of death, etc.). Moine’s latter
option, as noted previously, points to the audience’s desire for the com-
fort that follows when experiencing a reaffirmation of “normative social
values” (Moine, 2008: 74).
Moine’s point relates to Altman’s assertion that “film genres are func-
tions for their society” (Altman, 1999: 26) by suggesting an audience’s
primary desire is to connect with a story that reflects and supports per-
sonal beliefs about how the world should function. Thus the criminal is
punished (the traditional crime genre), the most deserving person wins
the lover’s affections (the traditional romance genre), the naïve or mis-
guided character comes to understand the world in a more profound way
(the traditional coming-of-age genre) and so on. (One can also point to
the way that the screenwriter can use genre to subvert rather than reaffirm;
I will explore this notion more fully when examining Stanley Kubrick’s
Dr. Strangelove (1964).) Moine also notes the neo-Marxist theory that musi-
cals and adventure films “are genres of evasion” and allow the audience
short-term consolation due to experiencing a “break from reality.” In this
context, we must ask if the screenwriter should ponder whether he or
she wants to use film genre to console or offer hope or reassure or stimulate
a bio-chemical or physical desire of the audience. Would these musings be
beyond the normal purview of the creative? Certainly there are screenwrit-
ers who set out to inform, such as David Seidler in his Academy Award
winning coming-of-age drama The King’s Speech (2010), which explored
the emotional and physical challenges of stutterers. The aim of Academy
Award screenwriting nominees Lisa Cholodenko and Stuart Blumberg was
to shed light on social systems (parenting in homosexual relationships) in
the dram-edy The Kids Are All Right (2010). What of a version of Finding
Nemo (2003) featuring a storyline where father and son are not reunited,
physically or in an understanding of a parent/child relationship, thereby
implementing a film genre change from family/coming-of-age comedy/
adventure to family/tragedy/adventure? What of a version of E.T. (1982,
penned by Melissa Matheson) where the alien child does not have the
opportunity, against all odds, to “go home,” thereby implementing a film
genre change from family/coming-of-age/adventure to family/tragedy/
adventure? The careful use of film genre dictates how to approach the
specific knowledge component of film genre (memories of feelings that
certain genres evoke) and, in my consideration, have much to do with the
audience appeal of a film. Film theorist Leo Braudy points to screenwriters/
directors such as Francis Ford Coppola and Brian De Palma and their pen-
chant for exploring Catholic rituals (objects and status) in their film nar-
ratives and characters, “<their work is> linked to an effort of making a
visual style a mode of moral exploration, an almost priestly urge to re-
educate the audience in the timelessness and ritual stories, along with
the attitudes necessary for their reinterpretation” (Braudy, 1991). Braudy
seems to be suggesting that the impulses of Coppola and De Palma are
to approach the audience in an instructional manner. If so, one might
wonder why Coppola and DePalma choose to explore these rituals using
(in most cases) the crime genre—such as in Coppola’s The Godfather cycle
(1972, 1974, 1990), The Conversation (1974) and De Palma’s Dressed to Kill
(1980), Blow Out (1981) and Body Double (1984). Is this using film genre to
subvert, to question? Is this one of the roles the screenwriter (consciously
or unconsciously) embraces when choosing the overriding genre of a nar-
rative? These writers have a targeted audience and purpose in mind and
have used the specific knowledge component of the mental space of film
genre to appeal to those audiences. It seems valid to consider that writ-
ers who build stories aimed at appealing to the specific knowledge of film
genre of their targeted audience are maximizing their screenwriting tools.
Summing up the Specific Knowledge Component

of the Mental Space of Film Genre
The task of the screenwriter is, in most cases, to create a feeling of satisfac-
tion by using the schematic knowledge and specific knowledge of film genre
of the audience. While building satisfaction, the screenwriter also wants to
strive to gain a sense of closure of the narrative without providing a “by-the-
numbers” or predictable plot line. It is the journey that must be original, it is
the characters that must feel fresh and new and contemporary while at the
same time connecting with expectations of the audience. The outcome may
surprise but at the same time, it needs to satisfy. Understanding the specific
knowledge component of the mental space of film genre and using it to
appeal to a targeted audience can benefit the screenwriter in the construc-
tion of a screenplay.
The specific knowledge of the audience is an important element in
the construction of the mental space of film genre and includes the under-
standing of the desired emotional or intellectual experience that draws an
audience to a specific genre. It also addresses the importance of personal
memories and/or experiences that an audience member brings to the cir-
cumstance of reading and/or viewing of a film story of a specific film genre.
Relevant Knowledge
The screenwriter can use film genre to address currency and target the con-
temporary audience. Howard M. Harper Jr. proposes that literature can exist
only in relation to a culture and that culture sets limits on its form and con-
tent (Harper, 1973: 1). The screenplay, I believe, is specifically married to this
precept, because it aims to appeal to an audience at a certain time and place.
I intend to explore the factors beyond choice of director or casting or pro-
duction techniques and even story structure to examine the importance of
the use of relevant knowledge as a component of film genre when building a film
narrative. I will examine why certain film genres at certain times will strike a
chord—subconsciously or consciously—with a contemporary audience.
Literary scholar John Frow, in his book Genre, agrees with theorist Ann
Imbrie’s insight, “genre is defined ‘by the way it expresses human experi-
ence (subject matter) through an identifiable form (formal character) that
clarifies or discovers the values in or attitude toward that experience (generic
attitude)’” (Frow, 2005: 73). Extrapolating from this observation, one could
observe that a comedy expresses a specific point of view regarding a situation
or subject and focuses on a specific kind of character that is either exagger-
ated or buffoonish whereas a film narrative constructed in the drama genre
focuses on a subject and characters that tend to be explored in a more realis-
tic or tragically heightened manner. Comedy often investigates the irony or
outrageousness or silliness of societal or personal expectations of community
or self. An example: one of the most popular films of 1959, Some Like It Hot,
written by Billy Wilder and I.A.L. Diamond, puts forth its comedic point of
view of America’s prohibition of alcohol (1920–1933), New York gangland
mobsters and falling in love. These subjects could have been explored in dra-
matic fashion, such as in Scarface (1932, written by journalist-turned-screen-
writer Ben Hecht). The chosen genres fit the times; in 1932, America was in
a financial and (some would say) moral decline, the prohibition of alcohol
created criminals and often villains. In 1959 prohibition was long over, there
was a nostalgia for the “Roaring Twenties” and America had enough distance
from the hard times of the 1920s and 1930s to enjoy a comedic tale set in
the mob world. Therefore Scarface spoke of its specific era to its specific audi-
ence just as Some Like It Hot spoke to its specific audience.
Rick Altman observes that one of the tasks of the film critic is to use
genre to inform viewers on the content and veracity of films as support sys-
tems of approved social practices, as “functional for their society” (Altman,
1999: 26). This can speak to the concerns of the screenwriter who, in most
cases, wants to ensure the film narrative relates to and reflects concerns and
interests of the contemporary audience, for example: the melodramatic
women’s picture enjoyed a high popularity when women did not enjoy cer-
tain freedoms or sense of equality or opportunity (Schatz, 1981: 222), science
fiction tends to be popular when governmental domestic and international
policies threaten a society (science fiction became very popular in American
in the 1950s, during the uneasiness that followed the discovery and use of
the atomic bomb). Thomas Schatz points out that genres, instead of pander-
ing to an audience, support the formulation of collective values and ideals
and even contribute to American folklore (Schatz, 1981: 11).
Noam Chomsky, in his book On Nature and Language, writes: “Each inter-
nal language has the means to construct the mental objects that we use to
express our thoughts and to interpret the limitless array of overt expressions
that we encounter” (Chomsky, 2002: 48). I would argue that the use of sym-
bols, iconic images, specific places and time make up an internal language
that aids in the art of storytelling and also has an ability to lend a multitude
of layers to the machinations of plot and character. I suggest that film genre
can also be considered part of the internal language of film; it can silently
speak to the audience while helping shape a narrative.
Three Components That Can Help Build

a Sense of Relevancy in Film Genre
As noted previously, Margaret A. Boden writes: “Creativity is not a single
capacity. Nor is it a special one. It is an aspect of intelligence in general,
which involves many different capacities” (Boden, 2003: 4–5). She lists
“noticing, associating, introspecting and the like.” I believe that by considering
these three rather broad components in specific relation to the construction

of a screenplay a screenwriter can begin to examine the relevance of a film
genre to a contemporary audience.
Noticing
Without noticing the evolution of standards and moralities in societies the
screenwriter may be in danger of producing work that is out of touch with a
contemporary audience. One may point to the recurring themes, emotions
and deeply embedded heritage of thought (Grodal, 2009: 5) such as a desire
for love and family that has served as the base for decades of film narra-
tives. However, even in these (for the most part) universal desires, there are
societal evolutions such as in courting rituals, expectations of marriage and
roles in a relationship, acceptance of sexual preferences, the construction
and acceptance of family dynamics due to proliferation of divorces and
re-marriages and other social institutions. The standard of 1900 varies from
the standard of 1950 from the standard of 2000 and so on and apply to
most (if not all) deep-seated human desires such as love, respect, adventure,
justice, survival and so on. Therefore the art of noticing is of paramount
importance to a screenwriter with hopes of ensuring a construction of work
that embraces a sense of currency. A deliberate choice of film genre (attune
with deliberate choice of characters, location and plot points) during the
construction of a film narrative may aid the screenwriter in addressing cur-
rent social climates and help to more fully engage (and in some cases, chal-
lenge) an audience. There were two prominent films released soon after the
Cuban Missile crisis during the American/Soviet Cold War of 1964: Fail-Safe,
based on a novel by Eugene Burdick and Harvey Wheeler and adapted by
Walter Bernstein, and Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and
Love the Bomb based on a novel (Red Alert) by Peter George and adapted by
Stanley Kubrick and Terry Southern. Fail-Safe was constructed in the melo-
drama genre, its tone somber and serious. The film narrative examines the
lives of government officials who have responsibility for or connection to
the problematical “fail-safe” devices that could unleash an atomic attack.
Columbia Pictures had high hopes for this film in terms of box office and
awards; it was topical, it had the requisite star casting and the serious drama
genre, sprinkled with social commentary that had been recently popular
in films such as Days of Wine and Roses (1962) and To Kill a Mockingbird
(1962). However, a few months prior to the Fail-Safe opening, Columbia
released Dr. Strangelove. It too was based on a serious, melodramatic nar-
rative of accidental atomic war; however, Kubrick (as screenwriter) recog-
nized a possible absurdity in the novel’s primary situation—what if the
two super-power countries were helmed by over-the-top fallible leaders who
had world-ending atomic power at their fingertips? Kubrick and Southern
invented a new character named Dr. Strangelove, added him to the narra-
tive and constructed the story in the black comedy/satire genres. By doing
so, the irreverent and sinister comedy spoke to the contemporary audience
perhaps exhausted by fear mongering, fallout shelter advice and feeling
powerless to control their destinies. Fail-Safe (which features remarkably
similar war room scenes and situations to Dr. Strangelove, although they
were written and produced with dogged seriousness8) failed to gain traction
at the box office (Imdb, 2011) or in the yearly round of award ceremonies.
Dr. Strangelove garnered Academy Award Best Picture and Best Director and
Best Adapted Screenplay nominations. A comparison of these two films is
just one example of how the choice of genre may forge a new creative cur-
rency that will sharpen and enhance a film narrative and increase its appeal
to a contemporary audience.
For above everything else, genre is a convenient arrangement of sig-

nificant human actions that can be returned to, over and over again, to
provide new understanding of basic human motivations or needs . . .
patterns are repeated on purpose because filmmakers see, in those first
films of a genre, latent possibilities for the reinterpretation of human
conduct in archetypal situations.
(Solomon, 1976: 7)
In exploring Solomon’s theory that audiences identify and respond to

repeated patterns but are desirous of re-interpretations that bring about a
sense of newness, it is important for the screenwriter to examine subject mat-
ter and the use of particular film genres in relation to the contemporary audi-
ence’s experience of the world. It is interesting to examine the original King
Kong and its two “remakes.” Moine, in Cinema Genre, makes mention of the
1933 King Kong (written by James Creelman, Ruth Rose and Merian Cooper)
and how it constructs itself around a double displacement of the Great
Depression (Moine, 2008: 76). I decided to dig deeper into three versions of
the King Kong story (1933,1976, 2005), to see how the various constructions
regarding the mental space of film genre contributed to the productions and
relative success of the endeavors. In the 1933 telling, the heroine, Ann (Fay
Wray), attempts to steal an apple to stave off hunger. Privileged and arrogant
filmmaker Carl Denham (Robert Armstrong), in search of an actress for his
latest film, witnesses the incident and convinces the grocer not to have Ann
arrested. The social danger (the arrest as well as society’s lack of humanity) is
averted for the moment; the audience is momentarily assured there is safety
in the kindness of strangers. But not for long—Ann soon realizes she, and
eventually Kong (who represents the once strong and mighty now headed
for destruction), are but pawns on the “bigger chessboard” where greed
and power hold dominant positions. The film story evidenced its relevancy
to the Depression era, the politics of the day and its society with metaphorical
allusions to super powers’ tentative hold on domination and how personal

egotism can endanger the general populace.
Consider the relevant knowledge component of the mental space of
film genre using subsequent King Kong films. The 1976 King Kong, The Leg-
end is Born, written by Lorenzo Semple Jr., was constructed to take place in
the disco era of the 1970s and to reflect the 1970s OAPEC oil embargo that
caused an economic crisis in the USA; the reason for the dangerous journey
on the Petrox Explorer to the remote Skull Island is to find new sources of
oil. A hippie anthropologist ( Jeff Bridges) stands in the way of the oilman’s
exploitation in order to protect a one-of-a-kind beast, Kong. (In this adapta-
tion, Kong represents one of the last unique specimens of an increasingly
westernized and industrialized (oil-consuming) world.) The poor and hard-
working Ann (of the 1933 film story) is replaced by spoiled socialite Dwan
( Jessica Lange), who has been set adrift from her yacht and her privileged
status. She feels entitled to a continuation of the “good life” despite the fact
that her circumstances have changed. The film, again using the fantasy and
action-adventure genres, adds a romance line (perhaps in hopes of bringing
in the female audience) and a preposterous sci-fi element (the island is cov-
ered in a fog of carbon dioxide) and a hint of the crime genre (the criminal
intent of an evil oil corporation that is not fully realized). Unfortunately, the
film is full of careless elements and did not perform well at the box office
(Mante, 2011), but the adaptor’s attempts to be relevant and reflect the perils
and personalities of the contemporary world in subject matter—and in film
genre choices (adding the sci-fi, crime and romance to attract a contempo-
rary audience)—provided a sense of currency to the audience.
The relevance of Peter Jackson’s King Kong (2005, written by Fran Walsh,
Philippa Boyens, Peter Jackson and based on previous films) is, in my opin-
ion, less successful than the mentioned predecessors for a few reasons: first
there is a lack of examination of an embedded primal desire—in other
words, lack of efficacious use of the specific knowledge of the drama genre for
the audience. The characters’ primary goals do not concern survival of self
(1933 King Kong) or saving of the world as they know it (1976 King Kong)
but focus on a more cerebral and shallow desire: fame. Although this desire
reflects the plethora of celebrity magazines and interest in the lives of the
rich and famous in the early years of the new millennium, the choice of
character goals seems disconnected with the decision to keep the story in
a Depression-era setting. In addition, this non-primal and non-universal
desire cannot connect in a strong emotional way with an audience. The
stakes are not high enough; therefore the audience, when asked to care about
Ann (Naomi Watts) or Denham ( Jack Black) or the narcissistic playwright
(Adrian Brody)—each desirous of fame and vocal about their desires—stays
uninvolved because the primal connection is not made.
Secondly, there is also a lack of currency and authorial introspection

in relation to its chosen film genres. The genres simply mimic the 1933
version—fantasy and adventure and a weak stab at romance—and do not
challenge the audience to examine the story in new ways. The choices to
create an ICM set in America’s Great Depression era and focus on the fantasy
and adventure genres were out of step with the 2005 audience. Fine produc-
tion values ( Jackson’s exceptional use of sets, camerawork, computer special
effects, etc.) cannot make up for the lack of relevancy in subject matter or
genre to the contemporary milieu.
Steve Neale points out “that successful genres gradually lose their
effective power through continual reproduction” (Neale, 2000: 214). The
audience, as previously noted, appreciates the familiar but also desires a sense
of newness.
In accepting Frow’s point concerning film genre’s ability to lend a
“larger meaning which is not contained in what the text explicitly says”
(Frow, 2005: 77), it is interesting for the screenwriter to explore the notion
that if the combination of chosen genres for a narrative reflect contempo-
rary associations, the audience may experience a truth that goes beyond
the story told. In other words, a screenwriter, taking into consideration
the relevant knowledge component of the mental space of film genre may
discover new and fresh ways to approach a narrative, thus employing a
normative creativity that has potential to bring originality to the screen-
play execution.
In comparison, Gus Van Sant’s remake of Psycho in 1998, although
updating the narrative to the present era, does not offer new insights or
challenges to the audience. Film critic Roger Ebert notes, “The movie is an
invaluable experiment in the theory of cinema, because it demonstrates
that a shot-by shot remake is pointless; genius apparently resides between
or beneath the shots, or in chemistry that cannot be timed or counted”
(Ebert, 1998). Van Sant admitted that it was an experiment, one that proved
that no one could really copy a film exactly the same way as the original
(Morris, 2002). Van Sant’s endeavor falls flat not because of a lapse in Van
Sant’s skill as a director, but because the audience of 1998 is very different
from the audience of 1960. Additionally, there is no “sense of newness” or
fresh currency to the narrative, there is no reflection on the issues and/or
acquired knowledge of film genre of the millennium audience. Van Sant
seems to be of the same mind; in an interview on webwombat, he noted that
he was considering another Psycho remake: “The idea this time is to really
change it—we’re talking about doing a punk rocker setting. Viggo Mortenson
suggested it” (Morris, 2002). Psycho, set in the punk rocker world and with
possible re-tooling or additions of film genres, could be an attempt to bring
more currency to a re-telling of the narrative.
Associating
The associationist theory is anticipated in Plato’s Phaedo as part of the
doctrine of anamnesis (recollection). However, Aristotle is credited with
originating associationist thinking based on this passage:
When, therefore, we accomplish an act of reminiscence, we pass through

a certain series of precursive movements . . . we hunt through the mental
train, excogitating from the present or some other, and from similar or
contrary or co-adjacent experiences. Through this process reminiscence
takes place.
(Beare, 2000)
For the purposes of the screenwriter, the basics of the associationist

theory may be adequate: actions, sensations and states of being occurring
together or in close connection tend to grow together and are apt to bring up
memories and feelings or ideas. Screenwriters have often used association as
a short cut in storytelling; consider, for example, visual associations in films
such as the baptismal ceremony (associated with rebirth and thus signaling
Michael Corleone’s rise to power and plans for change) in the climax of The
Godfather (1972). We might also cite the too-often-used (cliché) visual used
in romances—a confused lover observes a tender or affectionate moment
between random old or young lovers and experiences an epiphany of emotion.
Audio association (use of music or echoing of a phrase, word or sound) is
also used as a storytelling tool in films.
In addition to visual and aural cues, a screenwriter may also consider
associations generated by the use of certain film genres. Audiences have cer-
tain expectations of film genres; the horror genre is meant to examine evil
and, in most cases, attempts to elicit anxiety and fear in the audience, a
romance typically revolves around potential lovers, a comedy is constructed
to elicit laughter, etc. These expectations are associations the audience makes
and the screenwriter must take them into consideration.
In examining two adaptations of Lewis Carroll’s Alice in Wonderland, I
found that the use of chosen genres and their associative qualities reflect on
the audience’s reception of the film. The schematic (use of genre as a frame)
set up of Disney’s 1951 animated telling of Alice in Wonderland, the coming-
of-age genre (a maturation that leads to a deeper or new understanding of
the world) is framed in the first moments of the film: Alice is a young girl
who is bored with her sister’s reading of a book on the history of England
and decides she wants to live in a world of nonsense. The fantasy genre (an
imagined existence based on no solid foundation, often unrestrained and
extravagant and conjectured out of fanciful thought) is introduced when
she dreams she falls “down the rabbit hole” and encounters characters per-
sonifying illogic and lack of reason. At the narrative’s end, Alice wakes from
her disturbing dream considering the possibility that a nonsensical world

is not always desirable (the “lesson learned” prevalent in the coming-of-age
genre). The adventure genre (a seemingly unattainable goal or treasure is
sought against great odds) in the 1951 film is not completely fulfilled; this
Alice is given no concrete over-arching treasure to find or real goal to accom-
plish (other than to eventually find her way out). This film was not received
well by critics or audiences and considered a box office disappointment for
Disney. It is, perhaps, due to the fact that the coming-of-age genre by itself is
a thin structure (and, in most cases unable, without strong supporting genres,
to drive a strong narrative) and that the nonsensical fantasy genre is ultimately
non-engaging without the goals implicit in the adventure genre. One could
posit the 1951 film’s lack of box-office was due only to its weak narrative and
weak use of base elements of each film genre. However, one might also con-
sider the chosen genres’ relevancy to the era and the social and political cli-
mate and the “sensible” American audiences of the time. Many were recently
returned soldiers building lives and families using GI loans and others were
intent on building the post-World War II “American Dream” through hard
work and safe suburban living. Americans in the 1950s were more inclined to
respond to understandable narratives built on understandable actions and
consequences. Popular genres of the time, crime/noirs such as The Third Man
(1949), Asphalt Jungle (1950) and D.O.A. (1950), where the protagonist waded
through a sinister world but the “bad guy” was revealed and “taken care of”,
as well as edgy relationship dramas or comedies such as All About Eve (1950)
and Born Yesterday (1950), explored very realistic problems and situations.
Disney’s releases of the straightforward narratives focused on the disadvan-
taged “making good,” such as Cinderella and Treasure Island in 1950, were
also understandable to those dedicated to believing in the American Dream
and both fared well at the box office. It is interesting to note that in the mid-
1970s Disney’s animated Alice in Wonderland did find a new audience, mostly
American college students experimenting with altered states that found favor
with the animated “trippy” Yellow Submarine (1968) and recognized, in the
1951 surreal Alice in Wonderland, similar characteristics. Initially Disney did
not want this box-office disappointment (or its equally commercially unsuc-
cessful 1940 release Fantasia) to be associated with an audience embracing
the drug culture; however, in 1984, when Disney re-released Alice and was
interested in attracting audiences, the film was promoted as relevant and in
tune with the “psychedelic” times (Millikan, 2011).
In contrast, the 2010 Alice in Wonderland (written by Linda Woolver-
ton and directed by Tim Burton) is constructed to speak to a contemporary
audience. Woolverton, who originated the concept of a post-adolescent
Alice going back to Wonderland, noted that her story is an imagined sequel
to Lewis Carroll’s original; Alice has convinced herself her first experience
was a dream and now she discovers it was real (Boucher, 2010: 2). The
schematic (the framing that helps build the mental space of film genre for
the audience) of the overriding genre (coming-of-age) is set up quickly and
clearly: Alice is 19 and about to be engaged to an unsuitable suitor whose
father desires the marriage to cement his business plans (he was once busi-
ness partners with Alice’s beloved and now deceased father). Alice’s inabil-
ity to stand up for herself (introduction of the coming-of-age genre) causes
her to retreat to the garden to consider her options. She falls “down the
rabbit hole” into Underland and the adventure and fantasy genres are
introduced, with an emphasis on the adventure genre. Alice finds that
those in Underland hope she will deliver them from an arbitrary and cruel
ruler. To do so, Alice must slay the monster, the Jabberwocky (thus creat-
ing the goal necessary to satisfy the adventure genre). This gives an inher-
ent logic to the plot that grounds the audience (addressing their specific
knowledge of the emotional goal of the adventure genre) while the fan-
tastical plays out. The drama genre and its promise of putting an “every
person” (Alice) into unfamiliar conflict, is also framed and specified. The
war genre is also built into the screenplay (the battle-burned villages, the
armies, search for weapons of mass destruction, the battles lines drawn
by the Red and White Queens and finally the battle, again playing into
the audience’s schematic knowledge of the war genre). The high caliber of
craftsmanship is evident in the screenplay, each chosen genre is fulfilled—
the goal of the adventure is achieved by overcoming great obstacles; the
war is defined and fought and also helps bring about Alice’s maturation.
Alice “comes of age” by stating her belief that she can step into her father’s
business shoes and thus gains the respect of her father’s business partner.
The audience can employ their knowledge of the chosen film genres (war,
coming-of-age, drama, adventure) for they are familiar with the ideologi-
cal and functional containments of the genres. Audiences of 2010 also
“felt” (consciously or unconsciously) the sense of currency or relevant
knowledge for they were familiar with ongoing wars that, at times, seem
convoluted and arbitrary. They were familiar with fear of the “ultimate
weapon” as well as the goal of destroying weapons of mass destruction.
They were aware of how contemporary businessmen build strong alliances
for power and control, and finally they were aware of the concerns of the
contemporary female who must, at times, demand equal consideration
in a business world dominated by men. I would argue that the 1951 ani-
mated film narrative seems tepid in comparison because it is constructed
using only fantasy and coming-of-age—two genres that need the support
of a strong protagonist’s specific goal in a strongly structured genre (such a
romance or adventure) to drive the narrative. The 2010 adaptation can be
used as an example of building a successful ICM by employing an actual
fulfillment of the tenets of each film genre in a single screenplay, by art-
ful framing (schematic) and use of the specific knowledge of the audience
and how, by considering the relevant knowledge of the chosen genres to a

contemporary audience, a screenwriter can hope to construct a more fully
realized and innovative work.
Introspection
It is my opinion that introspection may be the most important element of the
relevant knowledge component in the mental space of film genre. Focusing on
a consideration of introspection may help the screenwriter discover personally
resonant themes and ideas of the state (and future) of the world, relationships,
moralities and societies and bring a sense of originality/newness to the work.
Introspection is self-observation, a process relying on thinking and
examining one’s own thoughts, feelings and, in more spiritual cases, one’s
soul (Pronin and Kugler, 2007). Considering film genre introspectively as
an authorial tool may help the screenwriter successfully encode his or her
personal point of view into the screenplay. The screenwriter may discover
personally resonant themes and ideas of the state (and future) of the world,
relationships, moralities and societies. The tasks of noticing and associating
do bring currency to the work but introspection (as Kubrick also exemplified
in Dr. Strangelove, Woolverton and Burton in Alice in Wonderland, the Coen
brothers in their films) is an active tool the author is able to use to put an
individual stamp on the screenplay.
American filmmakers/screenwriters Joel and Ethan Coen implement
intense use of specific locations (Luhr, 2010) as well as construct intensively
specific characters. They also fulfill tenets of specific genres with great inten-
sity. I suggest they are building ICMs that seem fresh and innovative by
intensifying every element—character, location, plot and especially film
genre. They successfully frame their films with genre, understand the audi-
ence’s specific receptive skills in relation to each genre and use genre in ways
that make their films surprising—and feel very current. A good number of
their films are constructed in the crime genre; they push the violence and
malfeasance of the crimes to outrageous limits in Fargo (1996), No Country
for Old Men (2007) and Raising Arizona (1987). In addition, their varied and
concentrated use of supporting genres such as intense black comedy (Fargo,
Raising Arizona, The Big Lebowski (1998), Burn After Reading (2008)) and the
extremist thriller/horror films (No Country for Old Men, Blood Simple (1984)
Barton Fink (1991)) contribute greatly in the creation of their singular voice.
Brent Johnson, on the website Coenesque, observes, “the Coen brothers have
become synonymous with a style of filmmaking that pays tribute to clas-
sic American movie genres—especially film noir—while sustaining a firmly
postmodern feel” ( Johnson, 2004).
Screenwriter Judd Apatow (Knocked Up (2007), co-writer of 40-Year-
Old Virgin (2005) and more) has embedded an introspective, personal
point of view into his films: men need to “grow up” and be honest with
themselves or they may miss out on fulfilling romantic relationships. Apa-
tow has turned the traditional female-protagonist-driven screwball comedy
on its head and focused on the “screwball” male protagonist. Woody Allen
(Vicky Christina Barcelona (2008), Husbands and Wives (1992), Manhattan
(1979), Annie Hall (1977), Hannah and Her Sisters (1986), Midnight in Paris
(2012) and more) concentrates his narratives on exploring the male/female
relationship and questioning why it is so important to most people to pur-
sue coupling. Allen uses various genres (comedy, romantic comedy, drama,
crime, thriller) to gain various reflections on his narratives. Allen’s com-
edies have outperformed his dramas in terms of critical accolades and box
office, suggesting that the audiences are more receptive to his explorations
in a lighter, more comedic frame. Horror screenwriter David Cronenberg
(The Scanners (1981), The Fly (1986), History of Violence (2005), Eastern Prom-
ises (2007) and more) focuses his work on exploring peoples’ fears and
violent tendencies often brought on through misuse of science or soci-
etal expectations. Although Cronenberg remains close to his horror genre
roots, his later work shows him adding the classic components of the crime
genre to the mix. This addition has attracted a new audience to his work,
an audience attracted to examinations of the procedures of law and order
and perhaps questions of justice. Screenwriter Nancy Meyers (It’s Compli-
cated (2009), Something’s Gotta Give (2003) and more) focuses much of her
work on the over age 50 female who desires romance and passion—but
struggles with self-esteem issues when feeling she is in competition with
younger females for male attention. Meyers uses romantic comedy in order
to get across her message that aging females are not sexual, emotional
“throw-aways,” that they deserve (and can demand) respect. It stands to
reason that if Meyers constructed her message solely in the drama/romance
genre, her core audience would change. It is important to note that it is
the romantic comedy genre that allows Meyers’ social commentary to find
an audience.
Considering film genre introspectively as an authorial tool may help
the screenwriter successfully encode his or her personal point of view.
This may help the screenwriter discover personally resonant themes and
ideas of the state (and future) of the world, relationships, moralities and
societies.
The screenwriter may be advised to explore the notion that if he or she
notices/takes into account the changes in social mores, political climates
and challenges to belief systems, a deliberate choice of film genre(s) might
aid in providing fresh and contemporary connections, thus allowing the
audience to experience a truth (as Frow suggests) that goes beyond the story
told. Boden’s suggestions of how a normative form of creativity can be used
to break down elements of the relevant knowledge component of the mental
space film genre (her guidelines such as noticing, associating and introspec-
tion) may be helpful to the screenwriter.
Important Reminders Regarding the Mental Space

of Film Genre
– The importance of understanding the construction of a screenplay as
an idealized cognitive model (ICM).
– The notion that an idealized cognitive model is created through the
building of a mental space for the audience.
– The understanding that the mental space of film genre is an impor-
tant component in the construction of the ICM.
– The mental space of film genre can be explored by assessing and
implementing three main components:
ο Schematic knowledge: Fauconnier, in his work on mental space,
purports that people achieve (or try to achieve) an understandable
model of a situation or circumstance by using long-term schematic
knowledge to create a recognizable structure. The use of schematic
knowledge is applicable to the framing of a film narrative with the
overriding film genre. Using film genre as a frame for the begin-
ning and end and also internally while constructing the narrative
sequences allows the audience to feel like their expectations have
been well met.
ο Specific knowledge: Fauconnier lists a second component of men-
tal space—specific knowledge; it can be examined as an individual’s
personal memory or experience that relates to a given situation
that evokes an emotion. An audience expects that a melodrama
may elicit tears or that a horror film may elicit anxiety or other
genres’ functional tonal elements may engage the audience in a
specific manner. Understanding the specific knowledge compo-
nent of the mental space of film genre and understanding the
emotional and personal appeal of specific genres to an audience
can benefit the screenwriter in the construction of a screenplay.
ο Relevant knowledge: This is the consideration of the currency
of the film genre and how film genre can aid in a contemporary
audience’s connection to a story. In some cases, this currency
can be approached through a careful choice of film genre.
In summation, the mental space of film genre, composed of schematic,

specific and relevant knowledge, is a narrative component that can be used
by the screenwriter in the building of the idealized cognitive model of a film
story. Understanding the mental space of film genre can help the screenwriter
address the expectations and desires of the audience, and—in addition—

challenge the audience to consider narrative material in new and fresh ways.
Suggested Exercises
1. Explore a film mentioned in this book in relation to the concepts of

the mental space of film genre theory.
a. Is the narrative clear in its use of an overriding genre? Does it

focus on a subgenre of the main genre? What are the supporting
genres?
b. In relation to the breakdowns of the genres used, does the
film narrative satisfy assumed audience expectations and also
feel “new”? What elements contribute (or not) to its unique
quality—characters, tone, point of view and relevancy to the
contemporary world?
c. What elements make up the ICM (idealized cognitive model)
of the film narrative? Consider the elements included or cho-
sen to help tell the story of the film—location, plot, characters,
objectives, themes and more importantly, film genre(s) and their
inherent characteristics.
i. What extraneous elements are not explored in the major
characters’ lives and/or in the social universe of the film? Or,
conversely, are there extraneous elements that do not con-
tribute to the strength of the narrative that could have been
excised?
2. Use the following components to examine the chosen film:
a. Is there a use of schematic knowledge (the framing, externally

and internally, with the overriding genre)? Is the overriding film
genre apparent in the first scenes of the film? Is it used at the
end of the film?
b. What specific knowledge (attempts to elicit specific audience
responses) is used in the film? What scenes are focused on
drawing out specific emotions from the audience?
c. Has the screenwriter/filmmaker considered the importance
of relevant knowledge in building the narrative? Does the story
feel as if it is part of the contemporary experience? Or does it
comment on today’s world?
3. Write the first ten pages of an original screenplay. Evaluate it in

terms of genre clarity.
a. Is the overriding genre clear at the outset (first scene or

sequence)?
b. Is there an investigation of a theme that is inherent to the genre
introduced? Example: romance is about questions regarding
love, the western often investigates justice or sense of personal
freedom, the horror film explores the existence of evil. (Some
genres don’t have inherent themes; if the overriding genre does
not, consider the supporting genres—do any of those carry
inherent themes?)
NOTES
1 The term “deconstruction of a film genre” refers to the encoding or explana-
tion of film genre elements inside the narrative that point the audience to
an awareness of the classic genre elements as the narrative plays out. This is
often done through characters being knowledgeable about film genre tropes
and commenting on the film genre elements (as in Scream (1996), written
by Kevin Williamson) as the film story progresses. A more subtle approach
by the screenwriter is through the commenting on familiar tropes (through
visuals and/or character construction or dialogue) as the narrative plays out.
This deconstruction allows the informed audience to enjoy the narrative on
another level.
2 The revisionist film narrative “revises” the classic genre elements and clas-
sic character components of the protagonist in that genre to challenge the
audience to think in new ways. The revisionist film narrative often explores
a protagonist/antagonist relationship that does not center on a simple good
vs. evil or trust vs. mistrust; characters can be surprising in their intents and
complexities. The moral and ethical questions of “right” or “good” are more
complicated. The revisionist film narrative, in most cases, expands the audi-
ence’s comprehension of story and genre.
3 Terry Rossio, The Mask of Zorro (1998), Shrek (2001), Pirates of the Caribbean
(2003, 2006, 2007) and more.
4 Proper crediting format per WGA, the “&” indicates writing team.
5 Steven de Souza, screenwriter: 48 Hours (1982), Die Hard (1988) Blast (2004)
and more.
6 Ron Bass, screenwriter: Rain Man (1988), Stepmom (1998), Snow Falling on Cedars
(1999).
7 Box Office Mojo: 2007 top-grossing films in the USA: Spider-Man 3, Shrek the
Third, Transformers, Pirates of the Caribbean: At World’s End, Harry Potter and the
Order of the Phoenix, I Am Legend, The Bourne Ultimatum, National Treasure: Book
of Secrets, Alvin and The Chipmunks, 300. Wikipedia list of top-grossing films in
the USA 2006: Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man’s Chest, The DaVinci Code, Ice
Age: The Meltdown, Casino Royale, Night at the Museum, Cars, X-Men: The Last
Stand, Mission: Impossible III, Superman Returns, Happy Feet (accessed August 8,
2009 at www.movieweb.com/movies/boxoffice/alltime.php).
8 Peter George won a plagiarism lawsuit (settled out of court) against the Fail-
Safe production company. The book the film was claimed to be adapted from
(Fail-Safe by Eugene Burdick (also a screenwriter) and Harvey Wheeler pub-
lished in 1962) was deemed to be too close in resemblance to George’s novel
Red Alert, written in 1958.
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CHAPTER 3
Overview of Film Genres
Terms to understand: everyman, tone, hybrid, mode, delivery system
THE MOST RECOGNIZABLE FILM GENRES

The most recognizable film genres are:
action horror
adventure lampoon/parody
buddy melodrama
biography musical
coming-of-age mystery
crime period
comedy road
disaster romance
drama satire
dram-edy science fiction
epic sports
fantasy superhero1
film noir thriller
fish-out-of-water war
historical western
Modes (recognized delivery forms): traditional animation, CGI, documen-

tary, 3D, IMAX, short film, feature film, straight to DVD, web series, made-
for-television movies, mini-series and other delivery forms.
QUICK NOTES ON THE MOST RECOGNIZED

FILM GENRES
Here is a quick primer on each film genre, including salient points for the
screenwriter. (Each chapter will expand on these short overviews.)
51
52 OVERVIEW OF FILM GENRES
COMEDY
The screenwriter, when employing the comedy genre, is signifying a certain
approach to narrative content-meaning that he or she has chosen to explore
a subject matter in a more exaggerated and/or lighthearted manner. Char-
acters in comedies may be a bit off center or have exaggerated personalities;
they may be too intense, too romantic, too nervous, too passive, too aggressive,
too social, too antisocial, too smart, or too insecure. A sense of absurdity may
be employed to tickle the audience’s funny bone. Physical and emotional
reactions to story points, other characters and events—and even the events
themselves—are usually exaggerated and heightened (to a greater or lesser
extent depending on the kind of comedy being written) to be on the edge
(or over the edge) of realism. For a film narrative to be deemed comedic,
the methods and attitudes of the main characters need to elicit a humorous
response from the audience.
However, comedy, in many cases, is not “not serious”; it can be an
exploration of deep feelings, deep needs and deep desires. The protagonist,
in most comedies, must want what he/she wants in an all-consuming way.
To gain the comedic tone, the screenwriter may adjust the level of reality;
situations and conflicts in which the characters participate can be inflated,
overstated, and embellished to gain comic effect.
Comedy can be used in combination with all film genres. Common
hybrids include comedy/action, comedy/adventure, comedy/buddy, comedy/
coming-of-age, comedy/road and comedy/fish-out-of-water.
Recognized subgenres of comedy include slapstick comedy, blue comedy,
black comedy and animal comedy.
Examples include The Incredible Burt Wonderstone (2013), Some Like It Hot
(1959), Animal House (1978), Rushmore (1998), The Gold Rush (1925), Sherlock Jr.
(1924), Blazing Saddles (1974), Ghostbusters (1984), The 40-Year-Old Virgin
(2005), Toy Story (1995), Duck Soup (1933), His Girl Friday (1938), Dr. Strange-
love (1964), Young Frankenstein (1974), Superbad (2007) and Caddyshack (1984).
DRAMA
The screenwriter, when choosing to employ the drama genre, is committing
to exploring the subject matter in an emotionally realistic and serious man-
ner. Drama investigates human frailties, disappointments, hopes (lost or to
be gained) and dreams and even the tragedies of life.
One of the most important elements for the screenwriter to consider
when constructing a narrative in the drama genre is the building of the
protagonist. He or she, in most cases, should be constructed as an everyman
or everywoman with no special powers (paranormal or superhuman). The
protagonist must be relatable to the audience. The sense in the audience
OVERVIEW OF FILM GENRES 53
that “this could be me” is something for the screenwriter to endeavor to

create; the protagonist is often a person with strengths and weakness, flaws
and dilemmas. Stories in the drama genre explore deep feelings, deep needs,
deep desires. In order for the story to be deemed dramatic, the protagonist
must want to accomplish his or her goal in an overpowering, all-consuming
way. In most cases, the protagonist will face challenges that seem beyond his
or her capabilities; this makes it necessary for the protagonist to dig deeper
than he or she ever thought possible in order to attain his or her goal. The
possibility of failure must be real and the consequences of failure must be of
great significance to the protagonist.
Drama can be used in combination with all film genres; common
hybrids include drama/action, drama/adventure, drama/biography, drama/
epic, drama/war, drama/mystery, drama/disaster, drama/buddy, drama/
thriller and drama/romance.
Recognized subgenres include melodrama and tragedy.
Examples include Argo (2012), The King’s Speech (2010), My Left Foot
(1989), Saving Private Ryan (1998), The African Queen (1951), Casablanca
(1942), Midnight Cowboy (1969), On The Waterfront (1954), Raging Bull (1980),
Treasure of Sierra Madre (1948), Whale Rider (2002), Hotel Rwanda (2004), The
Departed (2006) and Inception (2010).
DRAM-EDY
Dram-edy2 is a combination of drama and comedy with more emphasis on
the drama. There is also the “comedy-drama,” which has more emphasis
on the comedy. Dram-edies feature everyman or everywoman protagonists
who are, in most cases, facing decisions regarding their lives. These decisions
force them to look at themselves as human beings and at the choices they
have made in the past, and how those choices may have led them to a crisis
point in their existence.
The stakes, goals and decisions of the protagonist in the film narrative
are important in the dram-edy; they are usually concerning commitment to
a life change and making choices that will bring about great transformation
of character. The tone of the dram-edy is often ironic or humorously self-
deprecating or satiric.
Dram-edy can be used in combination with many film genres—perhaps
those with a focus on the human story/growth and maturation of a person
are most common. Hybrids include dram-edy/romance, dram-edy/coming-
of-age, dram-edy/buddy, dram-edy/fish-out-of-water and dram-edy/romantic
comedy.
Examples include Crimes and Misdemeanors (1989), The Descendants
(2011), Sideways (2004), Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (2004), As Good
as It Gets (1997), Juno (2007), Lars and the Real Girl (2008), The Kids Are All
Right (2010), The Breakfast Club (1985), The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou
(2004), Silver Linings Playbook (2012) and Annie Hall (1977).
ACTION
The action genre demands sequences featuring the protagonist in physical
interplay—usually between good and bad forces. The action genre will use
combat, stunts, car chases, explosions, martial arts and other physical feats;
therefore, the story must support the need for physical challenges. The physical
action should be integral to the story—it must advance the story. The action
genre can be used in combination with many film genres. Common hybrids
include action/adventure, action/crime, action/war, action/western, action/
mystery, action/horror, action/disaster, action/epic and action/thriller.
Examples include G.I. Joe (2009, 2013), Skyfall (2012), Fast and Furious
(2013), The Avengers (2012), Taken (2008), Avatar (2009), 300 (2006), Gladi-
ator (2000), The French Connection (1971), Dirty Harry (1971), The Poseidon
Adventure (1972), The Red River (1948), Mark of Zorro (1940), Braveheart (1995)
and The Fugitive (1993).
ADVENTURE
The adventure genre is built around a journey, a search or a quest for some-
thing or someone; at the outset of the narrative this goal seems unattainable.
The goal of the adventure could be a lost artifact, a computer chip that could
control the world, a lost spaceship, a family heirloom, a political ideal, love—
or any quest that, when taken on, will force the protagonist into physical
situations and mental challenges that test every fiber of his or her being.
The adventure genre can be used in combination with many film genres;
common hybrids include adventure/action, adventure/romance, adventure/
coming-of-age, adventure/buddy, adventure/fish-out-of-water, adventure/bio-
pic, adventure/horror, adventure/thriller, adventure/western, adventure/war,
adventure/crime, adventure/disaster and adventure/fantasy.
Examples include Indiana Jones Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981), Adventures
of Robin Hood (1938), Alice in Wonderland (2010), National Treasure (2004),
The Mummy (1999), The Deep (1977), Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol
(2011), The Pirates! Band of Misfits (2012), Treasure of Sierra Madre (1948), The
Secret Life of Walter Mitty (2013), The Hunger Games (2012), Wrath of the Titans
(2012) and The Hobbit, The Desolation of Smaug (2013).
BIOGRAPHY (BIO-PIC)
The film biography is a story based on a real person, living or dead. The
narratives include the elements in his or her life that are deemed dramatic
and story-worthy. The best bio-pics, in most cases, do not try to tell a
subject’s story from birth to death but focus on a certain section or sections
in that subject’s life, usually a pivotal time that resulted in a life change. It’s
not enough to simply give the facts of a person’s life; the screenwriter must
construct the story so that it builds in intensity and shows how and why the
protagonist experienced a great change and the results of that change.
The biography (bio-pic) genre can be used in combination with many
film genres; common hybrids include bio/action, bio/adventure, bio/coming-
of-age, bio/sports, bio/war and bio/epic.
Examples include Lincoln (2012), a film that focuses on Lincoln’s work
to pass anti-slavery legislation during the Civil War, Walk the Line (2005),
a drama/bio-pic/romance focusing on Johnny Cash’s desire to bring June
Carter into his life, Amadeus (1984), a drama/bio-pic/coming-of-age film
focusing on Mozart’s experience at the Royal Court in Hapsburg and his
rival Salieri’s actions aimed at destroying him, Schindler’s List (1993), a film
constructed in the drama/bio-pic/war genres that focuses on Schindler’s
life during World War II, Gandhi (1982), a film constructed in the drama/
bio-pic/coming-of-age genres and covering many years (although it focuses
on one element of Gandhi’s life—the reasons for and his desire to help free
India from British rule), Ali (2001), a film utilizing the drama/bio-pic/sports/
coming-of-age genres that focuses on Muhammad Ali’s life-changing trip
to Africa and Wolf Of Wall Street (2013), a film constructed in the drama/
bio-pic/crime genres that focuses on the financial mis-dealings of American
stockbroker Jordan Belfort.
BUDDY
The buddy genre is strongly aligned in structure with the romance genre. The
focus of the story is on the relationship between two characters of the same
or opposite genders that are on a journey to understand the significance
of their relationship. They most likely will be different in temperament
and/or beliefs, will meet or be forced to work together under trying or
unpleasant circumstances and face conflicts that force them to come to a
new appreciation of each other (or not). Buddy films deal with a primal
desire that is fundamental to human existence—the need/desire for a
companionship that is built on unconditional trust.
The buddy genre can be used in combination with many film genres.
Common hybrids include buddy/action, buddy/adventure, buddy/coming-
of-age, buddy/sports, buddy/war, buddy/western and buddy/crime.
Examples include 48 Hrs. (1982), Silver Streak (1976), The Road to Hong
Kong (1962), Superbad (2007), Some Like It Hot (1959), The Defiant Ones (1958),
Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (1969), Twins (1998), Internal Affairs (1990),
Lethal Weapon (1987), Thelma and Louise (1991), Men In Black (1997), The Wed-
ding Crashers (2005), Sideways (2004) and Lord of the Rings (2001, 2002, 2003).
COMING-OF-AGE
The coming-of-age genre explores a character’s reaching a new sense of self,
embarking on a journey towards a newfound maturity. The protagonist, in
most cases, is in a quandary concerning his or her purpose in life, or is expe-
riencing a lack of understanding of why life makes difficult demands. The
protagonist may be exploring a moral dilemma, a crisis of self-identity, or
an ethical crisis. On the journey of the story, the protagonist, in most cases,
experiences self-revelation and comes out with a stronger sense of purpose
and identity.
The coming-of-age genre can be used in combination with almost all film
genres, for the coming-of-age element is a staple in many stories—the protago-
nist is almost always learning and/or maturing and/or coming to a new sense
of self (however, the true coming-of-age narrative will put the maturation pro-
cess at the forefront of the story). Common hybrids include coming-of-age/
romance, coming-of-age/horror, coming-of age/buddy, coming-of-age/fish-out-
of-water, coming-of-age/epic, coming-of-age/action, coming-of-age/adventure,
coming-of-age/war and coming-of-age/western.
Examples include Stand By Me (1986), The Graduate (1967), The Last
Picture Show (1971), Paper Moon (1973), Legally Blonde (2001), Black Swan
(2010), Sideways (2004), About Schmidt (2002), Lord of the Rings (2001, 2002,
2003), Superbad (2007), Summer of ’42 (1971) and Knocked Up (2007).
CRIME
The crime genre gives the screenwriter many story elements to consider. It
includes the set-up of the law and order of the community in a specific time
(period, present day or future), the breaking of the law by the committing
of a crime, the repercussion of the crime (who does it affect and why), the
investigation of the crime to narrow the field of suspects, an examination
of the motives behind the crime and the apprehension (or not) of the
perpetrator. The crime might be murder, robbery, burglary, a white-collar
crime, espionage, a kidnapping or any other illegal act that goes against the
laws of the given society. The protagonist may be a professional investigator
(cop or detective or private eye) or a private citizen who decides to take
the pursuit of justice into his or her own hands. Often the story contains
elements that concern the power relations in the society as well as the
moral flexibility of the law and/or the moral code (justified vs. random or
unjustified) of the perpetrators of the crime.
The crime genre can be used in combination with many film genres.
Common hybrids include crime/mystery, crime/action, crime/film noir,
crime/romance, crime/coming-of-age, crime/buddy, crime/ fish-out-of-water,
crime/thriller and crime/western.
Recognized subgenres include caper, heist, organized crime and gang.

Examples include The Town (2010), Dog Day Afternoon (1975), Carlito’s
Way (1993), Donnie Brasco (1997), The Godfather (1972), Ocean’s 11 (1960 and
2001), Training Day (2001), Infernal Affairs (2002), The Departed (2006), The
Maltese Falcon (1941), The French Connection (1971), Chinatown (1974), Bonnie
and Clyde (1967), The Sting (1973), The Dark Knight (2008) and Reservoir Dogs
(1992).
DISASTER
The disaster genre centers on large-scale destruction (natural, man-made
or supernatural) that threatens the lives or way of life of the narrative’s
characters. Disaster films, in most cases, feature huge personal emotional
stakes amidst the enormous chaos and uncertainty of survival. Disasters are
calamitous events: floods, earthquakes, snowstorms, tornadoes, hurricanes,
train or airplane crashes, burning buildings, sinking ships or other man-
made or natural catastrophes. Disaster films often include a cautionary
element or lesson. Use of the everyman/everywoman protagonist and
other main characters works well in disaster films because the audience can
immediately buy into a “that could be me” possibility and empathize on
a deep level.
The disaster genre can be used in combination with many film genres.
Common hybrids include disaster/action, disaster/adventure, disaster/
romance, disaster/buddy, disaster/historical, disaster/fish-out-of-water,
disaster/sci-fi and disaster/war.
Recognized subgenres include apocalyptic and post-apocalyptic.
Examples include Titanic (1997), Airport (1970), Hotel (1967), The Towering
Inferno (1974), The Impossible (2012), Day After Tomorrow (2004), Avalanche
(1978), Volcano (1997), The Abyss (1989), Deep Impact (1998), The Poseidon
Adventure (2005), The Perfect Story (2000), Tornado! (1996), 28 Days Later
(2002) and The Andromeda Strain (1971).
EPIC
The epic film deals with tales of extraordinary circumstances, people and/or
events over an extended period of time. Epics, in most cases, are constructed
on a grand scale. The most successful epic films work on various levels; they
are stories focusing on human challenges and determinations blended with
an investigation of political and/or social arenas. Many epics are based on
history, myths or legends.
The epic film genre can be used in combination with many film genres;
common hybrids include epic/romance, epic/war, epic/adventure, epic/
action and epic/fantasy.
Examples include Lord Of the Rings (2001–2003), Gandhi (1982), Lawrence

of Arabia (1962), Gone With The Wind (1939), Ben Hur (1959), King of Kings
(1961), Intolerance (1916), Passion of Christ (2004), Dr. Zhivago (1965), The
Chronicles of Narnia (2005–2010) and Harry Potter (2001–2011).
FANTASY
The fantasy genre allows the author the freedom to create and build an imag-
inary world. It may include magical or supernatural elements or other para-
normal forms as primary inspirations for plot and characters. Environments
may be fantastical; however, to be successful they must be clearly drawn.
Rules of the society and its characters’ mores and beliefs must be clear. With-
out boundaries and rules of conduct, limitations on power or on systems, it
is very hard to create the necessary conflicts of the narrative.
The fantasy genre can be used in combination with many film genres.
Common hybrids include fantasy/drama, fantasy/adventure, fantasy/action,
fantasy/sci-fi, fantasy/epic, fantasy/romance, fantasy/comedy and fantasy/
horror.
Subgenres include the fantastical uncanny and the fantastical marvelous.
Examples include The Wizard of Oz (1939), Toy Story (1995), Lord Of The
Rings (2001–2003), Harry Potter (2001–2011), Twilight (2008–2012), Cloud
Atlas (2012), Labyrinth (1986), Pirates of the Caribbean (2003–2011), Hook
(1991), Life of Pi (2012), Being John Malkovich (1999), Field of Dreams (1989),
Big (1988), Midnight in Paris (2011), Elf (2003) and Alice in Wonderland (2010).
FILM NOIR
This film genre got its name from French film critics who noticed, after not
be able to see a large portion of American films during World War II, the
dark themes, excessively flawed characters and tragic endings of many of the
crime dramas of the late thirties and early forties. They labeled the narrative
style “film noir.” The French translation of film noir is “black cinema”
or “dark cinema.” Many of these noir films were also filmed in black and
white, making great use of shadows and night scenes; however, the most
important element of film noir is the construction of characters with dark and
duplicitous purposes. Deceit and lies, disloyalty, unfaithfulness, unbridled
ambition, betrayal, greed, vanity, pride and treachery are often explored. The
conclusion of the narrative is, in most cases, untidy, tragic and/or unhappy.
Common hybrids include film noir/crime, film noir/mystery, film noir/
romance and film noir/thriller.
Examples include The Maltese Falcon (1941), Double Indemnity (1944),
Body Heat (1981), L.A. Confidential (1997), Scarlet Street (1945), Gun Crazy
(1950), The Killing (1956), Sweet Smell of Success (1958), The Killers (1946), In
A Lonely Place (1950), Chinatown (1974), Touch of Evil (1958), Laura (1944),
The Third Man (1949), The Long Goodbye (1973), Sunset Boulevard (1950), Cape
Fear (1962), American Gigolo (1980), Blood Simple (1984) and Memento (2000).
FISH-OUT-OF-WATER
The name of the genre is self-explanatory: a protagonist, used to “swimming”
(living) in his normal “pool” (life), is forced to learn how to survive in new
or foreign surroundings. This genre demands that the writer first set up the
“normal life” of the protagonist—if this is not accomplished, the audience will
not understand the difficulties the protagonist faces in being a neophyte in a
strange territory. The learning process of surviving in new environs is a large
part of the story and the obstacles to survival or understanding provide plot
points. There is a fish-out-of-water element apparent in many films (just as
there is a coming-of-age element in many films); however, for the fish-out-of-
water genre to be the overriding genre, the protagonist’s journey must focus on
learning the skills to survive and/or thrive in unknown terrain or circumstances.
Common hybrids include fish-out-of-water/drama, fish-out-of-water/
comedy, fish-out-of-water/dram-edy, fish-out-of-water/romance, fish-out-of-
water/coming-of-age, fish-out-of-water/buddy, fish-out-of-water/horror, fish-
out-of-water/war, fish-out-of-water/disaster.
Examples include Star Wars (1977), Alien (1979), Legally Blonde (2001),
The Wizard of Oz (1939), Some Like It Hot (1959), Roman Holiday (1953), Mid-
night Cowboy (1969), My Fair Lady (1964), The Little Mermaid (1989), Witness
(1985), Cars (2006), Borat (2006), Big (1988), Enchanted (2007), The Whistle-
blower (2010), Private Benjamin (1980) and The Matrix (1999).
HISTORICAL
The historical genre is very specific. The film story is based on true events
from the past. The historical genre can be used in combination with many
film genres. Common hybrids include historical/crime, historical/coming-
of-age, historical/romance, historical/epic and historical/sports.
Examples include The Social Network (2010), Hotel Rwanda (2004), Good
Night Good Luck (2005), The King’s Speech (2010), Munich (2005), Gangs of
New York (2002), Apollo 13 (1995), All the President’s Men (1976), Empire of the
Sun (1987), The Killing Fields (1984), Titanic (1997), Eight Men Out (1988), The
Great Debaters (2007) and Chariots of Fire (1981).
HORROR
The horror genre narrative features plots where evil forces (events or char-
acters) infiltrate or assault the everyday world and upset the stability of
the community or world order. Anxiety, trepidation, fear, violence and
other elements are usually taken to an excessive point, such as excess blood,
excess gore, excess sound, excess quiet and more excesses. The most suc-
cessful horror narratives feature characters that are psychologically tested as
well as physically endangered. Whether the villain is a monster (vampire,
zombie, werewolf or other monster) or a human or an extraterrestrial entity,
an immoral, self-centered evil-ness in the antagonistic force is required. The
audience must feel that just under the outward appearances of ordinariness,
evil exists and causes havoc where peace and rationality were the norm.
The horror genre can be used in combination with many film genres.
Common hybrids include horror/thriller, horror/coming-of-age, horror/sci-fi,
horror/action, horror/fantasy, and horror/satire.
Recognized subgenres include slasher, monster, psychological and
supernatural.
Examples include Drag Me To Hell (2009), Psycho (1960), Rosemary’s
Baby (1968), Frankenstein (1931), Dracula (1931, 1992), Night of the Liv-
ing Dead (1968), Scream (1996), Jacob’s Ladder (1990), Pet Sematary (1989),
Nosferatu (1922), The Ring (2002), Poltergeist (1982), Saw (2004), Shaun of
the Dead (2004), Alien (1979), The Shining (1980), Friday the 13th (1980), The
Exorcist (1973), Gaslight (1944) and The Others (2001).
LAMPOON (PARODY)
The lampoon genre is a parody (spoof) of another film or set of films. The
lampoon humorously exaggerates characters, situations and themes of
another film (usually a well-known film so the spoof can be appreciated by a
knowledgeable audience). The audience does not need to know the underly-
ing material to enjoy the film experience; however, knowing the subject of
the lampoon deepens the appreciation. The lampoon genre can be used to
parody a film of any genre.
Examples include Galaxy Quest (1999), the Austin Powers films (1997–
2002), Tropic Thunder (2008), Fatal Instinct (1993), Loaded Weapon (1993), Scary
Movie (2000), Young Frankenstein (1974), Robin Hood: Men in Tights (1993),
Spaceballs (1987), Superhero Movie (2008) and Not Another Teen Movie (2001).
MELODRAMA
Melodramas came into popularity as the work of psychoanalysts such as
Sigmund Freud and Carl Jung gained recognition. Narratives often deal with
characters’ struggles for individuality, to get out from under the thumb of
overbearing parents, siblings, spouses or other dominating forces. Many plot
points may seem minor yet they loom large and characters often obsess over
small details or actions. When tragedy is added to melodrama, the story
often focuses on the success of the antagonist in his/her quest to keep the
protagonist under control, thus scuttling the dreams and ideas and hopes
of the protagonist. Melodrama can be used in combination with many
film genres—those with a focus on the individual and interior struggles of
humankind are more common.
Common hybrids include melodrama/romance, melodrama/coming-of-
age and melodrama/fish-out-of-water.
Examples include The Notebook (2004), Revolutionary Road (2008), The
Vow (2012), All that Heaven Allows (1955), The Sandpiper (1965), Letters from an
Unknown Woman (1948), Broken Blossoms (1919), The Divorcee (1930), A Star is
Born (1937), Imitation of Life (1934 and 1959), Mildred Pierce (1954), Splendor
in the Grass (1961), Sophie’s Choice (1982), Terms of Endearment (1983), Titanic
(1997), Bridges of Madison County (1995), Waiting to Exhale (1995), How Stella
Got Her Groove Back (1998), Brokeback Mountain (2005), Giant (1956) and East
of Eden (1955).
MUSICAL
Films in the musical genre have one thing in common—they all have songs
or recitative that help to tell the story and reveal character. The classic musi-
cal will feature musical numbers (songs, dances) designed to move the nar-
rative forward.
Examples include The Wizard of Oz (1939), Showboat (1936), Holiday Inn
(1942), Meet Me in St. Louis (1944), Singin’ in the Rain (1952), The King and I
(1956), A Star is Born (1954), West Side Story (1961), All That Jazz (1971), The
Little Mermaid (1989), Beauty and the Beast (1991), Aladdin (1992), Hunchback
of Notre Dame (1996) and Mulan (1998).
MYSTERY
The mystery genre has a very recognizable component: an event takes place
that is inexplicable. A mystery must contain secrets or unexplained events
or unknown elements that remain unsolved or concealed throughout most
of the story. In the classic mystery, the audience is given clues: where, why,
who, how and when. In some cases, the story is constructed to be a “closed”
story—the audience “solves” the mystery as the protagonist does, putting
the puzzle pieces together along with the protagonist. In the “open” struc-
ture, the audience may know the identity of the killer or criminal or the
answers to the mysterious question before the protagonist and enjoys the
tension that builds as the protagonist journeys to discover the truth.
Common hybrids include mystery/adventure, mystery/action, mystery/
romance, mystery/crime, mystery/film noir and mystery/thriller.
Examples include Shutter Island (2010), The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo
(2011), Harry Potter (2001–2011), The Prestige (2006), Se7en (1995), The Usual
Suspects (1995), Memento (2000), Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy (2011), L.A. Confidential
(1997), Scooby-Doo (2002), Mystic River (2003) and The Maltese Falcon (1941).
PERIOD
The period genre is specific; it has a focus on looking at a non-contemporary
time period. The period film does not necessarily have to deal with a true
event or actual historical characters. There should be a reason to put a film
narrative in a certain time period (meaning the time period will inform the
story in some significant way). Often the time period itself will serve as a
central component of the film narrative. The period genre can be used with
any other genre or genre combination.
Examples include American Graffiti (1973), Revolutionary Road (2008), The
English Patient (1996), The Sting (1973), Gladiator (2000), City of God (2000),
Fanny and Alexander (1982), Barry Lyndon (1975), There Will Be Blood (2007),
Boogie Nights (1997), Gangs of New York (2002) and 300 (2007).
ROAD
The road genre is simple to identify. The characters are constantly moving
from place to place—on foot, or by car or bus or spaceship or other vehicle.
Events happen at stops or places along the journey, and each event moves
the plot forward and helps in moving the main characters along a journey
of transformation. The destination may or may not be reached; it is the
protagonist’s or other main characters’ growth or attainment of goals that is
of paramount importance to the narrative.
Common hybrids include road/action, road/comedy, road/adventure,
road/romance, road/romantic comedy, road/coming-of-age, road/buddy, road/
crime, road/horror.
Examples include Transamerica (2005), Two For the Road (1967), Near
Dark (1987), My Own Private Idaho (1991), It Happened One Night (1934),
The Hitchhiker (1953), Due Date (2010), The Motorcycle Diaries (2004), Natu-
ral Born Killers (1994), Smoke Signals (1998), Midnight Run (1988), Flirting
With Disaster (1996), The Straight Story (1999), Thelma and Louise (1991)
and Borat (2006).
ROMANCE
The romance genre must have a narrative that revolves around one or more
love relationships. In most cases, the film story explores a very deep and true
love; mere flirtations are not of enough import to fulfill audience expecta-
tions. To keep conflict constant in the narrative, the ability of the lovers to
get together is always in question and, in most cases, the lovers are kept apart
as long as possible. The romance genre can be used in combination with

most film genres and it is often used in “B” story lines.
Common hybrids include romance/dram-edy, romance/coming-of-age,
romance/adventure, romance/fish-out-of-water, romance/action, romance/
fantasy, romance/road, romance/thriller, romance/mystery, romance/epic
and romance/sci-fi.
Examples include The Vow (2012), Romeo and Juliet (1968), The Notebook
(2004), An Affair to Remember (1957), The English Patient (1996), Gone With
the Wind (1939), Dr. Zhivago (1965), Love Story (1970), African Queen (1952),
Titanic (1997), Sharman (1984), Now Voyager (1942), The Apartment (1960),
Bull Durham (1988), Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (2004), Harold and
Maude (1971), Notorious (1946) and Brokeback Mountain (2005).
ROMANTIC COMEDY
The romantic comedy genre fulfills all the elements of the romance genre
and adds comedy to the mix. Romance must be the key—the exploration of
the existence or acceptance of true love. The comedy element in the genre
demands that the subject matter (love) is explored in a more exaggerated,
over-inflated and/or lighthearted manner. Characters in romantic comedies
may be a bit off center or have exaggerated personalities; they may be too
intense, too romantic, too nervous, too passive, too aggressive, too social,
too antisocial, too smart or too insecure. To truly fall into the romantic
comedy genre, the story needs to focus on the love elements over the come-
dic elements. In most cases, the two lovers do not appreciate each other at
the outset of the film story, allowing for humorous situations and verbal
humor, misunderstandings and missed signals.
Common hybrids include: romantic comedy/action, romantic comedy/
sports, romantic comedy/adventure, romantic comedy/buddy and romantic
comedy/fish-out-of-water.
Recognized subgenres include screwball, buddy, sex, sophisticated and
radical romantic comedy.
Examples include Annie Hall (1997), Must Love Dogs (2005), My Big Fat
Greek Wedding (2002), Roxanne (1987), Enchanted (2007), The Proposal (2009),
Moonstruck (1987), It Happened One Night (1934), The Lady Eve (1941), When
Harry Met Sally (1989), What’s Up Doc (1972), His Girl Friday (1950), Bridget
Jones’s Diary (2001), 50 First Dates (2004) and Think Like A Man (2012).
SATIRE
The satire genre makes fun of a group, an idea, a country, a person, a
business, a political ideal, a belief system or way of life—basically, any and
all elements of society and/or culture. The satire genre, usually using irony,
biting sarcasm and comedic turns, sets out to expose hypocrisies. The satire
genre can be used in combination with all film genres.
Examples include Bowfinger (1999), Defending Your Life (1991), Monty
Python films (1975–1983), This is Spinal Tap (1984), Waiting for Guffman
(1996), Best in Show (2000), Tanner ’88 (1988), Bob Roberts (1992) and Burn
After Reading (2009).
SCIENCE FICTION (SCI-FI)

Stories in the science fiction genre have their roots in science—scientific
truth or hypothesis. The screenwriter is able to use his or her imagination
to extrapolate and/or vamp on the scientific experiment or idea, using the
“what if” question to add the fiction element of the genre. Scientific theories
or facts are stretched, manipulated, used and misused, turned upside down
and/or misinterpreted.
The science fiction genre (sci-fi) can be used in combination with many
film genres. Common hybrids include sci-fi/action, sci-fi/adventure, sci-fi/
horror, sci-fi/buddy and sci-fi/war.
Recognized subgenres within the sci-fi film genre include space operas,
hard science and soft science.
Examples include Frankenstein (1931), Ghostbusters (1984), Alien (1979),
Inception (2010), the Star Trek films, District 9 (2009), The Thing (1982), Avatar
(2009), Close Encounters of the Third Kind (1977), Forbidden Planet (1956), Brazil
(1985), Back to the Future (1985), Metropolis (1927), The Terminator (1984), The
Day the Earth Stood Still (1951), The Matrix (1999), Blade Runner (1982) and
Pacific Rim (2013).
SUPERHERO
The superhero genre is a subgenre of the fantasy and/or sci-fi genres;
however, due to the proliferation of superhero films in the last decades,
perhaps it is time to consider this a film genre of its own. There are certain
elements that are easily identifiable: the superhero genre does not focus on
an “everyman” or “everywoman,” for the superhero has special powers—
mental or physical—or special training that sets him/her apart from the
normal populace. (The films where an “everyman protagonist” is introduced
before he or she is transformed into a superhero (through a spider bite or
toxic accident or other event) often quickly introduce the transformative
incident so that the protagonist falls out of the realm of the “everyman.”)
Often his/her true identity is unknown by most of the other characters in
the story and unknown by the community in which he/she resides.
The superhero narrative is most likely paired with adventure-action;
however, other genres such as crime, buddy, romance, fish-out-of-water, film
noir and thriller are also common additions.
Examples include Iron Man (2008), Superman (1978), Spider-Man (2002),

Batman (1989), The Dark Knight (2008), Batman Returns (1992), X-Men (2000),
The Avengers (2012), The Incredibles (2004), Thor (2011), Wolverine (2013),
V for Vendetta (2005), Hellboy (2004) and RoboCop (1987, 2014).
THRILLER
Thrillers feature protagonists who are almost incessantly at risk, dealing with
antagonists out to destroy the protagonist, his or her life or community or
the world. High stakes and sudden plot twists are elements of successful
thrillers. A thriller, in most cases, lets the audience discern the identity of
the antagonist and his or her nefarious plan, while important information
is kept from the protagonist until he or she earns the information by over-
coming a series of obstacles. Thrillers often keep the emphasis away from
the crime; they focus more on the danger to the everyman who will be
affected by the antagonist’s dangerous plan. In the thriller, there is a battle
of wits between protagonist and antagonist that finally results in a climactic
confrontation.
Common hybrids include thriller/horror, thriller/crime, thriller/sci-fi,
thriller/romance, thriller/mystery, thriller/disaster, thriller/action and
thriller/adventure.
Recognized subgenres include psychological thriller, spy thriller, cop
thriller and woman-in-jeopardy/man-in-jeopardy thrillers.
Examples include The Third Man (1949), Silence of the Lambs (1991), Gas-
light (1944), Rosemary’s Baby (1968), What Lies Beneath (2000), The Hunger
Games (2012), Looper (2012), Side Effects (2013), The Call (2013), American
Psycho (2000), Argo (2012), Basic Instinct (1992), Blood Simple (1984), Three
Days of the Condor (1975), Rear Window (1954) and Jack Ryan, Shadow Recruit
(2014).
WAR
The war genre is very specific. The story must take place in and revolve
around war—be it the Trojan War, the Civil War, World War I, World War II,
the Vietnam War or any war, any time period, gang warfare, even “future
wars.” The plot must revolve around the effects of the war and/or on the
actions of the protagonist (s) in combat or war-torn conflict.
Common hybrids include war/action, war/adventure, war/epic, war/
romance, war/coming-of-age, war/buddy and war/fish-out-of-water.
Recognized subgenres include combat, prisoner of war and space opera.
Examples include All Quiet on the Western Front (1930), Saving Private
Ryan (1998), Platoon (1986), Apocalypse Now (1979), Inglourious Basterds
(2009), 300 (2006), Full Metal Jacket (1987), Braveheart (1995), Troy (2004),
The Hurt Locker (2009), Black Hawk Down (2001), Empire of the Sun (1987), The
Hill (1965), Bridge on the River Kwai (1957), Patton (1970), M*A*S*H* (1970)
and The Dirty Dozen (1967).
WESTERN
The classic western genre is a narrative set in the American West between
the end of the American Civil War and the end of Western expansion in
America (1860s to 1900). The audience of the western expects and anticipates
an introduction to a heroic or anti-hero protagonist who, in some way,
represents the ideals of self-determination, believes in personal destiny and
harbors a commitment to individual justice, whether he (or she) wears the
pure-of-heart “white hat” or the troubled or tainted “black hat.” Characters
that are staples in this genre include cowboys, the farmers and families, the
ranchers and families, the lawmen, the community leaders and merchants,
the saloonkeeper, the saloon girls, miners, railroad barons—all people of
independent spirit who set out with hopes for personal freedom and a new
way of life.
Common hybrids include western/action, western/adventure, western/
romance, western/buddy and western/crime.
Examples include The Wild Bunch (1969), Unforgiven (1992), Django
Unchained (2012), The Tin Star (1957), High Noon (1952), The Searchers (1956),
Stagecoach (1939), Dances With Wolves (1990), The Man Who Shot Liberty
Valance (1962), Once Upon A Time in the West (1968), Winchester ’73 (1950),
Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (1969), Shane (1953) and The Good, the Bad
and the Ugly (1966).
REMEMBER THAT MOST MOVIES ARE A

COMBINATION OF TWO OR MORE GENRES
Casablanca (1942): war/drama/romance.
Sunset Boulevard (1950): drama/coming-of-age/romance/crime.
Shane (1953): western/drama.
Spartacus (1960): historical/drama/coming-of-age.
Tootsie (1982): comedy/romance/coming-of-age.
Back to the Future (1985): sci-fi/comedy/adventure/action/coming-of-age.
Beauty and the Beast (1991): fantasy/dram-edy/romance/adventure.
Men in Black (1997): sci-fi/comedy/action/buddy.
Shallow Hal (2001): comedy/romance.

Training Day (2001): crime/ drama/action.
Legally Blonde (2001): comedy/fish-out-of-water/romance/coming-of-age.
Shrek (2001): comedy/romance/satire.
Adaptation (2002): dram-edy/coming-of-age.
Troy (2004): war/drama/historical/biography/adventure/romance.
Million Dollar Baby (2004): drama/sports.
Mean Girls (2004): dram-edy/teen/coming-of-age.
Fantastic Four (2005): superhero/drama/sci-fi/fantasy/crime/romance.
Junebug (2005): dram-edy/coming-of-age.
Sideways (2005): buddy/black comedy/romance.
Pan’s Labyrinth (2005): fantasy/drama/coming-of-age/horror.
The Queen (2006): bio-pic/historical/drama.
Little Miss Sunshine (2006): dram-edy/coming-of-age.
The Departed (2006): crime/drama/coming-of-age/action/fish-out-of-water/

romance.
300 (2007): war/action/drama.
Hairspray (2007): comedy/period/musical.
You Kill Me (2007): drama/romance/coming-of-age/satire/crime.
The Golden Compass (2007): fantasy/drama/coming-of-age.
The Dark Knight (2008): superhero/drama/crime.
In the Loop (2009): satire/black comedy.
Up (2009): adventure/comedy (in animation mode).
Social Network (2010): bio-pic/drama/coming-of-age/period.
Easy “A” (2010): teen/comedy/coming-of-age.
The Fighter (2010): sports/drama/coming-of age/romance.
Rabbit Hole (2010): drama/mystery.
Inception (2010): sci-fi/drama/romance/mystery/crime.
Hurt Locker (2011): war/drama/coming-of-age.
Zero Dark Thirty (2012): historical/drama/war.
Argo (2012): thriller/drama/period/historical.

Beasts of the Southern Wild (2012): drama/disaster/coming-of-age.
Silver Linings Playbook (2012): dram-edy/romance/coming-of-age.
Django Unchained (2012): western/drama/action/adventure/buddy.
Safe (2012): crime/action.
Wrath of the Titans (2012): fantasy/adventure/action/period.
Oz (2013): fantasy/adventure.
Side Effects (2013): thriller/drama/crime.
The Lone Ranger (2013): western/comedy/fantasy/adventure.
The Incredible Burt Wonderstone (2013): satire/buddy/romance.
Lee Daniels’ The Butler (2013): drama/period.
The Hunger Games (2013): fantasy/adventure/coming-of-age.
The Lone Survivor (2013): war/drama.
Twelve Years A Slave (2013): bio-pic/drama/period.
NOTES
1 Part of the fantasy genre, but due to its overwhelming popularity I have given
it a place on the list of most recognizable genres.
2 Over time film genres can morph, take on new attributes and/or become more
specific and recognizable. Many film analysts point to the fact that some
genres even fall by the wayside (some temporarily) for they fall out of favor
with audiences. Others gain such popularity that they earn their own place on
the list of most used genres (romantic comedy has earned its own place). Dram-
edy, in the last decades, has risen in popularity and is easily recognizable.
CHAPTER 4
The Uber Genres

Comedy and Drama
Terms to understand: uber comedy, drama, dram-edy, overt, covert, tragedy,
melodrama
The German word “uber” refers to any property or attitude that has exces-
sively specific or extreme characteristics. In contemporary vernacular it is
often used to identify the immoderate nature of an individual or group such
as uber-intellectual or uber-fashionistas. The prefix “uber” can also be used
to indicate the umbrella characteristics of a pervasive commodity—and I
suggest the term can be put to good use to refer to the “umbrella genres”
of comedy and drama. Under the comedy umbrella there are broad com-
edies and subtle comedies. Under the drama umbrella there are solemn and
intense dramas and slice-of-life dramas.
The Greek philosopher Aristotle (384 BCE–322 BCE) divided theatrical narra-
tives into two categories—tragedies and comedies. David Misch, in his amus-
ing book Funny, Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Comedy, suggests
a broad generality—that in ancient Greece all comedies ended with a wedding
and all tragedies ended with a funeral (Misch, 2012: 1). This is, of course, not
true in the specifics but is helpful in giving the sense of lightness and ability
for humans to forge “happy and satisfying” lives for themselves. Tragedies
explored mankind at the mercy of his or her own flaws and/or of fate; many
Greek narratives were focused on man falling from grace and social status
because of greed, passion, misguided cunning or other human defects or weak-
nesses. On the flip side, the Greek comedies explored mankind with similar
shortcomings; but through pluck, luck and the blessings of fate, the outcome
of the narrative was not wholly destructive to the protagonist’s mind, spirit or
person. Juxtapositions of events and unexpected character responses in the
comedies were meant to elicit laughter and although a moral lesson was to be
delivered, the audiences experienced it through a much lighter tone.
Over the thousands of years of storytelling between Aristotle’s time and
today, the drama genre emerged. Basically the drama genre contains similar
elements of the Greek tragedy, but at the end of the drama narrative the pro-
tagonist has a chance to be redeemed. The protagonist learns his or her lesson
and is left alive (psychically and physically) to lead a new or reformed life; he
or she is wiser and now more apt to become a beneficial member of society.
69
70 THE UBER GENRES: COMEDY AND DRAMA
TONE
Comedy and drama, obviously, have different tones—meaning the authorial
voice of the screenwriter shows a distinct approach to the subject matter.
There are somber and solemn stories, told in an earnest and serious man-
ner. There are stories that may cover the same or similar subject matter—
however, the screenwriter has chosen to approach them more blithely or
with an ironic or satiric bent.
Tone becomes clear through the screenwriter’s choices of character types
and their goals and how they are constructed through scenes and dialogue—
basically every element of the screenplay. There is a lighthearted or absurdist
or ironic tone to a comedy—a certain way of looking at life. Dramas approach
subject matter in a more realistic and/or serious way. Stories in the drama
genre may blend in humor or a character may have a wry outlook or may
be able to turn a phrase to elicit a smile or laugh—but that in itself does not
make a story a “true comedy.” When choosing an approach to a story, the
screenwriter may consider:
– tonal approach to the narrative (lighthearted or serious);

– character delineation (traits considered light and comic or traits con-
sidered serious and/or tragic);
– characters’ intentions/reasons for goal or desire;
– characters’ choices and/or actions on the journey towards goal or
desire;
– characters’ reactions to events.
DRAMA AS AN UBER GENRE

Audiences interested in films in the drama genre expect to be pulled into
a very real world and emotional developments of realistic characters. The
screenwriter, setting out to explore stories in the drama genre, is challeng-
ing herself to be sensitive and honest about the human condition, to create
settings, events, situations that are relatable and plausible to the audience.
Dramas can be mirrors to the soul; the investigation of insecurities, dreams,
desires, thoughts or reactions. Dramas must ring true. The drama genre
often focuses on a character or characters that are at a crucial moment in
their lives.
The protagonist in the drama is an everyman or an everywoman. He or she
has no extraordinary powers or talents; the everyman protagonist should
be relatable or feel “ordinary” to the audience. The film viewer’s sense of
identification is important. The screenwriter may choose to include scenes
pointing to character’s imperfections, neuroses, worries and insecurities to
help make the persona more “real” to the viewer.
THE UBER GENRES: COMEDY AND DRAMA 71
Short history
As mentioned, Aristotle defined “drama” as the enactment of any story on
stage. Dramas, originally, were divided into tragedies (serious dramas with
serious consequences) and comedies (revolving around characters that faced
obstacles that were not ultimately destructive). All dramas (comedies and
tragedies) were meant to be “mimesis” or imitations of life.
Aristotle wrote that tragedies must contain a certain magnitude of
consequence—basically a change of status of the main character. Tragedies
often explored the reasons and actions of a character that fell from high
status to low status, for example from King to Peasant or from Farmer to
Homeless or from Family to a Man Alone or from Worker to Jobless or from
Friend to Friendless. (It is interesting to note that comic narratives often flip
the status level to “low status to high status” for comic effect).
Both tragedies and comedies were meant to teach, inform and set an
example of behavior so that the theatergoer was enhanced—intellectually or
spiritually—by the experience. In tragedies, the end of the story was of para-
mount importance—that is where the lesson and/or moral resided. In comedies,
the journey was more important, for the character learned along the way and
eventually, through a series of actions, was able to overcome the obstacles
set before him.
By the late 1800s the term “tragedy” enjoyed its own definition in
regards to theatrical productions and the term “drama” referred to its own
genre. Tragedy featured a main character who—through his or her own mis-
judgment or ill actions—created his or her own demise of spirit or body. The
term “drama” referred to a performed fictional story that was serious but fell
short of true tragic consequences (annihilation of body or spirit). Dramas
centered on explorations of human frailties, setbacks, familial discontent
and investigations of self, of addictions, of problematical romances or dis-
enchantment or dissatisfaction of life. The screenwriter must view drama
as an opportunity to explore the “as real as it gets”; narratives must be bold
and truthful and, in accepting Aristotle’s advice, should feel as if they are
“imitative” of real life. Even if, at the conclusion of the narrative, problems
are worked out for the betterment of the protagonist’s situation, there may
still be pain and suffering that lingers within the story, and possibly into
the future of the story. There is an “ever-after” in a drama; however, the
“happily-ever-after” may remain in question.
Films in the drama genre are often constructed as hybrids. Crime, biog-
raphy, war, romance and nearly all film genres can be paired with drama—
therefore making it one of the uber genres. Drama has much to do with
tone and approach and the construction of characters’ psyches. It is serious.
Humor may lighten the tension every now and then but the problem and
the characters involved in the dilemma see the world in an earnest way—and
sometimes in an intensely deep way. The screenwriter, when constructing a

film narrative with drama as the overriding genre, must concentrate on the
dramatic and personal problems of the everyman. Personal stories and con-
sequences of actions should be dominant.
Man is his Own Worst Enemy

The most important element of the drama genre is the use of the everyman/
everywoman protagonist. The characters in dramas are, in most cases,
explored in-depth and their emotions, neurosis, addictions, deep desires,
procrastinations, hopes and dreams are brought to the surface in a man-
ner that feels genuine and ultimately very frank. Days of Wine and Roses
(1962, written by J.P. Miller) and Leaving Las Vegas (1995, written by Mike
Figgis based on a novel by John O’Brien) are fascinating and compelling
dramas centered on the perils of alcoholism. The manic drama Trainspot-
ting (1996, written by John Hodge based on a novel by Irvine Welsh) deals
with drug abuse. The Notebook (2004, written by Jeremy Leven based on
a Nicholas Sparks novel) is a romance/drama and tackles the psychologi-
cal problems that arise when one does not follow one’s heart. Brokeback
Mountain (2005, written by Larry McMurtry & Diana Ossana, based on a
short story by Annie Proulx) explores a time and place when homosexual
love was dangerous and frightening. Good Will Hunting (1997, written by
Matt Damon and Ben Affleck) investigates a young man who has talents
and endless possibilities; he has to make a decision to leave a family-like
unit (the only family he has ever known) in order to fulfill his potential.
Successful film narratives in the drama genre have explored dysfunctional
family dynamics, such as the classic East of Eden (1955, based on the John
Steinbeck novel, screenplay by Paul Osborn); Cal Trask ( James Dean) and
his brother Aron (Richard Davalos) compete for the affection of a cold and
rigid father (Raymond Massey). They also desire the same young woman
( Julie Harris). The brothers’ rivalry and the family dynamic are explored
in great detail as secrets and emotional disturbances emerge. American
Beauty (1999, written by Alan Ball) also looks at family dysfunction, stalled
relationships, lies and deceits. Dramas often dig into the essence of the
human experience, expose the interior obstacles that stall a person’s abil-
ity to cope or move forward in life and, ultimately, add to a deeper under-
standing of existence.
The screenwriter, writing in the drama genre, wants the audience mem-
ber (or reader of the screenplay) to identify with the characters. The more
empathy and compassion that can be engendered in the audience, the more
likely the screenplay will be successful. Drama narratives exist on a very per-
sonal level; character is of primary importance.
The World is not a Kind Place

Dramas may also explore man at the mercy of the “system” or authority fig-
ures. The Shawshank Redemption (1994, written by Frank Darabont, based on
a Stephen King short story) centers on Andy, a young banker who is errone-
ously convicted of his wife’s murder. In prison, he is subjected to harassment,
physical punishment and psychological dangers. He becomes a victim of the
system and must find the strength to withstand his torment. Andy eventu-
ally triumphs; however, his life is not presented as entirely idyllic. The final
moments of the film are satisfying, but do not add up to a “happily-ever-
after.” The Godfather (1974, written by Francis Ford Coppola and Mario Puzo,
based on Puzo’s novel) is also a tale of a young man pulled into a situation
that is dangerous, destructive and immoral. He makes the difficult choice to
live in the criminal world; the consequences are enormous. He loses one wife
in a bombing and he loses another because he has become a changed and
hurtful man. He loses his father and his brothers and he can trust no one.
The ending reveals his triumph; however, it is not a “happily-ever-after.”
Other examples include One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest (1975), Fight Club
(1999), Goodfellas (1990), A Single Man (2009), Requiem for a Dream (2000),
There Will Be Blood (2007), All About Eve (1950), Sunset Boulevard (1950) and
Citizen Kane (1941).
Drama as Mimesis—and as an Instructional Tool

From the silent era to today, films in the drama genre are often used as
tools to teach the audience. Films like The Grapes of Wrath (1940, written
by Nunnally Johnson, based on the John Steinbeck novel) show the effects
of America’s Great Depression. The war/drama Birth of a Nation (1915) was
D.W. Griffith’s offering to illuminate a personal side of the Civil War, from
the point of view of a Southerner. Gandhi (1982, a bio-pic of the political
activist, written by John Briley) informs the viewer of the trials and tribula-
tions of one man hoping to bring his country to a new identity. The Pia-
nist (2002, written by Ronald Harwood, based on a book by Wladyslaw
Szpilman) explores the fate of one Polish Jewish man trying to survive in the
Warsaw Ghetto during World War II. The Help (2011, written by Tate Taylor,
based on the book by Kathryn Stockett) centers on the relationships of
African-American maids and their white employers in the American South in
the 1960s as the Civil Rights Movement begins to take shape.
Most pure dramas (those that are not hybrids) do not take great advan-
tage of special effects technology or horrific, frightening sequences built to
enhance the audience’s connection to the story or other extroverted ele-
ments in other genres. Dramas must have an internal motor; audiences must
be kept on the edge of seats through empathetic worry and connection to

the characters.
The subgenres of the drama genre include:
– melodrama;
– tragedy.
Melodrama
Narratives in the melodrama genre often deal with journeys towards emo-
tional or moral identity as characters struggle against a suppression of indi-
viduality. Many plot points may seem minor—a social gaffe, a lack of decision,
an emotional reaction, a feeling of alienation—but these minor events have
significant consequences. Common elements of guilt, conscience, sense of
responsibility are of importance to the melodrama’s hero or heroine.
Melodramatic plots often involve crises of human emotion such as
blocked trust, lack of self-esteem, or ability to stand up for oneself. Illness,
emotional instability and inability to move forward are often character
traits. Successful melodramas bring the audience in through empathy and
sympathy and a connection to the character’s pain. Less successful melodra-
mas (the ones where the characters are not built in an efficacious manner)
cause the audience to lose sympathy and patience and thus lose interest in a
character’s internal and external plight.
Film director Douglas Sirk became known for his successful melodra-
mas in the 1950s. He explored the lives of women who, post World War II,
had the chance to experience some independence, access to education
and a growing sense of self, but were still held down by “male authority
figures” (fathers, brothers, husbands and bosses). His films include All That
Heaven Allows (1955, written by Peg Fenwick), the story of an upper-class
widow who strikes up a deep relationship with a gardener and has to face
the disdain and criticism of her children and her upper-class friends
(the film was re-imagined as Far From Heaven in 2002 by Todd Haynes).
Sirk’s other melodramas include Written on the Wind (1956, written by
George Zuckerman, based on a novel by Robert Wilder) and Imitation of
Life (1959, written by Eleanore Griffin and Allan Scott, based on a novel
by Fannie Hurst); this latter film explored race relations and the plight of a
young single mother trying to make it as an actress in an unfeeling society.
Other successful melodramas include The Bad and the Beautiful (1952, writ-
ten by Charles Schnee), a tale of a manipulative and untrustworthy movie
producer who misuses his “friends” in the film community to achieve his
own success.
When tragedy is added to melodrama, the story often focuses on the
success of the antagonist in his/her quest to keep the protagonist under
control—and the protagonist, not strong enough to ward off the antagonis-
tic force, succumbs and loses life or spirit.
Tragedy
Tragedy is a subgenre of drama; the tragic narrative focuses on a protago-
nist’s downfall due to a character flaw or a major error in judgment. The
most important component of tragedy that a screenwriter must remember
is that truly tragic characters must cause their own demise. Even the main
characters in Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet—young lovers from rivaling
families—bring about their own deaths because they think they can outwit
their parents and enemies.
The flaw of hubris, thinking one is untouchable or all-important or above
the law or cleverer than others, is often explored as a tragic character flaw
that brings about disastrous, heart-rending and unfortunate consequences.
As mentioned previously, drama narratives often focus on protagonists
who seem to be at the mercy of the system (be it work, the government, fam-
ily dynamics or another controlling or dominating group). The “everyman”
in the drama often uses personal resources to try to overcome the harmful
circumstances and audiences connect with their struggles. In a tragedy, the
protagonist makes the untenable situation even worse through his or her
own actions. The subsequent loss of spirit, sense of self or life—because of the
lack of strength or fortitude or faulty decision-making—are all elements that
FIGURE 4.1 Leonardo DiCaprio and Claire Danes in Romeo and Juliet (1996)
can be used in a tragic tale. Examples of tragic film narratives include Shake-
spearean tragedies that have enjoyed multiple screen adaptations: Macbeth,
Othello, King Lear and Hamlet. Modern cinematic tragedies include The Lost
Weekend (1945), Silkwood (1983), The Deer Hunter (1978), Sid and Nancy (1986),
Affliction (1997), Dangerous Liaisons (1988) and The Departed (2006).
THE MENTAL SPACE OF DRAMA

The screenwriter, in creating the mental space of drama for the audience,
may employ schematic knowledge (framing) choices by setting up the situ-
ation and characters in very realistic situations. Setting up the character as
an everyman or everywoman is of primary importance. Dramas often illu-
minate characters that must carry out everyday tasks, exist in everyday fam-
ily situations, work in everyday jobs and deal with other everyday situations.
Interior framing with the drama genre in the screenplay can be used to point
out that while the circumstances of the narrative (the plot points and events)
play out, the everyday tasks, problems and situations must continue for—in
reality—crises occur but daily necessities still must be considered. As a final
framing of the drama, a reminder that the everyman/everywoman (though
changed in some way because of the events of the narrative) continues to
live in an everyday world may serve as the conclusion of the narrative.
The specific knowledge components that connect the audience to the
drama genre include very real, sensitive and honest actions and reactions of
the story’s characters. Plausible and relatable events trigger the audience in
understanding the characters’ desires and dreams. The everyday events are
relatable. Everyday conflicts and frustrations are relatable. The more “real”
the characters are and the more “real” their interactions with the world, the
stronger the specific knowledge component of the audience can be engaged.
The relevant knowledge component of mental space calls for the screen-
writer to bring currency to the narrative. The screenwriter must consider the
pertinent and germane story elements that will enhance the audience’s abil-
ity to see how this story relates to today’s world. A certain universality can
be captured in specificity, for the audience may not have gone through the
exact experience of the one presented in the narrative, although they may be
able to relate the emotional journey to personal passages through life.
COMEDY AS AN UBER GENRE

Talking recently to a screenwriting colleague, he informed me he was in the
process of writing a comedy. I realized that, in order for me to really under-
stand the type of film narrative he was constructing, there were many ques-
tions to be asked. These questions ranged from very extensive to very exact
and it occurred to me that the more extensive questions could use some
examination—for the term comedy, in terms of film genre, can encompass

a large canvas of types of narrative. It is interesting to examine two distinct
categories in the comedy film genre for the early post-millennium years in
the commercial American film narrative.
Comedy, as noted, is a term in literature and film that denotes a tone and
an approach to narrative that is designed to elicit an amused response—and
clearly, in that broad generality, there are many permutations that scholars
such as Kay Young, Lucy Fischer, Harry Levin, Noel Carroll, Dana Polan,
Ruth Perlmutter and others have recently explored. However, their work is
not aimed at the screenwriter. Therefore I would like to explore the idea of a
screenwriter’s approach to the comedy film genre as an uber genre because
of the definite attributes that differentiate specific kinds of comedy. I believe
that the analysis and breaking down of the comedy genre with this idea in
mind will be beneficial to the screenwriter interested in constructing a film
narrative in this specific genre.
The use of the broad term “comedy” as an inclusive film genre in Amer-
ica has become, as I have suggested, problematical and unwieldy. The com-
edy category has embraced some of its subgenres to such an extent that it
has divided itself—amoeba-like—into separate entities, making it difficult
for the screenwriter to comprehend exactly what an audience’s expectations
are under the single term “comedy.” It is apparent that over the more than
100 years of American comedy films, certain comedy subgenres have become
explicit regarding story, tone and point of view; for example, the particular
usage of the romantic comedy (rom-com) form since the 1930s has earned
it its own place on most lists of film genres1—it even has its own subgenres,
most notably screwball and bro-mance. Perhaps another comedy subgenre
that can stand alone—due to the specificity of its intents and attributes—is
the lampoon (a spoof or parody of an existing film). But what about the
comedy narratives that are not as specific in their narrative components?
Is there a way to divide these types of film comedy narratives into specific
groupings to enhance the clarity of the screenwriter’s approach?
These questions regarding types of comedy could be approached as
complex topics, akin to an exploration of what is funny and who finds what
funny. This subject always produces varied responses; philosopher Henri
Bergson observed in 1912 on the elusive nature of understanding humor,
“all the greatest philosophers have attacked this little problem, which always
slips away, sliding, escaping, and then pulling itself back together, (always)
an impertinent challenge” (Marteinson, 2010: 174). It seems clear that this
elusive nature is a result of variant cultures and backgrounds and person-
alities, but it also relates to social, political and relational evolutions in the
populace—times change, people change and so what is considered humor-
ous must change. However, despite generational and evolutionary differ-
ences, I suggest a screenwriter can begin to focus his or her narrative choices
in the comedy arena by considering two distinct camps of the genre that I
would like to label:
– overt (obvious, blatant, unconcealed) comedy; and

– covert (covered) comedy.
These two very different types of comedy have a very specific element in
common; it is one of the basic elements of comedy2—and how it is treated
in the narrative can be, perhaps, at the core of the difference between overt
and covert comedy.
Comedy as Pain
Comedy is tragedy plus time.
(Woody Allen, 1989, Crimes and Misdemeanors)
Plato, around 400 BCE, posited that narratives in the comedy genre evoke a
humorous response by blending pain with pleasure. Plato’s student Aristotle
referred to comedy narratives as ones where pain is dealt with in a fashion
that is not ultimately destructive of body or soul (Smuts, accessed 2012),
meaning that a character can come to an exaggerated, painful brink of losing
life or limb or sense of self but he (or she) will always return from the brink
without serious physical or psychological injury. Both of these Greek master-
teachers agreed that theatre/performance events should serve as cathartic
experiences for the audience. They argued that because comedy “imitates
the actions (and faults) of men worse than ourselves” it could serve as a
lesson to instruct human reactionary behavior as well as to encourage the
psychological lightening of the sometimes heavy weight of existence caused
by the physical and emotional vicissitudes of life (Kitano, 2010). Centuries
later, American philosopher Susanne Langer, in the 1950s, approached the
exploration of comedy more ontologically. She wrote that comedy trivializes
the (very real) pain of the human battle—that comedy’s pain and dangers
are not of a greatly serious nature because they focus on personal embar-
rassments and/or temporary loss of face. She wrote, “Comedy (is) Destiny
(of ) Fortune (and examines) what the world will bring, and what the man
will take or miss, encounter or escape” (Langer, 1953). Langer also notes the
difference between comedy and tragedy, pointing to her idea that tragedy
examines “what the man brings and what the world will demand of him”
(Langer, 1953). Her observation suggests that comedy is meant to put life
into perspective; this is also related to a cathartic—or at least instructional—
experience, and is possibly reflective of a post World War II America that felt
good about itself and its prospects. Lifestyle guru/philosopher Dr. Deepak
Chopra goes in a different direction and explores the topic of comedy in a
more psychological way; he weighs in on the human need for comedy: “humor
is our look at paradox and contradiction. Our creative response that lets us
go beyond our reactivity—it’s there to deflect fear—especially fear of death”

(Smith, 2007). Comedy in America, post terrorist attacks and economic mal-
feasance and decline, could be purposed, Chopra seems to be noting, in a
more katastasis (a restoration of the mind to a pleasant or euphoric place)
manner. Ancient Greek narratives, perhaps, embraced a broader sense of
comedy (more overt)—and as comedy has evolved over 2,000 years new and
sophisticated forms (more covert) have emerged.
Despite the evolution of ideas on comedy and the approaches to
comedy, it is interesting to note that these observations share a common
denominator—that the comedy genre, as opposed to a more dramatic or
tragic approach, is more likely to put the character journey (the man and his
evolution) at the center of the story and focus on how the character deals
with painful situations while providing a sense that man can triumph over
pain and make a difference in his own destiny.
One could then conclude that the comedy genre embraces the idea of
instilling hope and/or belief in the ability to exert personal control over one’s
situation. Consider for example the 1993 American film comedy Groundhog
Day written by Danny Rubin. The film focuses on Phil (Bill Murray), a man
with an elevated vision of himself (this character is a mainstay in comedy
from its earliest days; Plato noted the comedy protagonist is often a man of
“foolish false conceit” who fancies his own self-importance). In Groundhog
Day, Phil has an elevated vision of his talent, his attractiveness, and his posi-
tion in life. He is, the audience quickly surmises, in need of a reality check.
Screenwriter Rubin, in an interview for the website Big Think noted that the
idea for the film came to him because he was trying to solve a story prob-
lem: “If a person could live forever, if a person was immortal, how would
(he) change over time?” Rubin was curious about whether one lifetime was
enough for a “flawed” somebody to actualize into a quality human being
(Hoffman, 2010). To help edify his premise, Rubin created Phil as a man
stuck in a latent adolescence and landed on the idea of Phil having to re-live
one day over and over . . . until he “got it right”:
I remembered an idea I had . . . about a guy repeating the same day and
I realized that having a person repeat the same day turns an eternity
into a circle and that’s when all the dramatic possibilities came and the
comedic possibilities and all the resonances with repetition.
(Rubin, 2010)
Phil, the protagonist in Groundhog Day, after undergoing frustrating,

humiliating, embarrassing and painful (albeit funny) days of repetition on
a steep learning curve, eventually does absorb the lessons that cause him to
adjust his behavior—and he does “get it right”—with his co-workers, with his
job, with the community and with his romantic interest. He does mature and
actually enjoys becoming a “better person.” The fact that most comedies end
with the protagonist achieving his or her goal with some level of satisfaction—
even growth of character—is evidence that most comedic narratives reside in
the idea of self-empowerment, supporting the idea that a human can have a
hand in controlling his or her own destiny. This does not negate the fact that
the journey of a truly compelling comedy should be difficult—full of vari-
ous levels of physical and/or psychological pain and humiliation and disap-
pointment and frustration and embarrassment and a host of other mortifying
and possibly shameful events—for it is in the painful events of the journey
that “comedy” lives. Successful American comedies such as Some Like It Hot
(1959), Mrs. Doubtfire (1993) and Sideways (2004) are constructed through the
examination of the pain of financial stress or the pain of hiding behind false
personas or painful self-loathing and dishonesty—the main characters suffer
physically and psychologically, but finally find their ways to some satisfac-
tion (or success) at the narrative’s conclusion.
Mike Myers, writer and comedian (Wayne’s World (1993), the Austin Pow-
ers series (1997, 1999, 2002), The Love Guru (2008) and more), in an interview
for the Sundance Channel, talked about his love and passion for writing com-
edy, noting that he saw himself as an “architect of (painful) embarrassment”
(Myers, accessed 2012). American comedy writer Mel Brooks (Blazing Saddles
(1974), Spaceballs (1987) and more) supports the idea of pain in comedy with
his often-quoted (circa 1961) remark: “Tragedy is when I cut my finger. Com-
edy is when you walk into an open sewer and die.” Screenwriter/director
Audrey Wells (Under The Tuscan Sun (2003), George of the Jungle (1993), The
Game Plan (2007) and more) noted her approach to writing comedy, “Steep
characters in pain—make them miserable. Then after they’ve really suffered,
make them happy” (Mernit, 2001: 151).
I would like to turn back to the two suggested camps of comedy and how
they make use of the comedy mainstay of pain. However, as I explore the dis-
tinct differences, I want to address an expected observation—that overt and
covert comedy can be combined and are combined in many film comedies.
Most assuredly, there is a crossover. And perhaps, when looking at recent
critically praised comedies, we will see that it is the craft of blending overt
and covert comedies that may be responsible for comedies, finally, receiving
more critical “respect.” However, this observation does not preclude the ben-
eficial aspects of a screenwriter considering the innate differences in these
two camps, if only to understand how various combinations might bring
about fresh approaches to a comedy film narrative.
Overt Comedy
Terms such as broad comedy, comedy-comedy, comedy-farce, dumber-than-
dumb comedy have been used to describe the in-your-face ribaldry designed
to be a belly-laugh-a-second film narrative.3 There is a sense of the unreal
in overt comedy. The unreality includes over-the-top physical actions that

often defy logic and the laws of physics. Examples of physical unreality
include getting hit by or crashing a car and sustaining little or no injury,
and certainly not death (Hangover (2010), I Spy (2002), Rush Hour (1998),
Blues Brothers (1980) and more), hanging by a fingernail from a skyscraper or
falling from a high point and sustaining little or no real injury (Safety Last
(1923), Charade (1963), Tower Heist (2011) and more). In the early sequences
of Tropic Thunder (2008), Tugg Speedman (Ben Stiller) runs through the bat-
tlefield and is pummeled by constant machine-gun fire. He falls and unbe-
lievably rises again, falls and unbelievably rises again, falls and unbelievably
rises again and then carries on a tearful bonding scene with fellow soldier
Kirk Lazarus (Robert Downey Jr.) regarding his hopes of once again playing
the piano—while the audience sees that both of Tugg’s hands have been
blown off. This lampoon of American-made Vietnam War films, most nota-
bly Platoon (1986), belongs in the overt comedy camp, as do most films in
the lampoon genre where the comedy is blatant, unconcealed, based on
exaggeration and often built in an unreal reality.
Slapstick
One of the main components of overt comedy is slapstick. Its name goes back
to the slapstick paddle, a double paddle used in the Commedia dell’arte in the
16th century. The paddle claps to give the sound (imitation or unreal) of pun-
ishment and/or physical violence. Slapstick relies primarily on physical com-
edy with broad, aggressive and visual action, including (ultimately) painless
cruelty and violence and over-the-top sight gags. American film comedy “came
of age” around 1912 when many comedy writers and performers were mov-
ing from vaudeville to perform in films; Mack Sennett, Charlie Chaplin, Fatty
Arbuckle, Harold Lloyd, Buster Keaton and others perfected slapstick comedy
that did not need dialogue or expositional title cards to be understood by the
many immigrants who had not yet mastered the English language (Dirks,
accessed 2010). When sound was introduced into films in the late 1920s, overt
comedy films added broad, aggressive, sometimes cruel verbal humor (films
featuring Groucho Marx, Laurel and Hardy and others); broad comedies soon
employed physical and verbal slapstick—the verbal element doing its part to
elicit (unreal) pain, embarrassment, humiliation and frustration.
Animal Comedy
Overt comedy makes the most of Mel Brooks’ edict that “Good taste is the
enemy of comedy” and is often infused with subgenres such as animal
comedy, blue comedy and black comedy. William Paul has pointed to the
newer freedoms granted by the rating system (due, for the most part, to
FIGURE 4.2 Zach Galifianakis, Bradley Cooper and Ed Helms in The Hangover
(2009)
societal changes in American culture) to explain the rise of animal comedy

(Paul, 2002: 117). Animal comedy takes its name from the 1978 blockbuster
comedy National Lampoon’s Animal House and contains elements of the
grotesque and outrageous, embraces “freedom from inhibition, characters
defined negatively and positively by the extent that they embrace their ani-
mal natures, ranging from anally repressed to the genitally aggressive, from
tight-assed to cock of the walk” (Paul, 2002: 119). Animal comedy narratives
are often placed in group settings populated with characters in some form
of arrested development—such as high schools (American Pie (1999), Fast
Times at Ridgemont High (1982)) or universities (Animal House) or other dis-
tinct alliances such as enforcement communities or military groups (Police
Academy (1984), Private Benjamin (1980), Stripes (1981)), summer camps (Porky’s
(1982)), bachelor/bachelorette parties (The Hangover (2009), Bachelor Party
(1984), Bridesmaids (2011)) and work groups (Ghostbusters (1984)). Within
these groups each individual may be unique, but the unit often faces one
common enemy and must use its members’ variant resources to outwit/
outlast the antagonist(s) and eventually experience a form of group success
or sense of empowerment.
Blue Comedy
Blue comedy is related to animal comedy but generally focuses on verbal
humor.4 It is meant to be profane, to shock and to be politically incorrect;
it often targets issues of gender, race, religion and other polarizing topics
(Paul, 2002). It is meant to verbally offend as many people as possible. The
recent overt comedy films from producer/director/screenwriter Judd Apa-
tow and his company—such as Superbad (2007), Talladega Nights: The Ballad
of Ricky Bobby (2006), 40 Year Old Virgin (2005) and Bridesmaids (2011)—
employ a combination of slapstick (physical and verbal), animal and blue
comedy. The shock value gained by including topics such as menstruation,
penile prowess and bowel dysfunction surprise and appall and, at the same
time, titillate the audience that is able, for 90–120 minutes of film time, to
live vicariously in a “forbidden” politically and/or socially incorrect world.
Black Comedy
Black comedy goes against classic comedy principles because it enters
and embraces the dominion that classic comedy has always avoided—
desecration and destruction—by exploring topics such as death, drugs, war
and mental disorders (Fraser, 2001). Writer and founder of the surrealist
movement, André Breton, in 1935 coined the term “black humor,” citing
the work of writer Jonathan Swift (1665–1745) as being among the first to
embrace this form; it examines taboo topics in a cynical and skeptical man-
ner; the audience of its “gallows humor” often experiences amusement
and discomfort simultaneously. Black comedy does not stop at the brink
of destructive pain; it enters its domain with an overtly exaggerated full
force and harshly overturns the audience’s expectations. It does not shirk
from finding the bizarre and sometimes very honest human reactions to
the darker elements of life, including neurosis, insanity, murder and sexual
perversion; it focuses on people endorsing hideous behavior without guilt
or self-awareness and is often built in a crapsack world. Borat (2006, writ-
ten by Sacha Baron Cohen and Anthony Hines, Peter Baynham and Dan
Mazer) is an example of a film that goes all out to offend—it marries physi-
cal and verbal slapstick, animal comedy, blue comedy and black comedy
and aims to affront at all levels by using extreme exaggeration and a “fish-
out-of-water” persona to shine a light on the strange and bizarre elements
of the human experience.
In overt comedies, character illumination is not, in most cases, deeply
nuanced. Characters tend to be “types” and easily recognizable. The charac-
ters in The Hangover (2009, written by Jon Lucas and Scott Moore) include
an uptight dentist, a stoner-loser, the buttoned-up, understanding straight-
arrow groom and a married man who wants to kick up his heels during a
bachelor party in Las Vegas. We know little more about them other than the
three have been longtime friends and the stoner-loser is accepted because
he will soon be the groom’s brother-in-law. It could be argued that broad
character types are all that is needed in an overt comedy—for the unreal and
outrageously pain-filled situations are of the utmost importance to the suc-

cess of the narrative (satisfying the audience). The reactions of the “types”
can be predicted and therefore the audience relishes the stereotypical
responses, “the actions (and faults) of men worse than ourselves” (Kitano,
accessed 2010). At the beginning of the story the four men, bloody and beat
down, are in the middle of a deserted desert road in Nevada, outside of Las
Vegas. Married man Phil (Bradley Cooper) is on a cell phone, telling the
prospective bride that her groom may miss the wedding because the groom’s
best men have lost him. The movie flashes back to the preparation for the
bachelor night, introduces the characters, gets them to Las Vegas and then
quickly sets up the situation on the rooftop of a hotel that will lead them
into an over-the-top and near-debilitating collective bout of amnesia. The
morning after the unremembered night reveals a lion, a chicken, a missing
tooth and an abandoned baby in their hotel room. The young men have to
try, against painful, dangerous, frustrating, inappropriate and incongruous
odds, to put the past night together in order to find the groom and deliver
him to his wedding on time. Overt, unreal, painful situations—and hilarity
ensues.
As American society has evolved in relation to a growing acceptance of
gender issues, sexual emancipation and preferences, previously inappropri-
ate topics such as scatological or hygienic concerns are now freely exam-
ined and/or discussed—nothing seems taboo. Therefore, pushing the overt
blue and animal comedy envelope (finding the new and more offensive) is
now a greater challenge for screenwriters who wish to work in this arena.
Current overt comedies that fall in the R-rating category freely use blue,
black and animal comedy to a great extent. In comedies that are targeted
at a family audience (ages 2–100) such as the animated films Shrek (2001)
and Madagascar (2005) there is a certain teasing of blue and animal com-
edy elements; however, these films stop shy of graphic visuals and graphic
language. It is readily accepted and stated by studios and networks that
the younger faction of the audience will not understand the more risqué
allusions but will enjoy the slapstick elements and that the older audience
(in most cases, parents) will appreciate the barely-buried overt elements
approaching the dangerous brink of inappropriateness.
The audience choosing to view an overt comedy has expectations of
outrageous, unreal realities featuring painful destruction, physical gags
and verbal aggression—all delivered in hopes of producing a great deal of
laughter. Blatant, unconcealed hijinks and juxtapositions are desired, the
use of animal and blue comedy—and at times black comedy—are often
present to allow the audience a sense of entering the forbidden zone of
political and social incorrectness—all meant to bring about an atmosphere
of merriment.5
Covert Comedy
Humor is just another defense against the universe.
(Mel Brooks)
Terms such as comedy-drama, dram-edy and serio-comedy are often used to

describe comedy film narratives concentrated on realistic situations, ones in
which a film viewer can readily see himself/herself. In covert comedies the
pain level is very close to real; it may even be harder to put a finger on what is
causing an amused response. The pain of the comedy may be related to deep
humiliation. Awkwardness. The human lie. The desire to cover or hide the
natural or reactionary animal response just under the surface. Screenwriters
may build the extremely uncomfortable moment and create situations where
vulnerable pride is crushed—or elevated—to a certain point of exaggeration
so as to create humor. The comedy may rely on hidden feelings that one
thinks/hopes are masked but are, in reality, nakedly apparent. Covert com-
edy favors credibly true-to-life characters in a realistic world, meaning that
if there is a serious or fatal accident such as a car crash it can cause serious
injury. Cruel verbal slapstick can cause emotional and psychic harm. In a
covert comedy it is possible for its three-dimensional characters to experi-
ence real feelings as well as to have serious inner issues.
Character delineation in covert comedies (as opposed to overt come-
dies) is important—in fact it is probably one of the most important elements
contributing to a covert comedy’s success. The audience of covert comedies
expects and desires the chance to empathize and/or identify in a real way
about real feelings.6
<T>he bottom line is honesty: the deepest laughs come from situations
that the audience recognizes as being true-to-life.
(Mernit, 2001: 168)
It is interesting to note that two films, The Descendants (2011) and 50/50
(2011), focus on the imminent possibility of death, but are also constructed
as comedies. They do not match up with philosopher Langer’s 1950s assess-
ment of comedy for they do not trivialize the human battle; they are com-
edies perhaps more in tune with Chopra’s view that “humor is our look at
paradox and contradiction. Our creative response that lets us go beyond our
reactivity—it’s there to deflect fear—especially fear of death” (Smith, 2007).
They employ comedy as a protector, comedy as a shield. They are also more
in line with Chopra’s suggestion that “life (itself ) is a divine comedy,” and
when well-lived a person can come closer to spirituality for it forces a person
to let go of his/her ego and realize a commonality with the pervasive human
condition (Chopra, 2008). Covert comedy embraces the element of classic
comedy, allowing the very real characters to deal with very real situations
with a sense that it is up to the individual to approach the vagaries of life

with various lights—one of those shining with humor. The approach itself is
in the hands of the person who is experiencing the situation, again support-
ing the idea that comedy asserts empowerment of the individual against fate
and/or destiny.
In The Descendants (written by Alexander Payne, Nat Faxon and Jim
Rash, based on Kaui Hart Hemmings’ novel), it seems clear that the film-
makers’ intent is to reveal the odd, the quaint, the curious human condition
and reactions to situations (death, infidelity, responsibility to the earth) that
are extremely emotionally painful and difficult. Matt King (George Clooney)
is forced to come to grips with his wife’s comatose state (brought on by a
boating accident); he is also faced with the painful fact that she was hav-
ing a romantic and sexual affair and was thinking of leaving their marriage.
He is also dealing with two recalcitrant daughters. The humor comes out
through his taking action and dealing (not letting the tragic elements rule his
life but asserting his own will on the situations). Animal comedy is present,
but covertly; Matt’s very animalistic territorial nature cannot be ignored—
he seeks out the identity of his wife’s lover, stalks him, confronts him and
struggles with a prideful desire to strike out and attack. It is in the covered
but quietly exaggerated attempts to mask his desires, to maneuver through
the uncomfortable moments of humiliation and emotional pain, that the
comedy surfaces.
Blending Overt and Covert Comedy

The success of Alexander Payne’s film Sideways (2004, co-written with Jim
Taylor and Rex Pickett, based on Pickett’s novel, winner of the Academy
Award for Best Adapted Screenplay) perhaps, in part, is due to the blend-
ing of overt and covert comedies and its effect on the audience. The main
character, Miles (Paul Giamatti), is deeply depressed and living in a per-
sonal crapsack covert comedy world—nothing is going right for him, he
is unhappy in his job, his love life and his aspirations. He is very real, a
man who lies to himself and others at almost every turn. He is often off-
putting, cruel and unsympathetic, but the screenwriters’ approach (the use
of covered exaggeration) to character and story allows the humor of each
painful situation to surface. The story revolves around a weekend in the
California wine country that Miles is going to spend with his good friend
Jack (Thomas Haden Church) before Jack’s wedding. A romantic inter-
est surfaces for Miles and the covert comedy goes along expected paths,
incongruous conversations and juxtapositions of Jack’s lust for adventure
(and women) against Miles’ depressive state—until lies and deceits and self-
loathing begin to pile up and the psychological pain becomes unbearable.
And, almost as if there is nowhere else to go, a volcano-like explosion of
raw, dark, overt animal comedy erupts into physical violence. Jack is bru-
tally pummeled by a lover with a motorcycle helmet for his deceitful nature,
then, bloodied and broken, he leads Miles into darker and more disturbing
events. To retrieve Jack’s wallet, they sneak into the marital bedroom of a
known violent man having sex with his wife Cammi—a woman with whom
Jack has just enjoyed a sexual encounter. The danger is real; the visuals
are grotesque, and the actions outrageous; the screenwriters flirt with black
comedy. For a moment the audience is stunned and fearful. The humor is
no longer safe—it is very uncomfortable. The brink is there, the audience
wonders if it will be breached. The answer is yes; there is no “easy comedy”
end to the sequence. Cammi’s husband notices Miles and Jack and he rises
to attack—he’s huge and he’s grossly naked and he rages in animal pursuit.
The audience wonders if the filmmakers will provide the unexpected, and
the unwanted, tragedy. It seems, momentarily, possible. However, in the
final moments the audience is pulled back from the brink of disaster, com-
edy prevails and Miles survives, and realizes that a lesson has been learned
on this painful journey—that he has personal power and must face the
truth of his life if he wants to move on to more fortuitous circumstances.
It may be beneficial for a screenwriter, intent on writing a comedy in
the covert camp, to consider depth of characterization and consider the con-
struction of a “real” world based on real issues that have real consequences.
The humor in these situations often comes from a covered exaggeration as
opposed to the more blatant, no-holds-barred comedic experience of overt
comedy.
Comedy is Beloved by all Audiences

Considering comedy as an uber genre and initially considering its division
into recognizable camps—overt and covert comedy—may benefit the screen-
writer when he or she approaches construction of a narrative in the comedy
genre. Recognizing that an audience chooses the film they wish to view, in
most cases, by its genre, and that the comedy genre has multiple permuta-
tions, this division could be a starting point to a better understanding of the
kinds of worlds built for various approaches to comedy. There are, of course,
no hard rules or exclusive approaches to comedy film narratives. Blending
and various combinations, when the material warrants, are possible and
probable—while some material will benefit from staying in one camp or the
other. Ultimately a deeper understanding of the construction of film narra-
tive in this genre will identify variances and commonalities and help inform
the craft of screenwriting.
All comedies are designed to humorously exaggerate situation, lan-
guage, action and characters while examining the pain, deficiencies, foibles
and frustrations of life; these components are best when designed to provide
a form of thought-provoking merriment and perhaps a momentary escape

from everyday life. Comedies will, for the most part, feature happy endings
(even if a serious or somewhat ironic comment is also part of the resolution)
because comedies are meant to reinforce katastasis (a restoration of the mind
to a pleasant or euphoric place) and the idea of self-empowerment. Despite
various approaches such as overt comedy and covert comedy, comedy is
shaped by the intent to elicit laughter—or at least a smile of recognition
concerning the human condition.
The Mental Space of Comedy

The screenwriter, in creating the mental space of comedy for the audience,
may employ schematic knowledge (framing) choices by setting up the
situation and characters in slightly or very exaggerated situations. Come-
dies embellish characters’ flaws and amplify events to achieve comic ends.
Including an initial scene that makes the inflation of reality apparent will
signal to the audience that the tone will be humorous or that an ironic or
satiric approach will be taken. The tale itself can be absurd. Interior fram-
ing must be employed in a comedy, for the audience wants to laugh and be
amused, and therefore comic set pieces should be employed to frame plot
or “serious” scenes. As a final framing of the comedy, a sense that life has
changed for the better; showing this in a comedic or “light” manner will
assure the audience that “all has turned out fine” and that life can be joyous
or absurd or include a non-destructive twist of irony.
comedy genre include memories of silliness, gaiety, exaggerated feelings and
situations that border on absurd. Events that are implausibly unreal allow
the audience to detach from the sometimes-difficult reality and everyday
situations that may weigh heavily on the psyche. The more specific the
screenwriter can be in setting up events or situations in relatable ways will
help, for then, when the circumstances and characters are pushed to a slight
or broad overstatement and reality is heightened to an absurd level, the
audience will be able to identify and recognize the hilarity embedded into
the narrative.
The relevant knowledge component of mental space always calls
for the screenwriter to bring currency to the narrative. The screenwriter
must consider the pertinent and germane comic story elements that will
enhance the audience’s ability to see how this story relates to today’s world.
The social and/or political concerns, contraptions flooding our existence,
events and expectations of the contemporary world must be taken into
consideration.
Suggested Exercises: Drama and Comedy
1. Consider a current drama that features an everyman or everywoman

protagonist. Compare the contemporary drama with one that fea-
tures a similar narrative that was produced more than fifty years
earlier.
a. How are the characters portrayed differently? What relevant
aspects of contemporary culture or social structure have con-
tributed to that change?
2. The screenwriter, in most cases, works to create characters that are

relatable to the film-viewing audience. Choose three different tar-
get audiences (different age groups, cultural similarities, education
or other specific traits of a potential audience) for an original film
narrative idea.
a. Consider telling the story using drama and supporting genres
to explore which genres might help shape the story in different
ways so as to appeal to your various targeted audiences.
3. Choose a contemporary (or simply a favorite) comedy film narrative.
a. Identify whether this comedy is an overt (over-the-top and

unreal) or covert (based in realism) comedy. List at least three
reasons to support your opinion.
b. Give an example in the film of the way the screenwriter uses the
genre as a short course of comprehension for the audience. In other
words, when is the audience “given permission” to laugh or rec-
ognize the lighter tone in which the material will be presented?
c. What elements make up the ICM (idealized cognitive model) of
the film narrative? Consider the elements included or chosen to
help tell the story of the film—location, plot, characters, objec-
tives, themes and more importantly, film genre(s) and their

characters’ lives and/or in the social universe of the film?
Or, conversely, are there extraneous elements that do not
contribute to the strength of the narrative that could have
been excised?
(Continued)
4. View one of the comedy films mentioned in the chapter.

a. Consider its main narrative components and how they fit into
the comedy genre. What makes the protagonist “funny” or
the situation “funny”? What events are constructed that are
amusing?
b. Using similar narrative elements (plot, location, character
types), adjust the approach so that the film narrative is now told
in the drama genre. What changes to the character or events
or plot need to be made to tell a similar story in a dramatic
context?
NOTES
1 Steve Neale notes that film genre lists are always evolving as popularity of
certain film genres and certain film genre combinations rise and fall (Neale,
2000).
2 Aaron Smuts lists other classic elements of humor including incongruity, inap-
propriateness, superiority, relief and play.
3 Screenwriter and academic D.B. Gilles of New York University suggests that if
a screenwriter sets out to write a broad (overt) comedy, he or she should target
creating at least three to six laughs per page.
4 This is distinct from a “blue movie,” which usually refers to a soft-core porno-
graphic film.
5 It is interesting to note that overt comedies will, in most cases, have stronger
international sales, primarily because language is not as much of a concern.
6 Many romantic comedies fall into the covert comedy arena; however, as previ-
ously pointed out, romantic comedy has earned its right as a separate genre.
For romantic comedy, see Chapter 5.
REFERENCES
Brooks, Mel (1975) 2000 Year Old Man, Columbia Broadcast Network, USA.
Chopra, Deepak (2008) “Love Guru, Hindu Lions and Hollywood Lambs?” http://
www.beliefnet.com/Faiths/Hinduism/2008/06/Love-Guru-Hindu-Lions-
And-Hollywood-Lambs.aspx.
Dirks, Tim (accessed 2010) “Filmsite/Comedy Films,” http://www.filmsite.org/
comedyfilms.html.
Fraser, Alex (2001) “Black Comedy is Becoming Easier to Discern,” http://www.
epinions.com/content_1064280196 (accessed 2014).
Gilles, D.B. (2011) You’re Funny: Turn Your Sense of Humor into a Lucrative New
Career, Michael Wiese, USA.
Harries, Dan (2008) “Film Parody and the Resuscitation of Genre.” Genre and
Contemporary Hollywood (Ed. Steve Neale), BFI Press, UK.
Hoffman, Paul (2010) “Interview with Danny Rubin,” http://bigthink.com/
ideas/20943 (accessed 2014).
Kitano, Masahiro (accessed 2010) “Aristotle’s Theory of Comedy,” http://www.
gpwu.ac.jp/˜kitano/papers/comic.pdf.
Langer, Susanne (1953) Feeling and Form, Scribner, USA.
Marteinson, Peter (2010) “Thoughts on the current state of humour theory.”
Comedy Studies, Volume 1, No. 2.
Mast, Gerard (1997) The Comic Mind: Comedy and the Movies, University of Chicago
Press, USA, http://faculty.cua.edu/johnsong/comedy/pages/theories.html.
Mernit, Billy (2001) Writing the Romantic Comedy, Harper Paperbacks, USA.
Misch, David (2012) Funny, The Book: Everything You Always Wanted To Know
About Comedy, Applause Theatre and Cinema Books, USA.
Myers, Mike (accessed 2012) “Sundance Channel,” http://www.youtube.com/
watch?v=LzxDZg0Hakk.
Paul, William (2002) “The Impossibility of Romance: Hollywood Comedy
1978–99.” Genre and Contemporary Hollywood (Ed. Steve Neale), BFI Press, UK.
Selbo, Jule (2011) “The Constructive Use of Film Genre for the Screenwriter:
Creating Film Genre’s Mental Space.” University of Exeter PhD Dissertation
Files, UK.
Smith, Nina (2007) “Iconoclast, Deepak Chopra’s Laughter Prescription”, TV
Guide, Today’s News: Our Take, November 8.
Smuts, Aaron (2009) Internet Encyclopedia of Philosophy, http://www.iep.utm.edu/
humor/ (accessed February 2012).
Tudor, Andrew (1995) “Genre.” Film Genre Reader II, University of Texas Press,
USA.
CHAPTER 5
Romance, Romantic Comedy

and Buddy
Terms to understand: screwball, chick flicks, soulmate, comedy of manners,
radical romantic comedy, neo-traditional romantic comedy, bro-mance
We love because it’s the only true adventure.

(Nikki Giovanni)
ROMANCE
Romance is an adventure. A journey.
The romance film genre refers to narratives focusing on wanting love,
finding love, losing love or gaining love—and often takes on an examination
of the notion of true love.
The term “romance” in literature initially referred to tales of fantastic
and marvelous adventures of greatly skilled knights set on a chivalric goal.
Chivalry is a term that refers to the knights’ actions of doing service to
others—preserving honor of friends or family or some worthy person, and
often aiding a beautiful maiden in distress.
The adventure of the journey was the “romance.” Anthony Giddens,
in his book The Transformation of Intimacy: Sexuality, Love and Eroticism
in Modern Society (1993), posits that along the way, with the growth of
the novel form (as opposed to poems and passed-down legends), the
adventure (romance) story that focused on saving the damsel became
very popular. Over time, the term “romance” began to be used to refer
specifically to “saving the damsel” stories and eventually became the
accepted structure for tales concerning finding and/or earning the love
of a worthy person.
The idea of romance has come to include the experience of intimacy or
compassion and deep caring for another individual—caring so deeply for
another that one would put one’s own personal happiness at risk to better
the life of the one loved. “Romance” does not refer to simply the pursuit of
sexual coupling. Romance is considered to be a much deeper emotion; it is
the adventure of finding true love.
92
ROMANCE, ROMANTIC COMEDY AND BUDDY 93
True Love
As noted in Chapter 2, the notions of “true love” and “soulmates” was intro-
duced in a play by Plato (428–348 BCE) called Symposium. The character of
Aristophanes presented the idea that Zeus feared that a human that origi-
nally consisted of four arms, four legs, and a single head with two faces was
too powerful, and thus split the human in half. This division caused human
beings (then and now) to be constantly “in search of their other half” ( Jowett,
accessed 2010). This “other half” is sometimes referred to as the “soulmate”—
the person who “completes” another person. When forged together, the cou-
ple has the possibility of, as a unit, being “nearly perfect.” Examples include:
– In Philadelphia Story (1940) Tracy (Katharine Hepburn) is uptight

and demanding. She cannot accept faults in others, she expects (and
insists) people act upright and “be perfect.” Dexter (Cary Grant) is
flawed (doubts himself, drinks too much at times, is afraid of not
being perfect). He is more laid-back and accepting of all kinds of
people; he understands imperfections. Tracy needs Dexter’s influence
to balance her personality. Dexter needs the influence of Tracy’s dis-
cipline—and he wants to be with Tracy—if she can temper her judg-
mental, haughty and intolerant ways.
– In Jerry Maguire (1996) Dorothy (Renee Zellweger) believes in love,
that loving a person is not tied up in what the other person can
do for you. Jerry (Tom Cruise) is cynical and afraid of commitment.
Distinct differences are tempered with the other’s point of view; they
“complete” each other.
– In Bridget Jones’s Diary (2001), Bridget (Renee Zellweger) is open, quirky,
trusting and impulsive. Mark Darcy (Colin Firth) has trouble cutting
loose and trusting people. Their differences keep them apart, but then
eventually bring them together for they “complete” each other.
The love connection, in a narrative using the romance genre, needs to be of

primary importance. Plato, in Symposium, noted:
And I say that a lover who is detected in doing any dishonourable act,
or submitting through cowardice when any dishonour is done to him
by another, will be more pained at being detected by his beloved than
at being seen by his father, or by his companions, or by any one else.
( Jowett, accessed 2010)
Consider honor in relation to the importance of love, the ability to

trust that the one in whom love is given will not betray expectations or
not prove to be unworthy of that deep emotion. Plato suggests that falling
short in morality, ethics, trustworthiness, honesty (all related to “honor”)
94 ROMANCE, ROMANTIC COMEDY AND BUDDY
in front of a loved one is one of the most painful and detrimental events
that can take place in the romantic sphere.
Finding True Love

The screenwriter, when embarking on a romance, could take the well-
used term “finding true love” to heart. The word “finding” is the operative
word—the motor—in the romance screenplay. “The finding” refers to the
adventure—the journey—and true love is the treasure that is sought or
found.
Literature in the 18th and 19th centuries focusing on love stories often
reflected a more complicated meaning than the idea of finding “true love” or
a “soulmate” for women of the time. Before the hard-won female liberation
and equal rights laws were in effect, many women in many countries did
not have the freedom to choose their own partners. One could imagine how
stifling and frustrating this might have been and how it could have brought
about unhappy marriages. Because of the way society and the woman’s role
was set, many “romance” novels/poems of this era spun tales of women
“falling in love” with persons outside the sphere of family approval. These
attractions were often all-consuming—and sometimes caused mental dis-
tress. Some stories ended happily, some stories were tragic tales of love-gone-
bad. One might ask—were these women really meeting their “soulmates”
as they imagined or were their actions the result of women struggling for
an emancipation from parental control? Perhaps what women thought was
“love” was really the romantic idea of adventure and freedom and self-rule.
Many novels/plays related the tragic results of women going against familial
advice and making misguided choices of mates; these include Middlemarch
(1871) by George Eliot, Sense and Sensibility (1811) and Persuasion (1816) by
Jane Austen, Wuthering Heights (1847) by Emily Brontë, and scores of others.
These tales were romantic or adventurous or lustful, but also flirted with (or
embraced) tragic elements. Many were presented as cautionary stories for
women who may have desired more freedom.
Film theorist Torben Grodal, as noted in Chapter 2, explores develop-
ments in neuroscience and cognitive science in relation to narrative theory
and film theory as they relate to the audience’s experience of cinema. In his
exploration of the key aesthetic phenomena in an audience’s experience of
film, he points out that it can be understood only in relation to the brain’s
way of processing information from the screen. Grodal examines what he
believes are evolutionary reasons for emotions connected with sexual or
romantic desire. Grodal notes there is a deep-seated human desire for inti-
mate connection, and suggests that, over eons of time, these desires were
shaped by the human need for survival, to procreate, a desire for status, or
for the building of personal self-esteem. The screenwriter, when wanting to
construct a narrative in the romance genre may want to explore the reasons
that drive the desire for romance.
Using the Romance Genre as a Supporting Genre

Romance as a supporting story genre (driving the “B” or “C” stories) can be
found in many screenplays; top action films such as the Bourne series (2002,
2004, 2007), the sci-fi/action The Fifth Element (1997), the fantasy/action
Pirates of the Caribbean series (2003, 2006, 2007) and the crime/action Out
of Sight (1998) all feature strong romance “B” stories. Adventure films such
as the Indiana Jones series feature romance as a supporting genre as do the
adventure/action films adapted from comic books such as the Spider-Man series,
the Iron Man series and the Batman series. The screenwriter, in enhancing the
adventure/action narrative with characters that are multi-dimensional, may
consider constructing a complete romance arc for the protagonist. The com-
mercial success of the romance/horror/action series Twilight (2008) points to
its appeal to the audience.
Conflicts and Obstacles of Romance

Grodal notes that traditionally the female desires a long-term relationship
and that males may have stronger desire or capability for non-bonding sexual
relations. The difference in their physical/emotional goals is often used as a
base for conflicts in romance. If one or the other of the love partners desires
monogamy and the other resists, the difficulty of an absolute acceptance of
the relationship being “true love” persists—even in today’s sexually open
culture. Many romance narratives follow characters set on “changing” the
behavior of another—only to find out that “love” cannot be manipulated or
controlled.
Grodal also refers to Nico Frijda’s work The Emotions (1987), positing
that true love often comes with a negotiation between partners—what is
acceptable, what is not, how far one is willing to go, how much one is willing
to risk. Once negotiations are completed there is a sense of closure, the final
closing off of other romantic options as well as the secession of fear about
bonding (completing each other). The result is a marriage or a commitment
to build a life together.
German philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer (1788–1860) asserted that
if the challenge of courtship was not a part of humans’ lives, there could
be an increased tendency to boredom and suicide. The “adventure” and
“hunt” of finding a mate would be (consciously or unconsciously) missed.
He also purported that people seek out complementary mates—that same-
ness is not what is desired and that “opposites attract.” This notion is
explored in many romance narratives and connects to Plato’s idea of “the
other half” completing a unit—a couple that, when together, they create
the perfect yin–yang combination.
Romance is an adventure of discovering or accepting the deep human
emotions/desires/needs that may be ingrained in our “emotional DNA” (if
you accept Grodal’s theories). Various obstacles can be built into a screenplay;
there are familial conflicts, conflicts with friends, personal neuroses, other
relationships, time and space, career concerns and more—and even combi-
nations of many of the above obstacles. The adventure of overcoming the
obstacles is the stuff of romance.
A screenplay constructed as a romance must feature major plot points
that turn on the challenges and obstacles of finding true love—not career
desires, not survival desires, not issues of justice and other concerns. The
pursuit (conscious or unconscious) of love must drive the story.
In my book Rewrite: First Draft to Marketplace (2008), I delineate the classic
romance structure:
– Boy meets girl (or vice versa or any love combination the story
centers on).
– Boy wants girl.
– Boy tries to get girl.
– Boy gets girl.
– Boy loses girl.
– Boy realizes his life is empty without girl.
– Boy strives to get girl back.
– Boy gets girl back (or not).
If the screenwriter does not address each of these story points in the clas-
sic film romance structure, he is in danger of not having the audience care
about the lovers and/or in danger of the romance story falling flat because
he is not able to evoke the desired emotions from the audience. The screen-
writer, when employing a “B or C” romance line, should also consider ful-
filling each of the romance structure steps to assure that the storyline is
complete.
In the innovative romance Her (2013, written by Spike Jonze), Theodore
(Joaquin Phoenix) falls in love with his “operating system,” a warm, accept-
ing, sexy and playful voice from cyberspace. At the outset of the narrative,
his “real” girlfriend has left him; he is lonely and seeks companionship. He
signs up, on his computer, for an “operating system buddy”; he chooses a
female voice, and begins a relationship with Samantha (voiced by Scarlett
Johansson). Friendship quickly turns “romantic” and a courtship begins—
intimate thoughts, secrets, jokes and cybergames are shared. He falls in love
(and believes she loves him too). Samantha attempts to interest him in a
FIGURE 5.1 Joaquin Phoenix in Her (2013)
physical surrogate and this fails; the relationship is threatened (boy loses
girl). Theodore, bereft and miserable that Samantha may be out of his life,
is able to get the relationship back on track, only to find out that Samantha
(because she is an operating system and ultimately “not real”) has other rela-
tionships going on simultaneously. Theodore must face the truth and decide
if he wants/deserves and is willing to risk having a “real” relationship with a
human being. This film explores each step of a classic romance story (fulfill-
ing the schematic knowledge component), therefore satisfies the audience
on that level. The investigation of the highs and low, joys and sorrows of
falling in love are evident (fulfilling the specific knowledge component). In
addition, the narrative explores contemporary relationships (with computers
and with the “real” people in our lives) and thus finds a way to relate to and
comment on contemporary society (the relevant knowledge component).
The simple words “I love you” can carry a huge emotional weight. How-
ever, a character does not have to say exactly those words—some of the
favorite lines in cinema essentially mean “I love you”:
– Casablanca (1942), written by Philip and Julius Epstein: “We’ll always

have Paris.” “Kiss me. Kiss me as if it were for the last time.”
– Streetcar Named Desire (1951), written by Tennessee Williams: “Stella!”
– As Good As It Gets (1997), written by Mark Andrus and James L.
Brooks: “You make me want to be a better man.”
– Don Juan Demarco (1994), written by Jeremy Leven: “Have you never
met a woman who inspires you to love? Until your every sense is
filled with her? You inhale her. You taste her. You see your unborn
children in her eyes and know that your heart has at last found a
home. Your life begins with her, and without her it must surely end.”
– The Bridges of Madison County (1995), written by Richard LaGraven-

ese, based on novel by Robert James Waller: “It seems right now that
all I’ve ever done in my life is making my way here to you.”
– The Notebook (2004), written by Jeremy Leven, based on Nicholas
Sparks’ novel: “The best love is the kind that awakens the soul and
makes us reach for more, that plants a fire in our hearts and brings
peace to our minds and that’s what you’ve given me.”
– Dirty Dancing (1987), written by Eleanor Bergstein: “I’m scared of
walking out of this room and never feeling the rest of my whole life
the way I feel when I’m with you.”
– The Princess Bride (1987), written by William Goldman: “Death can-
not stop true love. All it can do is delay it for a while.”
– Hitch (2005), written by Kevin Bisch: “Do you know what it feels like
to wake up every morning . . . feeling hopeless, feeling like the love
of your life is waking up with the wrong man? But at the same time,
hoping that she still finds happiness, even if it’s never going to be
with you?”
– The Way We Were (1973), written by Arthur Laurents: “I would’ve
made a pot roast, I make a terrific pot roast but I didn’t know if
you’ve ever had pot roast or if you even liked pot roast but anyway
there wasn’t time, it takes all day, it should be made the day before.
So I got steaks with all my ration stamps. You can’t go yet! You’ve got
to stay for supper that’s all there is to it!”
– When Harry Met Sally (1989), written by Nora Ephron: “I love that
you get cold when it is 71 degrees out. I love that it takes you an hour
and a half to order a sandwich. I love that you get a little crinkle in
your nose when you’re looking at me like I’m nuts. I love that after
I spend day with you, I can still smell your perfume on my clothes.
And I love that you are the last person I want to talk to before I go
to sleep at night. I came here tonight because when you realize you
want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest
of your life to start as soon as possible.”
– Notting Hill (1999), written by Richard Curtis: “I’m just a girl, stand-
ing in front of a boy, asking him to love her.”
– Gone with the Wind (1939), written by Sidney Howard, based on a
Margaret Mitchell novel: “You should be kissed, and often, and by
someone who knows how.”
– Jerry Maguire (1996), written by Cameron Crowe: “I love him and I
don’t care what you think. I love him for the man he wants to be and
I love him for the man he almost is.” “You had me at ‘hello’.”
– Good Will Hunting (1997), written by Matt Damon and Ben Affleck:
“It doesn’t matter if the guy is perfect or the girl is perfect, as long as
they are perfect for each other.”
– Love Story (1970), written by Erich Segal: “Love means never having
to say you’re sorry.”
– Bridget Jones’s Diary (2001), written by Helen Fielding, Richard Curtis
and Andrew Davies, based on Fielding’s novel: “I like you, very
much. Just as you are.”
Romance vs. Pornography

Linda Williams, in her 1991 essay “Film Bodies: Gender, Genre and Excess,”
posits that pornography is connected to anonymous desire—desire devoid of
relationship. She notes the difference between romance (deep desire for
emotional connection) and pornography (desire for sexual stimulation).
Romance is more personal, it focuses on the communion of souls, of inter-
ests, of personalities, of sympathetic and empathetic feelings. Romances may
begin with the “male gaze” (noting beauty or appealing sexual attributes);
however, a true romance does not ultimately use sexual attraction as the sole
reason two people become a couple—strong psychological needs and desires
must also come into play.
Why are Romances Considered “Chick Flicks”?

Laura Mulvey, in “Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema” (1975), asserts
that films are viewed by both men and women through a “male gaze”—
in part because of the pervasive male dominance in our society and partly
because the film industry is dominated by men. Mulvey asserts that the male
watching a romance does not, in most cases, want to identify with a “soft
and sensitive” man who is led by emotions—he would rather see himself as
strong and macho, willing to die for a cause or be heroic or even as a master
criminal or ruthless antagonist. However, Mulvey notes, the female viewing
a romance from the male gaze is fascinated by the romance genre because
she feels she is gaining an understanding of the “real man”—one that is
often hidden or covered in social situations. The female wants to believe that
the male needs the female—and in viewing a romance film, she thinks she is
coming to an understanding of the male psyche.
Despite Mulvey’s observations, it is interesting to note that many male
screenwriters write romance films, often featuring men who are willing to
sacrifice all for love—films such as The English Patient (1996, screenwriter
Anthony Minghella), Titanic (1997, screenwriter James Cameron) and Love
Affair (1939, screenwriters Delmer Daves and Donald Ogden Stewart). Many
male screenwriters also write romantic comedies, including films such as
The Switch (2010, screenwriter Allan Loeb), Easy A (2010, screenwriter Bert
V. Royal), Annie Hall (1977, screenwriter Woody Allen), Love Actually (2003,
written by Richard Curtis) and Her (2013, written by Spike Jonze). Female
screenwriters include Mae West, Diablo Cody, Anita Loos, Leslie Dixon, Nora
Ephron, Audrey Wells and others.
ROMANTIC COMEDY
Are romantic comedies just “fairytales for adults”? Can they be more?
WESTLEY
Hear this now: I will always come for you.
BUTTERCUP
But how can you be sure?
WESTLEY
This is true love—you think this happens every day?
(The Princess Bride (1987), written by William Goldman)
In Sleepless in Seattle (1993), Annie (portrayed by Meg Ryan), living in

New York City, hears the young son of a widower living in Seattle on the
radio show talking about how great his dad is—and immediately decides
this widower is the man of her dreams. Annie sets out to meet Sam (Tom
Hanks) and, in a way, stalks him. Annie finally manages to arrange a “true
love” moment on the top of the Empire State Building1 without really, before
this meeting, speaking to Sam. The tagline for the movie on Imdb.com reads:
“What if someone you never met, someone you never saw, someone you
never knew was the only someone for you?” Sounds a bit like a fairytale
(McDonald, 2007). In Never Been Kissed (1999), Drew Barrymore plays Josie
Geller, who was “the biggest nerd” in high school and now, seven years
later, is still a nerd—plus she has a journalism career she desperately wants
to jumpstart. Josie gets an assignment to go undercover as a high school
student in her old high school to write about the youth of the day—and
while trying to re-live (and re-fashion) her past, she finds new self-esteem
and meets the true love of her life. In The Proposal (2010), Margaret, a suc-
cessful, ambitious and cold career woman (Sandra Bullock) is told her job
will be terminated due to the fact that she is a Canadian working in America
without proper work papers. She immediately decides to arrange to marry
her handsome, smart assistant Andrew (Ryan Reynolds) and surprises him
with her intent. Andrew agrees to a marriage of convenience (despite the fact
that he dislikes her) and whisks Margaret away to his family’s idyllic island
retreat where the warmth of his good and loving family softens her hard-
ness, and—of course—she discovers true love.
Do audiences need to suspend disbelief to fully buy into romantic com-

edy stories?
Tamara Jeffers McDonald, in her book Romantic Comedy: Boy Meets
Girl Meets Genre, takes aim at those that assert that romantic comedies are
for the less sophisticated, are low brow and are merely “guilty pleasures.”
She writes: “I dispute this idea, and think that the appeal to audiences of
such films is more complex, especially if the viewer is inhabiting a position
where conflicting pulls of realism and fantasy are operating” (McDonald,
2007: 7–8). McDonald also notes that rom-coms appeal because “(they
have) patterns of gain, loss and recovery which speak to a large portion of
the audience” and that in order for a romantic comedy to be successful,
its basic ideology must focus on “the primary importance of the couple”
(McDonald, 2007: 13). McDonald points out that even in Woody Allen’s
romantic comedy Annie Hall (1997) where the couple does not get together,
the ideology does not suggest that the goal of finding true love is no longer
desirable; it’s just not “in the stars” in this coupling—at this time—in this
universe:
A romantic comedy is a film which has as its central narrative motor

a quest for love, which portrays this quest in a light-hearted way and
almost always to a successful conclusion.
(McDonald, 2007: 9)
Billy Mernit, in his book Writing the Romantic Comedy (2001), suggests
the successful romantic comedy finds the right tone by building a plausible
world, but one that has the right comedic (slightly unreal) tone to allow for
fantastical conveniences (in other words, the genre allows for a bit of that
fairytale quality).
Broad Strokes on Comedy

As mentioned in Chapter 4, the comedy film genre has certain narrative
expectations connected with it. Most stories humorously exaggerate situa-
tional conflicts, language, actions and character traits. Comedies examine, in
a light or ironic or satiric way, the obstacles and frustrations of life that stand
in the way of “happiness” or satisfaction. Comedies are meant to provide
merriment and a momentary escape from everyday life. Comedies usually
have happy endings or conclusions where “things work out for the best.”
Stephen Neale, in Genre and Hollywood, lists some of the basic elements
of comedies often woven into the comedy narrative (Neale, 2000: 66):
– gags;
– jokes;
– funny moments;
– comic business;
– logic of the absurd;
– reversal of expectations;
– a sense of implausibility.
Neale also lists common “comedic” traits of characters in a comedy narrative

(Neale, 2000: 69):
– characters often play outside the rules;

– characters are often anomalies and misfits;
– characters are often eccentric or deviant to societal norms;
– characters are often given to dreaming, disguise or regression or
bouts of madness;
– characters are often walking contradictions.
Many film theorists are now looking at comedies with more respect;
they are noticing how well-written comedies examine gender issues, socio-
cultural issues, sexual politics and psychoanalytic issues (Neale, 2000: 65).
This is important to the screenwriter because a successful comedy (includ-
ing romantic comedy) often reflects the mores and norms of contemporary
society.
Many comedy films, driven by comedic situations, may include a small
romantic story line, such as Hangover (2009), Dumb and Dumber (1994) and
Big (1988), but these films are not considered true, pure and genre-fulfilling
romantic comedies. Romantic comedies have particular elements.
Short History and Overview

Stories of romantic desires and conflicts are evident in very early silent cin-
ema. In America, Buster Keaton starred in Sherlock Jr. (1924, written by Jean
Havez, Joseph A. Mitchel and Clyde Bruckman). This is the tale of a young
projectionist at a movie theater who is studying to be a detective and wants
to earn the affection of his romantic interest, The Girl (Kathryn McGuire).
Sherlock is short of cash to buy his desired love a present. Unfortunately
for Sherlock, an unsuitable suitor (an arrogant scoundrel) manages to trick
a shop clerk to gain a box of candy and woos The Girl and impresses her
father. The scoundrel also steals the father’s pocket watch and puts the blame
on Sherlock. Sherlock, at work, falls asleep and dreams himself a master
detective/hero who proves the scoundrel to be a criminal. Finally, in reality
(his dream inspiring him), Sherlock manages to win The Girl and her father’s
respect. The film is warm, funny, sweet and romantic. Harold Lloyd stared
in Girl Shy (1924, written by Sam Taylor, Tim Whelan, Ted Wilde with titles
written by Thomas J. Gray); this narrative features Lloyd as an extremely shy

tailor’s apprentice who stutters around women. Despite this impediment, he
writes a book on how to woo women and sets out from his small California
town on a train to Los Angeles to sell it to a publisher. He meets a sweet
and rich socialite who accidentally sees his book and, through silly lies and
deceit, takes him for a man who knows his way around women. When she
finds out Harold is not who she thinks he is, she agrees to marry another
suitor. The day of the wedding, Harold receives his first royalty check for his
book (the publisher did accept and publish it, under the title “The Boob’s
Diary”) and he races to stop the wedding. Charlie Chaplin wrote and
starred in The Circus (1928); this film features Chaplin’s “Tramp” character
and focuses on his crush on a circus performer and his desire to impress her
with his talents.
Cecil B. DeMille directed Old Wives for New (1918), Don’t Change Your
Husband (1919) and Why Change Your Wife (1920); all romantic and farci-
cal with the lesson embedded: no matter how bad one marital partner
seems, he or she may not be as bad as the other options available. The
physical humor of these films worked well; however, the use of title cards
to illuminate verbal repartee and the plot points left something to be
desired. Once sound was introduced around 1928, romantic comedies
began to thrive.
FIGURE 5.2 Merna Kennedy, Charlie Chaplin and Henry Bergman in The Circus
(1928)
Comedy of Manners
Romantic comedies in the late 1920s and 1930s were very popular and often
were in the “comedy of manners” subgenre. These are also called “status
comedies” and revolved around love relationships between lower-class and
upper-class persons. Film analyst Thomas Schatz noted: “It Happened One
Night (1934) reassured Depression audiences that the filthy rich were, after
all, just folks like you and me, and that although money didn’t necessar-
ily buy happiness, it certainly generated some interesting social and sexual
complications” (Schatz, 1981:150). Examples of the reverse snobbery include
My Man Godfrey (1936, written by Morrie Ryskind and Eric Hatch), The Lady
Eve (1941, written by Monckton Hoffee, based on a story by Preston Sturges),
Palm Beach Story (1942, written by Preston Sturges). In more recent years
the comedy of manners films include What’s Up Doc (1972, written by Buck
Henry and David Newman & Robert Benton), The Proposal (2009, written
by Pete Chiarelli) and Bridget Jones’s Diary (2001, written by Helen Fielding,
Andrew Davies and Richard Curtis) and Bringing Down the House (2003, writ-
ten by Jason Filardi).
Screwball Comedy
“Screwball comedy was often a marriage of witty dialogue from East Coast
writers and visual comedy from former silent comedy directors like Capra
and Hawks” (Gehring, 2004). Prior to the term’s application in 1930s film
criticism, “screwball” referred to any pitched ball in baseball that moved
in an unexpected way (made popular by major league pitcher Dizzy Dean
who played mostly for the St. Louis Cardinals and then the Chicago Cubs).
The advent of the use of sound in film encouraged wordsmiths (newspaper
reporters, magazine journalists, playwrights, editorialists, short story writers,
novelists) to write films—these writers brought wit, intelligence and fast-
paced dialogue to the screen.
The one trait that is a constant in the screwball comedy is that the
female is the lead character—she is the protagonist that drives the story.
The subgenre is “an innovative brand of farce, where the old boy-meets-
girl formula was turned on its ear, producing free-spirited heroines who
gave as good as they got” (Gehring, 2004). The female knows her own
mind and is not above humiliating the male. Consider Peter (Clark Gable)
in It Happened One Night and his unsuccessful hitchhiking attempts—he
is bested by the successful hitchhiking moves of Ellie (Claudette Colbert).
Consider Walter (Cary Grant) and his inability to get the best of Hildy
(Rosalind Russell) in His Girl Friday (1940). Consider Gracie (Sandra
Bullock) getting the better of her fellow detective (Benjamin Bratt) in Miss
Congeniality (2000). Consider Bridget getting the better of Daniel (Hugh
Grant) and Mark (Colin Firth) in Bridget Jones’s Diary. Many screwball
FIGURE 5.3 Kristen Wiig and Rose Byrne in Bridesmaids (2011)
comedies feature physical and/or farcical comedy (clown comedy) and

slapstick (see Chapter 4).
Screwball comedies gained great popularity in America during the Great
Depression. They often incorporated the comedy of manners or status com-
edy elements. Many featured characters of the “lower classes” that rose in
the financial and social worlds. Because of the strong Motion Picture Produc-
tion Code in place at the time (the censorship body), the screwball comedies
of the 1930s and 1940s were often called the “sex comedy without sex”
(Gehring, 2004).
Screwball basics:
1. The female is the romantic aggressor or at least drives the story.
2. Proliferation of slapstick scenes.
3. Often involve conflicting social classes.
4. Character’s affections are often expressed through aggression.
5. Silly and hilarious insults and (unreal) physical danger/violence.
6. The narrative sustains the discord until the end.
Some of the iconic early screwball comedies include Twentieth Century

(1934), Bringing Up Baby (1938), and His Girl Friday (1940). The screwball con-
tinues: The Proposal (2010), Never Been Kissed (1999), My Best Friend’s Wedding
(1997), Waitress (2007), My Big Fat Greek Wedding (2002), How to Lose A Guy in
10 Days (2003), Meet the Millers (2013), Easy A (2010) and Bridesmaids (2011).
The Sex Comedy: Late 50s, 1960s and Early 1970s

The sex comedy revolves around male and female differences—mostly
in regards to when sex should enter a relationship—before or after
marriage.
(McDonald, 2007: 39)
The typical sex comedy narrative centers on two professional rivals, one a
hardworking woman who prepares for each new project meticulously and
the other a man who gets by (or even flourishes) relying on personal charm
and “the boys’ club” connections. The female and male meet and immedi-
ately dislike each other. They are often pitted against each other for a job
or a promotion or control of a client (the job world of advertising was very
“sexy” in this era). Emotional and repressed sexual sparks fly. And then,
one night after arguing or trying to outdo each other, they end up getting
very drunk, and wake up married (McDonald, 2007: 39). Horrified, they
split—and in taking care of the details of divorce or annulment, they fall
in love. Examples include Lover Come Back (1961) starring Rock Hudson
and Doris Day as advertising-executives-at-war as well as a later film that
adopted sex comedy elements, Laws of Attraction (2004), starring Julianne
Moore and Pierce Brosnan as attorneys-at-war. There are often elements of
screwball comedy in evidence in sex comedies because the narrative is often
filled with insults being hurled by the characters and there are instances of
comedic physical violence—all at play while the dueling lovers try to outdo
or sabotage each other.
McDonald suggests several events helped bring about the narrative
and tonal changes in the 1950s and set the stage for the sex comedy. Alfred
Kinsey published his report Sexual Behavior in the Human Female in 1953; he
reported that half the women in America were having unmarried sex and
that they did, indeed, have a sex drive. The growing disdain for the double
standard (men could have sex with multiple partners and not be thought
immoral or socially unacceptable, but a woman could not) that was thor-
oughly examined in Pre-Code films (1930–1934) but then disappeared from
film narratives for a few decades due to the Motion Picture Production
Code (the censorship code that was put in place in 1934) reappeared. The
advent of Playboy Magazine in 1953 also helped re-shape the male persona.
The magazine featured many articles for the bachelor telling him how to
decorate his apartment, what music to play, what food and drink to serve—
all in hopes of luring women to his “pad.” The man was no longer living at
home until married; he was now allowed to be sophisticated and upfront
about his desire to engage in sex but make no lasting commitment to a
relationship. Finally, the weakening Motion Picture Production Code was
replaced by a ratings system in 1966, partly due to Otto Preminger going
around it to find distribution for the sexually frank The Moon is Blue (1953,
written by F. Hugh Herbert); this film, a romantic comedy, was blunt in its
investigation of sexual desires and the double standard for men and women.
Sex comedy basics
1. Potential lovers are adversarial at first.
2. Potential lovers are often well-off, stylish and trendy.
3. Narratives revolve around the female as professional worker vs. the

male as professional worker. In their work there is an elemental war
and they set out to destroy each other.
4. Bachelor looks at marriage as a tragedy, or at least unnecessary.
5. Drinking will cause people to act like idiots—but often brings out
truths regarding feelings and desires.
6. Disguise or masquerade (pretending to be someone else) may be part

of the storyline.
7. Tricks, insults, embarrassments abound.
The sex comedy went out of fashion in the 1960s when sexual mores went
through major changes in America. These changes came about due to grow-
ing gender equality, females achieving more financial independence and the
availability of birth control (McDonald, 2007: 40–55).
Radical Romantic Comedy

Film analyst Brian Henderson asserts that radical romantic comedies came
into being because, by the early 1970s, the rom-com genre had been rejected
by most film-goers. Popular films of the era included action/adventures and
male-buddy narratives. Roles for females diminished. Henderson asserted
the obvious: “there can be no romantic comedy without strong heroines”
(McDonald, 2007: 59). The temporary demise of the rom-com was easily
explained: men and women were talking freely about why they did or did
not have sex. They were openly discussing their desires concerning lasting
relationships and why they might or might not want children, and a “tradi-
tional” home environment. The radical rom-coms had much to do with the
political and social upheavals of the late 1960s (including birth control and
changing gender issues). There was little tension to be found in a filmic nar-
rative in the rom-com genre. “Love” was too easy. Or so it seemed.
By the end of the 1970s the rom-com began to examine the very idea of
true love. Did it exist? Did it have positive attributes (if it did exist)? Was there
a possibility of a “happily-ever-after” if one found the perfect soulmate? Many
rom-coms explored the emptiness of dis-believing in the importance of love.
Thomas Schatz, in his book Old Hollywood/New Hollywood (1983), takes a look
at the romantic comedy film genre conventions of that era and notes that
narratives often featured a cynicism that eventually would move towards
acceptance of romantic love. The two lovers must individually surrender
and accept the idea of true love but it may not be clear if society will accept
them. Whatever the outcome, the lovers decide not to lose their individual
identities. There is not a sense of all-consuming romantic closure at the end
of the narrative—the final moments may promise one of open-endedness
and hope—but not an easy “happily-ever-after.” Excellent examples include
Starting Over (1979) and more dramatic comedies (dram-edies) like Harold
and Maude (1971) and Annie Hall (1977).
Radical comedy basics:
1. Sexual frankness.
2. Questioning of the importance of love.
3. Breaking of social conventions (one or more characters may be

divorced or have children out of wedlock).
4. Emphasis on self (the “me” generation).
5. Wishing romance was “all” that is needed, but, in most cases, decid-
ing that romance does not solve all problems.
Neo-traditional Romantic Comedy

In the late 1990s a new kind of rom-com became popular. Dismissal of
the importance of romance was over. The narratives were about wanting
romance, and were self-consciously deconstructive, often using references
to over-the-top romantic films that brought back feelings of a better time
and better understanding of the importance of love (think Sleepless in Seattle
and its referencing of the overly romantic classic film An Affair to Remember).
There was a prevalent desire to prove that romance is the answer; that love
does make things better—that true love does exist. The rom-com films of this
era include, at times, new kinds of characters—many from an older genera-
tion who grew up in the radical rom-com era and who now want a second
chance “to get love right.”
Screenwriter and film analyst Stephen V. Duncan notes that the protago-
nist of a contemporary romantic comedy needs love in his/her life, whether
he/she wants it or not. Many times the protagonist does not think he/she
wants love—but when the possibility/reality of it surfaces, the desire grows.
Duncan asserts that the protagonist has to be sympathetic so that the audience
can identify with and root for the character. Even if the character is obnox-
ious or arrogant or whiny or nerdy or has other “faults,” the need to root for
the character may be necessary to the success of the script (Duncan, 2008).
Consider Sandra Bullock’s character in The Proposal (2010); she is bossy, pig-
headed and emotionally unavailable and is only concerned with her career;
she finally lets go of her defenses to let love into her life. In Knocked Up (2007)
Ben (Seth Rogen) is an irresponsible, messy slacker and Alison (Katherine
Heigl) considers herself perfect, thinks she knows best at all times. Both char-
acters go through a change in order to find a common ground of respect
and—maybe—love in the film.
Screenwriter/director Nancy Meyers has written a few of these romances
that focus on “older folks,” including Something’s Gotta Give (2003), It’s Com-
plicated (2009) and The Holiday (2006).
Neo-traditional romantic comedy basics
1. A mood of imprecise nostalgia regarding romance—referring to older

films/stories/songs to fill in character and mood.
2. De-emphasizing sex, the relationship (compatibility) is of greater

importance.
3. Male desires marriage as much as the female (or more).
4. Compromises must be made to make the love relationship work.
5. Love is transparent, all flaws can hang out and be accepted.
Romantic Comedy Structure

It is important for the screenwriter to remember that in romantic comedies
the romance must drive the story. The rom-com must also include film-
genre-fulfilling-comedy elements. The screenwriter may be wise to explore
variations on the classic romantic comedy genre structure of “boy gets girl,
boy loses girl, boy gets girl back”; however, to gain audience satisfaction, the
basic elements must be considered.
Note how the romance genre basics are tweaked for the romantic comedy
genre. The two lovers can be of any combination of gender or character types—
but again, for the purposes of simplicity, the “boy gets girl” terminology will
be used.
– Boy meets girl in a “cute meet.”

ο The “cute meet” is a staple of romantic comedy. In Singin’ In the
Rain (1952) the potential lovers meet when silent movie star Don
(Gene Kelly), to avoid his fans, jumps into the convertible of a
stranger (Kathy portrayed by Debbie Reynolds). In Annie Hall
(1977) Alvy (Woody Allen) meets Annie (Diane Keaton) while
playing a ridiculous tennis game; they get to know each other
a bit better as Annie drives recklessly through New York City.
In Bridget Jones’s Diary (2001) Bridget re-meets Mark Darcy at a
family Christmas party and he is wearing a ridiculous Christmas

sweater. Verbal repartee ensues. In Enchanted (2007), Giselle (Amy
Adams) leaves fairytale land, emerges from a sewer in New York
City and meets Robert (Patrick Dempsey) while trying to enter a
two-dimensional castle on a billboard. In My Man Godfrey (1936)
Irene (Carole Lombard) meets Godfrey (William Powell) in a
Depression-era homeless shelter; she is a socialite on a scavenger
hunt to find the “forgotten man”; she brings him back to a well-
heeled party at the Waldorf Hotel. Little does she know that Godfrey
is a wealthy man who is only going along with the charade.
ο One of the conventions that works well in the romantic comedy
genre is instant conflict between the two lovers. One or both of
the characters do not see the other as a potential mate. How they
break down the barriers and realize love is in the air is usually a
large part of the fun of the narrative.
– Boy wants girl (sometimes in a comedic way, in an overly obsessive
or irregular or odd way).
ο This is an important step that is sometimes overlooked. The
desire of one or both of the partners deserves to be illuminated
in scenes or sequences. The audience understands desire and also
understands that it is a preamble to pursuit of a romantic interest.
ο While the conflict between the characters continues (each may
want different things in the “B” stories), one or both of the char-
acters usually begin to experience a romantic attraction.
– Boy gets girl (usually for a very short period of time or in a “fake” way,
pretending to be someone else or other comedic variation).
ο This could be in a romantic way or in a non-romantic way.
– Boy loses girl.
ο This may be in a funny situation but the emotional reaction must
be real.
– Boy realizes his life is empty without girl.
ο This may be handled through funny situations but the emotional
reaction must be real.
ο If acceptance of the romantic interest has not sparked yet, it may
be time for the attraction/realization to be evidenced in one or
both of the characters.
ο This is a very important element and helps to show that this is
indeed true love. The longing, the missing is very important for it
proves that life may not be as rich, happy, satisfying, challenging—or
whatever—without the other.
– Boy strives to get girl back.

ο Hilarity ensues; outrageous tactics can be employed.
– Boy gets girl back (or not).
ο Sometimes (often) this includes an embarrassing or awkward
public confession to prove that love is more important than dignity.
In most cases, the lovers unite and there is a sense they will have
a significant (and happy) future together.
If the screenwriter, in writing a romantic comedy, constructs a narrative

where the lovers do not face numerous obstacles and conflicts on the way
to their getting together, he may want to take another look and consider
adjusting the structure of the story. If there is not comedy in the events
or situations, the screenwriter may want to take another look and consider
adjusting his script.
Sex and the Romantic Comedy

Most romantic comedy couples will end up accepting this notion: sex with
one partner (monogamy comes where true love exists) is optimal. However,
romantic comedies rarely have drawn-out or explicit love scenes. Screenwriter
Stephen V. Duncan gives this advice to screenwriters:
It’s more romantic to create sexual tension than to have the couple actu-
ally having sex. The most successful romantic comedies avoid the sex
act altogether. Indeed, even kissing is treated as a big deal.
(Duncan, 2008: 171)
The “Bellamy” and the Romantic Triangle

Billy Mernit, in his book Writing the Romantic Comedy (2001), coined the
title “the Bellamy.” This term refers to the “other guy” or “other girl” who
is the tamer, the safer, less passionate or less interesting option in a romantic
triangle. (The term refers to the actor Ralph Bellamy who was often cast in
this role in 1930 and 1940 romantic comedies.)
The “Bellamy”:
– provides another option for the protagonist for a romantic relationship;

– creates conflict for the protagonist, forcing the question—why isn’t
this person (the Bellamy) “enough”? The Bellamy can aggressively
pursue the protagonist, making it more difficult for him/her to find
time/energy/confidence in pursuing the alternate (more passionate)
relationship;
– helps define who the protagonist is and what he/she wants.
FIGURE 5.4 Cary Grant, Ralph Bellamy and Rosalind Russell in His Girl Friday (1940)
The Contemporary Rom-Com Featuring

a Female Protagonist
The contemporary screwball comedy is finding new popularity in the post-
millennium years. The rom-coms borrow from radical and neo-radical ele-
ments, often questioning the longing for love. Helen Jacey, in her book The
Woman in the Story, points to some of the accepted basics for the female char-
acter in the contemporary rom-com ( Jacey, 2010: 169):
– The heroine has major emotional baggage getting in the way of lov-
ing someone that is clearly her “soulmate.”
– The heroine is unaware of her emotional baggage (or might think it
actually is a good thing).
– The heroine is driven by an unresolved internal conflict that keeps
her from committing to love.
– The heroine has significant other conflicts (other than her internal
conflict) that she must focus on during the story; in other words, the
romance element is not her only problem or concern.
– The heroine, near the end of the story, finally accepts her “soulmate”
and addresses the necessity of dealing with her emotional baggage.
Other Examples of Romantic Comedies

How to Marry a Millionaire (1953), The Apartment (1960), Pillow Talk (1959),
Lover Come Back (1961), Charade (1963), Goodbye Girl (1977), Victor/Victoria
(1982), Splash (1984), Moonstruck (1987), Bull Durham (1988), There’s Some-
thing About Mary (1998), My Big Fat Greek Wedding (2002), Kissing Jessica Stein
(2001), Wedding Crashers (2005) and Once (2006).
THE BUDDY GENRE

Terms to understand: honor, bro-mance
Audiences are attracted to films in the buddy genre because they deal with
a primal desire that is fundamental to human existence—the need for true
companionship, one that is honorable and steadfast. This longing has a
strong relationship to the idea of true love, evident in the main question of
the buddy film narrative: does true friendship exist? Can there be undying
trust? Despite pitfalls or annoyances or disappointments, will two people
commit to putting themselves at risk for each other? Possibly die to save
the other?
The buddy genre, if it is using the uber genre drama, follows the precepts
of the romance genre. However, the major dilemma is true friendship and/
or trust—not true love in the classic romantic sense. The growth of the rela-
tionship between the two characters (of the same or opposite gender) is an
adventure, it has (in most cases) rocky beginnings and along the way it must
be severely tested. The possibility of the bond being forever broken must be
tangible. And finally, the connection is well knit (or not).
As in the romance genre, the connection between the two characters
is, in most cases, in constant negotiation. Misunderstandings, mistrust and
FIGURE 5.5Elijah Wood and Sean Astin in Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of
the Ring (2001)
disagreements create continual conflict. Classic structural steps of the buddy

genre are similar to those of the romance and/or romantic comedy genres:
– X meets Y (any variation of a couple that is not headed for a romantic/

sexual union).
– X is annoyed/hates/disagrees with Y.
ο The situation, in many cases, will examine variations of character
and temperament and may also relate to variant senses of honor,
integrity, differences in social status and/or education or other
dissimilarities.
– X and Y are forced into a situation where they will be in close contact
with each other for an extended period of time.
– X and Y go through some event or situation where they have to rely
on each other and each do the “honorable” thing; this opens the
door to a small amount of trust.
– X and Y fight/break apart; the growing pact or friendship is “over”.
ο This could be a result of a third party (vying for the same romantic
interest, other relationships taking precedence, a less than honor-
able act, personality conflicts and, of course, many other reasons).
– X and Y both realize that life without the partner is not as good—
or as exciting—or as efficacious and there is a feeling of discontent
(missing the other).
ο The time apart proves difficult and they realize that they need each
other.
– X and Y, despite their problems, reunite to complete the necessities
of the plot.
– X and Y “save each other” and the true friendship is recognized
(or not).
The term bro-mance refers to buddy films featuring two male characters.
48 Hrs. (1982, written by Roger Spottiswoode, Walter Hill, Larry Gross and
Steven E. de Souza) is a classic buddy/crime genre film featuring characters
that begin at odds with each other. Reggie Hammond (Eddie Murphy) is a
convicted criminal who is temporarily paroled to help tough cop Jack Cates
(Nick Nolte) hunt down a cop murderer. Cates says to Reggie at the outset,
“Now get this. We ain’t partners, we ain’t brothers, and we ain’t friends.”
The challenge is set; during the course of the narrative, the two bicker, dis-
appoint, frustrate and nearly fail each other—but the bond is continually
growing and finally, because of the journey they have taken together, they
honorably support each other.
The main characters in Superbad (2007, written by Seth Rogen and

Evan Goldberg) are just about to graduate from high school. Seth ( Jonah
Hill) has not been accepted into a prestigious college but his best friend
Evan (Michael Cera) has—he is set to head to Stanford. Fogell (Christopher
Mintz-Plasse), who has always wanted to be Evan’s best friend, has also
been accepted at Stanford and the two young men plan to be roommates.
Seth is absolutely threatened and needs to gain reassurance that Evan will
always honor their “best friends” status. What is unsaid is key, the actions
tell the story. Seth, wanting to impress Evan (and a girl portrayed by Emma
Stone), promises to bring liquor to a high school party. The adventure of
trying to obtain liquor, get to the party and share the experience of hook-
ing up with the girls of their desires, sends Seth and Evan on a journey that
tests their friendship—and eventually re-affirms an undying commitment
to each other.
Thelma and Louise (1991, written by Callie Khouri) is a female buddy
narrative featuring two diverse characters. The story starts in Arkansas
and ends at the Grand Canyon—thus this film also implements the road
genre. Naïve and sheltered Thelma (Geena Davis) is in a controlling,
boring marriage and wants to break free and have fun. Louise (Susan
Sarandon) is a waitress with a mysterious and painful past; she wants her
boyfriend to commit but she is not an easy person to love. Their intended
happy-go-lucky vacation is thwarted; a rapist attacks Thelma, and Louise
shoots him dead. The two choose to flee the scene of the crime and are
soon on the run from the police and eventually the FBI. Their relation-
ship grows deeper as the weight of their actions sinks in and more crimes,
petty and serious, are committed. Life secrets are shared and they come
to an intense understanding of each other. Rather than be captured, they
choose to continue “their wild ride”—and their car takes flight off a cliff
as the film ends.
Other Examples of Buddy Films

Other examples of buddy films in drama and in comedy genres include
Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (1969), Sherlock Holmes (2009), Shrek
(2001), Sideways (2004), Rush Hour (1998), Wedding Crashers (2005), Bad
Boys (1995), Pineapple Express (2008), Hangover (2009), Lord of the Rings
(2001), Silver Streak (1976), The Odd Couple (1968), The Bucket List (2007),
Dumb and Dumber (1994), Shawshank Redemption (1994), Midnight Run
(1988), I Love You Man (2009), The Man Who Would Be King (1975), Men
In Black (1997), Grumpy Old Men (1993), Lethal Weapon (1987), The Sting
(1973), Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure (1989), Midnight Cowboy (1969),
Driving Miss Daisy (1989) and Some Like It Hot (1959).
THE MENTAL SPACE OF ROMANCE (BE IT

ROMANCE, ROMANTIC COMEDY OR BUDDY)
The screenwriter, in creating the mental space of romance for the audience,
may employ schematic knowledge (framing) choices by creating an open-
ing scene or sequence that alerts the audience that the narrative will focus
on love (or honor) and the protagonist’s belief in its existence (or not).
In the romantic comedy, elements of comedy should also be woven into
the scenes’ fabric, thus fulfilling the audience’s expectations/hopes of being
able to laugh and enjoy a sense of “merriment.”
In the buddy genre, the opening scene or sequence may be employed
to set up one of the characters and his or her flaws that will come into play
in the partnership that is to come. Setting up the characters and their differ-
ences as soon as possible is advised.
romance genre include very real, sensitive and honest actions and reactions
of the story’s characters. The use of romance iconography can be important
in a romance. There are many visuals (wedding chapels, rings, candlelight,
candy boxes and more) that will garner memories, either intellectual or emo-
tional and help to set the mood, or help fulfil expectations of the genre. The
screenwriter may want to choose activities that allow for romantic settings
or situations. Consider the iconic locations, emotions, objects and activities
(and create new ones) that can help elicit desired emotions in the audi-
ence. The romance genre is often allied with the drama genre; plausible and
relatable events trigger the audience in understanding the “everyman” char-
acters’ desires and dreams. The more “real” the characters, the stronger the
specific knowledge component of the audience can be engaged.
The romantic comedy often employs similar iconography, events, locations
and emotions as the romance genre; however, each of the above is heightened
and/or exaggerated for comic effect. Repetition, over-the-top reactions, juxtaposi-
tion of iconography in surprising ways and over-the-top emotions will garner the
desired laughter—but still keep the romance elements in play.
The buddy genre may employ iconography associated with friendship.
There is also the iconography associated with honor and steadfastness. In
the early stages of the narrative these may be used in a negative or contrary
way and then, eventually, used in ways to signal the coming together of the
disparate characters.
writer to bring currency to the narrative. In today’s society there are topics
that can be examined to make the romance and romantic comedy narrative
more relevant: divorce, biological clocks, supposed shortage of available sin-
gle men, the growing acceptance of a homosexual lifestyle, feminism, equal
rights, racial biases, political biases, global living and new technology—all of
these elements (and more, depending on the latest movements in society)

can make the telling of romance and romantic comedy stories more relevant
and interesting. It is important to use the genres to help keep the film genre
perceived as a reflection on contemporary society.
In the buddy genre, the screenwriter must consider the pertinent and
germane story elements that will enhance the audience’s ability to see how
this story relates to today’s world. A certain universality can be captured in
specificity, for the audience may not have gone through the exact experience
of the one presented in the narrative; however, they may be able to relate the
emotional journey to personal passages through life.
Suggested Exercises: Romance and

Romantic Comedy
1. The romance genre must be driven by the characters’ pursuit of

love or a desire to understand the importance of love. Consider the
classic eight-step progression of a romance story.
a. Choose a film in the romance genre (this could be a romantic

comedy or a buddy film) and break it down to see if it fulfills the
classic romance progression.
i. If so, is it accomplished in a creative way that engages and

maybe even surprises the viewer?
ii. Are the classic romantic steps followed “in order”?
iii. How much time is spent in each step?
iv. Are there reversals (the romance goes forward then is stalled
or goes backwards)?
b. If comedy is added to the romance to create a rom-com, what is

the balance between the romance and comedy? Does the balance
feel right?
2. Many narratives feature a “B” romance storyline.
a. List three films of various genres (such as thriller, crime, disaster,

war, adventure) that feature romance in the “B” storyline.
i. In each film, is the romance storyline fully realized (using all

eight steps of the progression)? If not, what steps are missing?
ii. Comment on the strengths and/or weaknesses of the “B”
romance storylines. Which were most satisfying?
(Continued)
3. Compare and contrast two romantic comedies from two different

eras in Hollywood.
a. Analyze the structure, stakes, characters and relevance to their

time periods.
b. Evaluate whether each follows the classic narrative progression
of a rom-com.
c. Is the importance of “love” and/or the pursuit of love stronger
in one or the other?
d. Analyze how social conventions have changed from one era to
the other.
4. Most romantic comedies are reliant on relevancy to contempo-

rary social norms and/or strictures of the time in which they are
written.
a. List the social norms (regarding gender equality, social constraints,

financial situations, educational backgrounds, political ideals and
more) that might come into play in an original romantic comedy
written today.
b. Consider that the two potential lovers of the narrative might be
at opposite ends of beliefs, lifestyles and other elements, there-
fore providing more conflicts in the narrative.
i. List the differences between the two potential lovers at the

outset of the narrative.
ii. Consider whether the narrative might include the poten-
tial lovers coming together through compromise (negotia-
tion) or will the lovers’ beliefs and/or lifestyles keep them
apart?
c. Consider how, in the contemporary fast-paced, increasing gen-

der equality times, romantic comedies can still explore the trials
and tribulations of finding/keeping a romantic relationship in
play and focus on the idea that true love does exist.
NOTE
1 McDonald makes note of the deconstructed elements in Sleepless in Seattle—
the Empire State Building as a place to meet harkens to Love Affair (1939) and
its remake An Affair To Remember (1957).
REFERENCES
Duncan, Stephen V. (2008) Genre Screenwriting, Continuum Publishing, USA.
Frijda, Nico (1987) The Emotions, Cambridge University Press, UK.
Gehring, Wes D. (2004) “Screwballs on the Silver Screen, a Treasured Comedy
Genre Turns 70.” USA Today Magazine, March.
Giddens, Anthony (1993) The Transformation of Intimacy: Sexuality, Love and
Eroticsim in Modern Society, Stanford University Press, USA.
Grodal, Torben (1997) Moving Pictures: A New Theory of Film Genres, Feelings and
Cognition, Clarendon Press, UK.
Jacey, Helen (2010) The Women in the Story, Michael Weiss Publishing, USA.
Jowett, Benjamin (accessed 2010) “Translation of Plato’s Symposium,” http://classics.
mit.edu/Plato/symposium.html.
Mernit, Billy (2001) Writing the Romantic Comedy, Harper Paperbacks, USA.
Mulvey, Laura (1975) “Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema.” Film Theory and
Criticism: Introductory Readings, Oxford University Press, UK, pp. 833–844.
Neale, Steve (2000) Genre and Hollywood, Routledge, USA.
Schatz, Thomas (1981) Hollywood Genres: Formulas, Filmmaking and the Studio System,
University of Texas Press, USA.
Schatz, Thomas (1983) Old Hollywood/New Hollywood: Ritual Art and Industry, UMI
Research Press, USA.
Schatz, Thomas (1997) “The Structural Influence: New Directions in Film Genre
Study.” Quarterly Review of Film Studies.
Schopenhauer, Arthur and E.F. J. Payne (1884) World as Will and Representation,
Volume 2, Dover Publications, UK, translation 1966.
Selbo, Jule (2010) “Screenwriters Who Shaped the PreCode Woman and their Strug-
gle with Censorship,” Analyzing the Screenplay (Ed. Jill Nelmes), Routledge, UK.
Selbo, Jule (2008) Rewrite: First Draft to Marketplace, Garth Gardner Publishing,
USA.
Williams, Linda (1991) “Film Bodies: Gender, Genre and Excess.” Film Quarterly,
Volume 44, No. 4, Summer.
CHAPTER 6
Speculative Genres
Terms to understand: speculative genre, science fiction, horror, fantasy, overriding

genre, supporting genre
As noted, most audiences choose the film they are going to view by consider-
ing its marketed genre. It’s obvious that a genre promises a journey that the
film viewer wants to experience. And if the story does not deliver, the disap-
pointed audience experiences annoyance, regret and sometimes downright
anger. I would venture to say that in the genres of speculative fiction—sci-fi,
fantasy and horror—this is even more prevalent. Why? These three genres
attract specific audiences who tend to be knowledgeable and demanding—
and very picky (not to say prickly) if their expectations are not met.
In all narratives, but especially in the speculative fiction genres, effica-
cious use of supporting genres is very important; they can do a lot of the
heavy lifting of the story. However, it is important to solidify the overrid-
ing (main) genre of the film narrative first; use the schematic knowledge to
frame the narrative at the beginning and end of the film, and also within
the narrative to keep the audience satisfied that their genre expectations are
being met.
I suggest we think of sci-fi, fantasy and horror for a moment as “world”
genres, for there are few inherent “story” components in these genres (genres
that have stronger narrative dictates include mystery, romance and crime). Their
main feature is that they invite the audience into a specific world—and there
are many fans enthralled with these worlds.
Science fiction stories should have their roots in science; it’s obvious
from its appellation. The writer’s imagination can extrapolate and vamp on
the chosen scientific nugget; the fun of the sci-fi genre is its proximity to
some scientific truth or hypothesis. (In other words, research can be the
screenwriter’s very good friend.) One of the first sci-fi films (as well as one
of the first-ever story-based films) was 1902’s A Trip to the Moon, written by
Georges Méliès, and inspired by the novels of Jules Verne. It is the story of
a group of scientists who build a rocket ship, fly to the moon and confront
moon creatures. The use of scientific fact or hypotheticals has always contin-
ued to excite the interest of audiences. Star Wars: A New Hope (1977) features
120
SPECULATIVE GENRES 121
nuggets of science focused on space exploration and robotic science. The

supporting genres of Star Wars: A New Hope are adventure (a goal is set and
the hero, against all odds, must strive to reach that goal for the betterment
of their community or all mankind), action (lots of it), buddy (the arc of
Luke (Mark Hamill) and Han (Harrison Ford) towards friendship and trust)
and a nod towards romance (Luke and Han are both interested in Princess
Leia and that conflict has its own arc) and coming-of-age (Luke matures and
learns to trust the Force). These supporting genres help illuminate character
and relationships and the action/adventure genres hold much of the plot
line. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (2004) is also constructed around
a scientific hypothesis about the possibility of memory erasures; two lov-
ers experience a painful break-up and both decide to expunge memories
of each other. Its main supporting genre is romance (boy meets girl, boy
wants girl, boy tries to get girl, boy gets girl, boy loses girl, boy realizes life is
empty without girl, boy tries to get girl back, boy does (or doesn’t)). It is the
romance genre line that makes us care about the characters and it is the sci-fi
genre that engages our imagination.
The fantasy genre allows the screenwriter to create an imaginary world,
often using supernatural elements as primary inspirations for plot and char-
acters. The world may be dreamlike—it may at times feel real, but it is always
illusory (consider Harry Potter (1997–2007 novels, 2001–2011 films) or Lord of
the Rings (1954–1955 novels, 2001–2003 films, and a previous film in 1978)).
Environments can be otherworldly, but at the same time they must be clearly
drawn; rules of the society and mores and beliefs of the characters must be
specific. The screenwriter must create boundaries or laws or social rites and
rituals that will give the world shape; this work will allow the opportunity
to build conflicts. For example, in the Harry Potter novels J.K. Rowling cre-
ated an entire world that set up conflicts for Harry. His wizardry heritage
makes him an outcast in the “real” world, he has to deal with wizards who
have their own governmental system with factions that do not agree with
each other, and it has been foretold that he will be the one to vanquish the
megalomaniacal and evil Voldemort. Fantastical elements aid and challenge
him; wands and invisibility cloaks are sources of limited power and so on.
The world and the confines of the world are brilliantly set so that Harry will
face numerous obstacles.
Supporting genres in the fantasy worlds help illuminate characters and
devise plot points. Note how the film adaptation of The Wizard Of Oz (1939)
brings an ordinary farm girl, Dorothy, into an extraordinary world, Oz (thus
setting up the drama genre, for the base of that genre is an ordinary protago-
nist who faces tasks/tests) and puts her on a quest—first to get to Oz and
then to get the Wicked Witch’s broomstick (thus adding the adventure genre
for she has specific goals to accomplish) and brings her to understand there
is “no place like home” (that understanding comes through maturation,
122 SPECULATIVE GENRES
which is an element of the coming-of-age genre). Toy Story (1995) is based in

a fantastical world where toys have full lives outside of the humans’ interac-
tion with them as objects of play. Toy Story employs comedy (based in incon-
gruity and juxtaposition), buddy (the arc of Woody and Buzz Lightyear as
they go from adversaries to friends), adventure (Woody’s goal of getting Buzz
back into the fold before moving day is over) and action (sequences of rescu-
ing Buzz from the evil child’s backyard, Woody and Buzz trying to chase the
moving truck and more). In The Wizard of Oz, Toy Story and the Harry Potter
films, the adventure genre is the motor of the story and the fantasy genre is
used to set the world and its boundaries.
The horror genre narrative features plots where evil forces (events or
characters) find their way into the everyday world and infiltrate or assault
the innocent—or the guilty. The horror genre calls for a writer to create a
space or situation for an evil entity to show itself and, in most cases, make
life miserable for those who inhabit the story. The evil entity shakes up
belief systems or runs amuck with violent or subtle malfeasance. There are
various permutations that the audience has unique expectations about—
such as slasher horror, psychological horror, sci-fi horror, monster horror
and thriller horror. Whichever permutation, a writer is challenged to raise
the terror bar by sparking the viewer’s imagination with original horrific
situations—situations that are usually taken to the most excessive point that
the writer can imagine (excess blood, excess terror, excess body count and
excess paranoia). Horror villains are classically all “id”—persons/entities
that want what they want when they want it and don’t let ego (what others
may think of their actions) or super-ego (sense of morality) get in their way.
Whether the villain is a monster (vampire, zombie or werewolf or other
monstrous being) or a human or an extraterrestrial entity, the immoral,
unreasonable, self-centered evil-ness of the force will move the narrative
from the thriller genre (suspense without the absolute evil component) to
the horror genre.
Horror films are hugely popular; my favorites are the ones in which I
come to care about the characters. Rosemary’s Baby (1968, written by Roman
Polanski, based on a book by Ira Levin) is classic horror; the pervasive evil
is Satan himself. Satan is using devil worshipers to help identify the female
human vessel who will give birth to his progeny. The supporting genres
are drama, tragic romance (boy doesn’t get girl at the end and lives and souls
are destroyed) and mystery (plot points are structured as clues that make up
the nefarious puzzle). Night of the Living Dead (1968, written by John A. Russo
and George Romero) features zombies intent on using the living as a food
source. The film narrative leans on sci-fi (zombies rise from the dead due to
radiation from a fallen satellite); it also uses the action genre. The lack of
one of the “relationship” genres such as romance or buddy causes this film
to be more of a carnival ride of terror than a personal/emotional connector.
SPECULATIVE GENRES 123
Different audiences are attracted to various genres and subgenres and there
is a huge audience for slasher horror (the higher the body count the better).
What about combining sci-fi, fantasy and horror? Consider Aliens
(1979), Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter (2012) and Pacific Rim (2013).
Most successful film narratives will have an overriding genre and one
or more supporting genres. Each of the genres will give the screenwriter
ideas for plot and character arcs. Understanding the audience expectations
of each of the speculative genres—their expectations for intellectual and
visceral experiences—will help the screenwriter construct a screenplay that
will gratify the viewers’ desires. The screenwriter will want to include the
touchstones of the chosen speculative genre—and add an original point of
view and content. The speculative genres are illuminated in more detail in
the following chapters.
CHAPTER 7
Horror
Terms to understand: psychological, slasher, monster, id, ego, super-ego, excess,

deconstructed, final girl, vampire, zombie, ghost, duppy, witch, werewolf, devil
Horror films have been a favorite genre of audiences since the silent film
era. The audience of the horror genre is fascinated with the exploration of
the idea that “evil” is present all around us. Horror films are meant to be
unsettling. They should invoke mankind’s worst fears—the vulnerabilities,
secrets, revulsions and terrors of the unknown. The unknown could be the
experience of death, dismemberment, sex, the occult, life after death, the irra-
tional, a new location with a strange pedigree, a new relationship, the basis
for a recurring nightmare or any foreign situation in which the “everyman”
protagonist might unwittingly or unwillingly find himself. Horror film critic
James Twitchell points out that the Latin horrere means “to bristle.” He relates
this to the way the “nape hair stands on end during moments of shivering
excitement” when a person is suddenly faced with a very fearful situation
and must decide to “fight or take flight.” The horror film gives the audience a
chance to experience the emotional and physical reactions to their deep fears
in a “safe” environment—to experience a thrill ride that they know will be
over in approximately two hours.
Most horror films will be based in the drama genre. The drama genre,
as noted in previous chapters, is best when it is focused on the everyman or
everywoman, someone the audience can relate to, someone who has no—or
very few—special skills. If the everyman protagonist has a lot to lose—perhaps
his sense of self, a loved one or a family member or his entire world—the
film story will resonate at a deeper level. The audience will connect with a
horror film when they engage and empathize with the main characters while
they are stalked or disfigured, terrified or brought to the edge of madness.
Film theorist Torben Grodal writes, “Horror stories still often focus on the
fear of becoming food for some other, alien creatures.” He notes that the hunter-
versus-hunted scenario in the horror genre can be traced to primitive human
beings and their encounters with enemies (beasts or other humans). Grodal
believes the “fight or flight” impulse is embedded in human nature and is
recalled deeply (consciously or unconsciously) in audiences (Grodal, 2009: 5–6).
124
HORROR 125
Horror films often feature plots where:
– evil forces, events, or characters invade the everyday world and upset
the social order;
ο the forces of evil affecting the protagonist can be human or of
supernatural or extraterrestrial origin;
– the main characters are psychologically challenged as well as physi-
cally threatened;
ο the terror bar is raised by sparking the viewer’s imagination with
original horrific situations that feed into psychological fear.
It is very important for the audience of the horror film to feel that just
under the surface of normality there is a world that is dangerous and evil and
one that could be pervasively destructive if unleashed.
CORE EVIL FORCES

What sets the horror film genre apart from others is its exploration of evil.
The idea of evil is, for most people, a mysterious “unknown” and/or
“un-understandable” and/or “unreasonable” component that wants
to invade the body or spirit of a person or thing. This unreasonable and
un-understandable being is psychopathic in intensity. Most people deal with
disappointment, betrayal, or tragedy in an emotional, non-psychopathic way.
The screenwriter needs to make the distinction between psychotic (someone
who suffers from a mental disorder such as delusions or hallucinations or
something that impairs clear connection with reality) and psychopathic
(someone who suffers from a mental disorder that manifests amoral or
antisocial behavior, lack of ability to love or form relationships combined
with a failure to learn from experience). It’s the psychopathologic nature of evil
that makes a horror villain truly scary, the uncontrollable, and non-rational
assaults that the everyman protagonist must face (Dirks, accessed 2010).
Psychoanalyst Sigmund Freud suggested that the human psychic
apparatus is comprised of three parts: the id, the ego and the super-ego. The
“id” is the dark and inaccessible part of our personalities that strives to bring
about satisfaction of base instincts with no regard to the welfare of others. The
“ego” and “super-ego” are developed to police the “id” and keep it in check.
The study of the human brain and its desires is, of course, very complex,
but for the screenwriter interested in horror, an oversimplification of Freud’s
insights into human nature can help inform the construction of the horror
story—especially when building the characters in the narrative.
– The character acting with the id as dominant is shaped by this

statement: “I want what I want when I want it and nothing will stop
my desire or attempt to reach my goal.” The id is primitive—and
126 HORROR
all-encompassing—in nature. This type of psychic make-up works

well in constructing the horror villain, for an evil villain has no
conscience and no regard for others outside of his or her own selfish
desires.
– The ego tempers the id: “I want what I want when I want it, but I care
what people think of me so I will temper my desires in order to live/
work within a community or mankind.” The ego causes a person to
take into account his or her reputation or social standing.
ο Many antagonists in other genres may be a person acting only

with id and ego. If he or she can manage to garner respect, love
or gain a feeling of power by putting self-centered desires first, he
or she may be satisfied—despite being incapable of acting out of
true empathy.
– The super-ego: “I want what I want when I want it, but what I want
may not be good for mankind or the environment or other concerns,
therefore I will sacrifice personal desires for the benefit of others.”
The super-ego, according to Freud, has to be developed over time and
stifles inappropriate, unethical and/or immoral impulses.
Many horror villains never possess or never develop an ego or a super-ego and
so, in civilized society, are seen as inherently evil. Horror villains are always
ruled by their ids. If an obstacle is put in their way, they tear it/him/her
down. Nothing matters to the horror villain except for what he/she/it wants.
Consider the villain in No Country for Old Men (2007, written by Joel and
Ethan Coen, based on a novel by Cormac McCarthy). The villain, Anton
Chigurh ( Javier Bardem), wants his blood money back—why? Excess pride,
excess vanity, excess need to show his superiority. He’ll stop at nothing to
get his money; all “rational” and “civilized human” tendencies are missing.
Even when Chigurh has retrieved the money, his excess vanity continues to
lead him; he kills again only to show that he can kill.
At the core of (most) horror films is “the monster,” the person or being
that is without human decency or morals or power of self-control—the per-
son with the dominant “id.” The monster may be human or inhuman. Con-
sider the cannibal Hannibal Lecter (Silence of the Lambs (1991), adapted by
Ted Tally from a novel by Thomas Harris), or the myriad monstrous vampires
or werewolves or aliens full of evil intent. The important essence of the hor-
ror villain is his or her inherent evil, the inherent “monstrosity.”
Evil forces may be fantastical (supernatural or grotesque) or human:
– The supernatural or grotesque creature in horror films includes the

vampire, devil, ghost, monster, witch, demon, zombie, evil spirit,
werewolf, evil alien or other creature of dark purpose. (See Chapter 9
on Fantasy.)
HORROR 127
– The human monster may include the demented madman, mad

scientist, revengeful boyfriend or girlfriend (or revengeful husband,
wife, best friend), the social outcast, the disfigured victim, vamp,
freak or wronged person with a psychopathic personality.
HORROR FILM CATEGORIES

The horror genre contains various categories such as psychological horror,
slasher horror, sci-fi horror, thriller horror and monster horror. It’s important
for the screenwriter to know into which category his story falls, in order to
satisfy the expectations of the audience and to knowledgeably decide on
other elements to employ to forge a stronger sense of newness and original-
ity. Many of the categories will cross-pollinate and this can also bring a sense
of newness into this genre (Neale, 2000: 51).
– Psychological horror: The evil force is taking a mental toll on its

victim, usually creating a great sense of paranoia, distrust, fear of
the unknown or demise of the spirit. Psychological horror films go
beyond merely the demise of the flesh.
– Slasher horror: The evil force is absolutely bent on killing and the
destruction of a safe haven. The evil force may be human, alien, or
any form of monstrosity. The methods and madness of the evil force
can come in many forms. Often a high body count (death, dismem-
berment and other maiming) and an excessive quantity of violence
and blood are considered elements that attract the horror audience
to the slasher subgenre.
– Monster horror: The evil force is personified in a horrific form.
Humans may have created the monster (this element may add the
sci-fi genre to the film narrative) or the monster may merely exist
and rise from the depths of the earth or descend from the heavens.
The monster becomes uncontrollable and wreaks havoc.
DISPLACEMENT OF SEX INTO VIOLENCE

Film analyst Linda Williams, in her 1991 essay “Film Bodies: Gender, Genre
and Excess,” refers to horror films and pornography films as “body genres.”
The horror film’s portrayal of violence and terror not only results in physical
reactions on screen (the actors acting) but must also cause a visceral reaction
in the audience:
a pertinent feature shared by body genres is the focus on what could

probably best be called a form of ecstasy. While the classical meaning
of the original Greek word is insanity and bewilderment, more
contemporary meanings suggest components of direct or indirect sexual
128 HORROR
excitement and rapture . . . <in horror> the <ecstasy is the audience’s>

uncontrollable convulsion or spasm of . . . fear and terror.
(Linda Williams, 1991: 4)
Williams points out that most horror films (most specifically the slasher)
are aimed at adolescents “careening wildly between two masculine and
feminine poles” because at that age there is the fascination with sex and with
gender roles, and there is a desire to feel powerful. Williams believes that
the most successful horror films are measured by how much the audience’s
sensations mimic what is seen on the screen (such as screaming, gasping,
sense of doom and sense of entrapment). Williams notes that the horror film
is “the fearjerker” and that while male victims (actors) in horror films may
scream and shudder, the females do it much better. Hitchcock realized this,
and in most of his films the women are the prominent victims: Hitchcock’s
advice to horror and thriller directors: “Torture the women!” (Evans, 2007).
EXCESS
Williams also compares three genres’ use of bodily excess: pornography
(excess sex), horror (excess violence), and melodrama (excess emotion). She
notes that audiences respond to and expect these excesses in their chosen
genre (Williams, 1991). In finding a way to use Williams’ assessments in a
practical but creative way, the screenwriter may opt for—in the case of the
slasher/horror—excess in blood, excess in need to control, excess in naïveté,
excess in sexual interest and excess in murder. In a psychological horror nar-
rative, the excess may be in constant and accelerating paranoia and/or sense
of entrapment. In monster horror, the screenwriter may choose to employ
excess in body count, vulnerability, feelings of inability to cope and an excess
of fear. The horror genre features a villain who is not a straightforward antag-
onist but an agent of an excessively deep and dark evil force focused on an
excessively malevolent goal with no possibility of a change of heart. The key
is excess.
Consider the psychological horror film The Exorcist (1973, written by
William Peter Blatty, based on his own novel); there is an excess of evil intent,
vomit, levitation and vitriolic manipulation. The psychological/monster/
slasher horror film The Shining (1980, written by Stanley Kubrick and Diane
Johnson, based on the novel by Stephen King) features an excess of snow, an
excess of empty corridors, an excess of mental cruelty. Consider the slasher
film House on Haunted Hill (1999, written by Dick Beebe); there is an excess
of torturous contraptions in the excessively maze-like, excessively decrepit
and excessively remote building that was once a hospital for mental patients.
The script of the slasher horror film Halloween (1978, written by John
Carpenter and Debra Hill) sets up the mental space of excess anxiety,
HORROR 129
vulnerability and violence on the first page: the sister makes love to her boy-
friend in her bedroom while someone is watching. Later she brushes her hair,
naked, and is surprised by someone wearing a Halloween mask. The script
continues:
The sister continues to stare incredulously. There is a rapid blur as the POV
drives the butcher knife into the sister’s chest and out again almost before
we’ve seen it. The sister looks down at the blood forming at her hands, then
back up at the POV with an astonished disbelief. Then in a wild paroxysm
the butcher knife blurs continuously in and out of frame, slashing the sister
mercilessly. She begins to SCREAM, trying to fend off the blows with her
hands, then suddenly falls out . . .
(Halloween, 1978)
The screenwriter is able to take every element, including particulars of

locations, settings, weather, character strengths and weaknesses, intents of
villains, plot points, sounds and other elements and push them to explore
the “excess.” This will help create the creepy, odd, off-kilter, menacing world
of the narrative and satisfy the expectations of the horror aficionado.
PSYCHOLOGICAL HORROR
Many psychological horror films do not focus on body count, but on the
dissolution of peace of mind and relationships due to evil intent or action
(often inflicted by a loved one or a trusted person). Psychological horror
films explore the normal life of the everyman (the basic character of the
drama genre); he or she is surreptitiously invaded or threatened by an evil
force. Life’s status quo is slowly eroded; in many cases suspicions are aroused
only after a great trust is broken.
Horror films, when done well and with less reliance on horrifying special
effects, can be extremely potent film forms, tapping into our dream
states and the horror of the irrational and unknown, and the horror
within man himself . . . In (psychological) horror films, the irrational
forces of chaos or horror invariably need to be defeated.
(Dirks, accessed 2010)
Films in the horror genre will have a psychological component to them

for, in most cases, the protagonist is on a steep learning curve. Perhaps at
the outset of the narrative he or she naïvely does not believe that true evil
exists. By the end of the story, the protagonist has become a believer and
knows that evil is pervasive and dangerous. Perhaps, at the beginning of the
narrative, the protagonist believes there is an ultimate benevolent power
that is able to protect humankind from malevolent forces in the universe.
At the conclusion of the narrative he or she comes to accept that good and
130 HORROR
evil are equally strong and safety is not a guarantee. Perhaps the evil lives
nearby, in one’s personal sphere and, as a result, trust, love and/or faith are
severely tested.
Often, in well-made horror films, the psychological distress experienced
due to the revelations concerning the existence of the evil destroy the char-
acters, physically or psychologically. Examples of psychological horror films
include The Hand That Rocks the Cradle (1992), The Devil’s Advocate (1997),
What Lies Beneath (2000), Gaslight (1944), The Others (2001) and The Sixth
Sense (1999).
SLASHER HORROR
The slasher horror film was dubbed the “dead teenager movie” by film critic
Roger Ebert (Ebert, 2007). The set-up is often familiar: a psychopathic killer
(sometimes wearing a mask) stalks and graphically kills a series of victims (in
most cases, teens who are engaging in sex or drugs or other activity that is not
sanctioned by most adults) in what initially seems to be a random fashion.
The initial seemingly randomness and unexplainable reason for the mayhem
contributes to the fear factor. Eventually a dark, psychotic reason (perhaps
revenge for a snub or a vindictive word or action or an event that destroyed
the familial nest) is revealed (usually at the end of the film story). The time
frame of the slasher story is usually short—in many cases, the action takes
place in one night or just a few days. Classically, the film usually starts with
the murder of a young, sexually active female and ends with the survival of
the virginal or sexually responsible female (the Final Girl).
Agatha Christie’s 1939 mystery novel, And Then There Were None, features
a psychopathic killer murdering a series of hapless victims in an isolated
location. This is often pointed to as an early precursor to the slasher horror
genre. (It was adapted for the screen in 1945 by Dudley Nichols.) However,
the film Thirteen Women (1932, adapted by Bartlett Cormack and Samuel
Omitz from Tiffany Thayer’s novel) may deserve the honor of being the very
first “slasher horror” film. Thirteen Women tells a revenge story set in a college
sorority; former members are set against one another by a vengeful “sorority
sister” seeking retribution for the prejudice bestowed on her because of her
mixed race heritage.
Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho (1960, written by Josef Stephano, based on a
novel by Robert Bloch) features only two onscreen murders; however, the
idea of a disguised and insane killer caught the audience’s imagination. Many
critics see Psycho as a turning point in cinema history because it marked the
transition from the Gothic horror stories of vampires, werewolves and mon-
sters to modern issues and fears—“real people” facing “real psychopaths”
(Byron, 2011). Screenwriter/director Francis Ford Coppola, exploring the
idea of the “psychopath among us,” wrote and directed Dementia 13 (1963).
HORROR 131
Other films in this vein include Black Christmas (1974), The Texas Chainsaw
Massacre (1974), Halloween (1978), as well as the gender-bender Sleepaway
Camp (1983).
THE FINAL GIRL

Film analyst Carol J. Clover, in her book Men Women and Chainsaws: Gen-
der in the Modern Horror Film (1992), coined the term “The Final Girl.” This
term refers to the last female left alive at the end of the slasher film, the
one who outwits or outlasts the psychopath (at least for the time being).
She represents the continuation of the human species. This girl, in most
cases, is an outsider. She’s not one of the pack; she’s special. Special quali-
ties may include an ambition to leave the troubles of her current situation
and relationships behind and to make something of her life. The Final Girl
is not a flirt or sexually promiscuous; in many cases she is a virgin. She is
practical and not given to hysterics. She dresses conservatively, sometimes
like a tomboy. Her given name, in many cases, is gender neutral (Sidney in
Scream, Reagan in The Exorcist and Ripley in Alien). She’s the ultimate “girl
next door” and the audience roots for her to get the best of the “monster”
(Clover, 1992).
Nina, in Nosferatu (1922), is one of first of the Final Girl characters. Her
husband has been unable to distract/destroy the vampire Nosferatu (based
on the Bram Stoker’s Dracula published in 1897). Nosferatu, his “id” abso-
lutely dominant, is intent on consummating his desire for Nina. Nina hap-
pens upon the “how to destroy a vampire” book and reads that only a female
of pure heart who accepts the vampire into her bed and keeps him there until
sunrise can destroy the monster. Brave Nina sets the trap; she lets the vampire
Nosferatu into her bedroom for a tryst and keeps him there until the bright
morning sun shines upon him—and destroys him. She sacrifices herself for
the ones she loves and for the community (her super-ego in play).
GUIDELINES FOR THE SLASHER HORROR

Carol Clover provides insight into the subgenre and notes these elements:
– The locale is away from home, often in a “terrible place” that usually
has remnants of a horrific past or secrets associated with it.
– The weapons are pre-technological. There are definitely no guns (guns
are impersonal because they can be used at a distance thus there is no
close contact between killer and victim). Preferred weapons include
hammers, axes, ice picks, hypodermic needles, knives, bare hands,
red-hot pokers, pitchforks and other weapons that can tear, reveal or
destroy.
132 HORROR
– Victims are sexually active and some are sexual transgressors, often
immoral.1
– The Final Girl is sexually reserved, gender neutral and smart. When
she is attacked, she screams, falls and rises again . . . to scream, fall
and rise again and again and again . . .
– The villain (slasher) is usually a product of a sick or damaged family,
usually male, and often propelled by a psychosexual fury.
– There may be sexual identity or gender identity questions or problems
raised.
– There are multiple shocking, sudden attacks that create moments of
anxiety, fear and shrieks from the audience.
The slasher film in the 1980s was popular and financially successful.
According to Peter M. Bracke’s book, Crystal Lake Memories (2005), focusing
on the history of Friday the 13th films, in 1983 nearly 60% of the horror films
made were slasher films. After 1983, there was a drop in the interest and the sla-
sher horror box office draw began to suffer, most probably because the films
in the genre were becoming “generic”—or more aligned in the “genre film”
category. They were too closely copied, there was no innovation or surprise
and thus the audience lost interest. However, less than ten years later, the
1990s ushered in a new and re-fashioned slasher horror film by deconstructing
the genre and presenting a new approach. Examples include Scream (1996),
I Know What You Did Last Summer (1997) and Urban Legend (1998).
DECONSTRUCTION OF THE SLASHER FILM

Scream (1996, written by Kevin Williamson) clearly uses the deconstruction-of-
the-genre technique to bring freshness to the slasher horror film. Williamson
builds a serviceable horror story, but then adds character attributes that
allow him to let the genre reflect on itself. The characters in the film are
slasher horror fanatics and especially knowledgeable about the genre. This is
set up immediately in the film when the unidentified, mysterious “slasher”
telephones one of his initial victims, Casey (Drew Barrymore), and asks her
the title of her favorite scary movie. Unsuspecting and slightly flirtatious
(something a Final Girl would never be), Casey rattles off her picks—until
she realizes she is in a very real slasher/horror story. Terribly afraid, she calls
“Who’s there?” into the darkness. The aggressively malevolent voice on the
phone tells her “You should never say, ‘Who’s there?’ Don’t you watch scary
movies? Casey, it’s a death wish.”
Casey realizes she is the perpetrator’s next target. She tries to escape
but is soon brutally murdered. Once news of Casey’s demise hits the high
school, Randy, the nerdy-cool teen who works after school at the video store,
HORROR 133
FIGURE 7.1 Drew Barrymore in Scream (1996)
shows his knowledge of “the rules” of the slasher horror genre. He lets the
characters (and audience) in on these rules, thus setting up the “fun” for
the audience of seeing these rules play out (or not). The characters in the
film even go so far as to cast themselves in the movie version of the film.
In the sequel, Scream II, the movie of the “real life mayhem” is being made
(creating the movie within the movie) and raising the “insider” feeling
(the deconstruction) to another level.
Randy, the sage of the horror genre in Scream, speaks as if he’s just
studied Carol Clover’s book:
Randy refers to Billy who stands down the aisle talking to TWO GIRLS.
(The twits from the bathroom perhaps.)
RANDY
If you were the only suspect in a
senseless bloodbath would you be standing
in the horror section?
STU
It was all a misunderstanding. He didn’t
do anything.
RANDY
You’re such a little lap dog. He’s got
killer printed all over his forehead.
STU
Then why’d the police let him go?
RANDY
Because, obviously, they don’t watch
enough movies. This is standard horror
movie stuff. PROM NIGHT revisited.
134 HORROR
Randy moves down the aisle, re-shelving videos.
STU
Why would he want to kill his own
girlfriend?
RANDY
There’s always some stupid bullshit
reason to kill your girlfriend. That’s
the beauty of it all. Simplicity.
Besides, if it’s too complicated you lose
your target audience.
Screenwriter Williamson’s derogatory comments on the predictability of the

slasher horror genre (voiced through the characters in his film) makes his
position clear—he is out to take the slasher subgenre to the next level by
deconstructing it. Even his lead character, his Final Girl, clearly disdains the
horror film when she talks to the villain on the telephone:
SIDNEY
. . . You know I don’t watch that <horror film>
shit.
MAN (ON PHONE)

And why is that?
SIDNEY
(playing along)
Because they’re all the same. It’s
always some stupid killer stalking some
big breasted girl—who can’t act—who
always runs up the stairs when she should
be going out the front door. They’re
ridiculous.
In Scream II, screenwriter Williamson gives another nod to the knowl-

edgeable slasher/horror film audience. He uses Randy, the video-store worker
and the character most knowledgeable about the horror genre, to state the
rules for the slasher/horror sequel—and thus lets the audience know what to
look for, what to expect and, by doing so, promises to go beyond the expected:
RANDY
The body count is always bigger . . . the death
scenes are always much more elaborate—with
more blood and gore . . . If you want your films to
become a successful franchise, never, ever under
any circumstances, assume the killer is dead.
HORROR 135
Scream is a useful example of the evolution of the horror genre. Screen-

writer Williamson encodes the film story for those “in the know” and also
lends a hand to the horror film neophytes—letting them in on a few insights
that will make them want to check out the iconic horror films that came
before.
MONSTER HORROR
The monster is a long-standing trope of the horror genre. The monster can
be used as a symbol or device that resonates with the audience; the mon-
ster may be the fear of the “other,” it may represent man’s lack of human-
ity or man’s carelessness towards the environment. The monster is all “id,”
and often represents the possible quality of mankind if base desires took
prominence. Monsters are, for the most part, devoid of altruistic qualities,
show no regret for their crimes and have no chance of redemption. The
best monsters, those that really inspire fear and deep-seated anxiety, touch
something deep inside the audience. Most of the non-human monsters will
be constructed in a fantastical uncanny or fantastical marvelous narrative.
(See Chapter 9: Fantasy.)
THE VAMPIRE
In the monster horror category, one of the most explored legends is that of
the vampire. Studies into the origins of the vampire myth are varied; how-
ever, many researchers agree the belief in vampires was first noted in the Far
East and worked its way to Eastern Europe. The legend of India’s goddess
Kali, who has fangs and wears a necklace of skulls, states that Kali battled the
demon Raktabija, a demon that had the ability to reproduce himself from
the blood of his victims. Kali defeated Raktabija by drinking all the blood of
the felled soldiers in the battle before Raktabija could take advantage of his
much-needed feast, and thus he was defeated and died a certain death.
An obscure myth suggests that the idea of vampires may have started
with Judas Iscariot. After betraying Christ, Judas hangs himself. (In some
vampire folklore, it is believed that people who commit suicide are likely
to come back as vampires.) It is also noted that due to Judas’ guilt about his
participation in having Jesus crucified, Judas goes to the Romans and gives
them back their silver (vampires, classically, hate crosses and silver). Also, on
the night of Jesus’ execution, Judas (and the rest of his disciples) took part in
a communion where they drank “the blood” of Christ.
Eastern Europe’s belief in vampires was stronger than in Western
Europe. This may be due to the split of the Catholic Church around the
year 1054 into two factions: the Roman Catholic and the Orthodox Church.
Roman Catholics viewed the “dead coming back to life” as a mostly saintly
136 HORROR
enterprise, believing that the “dead that walk among us” are there to do
good or show believers the way to everlasting life (heaven). The Orthodox
Church took a darker view—the dead come back to life to avenge a wrong
and punish. Those not strong enough to resist the dead’s seductive or
hypnotic powers were led to a hellish everlasting life of lust, murder and
mayhem. Eastern European gypsies embraced particular legends concerning
vampires. The vampire, “a mullo,” was revengeful and could return from the
dead to suck the blood of a family member who did not properly respect the
ceremonies at the deceased’s funeral.
The modern-day vampire legend has certain features that have become
iconic—mostly due to three popular works of literature, The Vampyre (1819,
written by John Polidori), and Carmilla (1872, written by Sheridan Le Fanu
and featured in the collection In a Glass Darkly) and Bram Stoker’s Dracula
(1897). Stoker’s Dracula is, perhaps, the most recognizable novel featuring
a vampire; the vampire is presented as immortal, wealthy, wearing evening
clothes and a cape with a collar—a vampire who has an undeniable thirst for
the blood of a pure woman.
Stoker’s novel is often put in the sub-category of “invasion literature.”
Between 1871 and 1914, many British fiction writers created works concen-
trating on invasions of armies or persons intent on overthrowing the British
way of life and government (H.G. Wells’ War of the Worlds is also listed in
the era’s invasion literature, in the sci-fi/fantasy genre). Stoker used the hor-
ror genre to explore the fear of invasion; Count Dracula is tired of his own
Eastern European country and becomes intent on the idea of creating a vam-
pire sect in Britain. His “invasion” is into society; he seduces his victims by
promising eternal life and youth.
The male vampire is also, in a way, “giving birth,” creating a being that
will live in his own image and be a companion forever. Female vampire
stories (more prevalent in Europe than in America) tend to explore a more
homosexual arena; the lesbian vampire lusts after the virginal young woman
who is meant to remain under the spell of her creator (but rarely stays loyal
or true) (Den of Geek).
The “classic rules” concerning the vampire:
– Vampires belong to the undead; they are destined to live forever.

– Vampires drink blood for survival.
– Vampires are vulnerable to sunlight, garlic, mirrors and crucifixes.
– Vampires can be killed only by putting a stake through their heart.
– Burning the vampire carcass may insure that the vampire is truly
destroyed.
The legend of the vampire has been expanded by writers such as Anne
Rice (the popular Interview With A Vampire (1976)) and Stephenie Meyer’s
HORROR 137
teen-vampire novels (the Twilight Saga (2005–2009)). However, both Rice

and Meyers take care to stay true to their audience’s specific knowledge of
the genre. The success of vampire-inspired films such as Nosferatu (1922),
Dracula (1931), The Night Stalker (1972), Martin (1977), Nosferatu: The Vampyre
(1979), The Hunger (1983), Interview With a Vampire: The Vampire Chronicles
(1994), Black Sunday (1960), The Night Stalker (1972), Love at First Bite (1979),
The Hunger (1983), The Lost Boys (1987), Buffy The Vampire Slayer (1992),
Blade (1998) and Bram Stoker’s Dracula (1992) can be attributed to adherence
to accepted legend and “rules of behavior” for, in doing so, they pay homage
to and raise the “potential belief” in the monster.
WEREWOLF
There are major differences between werewolves and vampires. Werewolves
cannot give everlasting life. Werewolves eat flesh (vampires merely drink
blood). A vampire may be described as “moving like a wolf” or “feeding like
a wolf” or “hunting prey like a wolf”—but he is not a wolf. A werewolf, how-
ever, is a shape-shifter and actually transforms from the human shape and
becomes a wolf. Many horror analysts suggest that tales of werewolves—the
shape-shifters (man to animal and back to man)—point to man’s inability to
control his animal nature. Werewolves lack restraint and, in most cases, do
not respond to reason.
Stories of werewolves (shape-shifters) can be found in ancient myths
in China, Haiti, Iceland, Brazil and many other countries. In the year
1101, Prince Vseslav of Polock, an alleged Ukrainian werewolf, was killed.
According to another legend, the first recorded werewolf sighting took
place in the German countryside in 1591. Peter Stubbe, at age 12, started
to practice sorcery and was so obsessed with it that he tried to make a pact
with the Devil. Wearing a magic girdle, he began to attack his enemies in the
dark of night. Eventually he donned the guise of a wolf and, again at night,
attacked unsuspecting villagers with great brutality. In the wolf form he
would tear victims’ throats and suck warm blood from their veins. Gradually
his thirst for blood grew and he roamed fields in search of prey. The villagers,
suspecting a monstrous killer on the loose, became terrified and did not dare
to venture out at night. One day, at dusk, a few villagers cornered a large
wolf and set their dogs upon it. The villagers pierced it with sharp sticks and
spears. Surprisingly, the ferocious wolf did not run away—it stood up and
unmasked itself, revealing Peter Stubbe. Stubbe was put on a torture wheel
where he confessed to sixteen murders, including two pregnant women and
thirteen children.
The first film to feature the werewolf legend was produced in 1913.
The silent film The Werewolf (written by Ruth Ann Baldwin) tells the story
of a Navajo sorceress who sends her daughter to attack the white man’s
138 HORROR
settlements in lupine form. In 1915 The Inner Brute was released, a story
about a man struggling with bestial tendencies, having been born to a
woman frightened by a tiger while she was pregnant. The Fox Woman (1915,
based on a John Luther Long novel) is a story of a woman who transforms
into a fox and steals men’s souls. The silent film Wolf Blood (1925, story by
Bennett Cohen and Cliff Hill) tells the tale of a lumber camp foreman who
sustains a severed artery and his rival-for-the-affections-of-the-girl is forced
to transfuse lupine blood into him. The foreman is now referred to as “half
wolf.” He starts to live as a wolf at night, racing through the forest. He is
finally saved from his delusions by the love of his sweetheart. (This conclu-
sion does not feature the true “horror hook” because the narrative ends with
love conquering evil. In true horror films, the complete “happy ending” is
not possible for there must be the continuing threat of a subsequent and
possibly stronger evil force waiting to be unleashed.)
The “classic rules” of the werewolf:
– Werewolves are shape-shifters.

– Werewolves are more likely to come out at full moon.
– Werewolves can be killed by a pure silver bullet or pure silver stake
through the heart.
– Werewolves have regenerative capabilities so the heart must be destroyed
after piercing.
– Werewolves react negatively to wolfsbane, a poisonous plant, and
may die if the wolfsbane touches their skin. But again, the heart
must be destroyed or the werewolf may regenerate.
– If someone is bitten by a werewolf, there is an antidote: wolfsbane
must be injected into the victim’s bloodstream.
Examples of narratives focusing on the werewolf include The Were-

wolf in London (1935), The Wolf Man (1941), The Mad Monster (1942), Cry
of the Werewolf (1944), She-Wolf of London (1946), I Was A Teenage Werewolf
(1957), An American Werewolf in London (1981), The Howling (1981), Wolfen
(1981), The Company of Wolves (1984), Teen Wolf (1985), Silver Bullet (1985),
Wolf (1994), An American Werewolf in Paris (1997) and Tomb of the Werewolf
(2004).
THE ZOMBIE
A zombie is a dead person brought back to life through voodoo2 or necro-
mancy (conjuring the dead through divination). The procedure destroys all
of the victim’s mental processes and he or she becomes the slave of its “cre-
ator.” For a scientific or rational explanation/example of this: in Haiti, voo-
doo practitioners would make a potion consisting of the poison of the puffer
HORROR 139
fish and give it to an individual—the potion makes the subject lethargic and
slows down his/her respiration and pulse until they are almost undetectable.
As a result, the subject is often believed to be dead, and therefore he or she
is buried while still alive. The voodoo practitioner will then go to the grave
site and “bring the victim back to life,” often as a slave. The zombie will
remain in a robot-like state until it tastes either salt or meat. The zombie
then becomes conscious of its condition and attempts to return to its grave
(Dilworth, Wilson).
The first “true” zombie film may have been White Zombie (1932 story
by Garnett Weston). An evil voodoo master (Bela Lugosi) runs a Haitian
sugar mill with empty-faced, mindless zombie slaves and enters into an
evil pact to win the soul of a beautiful young bride-to-be. In the early
1940s there were zombie films featuring evil, villainous Nazi officers or
scientists building zombie armies that would aid villains in taking over
the world.
Categories of zombies:
– Slave zombies are part of the voodoo curse and are normally not
undead but are instead humans on drugs. They can be killed like
humans. They can also be detoxed and return to a human state,
although they may be brain damaged.
– Demon zombies are corpses possessed by ghosts/demons. It is pos-
sible that a spell or exorcism may be needed to release them from
their state.
– Ghoul zombies kill and eat humans. They are slow, stupid and mind-
less corpses. A bullet to the head normally kills them but a decapita-
tion may be necessary. They may be afraid of fire.
The “classic rules” governing zombies:
– A zombie can be killed by a bullet to the head or by a blow to the

head: “kill the brain and you kill the zombie.”
– A zombie can be stopped with a strong blow to the spinal column,
but this will not kill the zombie.
– A zombie is afraid of fire—for fire may cause its demise.
Screenwriter and director George Romero (Night of the Living Dead (1968),
Dawn of The Dead (1978), Day of the Dead (1985), Land of the Dead (2005))
is known as a master of the modern zombie film. Romero-inspired zombies,
in most cases, fall into the ghoul variety. They are often portrayed in large
groups looking to eat flesh and infect others. Their skin is usually rotting,
their gait is slow, and they have discolored eyes.
Other examples of films that feature zombies include Pet Sematary (1989),
From Dusk til Dawn (1996), Resident Evil (2002), 28 Days Later (2002), the
140 HORROR
remake of Dawn of the Dead (2004), the horror lampoon Shaun of the Dead
(2004) and World War Z (2013).
GHOSTS
Belief in ghosts (usually associated with spirits of the dead) may have stemmed
from the concept of “animism,” which states that all objects found in nature
(humans, animals, rocks and other objects) have souls. Some cultures believe
that ghosts of departed humans cannot leave earth until everyone that knew
them has died. However, the most common belief is that ghosts are spirits who
cannot rest until they have completed a task that they did not complete while
living. This goes hand in hand with the idea of ghosts coming back to take ven-
geance on those who wronged them. Ghosts are referenced in the Bible—for
example, in the Book of Samuel, King Saul summons the spirit of Samuel. Also,
Jesus has to reassure his disciples that he is not a ghost after his resurrection.
Other terms for “ghost” include duppy, spectres, phantom, apparition,
wraith, revenant and fetch.
THE DEVIL
References to the Devil (also referred to as Satan) can be seen in ancient and
modern texts including those of Christian, Jewish, Islamic and Zoroastrian
faiths. The Devil is in opposition to God and those who do God’s will. The
name “Devil” is derived from the Greek word, “Diabolos,” which means
“slanderer” or “accuser.”
Legend has it that Satan was originally an angel named Lucifer. Luci-
fer became too prideful and was banished from heaven. This tale appears
in literary works such as the ancient epic poems Beowulf (anonymous) and
Paradise Lost (1667, written by John Milton). Satan has been depicted in
several ways throughout history; he has been portrayed as a serpent, a man
with cranial horns (this may have derived from pagan ceremonies in which
participants would tie antlers to their heads), a dragon, and an angel. Satan
is said to preside over hell and have many demons at his service.
Faust, or Faustus (Latin for “auspicious” or “lucky”), is the protagonist of
a classic German legend. Faust makes a pact with the Devil in exchange for
knowledge. “Faust” (and the adjective “Faustian”) has taken on a connotation
distinct from its original use, and is often used today to describe a person whose
headstrong desire for self-fulfillment leads him or her in a diabolical direction.
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe’s 1808 version of the story concerns the fate of
Faust in his quest for the understanding of the true essence of life (“was die Welt
im Innersten zusammenhält”). Frustrated with the limits to his knowledge and
power, Faust attracts the attention of the Devil (referred to as Mephistopheles);
Mephistopheles agrees to serve Faust until the moment Faust attains the zenith
HORROR 141
of human happiness, at which point Mephistopheles will take his soul. Faust is
pleased with the deal, as he believes the moment will never come. In the initial
section of Goethe’s story, Mephistopheles leads Faust through experiences that
culminate in a lustful and destructive relationship with the innocent Gretchen.
Gretchen and her family are destroyed by Mephistopheles’ deceptions and
Faust’s desires and actions. The first part of the story ends tragically for Faust
when Gretchen is saved and Faust is left in shame. The second part of Goethe’s
story begins with the spirits of the earth forgiving Faust (and the rest of
mankind). Faust and Mephistopheles pass through the world of politics and
meet the true beauty, Helen. Finally, Faust succeeds in ending war for all time
and he is proud and happy—and therefore in danger. Mephistopheles tries to
grab Faust’s soul but is frustrated when God intervenes. God has recognized the
value of Faust’s determined quest and wants to reward him. Mephistopheles is
livid and vows to find others to populate his “hell.”
Examples of films featuring the Devil as a character include Rosemary’s
Baby (1968), The Exorcist (1973), The Prophecy (1995), Race with the Devil (1975),
The Omen (1976), Damian: The Omen II (1978), The Amityville Horror (1979),
The Final Conflict (1981), The Devil’s Advocate (1997) and End of Days (1999).
DEMONS
Today, demons are understood to be supernatural beings that are inherently
evil. This was not always the case. For instance, Homer used the words
“demons” and “gods” almost interchangeably in his works about supernatural
beings and demons were considered intermediaries between men and gods
(McAdams).
In Christianity, demons are widely accepted to be the fallen angels who
chose to follow Lucifer after he was cast out of heaven. Demons have the
power to possess humans; however, through the power of God, they can be
cast out. This phenomenon can be seen in The Exorcist (1973); the film nar-
rative features a troubled priest, acting as God’s vessel. He sacrifices himself
to the demon to save a possessed young girl.
Examples of films featuring the presences of demons include The Evil
Dead (1983), Army of Darkness (1992), Constantine (2005), The Rite (2011),
Burnt Offerings (1976) and Prince of Darkness (1987).
OTHER SUPERNATURAL CHARACTERS

AND ELEMENTS IN THE HORROR GENRE
The horror narrative may also feature fantastical creatures/characters such
witches, mummies, gremlins, blobs, malevolent dolls, malevolent televisions,
malevolent fogs, malevolent cave creatures and other beasts—monsters of all
shapes and sizes, human and non-human, animate and non-animate.
142 HORROR
VOODOO
The Vodun religion has come to be known as “voodoo” in Western cultures.
Followers of voodoo believe in magical potions and incantations. They also
believe in the casting of spells through the voodoo gods or “Loa.” Very few
of the spells and incantations of voodoo are written down; instead they
are passed down orally from generation to generation. Unlike many other
religions, followers of voodoo do not attempt to convert others to their
religion; however, the tendency is to openly welcome anyone who wants
to join.
There is a caution endemic to voodoo; it is said that sharing voodoo
secrets with an outsider can be fatal. Today, many of the followers of voodoo
resent the reputation voodoo has garnered in Western culture as a “dark
religion.” They instead see it as a celebration of life.
MAD SCIENTISTS AND SOUL-LESS

MONSTROUS CREATURES
Horror has been an efficacious partner with the sci-fi genre. In the sci-fi/
horror hybrid, scientists (playing the role of the protagonist or antagonist)
are often portrayed as the mad or obsessed creators of monsters (sometimes
naïvely with no nefarious agenda or, conversely, for fame or greed). Through
inattention or through tragic mistake or through hubris, these scientists
create creatures bent on destruction.
The most famous “mad” scientist is, perhaps, Dr. Frankenstein.
The Frankenstein story has been adapted many times into films begin-
ning in 1910. Other “mad scientist” tales include the silent short film
The Secret Room (1915) in which a doctor attempts to implant the soul
of a healthy young man into the body of the doctor’s mentally chal-
lenged son. Another silent horror film is Go and Get It (1920, written by
Marion Fairfax), in which a doctor implants a gangster’s brain into an
ape and the ape goes on a revengeful killing rampage. A Blind Bargain
(1922, written by J.G Hawks) is about a young veteran of World War I. In
need of cash, he agrees to be the guinea pig in an experiment for strange
Dr. Lamb (Lon Chaney). The doctor wants to graft the glands of an ape
to the veteran and preserve “youth forever.” It turns out that the doc-
tor’s hunchbacked assistant used to be an ape and mid-operation on the
veteran, the angry assistant unleashes one of the beast-men from a cage.
The beast-man attacks Dr. Lamb and kills him. (This story was inspired by
actual research being done in France by a Dr. Serge Voronoff.) The Cabinet
of Dr. Caligari (1920, written by Hans Janowitz and Carl Mayer) features
a man named Francis (Frederich Fehrer) who relates a story about his
fiancée and his best friend Alan. Alan takes Francis to a fair where they
HORROR 143
meet Dr. Caligari (Werner Kraus), who exhibits a somnambulist, Cesare

(Conrad Veidt), who can predict the future. When Alan asks how long
he has to live, Cesare says he has until dawn. Alan and Francis dismiss
the ill prediction but the prophecy comes to pass and Alan is murdered.
Cesare becomes the prime suspect. One night, Cesare creeps into Francis’
fiancée’s bedroom and abducts her, running from the townspeople and
finally dying of exhaustion. Meanwhile, the police discover a dummy in
Cesare’s cabinet, while Caligari flees. Francis tracks Caligari to a mental
asylum hoping to understand the events.
Another mad scientist tale is The Fly (1958, written by Rick Gregory).
The film was re-made in 1986, directed and co-written by David Cronenberg.
In the 1986 film, Seth Brundle (Jeff Goldblum) is a brilliant but eccentric
scientist. He attempts to woo investigative journalist Veronica Quaife
(Geena Davis) by offering her an exclusive story on his latest research in the
field of matter transportation. Against all the expectations of the scientific
establishment, his work has proved to be “nearly” successful. When Brundle
attempts to teleport himself from one chamber to the other, a housefly
enters the transmission booth. Brundle soon discovers that his atoms have
merged with those of the fly and he becomes a changed man—part human,
part fly—and now looks and acts like a monster. The final lines of the sci-fi/
horror film are: “Be afraid. Be very afraid.”
THE MENTAL SPACE OF THE HORROR GENRE

The screenwriter, in creating the mental space of the horror genre for the audi-
ence, may employ schematic knowledge (framing) choices by setting up
the genre in the opening moments. The schematic choices used in the
framing of classic horror films are familiar, expected and desired by the
audience; the threat of an evil force is often introduced in the opening
sequences and thus quickly promises the audience that their desired type of
narrative is about to be experienced. The slasher film classically begins with
the first “slash” (the first victim) being terrified and defiled. The psycho-
logical horror film opening often features the set-up of a “normal” life,
but there is something “off”—a sense of anxiety and/or danger is preva-
lent. The opening moments of the monster horror film must include a
nod to or promise of impending danger. It is equally beneficial to the
screenwriter to understand that internal framing is also important; the
anxiety level must be kept high throughout the film. As a final framing
of the horror, a reminder that evil does exist and may present itself at any
moment is beneficial to satisfy the audience expectations of the horror
narrative.
horror genre include fears of abandonment, fear of the dark, fear of sudden
144 HORROR
noise, fear of being alone, fear of being overpowered, belief in supernatural

evil creatures, monsters hiding in the closet, walking alone at night in a
strange neighborhood, strange noises and countless other events, sights
or sounds that create anxiety. Horror films set out to unsettle and create
apprehension and angst as they explore evil elements in our society. Horror
films are meant to keep an audience on edge.
The relevant knowledge component of mental space calls for the
screenwriter to bring currency to the narrative. The screenwriter must con-
sider the pertinent and germane story elements that will enhance the audi-
ence’s ability to see how this story relates to today’s world. What are the
beliefs of today’s populace? What are the horrific concerns? Technology tak-
ing control? Terrorism? What monsters can reflect the times in which we are
living? Keying into the fears and anxieties of contemporary times can help
the screenwriter in the creation of the horror film.
Suggested Exercises: Horror
1. Choose a film that you are familiar with—one that is not in the hor-
ror genre.
a. Transform that film narrative into a horror narrative (in other

words, make the horror genre the overriding genre) and create an
opening sequence as an external frame so as to alert the audience
that they are going to be receiving a narrative in the horror genre.
What is the evil component that can be added to the narrative?
What kind of villain or evil entity might be needed?
b. Identify the specific horror subgenre that your narrative might
embrace; is it a slasher, monster or psychological horror narra-
tive or a combination of the subgenres?
c. Outline how you will use schematic knowledge (exterior and
interior framing) and specific knowledge (eliciting reactions
from audiences that will fulfill horror expectations within the
narrative) in your “new” story. (Example: What happens to the
classic fairytale narrative when populated with zombies?)
2. Consider contemporary political or technological or social issues

confronting today’s society.
a. What monster or evil force could be created as part of a narra-

tive that explores, allegorically, a present-day issue.
HORROR 145
b. What elements make up the ICM (idealized cognitive model) of

tives, themes and more importantly, film genre(s) and their
i. What extraneous elements are not explored in the major char-

acters’ lives and/or in the social universe of the film? Or con-
versely, are there extraneous elements that do not contribute
to the strength of the narrative that could have been excised?
NOTES
1 Film analyst Donato Totaro points out that it is only in American slasher hor-
ror films that the victims are “punished” (killed) for their interest and par-
ticipation in sex. European films are just as likely to place the female in the
aggressor role. Totaro suggests this is due to the strong American Puritanism
attitude towards sex where the sex act is sanctioned only in the marital state
(Totaro, 2000).
2 The Vodun religion has come to be known as “voodoo” in Western cultures. It
originated in West Africa in the Yorube tribe of Dahomey. The word “Vodun”
translates in several different dialects, with meanings such as “The Great
Creator” and “The Great Spirit” (Angelfire, accessed 2010).
REFERENCES
Angelfire (accessed 2010) “Everything You Need to Know About Vampires,”
http://www.angelfire.com/tn/vampires/.
Angelfire (accessed 2013) “Angel of the Light,” http://voodoo-master.angelfire.com.
Byron, Glynnis (2011) “Psycho and its Paratexts: The Material Production of the
Gothic Text,” http://www.gothic.stir.ac.uk/blog/psycho-and-its-paratexts-the-
material-production-of-a-gothic-text-part-1/ (University of Stirling, The
Gothic Imagination, April 16, accessed 2013).
Clover, Carol J. (1992) Men, Women and Chainsaws: Gender in the Modern Horror
Film, Princeton University Press, USA.
Den of Geek (accessed 2013) “Top Ten Lesbian Vampire Movies,” http://www.
denofgeek.com/movies/187845/top_10_lesbian_vampire_movies.html.
Dilworth, James (accessed 2010) “Zombies,” http://www.themystica.com/mystica/
articles/z/zombies.html.
Dirks, Tim (accessed 2010) “Horror,” www.filmsite.org/horrorfilms.html.
Ebert, Roger (2007) “Movie Answer Man,” http://www.rogerebert.com/answer-
man/dead-teenage-wasteland (June 29).
Evans, Everett (2007) “Hitchcock had an Obsession with Blondes, On Screen and
Off.” Houston Chronicle, http://www.chron.com/disp/story.mpl/ent/4559423.
html (February 18).
146 HORROR
Halloween (1978) Writers: John Carpenter & Debra Hill, Director: John Carpenter,
Compass International Pictures and Falcon International Pictures USA.
McAdams, D.J. (accessed 2010) “Demonology,” http://www.djmcadam.com/
demons.htm.
Monstrous.com (2005) “Judas Iscariot, The First Vampire?” http://www.monstrous.
com/forum/index.php?topic=856.0 (accessed 2013).
Neale, Steve (2000) Genre and Hollywood, Routledge, USA.
Totaro, Donato (2002) “The Final Girl: A Few Thoughts on Feminism and Horror,”
http://www.horschamp.qc.ca/new_offscreen/final_girl.html (accessed 2013).
Williams, Linda (1991) “Film Bodies: Gender, Genre and Excess.” Film Quarterly,
Volume 44, No. 4, Summer, pp. 2–13.
Williams, Linda (1999) Hard Core and the “Frenzy of the Visible,” University of
California Press, USA.
Williams, Linda (2001) “When a Woman Looks.” Horror: The Film Reader (Ed. Mark
Jancovich), Routledge, UK.
Wilson, Tracy V. (accessed 2010) “How Zombies Work,” http://science.howstuff
works.com/zombie.htm.
CHAPTER 8
Science Fiction
Terms to understand: possible, plausible, sense of wonder, big idea, big question,
post-apocalyptic, cyberpunk, steampunk, hard science, soft science, space opera
Good science fiction films are based on good, possible science—or at least
plausible science. Box office receipts support the fact that audiences have a
connection with sci-fi narratives. Audiences anticipate and enjoy extrapo-
lations of scientific theories where the sense of the possible or plausible is
explored. Audiences find intriguing ideas such as space travel (the always
captivating “Are we alone in this universe?” question), have a fascination
with “cheating” or staving off death and disease and queries about how
technology can help or hinder our lives. They also enjoy exploration of the
re-structuring of mankind’s physical and mental capacities (cloning and
other medical marvels), and the efficacious (or not) use of psychotropic drug
therapies and other therapeutic experiments:
A third of the top fifty all-time highest producing movies are science
fiction, which means that millions upon millions of people have seen
them . . . Given their high viewership, it’s no surprise that science fiction
films are now firmly embedded in popular culture and mythology.
(Perkowitz, 2007: 12–13)
THE SCIENCE OF SCIENCE FICTION

What drives many sci-fi narratives is the desire to understand the possibilities
of science (dark, evil or good) combined with the desire to control our world
and our lives. There are many sciences (true and experimental) to explore
in sci-fi narratives. They include geology, mathematics, chemistry, biology,
oceanography, psychiatry, space exploration, chaos theory, nuclear fallout,
organ transplants, mechanical engineering, psychology, robotics, artificial
intelligence, computer science, parallel universes, atmospheric anomalies
and more. The science can be old or new, extremely technological or simple
and include the natural sciences, mathematical sciences and mechanical
sciences. Science fiction narratives may live in domestic and contemporary
147
148 SCIENCE FICTION
times, they may exist in the past or they may take the reader/audience
decades or millenniums into the future.
In the film Pacific Rim (2013) screenwriters Travis Beacham and Guillermo
del Toro weave a tale of research scientists in the military paired with an elite
unit of soldiers. Together they save the planet by using their knowledge of
DNA, robotics and mind-melding capabilities to eradicate destructive mon-
sters multiplying in the crevices of the deep ocean. Dr. Jekyll, in the novel
Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde penned by Robert Louis Stevenson in
1886, is able to concoct a chemical solution that releases his inhibitions and
libido to create a completely alternate personality, Mr. Hyde. In the film
narrative Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (2004), screenwriter Charlie
Kaufman presents a scientific exploration into the brain centers control-
ling memory and memory loss; the narrative includes complex characters
that love each other deeply but are too fearful to emotionally commit. They
learn, by taking part in a scientific experiment, that fear of possible emo-
tional pain must be endured in order to deserve a lasting relationship.
Screenwriters, in the creation of film narratives, often ask the “what
if” question. Science fiction narratives have a unique reliance on this ques-
tion; it may be one simple “what if” question—or it is more likely to be one
“what if” question leading to another “what if” question leading to yet another
“what if” question. The build of the questions allows for an exploration
of the extrapolation of the science-based premise and the consequences of
the work as it plays out (this allows the social affects to become apparent).
Exploring how the effects and affects of science (experimental, old school,
advanced, good or evil) play a part in the lives of the characters is the most
compelling element in a sci-fi film narrative for it relates to characters,
their frailties, hopes and dreams. The ability to follow character actions
is the most important element for an audience—the science is exciting, but
the desires, challenges and actions of characters in the story need to be
paramount.
The moral, ethical, emotional, familial and legal ramifications of using
scientific work to change the environment, the human or animal body, the
landscape of planets and other science-driven events must be taken into con-
sideration. The implications or consequences are often at the heart of the
conflict presented in science fiction narratives. Sci-fi is often used to imagina-
tively map the dreams of our futures—and warn us of obstacles and dangers
to come.
The science fiction genre is most conducive to the analysis of broad

social concerns, since it tends to pit human beings against a societal
force or a technology that represents a logical extension into the future
of a symptomatic problem existing in our present society.
(Solomon, 1976: 136)
SCIENCE FICTION 149
Novelist Benjamin Appel posited that “Science fiction reflects scientific

thought; a fiction of things-to-come based on things-on-hand” (Appel, 1969).
What if a prehistoric mosquito feasts on dinosaur blood in pre-historic times
and then is suddenly (due to a geological phenomenon and atmospheric
changes) preserved inside fossilized tree resin (amber) and then, eventually,
unearthed in contemporary times? What if the dinosaur blood (containing
DNA) is still present in the mosquito? What if the DNA found in the rem-
nants of the dinosaur’s blood can be extracted from the mosquito, and a
fully-grown dinosaur can be cloned from it ( Jurassic Park (1993))? What if a
teenager, Marty McFly (Michael J. Fox), hops inside a plutonium-powered
DeLorean automobile that has been re-purposed as a “time machine” by an
eccentric scientist, Doc (Christopher Lloyd), and is propelled back in time?
What if, while in the past, he realizes he must help his high-school aged
parents become romantically involved (leading to their eventual marriage)
so that he will be conceived and born? What if the electricity generated from
a lightning storm (in the past) does not strike the clock tower at the exact
moment needed to re-ignite the time machine and get Marty back to the
present so he can resume his teenage years (Back to the Future (1985))? What
if a brilliant, forward-thinking character named Cobb (Leonardo DiCaprio)
explores dreams and dream-sharing and successfully finds a way to extract
elements from his own and others’ dream worlds? What if Cobb shares this
phenomenon with his beloved wife and she enters a dreamworld? What if
she becomes obsessively attached to it and refuses to return to the “real”
world of family and responsibilities (Inception (2010))?
Sidney Perkowitz, a physicist and sci-fi film analyst, writes in his book
Hollywood Science:
Science Fiction is the direct product of daydreams and wanderings of

imagination. It draws the reader (film viewer) into a feeling of awe about
the open-ended universe of what-if. This sense of wonder is what sepa-
rates, more than anything else, Science Fiction from other genres. It is
this sense of wonder that makes young boys so addicted to Science Fic-
tion that we are still reading it when we are old men.
(Graham, 2009)
SCI-FI REFLECTS THE SCREENWRITER’S

POINT OF VIEW OF THE WORLD
An inclusive definition of the science fiction genre by professor of literature
and sci-fi writer James Osler Bailey can be useful for the screenwriter:
The most serious pieces of this fiction arise from speculation about what
may happen if science makes an extraordinary discovery. The romance
150 SCIENCE FICTION
is an attempt to anticipate this discovery and its impact upon society,

and to foresee how mankind may adjust to the new condition.
(Bailey, 1947)
Bailey’s definition is helpful because it lays out two essential elements:

the first is that sci-fi is based on the sciences and the second is that the author
explores the consequences of the use (or mis-use) of science on society. The
screenwriter, in choosing to write in the sci-fi genre, is entering a tradition
that has a long and respected history; the fans of science fiction tales (novels
and short stories and films) feel strong ownership of the genre and have very
high expectations regarding its content. They recognize and appreciate the
science—the real and imaginative uses of it—as well as the social commen-
tary (presented in concealed or unconcealed ways) in the imaginative (and
perhaps prescient) storylines.
Sci-fi fans include readers and viewers of all ages and all walks of life, and
include many important scientists and inventors. Scientists involved in the
Mars Rover Project re-named the touchdown area on Mars the Bradbury Land-
ing in tribute to Ray Bradbury, noted sci-fi author of the Martian Chronicles
(1950). Lead scientist for NASA Space Exploration Program, Dr. Michael
Meyers, spoke at Bradbury’s memorial:
Bradbury died in June at age 91. His first book, The Martian Chronicles,
paints a vivid picture of the human exploration of Mars through a series
of short stories. The book was published in 1950 and later adapted into a
TV series and video game. Today (August 22, 2012) would have been Ray
Bradbury’s 92nd birthday, but he’s already reached immortality in his
short stories and books . . . His books have truly inspired us. His Martian
Chronicles has inspired our curiosity.
(Meyers in Malik, 2012)
Bradbury, whose other novels include Dandelion Wine (1957) and Some-
thing Wicked This Way Comes (1962), noted, “Anything you dream is fiction,
and anything you accomplish is science, the whole history of mankind is
nothing but science fiction.”
THREE CATEGORIES OF SCIENCE

IN SCIENCE FICTION
Hard science
Soft science
Space operas
The screenwriter, knowing the high expectations of audiences drawn to the

speculative genres, is advised to consider the category of sci-fi narrative he
or she is constructing.
SCIENCE FICTION 151
Hard Sci-Fi
Hard science fiction stories feature authentic scientific knowledge and

depend on it for plot development and plot resolution.
(Greenberg and Asimov, 1990: 6)
Hard sci-fi (a term first coined by sci-fi writer and critic P. Schuyler Miller in
a 1957 review in Astounding Science Fiction) employs mostly the “hard” sci-
ences such as chemistry, astrophysics, physics, computer science, robotics and
other technology. Hard sci-fi must employ a sense of authenticity in the pos-
sible and plausible scientific aspects of its narrative. There should be a rigorous
attention to detail. The illumination of actual and forward-thinking science or
worlds should feel conceivable, achievable and perhaps even probable in the
near (or not so near) future. This does not mean that the “fiction” element is
downplayed. There is, of course, room for the writer’s imagination. However,
the science should be/feel genuine—for it is based on real, possible or plausible
possibilities. Examples include Europa Report (2013), Gravity (2013), 2001: A
Space Odyssey (1969), Moon (1969), Silent Running (1972), Contact (1997), A.I.
Artificial Intelligence (2001), Jurassic Park (1993) and Twelve Monkeys (1995).
Soft Sci-Fi
Soft sci-fi is also referred to as “social sci-fi.” Soft sci-fi uses the sciences that
explore society, personality and community. Soft sci-fi includes narratives
using sociology, anthropology and psychology. Soft sci-fi often looks at the
social aspects of characters living in utopian or dystopian worlds, with experi-
ments in reactionary behavior in controlled environments or characters deal-
ing with the exigencies of societies led by powerful forces with sociological
or political agendas. Examples include Children of Men (2006), Fahrenheit 451
(1966), The Truman Show (1998), Gulliver’s Travels (1939, 2010), Brazil (1985),
The Stepford Wives (1975, 2004) and The Hunger Games (2012, 2013).
Space Opera
Space operas are, basically, fantasy/adventure stories in space. Those that fall
into the sci-fi genre category will use scientific facts or hypothesis as plot points
that affect the world and characters in the narrative. The writer must use his
imagination to build worlds in space based on possibility or plausibility—to
give the audience a sense that somewhere or sometime the scientific elements
of the story could be “real.” Constructing and implementing a sense of won-
der is of great importance in the sci-fi space opera. Aliens, planets, spacecraft,
philosophy (“Use the force, Luke”) and adherence to the Hero’s Journey are
often prevalent. Examples include the Star Trek series of films, Serenity (2005)
and Alien (1979).
152 SCIENCE FICTION
FIGURE 8.1 Chris Pine in Star Trek (2009)
Whatever the science is (hard, soft or space opera), genuine sci-fi film
narratives should spring from the scientific nugget and many of the major
plot points should turn on the scientific realities or possibilities.
SENSE OF WONDER
True science fiction pulses with a sense of wonder. A sense of wonder is defined
as an intellectual or emotional state brought about by feelings of being awak-
ened to new possibilities, new ideas that expand the mind, concepts that give
the audience a window into the possibilities of the future (Knight, 1956).
Sci-fi narratives can take a leap into the extra-ordinary. The film narra-
tive of Vanilla Sky (2001, adapted by Cameron Crowe and based on Alejandro
Amenabar’s popular 1997 Spanish film Open Your Eyes) engages the audi-
ence in the life of rich, irresponsible playboy David Aames (Tom Cruise).
A spurned girlfriend crashes the car that Aames is in; he spends weeks in a
coma and awakens to realize he is now grotesquely disfigured. Multiple sci-
entists attempt extreme measures to deal with his damaged face, body and
mind. As the film moves forward, the audience begins to wonder if the story,
as it plays out, is actually created by Aames’ mind in his comatose state. Audi-
ences wonder if scientists are experimenting on Aames—or if this is what a
coma is—a kind of parallel universe? The sense of wonder in the audience is
engaged as new ideas and concepts present themselves.
There are two points to take into account when considering the place for
the sense of wonder in the film narrative:
1. Audiences feel a sense of wonder when new worlds are built and
revealed onscreen (from the fantasy world of Munchkin Land in
SCIENCE FICTION 153
The Wizard of Oz (1939) to the sci-fi multi-moon planet of Tatooine in

Star Wars (1977) to the real/unreal world of Vanilla Sky). The screen-
writer intends for the viewer to be astounded, amazed and inspired
by the ideas, possibilities and worlds of the sci-fi narrative.
2. The characters in the film narrative may also experience a sense

of wonder. The young medical students in Flatliners (1990) are
entranced with their scientific explorations into dying and death
and the “hereafter.” Neo (Keanu Reeves) in The Matrix (1999) is
enthralled and amazed when he is “reborn” and his “new self” now
supports extraordinary physical and mental powers. Paraplegic Jake
Sully in Avatar (2009) is amazed at the mobility of his new body,
amazed at the beauty and characters of the moon Pandora. The audi-
ence experiences these new worlds through the main characters’
eyes; therefore the screenwriter can use the characters in the narra-
tive to transfer the sense of wonder to the audience.
This sense of wonder separates sci-fi films from films that rely on under-
standable, relatable and everyday technology. Myriads of television crime
series (true and fictional) in the last decades have enlightened the populace
on advanced detection procedures—fingerprinting, DNA, blood splatter illu-
mination, surveillance cameras, bugging devices and more. Sci-fi needs to go
to the next level—the fictional, “what if” level—of where science can take the
audience into “the sense of wonder.”
SCI-FI VERSUS FANTASY

Sci-fi film narratives have distinct differences that set sci-fi apart from nar-
ratives in the fantasy genre. John Wood Campbell Jr., an American science
fiction writer and editor of the magazine Astounding Science Fiction (re-titled
Analog Science Fact in 1960) and author of the story The Thing (adapted into
films in 1951, 1982, 2011) noted:
The major distinction between fantasy and science fiction is, simply,
that science fiction uses one, or a very, very few new postulates, and
develops the rigidly consistent logical consequences of these limited
postulates. Fantasy makes its rules as it goes along . . . The basic nature
of fantasy is “The only rule is, make up a new rule any time you need
one!” The basic rule of science fiction is “Set up a basic proposition—
then develop its consistent, logical consequences.”
(Campbell, 1966)
Sci-fi and fantasy are often mislabeled and lumped together by critics,
marketers, film-viewing sites and film viewers. It is important to look at their
unique components; the screenwriter needs to be aware of the genre ele-
ments of each in order to meet audience’s expectations.
154 SCIENCE FICTION
As noted previously, film narratives, to be listed in the sci-fi column,

must start from a base of scientific fact or a science-based hypothesis. The
fiction of science fiction comes from the screenwriter’s exploration of the
possible or plausible elements that follow logically from the base premise. If
the sci-fi genre is the overriding genre in the narrative, the plot points—for
the most part—should turn on the effects and affects of science.
“Pure” sci-fi narratives will not include magic, or take place in magical
places (such as Harry Potter’s Hogwarts, or Oz or Narnia). “Pure” sci-fi film
narratives will not include supernatural creatures such as vampires, witches
or devils, or magical creatures such as unicorns, fairies or trolls. The fantasy/
adventure/coming-of-age Harry Potter novels and films are set in a fantasy
world where wizards exist, a magical train takes young students to study at a
fantastical boarding school, invisibility cloaks and magic wands are available.
The fantasy/adventure/action X-Men films (2000, 2006, 2009, 2011, 2013,
2014) live in the fantasy genre; the characters carry the fantastical X-gene
and are mutant superheroes with qualities/powers that are fantastical. How-
ever, the elements of real science in X-Men flirt with scientific plausibility
and intrigue the audience—radiation exposure is real and the hazards of it
are well known in the populace. Wolverine’s ability to regenerate (re-grow or
grow new parts) is related to “real” science—some lizards can grow new tails,
cut-up planarian flat worms can grow into new worms, and some spiders are
able to re-grow lost legs. There are also nods to real biomechanics and genet-
ics. The “what if” line between science and fantasy is neatly and wonderfully
woven into the X-Men series—and obviously this blending catches the audi-
ence’s imagination.
Consider the pure sci-fi film Twister (1996, written by Michael Crichton
and Anne-Marie Martin). This is a tale of tornado-chasers; their scientific
work drives the story and lands them in the middle of a massive tornado.
There is fiction in the story (characters, relationships, specific plot points),
but not fantasy. Logan’s Run (1976, written by David Zelag Goodman, based
on a novel by William F. Nolan and George Clayton Johnson) takes place in
the year 2274. Humans live on Earth in domes where everything is provided
for them and lives seem idyllic. However, at the age of 30, because of limited
resources and space, each person is put through a ritual that ends in death.
Those who try to escape to an area called “Sanctuary” are hunted down and
destroyed. There is fiction at work here, but the premise is plausible—and
actual science is employed; the science used in biospheres, controlled farm-
ing, overpopulation statistics and the construction of a computer-controlled
environment. Sphere (1998, written by Paul Attanasio and Stephen Hauser,
based on a novel by Michael Crichton) is a narrative filled with all kinds of
scientists gathering to investigate a downed aircraft at the bottom of the
ocean. The realities and vagaries of science (weather, mechanical engineer-
ing, oceanography, psychiatry, mathematics, biology and more) drive most
SCIENCE FICTION 155
of the story. For the most part, Sphere’s plot points turn on science-related
information and mechanics; however, there are a few “fantastical” story
points (it turns out the downed vehicle is an alien spacecraft and there is
a transference of alien power into the human scientists). The plausibility is
broken by fantastical elements—therefore, technically, Sphere would be in
the sci-fi/fantasy hybrid column. The film was not a huge moneymaker for
Warner Bros. It is interesting to consider this question: if the balance of sci-fi
and fantasy had been more efficacious, would the film have resonated more
fully with audiences?
The ability to balance film genres in a screenplay is important, for, in the
case of sci-fi fantasy, if the film narrative does not blend the sci-fi elements
and fantastical elements in a successful fashion, the audience may lose its
“buy-in” of the story. (See Chapter 15, Balancing of Film Genres.)
THE DESIRE OF MANKIND TO UNDERSTAND/

CONTROL THE UNIVERSE
The ability to understand the world and/or universe is a common goal
among most people. There are the basic and practical understandings—such
as the change of light from day to night (the earth’s movement in relation to
the sun), using food for fuel for the body, the power of the wind, the power
of water, ozone layers, weather. The advancement of understanding of anat-
omy and other body sciences has led to longer lifespans, eradication of dis-
eases and the ability to harvest and share organs and build artificial body
parts. Controlling body weight, IQ, athletic prowess, gene control, manipu-
lation of brain chemistry through medication—all are advancements perpe-
trated by mankind and point to the powerful and seductive efforts of man’s
desire to exude power over everyday life.
In Outbreak (1995, written by Lawrence Dworet and Robert Roy Pool) an
epidemic caused by an airborne virus must be brought under control before
a populace is destroyed. In order to do this, scientists take logical steps. They
must first understand the qualities of the virus and then take logical/plausible
actions to attempt to control it and destroy it. In Avatar (2009 sci-fi/fantasy
hybrid written by James Cameron), scientists want to understand a civiliza-
tion on the moon Pandora. They have built the Avatar Program; this pro-
gram allows a human to link with a genetically bred human–Na’vi hybrid and
“become” a Na’vi in look and function. The protagonist of the story, ex-soldier
and paraplegic Jake Sully (Sam Worthington), joins the test program; as an
Avatar Na’vi he not only regains the use of his legs, but also regains a sense
of hope in a community that respects and cares for its environment. As the
understanding of Pandora and its natives grows, the villains’ desires to control
Pandora’s rich resources increase and the conflict of the narrative builds. The
story becomes a morality tale warning against destruction of a “perfect” world
156 SCIENCE FICTION
because of selfishness and greed. Avatar employs hard sciences such as phys-
ics, technology and geology and then blends them with the social sciences of
anthropology and sociology—and also employs the fantasy genre.
EARLY VISIONARIES
Novelist Jules Verne (1828–1905) is often referred to as the “father of science
fiction.” Verne is one of the most prolific of the early sci-fi writers. He wrote
over sixty-five novels, among them Five Weeks in a Balloon (1863), Journey to
the Center of the Earth (1864), The Adventures of Captain Hatteras (1864), From
Earth to the Moon (1865), Robur the Conqueror (1886) and more. He was a mas-
ter of extrapolating wonderful “what if” stories based on scientific truths or
science-based hypothetical premises.
John Derbyshire, writing on sci-fi in New Atlantis magazine, suggests one
might quibble with giving Verne this title (Derbyshire, 2006: 81). The ques-
tion, for Derbyshire, seems to go back to the discussion of what is sci-fi and
what is fantasy? He questions if Verne was working solely from imagination—
or was he using science as a base to extrapolate possibilities in his fiction? I
propose Verne’s inspirations for his novel Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the
Sea (1870) were generated from the scientific ideas and investigations of the
time, and I believe that the scientific pursuits of the time support my sugges-
tion. Verne explores the sea (geography, oceanography, weather) and uses a
marine biologist character (Professor Pierre Aronnax) to imagine a submarine
that can explore the depths of the ocean. The first proposal for a submarine
was mentioned in writing by an amateur scientist, William Bourne, in 1580
(almost 200 years before Verne wrote Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the
Sea); various incarnations were constructed over the next 200 years. In 1800,
American Robert Fulton (inventor of the steam powered riverboat) con-
structed a copper submarine propelled by a hand-cranked screw propeller.
Fulton experimented with its viability and was successful in getting the sub-
mersion time up to six hours at a depth of twenty-five feet. (A tube that reached
the surface of the water provided ventilation.) Fulton called his ship the Nauti-
lus. Verne took this name (the Nautilus) for the advanced submarine designed
by his eccentric character, the explorer Captain Nemo. An outcast from soci-
ety by choice, Nemo has a thirst to explore and has built his submarine to be
electrically powered and look like a sea monster.
Much of Verne’s work created a sense of wonder through his extrapolation
of scientific ideas/realities. But there was a legacy of sci-fi writers before him.
One of the earliest science fiction writers may have been Lucian of Samosata
(CE 125–180), a Greek of Syrian descent. He was most probably familiar with the
tales of writers such as Homer (Odyssey, 750 BCE), Aristophanes (Birds, 414 BCE)
and Strabo (Geographical Sketches, 7 BCE) and other early writers of adventure
whose fantastical narratives stayed earthbound.
SCIENCE FICTION 157
Lucian took his adventures into space. In his book True History Lucian
presented a flight to the moon (where all creatures and things were of gigan-
tic proportions, such as mosquitoes, ants, vegetables, clouds, alien beasts and
humanoid giants), a mirror on the moon where events happenings on earth
could be observed, heavier than air flight and “tree-top voyaging.” He con-
structed interplanetary wars where creatures used vegetables for boats that
sailed on ice, nuts and seeds for armor and giant ants as battle rams. Lucian
instilled a sense of wonder in the reader, but also in the main character of the
book. The voyager/narrator is in constant awe of all that he is witnessing:
One day, setting out from the Pillars of Hercules and heading for the
western ocean with a fair wind, I went avoyaging. The motive and pur-
pose of my journey lay in my intellectual activity and desire for adven-
ture, and in my wish to find out what the end of the ocean was, and
who the people were that lived on the other side. On this account I put
aboard a good store of provisions, stowed water enough, enlisted in the
venture fifty of my acquaintances who were like-minded with myself,
got together also a great quantity of arms, shipped the best sailing-
master to be had at a big inducement, and put my boat—she was a
pinnace—in trim for a long and difficult voyage.
(Fredericks, 1976)
Does Lucian’s work belong in the fantasy genre or the science fiction
genre? In the early years of the Common Era (CE), many of the hard sci-
ences such as biology and chemistry and robotics were not yet in practice;
however, there were advancements in building dams and edifices through
innovations in engineering (using the sciences of physics and mathemat-
ics). Analysts question whether Lucian’s work was fantasy or sci-fi for his
tone was satiric, he was known for his wit and humor and he did not pres-
ent his tale as “scientifically conceivable.” However, in defense of Lucian’s
place in sci-fi history, other analysts point to his use of known geography
and naïve astronomy and the soft science of anthropology. S.C. Fredericks,
in his article on Lucian in Science Fiction Studies, notes that in the “Greek
anthropocentric outlook” that was prevalent at the time “Lucian is superior
to his contemporaries in his sensitivity to animal life like insects, mollusks
and fishes” (Fredericks, 1976).
Like a modern SF writer, Lucian takes the sciences and other cognitive
disciplines available to him and pictures alternate worlds which can dis-
locate the intellects of his readers in such a way as to make them aware
of how many of their normal convictions about things were predicated
upon cliché thinking and stereotyped response—in areas as diverse as
religious belief, aesthetic judgment, and philosophical theory.
(Fredericks, 1976)
158 SCIENCE FICTION
Mary Godwin Shelley (1797–1851) grew up in an English household

always open to new ideas. When she was young, her father, writer William
Godwin, entertained the forward thinkers and literary greats of the time in
their home. Her mother, Mary Wollstonecraft, a noted feminist writer, died
weeks after Mary’s birth due to an infection related to the delivery. As a teen-
ager, Mary Godwin was exposed to the work of Italian scientist and physician
Luigi Galvani and his use of bioelectricity in the re-animation of deceased
frogs. Galvani’s nephew, Giovanni Aldini, continued the experiments with
deceased large animals and even human cadavers. (Aldini’s famous demon-
stration was the electro-stimulation of arms and legs of a recently hanged
criminal at Newgate Prison in London in 1803.) Godwin (not yet married to
the poet Percy Bysshe Shelley but the mother of their child, who died while
still an infant) began her science fiction novel Frankenstein or The Modern Pro-
metheus in 1816, imagining the re-animation of a whole person—life itself—
through science, and specifically bioelectricity.
H.G. Wells (1866–1946) was born in the county of Kent, England (this
was the time when Verne’s novels were popular). He became a prolific novel-
ist focusing on science fiction. Wells’ work is often adapted into films: The
Time Machine (1895), War of the Worlds (1898), The Invisible Man (1897),
A Modern Utopia (1904), In the Days of the Comet (1906), The Island of Doc-
tor Moreau (1896), When the Sleeper Wakes (1899), The First Men in the Moon
(1901), The World Set Free (1914), The Shape of Things to Come (1933) and
many sci-fi short stories such as “The New Accelerator” and “The Door In the
Wall.” John Derbyshire makes an argument for Wells as the novelist worthy
of the title “father of science fiction”:
Though a gifted storyteller, certainly in his early years, Verne had not suf-
ficient powers of imagination, or scientific understanding, to rise to true
science fiction. Here the contrast with his much younger (by 39 years)
competitor for the “father of science fiction” title, H.G. Wells, is most
striking. The concept of a fourth dimension, for example, first took math-
ematical form in the 1840s. By 1870 it was, according to the mathemati-
cian Felix Klein, part of “the general property of the advancing young
generation <of mathematicians>.” Wells grasped the imaginative power
of this notion and used it to produce one of the greatest of all science
fiction stories, The Time Machine (1895). Verne never used it at all, and
would probably have found the notion of a fourth dimension absurd.
(Derbyshire, 2006: 81–90)
EARLY SCI-FI SILENT FILMS

One of the first story-based films ever made, A Trip to the Moon (1902), was
created in the science fiction genre. It was written and directed by Georges
Méliès and produced in his film studio in Paris. Méliès’ story was inspired by
SCIENCE FICTION 159
Jules Verne’s sci-fi/adventure novel From the Earth to the Moon (1865). Verne’s
novel explored the idea of space travel and presented it as scientifically plau-
sible. Méliès used Verne’s notion of shooting a spacecraft full of scientists out
of a cannon at a huge velocity with the hopes of landing it on the moon. The
experiment is successful and the scientists, on the moon, confront various
“celestial creatures,” then face the challenge of finding their way back to Earth.
Following A Trip to the Moon (1902), Méliès adapted Verne’s The Impos-
sible Voyage (1904), as well as Verne’s material about an obsessed balloonist,
Conquest of the Pole (1912). The Edison Manufacturing Company produced
J. Searle Dawley’s silent film adaptation of Mary Shelley’s sci-fi/horror novel
Frankenstein in 1910; Universal produced the silent film adaptation of Verne’s
novel 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea (1916, adapted by Stuart Patton). A Danish
film about a trip to Mars, Himmelskibet, was produced in 1918. René Clair’s
film about a mad scientist who invents a magic ray that freezes people, Paris
Qui Dort, was produced in 1925. Aelita (1927), a Russian film adapted from
an Alexi Tolstoy novel by Fedor Ozep, tells the tale of a young Russian man
who travels to Mars in a spaceship; his travels lead to an uprising against vil-
lainous aliens and finally the hero wins the love of a Martian Queen. In 1927
Germany, Thea von Harbou adapted her own novel, Metropolis, for director
Fritz Lang. The story is set in a utopian society one hundred years in the
future (2026) and predicts cities filled with skyscrapers and advanced tech-
nology. The naïve son of the founder of Metropolis discovers there is a dysto-
pian underground society of workers who run the machinery that keeps the
aboveground world functioning. He falls in love with a worker, loses her love
to another and, obsessed, builds a robot in her likeness. Finally an uprising
occurs and both worlds are in danger of annihilation.
FIGURE 8.2 Rudolf Klein-Rogge in Metropolis (1927)

160 SCIENCE FICTION
SCI-FI FILMS IN THE EARLY SOUND ERA

Despite the addition of sound, sci-fi films of the 1930s to 1940s did not gain
wide respect. They were at a clear disadvantage due to the early limitations of
film technology. Screenwriters and directors could imagine wonderful worlds
and exciting transformative events, but special effects of the time could not
bring imagined worlds into convincing reality. Sci-fi films did not get full
respect for another reason: many critics assert that the early sci-fi films in
the 1920s and 1930s contained very little science—or at least possible or
plausible science was not integral to the plot.
Even in the literary world, there were those that felt true sci-fi fiction was
losing its commitment to the use of science. Sci-fi novelist John W. Campbell
(1910–1971) took over as the editor of the magazine Astounding Science Fic-
tion and demanded more scientific rigor and higher literary standards from
his contributors. Isaac Asimov, author of Fantastic Voyage (1966), I, Robot
(1950) and other science fiction classics, called Campbell “the most powerful
force in science fiction ever; for the first ten years of his editorship he domi-
nated the field completely” (Asimov, 1994: 73). Campbell encouraged sci-fi
writers to base their stories around a single fantastic idea or scientific theory
and extrapolate how that one idea would affect the story’s characters and
world. He called for a halt to generic space heroes and generic alien monsters
and generic futuristic weapons. One of the most successful sci-fi films of the
1950s was The Thing from Another World (1951, adapted by Charles Lederer,
based on a 1938 book by Campbell written under the pseudonym Don A.
Stuart). The story focuses on an Air Force crew and a group of scientists at
a remote Arctic research post. They discover a plant-based humanoid alien
trapped in a block of ice. They “regenerate” the alien by melting the block of
ice. The alien attacks and they finally cause its demise through electrocution.
The final message of the film, transmitted via radio, is a warning, “Tell the
world. Tell this to everyone, wherever they are. Watch the skies everywhere.
Keep looking. Keep watching the skies.” (Campbell’s book was adapted two
more times: The Thing (1982, adapted by Bill Lancaster and directed by John
Carpenter) and The Thing (2011, adapted by Eric Heisserer and directed by
Matthijs van Heijningen Jr.))
After sound became the standard in the early 1930s, most sci-fi films in
America were relegated to “B” film status, such as films about space-traveling
heroes like Flash Gordon (multiple films from 1936–1940) and Buck Rogers
(1939). However, a few sci-fi features stand out, including Just Imagine (1930)
about a hero ( J-21) who uses his enhanced airplane to travel 50 years into the
future. There J-21 witnesses an amazing world where the dead are brought
back to life, babies are bought in vending machines and all food and liquor are
taken in pill form. J-21 finally hops a rocket to Mars where he is entertained—
and then attacked—by Martian orangutans.
SCIENCE FICTION 161
Universal Studios made a series of sci-fi films in the 1930s and 1940s,
many that are classics today: Frankenstein was remade in 1931, The Invisible
Ray (1936), H.G. Wells’ The Invisible Man (1933), Trans-Atlantic Tunnel (1935)
and Mysterious Dr. Satan (1940), featuring a villain who builds an army of
robots to attack his enemies. A sci-fi/comedy It Happens Every Spring (1949,
written by Valentine Davies based on a story by Davies and Shirley W. Smith),
features a story about a scientist whose experiment is ruined when an errantly
hit baseball crashes through his laboratory window. The baseball lands in his
chemicals—and as a result, he discovers that the ball now repels wood. The
scientist takes advantage of the accident and joins a big league baseball team
as a pitcher, using his chemically treated baseballs to confuse and strike out
opposing players.
Vivian Sobchack, in her book Screening Space: The American Science Fiction
Film (1997), points to the shift in science fiction tales post World War II due
to the unleashing of the atomic bomb on Hiroshima, the Cold War and rocket
technology. Geoff King and Tanya Krzywinska, in Science Fiction Cinema: From
Outerspace to Cyberspace, concur:
science fiction (of the 1950s) was largely produced in low-budget “B”
formats, designed for a predominantly teenage audience . . . despite the
formulaic, sensationalist and gimmicky nature of some of these films,
they played an important part in shaping the distinctive themes and
forms of the genre. Many can be related to concerns about the cold
war and/or nuclear weapons, including a large group labeled “invasion
narratives.”
(King and Krzywinska, 2000: 4)
Barry Langford, in his book Film Genre: Hollywood and Beyond, notes the
prevalence of the “creature feature” narratives in the 1950s. The creature
(typically a mutation or monster created as a result of radiation) is in a rage
born of hatred of its own existence; it is out to gain revenge on all of mankind
(Langford, 2005: 187). The Cold War added fodder for the sci-fi screenwriter’s
imagination and sci-fi film narratives explored fears concerning the possibili-
ties that the politics of communism would become pervasive and destroy indi-
vidualism. Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1956, written by Daniel Mainwaring,
based on a short story by Jack Finney) was one of these films:
Although it draws considerable strength from its affinities with the

horror genre, Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1956) is one of the best-
conceived science fiction films because its social content—essential to
this type of science fiction—finds an effectively menacing visual coun-
terpart. Its theme derives from the disintegration of communal feeling
in contemporary society, particularly the growing alienation among
people. The film evolves a highly amusing yet horrifying metaphor for
162 SCIENCE FICTION
the problem: vegetable-grown humanoids replace the ordinary citizens

of a small town one by one, first duplicating their bodies and then tak-
ing over their minds—leaving the people with enough awareness of the
change to prefer their new condition because it frees them from the trou-
bles of human emotions.
(Solomon, 1976: 136)
Most sci-fi films in the 1950s aligned with the fantasy genre. Rocket
technology, advances in aviation, and exploration into space encouraged
sci-fi screenwriters to imagine alien invasions. This includes many of direc-
tor and independent producer Roger Corman’s titles such as It Conquered
the World (1956), Caveman (1958), Not of This Earth (1957) and War of the
Satellites (1958). However, there were a few exceptions and one in particular
depicted space exploration as a plausible science. Robert Heinlein’s novel
Destination Moon was adapted by Heinlein, Alford Von Ronkel and James
O’Hanlon and produced by George Pal in 1950; its depiction of space explo-
ration was extremely realistic. The appetites and the imaginations of the
audience were whetted—and 19 years later Americans were the first to walk
on the moon. (Destination Moon also won an Oscar for Best Special Effects.)
The 1950s sci-fi film narratives also extrapolated from the mind sciences.
The works of Sigmund Freud (1856–1939) and Carl Jung (1875–1961) became
popular; psychoanalysis had caught the imagination of the populace.
THE FILM THAT TURNED THE TIDE:

2001: SPACE ODYSSEY
Filmmaker Stanley Kubrick (1928–1999) enjoyed a fascination with science
fiction. 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968) follows a group of astronauts aboard
a spaceship. Their computer malfunctions and begins to think for itself. It
refuses to follow the orders of the astronauts and terminates their life sup-
port. Only one astronaut survives; he manages to escape in a pod and is then
hurled into another galaxy where he turns into a giant fetus. When asked
what he was trying to convey, Kubrick answered:
They are the areas I prefer not to discuss, because they are highly subjec-
tive and will differ from viewer to viewer. In this sense, the film becomes
anything the viewer sees in it. If the film stirs the emotions and pen-
etrates the subconscious of the viewer, if it stimulates, however incho-
ately, his mythological and religious yearnings and impulses, then it has
succeeded.
(Phillips, 2001: 92)
While Kubrick was often indirect with the messages and themes in his films,
he was clear about his belief that overdependence on computers and on gov-
ernment could become detrimental to the human condition.
SCIENCE FICTION 163
Sobchack notes that the financial successes of Close Encounters of the

Third Kind (1977) and the first Star Wars film (1977) continued to move the
science fiction film to a new level in the minds of the audience—as well as
the studio executives who recognized the audience’s attraction to the genre
now capable of taking advantage of the advancements of film technology
(Sobchack, 1997). Studio executives saw moneymaking possibilities. Tech-
nology was catching up with the imagination. Production values on films
were becoming more and more involved and elaborate. The concepts of
World-Building and the Big Idea/Big Question, inherent in science fiction
narratives, were now supported by screenwriters and directors and the inven-
tive hi-tech industry.
WORLD-BUILDING
The term “world-building” became popular in the 1970s at science fiction
and fantasy writing workshops. World-building may include geographical
information, social structure information, ecological status, governmental
structures, atmospheric conditions and more. The screenwriter of sci-fi (and
especially in the fantasy genre) is advised to consider the world-building
tasks that need to be employed in the construction of the screenplay. An
imaginary world (the idealized cognitive model)—be it in space or in the
center of the earth, or in what seems a “normal life”—needs to become acces-
sible and “real” to the audience.
THE BIG IDEA . . . OR . . . THE BIG QUESTION

The “Big Idea” is central to the sci-fi story and is used in the world-building
aspect of the narrative. One could argue that all successful film narratives
pose a question (concerning life or death, ethics, love, moral codes and
more) and that through the relaying of the story, the screenwriter suggests
answers: life is worth living (or not), true love does exist (or not), humanity
is basically good (or not) and so on. Science fiction narratives can ask these
questions as well as even bigger questions. They can present a utopia (perfect
world) or dystopia (dysfunctional, miserable world) and posit ideas of how
each can be/were achieved. Science fiction films often explore and comment
on society’s ills, society’s mistakes, society’s greed, selfishness and/or lack of
foresight and challenge the film viewers to question themselves about their
own responsibilities concerning the upkeep of the world—all while enter-
taining them with well-drawn characters and ingenious plots to elicit an
emotional ride with characters who often risk everything to understand and/
or control their worlds.1
In Star Wars, the Big Idea is “The Force.” Obi-Wan Kenobi (Alec Guin-
ness), the mentor of the protagonist, Luke Skywalker (Mark Hamill), tells his
164 SCIENCE FICTION
charge to trust the “force”—a binding and metaphysical belief of the Jedi
and Sith monastic orders. George Lucas, creator of Star Wars, notes that he
was inspired by the arguments against the idea that human beings are basi-
cally just complex machines. Roman Kroiter, who helped develop IMAX,
in an article in the journal Wired observed, “Many people feel that in the
contemplation of nature and in communication with other living things,
they become aware of some kind of force, or something, behind this appar-
ent mask which we see in front of us, and they call it God.” Lucas inserted
“the force” for “God,” noting the meaning, in his mind, is equivalent to “life
force.” Life force is a universal idea; Lucas remarked: “Similar phrases have
been used extensively by many different people for the last 13,000 years”
(Silberman, 2005: 3). The Big Question of Star Wars is: can dark forces be
expunged by those who act for justice and goodness by simply believing in
the inner strength supported by the “Force”?
The Big Idea of 2001: The Space Odyssey (adapted by Stanley Kubrick from
the novel by Arthur C. Clarke) is that technology is opening up new worlds
and with advancement comes responsibility. The Big Question is: if we put
our faith in computer-run technology, do we lose control of our own lives?
The Big Idea in Avatar is that through the scientific process of becoming
“like others” and coming to new understandings while “walking in their
shoes,” humans may feel more connected and make progress towards uni-
versal peace. The Big Question is: what will it take to re-educate and change
selfish desires (such as greed)? Will it be possible to gain peaceful equilibrium
before all universes’ resources are destroyed?
The Big Idea in The Hunger Games (2012, adapted from Suzanne Collin’s
novel by Collins, Gary Ross and Billy Ray) is the set-up of its world. The world,
set in the future, has a super caste system; each group has a specific job and
specific access (or non-access) to freedoms and resources. There is, essentially,
one upper caste (social class) and most of the population is downtrodden and
used as worker bees. Each year there is a contest (a “game”) where a member
from each caste is chosen to fight to the death against others in order to win
privileges (including food and other necessities) for their families and their
caste. The narrative also makes a point of commenting on the contemporary
world’s fascination with television viewing and with cruel and inhuman real-
ity shows. The Big Question: how long can selfish and evil “haves,” who revel
in wealth and power, keep down the “have-nots” in society?
In A Clockwork Orange (1971), Kubrick explores morality and the concept
of “good and evil.” The protagonist, Alex DeLarge, is a violent gang member
who enjoys beating and sodomizing people while listening to blaring clas-
sical music. After burglarizing and murdering a woman, Alex gets arrested
and goes to prison. While there, he undergoes a treatment that conditions
him against evil. After this aversion therapy, Alex seems no longer violent;
however, because he never freely chose to become this upright citizen, he is
SCIENCE FICTION 165
essentially a product of scientific treatment and conditioning. The Big Ques-

tion: Can a person be considered a “good” person if he/she is not acting with
free will? Kubrick does not attempt to answer this question. Instead, he lets
the viewers make up their own minds on the subject.
OTHER SCI-FI FILM CATEGORIES

Post-apocalyptic
Steampunk
Cyberpunk
Post-apocalyptic science fiction includes film narratives that take place after
the apocalypse (the end of civilization as we know it). The apocalypses fea-
tured in film are often the result of nuclear warfare or technology break-
downs or ecological disasters or pandemics or any mis-use of power and/
or resources. It is up to the screenwriter to imagine the state of the world,
whether any humans or animals have survived, and the new challenges
the world presents. Examples include After Earth (2013), Elysium (2013),
Pacific Rim (2013), Oblivion (2013), Mad Max (1979), Terminator 2: Judgment
Day (1991), A Boy and His Dog (1975), Quiet Earth (1985), On the Beach
(1959), La Jetee (1962) and The Omega Man (1971).
Cyberpunk science fiction film narratives focus on extreme changes to
the social order due to use or mis-use of technology—often information
technology or artificial intelligence. Cyberpunk often has a “film-noir” ele-
ment, meaning that characters’ motivations may be dark and self-centered.
(See Chapter 11: Thriller.) A sense of alienation is often present in the cyber-
punked world, for there may be little trust, little privacy and little sense of
autonomy. “Big Brother” may always be watching; individuals may be under
constant surveillance. Technology may have made lives unbearable. The
characters are often living in a dystopia; the future looks bleak. A desire for a
“human” connection (kindness, love, charity, empathy, sympathy) is often
strong. Examples include Blade Runner (1982), The Matrix (1999), Hackers
(1995) and Strange Days (1995).
Steampunk science fiction includes film narratives featuring steam-
powered machinery (thus the title of the category). The setting is often
during the days of the Industrial Revolution—the decades of the 18th and
19th centuries when many parts of the world made the move from a rural
society to more of a city-based society and economy. The Industrial Revolu-
tion in the 1800s changed the lives of people in many countries across the
globe. Rural ways of life were left behind as people moved into urban cen-
ters to work in factories and offices. James Watt invented the first reliable
steam engine in 1775. Eli Whitney invented the cotton gin (a machine able
to pick the cotton in the fields) in 1794. Around 1800, Robert Fulton built
166 SCIENCE FICTION
one of the most reliable steam powered riverboats. Other inventions that
helped change the landscape include: the telegraph, in use by 1836; the
Wright brothers’ first airplane, built in 1903; and the Henry Ford’s automo-
tive factory, which was moving at a steady pace by 1910.
Steampunk narratives may be set in various decades and can serve as
a creative homage to scientific pursuits. Many sci-fi steampunk narratives
feature imaginative uses of technology, positing, for example, that some-
one may have invented a computer or high-speed train travel or advanced
rocket technology during the Victorian era, but for some reason the technol-
ogy was quashed or destroyed. The screenwriter can enhance his story by
the addition of historical details when exploring “alternate histories.” It is a
retro-futuristic science fiction element that catches the imaginations of the
audience. Examples include Wild Wild West (1999), Brazil (1985), Time After
Time (1979), Back to the Future III (1990), Hellboy (2004), The Prestige (2006),
Van Helsing (2004), The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen (2003) and the Sher-
lock Holmes series (2009, 2011).
Individual science fiction stories may seem as trivial as ever to the

blinder critics and philosophers of today—but the core of science fic-
tion, its essence has become crucial to our salvation if we are to be saved
at all.
(Asimov, 1983)
THE MENTAL SPACE OF SCI-FI

The screenwriter, in creating the mental space of sci-fi, may employ sche-
matic knowledge (framing) choices by taking into account the audience’s
desire to quickly move into a world that activates a sense of wonder. Real,
probable or plausible science and its effects on minds, bodies and environ-
ment is a base for imaginative extrapolation of the world and the audience
of the sci-fi genre wants to experience the mind-expanding “what if” (the
fiction part of science fiction) possibilities. Narratives in the hard and soft
science subgenres may be more based in “reality,” narratives set in the space
opera subgenre are more likely to be framed in the fantastical marvelous
style (see Chapter 9: Fantasy). Interior framing in the hard and soft science
narratives can be used to further explore the ramifications or complications
of the science elements, to continue the “what if” questions. In the space
opera, the “possible and plausible sciences” that affect the conflicts of the
narrative can be further explored (their beneficial use or mis-use or function
or dysfunction) to keep the narrative continually based in the science fic-
tion genre. As a final framing of the sci-fi narrative, a reminder of the world
of scientific possibilities and how mankind can be/is affected by mankind’s
fascination in understanding and/or in controlling the universe will keep
the story in the sci-fi genre.
SCIENCE FICTION 167

sci-fi genre include a desire to understand or control the environment, peo-
ple and/or life’s situations. Imaginative extrapolations of scientific possibili-
ties enthrall the audience of the sci-fi narrative. The characters’ reactions to
science, the characters involvement in science, the character’s use or mis-use
of science will trigger opinions and reflections about science and its possibili-
ties, and thus activate intellectual and visceral elements in the audience’s
perception of the premise and permutations of the story.
ence’s ability to see how this story relates to today’s fast-changing world.
New technologies, new medications, new studies on all areas of science are
in constant motion and, in some ways, anything seems possible. Finding a
recent scientific fact or exploring recent scientific experiments can inspire
content and conflicts in the sci-fi genre. The “what if” element and the
immediacy of “this could actually be happening now, or could soon be hap-
pening” is exciting for the audience. A certain universality can be captured
in specificity, for the audience may not have gone through the exact expe-
rience of the one presented in the narrative, but may be able to relate the
emotional journey to personal passages through life.
Suggested Exercises: Science Fiction
1. Some of the most popular films of all time are constructed in the
sci-fi genre.
a. Pick an area of science (hard or soft science) that interests you.

Use the “what if” question to help stimulate your imagination
and make a list of possible events and/or circumstances that
could be part of the “fiction” stemming from a scientific fact or
hypothesis. Remember that the “what ifs” should keep building
on one another.
b. Keep in mind that the audience attracted to sci-fi narratives
expects/desires/appreciates “sense of wonder” elements. How
might that be incorporated in your original narrative? Consider
whether the protagonist or other characters populating the
story also experience a “sense of wonder.”
2. Consider new approaches to the classic space opera narrative. What

supporting genres might be used in the construction of a space
168 SCIENCE FICTION
(Continued)
opera narrative to give it a “sense of newness” and/or surprise an

audience.
3. Expand on your sci-fi screenplay idea by adding two strong sup-

porting genres.
a. Consider various genres and evaluate how they may (or may
not) strengthen the narrative.
i. Consider if the chosen supporting genres might expand the

target audience.
b. Is the fantasy genre being employed?
i. If so, what is the balance of the sci-fi and fantasy genre

elements?
4. View three sci-fi films.
a. List the “what if” questions that are raised and investigated.
b. Take a close look at the schematic knowledge component (the
“framing”). At what point in the film narratives is it clear that
sci-fi is the overriding genre? List the major plot points in each
of the films. Consider if these turning points are motivated by
the “science” elements of the narrative.
NOTE
1 As noted previously, American science fiction writer and editor John Wood
Campbell called for a stronger commitment to the intrinsic elements of sci-fi;
among his observations was that each good science fiction story is based on a
single idea. (Of course this harkens back to the advice of Aristotle (384 BCE to
322 BCE); he advocated that good narratives are focused on a story that is based
on one thing.)
REFERENCES
Amis, Kingsley (1960) New Maps of Hell, Harcourt and Brace and Co., USA.
Appel, Benjamin (1969) The Fantastic Mirror: SF Across the Ages, Pantheon,
USA, http://scifi.about.com/od/scififantasy101/a/SCIFI_defs.htm (accessed
March 20, 2014).
Asimov, Isaac (1983) Asimov on Science Fiction, Harper Collins, USA.
Asimov, Isaac (1994) A Memoir, Doubleday, USA.
Bailey, James Osler (1947) Pilgrims Through Space and Time, Argus Publishing,
USA, http://scifi.about.com/od/scififantasy101/a/SCIFI_defs.htm (accessed
March 20, 2014).
SCIENCE FICTION 169
Burkes, Lisa (2010) “Why People Love Science Fiction Movies,” http://ezinearticles.
com/?Why-People-Love-Science-Fiction-Movies&id=5379622 (November 17,
accessed July 15, 2013).
Campbell, John Wood Jr. (1966) “Introduction.” Astounding Science Fiction, Analog 6,
Condé Nast Publications, USA.
Derbyshire, John (2006) “Jules Verne: Father of Science Fiction?” The New Atlantis,
No. 12, Spring, pp. 81–90.
Fredericks, S.C. (1976) Science Fiction Studies, Volume 3, No. 8, Part 1, March,
http://www.depauw.edu/sfs/backissues/8/fredericks8art.htm.
Graham, Keith (2009) “10 Laws of Good Science Fiction”, November 5, www.
cthreepo.com/writing/laws/ (accessed March 20, 2014).
Greenberg, Martin and Isaac Asimov (ed.) (1990) “Cosmic Critiques,” Writers
Digest Books, USA.
King, Geoff and Tanya Krzywinska (2000) Science Fiction Cinema: From Outerspace
to Cyberspace, Wallflower Press, UK.
Knight, Damon (1956) In Search of Wonder, Advent Publishing, USA.
Langford, Barry (2005) Film Genre: Hollywood and Beyond, Edinburgh University
Press, UK.
Malik, Tariq (2012) “Mars Rover Site Name for Sci-Fi Icon Ray Bradbury,” http://
www.space.com/17238-mars-rover-curiosity-ray-bradbury-memorial.html
(August 22).
Neufeld, Michael (1976) Von Braun: Dreamer of Space, Engineer of War, Knopf Pub-
lishing, USA.
Perkowitz, Sidney (2007) Hollywood Science, Columbia University Press, USA.
Phillips, Gene D. (2001) Stanley Kubrick: Interviews, University Press of Mississippi,
USA.
Smith, Bryan (2009) “Kubrick’s Science Fiction.” California State University,
Fullerton, November 25.
Silberman, Steve (2005) “Life After Death.” Wired, Iss. 13.05, May.
Sobchack, Vivian (1997) Screening Space: The American Science Fiction Film, Rutgers
University Press, USA.
Solomon, Stanley J. (1976) Beyond Formula: American Film Genres, Harcourt Brace
Jovanovich Inc., USA.
CHAPTER 9
Fantasy
Terms to understand: fantastical uncanny, fantastical marvelous, doppelganger,

gothic, grotesque, supernatural
Audiences choose to view a film in the fantasy genre with expectations of

journeying into a world out of the ordinary, one imagined and fully real-
ized with components that transcend the known. They expect to experi-
ence a world populated with characters that seek their goals in a fantastical
existence or through a fantastical event. Films in the fantasy genre explore
the extraordinary and stuff of dreams; they take the audience into times and
worlds that may be far beyond human possibility or just beyond the world
as we know it. Audiences experience a sense of wonder when new worlds
are revealed onscreen (from the fantastical world of Munchkin Land in The
Wizard of Oz (1939) to the fantastical multi-sun planet of Tatooine in Star
Wars (1977) to the real/unreal worlds of Big Fish (2003)). They may take place
on Earth and feature extraordinary and unreal elements or they may go into
the depths of the ocean or into the clouds or into the outer regions of the
universe, possibly on fictional planets with invented resources and rules for
existence.
Films in the fantasy genre often contain elements of magic, mythol-
ogy, legends, the occult, the black arts, fairytales or super-human pow-
ers, all explored to excite the audience’s sense of wonder. Fantasy films
may feature very human, everyman characters entering unrealistic or
super-realistic worlds or dreams or entering imagined domains of illusory
dimensions. They may feature fantastical creatures such as fairies, sprites,
unicorns, dragons, griffons, sea serpents, elves, vampires, devils, angels,
hobbits, witches, ghosts, superheroes and other characters out of the human
realm.
The screenwriter of the fantasy genre intends, in most cases, for the
viewer to be astounded, amazed, and inspired by the ideas, possibilities and
worlds of the fantasy narrative. The intent of the screenwriter may also be
for the audience to ponder imagined civilizations that may reflect or com-
ment on the ills or strengths of their own lives.
170
FANTASY 171
A SHORT HISTORY OF THE FANTASY

GENRE IN FILM
Stories illuminating imaginative worlds and wonderful fantastical adventures
have been a mainstay in fictional film narratives since film’s earliest days. The
medium of film is well suited to drawing viewers into magical worlds. Early
French filmmaker Alice Guy (1873–1968) wrote and directed possibly one
of the first narrative films ever made, The Cabbage Fairy (1896), in the fantasy
genre. The Cabbage Fairy is based on a French myth that purports that babies are
“grown and nurtured” in a cabbage patch by a beautiful fairy; she awaits hope-
ful parents eager to gain a child (McMahon, 2003). French filmmaker Georges
Méliès (1861–1938) was a magician-turned-filmmaker. Using his love of magic,
he constructed many of his early films in the fantasy genre. The Brahmin and
the Butterfly (1901) features a conjurer with a magic flute; he attracts a giant cat-
erpillar and leads it into a giant egg; he waves his magic flute and a beautiful
female with butterfly wings emerges. The conjurer captures the butterfly and she
becomes a “real” female, who rejects him. The combination of the use of magic
and the inclusion of magical creatures puts this short film in the fantasy genre.
The fantasy genre flourished in the silent film era; there were popular
adaptations of the sci-fi/fantasy novels by H.G. Wells and Jules Verne. Quite
a few fantasy films ventured into space, including Denmark’s Himmelskibet
(1917) and Russia’s Aelita (1924). Many ventured into the Gothic or hor-
rific, such as the German films The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (1919), Der Golem
(1920), Alraune (1928). Other notable silent films in the fantasy genre include
A Daughter of the Gods (1916), The Thief of Baghdad (1924), Aladdin and the
Wonderful Lamp (1924), Alice in Wonderland (1915), The Phantom of the Opera
(1925), The Magician (1926) and Seven Footprints to Satan (1929). Writer, actor
and director Buster Keaton dabbled in the fantasy genre with The Haunted
House (1921) and The Electric House (1922). Keaton’s Sherlock Holmes Jr. (1924)
features a storyline that takes place almost entirely in a dream. In his dream,
movie projectionist Sherlock walks into the movie screen and becomes part
of the movie. (Woody Allen’s fantasy/comedy/romance Purple Rose of Cairo
(1985) paid homage to Keaton’s Sherlock Holmes Jr. when an actor on the
movie screen walks out of the movie and enters the real world.)
The advent of sound did not slow the output of films employing the fantasy
genre. In 1939, Walt Disney Studios released Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs,
their first feature length animated motion picture. Its film narrative features a
magic mirror and an evil stepmother that transforms into a wicked witch using
fantastical knowledge of alchemy. French filmmaker Jean Cocteau’s romantic
fantasy La Belle et la Bete (1947) is based on the Jeanne-Marie Le Prince de
Beaumont tale Beauty and the Beast; the film focuses on a prince who has been
transformed into a beast until he can learn to truly love (and be loved in return).
172 FANTASY
Fantasy films featuring hobbits, aliens, angels, devils, mythical creatures

and extraordinary environments continue to be popular today; screenwrit-
ers such as Phillipa Boyens, Peter Jackson, Fran Walsh, Guillermo del Toro,
James Cameron, Melissa Matheson, Ridley Scott, Linda Woolverton and oth-
ers have taken audiences in fantastical environs.
COMPONENTS OF THE FILMS

IN THE FANTASY GENRE
Films in the fantasy genre require a concentration on the environment of the
story—the rules that govern it as well as the physical settings. The fantasy
genre, in itself, is not prescriptive in the construction of a narrative; the genre
does not suggest certain plot elements like the crime genre (murder, theft,
kidnapping and more), disaster genre (facing obstacles caused by flood, fam-
ine, earthquake or other catastrophic event), romance genre (the act of falling
in love or coming to believe in love) and other genres with story demands.
The fantasy genre needs to be paired with a strong “story” genre in order to
give shape to the narrative.
Films in the fantasy genre are also open in the area of character con-
struction; there are no specific demands such as those seen in the crime
genre (an investigator), romance genre (lovers), buddy genre (friends or
fr-enemies), horror (evil forces) and other genres that call for specific charac-
ter components. The screenwriter must make strong decisions on character,
characters’ wants and relationships in order to shape the narrative in the
fantasy genre.
Johnny Depp, Mia Wasikowska and Anne Hathaway in Alice in

FIGURE 9.1
Wonderland (2010)
FANTASY 173
Depending on the choices of the screenwriter, fantasy may be the over-

riding genre or a strong supporting genre; however, it may be beneficial to
consider allowing the “story genre” dominance and allowing the fantasy to
be a strong subordinate used primarily for world-building. The following
films clearly allow the “story genre” to take precedence and employ the fan-
tasy genre to build the world and characters. Consider the adventure/fantasy/
coming-of-age films such as the Harry Potter series (2001–2011), Chronicles
of Narnia (2005) and Alice in Wonderland (2010). Consider the sci-fi/fantasy/
adventure/coming-of-age Star Wars (1977), and the sci-fi/fantasy/adventure
Star Trek series (2009, 2013), Alien (1979) and Serenity (2005). Consider the
romance/fantasy films such as Midnight in Paris (2011), Enchanted (2007) and
the horror/fantasy films Dracula (1931, 1979, 1992 and other adaptations).
THE FANTASTICAL UNCANNY AND THE

FANTASTICAL MARVELOUS
Franco-Bulgarian philosopher Tzvetan Todorov, in his book The Fantastic: A
Structural Approach to a Literary Genre (1970), defines fantasy as any event
that happens in the known world that seems supernatural. The term “super-
natural” relates to unexplainable or unreasonable worlds, creatures, abnor-
mal phenomena or events that take place outside the “natural” law of the
universe. Todorov suggests that once a supernatural event takes place or
a supernatural being is presented, the human experiencing the abnormal
event must make a decision: Does this experience fall into the fantastical
uncanny? Or does it fall into the fantastical marvelous?
The Fantastical Uncanny

German psychiatrist Ernst Jentsch in a 1906 essay, “On the Psychology of the
Uncanny,” defines “the uncanny” as being a product of human uncertainty—
an event or happening that exists in a question: Is the experience real? Is the
world real? Is the creature seen real? Is the state of mind reliable? Is the taste,
smell, touch, aural experience actual and tangible? Does the experience exist
only in a fantastical state? The fantastical uncanny experience must exist as
a suspension of absolute belief—the constant question as to what is and what
is not real dominates.
In the fantastical uncanny, events or experiences are—or seem to be—
illusions of some kind or aberrations of the perimeters of the known world.
The laws of reality, for the most part, remain intact and these laws may provide
a rational explanation for the fantastic event. The desire to employ the fan-
tastical uncanny element in a film narrative may encourage the screenwriter
to construct a “portal” for the character to use to enter the uncanny experi-
ence. The portal could be opened through the use of drugs or alcohol, or
174 FANTASY
through a dream or series of dreams, through sensual manipulation, through

psychosis or madness or other aberration that creates an elusive, illusive or
alternate reality. In Limitless (2011, written by Leslie Dixon based on a novel
by Alan Glynn), Eddie (Bradley Cooper) consumes a pill that allows him to
enter a world of limitless intellectual acumen. In The Wizard of Oz (1939, writ-
ten by Noel Langley, Florence Ryerson and Edgar Allan Woolf, based on the
novel by L. Frank Baum), Dorothy (Judy Garland) is struck on the head with
a window shutter that comes loose in a tornado. Her unconscious transports
her (and her dog Toto) into a fantastical world filled with Munchkins, wizards
and witches—a world filled with challenges and danger. In Charlie and the Choc-
olate Factory (2005, adapted by John August from the Roald Dahl book), Charlie
(Freddy Highmore) wins a lottery ticket that allows him entry into a fantastical
candy-making world run by a strange and fantastical Willy Wonka (Johnny
Depp). In Being John Malkovich (1999, written by Charlie Kaufman) protagonist
Craig Schwartz (John Cusack), barely surviving at his dead-end filing job, dis-
covers a portal behind a cabinet that leads him into the mind of John Horatio
Malkovich. In Big (1988, written by Gary Ross and Anne Spielberg) a young
boy, Josh (David Moscow), wishes to be “big” and makes a wish to Zoltar, a
carnival automaton. Josh wakes up the next morning as an adult (Tom Hanks).
In a 2005 film by Hong Kong film director Teddy Chan, Tung mung kei yun
(Wait ’til You’re Older, written by Susan Chan and Chi Kwong Cheun), the pro-
tagonist, an unhappy and troubled child, uses a magic potion provided by a
strange scientist to add ten years to his life.1 The American holiday classic It’s
A Wonderful Life (1946) uses an angel, Clarence (Henry Travers), to initiate the
entry into the fantastical for the protagonist George Bailey (Jimmy Stewart).
Clarence has come to Earth to earn his wings and is tasked with thwarting
George’s suicidal intent. Clarence decides to open up an uncanny view into
a “life-that-could-have-been” if George had not been a strong and essential
part of the community and his family. George, seeing the fantastical uncanny
scenarios play out, realizes that his actual life is meaningful and returns to his
reality a changed and happier man.
The entry into a fantastical uncanny world for those who gain superhero
powers is also worth noting: Peter Parker in Spider-Man (2002, created by Stan
Lee and Steve Ditko) is pulled into a fantastical uncanny experience after being
bit by a genetically modified spider. DC Comics’ Green Lantern, in its initial
creation, becomes the possessor of a magic ring that gives him supernatural
powers. Daredevil (created by Stan Lee and Bill Everett in 1964) is exposed to a
radioactive substance that blinds him but enhances all his other senses.
Neurologist turned psychoanalyst Sigmund Freud (1856–1939) noted
that an uncanny experience might feel familiar yet foreign at the same time
and even suggested how an uncanny experience might be constructed in
literature: “(straddle) the line between reality and unreality within the fic-
tion itself” (Freud, 1919). Freud also wrote specifically on the concept of
FANTASY 175
the uncanny in regards to the popular automata craze of the 1800s (life-like,
mechanized renditions of humans or animals). Consider Martin Scorsese’s
homage to fantasy filmmaker Georges Méliès in Hugo (2011, adapted by John
Logan). The narrative features an automaton (mechanical man that gives
off feelings of being human). Young Hugo Cabret (Asa Butterfield) strives to
fix the automaton in hopes that it will give him more understanding of his
deceased father. Freud wrote in his essay “The Uncanny”:
In telling a story one of the most successful devices for easily creating
uncanny effects is to leave the reader in uncertainty whether a particular
figure in the story is a human being or an automaton and to do it in such
a way that his attention is not focused directly upon his uncertainty, so
that he may not be led to go into the matter and clear it up immediately.
(Freud, 1919)
Consider Midnight in Paris (2011, screenplay by Woody Allen). The pro-

tagonist, screenwriter and wannabe novelist Gil (Owen Wilson) is engaged
to the “wrong girl.” One night, wandering contemporary Paris, a 1920s
car stops and he is invited to join a very interesting group of people that
includes Ernest Hemingway, Gertrude Stein, Billie Holiday, Cole Porter and
F. Scott Fitzgerald. On subsequent nights, at the stroke of midnight, Gil enters
the same car and goes back in time. The rules are definite—he must enter
and leave the world at specific times through the same portal, and ultimately
he has to choose to live full-time in the past or full-time in the present.
The screenwriter, taking this fantastical uncanny element (straddling the
line between reality and unreality) to heart in the construction of a screen-
play in the fantasy genre, might consider minor or major skewing of sense
of place, characters or interactions with events or persons. Familiar environ-
mental elements such as speeds, time periods, foods, colors, sounds and more
can be employed to help construct the out-of-the-ordinary experiences and
allow the audience to be compelled by a familiar—yet strange—fantasy world.
Film narratives that feature an earth-rooted protagonist that moves into
altered and/or fantastical worlds through drugs, dreams, accidents, changes in
weather, magical portals include Donnie Darko (2001), Defending Your Life (1991),
The Santa Clause (1994), Trainspotting (1996), Field of Dreams (1989), Big Fish
(2003), The Wizard of Oz (1939), Beetlejuice (1988), Ted (2012), Vanilla Sky (2001),
What Women Want (2000), John Carter (2012), Freaky Friday (2003), Heaven Can
Wait (1978), Topper (1936), Alice in Wonderland (1951, 2010) and more.
The Double and the Doppelganger

The fantastical uncanny narrative may also be explored through the use of
a character’s double or alter ego. Austrian psychoanalyst Otto Rand, first a
student then a colleague of Freud, initiated a psychological exploration of
176 FANTASY
the fantastical uncanny nature of “the double.” Rand explored the concept of
how a person’s vision of “self” may be different from reality (or how others
see the person) and this difference can shed light on the true nature of a
being.
The idea of the doppelganger—the paranormal double of a living
person that has the memories and emotions of its “real and original”—can
be linked to the concept of “the double.” There are superstitions regard-
ing the seeing of one’s doppelganger (sometimes called a “fetch” or “dou-
ble walker”). The viewing is considered a precursor of bad luck and—in a
worst-case scenario—an omen of death. The word itself came into usage
in the mid 19th century; however, in ancient Egyptian mythology, a “ka”
was a “spirit double”—an entity that contained similar properties of the
doppelganger. Other forms of ghostly doubles existed in Norse and Dan-
ish mythology. Literary giants such as Percy Bysshe Shelley, John Donne
and Guy de Maupassant wrote of experiencing the presence of their dop-
pelgangers. According to Lincoln biographer Carl Sandburg, Abraham
Lincoln, the night of his election to the American presidency, reported
that he saw his own doppelganger in the mirror of his sitting room. The
mirror reflected two images—Lincoln’s logical likeness (from his shoulders
to the top of this head) and also an image of a full-figured “double” behind
the expected reflection. The double had a very pale and sickly essence and
reappeared to Lincoln a few more times in the next weeks. Lincoln’s wife
(known to be superstitious) predicted that this vision meant Lincoln would
not live out his Presidency (Brooks, 1895).
Consider these films that explore the idea of the double, clone, avatar,
alter ego or interaction with automatons (life-like machines such as robots):
The Fight Club (1999), The Other (1972), The Doppelganger (1969, 1993, 2001),
The Double Life of Veronique (1991), A Double Life (1947), Sliding Doors (1998),
Blade Runner (1982), The Moon (2009), Short Circuit (1986) and Metropolis (1927).
The Fantastical Uncanny and the Gothic

Gothic fiction (a combination of horror, fantasy and romance) initially gained
popularity in the 18th century, continued into the romantic period in the
19th century, and is still popular with today’s audiences. Gothic narratives
often feature an unwitting protagonist (see Chapter 11: Thriller) that is lured
into a fantastical place or state of terror, often into an environment that seems
familiar but foreign (a spooky castle, a strange monastery, a remote estate,
an abandoned village), where the typical rules and mores of society may not
be familiar. Often there is a mystery or an ancestral curse or a forbidden or
perverted romance in the Gothic tale and dark, unnatural intentions of the
antagonist may dominate. Freud noted that the uncanny element in Gothic
literature “derives its terror not from something externally alien or unknown
FANTASY 177
but—on the contrary—from something strangely familiar which defeats our

efforts to separate ourselves from it” (Morris, 1985: 307). The Asphyx (1973)
is a horror/fantasy/sci-fi/romance hybrid and has become a cult favorite of
those attracted to the Gothic narrative. The story, by Christina Beers and Lau-
rence Beers and written by Brian Comport, blends elements of the Gothic with
the more contemporary ingredients of steampunk.2 Utilizing an experimental
photographic device, a scientist (Robert Stephens) captures what appears to be
the image of the Asphyx, the ancient Greek spirit of the dead. With the help
of his adopted son (Robert Powell), he conceives a way to harness the Asphyx
and—if he is successful—gain immortality. Horrific elements are unleashed as
he sets out to accomplish his goal.
Film narratives in the Gothic tradition remain popular; there are mul-
tiple adaptations of Mary Godwin Shelley’s Frankenstein; or The Modern Pro-
metheus (1818), Bram Stoker’s Dracula (1897), the works of Edgar Allan Poe,
Robert Louis Stevenson’s Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (1886) and Henry James’ The
Turn of the Screw (1898).
The Fantastical Marvelous

In the fantastical marvelous, the supernatural state of the world is a given. The
fantastical marvelous “just is.” Consider Star Wars; there is no magic portal
into the realm of the film—the audience is to accept this imagined place as
the environs of the story and is asked to put themselves into the world of the
imagined characters. Many legends, fairytales, fables and narratives based on
mythology, as well as space opera narratives (see Chapter 8: Science Fiction)
belong in the fantastical marvelous camp. Consider the fantastical world of
Harry Potter (1997–2007 novels, 2001–2011 films) where wizards, muggles
and magical creatures exist. Consider The Nightmare Before Christmas (1993)
where the dead have very active lives. Consider Who Framed Roger Rabbit
(1988, based on the novel by Gary K. Wolf and adapted by Jeffrey Price &
Peter S. Seaman) where humans co-exist with cartoon characters.
Boundaries, Rules and Perimeters

The opportunity for the screenwriter to create an extraordinary world is one
of the great perks of working in the fantasy genre. Audiences enjoy the sense
of wonder these otherworldly or skewed environs elicit and they are intrigued
by alternate realities. However, the worlds must be clearly drawn and delin-
eated; rules of the society and mores and beliefs of the characters must be
clear. Without boundaries—such as societal expectations, rules of conduct,
limitations on power, specific laws regarding existence—it is difficult to cre-
ate a narrative with strong conflict. Note how the film adaptation of The
Wizard Of Oz (1939) highlights the rules of the world as soon as Dorothy
178 FANTASY
sets foot in Oz; the Wicked Witch of the West is a foe, Dorothy must never
take off the red shoes, Dorothy and her friends must follow the yellow brick
road, Dorothy must reach the Wizard for he is the only one who can help
her get home, and more. The film Groundhog Day (1993) is set in an everyday
comedic (and fantastical) world that keeps repeating itself until the arrogant
protagonist “gets it right.” Every morning the sounding of the alarm clock
starts the new day and sets the character on a daily quest for re-adjustment
of his persona.
Consider the film series Lord Of the Rings (2001–2003) as adapted by
screenwriters Fran Walsh, Philippa Boyens and Peter Jackson, based on the
work of J.R.R. Tolkien. Tolkien, in his novels, constructs a well-imagined
world—he titled this world “Middle-earth.” Tolkien notes that Middle-earth
is located on the known Earth in an imaginary period in Earth’s past and
includes places such as The Shire, Mordor, Rivendell, Gondor and Mirk-
wood. He includes several maps, showing Middle-earth as a central conti-
nent with mountain ranges, lakes, caves and populated territories. He fills
the world with fantastical creatures such as trolls, dragons, wizards, elves,
hobbits and orcs. Tolkien is also specific about each character group. For
example, the hobbit people are somewhere between three and four feet tall,
cannot grow beards (except the hobbits of Stoor) and their feet are covered
with curly hair. Hobbits are not adventurous by nature; they enjoy farming
and socializing with their fellow hobbits and give gifts on their birthdays
instead of receiving them. They like to wear bright colors. They are often
shy but they are also capable of great courage. They use slings and are good
at throwing stones. The specificity of the environs and characters helps the
audience comprehend the world and understand the goals and challenges
of the characters.
The narratives in The Lord of the Rings films focus on the journey of
the hobbit Frodo Baggins, an unprepared protagonist (an everyman in
essence, the staple of the drama genre) who comes into possession of evil
Lord Sauron’s powerful ring. On his journey to deal with the ring, he comes
to face—and then comes to understand—the attraction and power of evil.
Because the fantastical story contains environmental and character rules of
existence, the reader/film-viewer can see where the challenges are, where the
dangers are, where the worry should be placed.
In Avatar (2009, written by James Cameron) Jake Sully (Sam Worthington)
enters an experimental medical program that creates his avatar (still contain-
ing memories and sense of his human form). He moves into a fantastical
world populated with flying blue-skinned creatures on the planet Pandora.
Pandora is approximately 4.3 light years from Earth. The rules are set; the
amazing Tree of Souls is the central sacred symbol and it must be preserved.
Language is set; the “science” of the world is set; the social hierarchy and
mores are set and provide obstacles and challenges for the protagonist.
FANTASY 179
Without worrying about the protagonist (will he or she have the skills, stam-
ina and/or strength of character to carry out the task), the audience will not
engage in the challenges of the narrative.
The Fantastical Marvelous and the Grotesque

The exploration of the Grotesque in literature—and in film—embraces the
disruption and distortion of hierarchy and any assumptions pertaining to
social, religious, political and other elements of ordinary living. The Gro-
tesque concentrates on ugliness, the bizarre and ridiculous and the excessive.
Grotesque narratives live in the fantasy genre and often feature a “World
Upside-Down.” Things are not in their proper place, order is disrupted and
the “Fool is King” (Cornell University, 2012). Narratives in the Grotesque are
often presented in a darkly comic manner. Consider Brazil (1985, written by
Terry Gilliam, Tom Stoppard and Charles McKeown); its characters live in a
topsy-turvy world, the government is run by the weak and dim-witted and
high society ladies take tea amidst unsightly plumbing and bombing raids.
The rational and logical ways of life are gone, the illogical reigns. This fan-
tasy world of Brazil engages us as it repels us—and also, because of its exag-
gerated components of political and social ineptness, serves as a cautionary
commentary on the real world.
Familiar Grotesque characters include devils, demons, angels, skeletons,
ghosts and spirits intent on the conquering of human souls. Grotesque char-
acters in human form may also be employed. The Grotesque fantasy narra-
tive often employs dark humor, sometimes violence and, in most cases, it is
meant to frighten and cause anxiety in its audience.
FANTASY NARRATIVES AS ALLEGORY

Allegorical storytelling is prevalent in the fantasy genre. Characters or events
may represent or symbolize concepts or ideas the author wishes to explore
but does not want (or intend) to do in an obvious or unconcealed manner.
Constructing a story as an allegory may:
– allow the author to present his point of view in simpler, more acces-
sible terms;
– allow the author to avoid “on-the-nose” commenting on certain
states of affairs, political or social or personal;
– allow the author to skirt possible censorship.
Many fables, riddles and early rhymes are allegories. One of the beliefs
about the anthropomorphic egg in the “Humpty Dumpty” rhyme is that
Humpty Dumpty was Richard III of England, who was slaughtered by rivals
at the Battle of Bosworth field in 1485, thus ending his reign. Another belief
180 FANTASY
is that it alludes to a siege engine (an armored frame) that was unsuccessfully
purposed to bring down the walls of the town of Gloucester in 1643. What
most agree on is that this riddle is certainly not about an egg falling off a
random wall. Allegorical stories express a deeper or covered meaning and
often are told with animal or mythological characters.
Many films in the fantasy genre are recognized as allegorical. The X-Men
(created in comic books in 1963, the film series began in 2000) narratives
explore and comment on the anxieties of growing up “different” in a society
that values conformity above all else. Blade Runner (1982, written by Hampton
Fraser and David Webb Peoples, based on the 1968 Philip K. Dick novel, Do
Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?) explores the troubled relationships between
technology and humans—and predicts a loss of humanity. The replicants in
the story were built to serve humankind, but now these automatons have
adapted and many have a stronger emotional life and sense of morality than
the people who built them. The films in the Chronicles of Narnia series (2005,
2008, 2010) are based on the books of C.S. Lewis and explore the idea that the
pursuit of power can imprison the mind and spirit; the original books reflected
on political actions of the times. The Harry Potter series (faithful adaptations of
J.K. Rowling’s books) explore ideas of acceptance of “the other”; they employ
a buried commentary on close-minded societies and small-minded govern-
ments dedicated to dominance of spirit and mind.
Film narratives constructed as allegories but not based on underlying
material include Metropolis (1927); film scholars point to its exploration and
commentary on Communism and a society’s fear of technological advance-
ment (Edelstein, 2011). Gojira (1954, released in the USA as Godzilla), the
Japanese “kaiju” (strange beast) film that inspired so many other fantasy
monster films, is a cautionary tale constructed in reaction to the 1940s
nuclear bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Ingmar Bergman’s Seventh
Seal (1957) explores mankind’s relationship with religion; the narrative is
set during the Black Plague and focuses on a knight renouncing his faith.
The knight questions the veracity of any deity that could allow extreme pain
and suffering. He meets “Death” in the form of a black-robed, pale-faced
monk and plays a game of chess—a metaphoric game that will seal the dis-
believing knight’s future. Consider Fight Club (1999); film critic Jim Emerson
writes, “to say ‘Fight Club’ is about fist-fighting is like saying ‘Taxi Driver’ is
about cab driving.” Emerson points out that the narrative is allegorical, that
it comments on the consumerism craze and terrorist organizations as well as
on the social expectations of masculinity and society’s focus on conformity
(Emerson, 1999). The Matrix films (1999–2003) are often examined for their
allegorical elements; is Neo meant to be a Christ figure? Is he “re-born” to
save a society that has become unfeeling and autocratic? District 9 (2009,
written by Neill Blomkamp and Terri Tatchell) is a tale of alien creatures
displaced by the government for reasons of hubris and political power. The
FANTASY 181
aliens were constructed as stand-ins for the minorities that were forced to
move into ghettos during European rule of South Africa.
FANTASY AS MORALITY TALES

All successful films, especially those in the speculative genres of fantasy, sci-fi
and horror, carry strong themes, many of them designed as morality tales.
“Chicken Little” is a morality tale that comments on paranoia and mass
hysteria. There are several versions of the story: each features a chick that
believes the sky is falling when an acorn drops on her head. She sets off to
tell the King; various other animals, after asking her about her goal, join her
hysteria. On the way they meet a fox. This is where the story splits into two
versions. The most common one is that the clever fox invites the hysterical
animals into the “safe haven” of his lair. Because they are so gullible and vul-
nerable to suggestion, the animals accept his invitation. In the lair, the fox
eats them. The moral of this tale is “Don’t believe everything you hear.” The
other version of the story is that one of the animals realizes the fox’s nefari-
ous intent and engineers an escape for all the animals. Once free they hurry
to the King and accomplish their mission. The moral of this story is not to
be “chicken”—to have courage and never lose sight of a goal.
The fantasy genre can carry a strong theme.3 The theme is always in the
eye of the beholder; each person (and the same person at various times) may
receive a different theme from a film narrative. A prominent theme of The
Wizard of Oz is that without empathy and the ability to be less self-centered,
one is in danger of losing those that are most important. A prominent theme
of Blade Runner is that without acceptance, there can be no love (and without
love, there is great loneliness). The screenwriter can implant personal points
of views and thematic messages in the fantasy genre without “hitting the
reader/viewer” over the head with a “message” for, when well executed, the
fantastical uncanny or the fantastical marvelous tale is able to entertain and
be thought-provoking at the same time.
THE COMIC BOOKS AND THE FANTASY GENRE

Fictional super heroes with extraordinary powers, many created between the
1930s and 1960s in comic books, have been the subjects of numerous fan-
tasy films (both live-action and animated). Superheroes include Iron Man,
Superman, Batman, Green Lantern, the Bionic Man, Spider-Man, the Hulk,
Daredevil, the X-Men and more; super heroines include Barbarella, Batgirl, Bat-
woman, Wonder Woman, Supergirl, Bella Donna, Cyclone, the Bionic Woman,
Elasti-girl, Electra, Fury I and II, Hawkgirl, Zatanna, Vixen and many more.
As in all fantasy genres, the boundaries and the rules of the world
should be clearly defined. Superhero powers need to have their limits. If
182 FANTASY
the superhero protagonist has limitless powers, there is no danger or ten-

sion or worry about the fate of the character. If the superhero is able to do
anything (hear and see all, control the environment, not be affected by any
physical or mental manipulations), there are no challenges, thus the vil-
lain or adversary or antagonist cannot be constructed as a worthy foe. The
superhero must have limitations, the villain must have limitations—their
weaknesses and challenges and flaws make the obstacles of the narrative
interesting.
Superman (the Man of Steel) was created by artist Joe Shuster and writer
Jerry Siegel and had its debut in Action Comics # 1 in June of 1938. Super-
man is one of the first comic-book superheroes to appear in an American
feature film. Superman has X-ray vision, extra-sensory hearing, he can fly,
he has super-human strength and has a physical weakness—he can be nega-
tively affected (and even killed) by exposure to a green compound called
Kryptonite. His main nemeses are Lex Luthor and General Zod; they are
strong, clever, determined villains who can—at almost every turn—match
Superman.
The films featuring Spider-Man are based on the underlying material
in Marvel Comics’ Spider-Man (Spidey) created by artist/writer Stan Lee
and Steve Ditko. The character first appeared in the comic book Amaz-
ing Fantasy #15 in August of 1962. The character of Spider-Man becomes
a superhero when he suffers a bite from a genetically enhanced spider.
His superpowers include the ability to make web material that allows him
to climb vertically up the sides of buildings, hang from the ceiling, and
swing from place to place. He has also gained quickness and strength.
However, he is vulnerable, he can be killed. Captain America was created
by Joe Simon and Jack Kirby as a Marvel comic-book character in 1941.
He is a bionically-enhanced super-soldier, with high endurance, increased
strength and speed and super-fast reaction time. He has no fantastical pow-
ers, but he does carry a shield as a weapon and is able to use that to his
advantage. He is a dominant force, although he is not infallible. Iron Man
first appeared in 1963, a creation of Stan Lee; he is human and he is mortal.
Thor was also created by Stan Lee (based on a legendary Norse character)
and first appeared in a comic book in 1962. Thor is a god; he has super-
human strength and an extended lifespan. He can materialize at various
places (increased spatial capability), his magic hammer can propel people
to locations across the Universe, he can transmute elements and use ele-
ments such as lightning to his advantage. Thor has many other gifts, but
he can expire (Aaron, 2013).
There must be perimeters to power, there must be vulnerabilities, there
must be villains who are worthy enough (evil enough) to challenge the
comic-book heroes. Without these challenges, the fantastical stories featur-
ing superheroes will not contain the requisite conflict.
FANTASY 183
FIGURE 9.2 Chris Hemsworth in Thor (2011)
COMMON SUBGENRES AND HYBRIDS

IN THE FANTASY GENRE
These subgenres are very specific in the worlds in which the stories take
place. The fantasy genre, as already noted, demands the construction of spe-
cific environments that have rules/laws and boundaries:
Superhero
Gothic
Grotesque
Space opera (also a subgenre in sci-fi)
As noted previously, fantasy is not a specific “story” genre. The genre

is focused more on the “ideas,” the environment of the story and character
creation. The screenwriter is tasked with choosing either the fantastical
uncanny approach (the protagonist enters the fantastical world through
some portal or means of changing reality and directly experiences and
struggles in the fantasy world) or the fantastical marvelous approach (the
fantastical world just “is” and the narrative takes place in a fantastical world
that is accepted as reality). Therefore it is of great importance to consider
the “story genre” that is paired with the fantasy genre. In most cases the
story genre will lead so that the goals of the characters are clear. Other
examples of films in the fantasy genre include Labyrinth (1986), Pirates of the
Caribbean (2003–2011), Hook (1991), Where the Wild Things Are (2009), Life of
Pi (2012), Pan’s Labyrinth (2006), Edward Scissorhands (1990), Legend (1985),
184 FANTASY
The NeverEnding Story (1984), Coraline (2009), Mary Poppins (1964), Enchanted
(2007), Nightmare Before Christmas (1993), Elf (2003), Nanny McPhee (2005),
Splash (1984), Jumanji (1995), Field of Dreams (1989) and The Curious Case of
Benjamin Button (2008).
THE MENTAL SPACE OF FANTASY

The screenwriter, in creating the mental space of fantasy for the audience,
may want to first decide if the narrative will be set up in the fantastical
uncanny or the fantastical marvelous camp. Using schematic knowledge
(framing) in the fantastical uncanny, the protagonist may be introduced in
a “normal life” and experience a fantastical moment or event that leads him
or her to a “portal.” In the internal framing, the screenwriter may want to
consider constructing scenes or sequences where the “straddling of real and
unreal” can come into play. As a final framing of the narrative in the fantasy
genre in the fantastical uncanny realm, the screenwriter can choose to keep
the protagonist in the fantasy or to pull him or her out. What is most impor-
tant is that the fantastical experience has helped shape the character on his
or her journey of change.
If using the fantastical marvelous, the narrative begins in the fantasy
world and this world makes up the “normal life” of the protagonist. Using
schematic knowledge (framing) in the fantastical marvelous, the screen-
writer is tasked to create the world and characters in such a way that the
audience is pulled into the alternate reality and understands its rules and
perimeters. Internal framing choices should keep the fantasy genre promi-
nent; however, the story genre is, in most probability, taking precedence.
As a final framing of the narrative in the fantasy genre in the fantastical
marvelous realm, the screenwriter may continue to engage the audience
in the wonders of the fantastical world; however, the story genre may take
precedence as it most greatly affects the protagonist and other characters.
fantasy genre will also vary, depending on the choice of narrative. Is it built
in the fantastical uncanny or the fantastical marvelous? In the fantastical
uncanny, the specific knowledge will be the audience’s relation to the
“straddling of the real and unreal,” their memories of dreams or events that
are not concretely “real.” In the fantastical marvelous, the specific knowledge
of the audience will be engaged because of the interest in how the fantasy
world relates to “normal life.” Fantasy transports, fantasy governments,
fantasy home life and relationships will be compared to “reality” and provide
interest to the audience. The story genre leading the narrative will have its
own resonance; however, it is important to support the fantasy elements in
the narrative.
FANTASY 185
ity to see how this story relates to today’s world. Social commentary, associa-
tions to politics, status, inequities and other elements of existence may be
employed. A certain universality can be captured in specificity, for the audi-
ence may not have gone through the exact experience of the one presented
in the narrative; however, they may be able to relate the emotional journey
to personal passages through life.
Suggested Exercises: Fantasy
1. Narratives in the fantasy genre must be built so that the audience

understands the perimeters, rules and social norms of the imagina-
tively constructed fantasy world. Imagine a fantasy story and write
a paragraph synopsis.
a. Consider if the narrative is constructed in the fantastical

uncanny or fantastical marvelous arena.
b. How quickly could the audience “get up to speed” with how the
fantastical world works?
i. Is it a constant learning experience for the audience or will

the “rules” and perimeters be illuminated at the outset of
the story.
ii. Do the rules and/or boundaries create conflict for the
characters?
iii. Will there be fantastical creatures?
iv. If so, will they be recognizable “types” (such as witch,
fairy, elf ) and fulfill the accepted tenets of these fantastical
creatures?
c. Consider adding a “sense of wonder” to the narrative. Be spe-
cific, what will be the “ahhh!” factor about the story and/or
world? Is it part of the characters’ experiences or just in the
experience of the audience? (Or both?)
NOTES
1 Big and Wait ’til You’re Older use the fantastical idea of changing the very
essence of a person’s state of being—one uses comedy, the other uses drama—
to explore the challenges of living “outside a given age.” In both cases, the
186 FANTASY
films’ authors conclude that the transformations are not beneficial to the
main characters.
2 Steampunk science fiction includes film narratives featuring steam-powered
machinery (thus the title of the category). The setting is often during the days
of the Industrial Revolution—decades of the 18th and 19th centuries when
many parts of the world made the move from a rural society to more of a city-
based society and economy. (See Chapter 8: Science Fiction.)
3 Theme is the unifying moral or emotional premise that the writer explores in
his/her story. The theme of the story usually relates to what the protagonist
learns/realizes during the journey of the story.
REFERENCES
Aaron, Jason (2013) Thor: God of Thunder, Panini UK Ltd./Marvel, UK.
Brooks, Noah (1895) Washington in Lincoln’s Time, Kessinger Publishing, LLC, USA.
Cornell University, Division of Rare and Manuscript Collections (2012) “The
Fantastic in Art and Literature,” http://fantastic.library.cornell.edu/grotesque.
php (accessed 2013).
Edelstein, David (2011) “Famous Films You Didn’t Know Were Allegories.” Slate
Magazine, http://www.goodnewsfilmreviews.com/2011/01/10-famous-films-
you-didnt-know-were.html (accessed 2013).
Emerson, Jim (1999) “Fight Club, Punching in the Dark.” Scanners, http://www.
rogerebert.com/scanners/fight-club-punching-in-the-dark (October 25).
Freud, Sigmund (1919) “Das Unheimliche” (The Uncanny), http://www.jahsonic.
com/DasUnheimliche.html (translated by NG Communications, 2006).
Jentsch, Ernst (1906) “On the Psychology of the Uncanny.”
McMahon, Alison (2003) “Alice Guy Blaché,” http://aliceguyblache.com/chronology
(accessed 2013).
Morris, David (1985) “Gothic Sublimity.” New Literary History, John Hopkins Press,
USA.
National Women’s Film Museum (accessed 2013) “Alice Guy Blache, 1873–1968,”
http://www.nwhm.org/education-resources/biography/biographies/alice-
guy-blache/.
Todorov, Tzvetan (1970) The Fantastic: A Structural Approach to a Literary Genre
(translated by Richard Howard), Cornell University Press, USA.
CHAPTER 10
Western
Terms to understand: inclusive, exclusive, classic, revisionist, deconstruction-

ist, lawlessness/freedom, reluctant hero, anti-hero
The western is often referred to as one of the most important creations of

American movies. The most compelling reason to support this claim is that
the western genre helped create the myth of America. This myth is personified
in the American character that accepts nothing less than freedom, believes in
a personal vision and feels that hard work can transform circumstances and
character. The audience of the western expects and anticipates an introduc-
tion to a protagonist who, in some way, represents these ideals, whether he
(or she) wears the pure-of-heart “white hat” or the troubled or tainted “black
hat.” President Theodore Roosevelt, a supporter of Western expansion, pre-
dicted that the United States, at a crisis point in its growth and national mis-
sion, would find its identity “in the thought and action of the West, because
the West accentuates the peculiarly American characteristics of its people . . .
(the) iron qualities that must go with true manhood” (Muscovitz, 2006).
MYTHOLOGY OF THE WEST

The American West’s wide-open spaces and unsettled territories provide
blank slates for persons to create new lives, even new personas. Whether the
protagonist is a wanderer with a murky past, such as the gunslinger/drifter
title character in Shane (1953), or the East Coast lawyer searching for a new
life in The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance (1962), or the female taking on a
male persona in order to control her destiny in The Ballad of Little Jo (1993),
the western mythology is built on the opportunity for renewal and regenera-
tion. No matter a person’s past, the western narrative presents a possibility
to identify and embrace his or her real—or perhaps new—self.
This possibility resonates with film audiences who, consciously or subcon-
sciously, relish the exploration of renewal. Will Wright explored the essence
of myth in his book Sixguns and Society: A Structural Study of the Western:
If a myth is popular, it must somehow appeal to or reinforce the indi-

viduals who view it by communicating a symbolic meaning to them.
187
188 WESTERN
The meaning must, in turn, reflect the particular social institutions and
attitudes that have created and continue to nourish the myth. Thus, a
myth must tell its viewers about themselves and their society.
(Wright, 1975: 2)
Western films do just this; they hold a mirror up to three ideals:

re-invention of character, individual strength of purpose and, most
particularly, the ideal of reasonable and personal justice. Classic westerns
provide a plethora of stories that rely on a relatively small stable of situations
and plots that focus on these themes, with conflicts often growing out of
several archetypal situations: ranchers vs. farmers (films such as Shane and
Man Without A Star (1955)), Indians vs. settlers (The Searchers (1956) and She
Wore A Yellow Ribbon (1949)), courage vs. cowardice (High Noon (1952), The
Tin Star (1957) and Rio Bravo (1959)) and perhaps the most popular conflict—
outlaws vs. civilization (Stagecoach (1939), The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance
(1962), Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (1969) and Unforgiven (1992)).
Successful screenplays are based on the emotional, physical and
psychological conflict of characters in, for the most part, life-changing
situations. The successful western builds conflict by using the inherent
difficulties of its burgeoning society and its location and, as Wright points
out, resolves its conflicts not in the courtroom, but through brawls and
gunplay, re-establishing the moral order with a single shot. Part of the allure
of the western is this simplicity and its inherent lawlessness. Film critic
Richard Schickel writes that westerns appeal because “everyone wore a six-
shooter (and) complex moral conflicts could be plausibly resolved in clear,
clean violent action” (Schickel, 1988: 11).
This lawlessness and might-wins-out allowed the Wild West to take on
mythical dimensions, to become a place where legends (of “good guys” and
“bad guys”) could be born.
BASIC ELEMENTS OF THE WESTERN GENRE

French film theorist Jean Mitry provides an inclusive definition of the western,
one that is useful to the screenwriter: “<A> film whose action, situated in the
American West, is consistent with the atmosphere, the values and the condi-
tions of existence in the Far West between 1840 and 1900” (Mitry, 1963: 276).
Jim Kitses, author of Horizons West: Anthony Mann, Budd Boetticher, Sam Peck-
inpah; Studies of Authorship Within the Western, explores a more exclusive defi-
nition by stating that the western grows out of the conflict between the West
as garden and as desert, between culture and nature, community and indi-
vidual (Kitses, 1969). Both observations are of importance to the screenwriter.
The western is set apart because, unlike other film genres, it focuses on a
certain period of history as well as a certain locale. There are various critical
opinions that assign, somewhat arbitrarily, non-western films into the western
WESTERN 189
genre. Acclaimed films such as Giant (1956) and Hud (1963) and Brokeback
Mountain (2005) and No Country For Old Men (2007) are often lumped into
the western genre simply because of their locales (and iconographic cow-
boy hats), not taking into account their lack of fulfillment of the inclusive
definition of the basic western as well as other exclusive motifs. The classic
western genre, unlike epic melodrama (Giant) or coming-of-age drama (Hud )
or romance (Brokeback Mountain) or drama/horror (No Country for Old Men)
first and foremost explores a particular period of time and particular characters
who exist in this particular period of time. Film stories based in other genres
may borrow western motifs such as expansionism and quest for reasonable
and personal justice, such as the sci-fi adventures Star Wars (1977) and Seren-
ity (2005) (sometimes labeled “space westerns”) or the pioneering spirit and
quest for new self in a film such as Easy Rider (1969) (sometimes referred to as
an “acid western”) or a disaster film (sometimes labeled an “apocalyptic west-
ern”) such as Mad Max (1979); however, they do not belong on the list of true
westerns. For the purposes of the screenwriter, it is beneficial to understand
the classic western in order to successfully cherry-pick from its components
the elements that might enhance a story in another distinct genre.
PERIOD
The classic western takes place between the mid-1800s (end of the Civil
War) and 1890 (the end of the Indian Wars at Wounded Knee). Some film
theorists may push the western back to the Battle of the Alamo in 1836 and
even allow for the Mexican Revolution (1920), but most will agree that the
height of western migration (1860 to 1900) is the time period that most
FIGURE 10.1 Alan Ladd and Brandon de Wilde in Shane (1953)

190 WESTERN
exemplifies the Wild West experience. Film historian John Cawelti writes
that the western takes place “at a certain moment in the development of
American civilization, namely at that point where savagery is in decline
before the advancing wave of law and order, but still strong enough to pose
a local and momentarily significant change” (Cawelti, 1975: 22–23).
An important element of the western (also known as the Horse Opera or
the Oater) is the use of the horse as the main mode of transportation. Horses
represent freedom, man’s connection to the unconquered terrain. The horse
gets its fuel from the land, the horse allows the hero to roam freely; there is
no need for marked paths. Fences are anathema to the free spirit. Young boys
in the western dream of owning their own horse for the animal represents
not only freedom but also manhood, as seen in films such as The Tin Star
and Shane. The horse connects the western character in a muscular way to
physical survival and it is essential in frontier chases and battles. If the horse
does not survive, the cowboy (or cavalry man or pioneer or outlaw) may
not survive. Trains, known as “iron horses,” portended the end of the Wild
West—no longer did the pioneers need the courage to endure the hardships
of a cross-country trek on foot or horseback or in a horse-drawn covered
wagon; they could travel to the West with relative ease. The replacement of
the horse (by the train and eventually the automobile) as the main mode of
transportation inexorably altered the Western landscape and the tough, free,
resourceful and determined western character.
LOCALE
The terms “Old West” and “Wild West” refer to life beyond the settled
United States territories and are usually meant to refer to the “Frontier
Strip,” made up of six territories from North Dakota to Texas and west to
the Pacific Ocean. Due to passenger ships traveling around the southern-
most tip of South America (a 14,000-mile trip from New York) to reach the
gold fields of California, Oregon and Washington, areas along the Pacific
coast became “civilized” earlier than the arid and land-locked Arizona, New
Mexico and Oklahoma territories. These three areas were the last to be
awarded statehood—and thus are the locales where most western films live
most comfortably. It makes sense that the silver-mining town of Tomb-
stone, Arizona rose to prominence and drew the likes of Wyatt Earp, Doc
Holliday, and the McLaury brothers. Tombstone’s infamous Gunfight at
the O.K. Corral is an event that often symbolizes the West’s struggle for law
and order against the open-banditry of the outlaws who terrorized brave
and peaceful homesteaders and pioneers.
Cawelti points out that the classic western lives where man encounters
his “uncivilized double.” Cawelti writes that the western is at its best when
it takes place on the border of two lands, between two eras, and with a hero
WESTERN 191
The “Frontier Strip” of Arizona (AZ), New Mexico (NM) and

FIGURE 10.2
Oklahoma (OK)
Source: Tony Honkawa
that remains divided between two value systems, for he combines the town’s
morals with the outlaw’s skills (Altman, 1984: 8).
A good number of western stories such as Cimarron (1931), The Man Who
Shot Liberty Valance (1962) and McCabe and Mrs. Miller (1971) use impend-
ing statehood as an element of plot and as a symbol of impending change.
Conflicting opinions concerning statehood give the audience a window into
the western characters—those who desire a community that exists under
the safety umbrella of a federal government and those who are unwilling to
give up the romance of the “Wild West” and the heady feeling of controlling
their own destinies.
CHARACTERS
Just as audiences recognize and enjoy the familiar characters in teen
comedies (variations on the nerd, the jock, the smart student, the loser),
the familiar characters in the crime drama (the harried and possibly corrupt
older detective, the young detective out to make a name for himself ) or
the romantic comedy characters (the young woman who can’t stand up for
herself or the man who refuses to risk maturation and commitment), the
western has its familiar characters—and in most cases, each of them serve
a specific purpose. Wright suggests: “Each film is the story of a hero who
is somehow estranged from his society but now in whose ability rests the
fate of that society. The villains threaten the society until the hero acts to
protect and save it” (Wright, 1975: 40). Wright reduces each western story
(he includes dime novels, short stories and films) to three sets of characters:
the hero, the society, and the villains. Cawelti gives these three basic groups
192 WESTERN
a bit more dimension: the townspeople are the agents of civilization, the
savages or outlaws threaten the agents of civilization, and the hero is
above the mores of the savages or outlaws and the agents of civilization
(Cawelti, 1975).
It’s interesting to note that the western film “created” the Caucasian
western hero. Thomas Gasque explored the historical cowboys and found
most of them to be Latino (Mexican, Argentinean, Chilean or Venezuelan)
or of African descent. The white cowboy in the late 1800s was, in most cases,
from a lower economic class—perhaps a poor displaced Southerner or a Euro-
pean immigrant willing to roam territories in search of work (Muscovitz,
2006). The Hollywood film appropriated the idea of the cowboy, romanti-
cized him and made him, initially, an ideal of the white American male.
FAMILIAR PROTAGONISTS
Familiar protagonists in the western film include the purveyors of law
enforcement (the sheriff or marshal or cavalry officer or justice-minded and
activist rancher) who, for the most part, represent fair play and work to pro-
tect the community from injustice. Even as this protagonist evolves from
the symbol of reason and right (the “white hat”) to the rogue sheriff or the
reformed outlaw or the “mysterious western wanderer with a death wish”
in the revisionist or deconstructed westerns, the typical (and most impor-
tant) element of the western film protagonist is that he is the character on
screen with the strongest moral code. He fights the big corporations (banks,
railroads, land grabbers) for the common man or defends the weak farmers
against greedy ranchers or takes on the bullies interested only in acquisi-
tion or an assertion of unreasonable power. The classic western protagonist
puts the community or his emotional alliances before his own safety and
personal happiness.
I will go more into depth on the classic western protagonist after the
following identifications of other classic western characters.
SUPPORTING CHARACTERS
Familiar and recurring supporting characters include the sheriff’s deputy or
subordinate cavalry officer (often initially inept or cowardly or untested)
who represents the future strength or moral code of the community. There is
also the businessman (often a railroad baron or banker) who is risking great
sums of money on the western frontier and demands (or buys) protection
(just or not) from the law (corrupt or not). This character represents the ever-
increasing influx of those who do not intend to work or protect the land but
gain wealth by catering to or taking advantage of the hardworking settlers.
WESTERN 193
THE WOMEN
Westerns often feature the good woman with a tempting virginal beauty
(often a daughter or niece of a rich or poor townsperson or high-ranked
army officer); she has a strong moral character, shows uncommon bravery
and refuses to leave the West to go back to the more civilized (and safe) East.
She may be pampered and focus on the social aspect of the community or
help work the farm (Ride the High Country (1962)) or toil alongside her fam-
ily in their business in town, perhaps in an eating establishment (The Man
Who Shot Liberty Valance) or selling guns in her father’s gun shop (Forty Guns
(1957)). She is the potential “mother”; the one who will ensure needed prog-
eny for the new territory.
This good woman is often compared (and, in many cases, competes for
the affection of the male protagonist) with the lady of dubious virtue. This
“fallen woman” is often a madam or entertainer in the town’s saloon. She
may be bawdy or hard-nosed and practical. She is, in most cases, intelligent,
worldly-wise and demands respect, and she may have a mysterious, compli-
cated past. This less-than-naïve and less-than-virginal woman represents the
change that the West affords women—the chance to be self-sufficient, to test
herself against adversity and deal on par with the male.
Wives (good-natured or not) often do backbreaking work in the fields or
on the ranch by the side of their husbands and children or help run the store
or local hotel in town. In most cases, even if the wives disagree with their hus-
bands, they support his decisions because this was the role of woman in the
late 1800s. As the western genre evolved and women’s roles in society evolved
post World War II, films such as Forty Guns (1957) and Big Jake (1971) featured
the independent and intelligent and—most times—lonely woman of means.
She owns the ranch, runs the business and suffers in romance for her skills. No
man can tame her and no man can stomach the competition for dominance.
OTHER RECURRING CHARACTERS

Other recurring characters include:
– The community’s drunk. This may be the doctor (the infamous Doc
Holliday comes to mind) or the stable manager or army officer ne’er-
do-well or the newspaperman or simply the sloppy drunk in the cor-
ner of the saloon who betrays the hero for another glass of whiskey.
This character often has no moral code and represents the spineless
element of a community—and is usually shot and killed during the
final climax because the West does not need the weak-willed.
– The profit-minded coffin-maker. He reminds the audience that
death in the Wild West is a certain and expected occurrence and that,
194 WESTERN
even in dealing with loss of life, the western pioneer can engage in
capitalistic pursuits.
– The saloonkeeper or general store proprietor. He does not take
sides in any disputes—his priority is to maintain his business by serv-
ing both the upstanding citizens and the lowlifes of the community.
This character represents the self-serving or cowardly component of
the community, and rarely gains respect.
– The itinerant gambler (with “gentleman” traits), the traveling
judge or the random stagecoach traveler. Such characters often
make appearances and may serve as the audience’s eyes into the
world of the Wild West; they ask questions and remain voyeurs
of the complex relationships of those who have a stake in the
community.
– The preacher. In the western the preacher is, in most cases, not
the man with the strongest backbone or deepest reserves of cour-
age. He may want to save souls, but the westerner’s need to survive
against rustlers, bandits and other oppressors trumps the desire to
engage in defeating the amorphous devil out to procure a man’s
soul. The preacher is no match for the respect and honor given to
the protagonist (upright or not) and the protagonist’s prowess with
the gun. There Will Be Blood (2007), a drama that uses elements
of the western genre, portrays a preacher out to expand his claim
on the pioneers’ mental territory while the protagonist, oilman
Daniel Plainview (Daniel Day-Lewis), obsessively tries to expand
his claim on earthly goods. Their final showdown is not a battle
of guns but a battle of wills and desire to feel as if their lives, ulti-
mately, contain any meaning.
– The western’s children. Pre-teen, teens and boys about to be men
represent the choices of the future. The allure of the power of the gun
and the freedom of the open range vs. community and working the
land create conflicts for those deciding what to do with their lives.
The youngest of them question their fathers, mothers and authority
figures, wanting the world to be black and white—and in most cases,
learn that there are gray areas in choosing a life’s path.
– The cadre of farmers or ranchers or cattle-drivers or cavalrymen
and their sweethearts along with local misfit gamblers and barflys.
These are Cawelti’s agents of civilization. The inciting incident that
sets the problem of the film story in motion may begin with an injus-
tice dealt to one or all them.
– The Native Americans (American Indians). A staple in the early west-
ern films, they are determined to protect their lands, lives and natural
WESTERN 195
resources. Western films such as The Iron Horse (1924) and Stagecoach
(1939) painted Native Americans as the villains who stood in the way
of the American Dream, denying dreamers of land, food and easy
access to a new life. Revisionist westerns awarded the Native Americans
victim or heroic status, taking into account their territorial rights as
well as their right to protect their buffalo and other food supplies.
When, in the late 1980s and 1990s, Hollywood’s zealous concern for
politically correct stories emerged, the American Indian, for the most
part, disappeared from mainstream feature film westerns. Dances
With Wolves (1990) is one of the last films to feature American Indi-
ans in major roles; they are portrayed as heroes—wise but mistreated,
strong in heritage but outnumbered—and forced to be constantly
on the move, homeless in the beloved expansive lands they called
home.
– The thugs and the western antagonist. This seedy group of west-
ern thugs are initially identified by their black hats and rough-
whiskered faces. These include the outlaws (the bank or stagecoach
robbers or cattle rustlers) or the hired men who carry out the dirty
work of the greedy land barons, terrifying the good farmers or sim-
ple folk (simply, it seems, to have enough money in their pockets to
drink whiskey at the saloon). Their leader, the classic bigger-than-
life main antagonist of the western is, in most cases, charismatic
and powerful. He is quick with the gun and can hold his liquor and
is usually surrounded by his violent dependents who admire or fear
his violent nature.
The revisionist western explores a protagonist/antagonist relation-

ship that does not center on a simple good vs. evil battle. The moral
question of “right” is more complex. The main antagonist might be the
corrupt sheriff or heavy-handed cavalry officer who over-reaches or loses
touch with the parameters of his orders to provide protection to west-
ern settlers and takes on an aggressive, nation-building mission. Or he
may be a man with a less-than-respectable past who has an agenda that
is less-than-moral but has a personal vendetta with which the audience
may empathize. Whatever his characteristics, the main antagonist is a
worthy opponent of the protagonist—in his ability to gather forces to
stand behind him, sometimes in his dominance in a moral argument and
always in his prowess with his gun.
Over the 100-plus years of Hollywood westerns, these classic charac-
ters have spun off the familiar and expected to surprise the audience who,
while appreciating the language and comfort of recurring characters, takes
pleasure in the fresh twists on the familiar. A good example is the Academy
Award winning Unforgiven (1992). The main antagonist is the sheriff; he is
196 WESTERN
the most violent and misanthropic character on screen. The saloonkeeper

is not passive—he demands his capitalist remuneration for the destruction
of his “property” (a mutilated whore). His demands set the story in motion.
The saloon’s prostitutes do not blend into the background; they are active
and band together to become a force. The madam seeks respect and parity
with the males, but realizes at the story’s conclusion that the males’ high
level of acceptance of violence is beyond her realm. The protagonist is an
aging outlaw and ex-hired killer who has accepted God and the teachings
of damnation, and has lost his skills with a horse and gun. He is visited
by angels while he struggles to honor his commitment to walk the straight
and narrow in hopes of reaching heaven. However, when his best friend is
tortured and killed (showing, as previously noted, a requisite of the western
protagonist—that, no matter how flawed, he has the strongest moral code
on screen) he descends into what feels like a pre-destined hell to avenge his
friend’s demise.
MORE ABOUT THE CLASSIC WESTERN

PROTAGONIST
The classic western hero, as noted by Jennifer Muscovitz in “The Cultural
Myth of the Cowboy,” has much in common with Britain’s medieval knight
who traversed the open country until he found a wrong that needed to be
set right (Muscovitz, 2006). Muscovitz notes that the social structure, dur-
ing this particular time in feudal England, appeared to be remarkably open;
there was a spirit of adventure, respect for the self-made men, and ambition
was considered to be a noble trait. This knight became romantically emblem-
atic of a nation in transition. Likewise, the western hero emerged when the
United States was in need of a strong national identity. Due to the detritus of
the American Civil War, the South was in shambles and forced to withstand
occupation by Union soldiers and Northern opportunists. The economy of
the United States was moving quickly towards widespread industrialization
and the increasing numbers of immigrants were having a great impact on
the Eastern cities. These circumstances fueled the desire of the adventurous
(or the desperate) to travel west to pursue new opportunities and a new kind
of freedom. These American dreamers needed protection from the less than
right-minded capitalists and opportunists and other villains. The western hero
became the equivalent of the medieval knight, the lone individual (the angel
on horseback) who makes a well-timed appearance or rises from the group to
take on an insurmountable task to aid the oppressed as they pursue a new,
just and stable life.
Above all, the western hero, like the medieval knight, has a sense of
his role based on personal honor. As the hero prepares to face the villain,
he is often asked by a more innocent character, “Why do you have to be
WESTERN 197
the one?” The answer is, more than likely, a variation on “’Cause I got to.”
No more explanation is necessary; the hero simply cannot live with him-
self if he does not follow his own deeply embedded convictions. The title
character in Shane (Alan Ladd) initially avoids getting involved in the bat-
tle between farmer and rancher. Finally Shane cannot stomach the injus-
tice inflicted on the upstanding but weaker contingent; he takes on the
farmers’ cause because his moral code dictates he must. He fights the good
fight and eventually leaves the community (as Lancelot in medieval tales
left King Arthur’s Court) because of an unsettling (and impure) desire for
another man’s wife. High Noon (1952, screenplay by Carl Foreman) features
Marshall Will Kane (Gary Cooper), a man who has every reason and oppor-
tunity to leave town before a recently released criminal (Kane was respon-
sible for sending him to prison) comes back to town to kill him. Kane’s just
been married, he has hung up his guns and turned in his sheriff’s tin star;
he plans to go to a new frontier town with his bride and open up a store.
The townspeople selfishly refuse to stand behind him and beg him to leave
before any violence might touch them. His new wife, Amy (Grace Kelly),
has recently embraced the pacifist Quaker religion and threatens to leave
him if he faces his foe with a gun in hand. But Kane makes a decision to
face his nemesis, believing no man should be intimidated and therefore, as
he says, “I got to.” Big Jake (1971, written by Harry Julian Finke and Rita M.
Finke) features Jake (John Wayne), a man who has been in self-proclaimed
exile from his wife and grown sons for years—he’s a western man who
cannot be tamed. However, when his grandson is kidnapped, he returns to
head up a group set on retrieving the young boy. There is no question of
him not taking on the task—it’s the way of the western hero. Munny (Clint
Eastwood) in Unforgiven has sworn off the life of the hired killer in hopes of
some redemption that will allow him to join his deceased wife in heaven.
However, the rough life of a pig farmer and having to care for two young
children leaves Munny with no resources. He reluctantly takes on the task
of pursuing justice for a victimized prostitute to earn the reward money.
Munny talks himself into believing being the agent of revenge on the cow-
boy who disfigured a woman is a “just kill.” He completes the task and
accepts his money. He could ride off, mission accomplished, but the classic
western hero arc is not complete. Thus the film needs its Act Three; Munny
discovers his best friend has been tortured and killed by the violent sheriff
and put on display in a coffin in front of a saloon. Munny must avenge,
do what “he must do” and enter the final violent climax of the film story.
The principles and values of the western hero will hold true, in most cases,
in the classic, the revisionist, new revisionist and deconstructed western.
The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford (2007, written
by Andrew Dominik, based on a novel by Ron Hansen) breaks the classic
structure; the protagonist Robert Ford “does what he must do” not because
198 WESTERN
of a personal code of honor, but because of his cowardly self-serving deci-

sion to betray his hero. Robert Ford is the celebrity-stalker and assassin, and
in the third act of this film he pays for his cowardice by being ridiculed and
shunned—and killed.
Despite the “I got to” code of the western hero, it may be beneficial to
the screenwriter to understand the duality of this attitude and the building
of the popular reluctant western hero. Joseph Campbell, in The Hero With a
Thousand Faces (1972), points out the reoccurrence of the reluctant hero in
the identifying stories of nearly all the cultures around the world. Audiences
respond to (and relate to) the everyman as the classic hero—the doubter, the
man who wants to avoid conflict as well as celebrity and who hopes that
he will not have to face or destroy the villain. The reluctant western hero
accepts that death might be imminent; the chance of losing the battle or
final duel is certain and, in most cases, he regrets the necessity for action.
But, once engaged, the classic western hero does not waver. Morg Hickman
(Henry Fonda) in The Tin Star advises young and untried sheriff Ben Owens
(Anthony Perkins) to make all efforts to sway or control the rogue elements
in town with reasonable words. However, Hickman advises the insecure
Owens that if all else fails one must “shoot to kill.” The reluctant, question-
ing hero, the hero who may believe in his convictions but not in his prow-
ess, the hero who, to repeat Cawelti’s observation, is divided between two
value systems, for he combines the town’s morals with the outlaw’s skills
(Altman, 1984: 8), is a complex and interesting hero that inhabits the classic
tales of the Wild West.
CODE OF FRIENDSHIP
The western hero has a strong code of friendship. Due to the extreme hard-
ships on the open trail (meager rations, facing nature’s predators and life-
threatening situations as well as facing antagonistic opportunists such as
robbers or rustlers), male bonding is very important in the western myth.
Based on truth or not, the western myth builds the fraternal connection—a
friend has a friend’s back. If this trust is ever betrayed the bond is irrevocably
broken.
THE TAMING OF THE WESTERN HERO

The classic western hero cannot be tamed; the pull of the open range
must always be dominant. Therefore, the western hero’s entrance into
frontier town (or the fort or across the prairie to the farmhouse or ranch)
is often “bookended” at the end of the film story with his riding out of
town when his task is complete. There is honor and strength in a man’s
WESTERN 199
FIGURE 10.3 Ben Johnson, Warren Oates, William Holden and Ernest Borgnine in
The Wild Bunch (1969)
denial of the comfort of hearth and home and the love of a good woman.
There is romance in following the call of freedom promised by traversing
untamed territories. Susan Hayward, in her book Key Concepts in Cinema,
points out that the western hero is a “man who lusts for adventure more
than he lusts for a woman and domesticity” (Hayward, 2006). Even in
death, as seen in films such as 3:10 to Yuma (1957/2007), Gunfight at the
O.K. Corral (1957), Ride the High Country (1962), Butch Cassidy and the
Sundance Kid (1969) and The Wild Bunch (1969), when the western hero
perishes in the final stand-off, he is still, essentially, “moving on” with
honor; he has made his mark on the community, caused change and his
effect will be remembered.
The western hero who decides to keep or accept the sheriff’s star after
being dominant in the final stand-off may gain the audience’s momentary
respect, but he loses the mysterious and romantic attributes of the “knight”
who rides off to the next challenge and adventure. In these cases, the pro-
tagonist has been tamed and loses allure—as seen in such films as My Dar-
ling Clementine (1946), Law and Order (1953) and Silverado (1985). Films
such as Open Range (2003) where, at the story’s conclusion, the hero settles
into a romantic relationship (into a farmhouse that offers a daily home-
cooked meal and featherbed) soften the western hero and appeal to an audi-
ence that appreciates the romance genre above the basic harder-edge and
mythic tenets of the classic western film. The Assassination of Jesse James by
the Coward Robert Ford examines the retired outlaw, the man who now co-
habits with his wife and children and attempts to hide from the law in his
200 WESTERN
domesticity. James is out of his element and because of this, his paranoia
grows. He has lost control of his gang, he is no longer in the terrain where
he felt mastery, and—when doing a simple domestic task—James allows
himself to be shot in the back. The taming of Jesse James brought about his
ultimate downfall.
THE CORE OF THE WESTERN GENRE AND THE

BUILDING OF ITS MENTAL SPACE
The schematic components of the western film genre include time period,
locale, characters and themes. These familiar framing elements attract a cer-
tain audience. The screenwriter then must build the singular elements of
the idealized cognitive model of the unique screenplay, these elements are
constructed through consideration of the specific knowledge and relevant
knowledge a screenwriter can bring to the film narrative. Screenwriters must
find the fresh point of view or character that will bring a sense of newness
to the western story. The basic tools of the western genre can be used by
screenwriters to explore America’s roots and psyches as well as the “American
identity,” fabricated or not. As Hayward writes in Key Concepts in Cinema,
The dime novels tried to explain “how the West was won,” even though,
of course, it was not won. It was taken away from the Indians by the
“few” property speculators, and what was left over from the good gold-
mining terrain and profitable land, which they kept, was sold to the
beleaguered pioneers who had come so far for so little.
(Hayward, 2006: 417)
Hayward points out that early film audiences in the 1930s and 1940s
did not want to see this less than romantic version of the West; they wanted
to see the West as it “should have been”—the myth. However, by the 1950s
the audience was ready, because of its familiarity with the western genre,
to accept the western film not only on its own merits but as a metaphor of
contemporary situations such as McCarthyism (High Noon, The Tin Star) or
the Viet Nam War in the late 1960s (The Wild Bunch) or in 2007 the perils
of celebrity and the psychotic celebrity stalkers in The Assassination of Jesse
James by the Coward Robert Ford.
As years, politics and psychology advance, the western, because of its
simple story and core characters, is a template that is ripe for metaphor and
analogy. It is beneficial to the screenwriter to understand its core elements,
to appreciate audiences’ expectations and love of the genre in order to give
the viewer what it expects and desires as well as adjusting or breaking genre
traditions to surprise and challenge.
WESTERN 201
Suggested Exercises: Western
1. The classic western takes place between 1860 and 1900 in the
American West, mostly in territories west of the Mississippi River
that are not yet under the federal umbrella (in other words, the
locations are not yet official states of the union). Create a story in
the western genre. Write a one-page synopsis of the story.
a. Be clear about location. What territory or young state will be the

place for the narrative?
b. Consider the classic western themes (these will often deal with
the idea of justice or personal freedom or building of commu-
nities or personal integrity). Construct a protagonist that may
be facing a dilemma where one (or more) of these issues can be
explored.
c. What elements make up the ICM (idealized cognitive model) of
tives and, more importantly, film genre(s) and their inherent
characteristics.

characters’ lives and/or in the social universe of the film?
Or conversely, are there extraneous elements that do not
contribute to the strength of the narrative that could be
excised?
2. There are classic core characters in film narratives in the western

genre. Consider each of those characters and discuss the possibil-
ity of making one of them the protagonist of the narrative. What
particular obstacles might this person be facing?
3. How might the western themes and tropes be used in an innova-

tive space opera (sci-fi) or film narrative using another film genre?
Consider transferring elements of the “western character” and the
important elements the western character faces into a film narra-
tive that uses another genre as its overriding genre.
4. Research historic characters and/or events of the Old West.

Construct a new approach to an investigation of one of their lives.
202 WESTERN
REFERENCES
Campbell, Joseph (1972) The Hero With A Thousand Faces, Princeton University
Press, USA.
Cawelti, John G. (1975) The Six Gun Mystique, Bowling Green University Press,
USA.
Hayward, Susan (2006) Cinema Studies: The Key Concepts, 3rd Edition, Routledge, UK.
Kitses, Jim (1969) Horizons West: Anthony Mann, Budd Boetticher, Sam Peckinpah;
Studies of Authorship within the Western, BFI, UK, and Indiana University Press,
USA.
Mitry, Jean (1963) Dictionnaire du Cinema, Larousse, France.
Muscovitz, Jennifer (2006) “The Cultural Myth of the Cowboy, or, How the West
Was Won: Americana.” The Journal of American Popular Culture (1900–Present),
Volume 5, Iss.1, Spring, http://www.americanpopularculture.com/journal/
articles/spring_2006/moskowitz.htm.
Schickel, Richard (1988) BFI Companion to the Western, Deutsch Publishing, UK.
Wright, Will (1975) Sixguns and Society: A Structural Study of the Western, University
of California Press, USA.
CHAPTER 11
Thriller
Terms to understand: espionage, women-in-jeopardy, crime, mystery, film noir,

macguffin, femme fatale, flawed investigator, innocent victim, unwitting protagonist,
untested protagonist
There is no terror in the bang, only in the anticipation of it.

(Alfred Hitchcock)
Audiences choose to view a film in the thriller genre with expectations of a

thrill ride of intrigue, emotions, intellectual challenges and illuminations of
disparate characters pitted against each other in a battle of wits.
A thriller features a protagonist almost constantly at risk; there are high
stakes, plot complications and danger. A sense of physical and/or emotional
peril often permeates the thriller narrative. Thrillers are often constructed
using the crime and/or mystery genres.
There does not need to be explicit violence in a thriller. A thriller does
not require a body count. Its purpose is to pull the viewer into the protago-
nist’s situation and point of view and as the puzzle unfolds . . . to allow the
viewer to participate in the thrilling ride.
Film director Alfred Hitchcock (Psycho (1960), Rebecca (1940), Vertigo
(1958) and more) spent much of his illustrious career exploring stories in
the thriller genre. In the book Hitchcock on Hitchcock (a series of interviews
with the director), Hitchcock defined thrills as “emotional disturbances”
(Hitchcock, 1997: 109). Hitchcock noted that he approached the thriller in a
specific way—he was not directly interested in “scaring” the audiences, but
in creating realistic moments to elicit reactions such as anxiety, nervousness,
apprehension, confusion and worry. Hitchcock believed that film was the
best medium to explore the building of an emotional rollercoaster course
for the audience and that the thriller film “possesses an unequaled ability
to actively draw the audience into a story, to turn them from spectators to
active participants” (Hitchcock, 1997: 109).
The qualities inherent in the thriller genre narrative that accomplish
this aim will be explored in this chapter. Despite film analyst Martin Rubin’s
203
204 THRILLER
assertion in his book Thrillers (1999) that “the label thriller is widely used but
highly problematic. To the foolhardy writer setting out to define the subject,
it might seem impossibly broad and vague” (Rubin, 1999: 3), I would like to
suggest that it is possible for the thriller genre to be exclusively defined. In
working within a strong definition, the screenwriter, taking on the task of
writing a thriller, can be initially methodical and subsequently imaginative
about the construction work needed.
THRILLER VS. SUSPENSE

The thriller genre, despite its unique components, is often misinterpreted
and mislabeled by film critics, marketers and film rental outlets. Two of the
reasons can be cited:
– the use of the term “suspense” as a synonym for thriller;

– thinking simply that a story meant “to thrill” places a film narrative
into the classically constructed thriller genre column.
Suspense is defined in most dictionaries as a state (or mental condition)

of uncertainty, confusion, anticipation or anxiety. Most successful film
narratives strive to create suspense by forcing the protagonist to face a series
of challenges and obstacles that are not necessarily in his or her “comfort
zone.” This creates tension as the dangerous situations increase in difficulty.
Suspense is built into a screenplay by inserting questions and conflicts into
the chosen plot (will the boy get the girl, will the monster be thwarted, will
the family get to their destination in time and more). Adventures include
suspense (will the treasure be found, will the universe be saved and other
questions). Romances include elements of suspense as do crime films, buddy
films, disaster films. One could argue that the creators of films in all genres
hope to create certain kinds of suspense for the audience as the individual
narratives play out.
The screenwriter interested in constructing a narrative in the thriller
genre will be setting out on a more complex task than simply following a
generic impulse “to thrill.” As noted, in exploring the definition of suspense,
most films are built to elicit heightened emotions of love, anxiety, wonder,
despair or other emotions. A thrilling kiss or thrilling action sequence alone
does not make a film narrative a “thriller.” When the word “suspense” is
removed as a direct synonym for the term “thriller” and an understanding
that a simple desire “to thrill” does not fulfill the thriller film genre, the task
of writing a thriller can be more clearly understood.
A thriller, according to most dictionary definitions, is a “who-dun-it,”
an actioner, a suspenseful story or a crime story or a spy story. Even this
elucidation is too broad in scope for the screenwriter about to construct a
THRILLER 205
thriller narrative; however, it is more in the writer’s wheelhouse because the

word “story” is included in the definition.
Much of the analysis written on the thriller genre1 is not presented
with the screenwriter’s task in mind. There is much to learn in these works;
however, the screenwriter (or film narrative development executive, director,
producer, editor or other creative film industry professional) can be aided by
understanding the specific elements that connect the audience to the thriller
narrative.
Thrillers enhance vulnerability by suspending us between conflicting

emotional responses, such as comedy–fright, curiosity–repulsion, sadistic
superiority–masochistic identification.
(Rubin, 1999: 94)
IMPORTANT ELEMENTS OF THE THRILLER

The screenwriter interested in writing in the classic thriller genre actually
has quite a few guideposts to follow during the constructive process. Two
overwhelmingly important elements in the construction of the thriller are:
– the types of characters;

– the complexity of plot.
Thrillers must go beyond the more straightforward crime genre (the crime
genre often includes commitment of the crime and gathering of clues
meant to solve identity and reasons for a perpetrator’s actions—or it may
use another approach such as following the planning and trajectory of
the crime, its success or failure). Thrillers must also go beyond the more
straightforward genres such as mystery (where clues may be collected to
bring light to the inscrutable) or adventure (an attainment of a goal
or prize) or disaster (destruction of a community or universe) or other
“story” genres. When using the thriller genre as an overriding genre in a
narrative, the screenwriter is committing to the addition of components
that directly engage the audience in a thrill ride of visceral emotions as well
as intellectual stimulation—all in hopes of causing a deeper involvement
of the individual audience member in the trajectory of the story. Narra-
tives in the thriller genre work most successfully when the viewer makes a
deep connection; this is often realized by engaging the viewer in an intel-
lectual and often gut-wrenching desire to solve the dilemma alongside
the protagonist.
Thrillers that are constructed using the crime genre thrive on a sense of
authenticity. Plots should be possible or plausible and there must be a sense of
logic to the story. This will help the audience identify with the protagonist.
206 THRILLER
SHORT HISTORY AND OVERVIEW

OF THE THRILLER GENRE
One of the most striking thrillers of the silent era is Suspense (1913), writ-
ten and directed by Lois Weber. The story features a new mother and her
baby living in a remote house on the outskirts of town. Her husband, in
his office in town, phones to let her know he will be late coming home. As
soon as he hangs up, a home-invader/burglar skulks up to the house and
terrorizes the mother intent on protecting her child. The mother rushes to
the phone; she calls her husband. The husband flees his office and, on the
town’s street, steals a car so as to get home to save his family. Meanwhile the
home invader has entered the house and is making his way up the stairs to
the room where the mother and baby are trapped. The film moves from one
narrative element to another to build the anxiety level. The mother is pre-
sented as an innocent victim terrorized by a strong and determined force.
There are multiple “B” and “C” stories: the husband’s worry and desire to
get home to help, the police chasing the husband to arrest him for the
theft of the car, the owner of car who is livid about the theft and the home
invader’s hunger and malevolent nature. Each of these storylines has their
own complications that affect the “A” story of the mother and child in jeop-
ardy. Will the husband arrive in time? Will the police delay him? Will the
home invader break into the room? Will the wife jump from the window?
The “thrill” of experiencing these various components and seeing how they
affect one another to aid (or not) the protagonist in withstanding the threat
is at the core of the thrilling engagement. The audience is not only anxious
but actively participating by asking “What would I do?” The audience forms
an opinion about what the protagonist should do and thus gets more invested
in the narrative.
Alfred Hitchcock began his feature-directing career around 1925, direct-
ing dark dramas with complex characters such as The Pleasure Garden (1925),
Fear O’God (1926) and The Ring (1927). He also worked in the crime genre
(The Lodger (1927) and Number 17 (1932)). He even directed a comedy Rich
and Strange (1931, also known as East of Shanghai) and a bio-pic of Johann
Strauss, Strauss’ Great Waltz (1934). In 1934 he directed the thriller The Man
Who Knew Too Much and from this point, for the most part, Hitchcock focused
his narrative interests and talents in this genre. The Man Who Knew Too Much
(written by Charles Bennett and D.B. Wyndham Lewis, based on a scenario
by Edwin Greenwood and A.R. Rawlinson), features an unwitting protagonist,
Bob (Leslie Banks), who, when agreeing to carry out a favor for a dying friend,
is pulled into a dangerous political intrigue. The story complicates when it is
revealed that Bob, having retrieved a document for his friend, is now naïvely
in possession of government secrets. The story is further complicated when
it is revealed that political terrorists are intent on obtaining the information.
THRILLER 207
Further complication: to force Bob’s hand, the terrorists kidnap his daughter—
and in trying to save her there is yet another complication—Bob learns that
a political assassination has been planned and he may be the only one in a
position to stop it. The narrative is consistently opening to more complex
intrigues. The viewer cannot help but have opinions as to what is the most
advantageous path for the protagonist to pursue and thus, as previously men-
tioned, the viewer of the classic thriller becomes more actively engaged in the
narrative.
Tim Dirks, editor of filmsite.org, notes that Hitchcock manipulated “his
audience’s fears and desires (by) taking viewers into a state of association
with the representation of the reality facing the character”:2
Hitchcock would explore the darker sides of human nature through the
situation—including sexuality and voyeurism, guilt and punishment,
paranoia and obsession. He usually let the viewer know that a horrible
event was about to happen—creating unbearable suspense while viewers
waited for the inevitable.
CHARACTERS IN THRILLERS
BEGIN TO TAKE SHAPE
In the years of film narratives before World War II, films that came to be
known as “thrillers” began to take unique shape. Successful character types
were built and many of these films featured the innocent victim and/or the
unwitting protagonist.
The innocent victim of the thriller narrative is targeted psychologi-
cally and/or physically and, while under attack, must dig deep to find inner
strengths to withstand, outwit and survive the antagonistic force. The unwit-
ting protagonist falls into a dangerous situation through chance or as a result
of a mistake (such as mistaken identity) and thus may also be seen as an
innocent victim. Perhaps he is in the wrong place at the wrong time. Per-
haps he comes into possession of a dangerous element or a secret or becomes
knowledgeable of a dastardly plan. The innocent victim and/or the unwitting
protagonist must strive to:
1. understand the situation;
2. identify antagonist(s);
3. come to realize the stakes and/or complexities;
4. withstand and outwit the antagonist;
5. survive (unless it is a tragedy).

208 THRILLER
PLOTS IN THRILLERS BEGIN TO TAKE SHAPE

Types of plot were also shaped in these early years; thriller narratives featured
plots that contained disparate elements that came together to continually
heighten a dangerous situation, add complexity to the narrative by employ-
ing ever-growing complications and feature a series of unpredictable obstacles.
The crime genre was often added to the thriller genre. The investigator
(one of the core characters in the crime genre) was often an untrained (ama-
teur) investigator in the thriller/crime genre; he may have found his way into
the narrative through a mistake or being in the wrong place at the wrong
time or by being targeted as an innocent victim and put in a position where
he now must take on a task against the antagonist. The protagonist may also
be a trained but untested investigator—the new detective, the new cop or the
new private eye. Perhaps he is an investigator who has never confronted
such a complex case or perhaps he is an “unworthy” investigator (alcoholic,
lazy or troubled). Personality traits featuring the flaws of the protagonist
leave narrative room for the classic thriller protagonist to dig deep and find
untapped inner resources in an attempt to triumph.
Rick Altman, in his book Film/Genre, noted:
<U>nder the influence of Alfred Hitchcock, thrillers often begin with the
crime and the accusation of an innocent bystander. Were the accused to
contact the authorities, no doubt the case would be promptly solved, but
instead the poor bystander runs from the law thus further jeopardizing
life and limb. Parallel to the comic device of miscommunication, the
suspense film technique is mis-accusation; (this) serves to prolong
spectator pleasure within the specific bounds of the genre. Each plot
twist not only increases the character’s danger (and the spectator’s
thrill), but it also offers a way off the film’s crazy ride. At every turn
spectators must make an implicit choice: more thrills (in the continued
company of an outlaw) or safety at last (under the societally sanctioned
protection of the law and its defenders).
(Altman, 1999: 154)
The thriller is often constructed like a massive puzzle with pieces of all
forms and sizes. Plot points of the “A,” “B” and “C” stories might seem like
unrelated puzzle pieces; however, once the puzzle begins to take shape the
real threats and dangers and thrills and chills become evident and eventually
“a rollercoaster ride of anxiety” is presented to the audience.
THE SPY THRILLER

In the early years of film narrative, stories of spies and intrigue were popular.
The history of national disputes and wars, the plotting and conspiracies that
changed the shape of nations were explored in novels and theatrical plays.
THRILLER 209
The novel Scarlet Pimpernel (1905, written by Baroness Emmuska Orczy), fea-
turing the character of Sir Percy Blakeney as a charismatic, handsome rogue
and heroic spy with a secret identity (he was a brilliant aristocratic tactician
who pretended to be a self-centered and vain playboy), became a sensation—
and influenced early thriller film narratives. With the outset of World War I
and the growing fear of invasion from the “other,” the lives of spies and their
missions found great popularity in film narratives. The silent era spy thrillers
include Adventures of a Girl Spy (1909) and Incident of a Girl Spy (1911), stories
based on the real life of Belle Boyd who was a spy during American’s Civil War
and written by one of America’s first female screenwriters, Gene Gauntier.
Great Britain’s The German Spy Peril (1914) as well as On His Majesty’s Service
(1913) became popular with audiences—the latter featuring a strong female
character that comes to the aid of the brilliant spy. In Germany, Fritz Lang’s
film Spies (1928) told the tale of a mastermind spy who discovers the infiltra-
tion of a Russian femme fatale. Mata Hari (1931, written by Benjamin Glazer
and Leo Berinsky) is an early sound film, produced by MGM in America and
starring Greta Garbo; this film “semi-fictionalized” the life of the famous
femme fatale German spy during World War I.
In the mid-1930s and into the 1940s, as Europe began to feel the growing
heartbeat of Nazism and Fascism and very real threats to personal and ethnic
freedoms, the popular spy thriller subgenre became firmly cemented.
39 Steps (1935, written by Charles Bennett from the novel by John
Buchan, directed by Hitchcock) is a classic spy thriller; it employs an
unwitting protagonist, Hannay (Robert Donat), who wants to help a pretty
woman during a raid at a theater where a man with an extraordinary mem-
ory is performing on stage. Hannay is quickly pulled into a complex conspir-
acy; he is accused of counterespionage and murder and has to go on the run
to prove his innocence—all the while realizing he is the only one who can
stop an enemy spy ring from stealing top-secret information. The “memory
man,” introduced at the top of the narrative, proves to be an important
puzzle piece; no element or character is wasted.
The film genre “political thriller/spy thriller” (partly under the influence of
Hitchcock’s direction) was becoming more defined; an unwitting protagonist is
innocently (or mistakenly) pulled into a conspiracy where he must use his intel-
lectual, physical and psychological resources to thwart the enemy and survive.
Post World War II, in the late 1940s, the classic spy thriller often featured
narratives of spies seeking information on those who might intend to use
nuclear capabilities in psychotic or selfish ways. Examples include Saboteur
(1942), 13 Rue Madeleine (1947), Cloak and Dagger (1946) and one of the best
political/spy thrillers, Notorious (1946, written by Ben Hecht and directed by
Hitchcock).
The 1950s spy thrillers reflected their times and remained relevant
by focusing on Cold War dilemmas; they included 5 Fingers (1952) and
210 THRILLER
Diplomatic Courier (1952). (The narratives that use the “cold war” atmo-
sphere (no official declaration of war or large-scale physical confrontation
but a major distrust concerning a plethora of secret activities) continue
today. Many contemporary spy thrillers focus on stories of gaining secrets or
insights into various national agendas.)
The 1960s introduced the James Bond film narratives, adapted from the
novels by Ian Fleming—over-the-top super-spy thrillers featuring a protagonist
who has access to the well-imagined best of Britain’s spy-ware. These thrillers
added touches of fantasy—and a lot of action. They slipped out of the classic
thriller commitment to the everyman protagonist and the “realistic and
relatable” emotional disturbances embraced by Hitchcock. The audience may
experience a thrilling ride—however, identification with the protagonist and
anxiety concerning his survival are taken out of the experience’s equation
because Bond always triumphs. With the production of the early Bond films,
an action film with thriller components (most notably the complexity of plot
elements) emerged, one driven through high stakes and physical feats: these
are thriller/action films that employ elements of the fantasy genre. The Bond
films are full of “thrilling” scenes and suspense. Ian Fleming, author of the
James Bond novels, noted, “<my books are aimed> somewhere between the
solar plexus and well, the upper thigh” (Rubin 1999: 6).
THE WOMEN-IN-JEOPARDY THRILLER

Women-in-jeopardy narratives have been popular in the American film
lexicon since the early days of silent film. To stand apart from the pure
“women’s weepie” (another term used for melodrama) arena, the subgenre
called the woman-in-jeopardy thriller requires layers of complexity in
the plot:
– There must be a deeper reason for the “why” of the antagonist. The
screenwriter must employ a deeper investigation of the agenda of the
antagonist; it must go beyond individual psychotic behavior and/or
angst or abuse. The narrative must employ the growing understand-
ing of the protagonist (she may be an innocent victim or unwitting
protagonist) of a larger and more devious reason for the jeopardy—
possibly a conspiracy and/or a master plan for a nefarious purpose.
– Women-in-jeopardy thrillers often use various characters or circum-
stances in a series of actions; the elements must gradually fall into
place in the narrative “puzzle” in order for the devious plot to be
understood and/or thwarted.
Women-in-jeopardy thrillers include Gaslight (1944), the tale of Paula

(the innocent victim portrayed by Ingrid Bergman) who inherits a large
Victorian mansion when her aunt is murdered. Charming and handsome
THRILLER 211
Gregory Anton (Charles Boyer) is actually a criminal—he quickly woos and

weds Paula to gain entry into the mansion where stolen rubies are hidden.
When Anton thinks his new bride is becoming suspicious of his intentions,
he begins to psychologically abuse her—and even hires a maid to help with
the abuse—all to have his young wife declared unstable so he can take con-
trol of the estate. From there the plot gets more complex as Paula fights for
her sanity and eventually her life. Rebecca (1940, written by Robert Sherwood
and Joan Harrison, based on a novel by Daphne du Maurier), is the story of a
shy young woman (an innocent victim portrayed by Joan Fontaine). She falls
in love with a rich widower Maxim de Winter (Laurence Olivier), marries him
and moves with him to his remote estate in Cornwall, England. At the estate,
she is psychologically abused by a housekeeper obsessively loyal to Rebecca,
the past (dead) mistress of the estate. As the new Mrs. de Winter attempts to
discover the circumstances and reasons for Rebecca’s death, conspiracies are
imagined, abuse is rampant and the new wife’s sanity—and life—are in dan-
ger. Sorry Wrong Number (1948) is based on a radio play by Louise Fletcher.
The film adaptation (by Fletcher) concerns an invalid woman, Leona
(Barbara Stanwyck), who hears—over a mis-connection on the phone—that
two men are plotting a murder. As Leona tries to alert authorities to this fact,
it becomes clear to her that she is the person meant to be murdered. The
conspiracy behind the plan unravels and the audience is able to worry, fear
and feel anxious for Leona, imagining what they might do in the situation
as the puzzle pieces fall into place.
Many women-in-jeopardy thrillers focused on homegrown threats such
as abusive spouses, babysitters, murderers that live next door, home-invaders
or criminals on the loose in the suburban world. Wait Until Dark (1967,
written by Robert Carrington and Jane-Howard Carrington, based on a play
by Frederick Knott) is the story of a blind woman (portrayed by Audrey
Hepburn) arriving home, alone, to her apartment to discover violent thugs
in her home. She must use all her other senses (sound, touch, vibrations,
taste and more) to withstand the terror and outmaneuver the home-
invaders. Eventually she discovers why they are there, what they are after
and who is really to blame for the situation. Another film starring Audrey
Hepburn, Charade (1963, written by Peter Stone, based on a story by Stone
and Marc Behm) features an unwitting protagonist, Reggie (Hepburn);
she is introduced as an innocent victim and then becomes an unwitting
protagonist as she is thrown into the unraveling of the antagonists’
conspiracy to abscond with money taken illegally in World War II. Charade
brilliantly blends thriller, romance, caper and comedy and remains on many
lists of favorite American films.
Sleeping With the Enemy (1991) focuses on Laura (Julia Roberts), the
victim of a controlling and abusive husband, Martin (Patrick Bergin). After
trying various ways to deal with her situation and attempts to change his
212 THRILLER
behavior by adjusting her behavior (being more pliable and subservient),

Laura takes action. She fakes her death in a boating accident and begins a
new life under another identity, miles away from her husband. In the classic
thriller style, the protagonist is forced to come to an understanding of the
situation (she learns that her husband’s behavior cannot be changed, she
gains new skills—swimming, ability to set up a fake death, taking on a new
persona and acquiring new competencies in her new life and work). When
her husband realizes he has been duped and that Laura has taken on a new
life and lover, he comes after her, and again she is threatened. She must dig
deep to find the strength to protect self and survive.
Other popular woman-in-jeopardy thrillers include Rosemary’s Baby (1968),
Kiss The Girls (1997), The Hand That Rocks the Cradle (1992), Double Jeopardy
(1999), What Lies Beneath (2000), High Crimes (2002) and Therese (2013).
THE MAN-IN-JEOPARDY THRILLER

The sexual revolution of the late 1960s and 1970s changed the landscape
of male/female relationships and complicated gender relations. The inno-
cent and/or unwitting man-in-jeopardy films became viable narratives.
They include Play Misty for Me (1971), Deliverance (1972) and Fatal Attraction
(1987). Play Misty, written by Jo Heims and Dean Riesner, is about Dave (Clint
Eastwood), a radio disc jockey who has a one-night stand with Evelyn (Jessica
Walters) who turns out to be a rather intense “fan.” When the relationship
does not blossom and she feels rejected, she resorts to ever-complicating
threats on Dave’s well-being and the life of his best female friend. Dave must
unravel the puzzle pieces of her mental make-up (her psychosis, her intents)
and get the better of her. Deliverance (written by James Dickey) is a dark thriller
about four male friends who canoe into the wilderness on a river in Georgia.
They are psychologically and physically accosted by backwoods locals and
eventually, in the throes of mental distress, begin to distrust one another.
This tragic thriller becomes a test of wills and morals—eventually ending in a
cover-up of crimes of anger and negligence. Fatal Attraction (written by James
Dearden) features a story of a married man (Michael Douglas) seduced by a co-
worker (Glenn Close); when she realizes he intends to end their short affair,
she stalks him and threatens his wife and family. Her threats become more
and more complex and devious, and eventually murderous. Misery (1990,
written by William Goldman, based on a book by Stephen King) is a thriller
with horror components; it features a woman who resents a novelist’s intent
to kill off one of her favorite literary characters. The famous novelist Paul
(James Caan), driving in a blinding blizzard, accidentally drives off the road
and is rescued by Annie (Kathy Bates), a huge fan of his books. (A clear nod to
the classic thriller protagonist in the wrong place at the wrong time.) When
Annie reads the draft of Paul’s latest book and realizes her beloved character
THRILLER 213
Misery Chastain has been killed off, she holds him hostage and psychologi-
cally and physically abuses him. He must outwit her to escape. The Talented
Mr. Ripley (1999, written by Anthony Minghella, based on a book by Patricia
Highsmith) is a psychological thriller about Ripley (Matt Damon) who takes
on the identity of Greenleaf (portrayed by Jude Law), the rich young man
that he has murdered. Ripley must outsmart everyone to keep up his ruse—
and the lies and treachery finally catch up with him.
A NEW THRILLER SUBGENRE

EMERGES: FILM NOIR
In the 1940s, the film noir thriller became a recognizable type of narrative in
America. Screenwriters began to explore a bleak sense of humanity and the
darker nature of man. Many film noir screenplays were adaptations of novels
written during the American Depression and during the anxieties surround-
ing World War II. The stories reflected a nation unsettled due to economic
and social strictures and dealt with the disillusionment of a populace con-
cerned with poverty and a world at war—these circumstances, perhaps, pro-
vide reasons for the writers’ creation of bleak, dark looks at life.
Film noir is much more than a visual style made popular by the black
and white films of the 1940s where shadowy lighting dominated. It is a
construction of a world, a mental space that focuses on the unsure, unethical
and base nature of living, the dark nature of humanity and the environment
where anti-heroic protagonists and untrustworthy women are prominent.
For the screenwriter, film noir means exploring the cold, hopeless, venal,
dreary, selfish, isolated, lonely, unfeeling or often sinister sides of life;
characters have reasons for actions that have nothing to do with “right
or wrong.” All the characters disbelieve that “good” will triumph, all the
characters disbelieve that the innocent will be vindicated, all the characters
disbelieve that others will act selflessly. Even the protagonists-we-root-for
have selfish motives. They have no commitment to a simple moral justice
or altruistic motives, but to something more self-centered. Insidious and
sinister traits such as greed, power, revenge, lust, jealousy, envy, sadism,
paranoia, pessimism, control and other gloomy attributes are accentuated in
all the characters in film noir narratives.
Precursors of the 1940s film noirs include many of the 1930s Pre-Code3
gangster films such as Public Enemy (1931) and crime dramas such as I Am
a Fugitive From the Chain Gang (1932), The Petrified Forest (1936) and others
that focused on how stress and greed and lust can bring out gloomy natures
in humanity. During World War II many of these darkly imagined American
films were not distributed overseas; at the end of the war they finally found
their way to Europe. It was the French, reacting to the tone and point of
views of these films, who coined the term “film noir.”
214 THRILLER
FIGURE 11.1 Barbara Stanwyck and Fred MacMurray in Double Indemnity (1944)
Film noir, combined with thriller/crime in the 1940s, introduced

fresh and new kinds of characters—the unreliable detective, the immoral
private investigator, the less-than-heroic hero. It also introduced a new
female character, a subversion of the innocent female victim—the femme
fatale:
The beautiful and treacherous woman of classic film noir, the femme
fatale . . . are creations of threatened men’s imaginations; they are
fantasies of destructive female sexuality as seen through male eyes,
but they also become figures of female empowerment. They are strong,
independent, self-serving and deceptive women removed from their
“proper place” and submissive role in a patriarchal society, and thus
challenge the social order.
(Tucan, 2013)
THE CINÉMA VÉRITÉ THRILLER

“Real-life” thrillers, based on actual events, also became popular in America
in the late 1940s. Martin Rubin, in Thrillers, suggests this was in part due to
filmmakers assigned to the making of war documentaries and training films
during World War II. During their time in the military, the filmmakers shot
quickly and on location. The realistic elements were brought back to Hol-
lywood. By the 1950s, the style was used quite often in crime-thrillers based
on (or inspired by) real events (Rubin, 1999: 97–98).
THRILLER 215
CLASSIC SUBGENRES
The thriller genre evolved and became unique. Specific subgenres:
Spy/espionage thriller
Women-in-jeopardy thriller
Men-in-jeopardy thriller
Film noir thriller
Cop (law enforcement) thriller
Cinéma vérité thriller
T. Macdonald Skillman’s book Writing the Thriller (2000) focuses more on

writing the thriller in the novel form—however, her suggestions regarding
additional thriller subgenres are worth noting (Skillman, 2000: 7–8).
Both of these subgenres are heavily reliant on a sense of authenticity in
procedure and in the created environments:
– Medical thriller: These would include narratives that focus on the

staff or administration of a hospital or clinic or lab; narratives
might concern the threat of biological warfare or virulent bacteria
that does not respond to known antibiotics. Other narratives could
target concerns such as stolen organs for transplants, bizarre or
unauthorized operations, doctors or nurses with nefarious or strange
agendas. The everyman protagonist might be one who finds herself
trapped in a nightmare of medical malfeasance; she must find out
what is going on, who is at the bottom of the plan and why and bring
an end to her victimization or that of someone she loves. Examples
include: The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (1920), Outbreak (1995), Shutter
Island (2010), Jacob’s Ladder (1990), Coma (1978) and Flatliners (1990).
– Legal thriller: These would include narratives that focus on the court-
room and the attorney’s role in the thriller plot. Narratives might
concern the gathering of clues (against great odds) that can be used
in legal procedures to apprehend “bad guys” or used in a manipula-
tive fashion to bring down a just system. Examples include: The
Pelican Brief (1993), Primal Fear (1996), The Client (1994), A Time to
Kill (1996), A Few Good Men (1992), Rules of Engagement (2000), Double
Jeopardy (1999), Michael Clayton (2007).
THE THRILLER ANTAGONIST

Without the antagonist moving forward with a determined and seemingly
unstoppable force, the thriller cannot exist. The thriller can be approached as
an antagonist-driven plot—it is the antagonist(s) that the protagonist has to work
216 THRILLER
to understand. The protagonist is continually uncovering information about the

antagonist’s plan—and psyche.
The antagonist—in all film narratives—is defined as the person who
stands in the way of the protagonist’s achievement of his or her goal. If
the protagonist is an upright citizen who plays by the rules, the antagonist
might be the “bad guy” (the killer, the political enemy, the con-man, the
person against environmental concerns, the rapist or burglar or kidnapper
or techno-nemesis). If the protagonist is an anti-hero (doing the wrong thing
for the right reasons), the antagonist (the person standing in the way of the
protagonist’s success) might be the moral and law-abiding person who—for
whatever reason (selfish or selfless)—is protecting interests that run contrary
to those of the protagonist.
It is important to construct an antagonist as a living, breathing, human
or human-esque (robot, alien, monster . . .) being. Relying solely on a non-
human entity such as weather, or general circumstances such as society
or government, should be, in most cases, avoided. Obviously any outside
forces that contribute to the problems of the protagonist can be beneficial
to the narrative; however, identifying a “person” that the protagonist must
deal with gives the writer the opportunity to construct strong scenes that
work on many levels—intellectual and visceral. The successful thriller genre
demands a “battle of wits” between the hero and the nemesis; the narratives
are built by constructing events where the protagonist needs to outwit and
outlast his opponent.
A thriller, in many cases, lets the audience know (or suspect) the identity
of the protagonist’s nemesis. Oftentimes, it is not the mystery of the identity
of the nemesis (often used in the classic mystery genre) that drives the story,
but instead it is the need to apprehend or stop the “bad guy (s)” before the
nefarious goals are accomplished.
The classic thriller antagonist:
– is self-centered and narcissistic;

– has little or no moral code;
– has extreme determination and will not stop or temper his agenda;
– has intellectual or physical resources.
The thriller antagonist is absolutely, unremittingly dedicated to his

mission. In most cases, it is important to construct a main antagonist who
is stronger than the protagonist at the outset of the narrative, one who has
more resources, more knowledge, more skills—and knows the scope of the
situation (whereas the protagonist does not). The antagonist, in most cases,
already has his plot in motion before the protagonist becomes aware of it.
This provides the narrative room for the protagonist to continually play
“catch-up” on the details of the plot. As the protagonist learns, the audience
THRILLER 217
also learns—thus the audience is able to put together a puzzle and becomes
invested in the protagonist’s plight.
CLASSIC THRILLER PROTAGONISTS

Thrillers must evoke an intensity of emotions in the audience. A building of
anxiety, fear, and apprehension—experienced by the film viewer in tandem
with (and because of ) an intense identification with the everyman thriller
protagonist.
The classic thriller protagonists include:
– the innocent victim;

– the unwitting participant;
– the trained but untested investigator;
– the trained by flawed investigator;
– the non-professional criminal.
Many protagonists and important supporting characters in thrillers are

complex characters. Their backstories may have something to do with why
they are pulled into the plot’s circumstances—or have something to do with
how they figure out (or not) how to understand and survive the plot’s dilem-
mas. Personal demons, neuroses, past relationships are all part of the make-
up of thriller protagonists, for characters in thrillers are often asked to face
their own flaws—and either use their weaknesses to their advantage or over-
come them in order to outwit and survive.
FIGURE 11.2 George Clooney and Sydney Pollack in Michael Clayton (2007)
218 THRILLER
As previously stated, the director Alfred Hitchcock is known as a master of

the thriller. The screenwriters he employed (including Ernest Lehman, Joseph
Stefano, Jay Presson Allen, Alec Coppel, Samuel A. Taylor and Evan Hunter)
shared his passion for the well-constructed thriller. In nearly all of the films, the
protagonists are set up quickly as an everyman or everywoman—all innocent
or unwitting or untested. Consider Psycho; it opens with Marion Crane ( Janet
Leigh) as an ordinary employee who steals from her boss because she wants to
start a new life with her cash-strapped boyfriend who spends his earnings on
alimony to an ex-wife. She is an untrained criminal who quickly becomes vic-
timized. When Detective Arbogast (Martin Balsam) comes to the remote motel
to investigate Crane’s disappearance, he is out of his depth in understanding
the horrific make-up of the murderer. He is trained but, in this area of under-
standing the psyche of a deranged killer and the depth of the killer’s psychosis,
untested. In North By Northwest (1959) Roger Thornhill (Cary Grant) is an ordi-
nary advertising executive mistaken for a government agent. He is pulled into
a web of spies and intrigue. In Rebecca (1940) the shy ladies’ companion ( Joan
Fontaine) falls in love with a man with a past and as she unravels the truth,
her life becomes endangered. In Notorious (1946) a society girl (Ingrid Bergman)
wants to prove her patriotism after her father’s arrest as a traitor. She agrees to
become a spy, and while she is undercover it’s clear that any false move could
cause her demise, and the demise of the government’s operation.
THE UNTRAINED CRIMINAL AS THE

THRILLER PROTAGONIST
A classic thriller in the film noir tradition is Double Indemnity (1944, written
by Raymond Chandler and Billy Wilder and based on a novel by James M.
Cain); the narrative features a protagonist, insurance salesman Walter Neff (an
untrained criminal), who becomes blinded by lust and greed. Neff enters into
a conspiracy with a woman of dubious reputation, Phyllis (Barbara Stanwyck);
she is the classic femme fatale. Neff, despite his better judgment, is pulled into
her plan to manipulate the insurance holdings of her elderly husband—and
then to commit murder so as to co-possess the insurance funds with Phyllis. In
true femme fatale fashion, Phyllis is much more clever than Neff—she entraps
him and destroys him. Other examples of the untrained criminal protagonist
in classic thriller style include Blue Velvet (1986) and Before The Devil Knows
You’re Dead (2007).
THE FLAWED PROFESSIONAL INVESTIGATOR

AS PROTAGONIST IN THE THRILLER/FILM NOIR
The flawed cop or flawed private investigator, partly due to the 1940s film
noir narratives, soon became a staple in the thriller genre. Private investiga-
tor Sam Spade (Humphrey Bogart) in The Maltese Falcon (1941, written by John
THRILLER 219
Huston, based on a novel by Dashiell Hammett) is often held up as one of

the prime examples of the anti-hero film noir protagonist. In fact, this 1941
film was a remake of a 1931 movie of the same title that is noted as one of
the precursors of the film noir genre.
The anti-hero, Sam Spade, has an amoral code that he lives by; he works
for himself, doesn’t get along with anybody (including the police) and distrusts
everyone. The character has a dry ironic wit and clearly sees the world as a
dangerous, unfeeling, wretched setting for selfish and greedy characters. Film
analyst and self-described “noirchaelogist” Eddie Muller writes:
If a private eye is hired by an old geezer to prove his wife’s cheating on

him and the shamus discovers long-buried family secrets and solves a
couple of murders before returning to his lonely office—that’s detective
fiction. If the same private eye gets seduced by the geezer’s wife, kills the
old coot for her, gets double-crossed by his lover and ends up shot to
death by his old partner from the police force—I can say with complete
assurance: you are wallowing in NOIR.
(Haskell, 2007)
Film noir’s popularity, using flawed investigators, continued with Out of

the Past (1947) and into the 1950s with Where the Sidewalk Ends (1950), On
Dangerous Ground (1952), Touch of Evil (1958) and more. Robert Mitchum,
the lead actor in Out of the Past, in an interview with Roger Ebert, noted that
many of these thriller/crime film noirs were, at the time, considered “B”
pictures.4 Several broke out to become commercial successes and some have
become classics (Ebert, 2011).
Film noir thrillers of the 1940s and 1950s that are not reliant on the
private investigator or detective as protagonists include Scarlett Street (1945),
Detour (1945), Tomorrow is Another Day (1951) and Odds Against Tomorrow
(1959). The thriller genre is fulfilled in these films by constructing the evo-
lution of a complex conspiracy or cover-up and by constructing characters
(innocent or unwitting) that are put in dangerous situations; the film noir is
fulfilled by the fact that each character is acting in dark self-interest.
More recent examples of film noir thrillers include Blood Simple (1984),
La Femme Nikita (1990), Internal Affairs (1990), The Art of Dying (1991), The
Usual Suspects (1995), Devil in a Blue Dress (1995), Fargo (1996), L.A. Confiden-
tial (1997), Mulholland Drive (2001), Se7en (1995), Memento (2000), Training
Day (2001), The Departed (2006) and Prisoners (2013).
THE TRAINED BUT UNTESTED

THRILLER PROTAGONIST
When using a professional investigator (cop, private eye, detective), it is
important to construct a character that is—in some way—unwitting or inno-
cent; he or she may be new to the force or an oldster who won’t use the
220 THRILLER
latest technology or other character permutations; someone not quite skilled

enough to take on—or understand—the task presented.
Consider the thriller/tragedy The Departed (2006, adapted by William
Monahan based on the Hong Kong film Mou gaan dou written by Alan Mak
and Felix Chong); at the outset it seems like a crime/coming-of-age drama;
however, the narrative quickly becomes more complex. Billy (Leonardo
DiCaprio), just out of the police academy, is recruited to go undercover in
a Boston gang run by Frank Costello (Jack Nicholson). Billy is expected to
expose all sorts of corruption—drugs, gun-running, murders and more. Once
inside the gang, Billy realizes there is a deeper conspiracy; there is a mole that
Costello has groomed and “owns” inside the police department. The mole is
the up-and-coming detective Colin Sullivan (Matt Damon). There is a con-
tinual learning process for Billy, one that makes his position more and more
dangerous. Ultimately, his survival depends on uncovering the deep levels
of manipulation and conspiracy and then stopping a nefarious plan. The
increasing complexity never lets up, and even in the final moments of the
film new levels of intrigue are revealed.
Consider JFK (1991, written by Oliver Stone and Zachary Sklar, based on
two books on the assassination of President Kennedy). Protagonist Jim Garrison
(Kevin Costner), a prosecuting attorney in New Orleans, comes upon evidence
and feels obliged to investigate. Garrison is immediately out of his comfort
zone, for he is not connected to the politics or goings-on in Washington D.C.
He is unprepared for the violence and depth of conspiracy regarding the assas-
sination. As he investigates, he is unprepared to face the obstacles that political
desires, national security concerns and governmental cover-ups put in his way.
Consider Safe House (2012, written by David Guggenheim). Matt Weston
(Ryan Reynolds) is a trained but untested CIA operative. When the safe house
in Cape Town, South Africa—where Weston is stationed—is attacked, he finds
himself partnered with Tobin Frost (Denzel Washington). Weston begins to
unravel the corrupt nature of his peers within the organization as well as the
true nature of his assignment. He must learn to cope and outwit to survive.
Consider Training Day (2001, written by David Ayre). Jake Hoyt (Ethan
Hawke) is a trained policeman hoping to move into a position as a detective
in Los Angeles. His “training day” with corrupt detective Alonzo Harris
(Denzel Washington) leads to his naïve involvement in illegal activities.
Once he comes to an understanding of the situation, Hoyt must outwit and
outlast Harris in order to put things “right” and survive.
Consider Academy Award winner Silence of the Lambs (1991, written by
Ted Tally, based on a novel by Thomas Harris). Agent Starling (Jodie Foster)
is a junior agent assigned to her first big case. She is to search out the iden-
tity of a serial killer—and while doing so uses the help of Hannibal Lecter
(Anthony Hopkins), a brilliant, demented and cannibalistic murderer. As the
case becomes more complex, her relationship with Lecter also complicates
THRILLER 221
and she must compete for his respect—and that of her superiors—while sur-
viving the homicidal intent of the serial killer.
With the arrival of the Watergate scandal (1972–1974) and other incidents
focused on the vulnerability and weaknesses of national leaders, domestic
political thrillers such as All the President’s Men (1976) became a staple in the
thriller category. The thriller in this era adds the jaded, questioning hero
protagonist; he enters the fray and becomes the surrogate for the audience’s
distrust in a corrupt system of justice. In most cases, the protagonist ends up
more disillusioned than he was at the outset of the narrative.
The character of the anti-hero continued to gain more popularity in
the 1970s; the detective or investigator doing the wrong thing for the right
reasons—the one forced to go beyond proper investigative procedure—became
the audience’s champion. These protagonists in the revisionist thriller5 are
sometimes duped and the “bad guy” does get away—or if the “bad guy” is
caught, justice may come in an unsatisfying way. Traditional punishments
like imprisonment or other forms of consequences may not follow. Examples
include the prescient Kiss Me Deadly (1955), Hickey & Boggs (1972), The Long
Goodbye (1973), Serpico (1973), Chinatown (1974) and Night Moves (1975).
ALFRED HITCHCOCK AND THE MACGUFFIN

The MacGuffin (sometimes spelled McGuffin or maguffin) refers to an object
that seems to be important in a narrative but in reality is simply a device
that helps move the plot along; it has no deep significance in solving the
protagonist’s dilemma in the narrative. “There’s a lot to look for in Hitch-
cock’s films,” writes Spoto, “but watch out for the MacGuffin. It will lead you
nowhere” (Spoto, 2013).
According to Donald Spoto in “The Art of Alfred Hitchcock: Fifty Years
of his Motion Pictures” (2013), the term “MacGuffin” was reportedly coined
by a screenwriter Hitchcock worked with named Angus MacPhail. However,
Hitchcock himself points to the use of the principle in the adventure stories
of Rudyard Kipling (1865–1936, author of The Man Who Would Be King, Kim,
Captains Courageous, The Jungle Book and more). Perhaps the most important
thing to remember about the MacGuffin is that it contains the word “guff,”
which means “a load of nonsense.”
Hitchcock often used a MacGuffin to set a spy thriller into motion. In
The 39 Steps (1935), the MacGuffin is the memory of blueprints for the con-
struction of an advanced airplane engine; these are stored in the mind of
theatre performer “Mr. Memory.” This element rarely affects the “A” story
of the narrative; the “A” story concerns the plight of a man wrongfully
accused of being a spy and his struggle to escape his pursuers, understand
the “players” in the nefarious plot (who is good, who is bad, who can be
trusted), clear his name, survive and, if possible, save the fate of the nation.
222 THRILLER
In North By Northwest the MacGuffin is a small clay statue, and inside the
statue is microfilm that holds invaluable secrets that could cause great harm
to humanity. The exact content of information on the microfilm is never
clear and it really has little to do with the main thrust of the narrative—which
is about an unwitting protagonist, Roger Thornhill (Cary Grant), forced into
a position where he is the only one who knows that the “bad guys” have a
nefarious plot afoot. Thornhill must do all he can to save “the girl” and self
and halt the plans (which are never quite clear) of the antagonist.
Some of the characters in the narrative may care about the MacGuffin
but the audience certainly does not. In a 1962 interview with French director
Francois Truffaut, Hitchcock noted:
The main thing I’ve learned over the years is that the MacGuffin is
nothing. I’m convinced of this, but I find it very difficult to prove it
to others. My best MacGuffin, and by that I mean the emptiest, the
most nonexistent, and the most absurd, is the one we used in North by
Northwest. The picture is about espionage, and the only question that’s
raised in the story is to find out what the spies are after. Well, during the
scene at the Chicago airport, the Central Intelligence man explains the
whole situation to Cary Grant, and Grant, referring to the James Mason
character, asks, “What does he do?” The counterintelligence man replies,
“Let’s just say that he’s an importer and exporter.” “But what does he
sell?” “Oh, just government secrets!” is the answer. Here, you see, the
MacGuffin has been boiled down to its purest expression: nothing at all!
(Hitchcock, 1985: 139)
THE COEN THRILLERS

Filmmakers Joel and Ethan Coen are masters of the thriller genre—they have
brought a personal uniqueness to its structure. As in most of their films, there
are multiple layers of complexity—and multiple characters that experience
the “thriller” dilemmas. Consider their film No Country For Old Men (2007,
based on a novel by Cormac McCarthy) and how it fulfills the thriller genre
basics and more: Sheriff Bell (Tommy Lee Jones) is an “everyman” with a long
career in law enforcement, and his father and grandfather were also sheriffs.
He is trained—but untested—for what is made clear in the narrative is that he
has never faced “true evil.” Llewelyn Moss (Josh Brolin) is also an everyman
and an unwitting participant in the thriller—he happens to come across a
crime scene (with many dead bodies) in West Texas. Curious, Moss investi-
gates the carnage and finds a case full of money. He takes the money and
assumes this is his extra-lucky day. Moss’ wife Carla Jean (Kelly McDonald) is
also an innocent victim. Because of her husband’s actions, she is drawn into a
thriller narrative of her own.
THRILLER 223
Bell, Moss and Carla Jean are unprepared to face the unreasonable,
unwavering, horrific intent of the antagonist Anton Chigurh (Javier Bardem);
he is a ruthless psychopath who is determined to get the money (he considers
it to be his rightful property). As Sheriff Bell investigates the murders (initially
not knowing about the money or Moss’ possession of it), Moss is soon on the
run through Texas and Mexico, facing others who wish to claim the money.
The reasons for the murders and the provenance of the money become clear
(again the “why” is very important, and in well-crafted thrillers it reveals itself
as the story progresses). As Moss—and Sheriff Bell—piece together the puzzle,
all finally realize that Chigurh is pathologically unreasonable and unstoppable
and that Carla Jean is now also in danger. The complexities of the plot
build as the pernicious sense of danger and impending tragedy thickens. Start-
ing with the construction of Bell’s character as the trained but untested inves-
tigator and Moss as an unwitting everyman, an “amateur” criminal, and Carla
Jean as the innocent victim and the construction of the obsessed, determined
antagonist (Chigurh), the genre elements concerning character are used to
their fullest. The thriller elements employed in the plot are also maximized—
there is the realization by Sheriff Bell of the depth and complexity of the crime
as well as the steady and constant unraveling of information. This film narra-
tive is an excellent example of a “thriller” with horror elements.
It is also interesting to take a closer look at how the Coens, as writ-
ers, shape their thrillers. They often employ a voyeuristic character that is
watching the layers of the plot unfold. In their adaptation of No Country For
Old Men, Sheriff Bell is nearly always a step behind the action until near the
end of the film. He is the voice of reason in the narrative, the investigator
understanding that the character of Moss has fallen into the hellish world
that is beyond his realm, and that no good will come of it. However, even as
the investigator is one step behind the violence, Sheriff Bell is the character
who changes the most in the narrative; at the outset he is a man dedicated
to upholding the law and creating a just world, he understands that there are
people who make mistakes of judgment at crucial points in their lives and
may move onto a criminal path. These people he can understand and hope
that they will come to comprehend (after requisite punishment by law) that
they experienced a moral lapse. At the end of the narrative Bell has come to
realize that there is true evil in the world—that there are unreasonable and
determined immoral entities that are completely void of any moral center.
Bell, who has followed in the footsteps of his father and grandfather and
dedicated himself to his law enforcement work, realizes that he is unwilling
to confront this evil again. His faith in humanity has irrevocably shifted; he
resigns from his position as Sheriff. This thriller uses the horror genre (an
investigation of evil) as a strong supporting genre.
In the Coens’ Fargo (1996), the investigator created by the Coens is, again,
constructed as the observer of violence and inept criminal activity gone very
224 THRILLER
wrong. Marge Gunderson (Frances McDormand) is called in to investigate the

murder of a state trooper and as she gathers clues, she retains an unemotional
involvement. The protagonist of the narrative, Jerry Lundegaard (William H.
Macy), is an untrained criminal who, in hopes of bilking his father-in-law of
money, hires two hapless, violent criminals to kidnap his wife and hold her
for ransom. The plan goes terribly wrong as the plot goes through various
unruly complications. This is a thriller with a strong black comedy line woven
in—and a cast of unique and quirky characters focused on greed and power.
POPULAR HYBRIDS
Thriller/horror
Thriller/monster
Thriller/psychological
Thriller/crime
Thriller/mystery
Thriller/mystery/crime
Thriller/sci-fi
Thriller/disaster
Thriller/horror hybrids and thriller/sci-fi hybrids in the 1970s include the

thriller/horror Jaws (1975) and the thriller/sci-fi/horror films The Boys from
Brazil (1978) and Alien (1979). Jaws features an unwitting and untrained
protagonist (portrayed by Roy Scheider). Despite the fact that he is a sheriff
on Martha’s Vineyard, he is out of his depth; not only is he afraid of the water
and cannot swim, he knows nothing about sharks and he feels powerless
and unsupported in his quest to save his community. The Boys From Brazil
features an untrained protagonist (portrayed by Laurence Olivier) who, out
of duty to his Jewish heritage, ends up exposing a conspiracy focused on
cloning “Hitlers” from DNA taken from Adolph Hitler in the final days of
World War II. Alien (1979) features Ripley (Sigourney Weaver), a protagonist
who is a seasoned space pilot and crewmember. She is untested in the task
she encounters on this voyage; she must work fast to understand the alien
threat, come to realize the identity of the “bad guys” responsible for it and
the overall (nefarious) point of the space mission that she is on—and survive.
THE CHASE AND THE TICKING CLOCK

The thriller genre does not have a specific iconography (meaning visual or
physical elements that immediately make the genre recognizable, such as the
wide open range, horses, cowboy hat of the western genre, or the valentine,
wedding cake, engagement ring of the romance genre). That being noted,
THRILLER 225
spy thrillers repeatedly share a commonality—multiple locations (frequently

in exotic locales); this is part of their appeal and also adds to their attraction
to a global audience.
Chases in planes, boats, cars, trucks and other vehicles are regularly
included in the thriller genre. The narratives also contain a strong sense of
“the ticking clock”; this refers to the timing of events—goals must be accom-
plished in a certain amount of time or all will be lost.
Hitchcock employed the chase for several purposes—to get action into
the narrative, to create a ticking clock (a race against time), to pull in the
viewer who might form opinions as to the best path or the best decisions to
make during the chase. Hitchcock also used multiple chases going on simul-
taneously—sometimes to help connect the disparate stories and characters
in the narrative. Dirks, on the filmsite.org website, also points to Hitchcock’s
use of the life and death chase “with its showdown at a familiar landmark”
(such as the United Nations building in New York and Mount Rushmore
(North By Northwest), the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco (Vertigo) and
the chase in The Foreign Correspondent (1940) at Westminster Cathedral in
London).
Thrillers are often constructed around the idea that time is of the essence
and opportunities will only last so long. The ticking clock could be literal (a
bomb about to go off or a kidnap scheme with a deadline) or be the quickly
coming effects of a natural disaster (tsunami, volcano) or perhaps an increas-
ing lack of oxygen or fuel. Finding the ticking clock element in the thriller
can be beneficial to the writer.
THE MENTAL SPACE OF THE THRILLER GENRE

The screenwriter, in creating the mental space of the thriller genre for the
audience, may employ schematic knowledge (framing) choices by quickly
setting up the normal life of the protagonist and then introducing the nar-
rative element that pulls the protagonist out of his or her comfort zone
into the mystery/danger of the narrative. The fish-out-of-water genre can be
efficaciously implemented in thrillers; the protagonist is often an unwit-
ting protagonist, innocent victim or untested investigator or operative.
Thrillers, in most cases, should kick into high gear in the first pages of
the screenplay. The internal framing of supporting stories in the thriller is
very important. In most cases, the supporting genres (romance, buddy or
other relationship genre) will be examined in context of the thriller narra-
tive—they may feature mistrust. Because of the ticking clock component
of most thrillers, time will always be of the essence and therefore compli-
cated supporting character arcs that are not related to the mystery/crime
or element that needs to be understood in the thriller may tend to cause
narrative unbalance.
226 THRILLER

thriller genre will be the emotional and intellectual reminders of danger,
a sense of not knowing what is going on, mistrust of others and being in
a strange place or situation where certain skillsets are needed but are lack-
ing. In most thrillers constructed with the crime genre, the authenticity of
environment and situation is desired, for this will aid in the audience iden-
tification with the narrative and protagonist. Distrust of authority—be it
government or law enforcement or authority figures at work—is prevalent
in today’s world and this distrust can be mined to create anxiety in the audi-
ence (an emotion that is enjoyed for the 90–120 minutes of the film). There
are other emotional points that are understood by all; these include worry
for a loved one’s safety, desire for survival, facing great odds and physical
and mental challenges that must be undertaken under stress (again the use
of the ticking clock is often important). The more “real” the characters, the
stronger the specific knowledge component of the audience can be engaged.
ity to see how this story relates to today’s world. A certain universality can be
captured in specificity, for the audience may not have gone through the exact
experience of the one presented in the narrative; however, they may be able
to relate the emotional journey to personal passages through life.
Always make the audience suffer as much as possible.

(Alfred Hitchcock)
Suggested Exercises: Thriller
1. Thrillers often focus on the “everyman” protagonist’s journey as he

or she tries to comprehend the intent of the antagonist and then
tries to stop the nefarious goal from being successful. Therefore it is
important to be clear about the antagonist’s objectives.
a. Create an idea for a thriller. Write a one-page synopsis of the plot.

b. Write a paragraph elucidating the protagonist’s character. Is the
protagonist an innocent victim, an unwitting participant, an
amateur sleuth or a trained but untested character?
c. Write a paragraph about the character(s) of the antagonist(s).
d. Build the plan of the antagonist/villain. What is his or her goal?
Be clear why the antagonist is pursuing his goal. What stands in
the way of the antagonist reaching that goal?
THRILLER 227
e. List possibilities of how, inadvertently (accidentally), a protagonist

might cross paths with the antagonist or thwart the antagonist’s
plan. Be specific. What scene or sequence or circumstance must
be constructed to create the inadvertent or accidental entry into
the antagonist’s world?
f. List possibilities for the everyman/everywoman thriller prota-
gonist that point to how he or she is not prepared for the chal-
lenges in the narrative or the challenges in facing the antagonist.
These could be a lack of skillsets, mental or physical unprepar-
edness or other areas that point to how the protagonist will be
“out of his/her depth.”
g. What is the main supporting genre of your thriller narrative?
Crime? Mystery? Disaster? Or what other genre?
2. Character construction is a strong component in the film noir

genre. No character, including the protagonist, is completely moral
or ethical and all are acting for selfish or self-centered reasons.
a. Construct strong backstories for three film noir characters. Con-

sider the psychic make-up of the characters. What personality
traits might stand in their way of seeing the world in a positive
light? Distrustful? Pessimistic by nature? Why? Competitive?
Power-hungry? Emotionally bankrupt? Chip on the shoulder?
Why? Antisocial? Why?
b. Create an idea for a film noir thriller. Write a one-page synopsis
of the story. Make sure the “noir” characteristics are clear.
NOTES
1 Excellent resources by Martin Rubin, T. Macdonald Skillman, Charles Derry,
John G. Cawelti, James Frey, G.K. Chesterton, Tom Dirks and more.
2 Hitchcock would often weave taboo or sexually related elements into his films,
such as the repressed memories of Marnie (Tippi Hedren) in Marnie (1964), the
latent homosexuality in Strangers on a Train (1951), voyeurism in Rear Window
(1954) and obsession in Vertigo (1958).
3 An era in film before the “The Code to Govern the Making of Talking,
Synchronized and Silent Motion Pictures,” a censorship document, took
strong hold. The years 1929 to 1934 are often referred to as the Pre-Code Era.
4 Studios would produce lower-budget films that were shot relatively quickly and
often did not showcase top-tier talent. These were “B” films; some managed to
break out to become well-loved classics.
5 The revisionist film narrative “revises” the classic genre elements and clas-
sic character components of the protagonist in that genre to challenge the
audience to think in new ways. The revisionist film narrative often explores
228 THRILLER
a protagonist/antagonist relationship that does not center on a simple good

vs. evil or trust vs. mistrust; characters can be surprising in their intents and
complexities. The moral and ethical questions of “right” or “good” are more
complicated.
REFERENCES
Altman, Rick (1999) Film/Genre, British Film Institute, UK.
Action Movie Freak (accessed 2013) “007, James Bond,” http://www.actionmovie
freak.com/action-movie-subgenre-bond-movies.html.
Ebert, Roger (2011) Life Itself, Grand Central Publishing, USA.
Dirks, Tim (accessed 2013) “Thriller,” http://www.filmsite.org.
Hitchcock, Alfred (1997) Hitchcock on Hitchcock: Selected Writings and Interviews
(Ed. Sidney Gottlieb), University of California Press, USA.
Macdonald Skillman, T. (2000) Writing the Thriller, Writer’s Digest Books, USA.
Muller, Eddie (1998) The Dark City of Noir: The Lost World of Film Noir, St. Martin’s
Griffin, USA.
Patterson, James (2006) Thriller, MIRA Books, Canada.
Rubin, Martin (1999) Thrillers, Cambridge University Press, UK.
Spoto, Donald (2013) “The Art of Alfred Hitchcock: Fifty Years of his Motion
Pictures,” http://www.openculture.com/2013/07/alfred-hitchcock-explains-
the-plot-device-he-called-the-macguffin.html (accessed 2013).
Tucan, Ella (2013) “Femme Fatale,” http://onemovieblog.blogspot.com/2013/05/
sex-shadows-and-sin-on-celluloid-femme.html (May 30, accessed 2013).
CHAPTER 12
Action and Adventure
ACTION
Terms to understand: setpiece, motor, pace, tandem, hero, anti-hero, fight-or-flight,
rogue, franchise, martial arts, swashbuckler, ticking clock
Audiences across the globe are attracted to films employing the action genre
because, for the most part, they feature iconic and relatable characters, the
story turns on action rather than dialogue and many feature life and death
stakes—stakes that are understandable in nearly every nation. Action films
concentrate on feats of physicality—such as battles, gunfights, chases, speed-
ing vehicles, fistfights, blatant or secret invasions, struggles against alien or
beastly creatures and other active exploits. The construction phase of the
film narrative in the action genre calls for the building of action scenes or
action sequences1 that shape the plot and character arc and help decide the
outcome of the narrative.
Classically, action films feature a resourceful hero or heroine struggling
against incredible odds and/or life-threatening circumstances. He or she
may be chasing “bad guys” using various modes of transportation (bus,
auto, ship, train, plane, horseback, on foot or in other imaginative ways)
or taking on physical challenges that test body and mind (mountaineering,
archaeological explorations, sporting contests and more). Victory—or
resolution of some kind—may be attained by the end of the action narrative
but only after strenuous physical feats are executed.
Most action films are built in tandem with strong story genres such as
crime, disaster, war, horror and sci-fi.
The Action Genre Versus the “Action” of the Story

The word “action,” as it is used in the study of screenwriting, can refer to
various elements. “Action” and “movement of story” are sometimes used
interchangeably. The idea that film narratives, when presented in the most
efficacious manner, are active (it is a visual and “moving” medium after all)
and have a “motor” pushing the narrative forward is accepted as a screenwrit-
ing truism. Screenwriters recognize that all stories are built with numerous
229
230 ACTION AND ADVENTURE
forms of action—emotional, intellectual and “story action.” There are galac-

tic battles and then there are looks across the room that can change a world
(Selbo, 2008).
It is important for the screenwriter to note the distinction between
the action of the story and the action genre. The distinction is simple: films
constructed in the action genre must use action scenes or sequences to shape
the character arc, move the plot forward and, in the climax of the film, be
instrumental in defining the outcome of the journey for the protagonist.
The Action Genre as a “Tandem”

Genre—an Equal Partner
The screenwriter might engage in a mental sparring with himself or with
others in regards to whether the action genre can stand alone as a narrative
genre. As pointed out (and being a major point of this book) most (all?)
films are constructed as genre hybrids. The action genre is even more reli-
ant on working in combination with another strong genre. I suggest the
action genre prescribes a way to tell a story but that it does not specifically
relate to particular themes or investigations of plot or character. Therefore,
the action genre, perhaps more than any other genre, works well as a strong
tandem genre. A tandem genre includes a “story” genre that, most likely, sug-
gests many ideas and/or perimeters for character and plot (such as romance,
crime, adventure and thriller) and a “prescriptive genre”—one that pre-
scribes a particular way or particular elements to use in the construction of the
story. Each genre is evenly (or nearly so) represented in the screen story and
each is absolutely essential to the narrative.2
Film analyst David Bordwell, in his article “Anatomy of the Action
Picture,” suggests:
Try a thought experiment. Most action films aren’t slam-bang action

all the way through; they consist mostly of conversations and suspense
scenes. So imagine a two-hour film containing 45 minutes of spectacular
action. Why don’t filmmakers simply release a movie containing only
the action scenes? There are probably several reasons, but one reason is
that the film works better for audiences, especially emotionally, when the
plot ties the action scenes together.
(Bordwell, 2007)
Ultimately, describing a film as a crime/action or an action/crime (or

any other tandem) is only a semantic exercise, for both genres are important
in the construction phase of the narrative. For clarity purposes, I suggest
listing the story genre first and the how-to (prescriptive) genre second. For
example, consider the Fast and Furious franchise (2001–2015). Construction
of the film narratives uses the crime/action genres in tandem. In these
ACTION AND ADVENTURE 231
films the two genres are absolutely entwined; the films could not exist in
their popular form without the other on equal footing—therefore they are
working in tandem.
Building the Characters in an Action Film

The screenwriter, in the early construction of a film narrative in the action
genre, may want to build the protagonist and the antagonist as personas that
can take advantage of action possibilities—as characters invested in making
active choices.
The Fast and Furious films (seven have been produced thus far) make up
one of Universal Pictures’ biggest film franchises and have spawned video
games and short films. These films are constructed as quintessential “action”
films—from the concept, to the plot machinations, to the construction
of the characters. The Fast and Furious franchise (starting in 2001) is
loosely based on Race X, a magazine article by Ken Li about street clubs
that race Japanese cars late at night. The American films moved the locale
to the United States and added various criminal activities (national and
transnational) in each film. Characters—specific to each film—representing
local law enforcement, FBI, Custom Agents, DEA and DSS agents were added
to thwart the criminals’ efforts. The stories focus on characters addicted to
action: characters in rival Los Angeles street teams that use street racing as a
means of establishing power. Other characters are rogue stunt drivers using
their skills for their criminal endeavors. Members of the law enforcement
entities are cracking down on these criminals—and they, too, happen to be
well-trained drivers who also drive super-charged vehicles. Cars are used in
multiple ways—chases, races, to pull off criminal acts, drive-by shootings, to
impress romantic interests and to save lives. Various motor vehicles are used:
old and new cars, super-tricked-out cars, designer cars, police cars, small and
large trucks, helicopters, yachts, private jets, fuel-tankers and motorcycles.
The films feature guns and explosions, cars crashing through barricades and
various vehicles taking hairpin turns (where one has to be cognizant of the
dangers of “drifting”). Street racing and masterful driving play a part in the
narrative’s plot points, thus making each genre (crime and action) equal and
absolutely essential to the narrative—in other words, a perfect tandem genre.
The Fast and Furious franchise knows its audience (using the specific
knowledge component of the mental space of genre); it is designed not
only for car aficionados but also for those attracted to the action genre in
general. Due to its popularity, the narrative format is constructed almost like
a television serial, with one film’s finale serving as the cliffhanger for the
next film (released a year to two years later).
Consider the sci-fi/action film Elysium (2013, written by Neill Blomkamp);
the narrative takes place in the year 2154. Max (Matt Damon) is trying to
build a bridge between the “haves”—those who live on a luxurious space

station—and the “have-nots”—those who live on a nearly destroyed Earth.
Max, ultimately, finds himself fighting for his life. The narrative contains
gunfire, explosions, chases and other action. Both genres are used in equal
fashion. Consider Rush (2013, written by Peter Morgan); the bio-pic narra-
tive focuses on Formula One rivals James Hunt and Niki Lauda and is set in
the racing car world. The tandem genre is sports/action. The story lives in the
sports genre and the action (the competition for dominance and the fame
that comes with it) makes the story genre work.
Basics of the Classic Action Genre

Several theorists point to the fact that the anxiety that comes with facing
extreme challenges is exciting, energizing and enjoyable—if the person experi-
encing the events knows that the occurrence is short-lived (the experience on
a rollercoaster is used as an example) or if the person feels as if he, ultimately,
is in control of the stressful situation (Grodal, 2009; Barnett, 2011). Viewing
a film in the action genre can satisfy the audience’s penchant for “danger-
ous” agitation while allowing a sense of control because—obviously—the film
viewer is in the “safe” position of the voyeur.
As noted in Chapter 2, film analyst Torben Grodal suggests that films
in the action genre create a strong connection to the audience due to the
stimulation of long-term embedded memories of stressful or exhilarating
situations. For example, the popularity of the hunter-versus-hunted scenario
in the action genre can be traced to early man’s need to battle beastly or
human predators in order to survive. Grodal suggests the “fight or flight”
impulse is not being learned in the real time of one human life, but it is an
impulse embedded in human nature due to oft-repeated experiences of pre-
vious generations:
When we watch a film, our heart rhythms change, we sweat, and our
muscles alternately tense and relax throughout . . . (these) are linked to
emotional reactions that also play a central role in memory, cognition
and consciousness.
(Grodal, 2009: 4–7)
Target Audiences
Given that action films traditionally attract male viewers (Meagher, 2003:
3–4; Oliver, 1993: 315–342), these films are usually aimed at male audiences,
ages 13 to 40 (in both American and worldwide markets). Why are men
attracted to the genre? Psychologists point to the action genre’s adherence
to the “hero’s journey” story and a simple approach to the narrative: the
hero, seeing injustice or “wrong,” commits to taking action that will make
things “right” for those unable to defend or protect their homes, loved ones,
families or way of life.
The Flawed Hero

Many action heroes are “flawed”—and this is also a plus for audiences, for
it becomes easier for the film viewer to identify with the hero if he (or she)
is not “perfect.” In the Marvel Comics series, Iron Man, hero Tony Stark
initially has a drinking problem—and his spoiled and self-centered nature
almost gets him killed. The character of Batman (D.C. Comics) is a hero with
issues with trust. Peter Parker, before becoming Spider-Man (Marvel Comics),
has problems with being “a nerd.” Non-superhero action heroes are also con-
structed as flawed characters that take on huge challenges. Their triumphs,
despite (or because of ) inherent flaws, make the final success more satisfying
for the audience—for the chances of failure are real.
As gender equality and gender opportunities change in today’s society,
action films are beginning to draw a larger female audience—and viable
female action heroes are being constructed. However, the screenwriter might
also consider that by using supporting genres such as buddy, romance and
coming-of-age, the female audience will be more attracted to the story genre/
action tandem.
The screenwriter, knowing that the target audience of the action film
enjoys an emotional “rollercoaster ride,” is tasked with constructing scenes,
sequences and “setpieces”3 that will create tension, apprehension, concern
and fear for the protagonist (hero or anti-hero) and other characters in the
film—all designed to fulfill the audience’s expectations.
Short History of the Action Genre

The American film The Great Train Robbery (1903) is an early silent Western/
action film featuring outlaws on galloping horses, a train robbery, excit-
ing chases and gun fighting. Early Keystone Kops silent comedies also fea-
tured action storylines, as did many of the silent film comedies of Charlie
Chaplin, Buster Keaton and Harold Lloyd. Adventure/action silent films
included “swashbuckling” films (those using sword fighting) such as Robin
Hood (1922), The Mark of Zorro (1920) and The Three Musketeers (1923).
With the introduction of sound, the action genre in America continued
to flourish. Many adventure/action films—based on adventure novels—
featured swashbuckling. These include Captain Blood (1935), The Adventures
of Robin Hood (1938), The Prisoner of Zenda (1937) and The Scarlet Pimpernel
(1934). These films made matinee idols out of Douglas Fairbanks, Errol
Flynn, Robert Donat and Ronald Colman and the action “star” was soon
recognized.
The western genre (see Chapter 10) thrived when working in tandem
with the action genre; shootouts on horseback, chases, runaway stagecoaches
and more were featured in early silent and sound films. Examples of western/
action films include Drums Along the Mohawk (1939), Stagecoach (1939), Billy
the Kid (1930), Zorro Rides Again (1937) and Aces Wild (1939).
The 1940s and 1950s continued to feature films in the western/action and
war/action genres as well as in the crime/action genre. Alfred Hitchcock found
his favorite genre, the thriller (see Chapter 11), and often added action to the
mix, as in North By Northwest (1959). There are several exciting action sequences
that are integral to its plot and character arcs in the first two acts of the nar-
rative, and the climax (act three) is nearly all action (it does contain a nod to
the romance line); it takes place on the monumental faces of the Presidents at
Mount Rushmore in South Dakota. The successful James Bond films (beginning
in 1962 and continuing to today, with a short hiatus from 1989 to 1995) domi-
nated the thriller/action films of the 1960s, using the spy subgenre to excellent
advantage. The cool, handsome and resourceful hero with action skills, gadgets
at his fingertips, a fast car and other shiny, high-tech, speedy transports and the
ability to issue a quip or one-liner became popular and widely emulated.
Successful films using the action genre in the 1960s include the western/
action The Wild Bunch (1969, written by Walon Green and Sam Peckinpah);
this narrative features a group of outlaws in 1913 that execute their “last big
robbery.” They head to Mexico with hopes to retire, but bounty hunters
are on their tails. They become embroiled in the Mexican Revolution and
participate in a shoot-out-to-the-death as their last moral stand. (Note how
the action scenes and sequences relate to the characters, their decisions and
their ultimate fate.) The Great Escape (1963, written by James Clavell and
W.R. Burnett, based on the novel by Paul Brickhill) is a war/action film that
focuses on a group of prisoners of war (portrayed by box office stars such as
Steve McQueen, James Garner, Richard Attenborough, Charles Bronson and
others) captured by the Nazis. The prisoners plan and execute an elaborate
escape (and the action constructed for these scenes is absolutely integral to
the story and the changes featured in the character arcs). The ancient Greek
legend of mythological hero and demi-god Jason and his journey to find the
Golden Fleece served as the subject for the adventure/fantasy/action Jason
and the Argonauts in 1963. The film used extraordinary special effects for the
era (designed by Ray Harryhausen) to enhance the action sequences and each
sequence affected story and characters’ mental and physical well-being.4
It could be argued that the 1970s solidified the template for the now-
classic American action film. Film analyst Andrew Sternberg noted in his New
York Times article “How the American Action Movie Went Kablooey” that the
1970s action films, with their over-the-top cartoon violence, reflected the coun-
try’s spirit of independence while also “embodying and critiquing this quintes-
sentially adolescent dream of dominance” (Sternberg, 2012). The love affair
with action movies was in full force in the 1970s—in America and across the
world—and continued into the 1980s. Actors such as Arnold Schwarzenegger,
Sylvester Stallone, Bruce Willis, Jean-Claude Van Damme, Clint Eastwood and
others kicked butt and epitomized the American ideal of the individual and
his/her ability to make a difference; a belief in the pursuit of justice through
personal action. According to Sternberg, “the action movie carried, briefly, as
all good genre movies do, the cultural weight of metaphorical significance”
(Sternberg, 2012).
The crime/action films and the sci-fi/action films became so popular
that the components of the film genre began to be used and re-used and
closely copied to such an extent that many action films began to fall into the
“genre film” category.5 The market was saturated and many of the films were
unoriginal (and therefore indistinguishable). There were also many sequels
produced in the action genre in the 1980s and many were close copies of
the originals. Only a few action films stood out in the 1980s as being “new”
or “original.” Examples of films that introduced fresh elements include the
crime/action City Heat (1981), the sci-fi/action films Escape from New York
(1981), The Terminator (1984), RoboCop (1987) and the comedy/action films
The Blues Brothers (1980) and 48 Hrs. (1982).
It’s tricky to pinpoint the movie that kicked off the golden age, but it’s
not hard to finger the one that ended it—the film conveniently has the
words “last” and “action” right in its title. “Last Action Hero,” released in
1993, was a bloated example of late-empire decadence, starring Arnold
Schwarzenegger as Jack Slater, the biggest action hero in the world. Then
a little kid, by means of a magic ticket, gets sucked bodily into a Slater
action film—in any case, it’s intended both as an action film and as a
spoof of action films and, perhaps inevitably, fails as both. And from the
technical end, computer animation gobbled up everything, chewing it
all into weightless pixels. American action films now are merciless spec-
tacles splashed on a green-screen canvas—Shia LaBeouf flying around
on wires like Peter Pan in front of spasmodic robots who aren’t really
there, while entire cities, also not really there, collapse in on themselves.
Ultimately, the American action film, like a fish that can’t stop eating,
wound up choking on its one reliable virtue: excess.
(Sternberg, 2012)
The Protagonist in the Action Film

As noted previously, the narrative in the action film genre features a pro-
tagonist thrust into a series of physical challenges—fight scenes, chases,
gun battles, martial arts contests, man-against-man situations, man-against-
machine situations as well as man-against-the-world situations. He or she
must be resourceful, tough, intelligent, cunning, have a strong point of view
FIGURE 12.1 Bruce Willis in Die Hard (1988)
regarding the problems or obstacles that are encountered and—despite hav-

ing special skills—possess certain flaws and feel “real” and relatable to the
audience. The action hero is not, in many cases, the “everyman”; however,
personality elements (neuroses, specific backstories) can draw the audience
in and allow them to identify and care about the fate of the character.
Neill Hicks, in his book Writing the Action-Adventure Film (2002), points to
Die Hard (1988, written by Jeb Stuart and Stephen E. de Souza, based on the
novel by Roderick Thorpe) as one of the most popular and iconic crime/action
films and as an example of creating audience connection and sympathy for the
hero. New York City police detective John McClane (Bruce Willis) is visiting his
estranged wife and family in Los Angeles for the Christmas holidays. He is hav-
ing a hard time with his wife’s career success and what that means to his posi-
tion as “head of the household.” Hicks writes: “If you look closely at Die Hard,
you will see it’s really a love story about a guy trying to get back together with his
wife” (Hicks, 2002: xi). The high-rise building where his wife works is still partly
under construction. Terrorists enter the building soon after McClane arrives and
he becomes a one-man defense system—to protect his wife and those attending
her office’s Christmas party. When all seems lost and McClane sees the distinct
possibility of not making it out of the building alive, he radios Officer Powell in
a squad car outside the building. He wants Powell to tell Mrs. McClane (Bonnie
Bedelia) that he is sorry for not being a good husband and that “she was the best
thing that ever happened to a bum like me” (Die Hard, 1988).
The hero of the action narrative has big shoes to fill. The term “hero,”
in Greek mythology, originally referred to a demi-god—the son or daughter
born as a result of the coupling of an immortal being and a mortal being.
(Hercules, son of Zeus and mortal Queen Alcmene, was one of the early clas-
sic action-hero characters.) Modern day understanding of the word “hero” is
different; it refers to a character that, in the face of danger to self and others,
will—with resourcefulness, courage and a sense of right and wrong—fight
for “right” to triumph. This can involve self-sacrifice and may cost the hero
dearly in emotional or physical ways.
Sternberg suggests that the “purebred American action film” can be
identified by the construction of the film protagonist. He points to the loner
hero—again using McClane in Die Hard as an example. McClane is alone as
he takes on a series of bad guys; he is also alone because he is out of his ele-
ment and he does not have the ability to call for back-up from his own police
force (Sternberg, 2012). Other loner heroes include police detectives Frank
Bullitt (Steve McQueen) in Bullitt (1968), Harry Callahan (Clint Eastwood)
in the Dirty Harry films (1971, 1973, 1976, 1983, 1988), Max (Mel Gibson) in
the Mad Max films (1979, 1981, 1985) and Luke Wright ( Jason Statham) in Safe
(2012). The classic action “loner hero” in many cases possesses the ability
(or quickly learns how) to use firearms, has skills in physical combat and is
able to handle various transport vehicles.
Hero and Anti-Hero

The hero protagonist is often “doing the right thing for the right reasons.”
The anti-hero is a protagonist who may lack the typical characteristics of
heroism, such as nobility, bravery, and fortitude. The anti-hero protagonist
is “doing the wrong thing for the right reasons.” The protagonist (whether
the hero or anti-hero) in the American action film usually has little patience
with hypocritical behavior, lies or excuses. Despite flaws, the protagonist has
a strong sense of personal honor; the protagonist’s need to live with himself
or herself and be responsible for chosen actions is dominant.
The popularity of the action genre speaks to the audience’s desire to iden-
tify with a protagonist who is able to overcome great odds. Moine, in her book
Cinema Genre, points to the fact that the audience appreciates the reaffirmation
of “normative social values,” that society is “put back into order” in some large
of small way as a result of the actions of the protagonist (Moine, 2008: 74).
However, this does not mean that all films in the action genre have
to feature a successful conclusion for the protagonist. The screenwriter is
always tasked with “mixing it up” and surprising the audience (while also
providing story satisfaction). The screenwriter may choose variations on the
protagonist’s reaction to achieving his immediate goal (taking out the bad
guys or reaching the summit or other active pursuit). Perhaps he or she feels
a sense of futility (crime will never be totally annihilated), or personal tri-
umph is empty without other meaningful emotional components in life.
Perhaps the protagonist has to sacrifice personal dreams—or even life—in
order to restore order (temporary or not). Bringing the conclusion of the
narrative back to the character is advisable, for the audience is connected to
the plot through the protagonist—and the main interest of the audience will
always be in the character(s).
Hicks observes that the personality of the protagonist driving the American
action/adventure film doesn’t necessarily translate clearly to other nations:
overseas audiences flock to see Americans in American Action-Adventure

films (however) when foreign-produced Action-Adventure films attempt
to employ the same canon of underlying values—disregard for propriety,
disdain for authority, and, above all, independent action—the local films
are often regarded as implausible within their own societies.
(Hicks, 2002: 29)
Hicks notes that in nations that hold the state or national laws as sac-
rosanct, the protagonist of a film narrative who goes “rogue” may not be
accepted by the audience. In many nations, the desired buy-in to the pro-
tagonist’s character and actions will come only if he or she works within the
accepted system. Hicks points to the action films of the United Kingdom that
focus more on intellectual outwitting rather than physical combat and the
Scandinavian films where independence of thought and action would feel
preposterous—for authority figures are, culturally, meant to be obeyed. One
might wonder if the popularity of Sweden’s The Girl With A Dragon Tattoo
(2009, written by Nikolaj Arcel and Rasmus Heisterberg based on the novel
by Steig Larsson, and remade in America in 2011, screenplay adaptation by
Steve Zallian) might break this pattern. The novel introduced two characters
(faithfully translated to film by the screenwriters) that go “rogue” and work
outside the law enforcement system. Whether this will have a lasting effect
on action heroes in nations that adhere to “working within the system”
remains to be seen.6
Clearly American audiences relish the irreverent and authority-bucking
action hero with the “rogue” mentality—the protagonist who is willing, if nec-
essary, to go around the law and undertake subversive exploits to attain the
goal; basically a protagonist that embraces an “end justifies the means” attitude.
The Antagonist in the Action Film

The protagonist and antagonist in a successful film in the action genre must
be well matched in determination and resourcefulness. The antagonist often
lacks a sense of morality or humanity, there is certainly “id” and there may
even be “ego,” but there is usually no “super-ego” at play in his or her per-
sonality (see Chapter 7: Horror). He or she may be a villain (one who is “all
bad,” out to do nefarious deeds that will wreak havoc on a person, group or
all of mankind) or a relatable adversary or competitor with an agenda that—
on the surface—might even (initially) appear reasonable. However when
the protagonist unearths salient details of the antagonist’s operation or plan
or desires—and ultimately faces that nemesis in adversarial action, a battle
for truth, right, dominion or even life will become necessary.
“Popcorn” Action Films and “Serious” Action Films

Many commercial films featuring a dominant action genre may be referred to
as “popcorn movies”; they feature simple plots, recognizable characters that
are not overly complex and easily relatable relationship arcs. This allows the
filmmakers to focus on the construction of action sequences and setpieces.
Many of film narratives based on comic-book characters (such as the fantasy/
crime/action films featuring Superman, Iron Man, Spider-Man, The Avengers,
Thor and others) fall into the “popcorn movie” category. Post-millennium
film critics have taken umbrage with the over-use of film technology and
over-long action sequences and mediocre storylines, noting that some story-
lines seem to be built simply to support the special effects. However, critics
clearly cannot affect the excitement at the box office—many of these films
lead top-grossing film charts.
Screenwriter Damon Lindelof (Prometheus (2012), Star Trek: Into Darkness
(2013), World War Z (2013)), in an interview with Scott Brown of New York
Magazine, notes:
We live in a commercial world, where you’ve gotta come up with “trailer

moments” and make the thing feel big and impressive and satisfying,
especially in that summer-movie-theater construct . . . But ultimately I
do feel—even as a purveyor of it—slightly turned off by this destruction
porn that has emerged and become very bold-faced this past summer . . .
In the old days, it was just as satisfying that all Superman has to do was
basically save Lois from this earthquake in California. The stakes in that
movie are that the San Andreas Fault line opens up and half of California
is going to fall in the ocean. That felt big enough (then), but (now) there
is a sense of bigger, better, faster, seen it before, done that . . . It’s almost
impossible to, for example, not have a final set piece where the fate of
the free world is at stake.
(Brown, 2013)
Canadian film critic Calum Marsh calls for an acknowledgment that

a large percentage of the action films in the recent decades fall into the
“genre film” category.7 He notes that the action clichés such as tongue-
in-cheek, over-the top, punchy dialogue, as seen in Olympus Has Fallen
(2013), have become tired components of the popcorn-movie action
films:
when so much money is on the table—the budget for “Olympus” was

$130 million—it’s not hard to understand why studios would discourage
the risk of even minor innovations. And so what we get is another film
like the others. What we need, far more than workmanship, is genuine
artistry, and if artistry is too much to ask of action cinema, at least a
more innovative craft . . . we need films whose purpose is to entertain
without limitations, to mock themselves in form and content, and to

essentially approach the genre anew.
(Marsh, 2013)
Marsh points to the work of screenwriter/directors Mark Neveldine and

Brian Taylor—specifically their sci-fi/action Gamer (2009) and the crime/action
Crank (2006) as examples that push the action genre into new and/or fresh
territory (thus not falling into the “genre film” category). Gamer focuses on
a futuristic mind-controlling game where death row convicts are forced to
battle in a “game within a game.” The actions of convict Kable (Gerard But-
ler) are controlled by teenage Simon (Logan Lerman), a skilled gamer, through
an advanced technological set up. Kable must survive thirty sessions in the
game in order to be set free. Therefore Kable must communicate with his “con-
troller,” get Simon invested in his goal and hope that Simon will do what he
can to enhance the technological aspects of the game and improve Kable’s
chances. Each of the action sequences is important and each drives the progres-
sion of the story because they are absolutely woven together. The narrative of
Crank focuses on the travails of a Mexican/American crime syndicate trying to
keep the Chinese mafia at bay. The tale concentrates on Chev Chelios ( Jason
Statham), a hitman who, when his assigned hit is unsuccessful, is injected by
his enemy with a serum that will stop his heart if he does not keep his adren-
alin pumping at a high level for an allotted period of time. Chelios realizes he
must keep his adrenalin high by challenging himself—through reckless and
dangerous acts such as picking fights with other gangsters, committing robber-
ies, fighting with police and driving cars through shopping malls. The entire
film takes place in a single day, making it almost non-stop action—this is pos-
sible and works with the narrative because action is inherent in the storyline.
FIGURE 12.2 Jason Statham in Crank (2006)

Finding the Action Line

The screenwriter, in constructing the action film narrative, may consider
beginning the ideation stage by finding the action line in the concept. This
notion is allied to the idea of implementing schematic knowledge (the fram-
ing) in that when the action line describes the protagonist’s journey, the
screenwriter can frame the narrative externally (beginning and end) with
action scenes, sequences or setpieces and then implement internal fram-
ing by book-ending the story genre (the chosen genre that will work in tan-
dem with the action genre) or other supporting genres with exciting action
scenes, sequences or setpieces.
Examples of action lines that can help focus the screenwriter in the
construction of the war/action genre include 300 (2007, written by Zack
Snyder & Kurt Johnstad and Michael B. Gordon, based on the graphic novel
by Frank Miller and Lynn Varley); a huge Persian army approaches the coast
of Greece and only 300 Spartans are there to rise up to protect their coun-
try and their people. (Note that the simplified plot line makes it clear that
battles and other physical conflicts will, most likely, shape the trajectory
of the narrative.) Akira Kurosawa’s classic films Seven Samurai (1954) and
Yojimbo (1961) are constructed around protagonists who enter Japanese vil-
lages to use their martial arts skills to take on “the bad guys” to better the
villagers’ lives. Consider the American-Chinese-Hong Kong-Taiwanese film
Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon (2000, written by Hui-Ling Wang and James
Schmus and Kuo Jung Tsai, based on a book by Du Lu Wang): Li Mu Bai
(Chow Yun-Fat) is an accomplished swordsman of the Wudang sect in a
mountainous region of China. Long ago, a woman who sought to learn
Wudang skills murdered his master. Mu Bai, now wanting to retire, asks
the female warrior he loves, Shu Lien, to help him transport his sword, the
Green Destiny, to the city of Peking. Desert bandits pursue and thwart their
intentions and they must battle for their lives. (Note how the plot line relies
on action/sword fighting and other martial arts contests in order to further
plot and character.) Consider Drive (2011, written by Hossein Amini, based
on a book by James Sallis): a stuntman-turned-wheelman (Ryan Gosling)
must use all his driving and survival skills to elude his enemies after a
botched job results in a contract on his head. (Note the action setpieces—
mostly to do with fast cars and chases—that are suggested in this short plot
line.) Consider The Fugitive (1993, written by Jeb Stuart and David Twohy,
based on characters by Roy Huggins). Dr. Richard Kimble (Harrison Ford) is
accused of murdering his wife. He is found guilty, and on his way to prison
the transport bus crashes. He escapes and sets out to find the one-armed
man who is really responsible for the crime, while dodging the pursuing
U.S. Marshals. (Note the action sequences and setpieces that are inherent
in the simplified plot line.) Consider The Bourne Identity (2002, written by
Tony Gilroy and W. Blake Herron, based on the novel by Robert Ludlum):
a nearly-dead man, victim of a gunshot wound, is rescued from the sea by
a fishing boat. He has no identification and has no memory of his past. As
he goes in search of his identity, assassins are on his trail. He is forced to go
on the run and face dangerous enemies, all the while frantically trying to
unravel the truth of his former life. (Note the action in “on the run,” “face
dangerous enemies,” “assassins” and other elements that aid the screen-
writer in understanding the need to create action sequences that will focus
on mortal conflict.) Consider The Avengers (2012, written by Josh Whedon
and Zak Penn, based on Marvel Comic characters): when an extraterrestrial
invasion threatens the existence of all of mankind, the S.H.I.E.L.D. agency
must bring together the world’s greatest heroes, each with specific physical
skills, in order to stop the alien threat. (Note how the action possibilities
are immediately apparent.)
Baiting the “Suspense Hook”:

Part of the Action Film Construction
David Bordwell, in his 2013 article “David Koepp: Making the World Movie-
Sized,” points to what screenwriter David Koepp (Mission: Impossible (1996),
War of the Worlds (2005), Spider-Man (2002) and more) refers to as “baiting
the suspense hook.” This refers to sharing knowledge of how the actions of
the protagonist are supposed to play out if all goes according to plan. In Mission:
Impossible, Ethan Hunt (Tom Cruise) reviews his plan for accessing the com-
puter files at CIA headquarters:
Everything that will matter later, including the heat-sensitive floor and
the drop of moisture that can set off the alarms, is laid out visually
with Ethan’s explanation serving as exposition. <This is> what Koepp
calls “baiting the suspense hook”. Each detail is a security obstacle that
Hunt’s team will have to overcome.
(Bordwell, 2013a)
Inevitably, the well-planned actions of the protagonist will fail or backfire

or go awry. This helps to exponentially increase the tension in the audience
because they understand that the breakdown of “the plan” increases the
jeopardy of the protagonist—and that he or she will now have to quickly
adjust or halt the mission or face greater peril.
David Koepp also makes good use of the “ticking clock”—an element
that refers to a limited amount of time to accomplish a set task. Koepp uses
the term “bottles” to refer to the overall time frame of the action film narra-
tive and suggests that plots depend on severely limited time or space or both.
Koepp’s Premium Rush (2012), the thriller/action narrative about a bicycle
messenger in New York City who is hired to deliver a mysterious package,
covers only ninety minutes of the life of Wilee ( Joseph Gordon-Levitt). This
is close to the running time of the film. “ Even those plots based on journeys,
like The Trigger Effect (1996) and War of the Worlds (2005), develop under the
pressure of time” (Bordwell, 2013a).
Bordwell suggests that in well-constructed action screenplays the
action sequences are not one-off attractions for their own sakes but
micro-stories (each focusing on a specific obstacle). Each has a begin-
ning, middle and end—and play out according to fundamental narra-
tive principles of conflict, struggle, suspense, and resolution (Bordwell,
2007). The screenwriter is then tasked to put together a series of obstacles
(each becoming more dangerous and important as the tension between
protagonist and antagonist grows) in a manner so that the “whole” of
the film narrative is cohesive. The screenwriter has to use his or her skill
to logically connect the micro-story setpiece components of the film
narrative.
The More Serious Action Fare

Film narratives in the action genre also tackle more serious topics. The
plot points of the war/action film Zero Dark Thirty (2012) turn on real-life
decisions in 2011 regarding the planning and execution of the operation
to storm the Bin Laden compound in Afghanistan. The Hurt Locker (2008)
focuses on true-to-life experiences of soldiers who detonate bombs in the
Middle East. Both films are written by Mark Boal and directed by Kathryn
Bigelow and feature well-researched—and thrilling—action sequences.
(These sequences advance character and plot and are absolutely integral
to the narrative.) Other serious action films include the war/action Sav-
ing Private Ryan (1998, written by Robert Rodat), focusing on soldiers in
World War II. The disaster/action Impossible (2012, written by Sergio de
Sanchez, based on true story of María Belón) is a film that recounts the
experience of survivors in the massively-destructive 2004 tsunami that hit
the coast of Thailand. These more serious action films often garner critical
acclaim and vie for festival awards and recognition at film excellence cer-
emonies. The classic French Connection (1971, written by Ernest Tidyman,
based on a non-fiction book by Robin Moore) won the Academy Award for
Best Adapted Screenplay and the Academy Award for Best Picture (the first
R-rated film to do so). The narrative is built around its action sequences
(the film is often cited as having one of the best car chase sequences ever
filmed); at the center of the narrative is anti-hero Jimmy “Popeye” Doyle
(Gene Hackman), a top New York City detective in the narcotics division.
Popeye routinely breaks the rules, he is violent and has a bad temper, he is
an alcoholic, always seems to be seeking an adrenalin rush, he is bigoted
and he is disrespectful—especially to authority figures. He lives alone and
is—ultimately—lonely. He is multi-dimensional and fascinating. This char-

acter construction raises the film to award-winning levels.
Running less than two hours, the film has a solid pace to it, with story
layers being peeled back like an onion. Doyle is not the most likable of
characters, and his stubborn determination to get the bad guy starts to
wear on his partner, slowly starting to blur the line of morality and what
is right.
(Goldwasser, 2009)
Martial Arts: An Action Film Subgenre

The Hong Kong film industry has become a strong influence in American
cinema—and especially in the action film genre because of its creative and
breathtaking use of kung fu. Kung fu refers to the martial arts of wuxia or
wudang or shaolin or other traditional Chinese fighting skills that feature
a disciplined and visually exciting form of combat. Hicks writes that most
martial arts films are moral parables—the physical skill also signifies the spir-
itual superiority of the protagonist:
In Hong Kong, the Chinese have developed a movie industry based

almost exclusively on endless repetitions of martial arts postures . . . the
underlying motivations for Hong Kong action films are derived from
classic Chinese literature such as Outlaws of the Marsh, the 14th century
novel which provides ethical instruction via a loosely connected series
of individual tales about the adventures of a collection of kind-hearted
outlaws who fight for the people against a corrupt government.
(Hicks, 2002: 33–34)
Kung fu gained worldwide prominence in the 1970s with the introduc-

tion of martial artist Bruce Lee in The Big Boss (1971) and Enter the Dragon
(1973). His skill and appeal drew in audiences and inspired screenwriters
and directors to add exciting martial arts combat to the action genre. Now,
with enhanced special effects, action sequences featuring martial arts have
been embraced worldwide. Aerial stunts (often in slow motion) have been
added to enhance the idea that those with these skills also connect to a
mind-over-body ability. Screenwriter and director John Woo’s films (Red Cliff
(2008), Hard Boiled (1992), Face/Off (1997) and A Better Tomorrow (1986)) are
noted for extraordinary kung fu sequences and face-to-face stand-offs they
influenced the works of screenwriter/director Quentin Tarantino (Kill Bill:
Vol.1 (2003) and Kill Bill: Vol.2 (2004)) and screenwriter/director Robert
Rodriguez (Sin City (2005), Machete (2010) and Machete Kills (2013)) and the
Wachowski screenwriting/directing team (The Matrix (1999) and The Matrix
Reloaded (2003)).
David Bordwell penned an article in tribute to director and screenwriter

Chia-Liang-Liu and his work in martial arts comedy/action:
Liu’s directorial debut, The Spiritual Boxer (1975), is often considered the
first kung-fu comedy, and many of his films include mugging, goofy
dialogue, and physical gags. He went beyond one-off humor by find-
ing ways to make combat itself funny. In Dirty Ho (1979) two masters
maintain teatime manners while trying to thrust goblets, fans, and fin-
gers into each other’s face . . . My Young Auntie (1981) features a demure
heroine who is, to everyone’s surprise, adept at kung fu . . . Heroes of the
East sets seven Japanese masters, each with a martial specialty, against
<a> young Chinese husband, and the film provides virtually a compare-
contrast essay in Asian combat tactics. Sometimes one thinks that Lau
was aiming at nothing less than a filmic encyclopedia of classic martial
arts, a sort of audiovisual database of the entire Chinese wuxia tradition.
(Bordwell, 2000)
Considerations When Writing the Action Film

The action genre, as noted, enjoys immense popularity. Thus, assuring the
audience that chooses to view a film in the action genre that their expecta-
tions will be met is important. However, great action sequences alone will
not complete a strong film narrative, therefore it is necessary for the screen-
writer to consider the story genre—as well as the action genre—when con-
structing a story that features a dominant action line. In addition:
– Consider giving characters interesting backstories. Adding three-

dimensionality to the individuals populating the action film will
enhance the film narrative. (This can be done in succinct ways.)
– Externally framing the action film with an action sequence can help
assure the audience that the film will satisfy their expectations of
the action genre. A war in space. Or a battlefield skirmish. Or a car
chase. Or a bus careening out of control. However, a screenwriter may
write a stunning opening-of-the-film action sequence that involves
near-death experiences or great failures or successes . . . and all his
hard work will be for nothing. Unless the audience is invested in a
character, special effects and camera angles and daring physical feats
will not be compelling. The audience will be waiting for the story to
begin—meaning they will be waiting to meet the characters with
which they will identify. Audiences will connect only if their empa-
thy and worry about the fate of the heroes, heroines (and villains) has
been engaged. As mentioned earlier, Die Hard is a well-constructed
crime-action film; John McClane (Bruce Willis) is first seen arriving
in Los Angeles and nervously entering a high-rise office building to

confront his wife about their troubled marriage. The audience gets
invested in a good man (albeit chauvinistic) who is not dealing well
with his wife’s ambitions. The audience gets to know the man before
the building is attacked and McClane is forced to take action to “save
the day.” War of the Worlds (2005, written by Josh Friedman and
David Koepp, based on the novel by H.G. Wells) introduces the pro-
tagonist, Ray (portrayed by Tom Cruise), as a man who will not help
out others at work, who has failed as a husband and who is a not-so-
great father. Clearly this is a man who needs to take responsibility in
life. However, he also has a biting sense of humor and there’s a “lost”
quality about him that allows the audience to feel sympathy. The
audience begins to root for him before the alien attack. Braveheart
(1995, written by Randall Wallace) introduces a protagonist, William
Wallace, a Scotsman who has seen violence and has given up the idea
of his beloved country breaking cleanly from British rule. He returns
to the village of his birth, only wanting to marry the girl he loves,
raise a family and lead a simple life. He will not join the other men
in the village in the fight to bring about change in their world. When
his wife is murdered, the audience knows this man and cares about
him—all before the main battles take place. Allowing the audience time
to know the characters and identify with them will make the early action
sequences work on a more significant level.
– Consider employing the “ticking clock.” This term refers to setting
a time frame (usually the shorter the better) in which a task must be
accomplished (such as disabling a bomb or getting to the drop-off
point at an appointed moment or handing off needed information
before it is too late). Audiences will respond to countdowns with
anxiety and anticipation (emotional reactions sought by audiences
who enjoy films in the action genre). It might be an advantage to
add the “ticking clock” to many of the action sequences to heighten
excitement and to increase the audience’s worry for the protagonist.
(An audience worrying about the fate of the protagonist means they
are identifying with or caring about the outcome of the story—and
that is absolutely desirable.)
– Consider making each action sequence a “mini-story” with a begin-
ning, middle (pile on the obstacles) and end (that leads into the next
narrative element). All action sequences should advance the story
and/or character. (See the breakdown of the James Bond film, Quan-
tum of Solace (2008), in Chapter 2.)
– Consider the advice of screenwriter Simon Kinberg (contributing
writer on Sherlock Holmes (2009), X-Men, The Last Stand (2006) and
This Means War (2012)) on writing the action film narrative, specifi-
cally the comic-book superhero tale. Kinberg suggests concentrating
on the character interactions and relationship dramas and the stakes
of the narrative, to make sure those story elements are moving and
changing and fulfilling the dramatic story structure—and let the
action sequences support the drama: “even films like X-Men have a lot
more drama than another comic-book or action flick would . . . What I
tried to do when I’m writing these movies . . . is to make the drama as
compelling as possible. That way we can really get into the characters
and it’s not just a video game” (Morris, 2012).
– Consider the use of rising action. This term refers to the pacing of
your story. Traditionally, action films begin with an action sequence
(make sure it is also used to introduce character and stakes)—and
then “slow” down to give the audience time to fully connect with
the characters and understand elements of the story. As the story
progresses, the narrative will grow in intensity and tempo. (Use of
the “ticking clock” can contribute to rising action.)
– Design the climax of the action genre film narrative so that new
story elements continue to be revealed. Events in the climax can also
continue to expose character and/or allow character growth. In addi-
tion to using the chases or battles or other physical exploits to bring
down the opponent/antagonist, the screenwriter has an opportunity
to continue the exploration of the nature of the main characters and
supporting characters. The crime/coming-of-age/action film Training
Day (2001) features an act three climax where the two adversaries,
Jake Hoyt (Ethan Hawke) and Detective Alonzo Harris (Denzel Wash-
ington), face off. Their battle plays out while the audience continues
to learn about their strengths and weaknesses. The screenwriter can
examine the emotional, physical and psychological assets and flaws
of the main characters while the main action of the climax plays out.
– The “Mexican stand-off” is a term that refers to the final confrontation—
a final moment of truth and/or evidence of dominance—between the
main antagonist and main protagonist.8 These stand-offs are no-win/
no-lose situations because no one can emerge as a clear winner. This
is referred to as “a poor man’s mutually assured destruction.” Mutu-
ally assured destruction (MAD) is a doctrine in military strategy that
refers to the actions of two opposing forces that can cause annihila-
tion of both the attacker and the defender. (The “classic” mutually
assured destruction is the infamous “red phone” or “button” in the
1950s that could be used to unleash simultaneous nuclear war.) The
Mexican stand-off scene can be well-used in the action genre to cre-
ate high tension between protagonist and the worthy antagonist.
Screenwriter/director Quentin Tarantino features “Mexican stand-

off” situations in many of his films.
– Avoid the use of the “deus ex machina” in the climax of the action
film. This term is a translation of a Latin phrase “god from the
machine.” It refers to situations in Greek and/or Roman dramas
where a “god” character was lowered onto the stage by rudimentary
machinery to resolve a plot or save the hero from an impossible situ-
ation. In contemporary terms, it refers to the use of an improbable
character or unconvincing event used to resolve the plot. Example:
the hero, in the climax of the film, is up against great odds and his
success is in question. Suddenly someone or something (an angel or
powerful person or machine, weather or other element) appears to
“save the day” and/or “make things right.” In employing a deus ex
machina, the screenwriter is taking the outcome of the film story
out of his protagonist’s hands—and this will not be satisfying to the
audience. It is important for the screenwriter to find a way for his
protagonist to dig deep, find new resources within himself and tri-
umph (or not) in his own right.
The most important thing for the screenwriter to consider regarding

the action film genre is that action sequences move the plot or character
arcs along. Action sequences just for the sake of over-the-top (or pedestrian)
chases or explosions or races or battles—ones that do not contribute to the
movement of characters or plot—are not beneficial use of screen time. The
screenwriter interested in constructing an action film in the more serious
vein is tasked with creating three-dimensional characters that engage in
action as extension of personality—as well as in connection with the plot.
ADVENTURE
Terms to understand: goal, treasure, journey, quest, heist, mercenary, pirates,
conquistador
Why are audiences attracted to the adventure genre? The audience enjoys
living vicariously through a protagonist that is daring, determined and auda-
cious. The protagonist of an adventure genre narrative is often thrill-seeking
and brave and confident; audiences want to identify with inherent bravery
and strong belief in self.
A film narrative in the adventure genre features a character or characters
with objectives or goals that are initially out of reach and may even seem
impossible to attain. The protagonist must go on a journey to achieve his or
her goal. The goal can be considered a “treasure” (gold, land, artifacts or any
other object or entity that is of worth to the protagonist and others). The
word “treasure,” in its broadest definition, refers to something or somebody
of high value that can, possibly, affect great change in a life or in the world.
The adventure of finding or attaining the “treasure” is what makes for an
efficacious story in the adventure genre.
Many adventure films are constructed with the action film genre; they
are designed to provide exciting and energetic feats of physicality and often
death-defying elements. However, adventure films tend to avoid large-scale
violence; the focus is on the journey and the clever (or not) choices of the
protagonist when faced with (usually tremendous) obstacles. The protago-
nist is compelled to attempt to surmount all hindrances that stand in the
way of attaining “the treasure.”
Adventure films include stories of expeditions that set out to search
for lost continents, secrets of the jungle or desert, quests for lost artifacts
or persons. Many adventure films are set in a historical period, and may
include adapted stories of historical or literary adventure heroes such as
Robin Hood, Tarzan, the Knights of the Round Table, Peter Pan, the pirate
Jean Lafitte and more.
The adventure genre is often used with sci-fi, romance, disaster and war
genres. The adventure/action tandem genre, as mentioned, is a popular film
narrative choice.
Characters
Protagonists in the adventure genre often choose to enter the challenge of
the story. (This is in contrast with other genres such as thriller and pure
drama that often feature the “reluctant” hero.) Indiana Jones in Raiders of the
Lost Ark (1981) lobbies for financial backing so he can search for the Ark of
the Covenant. In Romancing the Stone (1984), romance novelist Joan Wilder
(Kathleen Turner) chooses to head to South America to try to locate her
errant sister. Despite her reluctance to leave her New York City apartment,
she plunges into the adventure and ends up obtaining a precious stone, fall-
ing in love—and finding her sister. In the National Treasure film series (2004,
2007), Benjamin Franklin Gates (Nicolas Cage) is a historian who cannot
turn his back on any challenge to find compelling historical objects before
they fall into the hands of those who do appreciate their true value. In Bill
and Ted’s Excellent Adventure (1989), Ted (Keanu Reeves) and Bill (Alex Win-
ter) are two very stupid (dumber-than-dumb) teenagers who choose to enter
a time machine in order to get material for their history class presentation
at school. In the classic adventure story The Wizard of Oz (1939), Dorothy is
accidentally pulled into a fantastical world—and presented with tasks that
could help her find her way home (her goal or treasure). She enters into
the adventure willingly; she follows the yellow brick road and heads off to
Oz to see the wizard (a very specific goal that is set within the larger goal).
Harry Potter in the Harry Potter film series (2001–2011) is on an adventure
to find out why he was “chosen” to take out Voldemort and help bring
peace and balance to his world and that of the people he loves. He must
overcome his fears, but he never shirks from his journey. The Lord of the
Rings series (2001, 2002, 2003) features Frodo Baggins (Elijah Wood); he
inherits a magical ring that the evil Lord Sauron desires so he can enslave
the people of Middle-earth. Frodo must journey to Mount Doom and toss
the ring into its volcanic fire to destroy it. Incredible challenges and obsta-
cles and an array of remarkable characters help and hinder Frodo on his
adventure—and though he may quake at some events, he stays the course.
The Hobbit films are also constructed as adventures—The Hobbit: An Unex-
pected Journey (2012) and The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug (2013) focus
on Bilbo Baggins (Martin Freeman) as he journeys to the Wizard Gandalf
on a quest to reclaim the lost Dwarf Kingdom of Erebor. Katniss Everdeen
(Jennifer Lawrence) in The Hunger Games (2012, 2013, 2014, 2015) chooses
to enter an adventure where physical and mental skills can mean survival
and the possibility to take down an unfair regime. Django (Jamie Foxx) in
Django Unchained (2012) chooses to journey to save his wife who has been
enslaved by a Mississippi plantation owner.
The adventure is a chance to think big and to really embrace the hero
story. Mythologist Joseph Campbell (1904–1987) in his book, The Hero With
a Thousand Faces (1949), elucidated the idea of the monomyth—the “hero’s
journey.” This is a single myth focusing on a “hero” that journeys into dan-
ger to secure “an elixir” or element that mankind needs for well-being and
FIGURE 12.3 Josh Hutcherson, Elizabeth Banks and Jennifer Lawrence in The Hunger
Games (2012)
longevity. Campbell asserts (after years of research) that this myth is prev-
alent in all cultures (thus the term monomyth). Film story analyst Chris
Vogler used Campbell’s work to create The Writer’s Journey: Mythic Structure
for Writers (2007), laying out steps to help the screenwriter use universally
accepted elements to construct the hero protagonist. The classic steps of the
hero’s journey, according to Vogler’s breakdown, include:
– setting up the ordinary world of the protagonist, a world that is
unsettled or unfit in some way;
– an event occurs that alerts the protagonist to the need for some sort
of action that will change or preserve the well-being of the commu-
nity or the world;
– the protagonist initially rejects the idea that he (or she) is the one
(sometimes the only one) that must take action to bring betterment
to the situation;
– the protagonist meets a mentor that will impart wisdom, training or
advice;
– the protagonist “crosses the threshold” and enters the fray and/or
challenge;
– the protagonist is tested, meets various beings (allies and nemeses)
along the journey and must decide who is to be trusted (or not);
– the protagonist forms a group with trusted allies;
– the protagonist faces his largest ordeal and faces his biggest fears—
and often faces possible death;
– the protagonist triumphs (momentarily) and gains possession of the
treasure;
– the protagonist is severely tested one more time and has to sacrifice
something of significance in order to continue on the journey;
– the protagonist learns the lesson he or she is meant to learn on the
journey and becomes a “new” or more evolved person;
– the protagonist finally returns “home” with the treasure and the
world is transformed in some significant way.9
Obstacles and Challenges Designed

as Mini-Stories Within the Narrative
As in the action genre, each obstacle and/or challenge in the adventure tale
is best approached as a mini-story (beginning, middle and an end that leads
to the next challenge). Stringing the action sequences and the adventure
sequences together in a cohesive manner is important; the screenwriter, in
most cases, will want the stakes to be continually on the rise.
Other Adventure Films

Adventure films featuring pirates (robbers at sea) include Pirates of the
Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl and its sequels, The Sea Hawk (1940),
Hook (1991), The Buccaneer (1958), The Muppets’ Treasure Island (1996) and
Treasure Planet (2002).
Films featuring mercenaries (those who enter combat for personal gain
and/or money) include Seven Samurai (1954) and its American interpretation
The Magnificent Seven (1963), The Professionals (1966), The Wild Geese (1978),
Ronin (1998), Rambo: First Blood (1982) and The Expendables (2010).
Films featuring adventurers in search of gold or diamonds or artifacts
include Treasure of the Sierra Madre (1948), King Solomon’s Mines (1937, 1950),
Lara Croft, Tomb Raider (2001) and Aguirre, the Wrath of God (1972).
Films featuring adventurers in search of passage or in search for new territo-
ries or of a loved one include The African Queen (1951), The Hobbit (2012, 2013),
Lord of the Rings (2001, 2002, 2003), Apollo 13 (1995) and Finding Nemo (2003).
Films that focus on the adventure of the heist (a well-planned robbery
of valuables such as diamonds, money, gold) include Oceans 11 (1960, 2001)
The Good, The Bad, The Weird (2008), Thief (1981), The Town (2010), A Fish
Called Wanda (1988), The Sting (1973) and Three Kings (1999).
Examples of adventure/action/coming-of-age films include Race to Witch
Mountain (2009), Treasure Island (1950), Peter Pan (1953), Hook (1991), The
Hunger Games (2012, 2013), Enders Game (2013), After Earth (2013), How to
Train Your Dragon (2010), Life of Pi (2012), The Princess Bride (1987), Back to
the Future (1985) and many more.
THE MENTAL SPACE OF ACTION

AND ADVENTURE
The screenwriter, in creating the mental space of action for the audience,
may employ schematic knowledge (framing) choices by setting up the
physical and active element at the outset of the narrative. As mentioned,
action sequences that do not introduce or illuminate character or stakes of
the narrative are not efficacious. Because the action genre is at its best as a
tandem genre, interior framing may be action sequences or setpieces that
cement the action component and lend excitement and “frame” the “story”
genre as well as the scenes featuring supporting genre elements. The final
framing of the action genre may be the climax—where the hero/anti-hero
digs deep and finds that he (or she) can execute/withstand/manipulate phys-
ical feats necessary to bring down the antagonist force.
The adventure genre can be used to frame the narrative in a similar
fashion. The difference may be in the type of adventure/action sequences
(less body count, less blood, less violence and more daring feats of courage,
bravery or failures (or successes) in the explorations and/or journey of the

character getting closer to (or further away from) his or her goal).
action genre include memories of physical experiences that raised the adren-
alin levels and caused a sense of exciting anxiety due to corporeal challenges.
The specific knowledge component of the adventure genre is similar to
that of the action genre in that the audience may recall memories of being
presented with the opportunity to enter into a challenge or quest that felt
insurmountable—but decided (or not) to enter the challenge (with trepida-
tion or not) and follow a quest for knowledge or treasure.
exact experience of the one presented in the narrative; however, they may be
able to relate the emotional journey to personal passages through life.
An example of how the adventure tale can be told in different ways,
depending on the screenwriter’s point of view or in relation to what is hap-
pening in the world (the use of the relevant knowledge component) is the
variation of storytelling concerning the actual 1789 mutiny on the British
ship the HMS Bounty:
– The first known film depicting the event was a 1916 Australian silent
film production titled The Mutiny of the Bounty. The world at the time
of production was in turmoil; the militarism, alliances, imperialism
and nationalism that led to World War I had begun to foment early
in 1914. This version of the story was most probably inspired by the
1831 book by British naval officer Sir John Barrow, The Eventful Journey
of the Mutiny and Practical Seizure of the HMS Bounty; Its Cause and Conse-
quences. The film was directed by Raymond Longford with a screenplay
by Raymond Longford and Lottie Lyell and described in a marketing
brochure as a “(story of) violent passion or murderous revenge or mas-
terful ascendancy, of unions begun of lust and ending in pure affec-
tion, of a community originating in crime and nurses in lawlessness,
giving to the world the one and only real example of a Golden Age.”
From this description of the film (no known copies of the film exist),
one may surmise that the overriding tandem genre is adventure/action
with supporting genres of romance and coming-of-age. As seen in the
exploration of the war films of the era (see Chapter 13), these support-
ing film genres would have appealed to audiences.
– Another Australian production, In the Wake of the Bounty (1933),
focused on the HMS Bounty mutiny. It was written and directed by
filmmaker Charles Chauval. In this adaptation, Errol Flynn por-

trays Fletcher Christian (one of his first film roles before his move
to Hollywood). The film quickly accomplishes the mutiny and then
focuses on the descendants of the mutineers and their peaceful lives
in 1933 on Pitcairn Island. The documentary mode was popular
with audiences of the time; they had learned of new continents
and countries due to World War I; audiences were fascinated with
new environs.10 The appeal of the film is supported by the fact that
in the early 1930s, journalists Charles Nordhoff and James Normal
Hall, American Squadron pilots in World War I, were asked by Harp-
er’s Magazine to write travel articles on the South Pacific. They trav-
eled to Tahiti and stayed for over twenty years. They wrote articles
and several books together, including a Bounty trilogy, The Mutiny
on the Bounty (1932), Men Against the Sea (1933) and Pitcairn Island
(1934).
– In 1935, MGM released Mutiny on the Bounty starring Clark Gable
and Charles Laughton. The film is constructed in the popular escap-
ist genre (popular during America’s Great Depression) of adventure/
action. It also includes strong social commentary; it was an indict-
ment of maritime law known for cruel and unjust practices prevalent
in the late 1700s and a not-so veiled commentary on British maritime
and military practices of the 1930s. Captain Bligh (Charles Laughton)
is cruel, sadistic and selfish from the start, a self-made man who is con-
temptuous of Fletcher Christian’s desire for fair and humane treatment
of the sailors. Bligh’s sole purpose is to further his own advancement.
This story’s components reflected on the times—the Great Depres-
sion in America—where the privileged and powerful did not suffer the
troubles and tragedies of the lower classes (think how it employs the
relevant knowledge component of the mental space of genre).
– In comparison, the 1962 version of Mutiny on the Bounty (written by
Charles Lederer) puts its focus more squarely on the tragic coming-
of-age genre (in line with other war films of the late 1960s) with
adventure/action working as a supporting genre. Fletcher Chris-
tian (Marlon Brando) is an elitist from a prominent British family;
however, he feels “one must do something” and so he embarks on
the voyage and accepts responsibility for the well-being of his crew.
Fletcher Christian is constructed as a good man because he’s an aristo-
crat and infused with the notion that it was his duty to “give back”.
This film was produced during the Kennedy presidency in America,
when the privileged were asked to participate in the well-being of the
entire country. The coming-of-age element in this film is constructed
with strong elements of tragedy for Christian loses his station, social
status and expected future when he leads the mutiny to benefit the
less fortunate sailors. He laments greatly the loss of his country and the
disgrace to his family—and the fact that he can never return home.11
– The Bounty (1984, written by Robert Bolt, based on a book by Richard
Hough) features Mel Gibson as Fletcher Christian and Anthony
Hopkins as Bligh. The overriding genre is adventure; the supporting
genres are tragedy, buddy and romance. “The film could hardly be
described as a stirring action/adventure; there is little action, other
than a storm sequence and a brief skirmish with some hostile natives,
and the adventure is as much psychological as physical” (Larman,
2002). This telling rehabilitates Captain Bligh’s reputation as an
excellent maritime leader and depicts Christian as a troubled and
complicated man whose social standing allows him to be focused on
debauchery, parties and silly gambling games. His place in British soci-
ety has not provided him with a strong patriotic backbone. He is defi-
nitely of the “me” generation, which was prevalent in America in the
1980s. Film critic Roger Ebert writes, “When Fletcher Christian leads a
mutiny against <Captain Bligh’s> command (in the 1984 The Bounty),
it is not seen simply as a revolt against cruel authority (as in the earlier
movies) but as a choice between a freer lifestyle, and Bligh’s placing of
duty above ordinary human nature. Only in the arms of the (Tahitian)
woman he (Christian) comes to love does he find the utter simplicity
that perhaps he was looking for when he went to sea” (Ebert, 1984).
Suggested Exercises: Action and Adventure
1. Consider and list what genres work well in tandem with the action
genre (keeping in mind that a strong story genre is, in most cases,
needed).
2. Choose an adventure/action film that is mentioned in this chap-

ter. What elements make up the ICM (idealized cognitive model)
of the film narrative? Consider the elements included or chosen
to help tell the story of the film—location, plot, characters, objec-
tives, themes and more importantly, film genre(s) and their inher-
ent characteristics.
a. What extraneous elements are not explored in the major char-

acters’ lives and/or in the social universe of the film? Or con-
versely, are there extraneous elements that do not contribute to
the strength of the narrative that could have been excised?
(Continued)
3. Many adventure/action films are designed as “tent-pole” films;

many are produced each year in Hollywood. Many are sequels or
are connected to a film series using the same characters. Many of
these now fall into the genre film category and fail to feel “new.”
a. Choose one of these films that now seem to fall into the “genre
film category” (mostly predictable).
b. Consider adding new or different supporting genres to add new
elements. List possibilities and choose two supporting genres.
Write a paragraph about how the addition of these genres might
enhance the film narrative.
4. Consider what kind of action might be used and/or be unique to

an original action or adventure/action narrative. Write a one-page
synopsis elucidating the adventure/action genre story line.
a. Consider the construction of the characters in this original narrative.
i. Do they possess certain action-hero skillsets or do they have

to learn new and active skills?
ii. How adept are the main characters in the action arena?
iii. What uber genre will be used? Comedy or drama?
NOTES
1 A sequence is a series of scenes that move the film story forward. The organi-
zation of these scenes may form a beginning, middle and end (thus making
an efficacious sequence). Each sequence should move the story or character arcs
forward.
2 The difference between “genre hybrid” and “genre tandem” is in the weight
of usage of the genre elements. In a “tandem genre” usage of each of the two
genres is of equal or near-equal weight and the “A” story cannot play out
without the use of both in a dominant fashion.
3 A setpiece is a scene or sequence of scenes that showcase heightened physical
or logistical maneuvers such as explosions, chases and battles. Setpieces may
be expensive to shoot, therefore pre-planning is often essential. The best
setpieces are integral to the film and help move the story forward.
4 In examining the top action films of the 1960s, one can find a parallel to the
diverse kinds of action films popular in the post-millennium years; films in
the initial decades of 2000 include adventure/action, sci-fi/action, sports/
action, disaster/action, war/action, crime/action and other tandem action
genres. The action genre, used in tandem with a story genre, clearly domi-
nates the commercial film output in the first decades of 2000s.
5 The film industry uses the term genre in two ways: “film genre” refers to the
type of story and “genre film” refers to imitative works of lesser quality and
little originality (see Chapter 1).
6 It should be noted that the main characters in the thriller/action film The
Girl With A Dragon Tattoo are not employed as official law enforcement per-
sonnel; one is a journalist and the other a tech-geek.
7 “Film genre” is the type of story, be it science fiction, horror, comedy, drama,
western or other specific family of story. “Genre film” is a film of lower artistic
value due to its unoriginality and close emulation of previous work (Altman,
1999: 20–24).
8 There is a 19th century story in Mexico that illustrates the Mexican Stand-off
very well. Two horse carriages going in the opposite direction entered a nar-
row street and met halfway through. Neither could move forward, and each
insisted that the other back his horse carriage up. Each sent servants for food
and water, and both stayed firm for several days, until the authorities made
both of them back up.
9 See also Batty (2010).
10 This film can be viewed on the internet at http://www.archive.org/details/
InTheWakeOfTheBounty.
11 This telling ends in Fletcher Christian’s death, although this is not supported
by historical data.
REFERENCES
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http://movies.yahoo.com/news/biggest-problems-plaguing-action-movie-
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Batty, Craig (2010) “The Physical and Emotional Threads of the Archetypal Hero’s
Journey: Proposing Common Terminology and Re-Examining the Narrative
Model.” Journal of Screenwriting, Volume 1, No. 2, pp. 291–308.
Bordwell, David (2000) Planet Hong Kong: Popular Cinema and the Art of Entertain-
ment, Harvard University Press, USA.
Bordwell, David (2007) “Anatomy of the Action Picture,” http://www.davidbor
dwell.net/essays/anatomy.php (accessed 2013).
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www.davidbordwell.net/blog/2013/06/18/david-koepp-making-the-world-
movie-sized/ ( June 18, accessed 2013).
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http://www.davidbordwell.net/blog/2013/07/02/lion-dancing-lau-kar-leung/
( July 2, accessed 2013).
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http://www.examiner.com/article/why-we-watch-super-hero-movies (May 11,
accessed 2013).
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of Blockbuster Screenwriting.” New York Magazine (August 12).
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Roderick Thorp), Director: John McTiernan, 20th Century Fox, USA.
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Ebert, Roger (1984) “The Bounty Film Review.” Chicago Sun Times/rogerebert.com
( January 1, accessed 2013).
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french-connection/ (February 16, accessed 2013).
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University Press, UK.
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rion Collection, Film Essays, July 16.
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USA.
Hitchcock, Alfred (1985) Hitchcock/Truffaut, Simon and Schuster, USA, p. 139.
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action-movie-went-kablooey.html?pagewanted=all (March 30, accessed 2013).
CHAPTER 13
Disaster and War
DISASTER
Terms to understand: natural, man-made, supernatural, doomsday, apocalypse
Disaster films focus on the challenges faced by characters under the pressure
of dealing with an impending or ongoing natural, man-made or supernatu-
ral large-scale destruction. These films may feature large or small casts of
characters; each character often has a story arc that plays out as the disaster
elements multiply. Events are constructed to break the stamina of all but the
strongest. In a disaster film an ordinary person has the opportunity to do
something extraordinary.
Why are audiences attracted to disaster films? Film analyst Carmen
Andres reflects on several theories, ranging from the simple observation that
mankind relishes the chance to imagine triumph over immense adversity
to the more cynical theory that disaster films are “pornography for our
masochistic subconscious.” A more complex idea is that people are attracted
to disaster films because of personal dissatisfaction with the world; they have
a longing to start over and therefore hope that a disaster will wipe out the
imperfect existence and the next world will be a utopia (Andres, 2009). Other
suggestions include the idea that the attraction to disaster films is a result of
mankind’s attempt to deal with current crises (such as wars, attacks, threats,
uncontrollable events) in a metaphorical form. In addition, due to the fact
that most disaster films include the demise of characters that an audience
has become attached to, the narratives may serve to cause the viewer to
reflect on who has (and who has not) earned the right to survive. Many
film analysts suggest films in the disaster genre are attractive to audiences
because they encourage the viewer to contemplate what actually matters in
life (Andres, 2009).
Owen Gleiberman, writing in Entertainment Weekly, suggests that most
disaster films are more “popcorn” fare than serious narratives. In reaction to
Roland Emmerich’s film 2012 (2009), he wrote:
I think I understand why that 2012 crowd was so beyond-punctual, so

primed and pumped. Disaster movies, even more than horror films,
259
260 DISASTER AND WAR
speak—if not shout, happily—to the child within us . . . they can turn
an entire audience of sober, responsible, thinking adults into overgrown
kids, sitting down to watch civilization get destroyed in much the same
way that a 6-year-old lines up his toys to eagerly smash them.
(Gleiberman, 2009)
Frank Pittman, psychiatrist and movie critic, notes that it takes plenty
of heroic virtues to ensure screen survival in a disaster film and that many
protagonists are constructed as characters that take risks and break rules. The
message that one cannot shirk from breaking norms (laws, social expecta-
tions) when faced with disastrous circumstances gets imprinted on our minds
through the film’s emotional manipulations. “Well-done disaster films are
like a drug. Danger—whether it’s real or on screen—pumps a lot of adrenaline
into our systems” (Pittman, 1998). Pittman also notes that humans, escaping
from danger, experience a rise in levels of testosterone; therefore an audi-
ence, identifying with the protagonist, may feel strong, brave, invincible and
cocky. Pittman points to this temporary rise in hormone levels as the reason
that the largest audience for disaster films is adolescent males.
Because of the multitude of theories concerning the audience’s attrac-
tion to the disaster genre, it seems evident that the type and tone of the
disaster screenplay will attract different viewers. If a screenwriter constructs
an emotionally realistic tale of relatable characters experiencing a plausible disas-
ter, a certain audience will be drawn to view the film. If the disaster film
focuses on over-the-top events (supernatural or not), a wholly different audience
will be attracted to the film. Therefore it is important for the screenwriter to
consider the specific knowledge component of film genre—understand the
profile of the intended audience so as to construct the elements of the spe-
cific disaster genre film in a knowledgeable way.
What is Not a Disaster Film?

A distinction should be made between a film that uses the disaster genre as
its overriding film genre and a narrative that may only feature scenes of chaos
and destruction. The focus of a classic disaster film must be on an ongo-
ing threat to survival. Characters must be facing a physical catastrophe or
calamity throughout the narrative. The major plot points (the set-up, the
inciting incident, the turning points in each act) should revolve around deci-
sions or actions concerning the approach or presence of a disaster. Many
films narratives in the crime, thriller, action or adventure genres (and oth-
ers) include scenes of massive destruction as a component of the narrative;
one might view explosions, bombings, demolitions, and other destructive
events (many of these events may be in the climax of the film). These scenes,
hopefully, add to the narrative—however, simply including scenes of great
DISASTER AND WAR 261
damage to environments, structures or vehicles does not move the film nar-
rative into the disaster genre column. A true disaster film is meant to explore
the possible obliteration or great ruin of a small or large world and its effect on the
people who inhabit that world.
Three Types of Disaster Films

Disaster films usually focus on disasters that fall into one of three categories:
– natural disasters;
– man-made disasters;
– supernatural disasters.
Natural Disasters
Films featuring natural disasters promote the idea that mankind cannot
control all elements of life. Films focused on natural disasters also examine
man’s innate desire for survival (in most disaster films not every character sur-
vives). Pittman notes: “A disaster movie is about demonstrating the character
traits that will keep us safe . . . we have to see good people get killed in order
to remind ourselves that goodness alone won’t protect us” (Pittman, 1998).
These films tend to be explorations of resourcefulness, pluck, stamina, team-
work and, in most cases, explore the strengths and weaknesses of relation-
ships. Natural disasters include:
– floods;
– tsunamis;
– avalanches;
– earthquakes;
– volcanoes;
– tornadoes;
– hurricanes;
– climate anomalies;
– meteors/asteroids;
– geological disturbances.
Man-Made Disasters
Most films that explore man-made disasters take a dark and somewhat cyni-
cal approach. They often point to man’s ineptness, greed, need for power
or other base element of human nature that results in a disregard for the
environment or life. The antagonist—or antagonistic force (such as a com-

pany, a government or social class)—has, in most cases, self-serving reasons
for creating (or ignoring) disastrous possibilities. Man-made disaster films
tend to be cautionary tales or morality tales about man’s need to take care
of the environment, and they contain the message that less than respon-
sible actions may cause the world to become uninhabitable. These disasters
include:
– chemical;
– nuclear;
– technology;
– man-made epidemics/pandemics;
– bad planning or mismanagement:
ο mining disasters;
ο manufacturing plant disasters;
ο transportation disasters;
ο health industry disasters.
Supernatural
The sci-fi and fantasy genres are often well-paired with the disaster genre.
Apocalyptic narratives featuring destructive monsters compelled to destroy
the world have been prevalent since the 1940s (post World War II). Narra-
tives concerning aggressive alien forces attacking Earth for its resources (or
just because they can) are also fodder for a successful disaster film narrative.
Narratives featuring supernatural beings such as Thor, Superman and the
Terminator saving Earth from havoc have proven attractive to audiences.
(See Chapter 8: Science Fiction, and Chapter 9: Fantasy.) Events in these nar-
ratives include:
– supernatural events:
ο caused by supernatural creatures (aliens, monsters and other
creatures);
ο caused by supernatural environmental occurrences.
The disaster genre, historically, has enjoyed popularity and many films
have done extraordinarily well at the box office. One of the reasons for this is
that disaster films are easy to export. In most cases the stories are simple, the
intricacies of characters and relationships are kept iconic and easy to under-
stand. Visual storytelling is dominant. Few subtitles are needed for overseas
distribution and themes and motives are, mainly, centered on a very relat-
able commonality: a desire for survival.
German screenwriter, director and producer Roland Emmerich has

focused much of his efforts on disaster films. These include: Independence Day
(1996); the narrative focuses on aliens that have come to Earth to destroy
all its inhabitants and Godzilla (1998, inspired by the 1954 Japanese film
Gojira), which features a huge monster about to destroy New York City. In
The Day After Tomorrow (2004), a climactic change has befallen the world
and an international storm is about to plunge it into an ice age, threatening
all human existence. The film 2012 (2009) focuses on global catastrophes;
the earth’s core is heating at an unprecedented rate, volcanoes are erupt-
ing, earthquakes are shaking the world, the very crust of the earth is now
unstable and mankind is about to become annihilated. Emmerich believes
disaster films give audiences a sense of relief: “They are somewhat cathartic.
You see all this destruction and everything, but at the end the right people
save the day” (Brook, 2013).

One of the first produced disaster films was Fire! (1901), a British film by
James Williamson that runs for nearly five minutes. True to its title, the focus
of the film concerns the disastrous events in a house consumed by fire, the
plight of the home’s inhabitants and the heroics (some tragic) of the firemen
who risk their lives to control the devastation. American Edwin S. Porter,
working for the Thomas Edison Company, wrote and directed The American
Fireman in 1903. A woman and her child are trapped in a burning apartment
building and firemen rush to the rescue. The first film to portray the April 15,
1912 sinking of the Titanic was the German film In Nacht und Eis (In Night
and Ice); it was released in the same year, 1912. The thirty-five minute film
began shooting in Hamburg and Berlin in the summer after the tragedy and
was quickly released. Other early disaster films illuminated legendary trag-
edies from the Bible as well as fictional disasters, such as The Deluge (1933), a
film featuring tidal waves destroying New York City. A disaster/history film,
The Last Days of Pompeii (1935), focuses on the volcanic eruption of Mount
Vesuvius in Italy in 79 CE; this disaster buried the city of Pompeii.
After World War II, sci-fi/fantasy/disaster films became popular and
focused on possible devastations due to atomic warfare. Many of the films
feature narratives about man’s misguided actions and even suggest that man
is setting himself as his own destroyer. As noted in the sci-fi and fantasy
chapters, many of these films feature monstrous creatures created by a radio-
active atmosphere. More serious films of the era that explore the disastrous
effects of atomic warfare include On The Beach (1959) and the melodrama/
disaster film Fail-Safe (1964).
Steve Neale, in his book Genre and Contemporary Hollywood, notes that
the studios in the 1970s stepped up their interest in blockbuster hits (Neale,
2002: 165). This was partly due to the growing popularity of the indepen-
dent, more character-exploration films of the late 1960s. The studios wanted
to forge their own unique territory and went after creating “tentpole”1
films. They were willing to pay the high production costs to give audiences
a movie-going experience that the more intimate films could not. Disas-
ter films became a staple; they typically featured large casts and multiple
storylines and focused on the protagonists’ attempts to avert, escape, or
cope with disaster. The era’s first success is the Academy Award nominated
man-made disaster/drama Airport (1970, based on a novel by Arthur Hailey
and adapted for the screen by Hailey and George Seaton). It takes place at
a fictional airport in Chicago; the head of operations (Burt Lancaster) is
trying to keep the airport open during a tremendous blizzard to allow a
Boeing 77 passenger plane to land. The plane carries a down-on-his-luck
suicidal bomber, D.O. Guerrero (Van Heflin); he intends to blow up the pas-
senger plane in the air so that his wife (portrayed by Maureen Stapleton)
can receive his life insurance money. The tense situation plays out while
relationships are strained, love affairs are tested and personal dramas erupt
among the large cast of characters. The success of Airport ushered in other
disaster films—most featuring large casts of big name stars (some who had
reached their height in popularity in previous decades). Intertwining, sen-
timental relationship-based plots and antagonists who put pride and profit
above concern for human life were staples in these stories. Most of the films
made huge profits for the studios and some received critical acclaim, includ-
ing The Poseidon Adventure (1972), a natural disaster narrative focused on an
aged luxury ocean liner traveling from New York City to Athens, Greece.
The ship is overturned by a tsunami caused by an underground earthquake.
Surviving passengers are trapped and struggle for survival and, unfortu-
nately, the bravest are not always the ones to survive. (The Poseidon Adven-
ture was remade in 2006.) The Towering Inferno (1974, adapted by Stirling
Silliphant) was nominated for the Academy of Motion Pictures’ Best Picture
Award. The man-made disaster story follows architect Doug Roberts (Paul
Newman), the proud designer of the world’s tallest building in San Fran-
cisco. At the building’s dedication ceremony, there is an electrical fire on
the 81st floor (caused by cost-cutting decisions by the building’s electrical
engineer, Simmons (Richard Chamberlain)). Firefighters and building per-
sonnel are overwhelmed and trapped in the blaze and all methods of rescue
are thwarted. The film explores the hubris of several characters and their
disregard for life in the name of progress and/or greed. Another box office
success was Earthquake (1974); it features a narrative about a catastrophic
earthquake that hits Los Angeles. The film used new sound effects technol-
ogy called “Sensurround” to enhance the audience’s experience; it consisted
of giant speakers rumbling in ominous woofer frequencies so loud that the
whole theater was supposed to shake (Gleiberman, 2009).
The disaster genre probably found its purest—if junkiest—expression in

Earthquake, in which the spectacle of Los Angeles, the city of the future,
crumbling into rubble was really a vision of the American future itself
laid to waste.
(Gleiberman, 2009)
By the late 1970s, disaster films had reached their peak and theater
attendance for this genre began to diminish. Films like The Swarm (1978)
and Meteor (1979) did not perform well. In 1980, the lampoon Airplane! was
released; it spoofed the disaster film craze and enjoyed good profits—and
thwarted the serious disaster film narrative. It was nearly a decade and a half
before disaster films returned with a vengeance.
However, despite the lack of huge disaster blockbusters in the 1980s, there
are a few worth mentioning. Danish filmmaker Lars Von Trier’s Epidemic (1987)
focuses (possibly in reaction to the HIV/AIDS crisis) on a screenwriter and a
director writing a screenplay about a pandemic; they eventually come to realize
there is a real viral threat just outside their door. Virus (1980, written by Kinji
Fukasaku, Koji Takada and Gregory Knapp, based on a book by Sakyo Komatsu)
is a Japanese film about a virus that is wiping out mankind. It is discovered that
its threat diminishes at below freezing temperatures, thus there are people still
untainted by the virus living in the Antarctic. A Soviet submarine approaches
the Antarctica station; it is suggested that the crew may carry the virus and so
are refused portage. Just then an earthquake hits, creating the possibility that
the United States’ Automated Reaction System (ARS) will be triggered and cause
nuclear missiles to be launched. ARS must be shut down and the brave set out
to do it—facing death and destruction from various sources.
The screenwriter, in considering the construction of a fictional disaster film,
may want to note the progression of the disaster in Virus—the various and mul-
tiple turns the narratives takes and the importance of consistently rising stakes:
– A virus is discovered.
– Mankind is threatened with annihilation.
– Huge death toll.
– A slim chance of hope; freezing temperatures cause the virus’ virility
to stall.
– Two groups of survivors are at odds, each wanting to sustain life.
– And then, in a plot twist, a physical disaster (in this case an earthquake)
is introduced, putting both of the surviving groups in more danger.
– The physical disaster triggers yet another possible cataclysmic
disaster—nuclear missiles may now be unleashed.
– The two groups must work together to bring about any kind of salva-
tion for mankind.
The disaster genre, in the 1990s, gained new popularity when advanced
special effects technology could augment scenes of stunning disaster. Twister
(1996, written by Michael Crichton and Anne-Marie Martin), featuring
large-scale destruction by a tornado, caught the audience’s imagination and
garnered large box office returns. In 1997, James Cameron’s Titanic hit the
theaters—“a spectacular marriage of technology and passion, special effects
and romance” (Neale, 2002: 166)—and became one of the highest grossing
films of all time. Classic disaster tropes were used—a large cast of “stars”
each playing characters with unique storylines (sometimes overlapping)
as well as each character possessing particular reasons to survive. Dante’s
Peak (1997) and Volcano (1997), due to grand special effects, also caught
the attention of moviegoers. Deep Impact (1998, written by Bruce Jay Rubin
and Michael Tolkin) features a teenage boy who is an amateur astronomer;
he notices something in the heavens that turns out to be a comet plum-
meting towards Earth. The collision of comet and Earth will surely cause
mass extinction. The United States and Russia team up to order a secretly-
built, already-orbiting spacecraft—the Messiah—to land on the comet, plant
nuclear bombs beneath its surface and destroy the comet and its trajectory.
The plan works only partially, and sections of the comet are still expected to
hit Earth. Martial law is put into action. A lottery is executed; this determines
who will be among those given the best chance of survival (only 80,000 will
fit in the limestone caves of Missouri). This selection process creates more
havoc. Things continue to get worse, parts of the comet land in the Atlantic
Ocean and create a huge tsunami that destroys parts of America, Europe and
Canada. In the last moments before annihilation, the crew of the Messiah
finds a way to save the day, and despite knowing that they will be sacrific-
ing their own lives, the crew destroys the last section of the comet before it
can hit Earth. Deep Impact also starts small and the stakes consistently rise to
cause moral, emotional and ethical strengths and weaknesses to surface in
the main characters.
It is important for the screenwriter to note that many successful fictional
disaster films gain in intensity as the story progresses—in most cases, this is
done by adding new disastrous elements that play out in devastating ways.
The constant addition of destructive problems in the film Deep Impact keeps
the audience on the edge of their seats:
– A comet is approaching Earth.

– Calculations predict the two will collide and cause massive destruc-
tion or possible annihilation to all on Earth.
– Rival forces (American and Russian) must overcome differences and
work together; a team in an orbiting spacecraft is put together.
– The spacecraft team begins a dangerous mission to avert the disaster.
– Meanwhile, humankind is creating its own emotional and psycho-

logical devastation on Earth, with pitting people against each other
by introducing the lottery system.
– The spacecraft team succeeds in blowing up the comet, but the deed
does not have the results that are expected.
– A part of the comet hits Earth and creates a tsunami; huge popula-
tions are destroyed.
– The spacecraft team gathers their intellectual, emotional and physi-
cal skills to face their own destruction—in order to save a sliver of
mankind.
Large cast disaster films continue to be popular. Contagion (2011, writ-

ten by Scott Burns) looks at the disaster caused by a pandemic; a virus is
passed by touch and contact with contaminated objects (fomites) and affects
the central nervous system. Victims quickly die as they fight multiple, over-
whelming and fatal seizures. Mankind panics. In classic disaster genre form,
this film features a large cast of “bankable stars” (Matt Damon, Gwyneth
Paltrow, Kate Winslet and more); each deals with the disaster and its conse-
quences in various ways. The government investigates, concerned that this
virus may be a bioweapon. In the end it is revealed that unsanitary farming
practices are to blame.
Disaster and Drama . . . and Melodrama

Disaster films are often constructed under the uber-genre drama umbrella.
The everyman (a staple in the drama genre) is pitted against great odds and
is not, at the outset of the story, well suited for the challenges to come.
Employing the everyman in a disaster film may be beneficial for it allows the
audience to identify with and more readily engage in the problems of the
protagonist(s).
Many of the large cast disaster films will also use elements of melodrama
in the construction of the characters and their individual needs and neu-
roses. There are everyman characters with everyday problems, such as wor-
ries about relationships, worries about work or children or parents or other
“ordinary” challenges. These “small” problems have become all consuming,
causing characters to not function in an optimal manner—therefore they
are not even as ready as they normally would be to face a disaster. As noted
in the section on melodrama, the melodrama genre focuses on characters
oppressed by society’s smallness or inability to understand them. The fam-
ily (or office group or other core relational group) is dysfunctional and petty
jealousies and hurts fester. Romances are complicated, neuroses are rampant
and “doing the right thing” becomes, sometimes, a murky endeavor.
By populating a large-cast disaster film with characters whose lives are

“ordinary” and who are worried about “petty” problems, the screenwriter is
able to contrast everyday concerns with the “big” concern: survival of self and
survival of loved ones. There is usually the “nay-sayer”—an antagonist who,
no matter how kind or well-meaning or evil or mean, does not want to com-
mit to actions that might stave off the disaster. The antagonist does not want
risk, or does not believe there is a problem, or is trying to hide the problem
because of pride or greed or any number of very human and understandable
traits. Adding elements of the melodrama genre in disaster films may help in
the construction of disparate characters that will have very human, very real
concerns exacerbated by the disaster. Characters, now facing possible death,
experience revelations about their lives, their choices and their deep feelings.
Disaster films that feature large casts also give each audience member
the chance to identify with a specific character. Each audience member is
able to contemplate what, if put in a similar situation, would be his or her
reaction and ask the relevant questions: Would I cave? Would I be a hero?
What choices would I make?
The most heroic character in a disaster film may not be an ultimate
survivor.
<Their> desire to save others is what seems to propel them (the most
heroic) through all situations. This may even cause them to sacrifice them-
selves at the climax so that the others may survive, as Gene Hackman’s
vicar character does in The Poseidon Adventure. They are the kind of char-
acters who make us feel good about mankind and reassure us that despite
all the difficulties that we may have to face in the world today, we shall
always overcome.
( James, quoted in Andres, 2009)
Jack Dawson (Leonardo DiCaprio), an everyman with hopes of making

a new life for himself in America, does not survive in Titanic (1997); he sac-
rifices himself for the woman he loves. Harry (Bruce Willis) sacrifices himself
for his future son-in-law A.J. in Armageddon (1998) when he stays behind to
detonate the bomb that will save mankind. In 28 Days Later (2002), Frank
(Brendan Gleeson) shows bravery while trying to avert the viral disaster, but
he does not survive. In The Book of Eli (2010), Eli (Denzel Washington) finally
dies of his gunshot wound while reciting the Bible so that others can write
down its stories for future generations.
Doomsday: The Apocalypse

Apocalyptic films quickly became a subgenre of the disaster film. The term
apocalypse initially referred to “an unveiling of information” or the disclo-
sure of hidden information. The meaning morphed through the years to
refer to the revelations brought about by the ending of the world. Many con-
temporary definitions point to the word referring to the “end of the world
as we know it.”
The screenwriter is advised to decide what kind of apocalyptic film she
may be writing. Various types include:
– A near-annihilation of mankind; it is ultimately prevented but causes

a significant revelation regarding how mankind needs to conduct
itself from that moment on.
– Total annihilation of the world “as we know it” (note that this gives
room for one or more survivors; the “as we know it” is the operative
idea).
The disaster films Armageddon and Deep Impact belong to the first defini-
tion because, although earth and/or mankind are threatened and survival
hangs on a thread, at the conclusion of the film, humanity “as we know it”
has managed to avoid destruction.
Mary Shelley’s 19th century novel The Last Man (1826) is often
mentioned as one of the first apocalyptic fictions; the story features a world
that is ravaged by plague. The first film to deal with an apocalypse is likely
the 1916 Danish film The End of the World. The story revolves around a comet
passing near Earth that causes a series of natural disasters and thus initiates
social conflicts. The idea for this film may have been inspired by the passing
of Halley’s Comet in 1910 and the brewing of World War I in Europe.2
The War of the Worlds (1953) is an adaptation of the 1895 H.G. Wells
novel. Paramount Pictures had bought the film rights to the novel and offered
it to Russian Sergei Eisenstein to direct; this collaboration never happened
(Mille, accessed 2013). The project was then offered to Cecil B. DeMille, but
the film was never put into production. It was finally adapted by Barré Lyndon
and directed by George Pal in 1953. The adaptation changes the Victorian
England locale to Southern California and falls into the apocalyptic “near-
annihilation” category. An alien spacecraft crashes into a field near a small
town and a Pacific Tech scientist (Gene Barry) arrives to investigate. Hideous-
looking Martians show themselves and attack. It looks like devastation is a
sure thing. However, in a surprising turn of events, the Martians are defeated
because they are mortally vulnerable to Earth’s bacterial germs. H.G. Wells, in
his novel, noted these germs were “the humblest things that God in his Wis-
dom has put on earth.” War of the Worlds (2005, adapted by Josh Friedman and
David Koepp) is another adaptation of the H.G. Wells novel. Humans battle
an army of extra-terrestrials who have invaded earth. The aliens have highly
advanced weaponry and impenetrable shields. Mankind is helpless against
them. All attempt to flee—but nowhere is safe. Everyone must contemplate
the end of their lives and what is most important to them. Miraculously, the
aliens begin to die because they are defenseless against a disease-carrying

bacteria to which humans have become immune. Films produced in recent
years include the cautionary tale World War Z (2013); the story focuses on
the city of Philadelphia devastated by aggressive and violent zombies. These
zombies have been created, in part, by overpopulation and mismanagement
of resources. Pacific Rim (2013) features creatures that rise from the deep ocean
because they are no longer content to allow mankind to rule the world.
Film analyst Tom Brook, writing in BBC Culture, suggests that recent
Hollywood apocalyptic fare is preying on the audience’s post 9/11 anxieties.
Brook notes the growing prevalence of disaster films as conflicts in the
Middle East play out and uncertainty surrounds who may have access to
nuclear weaponry (Brook, 2013).
Post-Apocalypse
Post-apocalyptic films, another subgenre of the disaster genre, are set in
worlds or civilizations after a large-scale disaster. The narrative may take
place immediately after the catastrophe or at a later time. This subgenre is an
interesting one to look at because it is the post-disaster that is being exam-
ined: How did mankind fare? What are the environmental, psychological
problems and social structures that have grown out of the destruction of the
“world that was”? Does one disaster breed more disaster?
A Boy and his Dog (1975, based on a story by Harlan Ellison), is a post-
apocalyptic, tragic tale. Vic, age 18 (Don Johnson), has lost his parents and
has never formed a sense of humanity. There is little left of the world. His
dog, Blood, has garnered some telepathic intelligence and is in search of a
promised land, but Vic concentrates on fulfilling personal urges for sex and
food. Vic eventually meets teenage Quilla (Susanne Benton); he saves her
from mutants and they become sexual partners. Quilla lures him into the
“Downunder” society and Vic, wanting more sex and food, does not fol-
low Blood’s advice to stay on the surface. While in the Downunder, Vic is
betrayed by Quilla and becomes “the stud”; his sperm is used to impregnate
women so the population can grow. Quilla runs afoul of the government,
and Vic and she escape to the surface where Vic finds Blood near death due
to starvation. Vic decides to kill Quilla and feed her to Blood so that “boy
and dog” can continue together.
Another post-apocalyptic film is The Book of Eli (2010). It examines a
man’s search/hope for peace in the wasteland of America after the “Last
Great War” brought on by the “Flash” that has annihilated much of the Earth.
The man, Eli (Denzel Washington), comes upon various characters that use
innocuous and random items for bartering purposes. A cruel town’s leader
(Gary Oldman) is looking for the “book.” When it is discovered that Eli is in
possession of this special book (the Bible), there is a struggle. Eli knows that
the book should not be in the hands of the town’s leader. Eli’s journey con-
tinues; he shares the knowledge gained from the book with the deserving. Eli
(like Christ) eventually sacrifices himself for mankind.
In The Flesh and the Devil (1959, written by Ranald MacDougall), Ralph
Burton (African-American Harry Belafonte) is a coal mine inspector trapped
in a mine in Pennsylvania. When he digs his way out, he finds a deserted
world. He encounters no other humans until he makes his way to New York
City. There he meets Sarah (Caucasian Inger Stevens). They connect, but
there are deep-set racial prejudices and they do not act on their attraction.
Another survivor, Thacker (Caucasian Mel Ferrer), finds them. He sees Ralph
as a rival for Sarah’s affections and the two men nearly kill each other.
Finally, when passing the United Nations building, a truce is formed—and
the three hold hands and decide to band together for the uncertain future.
Instead of “The End” appearing on screen at the conclusion, the words “The
Beginning” appear.
Other films in the post-apocalyptic subgenre include World Without End
(1956), The Omega Man (1971), Resident Evil: Afterlife (2010), The Postman
(1997), Dawn of the Dead (1978), A.I. (2001) and The Aftermath (1982).
The Supernatural and the Disaster Film

The disaster genre has often been paired well with the fantasy and sci-fi
genres. Narratives featuring superheroes such as Superman, Iron Man, Cap-
tain America and others have saved the world from total destruction. In
recent years these films have become special-effects heavy and character-arc
light (due to the fact that they are constructed in a serial fashion with pro-
ducers hoping for sequels in a strong franchise). Director and screenwriter
Steven Soderbergh, in an interview with film critic Joe Queenan, noted that
in his estimation these films have been sucking the life out of motion pic-
tures, diverting virtually all of the industry’s resources into insanely expen-
sive “tentpole” films (Queenan, 2013).
The Solo Disaster Films

Cast Away (2000, written by William Broyles Jr.) is the story of Chuck Noland
(Tom Hanks); he is a passenger on a Fed Ex plane that crashes and he must
survive on a deserted island. In Gravity (2013, written by Alfonso Cuaron and
Jonas Cuaron), Dr. Ryan Stone (Sandra Bullock) is performing a routine space-
walk check of the space shuttle when debris hits the shuttle. She is separated
from her partner and must use her wits and skills to reach another shuttle
and get back to Earth. All Is Lost (2013, written by J.C. Chandor) is about a
man (Robert Redford) struggling for survival on his damaged sailboat in the
middle of the Indian Ocean. Life of Pi (2012, written by David Magee, based
on a novel by Yann Martel) focuses on the journey of Pi (Suraj Sharma); his

family has decided to move from India to Canada. A storm destroys the ship
they are traveling on and Pi is left on a raft—with a Bengal tiger—to survive.
The post-millennium prevalence of the solo disaster film speaks to mankind’s
sense of aloneness in the middle of a global community, mistrust of govern-
ment and others’ personal ambitions (or greed, drive for power, or lack of
humanity) and the desire to believe that through personal actions, he or she
can overcome great odds, withstand challenges and take care of self.
Disaster Films Based on Actual Events

Made-for-television movies in America have been, historically, the venue to
relay the circumstances of recent true-life disaster sagas. However, post mil-
lennium, studios seem to be more willing to bring these stories quickly to
the screen. The Perfect Storm (2000), based on actual events in 1991, featured
a small cast and a non-global disaster; a swordfishing boat is in the water off
Massachusetts and finds itself in the middle of two powerful weather fronts
and a hurricane. Huge waves capsize the boat and no one survives. Two films
examined the lives of people in direct contact with the 9/11 terrorist attacks
on the United States in 2001: World Trade Center (2006) and United 93 (2006)
were developed soon after the tragedy. The Impossible (2012), produced by a
multinational group of producers, is the story of a tourist family from Spain
vacationing in Thailand; they were caught in the destruction and chaotic
aftermath of the 2004 Indian Ocean tsunami. Some of these films have gar-
nered an audience; others have not. The time to research and reflect is often
important to garner a strong authorial point of view so as to provide the
audience a personal perspective. The screenwriter, in pursuing the rights to a
FIGURE 13.1 Tom Holland and Naomi Watts in The Impossible (2012)
true-life disaster, must obtain information and permission from many sources;
truth and transparency are often high on the list of necessary elements.
Black Comedy/Disaster Films

“Black humor” examines taboo topics in a cynical, skeptical and often over-
the-top manner and sets out to cause the audience to experience amusement
and discomfort simultaneously. Black comedy does not shirk from finding
the bizarre and sometimes very honest human reactions to the darker ele-
ments of life, including selfishness, neurosis, murder and sexual perversion;
it focuses on hideous behavior without guilt or self-awareness. This Is The
End (2013) is a black comedy featuring actors James Franco, Seth Rogen and
Jonah Hill portraying fictional versions of themselves (as super-selfish, super-
neurotic, super-self-centered) during an apocalypse. The World’s End (2013)
has three friends discover an alien invasion during a marathon pub crawl;
they are super-self-centered and super-stupid. Dr. Strangelove or: How I Stopped
Worrying and Love the Bomb (1964, adapted from Peter George’s novel Red
Alert by Stanley Kubrick and Terry Southern) centers on the personalities of
those in power during the Cold War and the premise that the preservation of
life on Earth may be in the hands of lunatics. The big question of the film is:
what if the ability to give the order to send off nuclear missiles of destruction
is in the hands of unbalanced leaders? Other black comedy/disaster films
include The Bed Sitting Room (1969) and Zombieland (2009). (See Chapter 4:
The Uber Genes for more on black comedy.)
Common Hybrids
Over-the-top, special-effects heavy disaster films are often paired with sci-fi or
horror or fantasy (or a combination of the three speculative genres) and/or
action. These often have fantastical components and the disasters tend to
be removed from relatable reality. Disaster/dramas and disaster/melodramas
also form common hybrids and tend to be constructed closer to reality. The
buddy, romance and war genres also serve as efficacious supporting genres
to the disaster genre.
The Mental Space of Disaster

The screenwriter, in creating the mental space of the disaster genre for the
audience, may employ schematic knowledge (framing) choices by setting
up the “normal life” of the situation and characters while also setting up the
threat of the impending or current disaster. By employing both of these ele-
ments, tension will begin to grow. As many disaster films (based in real, relat-
able circumstances) feature the everyman or everywoman, the everyday tasks,
everyday family situations, everyday jobs and other everyday situations are
important to set up. In Olympus Has Fallen (2013), the “everyday” life of the
President of the United States (his domestic life with his beloved wife and
son and his friendship with the head of his security detail (Gerard Butler)) is
established. Within minutes of screen time, a natural disaster occurs and his
wife is killed. This sets the audience up for the physical and emotional devas-
tation that will occur when rogue Korean forces storm the White House. Even
in the sci-fi and/or fantasy genres, the audience needs to identify with the
main characters, therefore setting up relatable circumstances is important.
Interior framing can be used to continuously raise the stakes of the disaster.
The addition of components and/or complications regarding the outcome of
the disaster is advisable for it is important to keep anxiety and tension high.
What is most important to remember is that if the disaster genre is the over-
riding genre, the thrust of the plot, its turning points and conflicts should
emanate from complications regarding the impending or actual devastation
taking place. As a final framing of the disaster, it is important to make clear
the changes in the environment and/or characters; the disaster must have
an effect on the world.
disaster genre include the “what if I was in that situation” question that
comes with identifying with one of the main characters facing a catastrophic
event. Therefore, employment of the everyman/relatable character in the
screenplay is of importance. The fear factor, building anxiety and excitement
through knowledge of impending/current danger—as well as the danger
itself—is also of great importance. Knowledgeable construction and move-
ment of character relationships is also important, for audiences are reminded
of what there is to lose in disasters—family, loved ones, homes and way of
life. Film analyst Alby James notes:
These are films that remind us of the meaning of life, the people we
most care about and who makes us really happy. When you stare death
in the face like this, you know who really matters to you and what you
must do. The best of these films do all this.
( James, quoted in Andres, 2009)
Relatable events (even in the sci-fi and fantasy hybrids) trigger the audience in
understanding the characters’ desires and dreams. The more “real” the char-
acters, the stronger the specific knowledge component of the audience can be
engaged.
<Filmmaker and scholar> Wheeler Winston Dixon sees today’s disaster

movies as getting America into a state of readiness: I think they’re sort
of preparing us for something that’s going to happen in the future . . .
Which I certainly hope does not happen.
(Brook, 2013)
exact experience of the one presented in the narrative, but may be able to
relate the emotional journey to personal passages through life.
WAR
Terms to understand: hostilities, world order, pro-war, anti-war, enmity, police

action, warrior
Narratives exploring wars, past and present and future, have existed since
the earliest years of cinema in all nations, stretching from tales of battles
on the soils of Europe, Asia, India, Australia, Russia, the Americas and Indo-
china. Continuing wars of the 20th and 21st centuries have provided rich
material for filmmakers. Battles of ancient conquerors from a wide array of
nations and dynasties and imagined, futuristic wars are also popular narra-
tive material. However, more than any other genre, the reception3 of the war
genre may vary from one individual audience member to another and the
reception may change from era to era as politics and worldviews change.
The actual term “war” relates to an official governmental declaration of
explicit hostile action. Elements of the war genre can also be utilized when
constructing narratives in police actions (a military action without declara-
tion of war taken against those in violation of peace and order), coup d’états
(the overthrow of a government, often by insider forces) and societal con-
flicts such as gang warfare. Films in the war genre focus on the reasons, the
techniques, the conflicts and the obstacles of combat as well as the presence
and/or aftermath of hostile relations between countries, states or factions of
people. Stories explored in war films include those focusing on combat, tales
of gallant (or not) sacrifice and struggle, studies of the futility and inhuman-
ity of battle. War films also explore the effects of on going war on society and
the moral and human issues engendered by violent conflicts. Narratives in
the war/history hybrid can be presented from many perspectives—from the
victors’ points of view or the points of view of the vanquished.
There could be an argument that “war” has been part of human nature
since the beginning of time. The statement “humans are, by nature, timelessly
belligerent creatures and it is because of this belligerence that they go to war”
(Dewey, 1957) perhaps over-simplifies the human persona; however, there are
very few instances where peace has reigned in all nations simultaneously. The
impulses at play when the decision is made to go to war are clearly different
today than they were two thousand years ago but wars continue to be waged.
The screenwriter has the ability to focus the story in the war genre in
many ways—feature characters in the military (decision-makers or foot-
soldiers) or concentrate on the everyman or “every family” not directly
involved in the physical conflict but greatly affected by the war machine.
The Warrior
Films in the war genre often focus on the warrior. The warrior is a character
defined by battle and/or through battle. It is important for the screenwriter,
when constructing the protagonist in the war genre, to consider the per-
sonality and the choices of the character in relation to “life as a battle.”
The protagonist may be reluctant to enter the fray; however, once pre-
sented with the situation of war, the characters’ actions must be shaped
by the need to prove valiance and/or skill and/or desire for survival and/
or dominion.
Young boys in Sparta, a prominent city-state in ancient Greece, as early
as the 6th century BCE, were conscripted into military training at age seven.
They entered military combats at age eighteen and were expected to be
available to serve until the age of sixty (Sekunda, 1998: 21). Alexander the
Great (356–323 BCE) was trained as a soldier and, according to many histo-
rians, was expected to outdo his father, Philip II of Macedon, in aggressive
nation building. Alexander set out to prove his prowess and—as a personal
challenge—to unite the western nation of Greece and the eastern “bar-
barian” nations. Multiple films focus on Alexander the Great including
Alexander (2004) and Alexander the Great (1956). Tales of Spartan warriors
include 300 (2006) and 300: Rise of the Empire (2014)—both based on Frank
Miller’s graphic novels—and the lampoon Meet the Spartans (2008). The
Vikings (also known as Norsemen) included among their populace seafar-
ing northern Germanic warriors; they raided, conquered and colonized
various populaces in Northern Europe for nearly 300 years (8th century
to the 11th century). Films featuring their exploits include The Vikings
(1958), The 13th Warrior (1999), Thor (2011), Thor: The Dark World (2013)
and the comedy/fantasy/war film Erik the Viking (1965). The Trojan War
is also popular fodder for film narratives. According to a Greek myth, the
Trojan War was waged against Troy because love-struck Paris kidnapped
the wife of King Menelaus of Sparta. The god had anointed Helen as “the
most beautiful woman in the world” and many suitors vied for her hand
in marriage. Zeus chose King Menelaus and the heartbroken Paris reacted
by abducting Helen. War was declared because the King would have his
queen back. Films exploring the characters (Achilles, Hector, Menelaus and
Agamemnon) and battles of the Trojan War include Troy (2004) and Helen
of Troy (1956). Many war films have taken the stories of Greek and Roman
warriors as inspiration.
Audience Attraction
Why are audiences attracted to the war genre? The classic war genre protago-
nist is constructed as a hero who believes in large-scale justice and one who
is willing to fight (and even die) for the sake of the everyman. The audience
is inspired by—as well as comforted by—the idea that a person will take on
the mantle of hero and risk all to fight for others beyond his or her personal
sphere. There is also inspiration—and perhaps solace—for the audience to
comprehend that world order is desirable to many—and a concrete entity
that is worth great sacrifice to maintain. And, of course, many war films are
constructed with the action genre; magnificent battles and action sequences
are also attractive to many film-goers.
Each nation (real or fictional) builds its own version of national order.
In writing the narrative in the war genre, the screenwriter must clearly delin-
eate what the war is about—the beliefs and purposes and pros and cons of the
warring factions and their specific beliefs about the world order they wish to
save or implement.
Multinational organizations such as the United Nations (the UN was
formed in 1945 after World War II, and now includes nearly 200 member
countries dedicated to promoting international cooperation) and North
Atlantic Treaty Organization (the NATO pact was signed in 1949 and includes
nearly thirty nations dedicated to participating in collective defense against
attacks from an external foe) promote the idea of a global world order. These
entities or those like them (real or fictional) may also serve as jumping off
points for the screenwriter interested in writing in the war genre. The global
nature of contemporary politics—how one decision of one nation may/will
affect others—gives credence to any narratives in the war/thriller genre.
Various elements of the war experience may be featured such as:
– military training of soldiers;

– tactical and/or strategic planning for invasions or battles;
– the actual combat (naval, air, land or space battles);
– prisoners of war;
– communities at risk.
Pro-War and Anti-War

Many film analysts divide the war genre into two broad categories:
– pro-war
– anti-war
I suggest that these terms cannot be exclusive, for the war genre, as
mentioned, is perceived in a very individualistic way. Audience perception
must be taken into consideration; individual audience members may see a

film that was constructed as a pro-war film as an example of anti-war senti-
ment and vice versa (due to reactions to violence, loss of life, reasons for the
conflict and other considerations). This dilemma is clear by looking at lists of
films that are meant to be representative of pro-war and anti-war positions.
In many cases, the same films will be included in both categories (depending
on the person(s) making the list). Therefore, when using the war genre, the
screenwriter who desires to instill his message or strong point of view into
the script must encode his or her intent in a distinct manner.
Pro-War
Pro-war films tend to glorify war and feature heroes set on battling distinct
foes; these foes are out to control resources, and destroy or overpower nations
or groups of people. In most cases, the foe has little regard for individual
life, liberty or the pursuit of happiness. The pro-war narratives often feature
protagonists who are patriotic and/or nationalistic and/or altruistic; they are
presented as brave, and as characters that will put themselves at great risk to
preserve a world order that is beneficial to the everyman. Examples include
Zero Dark Thirty (2012), They Were Expendable (1945), Patton (1970), Pearl
Harbor (2001), Braveheart (1995), Red Cliff (2008), Saving Private Ryan (1998)
and more.
Pro-war films that are based on real-life conflicts may contain elements
of violence, extreme pain and suffering and heartache; however, the main
motor of the story is that war, and the sacrifices that come with it, is necessary
for the greater good of mankind:
War films have often been used as “flag-waving” propaganda to inspire

national pride and morale, and to display the nobility of one’s own
forces while harshly displaying and criticizing the villainy of the enemy,
especially during war or in post-war periods. Jingoistic-type war films
usually do not represent war realistically in their support of nationalistic
interests, while avoiding the reality of the horrors of war. The good guys
are portrayed as clashing against the bad guys (often with stereotyped
labels such as “krauts,” “commies,” “Huns,” or “nips”). These revisionis-
tic, politically-correct (for the time) and historically inaccurate films, in
such diverse examples as Sands of Iwo Jima (1949) and The Alamo (1960),
would often redefine the facts.
The sci-fi and fantasy genres often explore wars between those want-
ing to preserve the order of the universe versus those who prefer chaos
and destruction. The films in the Star Wars series and the Star Trek series
explore the reasons for war and feature battles that help decide (for the
moment) how the universe will fare. Other examples include: Starship
Troopers (1997), Independence Day (1966) and Stargate (1994). (See Chapter 8:
Science Fiction.)
Anti-War
Anti-war films often portray the difficulties and horrors on both sides of
the conflict and emphasize the emotional and physical toll on humanity
on both sides. The narratives often point out the “futility of war”; they are
fashioned to show that the physical, intellectual, emotional, psychological
traumas of war are destructive to family, faith, nations and, in some cases,
the known world and that, very possibly, there will never be “a war to end
all wars.” Anti-war films, in addition, may criticize specific acts of warfare
such as genocide, use of nuclear weapons, land mines, rape and pillaging
of communities, poison gas or other war-related actions. Examples of anti-
war films include Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love
the Bomb (1964), Hotel Rwanda (2004), The Deer Hunter (1978), Friendly Fire
(1979), Redacted (2007) and more.
Hybrids and Subgenres

Common hybrids include war/biography, war/buddy, war/period, war/
historical, war/sci-fi, war/fantasy, war/thriller, war/romance and war/disaster.
Two main subgenres include:
– prisoner of war (POW);

– space opera (see Chapter 8: Science Fiction).
Examples of POW films include The Great Escape (1963), Bridge on the
River Kwai (1957), Stalag 17 (1953) and Life is Beautiful (1997). For examples
of war/sci-fi films, see Chapter 8: Science Fiction.

Literary antecedents of war films include the famous Iliad by Homer (750 BCE),
the various legendary battles under the aegis of King Arthur, Shakespeare’s
plays such as Henry V and Richard III written in the late 16th century, Russian
Leo Tolstoy’s War and Peace (1869) and the novels of American Stephen
Crane such as The Red Badge of Courage (1895).
Perhaps the earliest war film was the Vitagraph short film Tearing Down
the Spanish Flag (1898), a film produced and directed by American J. Stuart
Blackton; it features the taking of a Spanish government installation in
Havana, Cuba, and the raising of the American flag, signaling the end of
Spanish rule in Cuba.
In 1915 there were two war genre films popular in the United States. One
paired itself with the fantasy genre, The Battle Cry of Peace; this war/fantasy
film was written and directed by J. Stuart Blackton and explored the pos-
sibilities and consequences of a successful European invasion of the United
States. The other film, Birth of A Nation (1915, written by D.W. Griffith and
Frank E. Woods based on a novel and play by Thomas F. Dixon, Jr.), is more
well known. Birth of a Nation focuses on the effects of the American Civil
War on two friendly families—the Southern Camerons (fighting on the side
of the Confederacy) and the Northern Stonemans (fighting with Union sol-
diers). The film features panoramic battle scenes, heroic actions and tragic
deaths. Griffith, in the second part of the film, explores the aftermath of the
war on America’s Southern states, the increased racial tension between the
Southern aristocracy and the newly freed African-American populace. The film
was controversial, for the sympathies of Griffith (a Southerner whose father
fought with the Confederacy) were clear and he presented a strong point of
view—that the African-American slaves were ill-equipped to deal with free-
dom. Many viewers of the film were taken aback by Griffith’s racism and his
pointed criticism of the actions of Northerners in the post-war years. Griffith,
feeling the backlash against him, went on to do a 4-strand epic Intolerance
(1916, story by Griffith and titles by Anita Loos); this film was deliberately
designed to explore man’s inhumanity to man and the horrors of war in
general. The film ended with divine intervention (a deus ex machina) inter-
rupting the major conflicts and served as a strong anti-war message.
An early notable war/comedy film is Charlie Chaplin’s Shoulder Arms
(1918). Chaplin plays a boot camp private who, exhausted, falls into a
dream; in his dream he is a heroic soldier who slips behind enemy lines to
affect the outcome of the war. He throws limburger cheese (an extremely
pungent cheese) into a German trench, causing a German evacuation and
creating an opportunity to capture enemy soldiers. He also disguises himself
as a tree trunk to infiltrate German lines and, in outrageous circumstances,
captures the Kaiser and the Crown Prince. The hero is given a victory parade
in New York City—and then wakes up from his dream.
American films made in the years following World War I tended towards
an anti-war sentiment and emphasized the physical and mental devastation
of soldiers and their families and their countries. The perceived futility of
warfare was also explored. These include the war/coming-of-age/romance
The Big Parade (1925, written by Harry Behn and King Vidor, based on a
novel by Laurence Stallings); the story focuses on Jim ( John Gilbert), an idle
and spoiled young man whose father threatens to kick him out of the house if
he does not join the war effort. Jim enlists and is sent to France. There he
comes of age as he witnesses the dreadful aspects of combat, falls in love with a
French girl and tragically loses a leg in battle. The war/coming-of-age What
Price Glory (1926 and remade in 1952, based on a play by Laurence Stallings
and Maxwell Anderson) contains a clear anti-war message. The narrative fea-
tures best friends who have always been rivals; they join the Marine Corps
and attempt to outdo each other in every training exercise. They head to
France and witness the tragic deaths of comrades-in-arms. This causes them
to go AWOL (absence without leave)—but eventually they return to fight in
very realistic and gruesome battle scenes. Anti-war films of the early sound
era include All Quiet on the Western Front (1930, written by Maxwell Ander-
son and George Abbott, based on a novel by Eric Maria Remarque); this fea-
tures young German university students who initially believe soldiering will
be exciting—never considering the dire consequences of warfare. Reality
quickly presents itself to them on the battlefield. The war/coming-of-age/
romance Road to Glory (1936, written by John Sayre and William Faulkner and
based on the 1932 French film Les Croix des Bois) features soldiers of three
different ages, the young Lieutenant Denet (Frederic March), the middle-
aged Captain La Roche (Warner Baxter) and the captain’s father (portrayed
by Lionel Barrymore) who is serving as a private in the war at an advanced
age. The three men share the calamitous costs of the war and when the
captain and his father die, Lieutenant Denet must take over the command
and give the same hollow speech of duty and honor that La Roche presented
at the top of the film. The French film Grand Illusion (1937, co-written by
Jean Renoir and Charles Spaak) features the tale of soldiers in a prisoner-
of-war camp who plan an escape that never happens. Gone With The Wind
(1939, written by Sidney Howard, based on a novel by Margaret Mitchell) is
a war/epic/drama/romance/coming-of-age film; the narrative begins as the
Civil War is threatening and ends as the Reconstruction Era is forced on the
southern states of America. Thousands of lives are lost, families and homes
destroyed.
The anti-war sentiments expressed in many nations’ film narratives
changed as World War II threatened and exploded, first in Europe and Asia
and then hitting America with the attack on Pearl Harbor in Hawaii.
If you want to see the exact moment at which the movies’ approach
toward those tragic truths began to shift, watch the opening scene of
Patton (1970). George C. Scott, in his Oscar turn as the indomitable
general, rises from the base of an enormous American flag to recite his
famous speech to the troops: “No bastard ever won a war by dying for
his country. He won it by making the other poor dumb bastard die for
his country.”
(Klavan, 2008)
American filmmakers-turned-soldiers, serving in World War II, were

often assigned to the cinematographic-corps to document battles and
reconnaissance. Legendary film director John Ford (Stagecoach (1939), Grapes
of Wrath (1940), The Searchers (1956)), then in his forties, was put in charge
of the Field Photographic Unit in the Naval Reserve. Ford’s documentaries

focused on evidence of heroism and/or tragic loss, and many were told from
the point of view of the fighting soldier or sailor. (The documentary style
of filmmaking used during the war influenced many post-war films by Ford
and others.)
Most mid-20th century films fell into the pro-war category until the
late 1960s when the frustrations and challenges of the Korean War and
the Vietnam War were examined. Stark authenticity and examination of the
mental and physical terrors and dysfunctions of war were embraced.
Instead of a movie hero, the warrior became the self-serious militaristic

buffoon of such antiwar films as Kubrick’s Dr. Strangelove (1964) and
Robert Altman’s M*A*S*H, which lost the 1970 Oscar to Patton. M*A*S*H’s
blood-laced depiction of countercultural army surgeons stitching up the
wounded in the Korean War is frequently offset by a PA announcer’s
apathetic reading of heroic ad copy for old war movies: “Tell it to the
marines, those lovable lugs with wonderful mugs.” And the chief foil
for the picture’s hippie-like heroes is the pompous patriot and religious
hypocrite Frank Burns, played by Robert Duvall.
(Klavan, 2008)
Apocalypse Now (1979, written by John Milius and directed by Francis

Ford Coppola) was inspired by Joseph Conrad’s short novel Heart of Darkness;
the narrative moves its characters from the Congo to Vietnam and Cambodia.
“The script went through at least ten drafts and a thousand pages before
production, and the title comes from a popular button worn by hippies
that said, ‘Nirvana Now’ (the film’s original title was The Psychedelic Soldier)”
(Morrow, 2013). Milius was influenced by an article by Michael Herr, whose
writing on Vietnam later inspired Stanley Kubrick when he was working on
the script for Full Metal Jacket (Morrow, 2013).
Screenwriter Oliver Stone and War Films

Screenwriter and director Oliver Stone focused many of his early film efforts
in the war genre. He was inspired to write and direct Platoon (1986) because
of his own experiences in Vietnam and went on to write two other films con-
centrating on the conflict. Platoon weaves the tale of Chris Taylor (Charlie
Sheen) who volunteers for combat in Vietnam. He is naïve and trusting and
soon finds himself in direct conflict not only with the enemy but also with
some of the men in his platoon. He experiences a psychological near-collapse
and sees the world in a whole new way. Born on the Fourth of July (1989) is
Stone’s anti-war film about real-life Ron Kovic (portrayed by Tom Cruise), a
young American paralyzed from wounds suffered in Vietnam. Kovic becomes
an outspoken anti-war protestor. Heaven & Earth (1993) completed Stone’s
trilogy of Vietnam War films; this film follows a true story of a Vietnamese
village girl, Le Ly (Hiep Thi Le), who is a young mother forced to flee the
violence set upon her village. She heads to Saigon and there, in her quest for
survival, she is a hustler, a prostitute and a freedom fighter.
How do you come back from the war? (Do) you come back stone dead
inside or do you come back with a heart still? That was the hardest thing
for me. It was not fighting the enemy, although they were significant.
But it was to try to keep your own humanity alive inside you. Believe
me, that war is a curse, because it scars people for life.
(Stone, 2013)
Stone wrote and directed other war films: Salvador (1986) centers on
warfare in El Salvador in the 1980s, Savages (2012) focuses on the warfare
between drug cartels in Mexico and Alexander (2004) is the tale of Alexander
the Great and his nation-building battles.
The War Genre is Evident in Most National Cinemas

The war genre is popular in all national cinemas. This speaks to the inher-
ent acceptance—interest and/or belief—that wars change destinies and have
helped maintain (or destroy) the order of a nation’s existence. These tales
may be cautionary tales or tales of patriot accomplishment. Narratives in
the war genre may explore national identity and questions of conduct can
be raised. Films based on historical fact serve to remind audiences of past
heroes and past triumphs and tragedies. The United Kingdom produced Law-
rence of Arabia (1962) about one of its eccentric and controversial soldiers
in World War I. An adaptation of Shakespeare’s Henry V (1944) was meant
to lift the spirits of the British people as Germany attempted to subdue the
nation. Yanks (1979), a war/romance film about American GIs in Britain and
their falling in love during wartime with British women illuminated the
tension even between allies in World War II. Films of other nations that have
received international notice include Indian cinema’s The Tiger and the Flame
(1952), a historical epic covering the 1857 Indian Mutiny against the Brit-
ish East India Company. Another Indian film exploring this conflict is The
Rising: The Ballad of Mangal Pandey (2005); this serious film includes a nod
to the Bollywood tradition of inclusion of dance numbers. A film focusing
on the conflict between China and India is the Hindi film Haqeedat (1964),
a tragic romance featuring two lovers who lose their lives along with their
comrades trying to defend their country against Chinese aggression. One of
Russia’s great filmmakers, Sergei Eisenstein, constructed Battleship Potemkin
(1925, written by Nina Agadzhanova); the film focused on a Russian naval
mutiny and the resulting massacre of civilians. Eisenstein also co-wrote and
co-directed an epic war film, Alexander Nevsky (1938), the tale of the Russian
Grand Prince who drove out the Teutonic invaders. Russian films in the war
genre that examine the actions of World War II include Kolberg (1945), The
Star (2002) and The Admiral (2008). A Korean film in the war genre, Tae Guk
Gi: The Brotherhood of War (2004), is the story of two brothers fighting for
the South Korean cause; their bond is tested by different faiths. Hungarian
film The Red and the White (1967) examines the fate of injured soldiers in the
1917–1922 Russian Civil War. Australian war films include Gallipoli (1981)
and Breaker Morant (1980).
The War Genre Post-Millennium:

Authenticity and No-Holds-Barred
The climate of politics and buy-in to government policies by a national
populace is often reflected in war films. Andrew Klavan, writing in 2008 in
the City Journal, takes umbrage with film narratives in the first decades of the
millennium:
Hollywood has gone back to war. And this time, it’s appalling. All
autumn long, the film industry released movies about America’s battle
against global jihad. With one exception—the competent actioner The
Kingdom—each of these movies distorted an urgent, ongoing histori-
cal enterprise through the lens of a filmmaker’s unthinking leftism.
Redacted, Rendition, In the Valley of Elah, and Lions for Lambs character-
ize our soldiers and government agents as rapists, madmen, murder-
ers, torturers of the innocent, or simply victims caught up in a venal
and bloodthirsty American foreign policy. All this at the very moment
when our real-life soldiers and agents are risking, and sometimes los-
ing, their lives fighting the most hateful and cancerous worldview
since Nazism.
(Klavan, 2008)
Films in the war genre such as The Hurt Locker (2008), Zero Dark Thirty
(2012) and The Lone Survivor (2013) take a different tack. The warrior heroes,
for the most part, are back; they may be jaded and irreverent, but the mis-
sion is one to be believed in, one to bring to a successful conclusion for the
betterment of mankind.
Mental Space of the War Genre

The screenwriter, in creating the mental space of the war genre for the audi-
ence, may employ schematic knowledge (framing) choices by setting up
the situation and characters in situations that have to do with war; this
could be logistical planning, invasions or battles. The Lone Survivor (2013)
sets the stage for the narrative by focusing on the intense training exercises
FIGURE 13.2 Jeremy Renner in The Hurt Locker (2008)
of American Navy Seals about to engage in a mission to apprehend a Taliban

leader. Casablanca (1942) sets the war genre by using a voiceover over a map
that explains the refugee route to escape Nazi persecution. The internal
framing of supporting stories is very important; elements concerning war
need to frame the supporting genres (romance, buddy or other genre) and
the war scenes or sequences need to be the main motor (causing plot turns
and character changes) of the narrative.
war genre will be varied. Some members of the audience will have firsthand
experience in combat, others will know relatives or friends who have expe-
rienced war. However, there are other emotional points that are understood
by all; these include worry for a loved one’s safety, desire for survival, fac-
ing great odds and physical and mental challenges that must be undertaken
under stress. The more “real” the characters, the stronger the specific knowl-
edge component of the audience can be engaged.
screenwriter to bring currency to the narrative. The screenwriter must
consider the pertinent and germane story elements that will enhance the
audience’s ability to see how this story relates to today’s world. A certain
universality can be captured in specificity, for the audience may not have
gone through the exact experience of the one presented in the narrative;
however, they may be able to relate the emotional journey to personal pas-
sages through life.
Suggested Exercises: Disaster and War
1. Research a historic or contemporary event that could be approached

as a film narrative in the disaster genre. Write a one-page synopsis
elucidating the approach.
a. Is it a man-made, natural or supernatural disaster?

b. Construct specific backstories for the major characters (real
or fictional) in a way that might add to the conflicts in the
narrative. These backstories will inform how each character
reacts to the disastrous events and the other characters in the
narrative.
c. Outline the events so that elements of the disaster build and
new stakes/problems/concerns arise as the narrative plays
out.
2. Choose an existing film in the disaster genre and replace the lead-
ing roles with new types of characters.
a. Give these newly imagined characters backstories, characteris-

tics, weaknesses and strengths that will affect how the disaster
narrative plays out.
b. Consider the changes in story trajectory depending on the types
of characters involved in the disaster.
3. Research a historic or contemporary event that could be approached

as a film narrative in the war genre. Write a one-page synopsis eluci-
dating the approach.
a. Be clear about your authorial point of view. Pro-war? Anti-war?

Be clear about themes that will be explored.
b. Consider if the narrative will examine reactions of the people
on the “home front” or in the communities affected by the war
or conflict—or if it will focus on the battlefield, or in a base
camp, or in a prisoner-of-war situation.
c. Construct characters that have strong backstories and rea-
sons for participation in the conflict. Consider “new” types
of characters in order to bring a sense of newness to the film
narrative.
NOTES
1 The term “tentpole” refers to a big-budget movie whose earnings are expected
to compensate the studio for its less profitable movies.
2 It was remade in 1931 and titled End of the World; this was Frenchman Abel
Gance’s first sound film and was originally three hours long.
3 Stuart Hall explores the traditional sender–message–receiver process and the
transfer of the author’s intent. Hall believes that when the author (the sender)
successfully encodes the message he or she intends to send, the audience decodes
the message in the way the author intends it to be understood (Chandler,
2000: 1). Hall notes that this dominant (successful) encoding occurs when
the author’s “preferred reading” of the media text is what the author intends
and the audience receives (Hall, 1980: 1). However, Hall notes that not all
receivers (audiences) will read the text as the author prefers because of variant
social situations and backgrounds (such as place of birth or residence, educa-
tion, familial ties, financial circumstances and more). An “oppositional” read-
ing is possible—an occasion where the audience’s national allegiance, social
position or background may put them in direct conflict with the preferred
reading.
REFERENCES
Andres, Carmen (2009) “Why I Like Disaster Films.” In The Open Space, God and
Culture, http://intheopen.blogspot.com/2009/01/why-i-like-disaster-films.
html ( January 22, accessed 2013).
Brook, Tom (2013) “The Lure of the Disaster Movie.” BBC Culture, http://www.
bbc.com/culture/story/20130731-the-lure-of-the-disaster-movie (accessed
2013).
Chandler, Daniel (2000) Introduction to Genre Theory, http://www.aber.ac.uk/
media/Documents/intgenre/intgenre.html (accessed March 2011).
Dewey, John (1957) Human Nature and Conduct, The Modern Library, USA.
Dirks, Tim (accessed 2013) “Disaster Films,” http://www.filmsite.org/disasterfilms.
html.
Gleiberman, Owen (2009), “Disaster Movies: Why We Love Them (Especially
in Hard Times)” Entertainment Weekly: Inside Movies, http://insidemovies.
ew.com/2009/11/16/disaster-movies-why-we-love-them/ (November 16,
accessed 2013).
Hall, Stuart (ed.) (1973/1980) “Encoding/Decoding,” Centre for Contemporary
Cultural Studies, London.
Klavan, Andrew (2008) “The Lost Art of War.” City Journal, Volume 18, No. 1,
http://www.city-journal.org/2008/18_1_urb-war.html.
Mille, John M. (accessed 2013) “The War of the Worlds,” http://www.tcm.com/
this-month/article/188880|0/The-War-of-the-Worlds.html.
Morrow, John (2013) “Putting Sanity at Stake.” No Film School, http://nofilmschool.
com/2013/08/coppola-interviews-john-milius-apocalypse-now/ (accessed
2013).
Neale, Steve (2002) Genre and Contemporary Hollywood, Routledge, UK.
Pittman, Frank M.D. (1998) “Sex, Wrecks and Traits.” Psychology Today, http://
www.psychologytoday.com/articles/199805/sex-wrecks-and-traits (May 1,
accessed 2013).
Queenan, Joe (2013) “Does Hollywood Need Saving From Superheroes?” http://
www.theguardian.com/film/2013/jun/11/man-steel-hollywood-break-
superheroes ( June 11, accessed 2013).
Sekunda, Nicholas (1998) The Spartan Army, Random House, USA.
Stone, Oliver (2013) “CBS Interview,” http://www.cbsnews.com/pictures/the-
films-of-oliver-stone/ (accessed 2013).
Swindell, Jeff (2006) “Interview: Joseph McBride talks Orson Welles and John
Ford,” http://www.monstersandcritics.com/dvd/features/article_1173178.
php/Interview_Biographer_Joseph_McBride_talks_John_Ford_and_Orson_
Welles (accessed 2014).
CHAPTER 14
Coming-of-Age and
Fish-Out-of-Water
COMING-OF-AGE
Terms to understand: bildungsroman, separation, transition, re-incorporation,
rites of passage
Audiences are attracted to the coming-of-age genre because they are films
about self-discovery. Narratives explore “the universal nature of life in
change” (Bunce, 2012) and are unashamedly about personal problems,
insecurities, self-esteem issues and eventually growth of self-understanding.
Coming-of-age films frequently deal with controversial topics pertinent to
the age of the protagonist such as loss of a loved one, understanding the
fallibility of authority figures, sexuality, loss of virginity, leaving home for the
first time, divorce or acceptance of mortality. They are often unapologetically
sentimental and focus on an emotional connection to the audience.
Of all the genre types there is one that doesn’t quite fit into any other
bucket of movies . . . when they are done right they tend to bridge
popular audiences and critical acclaim. They are about people who also
don’t quite fit. They are often referred to as “coming of age” movies and
with such a lame title it’s no wonder there is not a giant video header at
the rental stories for “Coming of Age” movies.
(Bunce, 2012)
The protagonist of a coming-of-age film is on a journey of self-discovery.

Through one or more moments of revelation in the film story, the main
character is able to move forward in his or her life and mature into a “new
age”—a more developed sense of self.
In literature, a novel that explores a character’s maturation is called a
“bildungsroman”—a German word referring to tales that initially set up an
uncomfortable stasis, move into an “education” and finally, an eventual trans-
formation that allows the character to grow into a changed individual. It can
be argued that all well-written film narratives have coming-of-age elements
for, after all, the protagonist, in most cases, is on a journey of change. He or
she “learns” something about self and about the world. However, a screenplay
289
290 COMING-OF-AGE AND FISH-OUT-OF-WATER
using the coming-of-age genre as an overriding genre must employ certain

elements in the plotline and major turning points in the story.
Bildungsroman narratives often focus on the psychological and moral
development of the character(s) and, in most cases, the journey is interesting
because it is challenging and emotional. The protagonist has to literally “shed”
a former persona in order to step into new opportunities and sense of self. The
change may be marked by a completion of a ritual or a life-changing event or
simply by a quiet revelation that alters a person’s attitude or approach to life.
Bildungsroman literature includes well-known novels that have been adapted
for the screen multiple times: Jane Austen’s Sense and Sensibility (1811) and Pride
and Prejudice (1813), Charlotte Brontë’s Jane Eyre (1847), Charles Dickens’ Great
Expectations (1861) and Mark Twain’s The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn (1884).
The coming-of-age film narrative often emphasizes a progression from
childhood to adulthood—thus many “pure” coming-of-age films take place
during adolescence.
There is an abundance of teen coming-of-age comedies and dramas.
Screenwriter and director John Hughes explored the teen coming-of-age
film in the 1980s and the actors in these films and others like them became
known as the “Brat Pack.” Hughes’ films included box office successes such
as The Breakfast Club (1985), Weird Science (1985), Pretty in Pink (1986), Ferris
Bueller’s Day Off (1986) and Some Kind of Wonderful (1987). However, coming-
of-age stories can be told with characters of any age, from the very young
(such as To Kill A Mockingbird (1962), My Girl (1991) and Empire of the Sun
(1987)) to characters well into their adulthood years (such as About Schmidt
(2002) and Sideways (2004)).
Some coming-of-age narratives focus on a protagonist’s desire to find
meaning in life or the answers to life’s questions; other coming-of-age narratives
force a realization of life’s lessons. All coming-of-age tales explore the idea that
despite resistance of change, a transformation is possible. All coming-of-age
films feature examinations of character change due to life-changing events. A
coming-of-age protagonist grows (for good or ill) into a “new person.”
One could approach all coming-of-age narratives, no matter what age of
character, as narratives that explore a move from adolescence to adulthood.
Even if the characters are adult, there may still be traits of childhood or
adolescence (insecurities, residual anger, neuroses that block forward prog-
ress and more). These film narratives may move characters from “childish”
behavior to behavior that is considered more adult.
The screenwriter interested in writing the coming-of-age film narrative
may consider looking at the traditional elements of a maturation experience
set out by French ethnographer Arnold van Gennep:
In the first phase, people withdraw (the separation) from their current status
and prepare to move from one place or status to another. There is often a
COMING-OF-AGE AND FISH-OUT-OF-WATER 291
detachment or “cutting away” from the former self in this phase, which is
signified in symbolic actions and rituals. For example, the cutting of the
hair for a person who has just joined the army. He or she is “cutting away”
the former self: the civilian. The transition (liminal) phase is the period
between states, during which one has left one place or state but has not yet
entered or joined the next. Having completed the rite and assumed their
“new” identity, one re-enters society (reincorporation) with one’s new status.
Re-incorporation is characterized by elaborate rituals and ceremonies, like
debutant balls and college graduation, and by outward symbols of new ties.
(Van Gennep, 1909/1977: 166)
Rites of Passage
In primitive cultures, the rite of passage that defines the change from boy
to man is a ceremonial challenge that requires bravery or daring or pluck,
a certain mental toughness, and the ability to endure under great odds.
In modern cultures the transition from childhood to manhood is usually
depicted as the moment when an adolescent must give up thinking like
a child and begin thinking like an adult. In both primitive and modern
cultures the major elements of this rite of passage are often facing obstacles
or overcoming fears, or sacrificial actions that signify change.
Coming-of-age societal rituals include ceremonies and/or tasks that the
“child” must undertake to show that he or she is worthy of being considered
an adult. These rites of passage can be serious, challenging, humiliating or even
life-threatening. They can also be joyous and raucous. They may be religious
rituals that test mind and body through fasting, celibacy, voluntary poverty or
extensive periods of meditation. They may be challenges in military programs,
tests at boot camps or on fields of combat. The wedding ritual is often seen as a
rite of passage; it is at the marriage ceremony that one accepts the responsibility
for another’s well-being and happiness. Some cultures embrace rituals that
include long and difficult hours of dancing, or prayer, or hours in sweat lodges
and physical challenges such as marathons or hunting expeditions. Other
rite of passage rituals include celebrations such as “sweet sixteen” parties,
quinceaneras, debutante “coming out” parties and school graduations.
There are other classic coming-of-age moments or events recognized in
many cultures. Among them are:
– sexual awareness or experiences;

– acknowledgment of the fallibility of authority figures;
– realization of a deep desire for survival;
– sense of being true to oneself in the face of social pressure;
– loss of a loved one;
– religious conversion or aversion;

– sporting contests;
– reaching the age to vote.
Need for Three-Dimensional Characters

in the Coming-of-Age Genre
I suggest that all successful screenplays embrace the idea of building three-
dimensional characters; characters with various elements to their personalities
and lives. For the most part, people are “different” in different situations (be
it with family, at work, with romantic partners, in dreams, with peers and
other situations or personal interactions). However, some genres are not as
“character-based” as others. Action/adventure narratives that concentrate on
non-stop action may thrive on iconic characters or characters that remain,
in large part, two-dimensional. Many fairytale narratives feature emblematic
characters. The coming-of-age genre requires the building of three-dimensional
characters. Characters often struggle with the gray areas; those characters
with moral certitude may come to understand that an absolute “right” or
an absolute “wrong” may not exist. Personal integrity is all. Coming-of-age
characters may never have been tested for personal integrity, they may never
have asked themselves the big questions regarding love, morality or personal
responsibility. Successful coming-of-age narratives center on storylines that
force the protagonist to face big questions and find themselves in the answers.
The pre-teen category features protagonists 12 years of age or younger.
The teen/adolescence category includes characters from 13 to 19 years of
age. Post-adolescence refers to characters 20 years old and over. An undocu-
mented “truism” often set forth in Hollywood is that young audiences tend
to favor films where the protagonist is a few years older than the viewer—
this gives the audience member a chance to engage his or her vision of them-
selves in the future. Examples include The Sandlot (1993), Billy Elliot (2000),
Hugo (2011), Stand By Me (1986), Ratcatcher (1999), Fresh (1994), The 400
Blows (1959) and Old Yeller (1957).
Pre-Teen Coming-of-Age Films

Pre-teen coming-of-age movies feature protagonists before adolescence takes
hold. For the most part, there is an innocence and sweetness to these films.
Many pre-teen coming-of-age films focus on friendship or teamwork or
increased understanding of the adult world. The classic To Kill A Mockingbird
(1962, written by Horton Foote and based on a novel by Harper Lee) features
a pre-teen girl, Scout, who struggles to understand racism, justice, her
relationship with her father and her father’s relationship to the community
and his own moral center. In Billy Elliot (2000, written by Lee Hall), the
protagonist is 11 years old and a coal miner’s son in a small Northern England
town. He hates his boxing class and is drawn to a ballet class populated
only by girls. Despite being the only male, he commits to the ballet, and as
he trains his talent becomes acknowledged. However he still faces prejudice
from his father, other members of his family and from people in the town.
He has to take ownership of his passion and stay true to his desires.
The Harry Potter film series (2001–2011) straddles two categories of
coming-of-age films, the pre-teen and the teen—in essence the characters
face various obstacles in relation to their ages as the story progresses.
The Teen Coming-of-Age Films

As mentioned, the coming-of-age film genre is, perhaps, mostly identified
with teen films. Because of the amount of physical, emotional and hormonal
growth and change experienced during the teenage years, there are plenty
of conflicts to be used in a film narrative. Teens struggle to find their own
identity separate from their parents or family unit. They also want to free
themselves from being at the mercy of the opinions and attitudes of their
peers. They struggle to find a sense of self. Sexual awareness is blossoming.
Hormones are raging. Independence is proffered but can be taken away—
so there is the push and pull from authority. Screenwriter John Hughes
explored the various coming-of-age problems of both genders—male and
female—who are misfits in their worlds. Michael Gross wrote about the film
Sixteen Candles:
<Its> appeal was about more than style: it had a big-heartedness that
could not be found in other teen movies of that era, like Fast Times at
Ridgemont High’ (1982). Sixteen Candles gave us heroes who were certifi-
able losers, but whose anxieties and flaws were never crippling. Its plot
made us believe the high-school hierarchy was fluid, even if our every-
day lives told us that it was not.
(Gross, 2004)
A very different kind of teen coming-of-age narrative is the Academy

Award winning film Life of Pi (2012, written by David Magee and based on a
novel by Yann Martel). The teenager is not dealing with the pressure of fitting
in or emotionally separating from his parents. This is the story of a boy, Pi
Patel (Suraj Sharma), who has always relied on his family and his known
environment. His father decides to move the family from India to Canada.
When the ship they are traveling on is destroyed in the open ocean, Pi is set
adrift in a lifeboat with a Bengal tiger. He is at a loss and he is frightened. How-
ever, a strong desire for survival kicks in and consumes him; on his journey he
has to use all that he has learned from his parents and teachers and dig deep
to believe in himself and to not lose hope. In doing so, he matures, comes to
a new stage of being and ultimately finds personal triumph. This allegorical
coming-of-age narrative is thrilling and inspiring and investigates the mean-
ing of moving from childish dependence on elders to independent manhood.
Other teen coming-of-age films include Rebel Without A Cause (1955), All
Quiet on the Western Front (1930), 13 Going on 30 (2004), Summer of ’42 (1971),
The Last Picture Show (1971), Can’t Hardly Wait (1998), American Graffiti (1973),
Grease (1978), West Side Story (1961), Karate Kid (1984 and 2010), All the Right
Moves (1983), Clueless (1995), Bend it Like Beckham (2002), Dirty Dancing (1987),
Welcome to the Dollhouse (1995), Say Anything (1989), Orange County (2002),
Slum Dog Millionaire (2008), Footloose (1984 and 2011), Almost Famous (2000),
Boyz in the Hood (1991), American Pie (1999), The Secret Life Of Bees (2008), The
Outsiders (1983), Whale Rider (2002), Superbad (2007), How I Live Now (2013),
The Hunger Games (2012), The Perks of Being a Wallflower (2012), The Way Way
Back (2013), Ender’s Game (2013) and more.
Post-Adolescence Coming-of-Age Films

Post-adolescence coming-of-age films feature characters that are going
through transitions leading to a better/or more informed “rest of life.” These
films may explore protagonists who are in a rut, who (for whatever reason)
cannot move forward in their lives. Obviously there are opportunities for
maturation at all stages of life. In the film Crazy Stupid Love (2011, written by
Dan Fogelman), Cal (Steve Carell) and Emily ( Julianne Moore) face the possible
dissolution of their marriage. Emily wants more excitement and Cal is too
set in his ways. Cal meets rich ladies’ man Jacob (Ryan Gosling). Jacob knows
how to dress and attract women but he avoids any deep commitment. Jacob
becomes a guide and introduces Cal to new ways of thinking and behaving.
Along the journey of the story, Cal and Emily (and Jacob) come to more
mature realizations about love, sex, relationships and family.
The King’s Speech (2010, written by David Seidler) takes place in the
1930s in the United Kingdom. “Bertie” (Colin Firth) has been thrust into
the role of King of England when his brother, Edward VIII, abdicates the
throne. Now crowned King George VI, Bertie—who has been a stutterer all
his life—faces the challenge of controlling his nerves and vocal impediment
when addressing his countrymen. In this coming-of-age drama, the protago-
nist learns about himself and his constituency while Germany accelerates its
aggression and World War II is declared.
In The Descendants (2011, adapted by Alexander Payne and Nat Faxon &
Jim Rash from the novel by Kaui Hart Hemmings), Matt King (George
Clooney) is a husband, father, landowner and the head of his family’s estate
holdings. One would think this character does not need to “grow up” or
mature in any significant way. However, this film illuminates the immature
aspects of Matt—his denial in recognizing his wife’s affair, his denial in
seeing the pain and disillusionment in his older daughter and his inability
to act with the authority of his position among his brothers and cousins
concerning the family’s land holdings. His older daughter forces Matt to face
certain truths and serves as his guide on a journey of maturation.
Coming-of-age films—especially those focusing on adults—can take advan-
tage of the “mask.” The implementation of a mask allows a character to live
as another persona and experience (or is able to witness life) in new ways. This
brings about a deeper wisdom or understanding of the world. In Tootsie (1982),
chauvinistic and arrogant Michael (Dustin Hoffman) presents himself as a
woman to win an acting role on a daytime soap opera. Circumstances force
him to continue the charade outside of work and in living temporarily “as a
woman,” he realizes he becomes a “better man.” In Roxanne (1987), C.D. Bales
(Steve Martin) asks a fellow fireman to woo the girl of his dreams. Bales comes to
realize that he must act—and speak—for himself if he wants to win true love. In
Mrs. Doubtfire (1993), Daniel (Robin Williams), an irresponsible father, pretends
to be a female nanny in order to be close to his children; he ultimately learns
how to be responsible. In Sister Act (1992), Deloris (Whoopie Goldberg), a Vegas
showgirl, hides in plain sight as a nun. She sees the self-sacrifice and goodness of
others and changes (some of ) her ways. In Witness (1985), John Book (Harrison
Ford) is a big-city cop hiding from his enemies among the Amish in Pennsylva-
nia. He comes to sees the worth of a non-violent existence.
Other examples include 500 Days Of Summer (2009), Paths of Glory
(1957), Garden State (2004), Good Will Hunting (1997), The Graduate (1967),
Legally Blonde (2001), Apocalypse Now (1979), Do The Right Thing (1989) and
Liberal Arts (2012).
Coming-of-Age is Part of Most Films

The coming-of-age genre works with every other genre. As mentioned, the
coming-of-age film narrative features protagonists (of any age) that mature—
or come to a new understanding of the world—and go through an internal
change from the outset of the film to its completion. The screenwriter, deciding
to put the coming-of-age genre as an overriding genre, must find the obstacles
and conflicts that stand in the way of a character’s maturation process.
The Mental Space of the Coming-of-Age Genre

The screenwriter, in creating the mental space of the coming-of-age genre
for the audience, may employ schematic knowledge (framing) choices by
setting up the character reacting in an immature or humiliating situation.
The coming-of-age comedy Mrs. Doubtfire features Daniel (Robin Williams)
as a talented comic voice-over artist who cannot follow directions and is
unmindful of his clients’ needs and time constraints. When told to “just do
his job,” he walks out of the studio, ruining the session. He feels justified
and—with the typical hubris of a classic comic character—thinks he is
above adhering to rules or adult codes of behavior. He throws an over-
the-top birthday party for his son (despite the edict of wife Miranda (Sally
Fields) that the celebration needed to be small due to the son’s less-than-
stellar grades). The family’s beautiful San Francisco townhouse is over-run
with farm animals and children jumping on furniture. Daniel is dancing on
the piano when Miranda arrives home (at the behest of the police due to
a neighbor’s complaint). Again, he feels justified and does not see himself
as irresponsible. Miranda asks for a divorce—she wants Daniel to move
out. It is only when this life-changing event occurs and it becomes clear to
Daniel that he will be separated from his children that he begins his journey
towards maturation. Framing the narrative (using the schematic knowledge
component) with several sequences featuring the protagonist involved
in immature or humiliating situations can set up the normal life of the
character; this allows the audience to understand the depth of the problem.
The character journey is everything in the coming-of-age genre; therefore it
may be beneficial for the screenwriter to build the longest trajectory possible
for the protagonist. In other words, exaggerate the immaturity or inability
to deal with the central problem in a mature manner at the outset of the
narrative in order to allow for the greatest amount of character growth.
Interior framing is also important, for the character must struggle to accept
new ideas or new codes of behavior and must continue to fail along the
way—not all lessons are learned and held. A final framing of the coming-
of-age depends on the screenwriter’s choice of uber genre—is it a comedy or
drama? The “new normal” must reflect the coming-of-age genre—to either
reveal the new and matured persona or to point out that some movement
has been made towards maturity—but there is still a long way to go.
Specific knowledge components that connect the audience to the coming-
of-age genre include tapping into memories of insecurity, immature behavior,
stubbornness in the face of change and other emotions that are very real. One
might posit that no one really wants to grow up—or at least act like a “grown-up”
in all moments of life. The empathetic response of the audience must be
elicited and this will come about through building events and actions that
are emotionally relatable. Depending on the choice of uber genre (comedy or
drama), the situations may be over-the-top or absolutely connected to “real life.”
ity to see how this story relates to today’s world. A certain universality can be
captured in specificity, for the audience may not have gone through the exact
experience of the one presented in the narrative; however, they may be able
to relate to the emotional journey to personal passages through life.
FISH-OUT-OF-WATER
Terms to understand: new world, learning curve, normal life
The fish-out-of-water film genre focuses on a character that is placed in a

situation completely unfamiliar to him. Because of the fact that he does not
understand the rules, or parameters, or language, or social mores, or political
ins-and-outs, or geography, or expectations or other foreign elements, there
is a heightened possibility for danger or tension or anxiety or humor as the
character attempts to adapt to new surroundings.
It is clear, in examining the definition above, that many films employ fish-
out-of-water elements. Many film narratives constructed in other genres center
on protagonists who find themselves in new environs or situations where they
do not have the skills or knowledge to face challenges. The learning curve is
steep. They may be out of their depth; perhaps they must make allies out of
strangers or learn how to use weapons they are unfamiliar with or outsmart an
antagonist in a strange or foreign environment. These film narratives, using
crime or disaster or thriller or other overriding genre, may turn on the crime or
the disaster or thriller (or other genres) and the fish-out-of-water elements are
used mainly to strengthen the obstacles and conflicts facing the protagonist.
The screenwriter, considering the use of the fish-out-of-water genre as
an overriding genre, must structure his narrative in such a way that the plot
points turn on the challenges of understanding the new world in which the
character finds himself. A poor person becomes rich or vice versa. A person
used to living in the country now must survive in the big city or vice versa. A
person falls down a rabbit hole, finds herself in a world of nonsensical char-
acters and must find her way back to reality (Alice in Wonderland).
Fish-out-of-water films, using the genre as an overriding genre, include
Freaky Friday (1976, 2003) in which mother and young daughter change
physical attributes through a fantastical event and must learn to cope in
the other’s world. Another age-switch fish-out-of-water narrative is Big
(1988); a young boy, Josh, wishes to be “big” and wakes the next morning
to find himself in an adult body. Josh (Tom Hanks) leaves home, finds a job
and apartment and a girlfriend. He lives as an adult—until the experiences
become (comically) untenable and he wishes again to go back to his younger
age and “grow big” on a natural timeline. In Legally Blonde (2001), Elle (Reese
Witherspoon) is a spoiled Beverly Hills socialite who enters Harvard Law
School; she does not understand the relationships, goals, rivalries or social
divisions of this “new world.” Beverly Hills Cop (1984) features Axel Foley
(Eddie Murphy), a streetwise Detroit police detective, who must solve a
murder case in swanky Beverly Hills. City Slickers (1991) centers on Mitch
(Billy Crystal), a man in a mid-life crisis, who goes on a two-week cattle drive
with his city-slicker friends and does not have the first clue about how to
deal with horses, cattle, the great outdoors or crazy cowboys.
The Departed (2006, written by William Monahan, based on the film

written by Alan Mak and Felix Chong) is a crime/fish-out-of-water/thriller/
coming-of-age film about Billy (Leonardo DiCaprio), a recent graduate of the
Boston police academy who is drafted into an undercover assignment in the
Irish mob controlled by Frank Costello ( Jack Nicholson). Billy, now a “fish-
out-of-water” has to come to a quick understanding of the criminals involved
in the gang. He must get close to Costello and flush out criminal activity. His
fish-out-of-water situation is tense, his anxiety is constantly growing while he
struggles with his emotional attachments and desire to prove to his superiors
that he is an exceptional and moral and committed police officer.
The coming-of-age genre is connected to the fish-out-of-water genre in
that most fish-out-of-water narratives will focus on a maturation process—or
on gaining a new understanding of the world and self by getting “out of one’s
comfort zone” and “seeing how the other half lives.” This is accomplished,
essentially, by being a fish-out-of-water. Characters become aware of inner
strengths that can be used to overcome obstacles in a new world—and in the
world of self-realization.
The Mental Space of Fish-Out-of-Water

It is important for the schematic knowledge (framing) of the fish-out-of-
water genre to set up the normal life of the protagonist before introducing
the new world. In Lord of the Rings, Frodo (Elijah Wood) is shown in his
normal, safe habitat in The Shire before beginning his journey into a world
where he will be out of his depth. Consider the importance of knowing the
essence of Elle (spoiled, rich, super-friendly California sorority girl) in Legally
Blonde before she enters the dour, dark and serious halls of Harvard as a
member of a competitive, cutthroat law school class. The framing at the out-
set of the fish-out-of-water narrative will be, in most cases, used to illuminate
the normal life of the protagonist.
Interior framing must be used to remind the audience of the protago-
nist’s ineptness or inability to cope in the new and foreign world. Mistakes
will be made because he or she is on a steep learning curve and does not
have the skills to easily breeze through obstacles. Therefore the screenwriter
may consider the “two steps forward, one (or more) steps back” approach
as the protagonist attempts to cope in the new world. As a final framing of
the fish-out-of-water genre, the screenwriter may be wise to consider the
chosen uber genre (comedy or drama) and reflect its tone. Is there triumph?
Or is there tragedy? Is there acclimation or escape? What has the character
learned through the experience?
fish-out-of-water genre include memories or incidents of being in situations
where feelings of insecurity, ineptness or fear of the unknown have been
experienced. Mining the emotional, intellectual and physical challenges
facing a protagonist who is unprepared or unskilled or unworthy of a task

can help connect the audience to the fish-out-of-water narrative.
ence’s ability to see how this story relates to today’s world. What are the
challenges facing today’s adolescents? Or those exiting higher education and
looking to start independent lives? What social expectations today might
stunt maturity? A certain universality can be captured in specificity. The
audience may not have gone through the exact experience of the one pre-
sented in the narrative; however, they may recognize similar problems of
facing issues, taking responsibility or being part of the “solution” not the
“problem” in today’s communities and be able to relate to a strong, relatable
and emotional journey through one of life’s passages.
Suggested Exercises: Coming-of-Age

and Fish-Out-of-Water
1. Coming-of-age narratives focus on a maturation process—this could

be in a social situation or apply to a “life lesson” that is difficult for
the protagonist to accept or incorporate. Coming-of-age stories can
focus on characters of any age.
a. Consider the age of the main character that you want to explore
in a coming-of-age film narrative. Write a paragraph describing
that protagonist.
i. List the “immature” aspects of your main character at the

outset of the narrative—the naïve beliefs or juvenile behav-
iors or undeveloped understandings of the world that are
part of the character’s psychic make-up.
b. Make a list of the supporting characters in the narrative.
i. Delineate each character’s contribution to the continua-

tion—or discontinuation—of the immature aspects or to
the learning process of the protagonist.
c. Make a list of the obstacles the protagonist will face.
i. Consider how the immature behavior will cause the pro-

tagonist to experience a failure in reaching a desired goal.
ii. Consider, if using the comedy genre, whether the immature
behavior might inadvertently be beneficial to the protagonist.
(Continued)
iii. Consider, if using the drama genre, how the immature

behavior will get in the way of the protagonist reaching the
desired goal.
iv. Make a list of possible “fail and gain” sequences that could
be constructed when facing this final challenge.
d. Identify the final challenge that the protagonist will face. What
action must he or she take to “become more mature”?
2. Create an idea for a fish-out-of-water film narrative. Consider the

new (foreign to the protagonist) environment he or she might
enter in that fish-out-of-water film narrative.
a. What are the elements that are different in relation to the charac-
ter’s “normal life” set up in the opening pages of the story?
b. Make a list of the social, political, cultural differences that the
character will have to come to understand (or not); including
legal, class structures, beliefs, technology, family dynamics and
other areas.
c. Each element may provide the screenwriter with story ideas to
make the “new world” more challenging for the protagonist.
Make a list of all the ideas that come to mind. Then choose the
ones that might fit in your particular original narrative.
d. Consider and list elements that the protagonist or main charac-
ters will have to learn/accomplish in order to exist and/or thrive
in the new environment.
e. Consider how the “new elements” of the “new world” can act as
story points that provide obstacles, raise the stakes of the story
and provide new and surprising twists for the audience.
REFERENCES
Bunce, C.J. (2012) “Coming of Age Movies and Why Superbad is Super Good,”
http://borg.com/2012/03/19/coming-of-age-movies-or-why-superbad-is-
super-good/ (March 19, accessed 2013).
Gross, Michael Joseph (2004) “View: When The Losers Ruled in Teenage Movies.”
New York Times, May 9.
Turner, Victor W. (1969) The Ritual Process, Penguin Publishing, USA.
Van Gennep, Arnold (1909/1977) The Rites of Passage, Routledge Chapman &
Hall, UK.
CHAPTER 15
Balancing Film Genres
Terms to understand: “A” story, “B” story, overriding genre, supporting genre,
hybrid, balance of film genre
A film-goer, searching the internet or newspaper for what is playing at the

local Cineplex, will, consciously or unconsciously, choose to go to a film that
reflects his or her favorite genre and expect certain genre criteria to be met.
Therefore, the screenwriter must find ways to fulfill all the basic elements
of his chosen genres in order to satisfy the audience—and then surpass
expectations to achieve the greatest story success.
Most films will have an “overriding” genre that sits clearly in the “A”
story of the film, the story that relays the primary journey of the protagonist.
The supporting stories that help illuminate the protagonist’s journey, the
“B” stories, may sit in another genre altogether—and I suggest that in most
cases this positioning is optimal.
Screenwriting is acknowledged as being both an art and a craft. The craft
of screenwriting challenges the writer’s ability to recognize a good story and
understand the techniques necessary to identify and balance the most dra-
matic elements in that story. There is a necessary technical skill of mastering
the balance of film genres—the narrative elements of comedy, drama, romantic
comedy, crime, suspense, horror, thriller, western, sci-fi, coming-of-age, fish-
out-of-water, buddy or other basic genres introduced in a single screenplay.
First, I will examine the balance of various genres in three films that take
on a similar subject and then examine two classic comedies and two contem-
porary dramas, breaking down the percentages of scenes in each relegated
to specific genres.
Let’s examine the three film stories that take on a similar subject matter—
an alcoholic’s dilemma and decision to rehabilitate or self-destruct. Consider
1945’s The Lost Weekend (1945, written by Charles Brackett and Billy Wilder,
based on the novel by Charles Jackson). This film sits in the drama genre;
drama defined as an in-depth and emotional look at an everyman who faces
a challenge testing him physically and/or psychologically. The audience of a
drama is meant to identify with the everyman protagonist as he ultimately
wins—or loses—the challenge. The “A” story of this relentlessly dramatic
301
302 BALANCING FILM GENRES
FIGURE 15.1 Ray Milland in The Lost Weekend (1945)
tale of an alcoholic who has no desire to battle his addiction revolves around
an “everyman,” Don Birnam (portrayed by Ray Milland). The “B” stories of
The Lost Weekend also sit in the drama genre; Don’s well-meaning, ordinary
brother takes on the challenge to aid in Don’s rehabilitation but eventually
gives up; Don’s simple and sweet fiancé tries to cling to hope but can’t; Don is
also judged and found wanting by all his “everyman” neighbors and friends.
Don quickly becomes pitiable and tragic as the film focuses singularly on its
drama roots, eschewing other genres that might add texture (and balance) to
the story. When employing only one genre in a story, the writer risks creat-
ing an unbalanced script as well as hamstrings himself in the attempt to cre-
ate multi-dimensional characters. Focusing on a single genre will also cause
the film to appeal to a smaller demographic, thus making it more difficult to
find production venues.
Comparing the balance of genres in The Lost Weekend to Days of Wine
and Roses (1962) and Leaving Las Vegas (1995), both candidates in the Oscar
race in their respective years, can illuminate how the use of various genres
can open up and enhance the film story. Days of Wine and Roses (written
by J.P. Miller) sits clearly in the drama genre, but also includes elements of
another genre—romance. The criteria of the romance genre are: boy meets
girl, boy realizes he wants girl, boy gets girl, boy loses girl, boy experiences
an epiphany about his love for girl (realizes he will be miserable without
her), boy has to strive to get girl back, boy gets girl back (or not). In examin-
ing the story of Days of Wine and Roses, it is clear that not all criteria of the
romance genre are met. Alcohol-loving public relations executive, Joe Clay
( Jack Lemmon) quickly meets and marries secretary Kirsten (Lee Remick),
depriving the viewer of four or five of the initial beats of the romance genre
BALANCING FILM GENRES 303
FIGURE 15.2 Lee Remick and Jack Lemmon in Days of Wine and Roses (1962)
and thus failing to get the audience invested in the success of their relation-
ship. Joe quickly introduces Kirsten to his love of alcohol, together they
descend into alcoholism, and as they face the consequences of their condi-
tion the film remains stridently in the drama genre; it becomes more of a
cautionary tale (and an advertisement for Alcoholics Anonymous) than a
full character study.
Leaving Las Vegas (1995, written by Mike Figgis, based on the novel by John
O’Brien), in my opinion, is the most successful narrative of these three films
exploring a man’s struggle to deal with an addiction to alcohol. Leaving Las Vegas
centers on the dramatic tale of an alcoholic who is on a self-destructive path;
however, this film also fulfills all the genre criteria of its strong supporting “B”
story, romance. And it adds another genre to balance the dramatic and romantic
elements—coming-of-age. As Ben (Nicolas Cage) focuses on intentionally
killing himself with alcohol, the love story heats up. Ben meets Sera (Elizabeth
Shue), he wants her, gets her, loses her, realizes his life is empty without her
and strives to get her back and succeeds. The romance genre line is completely
fulfilled, thus allowing the audience to become invested in the relationship.
Sera does not save Ben from his addiction but she truly falls in love with him
and that love makes a difference in both their lives. Ben’s tragic ending becomes
inescapable, but Sera’s coming-of-age metamorphosis—understanding that she
can truly love and be loved—leaves the audience with a glimmer of hope for
humanity. In engaging and balancing three fulfilled genres, the characters and
the film story become more dimensional.
The fleshing out of character and plot through the use of the “A” story
genre and the “B” story genres can bring a greater sense of balance, and
ultimately raise interest in the film story.
FIGURE 15.3 Elizabeth Shue and Nicolas Cage in Leaving Las Vegas (1995)
COMPARISON OF TWO CLASSIC COMEDIES

To take a deeper look at balance of genre in screenwriting, it is beneficial to
compare two classic comedies—a pair of Howard Hawks’ films made only
two years apart: Bringing Up Baby (1938) and His Girl Friday (1940). Both
embrace the comedy genre, a genre that relies on exploring exaggerated
personalities, situations and/or emotions. Audience expectations of the
comedy genre include physical and/or verbal antics and juxtapositions of
situations, misunderstandings and misinformation. One of these classic
films is well balanced in its use of various genres; the other is not.
Bringing Up Baby (1938, written by Dudley Nichols and Hagard Wilde) is
a story of David (Cary Grant), a paleontologist who needs one last bone to
complete the museum’s brontosaurus skeleton. He is engaged to his uptight,
all-business secretary; she runs their life with precision and no emotion.
David meets Susan (Katharine Hepburn), a rich, spoiled and iconoclastic
young woman who is very comfortable on an emotional roller coaster.
Through a series of outrageous events, most in attempt to retrieve the lost
bone David needs for his dinosaur skeleton, David and Susan fall in love
and, at the end of the film, are clearly on their way to the altar.
A synopsis of core plot points of Bringing Up Baby suggests the film
belongs in the romantic comedy genre. This is, after all, a story where two
people meet, go on a journey together, and ostensibly fall in love against
great odds. However, this film fails to meet the classic romance genre
expectations. David is clearly the protagonist, he is the character who goes
through the most change; from a man who wants more out of life but can’t
demand it, to a man who takes charge and makes his own choices. If the
FIGURE 15.4 Katharine Hepburn and Cary Grant in Bringing Up Baby (1938)
screenwriter accepts that genre sits in the journey of the protagonist, David’s
journey clearly does not fulfill the accepted criteria of the romance genre.
David remains, for most of the film, merely a victim of the plot’s outrageous
events. One could observe, in examining the arc of the other main character,
Susan, that only three of the seven criteria needed to fulfill the romance
genre are met. Susan does “meet” David on the golf course, Susan does real-
ize she “wants” David and tells her aunt she intends to marry David, Susan
uses two ploys to “pursue” David (she says she will introduce him to the
man who could help David get money for the museum and she asks for his
help in taking care of a leopard). However, in the second act of the film,
missing romance elements are evident—girl does not get boy, girl does not
lose boy, girl does not realize how disastrous life would seem without the
love she desires. The third act’s comedic antics play out and in the final two
minutes Susan finally does pull from David a declaration of love. Because
the film does not fully meet the criteria of the romance genre, David’s final
outburst of affection does not pack the emotional punch romantic comedy
audiences desire, thus making the “A” story fall short of expectations and
remain solely in the comedy genre. In addition, the rather small “B” sto-
ries of Bringing Up Baby sit singularly in the comedy genre. Aunt Elizabeth
and Major Applegate’s flirtatious relationship is fraught with comedic mis-
understandings and misinformation as is the dim-witted sheriff’s story,
the gardener’s story and the officious psychiatrist’s story. Because all the
“B” stories live in the comedy genre, there is no variation or dimensionality

in the script, thus creating an unbalanced film.
Howard Hawks, a director who had strong creative input in the scripts
he directed, in an interview for Movie Magazine with Peter Bogdanovich in
1962 said:
“I think the picture had a great fault and I learned an awful lot from it.
There were no normal people in it. Everyone you met was a screwball.
Since that time I have learned my lesson and I don’t intend ever again
to make everybody <in a film> crazy. If the gardener had been normal,
if the sheriff had been just a perplexed man from the country—but as it
was—they were all off center. And it was a mistake that I realized after I
made it and I haven’t made it since.”
(Breivold, 1962: 23)
I assert that along with Hawks and the screenwriter’s choice of characteriza-
tions and motivations, it is the lack of balance of genre that keeps the film from
being “all that it could be.”
A simple breakdown can illuminate the balance of genres in Bringing Up
Baby.
– Total number of scenes in the script: 102

– Total number of scenes played for comedy: 100
– Total number of scenes played solely for romance: 1
– Total number of scenes played solely for drama: 1
Percentage breakdown:
– Percentage of scenes: comedy 99%

– Percentage of scenes: romance 1%
– Percentage of scenes: drama 1%
The single dramatic scene in Bringing Up Baby does not involve either of the
major characters. The scene takes place at the circus grounds, and is, essentially,
a set-up for the need for euthanasia of a dangerous leopard. No comedy here,
purely an expositional scene that acts as a set-up opportunity for more comedic
misinformation and misunderstandings for the main characters and plot.
Aficionados of pure comedy may celebrate Bringing Up Baby for its singu-
larity, and although it was not well-received on its initial release in 1938 it
has become a favorite—mostly because of the tour-de-force performances of
its lead actors who went on to become major stars. Despite Bringing Up Baby’s
strong points, it is wise for the screenwriter to understand the lack of balance
of the script to better address his or her own creative work.
Two years after Howard Hawks directed Bringing Up Baby, he considered
bringing the play “The Front Page” (written by Ben Hecht and Charles
MacArthur) to the screen. The play centers on two men, Walter Burns, the
editor of the newspaper, and his star reporter, Hildy Johnson. Hildy has become
disenchanted with being part of the exploitative media spearheaded by editor
Burns and he has decided to quit the reporting business to get married and
become an advertising executive. It is Walter Burns’ intention to put a stop
to Hildy’s plan and keep him working on the newspaper. The play had been
made into a film only nine years previously, in 1931, and Hawks wanted to
find something new in it. Hawks decided to do a reading of the play in his
office. Due to the availability of readers, Hawks asked a female secretary to read
the part of one of the male leads, reporter Hildy Johnson. During the reading,
Hawks realized that this gender switch opened up new and exciting opportuni-
ties in the story. He asked Hecht and MacArthur for permission to change the
gender of Hildy from male to female. The dramatists agreed and screenwriter
Charles Lederer, with the help of Hawks, went to work. In making this core
switch, the romance genre was introduced into a script already serving as a host
to comedy, drama, coming-of-age, action and political satire. This addition of
another strong genre elevated the story to a new level and keeps His Girl Friday
(1940) on the Writers Guild of America’s Top 101 Best Written Films.
It’s interesting to note how the change of gender of one of the main
characters of His Girl Friday moved the story from its original overriding
genre of comedy satire to sit clearly in the romantic comedy genre. His Girl
Friday embraces its newly added genre from the outset, quickly setting up
the romantic triangle. Hildy (Rosalind Russell) is with her new fiancé, Bruce
FIGURE 15.5 Cary Grant and Rosalind Russell in His Girl Friday (1940)
(Ralph Bellamy), and Hildy’s ex-husband and ex-boss at the newspaper, editor
Walter Burns (Cary Grant). Hildy tells Walter to stop sending her telegrams
constructed to lure her back to her reporting job at the newspaper and, roman-
tically, to him. By opening the film in this genre, the audience is primed for
the conventions of romance.1 From its first moments, His Girl Friday sets itself
apart by focusing on its new overriding genre—romantic comedy.
All the criteria of the romance genre are met: Walter “meets” up with
Hildy when, a few weeks after their divorce has become final, she comes to
Walter’s office to tell him to stop pursuing her. Walter “realizes he wants”
Hildy when she tells him of her impending marriage. Walter “gets” Hildy
by appealing to her inner reporter and manipulates her into doing one last
story for the newspaper: covering the execution of a criminal, Earl Williams.
Walter “loses” Hildy when she tears up her interview with Williams and quits
because Walter has arranged for her new fiancé to have his wallet stolen, get
picked up for soliciting prostitution and land in jail (all done by Walter to stall
Hildy’s marriage plans). Walter “has an epiphany about what his life would
be like” without Hildy when he realizes he may have pushed her away for
good. Walter “strives to get Hildy back” by showing up at the reporters’ room
at the courthouse and working side by side with her on the biggest story of
her career. Walter is successful in his pursuit when Hildy realizes that she’s a
newspaperwoman through and through and loves Walter despite (or because
of) his underhanded techniques to win her back. Therefore all of the romance
genre criteria are fulfilled. However, His Girl Friday is not a single-genre film; it
balances other genres such as drama, action, satire and crime. Elements of the
drama genre: everyman/criminal Earl Williams is to be hung on schedule and
Hildy could be the only person who can save his life. She attempts to do so
through her reporting skills. The dramatic scenes featuring Hildy’s interview
with Earl Williams bring a halt to the rapid-fire verbal comedy and sets the
film in a very real world. Hildy also witnesses the dramatic scenes where every-
woman Molly, Earl William’s girlfriend, in moral outrage, accuses the newspa-
permen of twisting the truth to sell papers, thus pointing out the ills of society.
Elements of the crime genre are employed when Earl Williams breaks out of
prison and the mayor and sheriff team up to ignore the governor’s pardon that
calls for a stay of execution. The action genre that demands sequences featur-
ing the protagonist in a physical and moral interplay between good and bad
forces—using combat, stunts, car chases, explosions and other physical feats—
is also evident in the film. Hildy and Walter, the main characters, are involved
in the action sequences that result from Earl William’s escape from prison.
A breakdown can illuminate the balance of genres in His Girl Friday.
– Pages in the script: 130

– Total number of scenes in film: 100
– Total number of scenes played for comedy/satire: 70
– Total number of scene played solely for romance: 15

– Total number of scenes played solely for drama: 12
– Total number of scenes dealing with crime: 6
– Total number of scenes employing action: 6
– Percentage of scenes: comedy 70%

– Percentage of scenes: crime 6%
– Percentage of scenes: action 6%
Obviously some scenes will overlap in genres; for example, the action plays
out in a comedic/slapstick fashion and the romance scenes include humorous
dialogue.
COMPARISON OF TWO DRAMA NARRATIVES

It is interesting to examine the balance of two contemporary films in the
drama genre, Gangs of New York (2002, written by Jay Cocks, Steve Zallian and
Kenneth Lonergan) and The Departed (2006, adapted by William Monahan,
based on the Hong Kong film, Infernal Affairs). Both films are directed by
Martin Scorsese, both cover similar narrative territory and yet balance their
various genres in different ways.
In Gangs of New York, the story centers on the struggle for control of
the Five Points area of New York City in the 1860s between two gangs,
the Native Americans and the Dead Rabbits. The film employs five genres;
period, drama, action, romance and coming-of-age. The Departed examines
the struggle of the Irish mob for domination of territory in Boston, approxi-
mately 160 years later. The Irish want to keep the Italian mob at bay as
they also face the emergence of Asian gangs. The film employs eight genres;
thriller, crime, drama, fish-out-of-water, action, romance and coming-of-age.
It is interesting to examine the balance of genres in each of these two films
and to explore if all the criteria of the chosen genres are fulfilled.
Gangs of New York, which opens with a killing, does not fulfill the
demands of the crime genre. To review: crime genre criteria include the set-up
of the law and order of the day, the breaking of the law, crime investigation
and apprehension (or not) of the criminal. Crime drama also explores the
power relations in the society as well as the moral flexibility of the law and
the perpetrators of the crime. Although the law, in Gangs of New York, tries
to control the antagonistic situations between the gangs, there is no hunt
for criminals of a specific crime to build a through-line in the story. The
FIGURE 15.6 Daniel Day-Lewis and Leonardo DiCaprio in Gangs of New York
(2002)
representatives of the law are also corrupt, thus denying the audience a moral
standard they can use to compare “good” and “bad.” This lack of fulfillment of
the crime genre results in an episodic feel to the film; one violent action follows
another but no core event connects them. In The Departed, the Boston police
have built a task force to bring down the gangs—specifically Frank Costello
( Jack Nicholson)—to end the illegal sale of contraband to violent groups. The
planning and execution of Costello’s latest crime and the Boston police force’s
efforts to stop that crime serve as the unifying elements on which the other
stories can rest. There are also “good” cops and “bad” cops, illegal actions and
those who believe in the legal system and a moral standard. This is represented
in the character of Police Captain Queenan (portrayed by Martin Sheen), thus
giving the audience the moral standard they need to properly assess the story.
Both films explore the protagonists’ need for father-figures; in Gangs
of New York a young boy, Amsterdam Vallon, sees his father killed by Bill
the Butcher (Daniel Day-Lewis). Years later, Amsterdam is now a young
man (Leonardo DiCaprio). He goes undercover in the Butcher’s gang to
seek revenge, and soon finds himself taken under the protective wing of his
father’s murderer. The Departed also explores the father/son dynamic, the
two protagonists (portrayed by Matt Damon and Leonardo DiCaprio) find
father figures in their superiors—the good Captain Queenan and the corrupt
Frank Costello. Billy Costigan (portrayed by DiCaprio) is torn between the
two father figures because he is chosen to go undercover in Costello’s gang
FIGURE 15.7 Leonardo DiCaprio and Jack Nicholson in The Departed (2006)
to flush out its latest criminal plans. There he is taken under the protective
wing of the criminal he is meant to expose.
Romance between Amsterdam and Jenny (portrayed by Cameron Diaz)
is evident in Gangs of New York but the script meets only five criteria of
the genre, the missing elements being “boy realizes his life his will empty
without the love he desires” and “boy striving to get girl back.” The love
story is, ultimately, unsatisfying. The Departed takes more time with its
romance, dedicates more scenes to its arc and clearly hits all the criteria.
It’s clear both films embrace a variety of genres, but the balance is differ-
ent in each of them.
Gangs of New York:
– Total number of script pages: 150

– Total number of scenes played primarily for drama: 119
– Total number of action scenes: 22
– Total number of scenes concerning politics: 20
– Total number of scenes played solely for Civil War information: 6
– Total number of scenes played solely for father/son dynamic: 6
– Total number of scenes played solely for coming-of-age: 4

– Percentage of scenes: political 15%
– Percentage of scenes: coming-of-age 7%
– Percentage of scenes: father/son dynamic 4%
– Percentage of scenes: exposition of historical context 4%
Obviously some scenes will overlap in genres.

In breaking down The Departed, one can see the genres are more balanced;
Gangs of New York is top heavy in drama (79% of the scenes) whereas The
Departed puts 61% of its scenes in drama, spending more time in the coming-
of-age, action, romance and father/son dynamic areas. This balance allows the
writer to explore the dimensionality of the world, the characters, their lives
and choices, thus giving the audience a more complete character exploration
of the protagonist and supporting characters.
The Departed:
– Total number of script pages: 152

– Total number of scenes played primarily for crime drama: 92
– Total number of action scenes: 33
– Total number of scenes played solely for coming-of-age: 30
ο Divided between the two protagonists.
– Total number of scenes played solely for father/son dynamic: 20
ο Colin and Costello: 8
ο Billy and Costello: 4
ο Billy and Queenan: 8
ο Both men desire the same woman. Colin (Matt Damon) has 5 scenes
(13 pages), Billy (Leonardo DiCaprio) has 5 scenes (14 pages).
– Total number of scenes played solely for fish-out-of-water: 6

– Total number of suspense sequences: 6
– Total number of scenes concerning politics of police force: 6
– Percentage of scenes: crime/drama/thriller 66%

– Percentage of scenes: coming-of-age 21%

– Percentage of scenes: father/son dynamic 13%
– Percentage of scenes: fish-out-of-water 8%
ο The number of pages dedicated to the romance equals 18%
– Percentage of scenes: police work and politics 4%
Obviously some scenes will overlap in genres.

Although successful film stories naturally embrace a variety of genres (as
this book purports), it is of value to the screenwriter to clearly understand
the criteria of each genre and work to fulfill its demands. Learning the
technical skills to better balance genres in screenplays is an asset to any
writer, as witnessed in the adaptation of the play The Front Page to the
more complex and satisfying His Girl Friday. In some cases a script can be
enhanced exponentially simply by adding another genre (or two) to a story,
and fulfilling the criteria of that genre.
Fortunately or unfortunately—depending on the desires of the
screenwriter—there is no magic formula for genre balance. The perfect balance
will always be amorphous and impossible to quantify. But as an artist mixes
colors and shapes to produce a still life that becomes a work of art, so can a
writer use his or her technical skills to improve the canvas of the screen story.
It is important to remember that most (all?) successful films are made
up of film genre hybrids. A few other examples of films that have garnered
critical or commercial success and their combination of genres include:
– Citizen Kane (1940): drama/mystery/epic/coming-of-age.

– Singin’ in the Rain (1952): romantic comedy/period/musical/coming-
of-age.
– Some Like It Hot (1959): comedy/crime/romance/coming-of-age.
– Spartacus (1960): drama/period/historical/coming-of-age.
– Network (1976): drama/coming-of-age/romance.
– Shrek (2001): comedy/buddy/romance/satire.
– Gandhi (1982): bio-pic/drama/historic/epic/period/coming-of-age.
– Mean Girls (2004): coming-of-age/dram-edy.
– Bull Durham (1988): sports/romance/buddy/dram-edy.
– Goodfellas (1990): drama/crime/coming-of age/buddy.
– Erin Brockovich (2000): bio-pic/drama/crime/coming-of-age.
– Lars and the Real Girl (2007): dram-edy/romance/coming-of-age.
– There Will Be Blood (2007): drama/period/adventure/tragedy.
– The Artist (2011): romantic dram-edy/period/musical.
– Bridesmaids (2011): comedy/buddy/coming-of-age/romance.

– Wolverine (2013): fantasy/thriller/crime.
– Transformers (2007): fantasy/adventure-action.
– Twilight (2008): fantasy/romance/action/coming-of-age.
– American Hustle (2013): crime/thriller/romance.
– Blue Jasmine (2013): dram-edy (drama/comedy).
– Thor: The Dark World (2013): fantasy/adventure-action/romance.
NOTE
1 It is also interesting to note that in the 1931 production of The Front Page,
starring Adolphe Menjou and Pat O’Brien, as well as in the 1974 Billy Wilder
version starring Walter Matthau and Jack Lemmon, the initial scenes focus on
the business and ethics of being a newspaperman, thus priming the audience
for drama.
REFERENCES
Altman, Rick (1989) The American Film Musical, BFI, UK.
Bringing Up Baby (1938) Writers: Dudley Nichols & Hagard Wilde, Director: Howard
Hawks, RKO Pictures, https://www.scriptfly.com/searchpage/resultpage.php?
search=b.
Breivold, Scott (2006) Interviews: Howard Hawks, University of Mississippi Press,
USA.
Days of Wine and Roses (1962) Writer: J.P. Miller, Director: Blake Edwards, Warner
Bros.
Gangs Of New York (2002) Writers: Jay Cocks, Steve Zallian & Kenneth Lonergan,
Director: Martin Scorsese, Miramax Films, http://www.imsdb.com/scripts/
Gangs-of-New-York.html.
His Girl Friday (1940) Writer: Charles Lederer, Director: Howard Hawks, Columbia
Pictures, http://www.imsdb.com/scripts/His-Girl-Friday.html.
Leaving Las Vegas (1995) Writer: Mike Figgis, Director: Mike Figgis, Lumiere
Pictures/MGM.
Lost Weekend (1945) Writer: Charles Brackett and Billy Wilder, Director: Billy Wilder,
Paramount Pictures.
Schatz, Thomas (1981) Hollywood Genres: Formulas, Filmmaking and the Studio System,
Random House, USA.
The Departed (2006) Writer: William Monahan, Director: Marin Scorsese, Warner
Bros, http://www.imsdb.com/scripts/Departed,-The.html.
WGA Best 101 Films (accessed 2014) http://www.wga.org/.
CHAPTER 16
Conclusion
A Practical Tool in the
Screenwriter’s “Toolbox”
There are no immutable rules when it comes to creating a screenplay. New
forms and new interpretations are always welcome, for the art form must
always be evolving. The “art” of screenwriting remains in the mind and
heart of the writer—for the individual approach to narrative remains the
most important element in storytelling.
What I see, no one sees, what I hear, no one else hears; what I touch no
one else touches and so on.
(Russell, 1927: 137)
That being said, an understanding of the classic elements of the screen-

writing craft—ones that have proven successful in engaging an audience’s
interest over the decades—can only be beneficial to the screenwriter. And
specific to this book, I believe that the knowledge of how to implement
components of film genre in the construction of a screenplay is an essential
addition to the screenwriter’s craft.
What is most important to remember is that film genre promises a
journey that the audience expects and anticipates—it has been promised
through marketing or word of mouth. Consciously or unconsciously, film-
viewers are seeking an experience that directly relates to the chosen film genre
of the narrative. For example, as noted in the individual chapters, viewing
an action film can cause the heart to beat faster and raise testosterone levels,
a comedy enhances a sense of well-being, a romance tugs at our emotional
core, a thriller engages our minds and bodies, and so on. It is clear that
certain people are drawn to certain types of stories in specific genres—and
film studio executives and producers look for screenplays in particular genres
knowing they will attract a certain audience.
Each of the film genres may offer the screenwriter ideas for plot and/or
character arcs and also ideas for the set-up of specific worlds (whether ones
filled with a sense of wonder or ones based in relatable reality). Choosing the
supporting genres will help the screenwriter flesh out character and plot points,
315
316 CONCLUSION
therefore the blank-page challenge of a new project can feel less daunting,
more structurally sound and thus more enjoyable as the construction process
unfolds.
The screenwriter, using an overriding genre, can shape a narrative that
fulfills audience expectations—and he or she is also able to use film genres to
add a “sense of newness.” Film genre components can be exaggerated (as in
the work of David Lynch, the Coen brothers, Alexander Payne, Guy Ritchie
and more) or they can be used in a classic or a revisionist or deconstructed
manner. The chosen supporting film genres can also add texture and new-
ness to a narrative. The screenwriter, using a deep exploration of film history
and how film genre has been handled in different eras, will be better able
to make the “new” choices that will allow his or her work to stand out, and
challenge and titillate audiences in new ways.
The screenwriter, in building the film story as an “idealized cogni-
tive model,” constructs the screenplay to illuminate a specific universe for
specific characters that will elucidate distinctive storylines and thematic
threads. The ICM of a feature film screenplay includes location, characters,
plot and other narrative ingredients—including the vital component of film
genre. The film narrative (because of the limited time allotment to tell a
fully realized story) discards other “real world” elements that could distract
the audience from narrative and thematic comprehension. For example,
the fantasy/adventure-action film Thor (2012) sets up a fantastical world
where mythological gods interact with human beings. Only the narrative
components that are needed to fulfill the journey of the story are included
in the screenplay; extraneous minutes, hours or lifetimes (and also extra-
neous characters) are not included. Woody Allen’s dram-edy/tragedy Blue
Jasmine (2013) focuses on the main character ( Jasmine, portrayed by Cate
Blanchett) and her fall in social and familial standings when she turns her
husband in for fraudulent financial practices. Only pertinent and salient
scenes and sequences are included—ones that examine her relationships to
family, to society and to her inability to cope with her new life. A screen-
writer can also use the three elements of the mental space of film genre to
subvert and/or energize a narrative so that fresh authorial perspectives can
be mined—ones that might surprise and provide the audience with a novel
experience within a specific film genre.
In review, a concise definition of the mental space of film genre:
The mental space of film genre, composed of schematic, specific and

relevant knowledge, is a component of film genre to be used by the
screenwriter in building an idealized cognitive model of a film story
to help address the expectations and desires of the audience, and—in
addition—challenge the audience to consider narrative material in new
and fresh ways.
CONCLUSION 317
When film genre elements are used in knowledgeable ways, they can do
a lot of the “heavy lifting” of the story—and leave room for the screenwriter
to explore fresh character dilemmas that relate to contemporary issues.
– The schematic knowledge can be used to frame the story, both exter-
nally and internally. The framing can help orient the audience to the
types of film genres employed, thus creating a short course to audi-
ence comprehension. Use of schematic knowledge can also help focus
and communicate the author’s intent as well as keep the narrative on
a cohesive track.
– An understanding of the specific knowledge (audience expectations
and how to satisfy and challenge them) is at the core of making scene
and sequence choices that move the character narrative forward. The
film audience is drawn into a genre due to personal memories and/or
emotional experiences. These reactions and anticipations can be iden-
tified and explored by considering the primal desires that appeal to an
audience interested in a certain genre.
– The screenwriter can also address the relevant knowledge of film genre
by asking how certain film genres might work to reflect and com-
ment on contemporary society. Considering the relevant knowledge
element can keep the screenwriter current and help to keep the nar-
rative from falling into the “genre film” category.
Film genre, as it pertains to the screenwriter, refers to an active component

in the creation of a screenplay. There are three areas to consider:
– film genre’s role in the creation of a short course of comprehension

of narrative for the audience;
– a film genre’s appeal to a particular audience and how the screen-
writer can benefit from understanding the reasons for specific audi-
ence preferences;
– film genre as a tool in the craft of screenwriting to be used by the
screenwriter to reach a targeted audience.
At the outset of this work, I wanted to delve into an effective way

for screenwriters to use film genre as a practical tool in the screenwriter’s
“toolbox.” In my subsequent seminars and classes in Film Genre for
Screenwriters, I have noticed an immediate benefit to narrative construction
when the writer understands and commits to the genres of his or her
narrative. The stories are more focused. The audience is able to “get on
board” more quickly. A deeper knowledge about “types of stories” allows the
screenwriter to explore new ways of approaching specific film genres. Classic
tropes can be presented in fresh and innovative ways. The screenwriter is
318 CONCLUSION
able to employ film genre components as guideposts (to follow or subvert)

and the screenwriting process becomes more energetic and enjoyable.
It is my hope that this book will serve as a useful tool for screenwriters,
to be used to understand the importance of film genre in the ideation and
construction stages of writing a screenplay.
REFERENCE
Russell, Bertrand (1927/2009) An Outline of Philosophy, Routledge Classics, UK.
INDEX
300 241 Being John Malkovich 174

39 Steps 209, 221 Bellamy 111–112
48 Hours 114 Bergson, Henri 77
50/50 85 Big 174, 297
Big Parade, The 280
A story 206, 301, 303 bildungsroman 289–290
acid western 189 Billy Elliot 292–293
action genre xiii, 229–248 bio-pic genre 54–55
action line 241 Birth of a Nation 280
adventure genre xi, 54, 92, 95, 121, black comedy 83–84, 273
248–258 Blade Runner 180
Airplane! 265 blue comedy 82–84
Airport 264 Boden, Margaret A. xii, 12, 35, 44
allegory 179–180 Book of Eli 268, 270–271
Allen, Woody 44, 171 Borat 83
All Quiet on the Western Front 281 Bordwell, David viii-ix, 4, 230,
Alice in Wonderland 40–43, 297 242–243, 245
Altman, Rick xiii, 1, 2, 4, 9, 10, 15, 35, Boy And His Dog, The 270
191, 208 Bourne Identity, The 241–242
Analog Science Fact Bradbury, Ray 150
see: Astounding Science Fiction Brazil 179
Andres, Carmen 259, 268, 274 Braudy, Leo xv, 3
animal comedy 81–84 Braveheart 246
anti-hero 66, 213, 216, 219, 221, 237, Breton, Andre 83
243–244 Bridget Jones Diary 93, 104
Apatow, Judd 43–44, 83 Bringing Up Baby 304–307
Apocalypse 268–270 bro-mance 77, 114
Apocalypse Now 282 Brook, Tom 270, 274
apocalyptic western 189 Brooks, Mel 80, 81
Armageddon 268 buddy genre 113–115
Aristotle 12, 40, 69, 78 Bunce, C.J. 289
Asimov, Isaac 151, 160, 166
Assassination of Jesse James By The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari 142, 171
Coward Robert Ford 6, 197, 199 Cameron, James 99, 155, 172,
associating 12, 35, 40, 43–44 178, 266
Astounding Science Fiction 151, 153 Campbell, John Wood 153, 160
automaton 175 Campbell, Joseph 24, 31, 198, 250
Avatar 153, 155, 164, 178 Casablanca 7, 12, 17–20
Cawelti, John G. 10, 190, 191–192,
B story 206, 301, 303 198
Back to the Future 149 Charade 211
Bailey, James Osler 149–150 Charlie and the Chocolate Factory 174
balance of genres 155, 301–314 chick flicks 99–100
Bass, Ron 26 Chomsky, Noam 35
Batman 233 Chopra, Deepak 78–79, 85
Beauty and the Beast 171 cinema verite 214–215
319
320 INDEX
Circus, The 103 Earthquake 264

Clockwork Orange, A 164–165 Ebert, Roger 130
Clover, Carol J. 131, 132, 133 ego 125–126, 238
code of friendship 198 Egri, Lajos 31
Coen brothers 43, 222–224, 316 Elysium 231–232
comedy genre xi, xiii, 52, 69–90, Emmerich, Roland 263
101–102 emotional DNA 96
comedy of manners 104 Ephron, Nora 5, 6, 98, 100
comic books/fantasy 181–182 epic genre 57–58
coming-of-age genre 56, 289–296 Epidemic 265
Contagion 267 Espionage 208–210
Coppola, Francis Ford 12, 33, 73, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind
130, 282 121, 148
Corman, Roger 162 everyman/everywoman 70, 124
covert comedy 78–87 exclusive 10, 188, 189, 204, 244, 277
cowboy 192 Exorcist, The 128
Crank 240
Crazy Stupid Love 294 Fail-Safe 36–37
creativity xii, 35, 39, 44 Fargo 223–224
Crichton, Michael 154, 266 Fast and Furious, The 230–231
crime genre 56–57, 205, 208, 309 Fatal Attraction 212
Cronenberg, David 44, 143 fantastical marvelous 173–179
Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon 241 fantastical uncanny 173–179
cyberpunk 165 fantasy genre 58, 121–122, 170–186
Fauconnier, Gilles 11–13, 15, 26, 29, 45
De Palma, Brian 33 Faust 140–141
De Souza, Steven 26, femme fatale 214
Days of Wine and Roses 72, Fight Club 180
302–303 film genre viii-ix, x–xv, 1–8
decoding 25–26, 28 film noir genre 58–59, 213–214,
deconstruction 5–6, 10, 132–135, 218–219
192, 197 final girl 130, 131
Deep Impact 266–267 fish-out-of-water genre 59, 297–299
demon 141 Fletcher, Louise 211
Departed, The 220, 298, 309–313 Fly, The 143
Derbyshire, John 156, 158 Ford, John 281–282
Descendants, The 85–86, 294–295 Forty Guns 193
Destination Moon 162 franchise 1, 3, 29, 231, 271
deus ex machina 248 Frankenstein 142
devil 140–141 Freaky Friday 297
Die Hard 236, 245–246 French Connection, The 243–244
disaster genre xi, 57, 259–275 Freud, Sigmund 125, 162, 174–175, 176
Deliverance 212 Friday the 13th 132
Dirks, Tim 20, 81, 125, 207, 278 frontier strip 190–191
District 9 180–181 Frow, John 11, 34
Django Unchained 250 Fugitive, The 241
doppelganger 175
Double Indemnity 218 Gamer 240
drama genre xi, 52–53, 69–90 Gangs of New York 309–313
dram-edy genre 53, 85–87, Gaslight 210–211
Dr. Strangelove 36–37, 273 Gauntier, Gene 209
Drive 241 Gehring, Wes D. 104, 105
Duncan, Stephen 108, 111 genre film xii–xiii, 1–8
INDEX 321
genre hybrid 7, 13, 66, 71, 224, 230, id 125–126, 135, 238
279, 301–314 Idealized cognitive model (ICM)
ghost 140 11–47, 163
Girl With the Dragon Tattoo, The 238 Inception 149
Girl Shy 102–103 Impossible, The 243, 272
Glieberman, Owen 259–260, 264–265 inclusive 10, 77, 149, 189
Godfather, The 12 innocent victim 207
Godzilla 180 introspection 39, 43, 44
Goldwasser 244, Invasion of the Body Snatchers 161–162
Gone With The Wind 281 invasion literature 136
Good Will Hunting 72 Iron Man 181–182, 233
gothic 176 It Happened One Night 104
Grand Illusion 281 It’s a Wonderful Life 174
Grant, Barry Keith 1
Great Escape, The 234 Jacey, Helen 112–113
Grodal, Torben 28–32, 94, 124, 232 James Bond 3, 16–17, 210, 246
Gross, Michael 293 Jentsch, Ernst 173
grotesque 126, 179, 183 Jerry Maguire 93
Groundhog Day 79–80, 178 JFK 220
Guy, Alice 171 Jung, Carl 162
Jurassic Park 149
Hall, Stuart 24, 25–26
Halloween 128–129 katastasis 79, 88
Hangover, The 83–84 Keaton, Buster 171
hard science 150–152 Kinberg, Simon 246–247
Harper, Howard M. 34 King, Geoff 161
Harry Potter 121–122, 154, 249, King Kong 37–39
250, 293 King’s Speech, The 294
Hawks, Howard 306–307 Kinsey, Alfred 106
Hayward, Susan 199 Kitano, Masahiro 78, 84
Heinlein, Robert 162 Kitses, Jim 10, 188
Her 96 Klavan, Andrew 281, 282, 284
hero 195, 229, 233, 236, 245, Knocked Up 109
268, 282 Koepp, David 242–243
heroine 104, 107, 112, 229, 245 Kryzwinkskia, Tanya 161
hero’s journey 250, 251 Kubrick, Stanley 162
Hicks, Neill 236, 238, 244
High Noon 197 lampoon genre 3, 60, 77
His Girl Friday 104, 304–309 Lang, Fritz 209
historical genre 59 Langer, Susanne 78, 85
Hitchcock, Alfred 25, 27, 128, 203, Langord, Barry 161
206–208, 221–222, 226, 234 Leaving Las Vegas 72, 303
Hobbitt, The 250 legal thriller 215
horror genre xi, xiii, 4, 59–60, Legally Blonde 297
122–123, 124–145 Lindelof, Damon 239
horse opera 190 Life of Pi 271–272, 293–294
House on Haunted Hill 128 Limitless 174
Hughes, John 3, 293 Lincoln, Abraham 176
Humpty Dumpty 179–180 Lish, Gordon 26
Hunger Games 164, 250 Logan’s Run 154
Hurt Locker, The 243 Lord of the Rings 178, 250, 298
Hybrid Lost Weekend, The 301–302
See genre hybrid Lucas, George viii, 31, 164
322 INDEX
Lucian of Samosata 156–157 monster 127, 135–141

Lui, Chia-Chiang 245 Moon Is Blue 106–107
morality tale 181
McDonald, Tamara 20, 100, 101, 105, Motion Picture Production Code 106
107, 109 Mrs. Doubtfire 295–296
McKee, Robert 32, Muller, Eddie 219
Macguffin 221–222 Mulvey, Laura 11, 99
Man Who Knew Too Much, The Muscovitz, Jennifer 187, 192, 196
206, 207 musical genre 61
man-in-jeopardy thriller 212–213 Mutiny on the Bounty 253–255
man-made disaster 261–262 mutually assured destruction (MAD)
Marsh, Calum 239–240 247–248
martial arts 244–245 Myers, Mike 80
M*A*S*H* 282 mystery genre 61–62, 205
Matrix, The 153, 180
medical thriller 215 National Treasure 249
Melies, George 120, 158, 159, 175 natural disaster 261
melodrama genre 60–61, 74, 267–268 Neale, Steve xiii, 1, 7, 9, 10, 14, 24, 35,
mental space of action genre 252 101, 102, 127, 263–264, 266
mental space of adventure genre 252 neo-traditional romantic comedy
mental space of buddy genre 116–117 108–109
mental space of comedy 88 Night of the Living Dead 122
mental space of coming-of-age genre No Country for Old Men 126, 222–223
295–296 North By Northwest 218, 222, 234
mental space of disaster genre Nosferatu 131
273–275 Notebook, The 72
mental space of drama genre 76 noticing 12, 36, 43, 44
mental space of fantasy genre 184–185 Notorious 209, 218
mental space of film genre 9–47
mental space of fish-out-of-water oater 190
genre 298–299 Olympus Has Fallen 239–240, 274
mental space of romance genre Outlaw 198
116–117 overriding genre xiii, xv, 7, 13,
mental space of romantic comedy 120–122, 123, 297, 301
genre 116–117 overt comedy 78–87
mental space of sci-fi genre 166–167
mental space of thriller genre 225–226 Pacific Rim 148, 270
mental space of war genre 284–285 parody genre (see lampoon)
mental space of western genre 200 Patton 282
Mernit, Billy 80–85, 101, 111 Paul, William 81–82, 83
Metropolis 159, 180 Payne, Alexander 86
Mexican stand-off 247–248 Perkowitz, Sidney 147, 149
Meyers, Nancy 44, 109 period genre 62
micro-story 243 Philadelphia Story, The 21, 93
Midnight in Paris 175 Pittman, Frank 260–261
mimesis 71, 73 Plato 78, 93, 95
mini-story 251 Platoon 282
Misch, David 69 Play Misty For Me 212
Misery 212–213 Popcorn action movie 239
Miss Congeniality 104 portal 173–174
Mitry, Jean 188 Poseidon Adventure 264
mode 4–5, 51 possible world 12
Moine, Raphaelle 29, 32–33, 237 post-apocalyptic 165, 270–271
monomyth 31, 250, 251 pre-code films 106
INDEX 323
prescriptive genre 230 Sirk, Douglas 74

Proposal, The 109 Skillman, T. McDonald
Psycho 27–28, 39, 130, 218 slapstick 81, 83, 85, 105, 309
psychological horror 127, 129–130 slasher horror 127, 130–135
Sleeping With the Enemy 211–212
Quantum of Solace 16–17 Smuts, Aaron 78
Snow White and the Seven Dwarves 171
radical romantic comedy 107–108 Sobchak, Vivian 161, 163
Raiders of the Lost Ark 249 soft science 150–152
Rand, Otto 175 Solomon, Stanley 37, 148, 162
Rebecca 211, 218 Some Like It Hot 35
relevant knowledge 13–47 Sorry Wrong Number 211
also see mental space of each genre soulmate 20, 93
revisionism 6, 10, 192, 197 Space Odyssey, A 162, 164
rising action 247 space opera 150–152, 183, 279
rite of passage 291–292 space western 189
road genre 62 specific knowledge 13–47
Road to Glory 281 see mental space breakdown of
romance genre xi, 4, 62–63, 92–117 each genre
romantic comedy genre 63, 77, speculative genre 120–123
100–113 Sphere 154–155
Romero, George 139 Spiderman 174, 181–182, 233
Rosemary’s Baby 122 Staiger, Janet
Rossio, Terry 15, 23–24, Stam, Robert 14–15
Rubin, Martin 203, 205, 210, 214 Star Trek 151, 152, 278
Rush 232 Star Wars 120–121, 153, 163–164,
Russell, Bertrand 25–26, 278
steampunk 165–166
Safe House 220 Sternberg, Andrew 234–235, 237
satire genre 63–64 Stoker, Bram 136
Scarface 35 Stone, Oliver 282–283
Schatz, Thomas 7, 10, 13–15, 35, Superbad 115
104, 107 super-ego 125–126, 238
schematic knowledge 13–47 superheroes 64–65, 233, 239, 242
Schickel, Richard 188 Superman 181–182
Schopenhauer, Arthur 95 supernatural 126, 141, 144, 173, 262
Schulberg, Budd xii, xv supernatural disaster 261–263
science fiction genre 64, 120–121, supporting genre xiii, xv, 120–122, 301
147–169 survey on film genre xi–xii
Scream 5–6, 132 suspense 204
screwball comedy 104–107 Suspense 206
semantic 10 suspense hook (look in action)
sense of newness xii, 2, 10, 37, 39, 43, swashbuckler 233
127, 316 syntactic 10
sense of wonder 152–153, 156, 170
Seven Samurai 241 Talented Mr. Ripley, The 213
sex comedy 106–107 tandem genre 229–231
Shane 187, 197 Tarantino, Quentin 248
Shelley, Mary 158, 269 Thelma and Louise 115
Sherlock Jr. 102 There Will Be Blood 194
Shining, The 128 Thing, The 153
Shoulder Arms 280 Thirteen Women 130
Sideways 86–87 thriller chase 224–224
Silence of the Lambs 220–221 thriller genre 65, 203–228
324 INDEX
Thor 181–182, 276 Vanilla Sky 152

ticking clock 224–225, 246, 247 Verne, Jules 120, 156, 158, 159
Tin Star, The 198 Virus 265
Titanic 263, 266, 268 Vogler, Chris 31, 251
To Kill A Mockingbird 292 voodoo 142
Todorov, Tzvetan 173
Tolkein, J.R.R. 178 Wait Until Dark 211
Towering Inferno, The 264 war genre 65–66, 275–288
Toy Story 122 War of the Worlds 246, 269
tragedy 69, 71, 74–76 warrior 276
Training Day 220 Weber, Lois 206
Trainspotting 72 Wells, Audrey 80
treasure 248–249 Wells, H.G. 136, 158, 269
Tropic Thunder 81 werewolf 137–138
Troy 276 western genre xi, 4, 66, 187–202
Tudor, Andrew 7, 10, 25 What Price Glory 280–281
Tucan, Ella 214 When Harry Met Sally 6
Tudor, Andrew 7, 10, 25, 26 Wild Bunch, The 234
Twister 154 Williams, Linda 99, 127–128
Williamson, Kevin 5, 132–135
uber genre 69–91 267 Wizard of Oz 121–122, 153, 177–178,
Unforgiven 6, 195, 197 249
Untested protagonist 192, 203, 208, Women-in-jeopardy thriller 210–212
218, 224, 271 world building 163, 173
Unwitting protagonist 124, 207, World War Z 270
209, 211, 217, 219, 222, Wright, Will 187, 191
223, 224
X-Men 154, 180
vampire 135–137
Van Gennep, Arnold 290–291 Zero Dark Thirty 243
Van Sant, Gus 39 zombie 138–140

Jule Selbo - Film Genre For The Screenwriter-Routledge (2014)

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Film Genre for the

“Attention Screenwriters: whether you are writing a horror movie, rom-com,

“As comprehensive in scope as it is exhaustively researched, Jule Selbo’s Film

“Jule Selbo’s text is an unpretentious and practical guide to screenwriting

CHAPTER 1 Film Genre for the Screenwriter 1

CHAPTER 2 Creating the Mental Space 9

CHAPTER 3 Overview of Film Genres 51

CHAPTER 4 The Uber Genres: Comedy and Drama 69

CHAPTER 5 Romance, Romantic Comedy

CHAPTER 6 Speculative Genres 120

CHAPTER 7 Horror 124

CHAPTER 8 Science Fiction 147

CHAPTER 9 Fantasy 170

CHAPTER 10 Western 187

CHAPTER 11 Thriller 203

CHAPTER 12 Action and Adventure 229

CHAPTER 13 Disaster and War 259

CHAPTER 14 Coming-of-Age and Fish-Out-of-Water 289

CHAPTER 15 Balancing Film Genres 301

CHAPTER 16 Conclusion: A Practical Tool in the

As an American screenwriter working in Hollywood for nearly twenty years I

Why is it important for a screenwriter to understand the components and

A film genre promises a journey that the film-viewer/script-reader wants

a product that has been termed formulaic or imitative. Therefore before

– film genre’s role in the creation of a short course of comprehension

Film Genre for the Screenwriter

FILM GENRE VS. GENRE FILM

In 1999 film theorist Rick Altman provided a distinction that helps

“Film genre” is the type of story, be it science fiction, horror, comedy,

financial resources—thus grouping all types of genre films in one pejora-

FILM GENRE AND BUILDING THE SCREENPLAY

ACTIVE AND PASSIVE GENRES

Creating the Mental Space

Terms to understand: attributes of genre, intention of genres, hybrid, idealized

Fauconnier proposed the idea of mental space corresponding to possible

FILM STORY AS A “MENTAL SPACE”

displaced by the war and his obsession to understand a woman’s romantic

Fauconnier purports that people achieve (or try to achieve) an understand-

Schatz’s concept of spatial context, which refers to conventionalized set-

MENTAL SPACE OF FILM GENRE

Every film is unique. Production and promotion are therefore governed

[S]ubject matter is the weakest criterion for generic grouping because it

Film theorist Robert Stam’s observation supports the need to understand

People tend to think of screenplays the way they think of novels. In

desire film genre satisfaction, a screenwriter may be advised to take into

sequences that vary in length (twenty seconds to three minutes) totaling

The opening of the dramatic Casablanca (written by Philip Epstein &

The Academy Award winning script continues, highlighting the dramatic

FIGURE 2.2 Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman in Casablanca (1942)

Summing up the Schematic Knowledge Component

As important as any relationship happening between characters on

Instructional texts on screenwriting, to date, have tended to focus on

The Author’s Intent

to consumption by focusing on the transfer of the author’s intent. Hall

You definitely write a script knowing that someone is going to read it . . .

To help explain the above points, I propose an example: in using

considering writing a screenplay in the horror genre. She understands

Because films engage mental processes, cognitivist film theorists have

Film theorist Torben Grodal explores developments in neuroscience and

Using research in a variety of sciences, Grodal makes his case: each

We have found that every human being consists of three dimensions:

Another popular screenwriting how-to text is former film development

Hollywood screenwriting guru Robert McKee brought some of these ideas