Plot germs have taken up quite a bit of our time in this new series of
thoughts on the writing of photoplays. And rightly so. For, unless you
know where to look for plots, and how to recognize a possible plot in
embryo, how are you going to construct them?
Let’s proceed a step further along our path. Having discovered the
_germ_ of a plot, how are we going to develop it into a full grown,
vigorous, structure? What is the prime necessity? What magic touch
infuses life and strength into the bare idea we possess and makes of it
something that will hold the interest of others, that will entertain
them?
Speaking generally, and leaving to later discussion the narrower by-ways
and paths of plot development, we may set down as the primary essential
of a plot the basic element--_struggle_. Your plot germ, your original
idea, is usually an out of the ordinary character or an incident that
concerns ordinary characters in an unusual manner.
Into this source you must inject--_struggle_. Some will call it
_conflict_, others will tell you that _suspense_ is the necessity. But
suspense is the outgrowth of struggle or conflict.
There is struggle of varying sorts. Your struggle may be that between
the different characters of your story, it may be the struggle of one of
your characters against conditions of life and the world, it may be the
struggle of your character with his own inner self.
But it is struggle of one sort or another that makes your story. Barring
the few exceptions whose existence we have noted, and which we will
describe and study later, it is the tale of struggles that makes up the
entertainment of the world.
The spectator who comes to see a motion picture, or the reader who picks
up a book, expects to be introduced to an interesting character, one
whom he will either like very much or dislike very much. After hearing
your premises they expect to witness a struggle, the further progress in
life of your character and necessarily the sort of progress that brings
struggle. Your character may be the most interesting one in the world,
but two hours talk about his unusual points will not satisfy anyone.
Those two hours must concern things that are happening to your character
or events that he is causing to happen--that is, the element of
struggle.
You will remember that last month, in discussing the possible plots to
be discovered in newspapers, we found a germ in the “Letters From
Readers” column. It was an epistle signed “Lonesome,” and was from a
young man who wanted to know why the big city did not provide some sort
of welfare club or association where a stranger could meet and become
acquainted with other persons?
That word “Lonesome” aroused our curiosity. It would likewise interest
an audience. Imagine Charles Ray in the character. We see him fresh from
the country, in his little hall-room, life, hustle and bustle all around
him. But to Charlie they mean nothing; he has none in the length and
breadth of the city to call “Friend.”
When you have introduced such a character you have the audience with
you. But you must go further. The audience wants to see Charlie struggle
against his environment, or, out of his despair they wish to see him
perform some rash act that will force a struggle on him.
Comedy or drama can be developed from such a theme--by the injection of
struggle. The chances are you will bring to light that most artistic and
desirable of blends--comedy-drama. Suppose that our “Lonesome”
youngster, suddenly grown rash, forms a decision. “I’m going to walk out
that door,” he says, “and speak to the first person I meet. I don’t care
whether it’s John D. Rockefeller or a street sweeper, I’m going to tell
him I’m lonesome and want someone to talk to who will speak about
something beside the weather.”
There’s the start of your struggle. Why, it’s a funny struggle alone to
see Charlie walking the room, trying to screw up his determination to go
through with the rashly made resolution. Finally he strides forth
bravely.
Whom does he meet?
There’s where your genius as a story teller comes in. What sort of a
character would O. Henry have him meet? Start a Harold McGrath story off
with this theme. The story will be running away with you--if your
imagination is in working order.
The simplest form of struggle is that of the eternal triangle--two men
for a girl, or the conflict of two women for one man. The struggle that
develops out of your “Lonesome” story may eventuate in that sort before
it gets very far. But you can see that you have started on more original
ground, that if you follow these paths you will not have simply an
“eternal triangle” story.
That has been our reason for withholding mention of “struggle” to this
point. There are those who would tell you of this basic essential before
any other point had been discussed. The result is that so many amateurs
set out to write stories by seeking for a struggle. They look over the
list of various sorts of struggles, two men for a girl, two girls for a
man, man against poverty, man against temptations, and so on. And when
the alleged story is completed it is merely a framework, without life
or soul. Stilted characters struggle through time-worn situations.
“Struggle” may be classified and indexed. But “plot germs” cannot; the
plot germs that _you_ can discover are limited only by your own
experience, your own reading, your own imagination. And if you set
out to write your story by searching for the _germ_ that is unusual,
interesting, the chances are in your favor in securing originality--something
different. Because _your own life_, your own viewpoint is something
different. It is yours as long as you keep it yours, it is going to
become trite only when you grow lazy and follow the lines of pictures
and stories you remember because that is the easy way.
Starting with a germ that is _different_ the “struggle” you provide is
going to be different, because it is going to be the sort of struggle
that could happen only to your _different_ characters.
There’s the basis of originality--your own life, your own heart, your
own mind.
* * * * *
_ABOUT THE WRITING OF PHOTOPLAYS_
_No, dear reader, the article you have just read is not part of a
“course in photoplay writing.” We don’t like the phrase, we don’t like
anything that claims to be a course in photoplay writing._
_If we were to call these articles a “course” there would be the
inference that we thought any person who read them could learn how to
write photoplays. And we would be taking money under false pretenses.
That isn’t our business; it’s our antipathy._
_No, unless you have within you the material that would make you a
scenario writer eventually, whether you read this series of articles or
struggled along the Rocky Road of Experience, you would never become a
screen author._
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