Given that I make my living as a screenwriter, it seems apropos that this site’s first posting begin with a story…
About ten years ago, I heard through the grapevine that Tom Cruise was looking to develop and star in a contemporary love story. Not a romcom, mind you, but an old- fashioned, tear-jerking, weepie.
Now, like most Gen Xers, I grew up idolizing Tom Cruise – and back then I had what I believed to be a great idea for him in my back pocket. So I called my agent and had him set up a meeting with Tom’s development team at Cruise-Wagner Productions.
And guess what? They loved my pitch. In fact, they loved it so much, they asked me to go directly upstairs where Tom was helping J.J. Abrams edit “Mission: Impossible 3” in order to pitch my idea directly to the Top Gun himself. (And yes, to reiterate what you’ve probably already heard: Tom Cruise is unlike any human being on earth. It’s like the guy runs on an inexhaustible supply of neutron power or something.)
Thankfully, Tom loved the idea too, and his team quickly arranged for me to pitch the story to a high-ranking exec at their home studio at the time, Paramount. To be clear: back then, if Tom Cruise was attached to your original pitch, you could go into an exec’s office, do a naked kabuki dance, insult their families, and even trash their office and vomit on their desks and they’d still buy your pitch for lots of dough. This is roundabout way of saying that by the time I made it to my car, my agent was already planning a celebration dinner at The Palm.
As it happens, the plot elements of my love story aren’t relevant here. In fact, the only thing you need to know about the movie is that it’s about a heart surgeon (Tom’s character) who is mourning the recent death of his wife.
Thrilled to be writing for the world’s biggest movie star, I spent the next several months outlining the idea (I am an obsessive outliner). And then spent another few months laying down what I believed to be a solid first draft. And since it was a love story, I made sure the movie had lots of scenes where Tom got to be mopey and wistful – and he even left heartbreaking messages on his dead wife’s voicemail. In my eyes, these scenes were love story gold – the kind of stuff certain to put tears in the eyes of the audience.
But somehow, it all felt kinda…boring. Like, so boring that I didn’t even want to turn my own pages. And that’s never a good sign.
After weeks of attempting to fix the script without success, I realized something that should have been obvious to me right from the get-go:
SADNESS IS PASSIVE
When people are sad, they mostly sit around and feel sorry for themselves. They avoid socializing, and if they do socialize, they go through the motions. Maybe they walk on a beach, watch a sad movie, or drink a little too much wine. Either way, the act of mourning is a basically an inactive process…
And when your characters are inactive, you’re in deep shit.
Of course, in real life, there are passive people. And I’m not saying that every great screenplay has to have an active protagonist – and that he/she needs to be active for the film’s entire running time. But in a way, I am saying that. Because protagonists who don’t drive the action are usually boring to watch.
A screenplay that I’ve always admired is ROCKY, by Sylvester Stallone. You’ll notice that in the first half of the movie, Rocky Balboa appears to be an incredibly passive guy. When we first meet him, he’s all but given up on his boxing career. The kids in the neighborhood routinely make fun of Rocky, but he just shrugs them off with an embarrassed laugh. Mickey, the owner of the gym where Rocky trains, calls his former protégé a “tomato” and urges him to retire. And how does Rocky respond? He slinks out of the gym without putting up a fight. Most astounding of all is when Rocky is offered a chance to fight Apollo Creed, the heavyweight champion of the world, and Rocky says he’s not interested! That’s a ridiculously inactive protagonist, right? So then why does the movie Rocky work so well…?
Because something else is happening in the screenplay: Rocky is wooing Adrian. And in a way, Adrian is Rocky’s real opponent. You see, getting beat up comes easy to Rocky. He’s got a really hard head and he can handle a lot of physical pain. But then here’s this mousy girl, who talks in a whisper, and is so shy she can barely make eye contact with him. (There’s a reason Adrian works alone in pet shop – and it’s not because she loves animals. It’s because she’s not confortable around people.) Moreover, while it’s never verbally stated, you get the feeling that Adrian is a virgin. Her brother Paulie all but says so. In short, she’s the last woman on earth than any right-headed guy would choose to fall in love with.
But for some reason, Rocky sees something in her. And because Adrian is so shy, Rocky has no choice but to get active. It’s incredibly touching to watch this meat-headed boxer ham-handedly attempt to seduce this diminutive, bespectacled woman. And no matter how awkward things get, Rocky keeps at it, making small talk in the famous ice rink scene, then luring her back to his dumpy apartment to meet his pet turtles, Cuff and Link. The point here is simple: Rocky is always driving the action of these scenes. As a result, Rocky eventually breaks through Adrian’s defenses and wins her affection.
But the story isn’t over yet – it’s only just beginning. Because once Rocky has won Adrian’s heart, he agrees to fight the champ, and his character’s focus shifts to the boxing story. That’s when Rocky pummels a side of beef with his fists and leaps up those famous museum steps two at time. Once again, we are watching an active character, actively pursuing a goal. And that’s among the most important ingredients for a compelling story.
For me, Rocky is a pleasure to watch and study. It’s a marvel of screenwriting, especially in it’s simplicity and adherence to character logic. Mostly, though, it’s exciting because the script takes it’s protagonist on a journey through both parts of the human experience: his heart (love for Adrian) and his body (fighting the champ.) By the movie’s end, Rocky Balboa is no longer a fictional character – he’s a fully-realized human being.
And that’s why I’ve created this checklist item: to remind writers that the best protagonists, just like Rocky Balboa, always drive the action in their scenes.