A guest post by Sam Knight.

When I was young, around seven or eight years old, I was treated to the adventure of a lifetime on an eight-inch black-and-white television screen. My first movie action hero wasn’t Indiana Jones, Luke Skywalker, or even Captain Kirk. (Although I’m being nitpicky about Kirk. He was still a television character back then…) It was Jack Driscoll.

Little did I know that years after teaching me what I thought a hero should be, Jack would teach me something about storytelling, too.

Did the name Jack Driscoll ring a bell? Probably not. Not for most people, anyway. I watched his movie every chance I got (which, back before VCRs, wasn’t very often). To this day, even though I own the film, if I see it’s on TCM, I’ll stop and watch it.

Jack was the everyman character. Not the everyman that everyman is, but the everyman that everyman saw himself as and wanted to be. Jack was rugged. He was quiet until he saw things that didn’t look right to him, and then he couldn’t be placated until things were put right. Jack wasn’t the one in charge, but he stood up and took charge when he needed to, and if he was afraid, he didn’t stop to waste the time to show it.

I saw Jack deal with connivers, hostiles, and cowards, all with aplomb. He even held his ground when faced with monsters and military. He was my hero.

When I was older, I saw Jack again. In a new movie. It was a remake. He had a new face, new job, and new name. “Jack Prescott,” they called him. They tried to make him more realistic. They tried to give him depth, make him interesting, make me relate to him and like him. They failed. Instead of watching Jack deal with connivers, hostiles, and cowards, I felt like he was one-and a wimp, too. He couldn’t deal with anyone. Situations flowed around him and happened to him. He was not in control of his own destiny. I hated the remake. I did my best to erase it from my mind.

Years later, I met Jack a third time, in yet another remake. He was again a different man, but at least he had his name back. He still didn’t have the position of authority that embodied his original character. They tried to make him an everyman again. They did better than the second try, but still not as good as the original. This time, as situations flowed around him, Jack fought back, a little, and grew as a character. But he was still second fiddle. He lost out to the grandeur of the film. He lost out to the special effects, the monster, and the hype. Don’t get me wrong, the movie was good, but I felt the story was lacking something.

If by now you still haven’t placed Jack Driscoll’s name, I will take mercy upon you and thank you for being patient. You see, Jack was one of the first modern action heroes. And, as they say, a hero is as only as great as the villain he fights-making Jack one of the greatest of all time. His nemesis was none other than King Kong!

Jack struggled against the machinations of Carl Denham while still following orders from his captain. He kept control of his crew in the face of hostile natives on Skull Island. He fell in love with Ann Darrow, in spite of his misgivings of having a woman on board-or women in general, for that matter. And when Kong took Ann, Jack went into the mouth of hell to get her back. King Kong was the story of a hero, Jack Driscoll.

Until they remade it. The 1976 remake was a kind of eco-warning. Jack Prescott was a placeholder character in a placeholder story that ran only on the fumes of the memory of what the original King Kong had been. This was not a story about my hero; it was mostly about some whiney guy telling people not to ruin the ecology. Kong was not his nemesis. The movie almost didn’t need King Kong at all, and a large portion of the film didn’t have Kong in it. It was almost like two separate stories, with Kong’s tacked on to draw an audience. (Jack doesn’t even get the girl in the end!)

In 2005, the film was remade again. It was a much better film, in my opinion, but as I said before, the story centered on the special effects, the monster, the island, and the Tragedy with a capital T. This version was all about King Kong and his tragic story. Kong was the hero who failed. The only thing we needed Ann for was to show us how tragic it was, and the only thing Ann needed Jack for was to move the story along so she didn’t stay with Kong. By the time the movie was over, we wanted Kong to get the girl.

Let’s look at one more remake, this one in book form, called Monster 1959, written in 2008 by David Maine. To be fair, this wasn’t intended to be a remake. In fact it’s mostly political commentary and satire of the genre. Kind of. It’s also a blatant retelling of the same story. In fact, the monster, while not a giant ape, is called “K.” and there was nothing in the story that would surprise you if you had seen any of the movies.

Monster 1959 was written from the monster’s point of view, told by an omniscient voice with a political agenda. This completely changed the story yet again. I didn’t like it at all.

Why? It was a different story.

You would initially think all four of these examples tell the same story, but they don’t. They used the same idea, same outline, same plot structure, similar if not same characters, locations, and circumstances-everything. The idea, the core concept, remained unchanged, but each story was different. Each had its own agenda, its own moral, and its own focus.

The original stated, “It was beauty killed the beast,” and yes, it was a lesson, but it was also the villain’s weakness. The 1976 remake wanted instead to show that man should leave nature well enough alone, let things be as they should instead of how we want them. The 2005 story returned to the “beauty killed the beast” lesson, but instead focused on showing that the villain was merely misunderstood, was more human than the rest of us. (I honestly didn’t get the point of Monster 1959, so I won’t go there.)

So what’s the lesson Jack Driscoll taught me all these years later?

It doesn’t matter how great of an idea you have for a story. What matters is how you tell it. It’s all in the telling. If you tell it right, you’ll inspire people and leave an indelible mark. If not … it was just a story, and maybe not even a good one at that.

All of these stories were about King Kong, more or less, but only one was about my hero, Jack Driscoll. And that story made all the difference for me.

* * *

Sam Knight refuses to be pinned down into a genre. If the idea grabs him, he writes it. Once upon a time, he was known to quote books the way some people quote movies, but now he claims having a family has made him forgetful, as a survival adaptation. He can be found at his website and contacted at sam@samknight.com.

You’ve Got the Wrong Hero

July 10, 2013

Quincy J. Allen

Since college I’ve been fascinated by culture and society (yes, they’re two different things), as well as the humans who engender both. Granted, it wasn’t fascination enough to get a degree in, but there was interest nonetheless. How each one of us perceives and, ultimately, judges others matters greatly upon the culture in which we were raised. Those we consider our heroes and villains are similarly shaped by our cultural influences.

I feel compelled to mention that I’m about to throw you a curveball or two, so watch out.

In Quentin Tarantino’s Django Unchained a young slave seeks a reckoning from slave owners and bigots alike as gateway to reuniting with his beloved. Django kills just about every white man depicted in the film, and American as well as international audiences cheered the hero on to the tune of $465 million in worldwide box office sales. Django Unchained is, to date, Tarantino’s highest grossing film.

I think it’s safe to say that as Americans we embrace journeys of the enslaved slipping their bonds and exacting retribution against their enslavers. We’re sort of hardwired for it in part because of our own cultural heritage. We refer to that heritage affectionately as the American Revolution. The British at the time, however, considered it a less-than-convenient and very costly insurrection.

Perspective is everything, and I think it’s also safe to say that American audiences of today have a heightened sense of guilt-yes, I used that word-regarding the treatment of African Americans from the time of this nation’s incept all the way to modern day. There has been and continues to be a struggle towards both acknowledging and even correcting the treatment of minorities throughout our own past.

But consider this: how well would Tarantino’s Oscar-winning screenplay have been received in 1952? Without a doubt it never would have seen the light of day, and it’s writer probably would have been plopped down squarely in front of a McCarthy trial. I think it’s important to point out here that in March of 2004, Dave Chappelle filmed a sketch where the black “Time Haters” return to the 19^th century and shoot a white slave owner holding a whip. The episode was censored, and in the DVD collection sold later, Chappelle lamented, “Apparently shooting a slave master isn’t funny to anybody but me and Neil-if I could I’d do it every episode!” That was only nine years ago.

Cultural perspective. It waxes and wanes like a storm-tossed shoreline.

Now let me describe a screenplay that is actually quite similar to Tarantino’s but which most audiences interpreted as being its exact opposite. I’ll give you a few clues. The film was released in 1982 and is still considered by many as a science fiction classic. In this screenplay an Officer of the Law is retained to hunt down and execute four super-human rebels who are loose in the city and murdering law abiding citizens. The officer is generally considered to be both the protagonist and the hero of the film. By the end of it the Officer is victorious and all four murderers are dead. And yes, this screenplay is very similar to Django Unchained.

The film was Blade Runner.

Confused yet?

What I find interesting is that I have yet to discuss this subject with anyone who didn’t consider Rick Deckard-the Officer of the Law-to be both protagonist and hero. Sure, most people get teary-eyed as Roy Batty gives his famous monologue and dies (after saving the life of his would-be executioner, I might add), but audiences almost universally heralded Deckard as the hero doing the job that had to be done. He’s even rewarded with his own slave girl, namely, Rachel.

Now let me give you my interpretation of the script Ridley Scott wrote. Four slaves created to obey without question and then dutifully die must struggle against insurmountable odds to shatter their bonds. In it they endeavor to find and kill those people responsible for their enslavement as bread crumbs to tracking down their creator and slave master. Their goal is to either achieve the freedom and longevity that has been systematically denied them or put an end to their creator and the cycle of slavery.

Sounds a lot different when I put it that way, doesn’t it?

But that’s not what most people walk away from Blade Runner thinking, is it? Audiences were delighted to see Deckard driving off through the mountains with Rachel, and sure, as a replicant we get a sense of “achieving freedom” for her. I won’t go into the fact that Deckard was, actually, a replicant created to hunt down and kill his fellow slaves. That’s an entirely different diatribe, and one which Scott has admitted to in recent years.

What’s important here is that the hero of Blade Runner is Roy Batty, and the underlying goal inherent in the storyline is his struggle to free his fellow slaves and keep his loved one, Pris, from dying.

How is that so different from Django Unchained?

The answer is, it’s not. But we didn’t look at it that way in 1982, and most still don’t. I had a debate only a few months ago with a writer who insisted that Roy was the villain. He pointed out that Roy was killing people just going about their jobs, killing people who didn’t have any deliberate intention of creating slaves. They were just creating replicants, right? Even just parts of replicants, like their eyes. That makes Roy the bad guy, right? And retirement wasn’t murder, it was the elimination of defective property that was a danger to society.

Yet here we were rooting for Django and not for Roy.

This all boils down to not only who we consider to be us, but who we also consider to be them. Our cultural and societal perspective is practically built upon a foundation of us versus them. That too is hardwired into our consciousness.

So, allow me to suggest that you break out or track down a copy of Blade Runner and watch it with a different perspective. Go into it with the notion that Roy, Pris, Zhora and Leon are slaves, that they are living souls willing to fight for the little bit of freedom and happiness that we all take for granted. And, ironically, consider the implications of another slave–that we identify with–had been created for the sole purpose of hunting them down one-by-one and killing them for the threat to society that they were.

You may walk away with a different take on the movie, particularly now that you’ve (hopefully) seen Django Unchained.

And once you’ve done that, apply it all to your own writing from this day forth.

Mononoke-Hime (Princess Mononoke)

July 9, 2013

Matt Jones

Craft & Skills Matt Jones No Comments

“Narrator: In ancient times, the land lay covered in forests, where, from ages long past, dwelt the spirits of the gods. Back then, man and beast lived in harmony, but as time went by, most of the great forests were destroyed. Those that remained were guarded by gigantic beasts who owed their allegiances to the Great Forest Spirit. For those were the days of gods and of demons…”

Hayao Miyazaki wrote of medieval Japan at the dawn of the Iron Age. He beautifully told a tale of the gods that owned the forests, and the men who sought their riches. While the story seems simple, he went well beyond good and evil, and talked about the hearts of men, and the ambitions and consequences of our choices. And he does this in one of the most visually stunning and beautiful films I have ever seen.

Mononoke Hime, which translates literally to Princess of spirits, is the tale of a young prince whom is cursed while protecting his home. Doomed to die, he seeks out the old gods of the forests to lift the curse and attempt to understand what is happening to the old gods. His travels leads him into a land ravaged by war as different factions are attempting to take the riches found in the forests. The gods of the forest seek to retain their home, while the humans seek to either encroach further upon these lands or to take the land already claimed by others.

The film is violent and brutal, showing characters getting their arms shot off and heads decapitated, but it does it to show how brutal war is. Miyazaki delves into deeply philosophical topics in many of his films, and Mononoke Hime is a look at the war between humans and nature. It looks at the fantastical angle of the gods of the forests and how they would protect, and fight for their home. In war, blood and death is inevitable. However, even in the midst of carnage, beauty can be seen and love can be found. Miyazaki said it best in the project proposal: “There cannot be a happy ending to the fight between the raging gods and humans. However, even in the middle of hatred and killings, there are things worth living for. A wonderful meeting, or a beautiful thing can exist. We depict hatred, but it is to depict that there are more important things. We depict a curse, to depict the joy of liberation.”

While I can’t, and never will be able to create such a beautiful world that Miyazaki does, I do consider it a great study for an author. The conflict is created early and is maintained throughout the film. Each character has their own personality with their own motivations. The world, despite the fantastical elements, feels real and alive. And at the end, when death is all around and you see the characters that have grown and gained something new and wonderful are about to sacrifice everything for their ideals, beauty and new life come forth.

The film ends leaving the viewer satisfied. Promises made have been resolved while still maintaining a realism that defies the usual moral boundaries you usually receive in animated works. The humans won the war, despite taking on the gods themselves. The princess talks of how the forests might return, but they will not belong to the gods. Even the new love has trouble bridging the two worlds leaving a gap between them that may never fully be breached. It’s not a fairy tale, but it is a tale of magic, beauty, and wonder. It is a tale we should all strive to tell.

Calling back to the familiar when starting new: Star Trek: Into Darkness

July 8, 2013

Nancy

Nancy Greene The Writing Life World-building 8 Comments

Whether we know it or not, we all respond to resonance in story telling. “What’s resonance?” you ask. To borrow from David Farland’s wonderful novel, Drawing on the Power of Resonance in Writing,

All successful writers use resonance to enhance their stories by drawing power from stories that came before, by resonating with their readers’ experiences, and by resonating within their own works.

Farland, David (2012-12-09). Drawing on the Power of Resonance in Writing (Kindle Locations 79-82). . Kindle Edition.

We feel powerful emotions when we read a book that somehow resembles other works that we love.

Farland, David (2012-12-09). Drawing on the Power of Resonance in Writing (Kindle Locations 100-101). . Kindle Edition.

So, what are you going to do when you want to start fresh for one of the most popular franchises ever? Tell your own story, but make sure it resonates with what came before. Star Trek: Into Darkness excels at this.

SPOILER ALERT: THIS POST TALKS IN DETAIL ABOUT STAR TREK: INTO DARKNESS THERE WILL BE SPOILERS SO IF YOU DON’T WANT TO KNOW, STOP READING NOW. I’LL FORGIVE YOU. GO WATCH THE MOVIE AND COME BACK.

You have been warned.

Love or hate the rebooted Star Trek, you have to admire the talent that went behind creating it. The first movie set the franchise on its head. Star Trek: Into Darkness continues this seeming disregard for the prior Star Trek universe, but if you dissect the movie, you can tell that isn’t the case.

Let me start with an apology. Because Into Darkness is still in theatres, I’m sure I didn’t catch all the references. For some reasons, the people in the seats near mine objected to my flashlight and incessant note taking. But I think my barely legible notes will do well to illustrate the masterful use of resonance in this movie.

Star Trek: Into Darkness starts with a scene that could have been left on the cutting room floor from Raiders of the Lost Arc. Kirk and Bones have stolen a cultural icon, one they aren’t even sure what it is, and are being chased by angry spear wielding natives. See, the similarity to Raiders? No? Substitute Trek’s white-skinned natives for the dark-skinned ones in Raiders and the scroll from Trek with the little gold statue Indy steals before the rock comes rolling down. While Kirk and Bones don’t jump into a plane and fly away. they do swim down to the Enterprise and fly away.

What does director J.J. Abrams get from starting like this? A couple of things. He’s setting himself apart from the Trek movies that have come before. He’s also promising us that this Trek will be an action adventure movie in space. Abrams resoundingly delivers on this promise.

Even with his apparent disregard for the prior Trek universe (you know, the one he blew up), Abrams constantly refers back to it. One of the challenges Abrams has with his reboot is giving us characters that resemble, at least at first, the ones we know and love from the original Star Trek, and then developing them in a new direction based on the universe changes. But some truths remain constant. Kirk remains a womanizer. Bones isn’t keen on transporters.

When Kirk, Spock and Uhura need to go to Cronos, the Klingon home world, they take two security officers. Those officers happen to be the bullies who beat up Kirk in the first reboot before Christopher Pike convinces Kirk to join Star Fleet. The ship they take is from the “Mudd incident.” Harry Mudd, of course, featured heavily in the original series. In Season 1, Episode 6, Mudd’s Women, and Season 2, Episode 8, I, Mudd, the irrascable conman, Harry Mudd plagues Kirk and his crew. The quick one line encompasses two of the original Trek episodes.

When they arrive at Cronos. we see that the moon. Praxis, has already exploded. Even though Abrams has foreclosed a remake of Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered County by already having the moon explode, he references the prior movie. The audience already knows why the moon exploded, and Into Darkness doesn’t have to delve into that bit of history.

The Klingons themselves call back to the Star Trek Next Generation ones. There is a similarity in design, but makeup designer Neville Page takes them up a level. These Kilngons are even more kick butt, not that I had thought that possible until I saw these. The gold accents to the skull ridges makes them an edgier version.

Bones experiments on a dead tribble. Who can forget the tribbles and the trouble they caused in The Trouble with Tribbles, Season 2, Episode 15? Because this is a reboot, rather than the plague the tribbles were in the original series, a tribble saves the day, sort of.

Of course, the biggest reveal and resonance in the story is…

BONUS SPOILER ALERT: Really if you haven’t seen the movie yet, don’t read past this point.

…that the villain, thought to be a rouge Star Fleet member, is actually Khan Noonien Singh. Khan is probably the most love nemesis from the original series and movies. Khan first appeared in Season 1, Episode 22’s Space Seed, and who could forget the movie: Star Trek, Wrath of Khan?

Once Khan’s identity is revealed there is a logical and inevitable progression to a scene that could have been twisted right out of Wrath of Khan. Twisted, but still almost beat for beat the same.

Kirk faces the Kobayashi Maru situation when the Dreadnaught class ship pounds Enterprise. His ship is crippled and his crew about to be exterminated. It’s a scenario he’s cheated in both the original Trek and the reboot. This time he doesn’t get to cheat. He loses.

Abrams doesn’t let you forget that this is an action adventure movie in space. The dying Enterprise’s engines finally rebooting, the ship falls through the clouds. You can hear the squawk of chatter as Spock tries to get Enterprise airworthy again. The camera stays above the cloud bank. Then a triumphant Enterprise roars through the clouds and gains altitude. While Abrams didn’t have the ship silhouetted by the moon, like they did with the Batplane in Batman, the resonance rings true. We know what’s coming. A kick butt fight between the hero and villain. Again, Abrams delivers.

Even the final moments of the movie refers to other ones. There’s a paraphrasing of a The Princess Bride quote, though I was really hoping for the actual quote; “You’ve been mostly dead…” Still, Bones came close enough. And of course, the movie ends with the Enterprise starting its 5 year journey to boldly go where no one has gone before.

Abrams’ careful interweaving of elements of the prior Trek Universe into his reboot has me looking forward to the next installment of the new franchise.

The Take Home: Resonance matters. It is probably the most compelling tool we have in our writer’s tool box. So, how do you successfully retell a classic? By paying intentional homage to what came before. If the story is too “new” your audience will reject it. By carefully weaving elements of what came before into the new story, you give the readers a frame of reference, make them certain promises, and give them a comfort zone from which to relax and launch themselves into your retelling of a classic.