Our previous post in the screenwriting series ‘How Do You Plot Character-Driven Stories?’ concluded the plot points that make up Act I. Today we’re moving on to Act II; the real meat of the story, so to speak. As always, Heidi Fuhr, is guiding us through the mechanics of engaging script writing, using the pilot episode of Breaking Bad as an example. Follow the series here and be sure to read the introduction.

In the last article, we looked at the call to action. The protagonist has chosen a means by which to meet his end, or his external desire. Now the “journey” starts (as usual, don’t take these terms too literally; a journey, in this sense, can happen without even leaving the room). The term Fun and Games was coined by screenwriting theorist Blake Snyder as part of his “Beat Sheet” system of plotting from the book Save the Cat.

While some of the plot points we’re discussing in this series are usually single moments – like the inciting incident and the call to action – others refer to whole chunks of the story, like stasis. Fun and Games is the latter. Often, it’s the longest part of the story. It could also be called “training” or “acclimating.” This is where the protagonist learns the rules of the journey, which is often entirely different from his normal life.

As an example, think of The Matrix: Neo’s call to action is choosing between the red pill and the blue pill. The moment he takes that blue pill, he’s opened the door to Act II, and he’s begun his journey. That’s when the fun and games begins. Morpheus (a classic example of the mystical guide, which we’ll talk about later) teaches him the rules of the new world. In this case, even the laws of physics have changed. Neo fumbles at first, but he gradually acclimates to the new world through practice, trial, and error.

Fun and games often includes a montage. Filmmakers Matt Stone and Trey Parker describe the purpose of a montage in a rather entertaining way in their film Team America: World Police. Check out the clip below. A montage is a quick way to show the protagonist learning how the journey world works, often through training or practice. Another rather cliché montage type, often seen in romantic comedies, is the makeover or shopping montage.

Fun and Games in Breaking Bad

Walt and Jesse have chosen to partner up and cook some meth. The Fun and Games starts when Walt raids his chemistry classroom’s supply closet and brings his specialized equipment to Jesse’s house. There’s a lot of character stuff going on here. When Walt shows the beakers and flasks to Jesse, we get a good idea of some of the credits and debits of both characters (both of whom, at this point, can be viewed as protagonists at certain moments in the story). Walt’s scientific expertise, and Jesse’s lack thereof, are highlighted by Jesse’s ignorance of the proper use of the equipment and Walt’s subsequent lecturing. Walt doesn’t just have expertise, though, he also has passion for chemistry, which is evident by the reverent way he handles and describes the most expensive flask.

One of the most enigmatic and subtly comical scenes in the whole episode happens in the Fun and Games part. It’s also character-driven; when Walt sends Jesse to buy the RV that will become their lab, Jesse questions his motives for suddenly wanting to break bad. Walt’s response, “I am awake,” gives us a hint into Walt’s internal desire. His external desire is obvious: He wants to provide for his family after he dies. But it’s the internal desire, to be a man, to assert power and potency, to stop being a victim, that really drives him.

The most memorable scene is when Walt is shopping with his wife and crippled son. When Walter Jr. is trying on jeans, some nasty teenage boys mock him and his disability. Skyler prompts Walt Jr. to ignore the boys, but to her surprise, Walt confronts them. Completely out-of-stasis-character, he beats them up and chases them off. This is part of the “training.” He’s acclimating to the role he’ll need to play on his journey.

In the next article, the Fun and Games are over. We’ll see what happens when Jesse tries to sell the meth and the stakes are raised in Part V: The Midpoint Pinch.

Clips from Youtube. All rights by Paramount Pictures and AMC, respectively.

Moving on from our previous post, which covered the Inciting Incident, today’s post will be addressing the third plot point you need to be familiar with; the Call To Action. As always, Heidi Fuhr, is guiding us through the mechanics of engaging script writing, using the pilot episode of Breaking Bad as an example. Follow the series here and be sure to read the introduction.

This article will cover the third and final plot point of act one. To quickly review, act one consists of three plot points: stasis, the inciting incident, and the call to action.

In the last article we looked at how the inciting incident causes the instability in the protagonist’s world. Now, he has to do something to restore that stability – to return to some form of stasis. The call to action is the “invitation” to the journey that will directly resolve the external conflict. Though the protagonist doesn’t know it yet, the journey will also address the internal conflict. The more internal conflict there is, the more character-driven the story is.

In the classical sense, the call to action is a literal invitation, often from a mentor or spiritual guide, like Gandalf in The Lord of the Rings. Many protagonists in old-school “hero’s journeys” follow that model, where the hero is “chosen” for the quest because an authority figure or mystical guide recognizes some singular specialness within them. Contemporary realistic stories tend to translate the call to action less literally. The impetus for the journey can come from within, or the idea can be implanted in the hero by more abstract means, like a dream or an observation. In other words, in modern stories, the protagonist is more likely to have agency in choosing how to solve the problem. In either case, there is often, but not always, a moment of indecision before the protagonist accepts the “quest” (again, don’t think about these terms too literally).

Call to Action in Breaking Bad

Walter White has just learned of his imminent death. He doesn’t tell his family yet; first he needs a plan to secure their financial future. If he does one thing right in his whole life, it’ll be this. That evening, he sits in his back yard and flicks lit matches into the pool, an action he repeats every season when heavy decision-making is called for. It’s obvious he’s looking for a solution to his inciting incident. Having seen news footage of the huge pile of cash seized at a recent drug bust, Walt calls his DEA-agent brother-in-law Hank and asks if he can ride along next time he raids a meth lab.

There’s also a second call to action in this episode, but strangely, it doesn’t happen to Walt: When Walt is on the ride-along, he sees his old student-turned-drug-dealer, Jesse Pinkman, fleeing the scene. Later, he goes to Jesse’s house and proposes teaming up with him to make and sell meth. Jesse doesn’t want to get involved until Walt pressures him by threatening to turn him in to the DEA.

It’s arguable that this moment functions as a call to action. After all, Jesse isn’t the protagonist. However, if you’ve watched at least a season of the show, you might have noticed that Jesse actually becomes the moral center of the story at times. Even though he’s an addict and a career criminal, he’s less prone to being blinded by ego than Walt is. Eventually, Walt and Jesse become two sides of the protagonist coin.

Other Examples of Calls to Action

• The Big Lebowski: The Dude is actually one of the few characters I can think of that have almost no agency at all (but this is utterly appropriate for his character). His call to action happens when the other Lebowski asks him to deliver the ransom money to his wife Bunny’s kidnappers.
• Game of Thrones (pilot episode): Ned Stark is asked to go to King’s Landing to serve as the Hand of the King for Robert Baratheon.

Tag along as we soon venture into Act II and the plot points that will carry the story onward.

In the last article of our screenwriting series, we talked about stasis, the before situation of the protagonist. Here, we’ll cover the inciting incident. In the next article, we’ll finish out act one with the third plot point, the call to action. You can follow the series ‘How Do You Plot Character-Driven Stories?’ by Heidi Fuhr here.

ACT ONE – PLOT POINT II: THE INCITING INCIDENT

At this point in the story, something happens that interrupts the stability of the protagonist’s before situation, or stasis. Usually, the inciting incident is just that – an incident. Unlike most examples of stasis, it happens quickly. This incident doesn’t necessarily have to be a bad thing. In a basic love story, for example, this is usually when the protagonist first meets the love interest. The important thing about the inciting incident is that it causes the necessity for change. In the basic love story, change becomes necessary because the protagonist suddenly realizes he needs to be with the object of his affection, or he realizes he can’t bear the loneliness anymore.

Inciting Incident in Breaking Bad

In Breaking Bad, Walt collapses at the car wash and is taken to the emergency room in an ambulance he can’t afford. There, he’s told he has end-stage lung cancer.

In most stories where the inciting incident is the protagonist finding out about his imminent death, the concrete objective (or external conflict) that follows is to figure out a way to stay alive. This isn’t the case here. Walt is a scientist. He knows he can’t save himself. No, Walt’s concrete objective is to plan for his family’s financial security after he’s gone. In simpler terms, the external objective is to get money, and the internal objective – which is closely aligned with the character debits in Walt’s stasis set-up – is to finally be a man. Providing for his family’s future is Walt’s last chance to seize control of his situation, to be a doer, to be potent, and to get respect. But how does a guy like Walt – who makes so little teaching high school that he has to work a second job at a car wash just to make ends meet, whose disabled son will soon be going to college, whose unemployed pregnant wife and unborn baby will incur huge hospital bills in the near future, whose own time is running out – manage to do that? We’ll find out in the upcoming article, the call to action. But first, a few more notes on inciting incidents.

Other examples of inciting incident

School of Rock: Jack Black’s character is facing eviction because his roommate’s girlfriend has had enough of his inability to pay the rent.

Amadeus: Austrian court composer Salieri can no longer ignore his musical mediocrity when Mozart comes to town.

The Big Lebowski: The Dude is going about his business when two men break into his house and demand money, mistaking him for another Lebowski. In the parlance of The Dude’s world, the Chinaman pisses on his rug. The Dude’s stasis situation is so simple (in fact, it passes almost without notice), the ruined rug is the impetus for change, because that rug really tied the room together.

Side notes: Story arcs and ticking time bombs

There are several ways to deal with story arc in TV. Some shows only use one type, some use a combination. Breaking Bad has three types of story arc. The first is the series story arc, which plays out from the beginning of the first season to the end of the last. The second is the seasonal story arc, where each season has its own set of plot points, its own major antagonists and conflicts. The third is the episodic story arc, which lasts only one episode. The act one stuff I’m covering here applies to all three: the stasis, inciting incident, and call to action of the pilot episode also serve as act one for season one and for the whole series.

Walt’s inciting incident also functions as a ticking time bomb, a plot device that essentially works just like it sounds – sometimes it’s even a literal ticking time bomb. Any time a ticking time bomb is introduced, it must either be defused or explode (figuratively, if not literally). In Walt’s case, because of the dramatic way the cancer was introduced and its integral role in the action of the story, it has to play out. Walt either has to die from it, or the cancer has to be cured in an equally dramatic way. If it didn’t – if, for example, it went quietly into remission and ceased to be a driving force of the action – the story wouldn’t be satisfying. That said, it’s okay for this ticking time bomb to stay active at the end of the episodic plot arc, and even the seasonal story arc, but it has to be addressed by the end of the series story arc.

This is the second article in our screenwriting series by Heidi Fuhr. Read the introduction to the series here. Over the next couple of weeks, Heidi will take us through the plot points of the pilot episode of Breaking Bad, to teach us the writing mechanics behind a “good story”.

ACT ONE – PLOT POINT I: STASIS

The ten plot points are broken up into the traditional three acts: act one is the set-up, act two is the journey, and act three is the resolution. To show how the structure plays out in a specific script, I’ll follow each plot point with an example of how it works in the pilot episode of the award-winning TV drama Breaking Bad.

What is stasis?

This is the “before” of the protagonist’s journey. His situation is stable, but often unfulfilling in some fundamental way. Alternately, his life seems satisfying, but there’s a major flaw in his character. All stories have one or both of the following: external conflict and internal conflict. Great character-driven stories have internal conflict – an interior character struggle – that gets resolved alongside the main action of the plot.

Stasis is where most of the characterization needs to happen. A complex character should have credits and debits. The debits, or character faults, set up the internal conflict. These fundamental flaws will undergo some fundamental change by the end of the story. But great characters can’t be all good or all bad. This is where the credits come in, to show that the protagonist has some special ability, some rare talent or identity trait that makes him singularly fit for the external conflict to come.

Stasis in Breaking Bad

Let’s look at the pilot episode of Breaking Bad. The very first scene is a flash-forward to the height of the conflict; we’ll need to go back to that in Act II. For now, let’s follow the story chronologically and look at the stasis, which is packed with characterization. Before the premise of the story is even introduced, we learn everything we need to know about the protagonist. In Breaking Bad, stasis takes about fifteen minutes to set up. This is rather long for a TV episode. In films, stasis usually lasts between ten and twenty minutes, though occasionally it’s much shorter or longer.

Walter White is an aging family man. It’s his 50th birthday, his wife is expecting a baby, and his teenage son is disabled. A plaque on the wall shows that he was honored for scientific research that contributed to someone else’s Nobel Prize, way back in 1985. His financial situation is barely tenable: his home needs repairs, he works long hours. His health isn’t great; his wife serves him veggie-bacon for his birthday breakfast, and he has a chronic cough. He’s an ineffectual high-school chemistry teacher. Though it’s obvious that he’s passionate about his field, his students don’t care and don’t respect him. After school, Walt has a second job at a car wash. His boss takes advantage of him, the work aggravates his cough, and he’s humiliated when he’s made to wash the car of his most annoying student.

Back at home, Walt is subjected to an unwelcome surprise birthday party. Here we meet Hank, his DEA-agent brother-in-law (whom we’ll later learn is the chief antagonist of the series). Hank dominates Walt’s party by bragging about a recent drug bust and showing off his sidearm. When Walt tries holding the gun, he says, “Whoa. It’s heavy.” Hank replies, “That’s why they hire men.” Then he gives a toast: “Walt, you got a brain the size of Wisconsin, but we’re not going to hold that against you. But your heart’s in the right place, man.” Hank is the anti-Walt. He’s a true alpha-male; dominant, confident, tough, and loud. Where Walt is a thinker, an intellectual, Hank is a doer. Where Walt is passive, Hank is assertive. Nobody’s going to make Hank eat veggie-bacon.

Ten minutes into the story, we have a pretty good idea of poor Walt’s “before” life. His exterior situation is tough. He’s getting old, past his prime, overworked, underpaid, and in poor health. His internal conflict is pretty clear at this point, too. He’s passive, to the point where people take advantage of him. He gets disrespect from every direction, but he’s so cowed by life, he doesn’t know how to fight back.

After the party, Walt and his wife Skyler are in bed. Here, we get a perfect metaphor for Walt’s internal conflict in the form of a hilarious sex scene. As a birthday treat, Skyler begins giving Walt an obligatory “handy” that neither of them seem to be interested in; he’s half asleep and she’s using her other hand to work her laptop. “What is going on down there?” Skyler asks. “Is he asleep?” Impotence is a recurring theme for Walt – in bed, at work, in social situations. Like Hank implies, Walt has failed to be a man. Now we know everything we need to know about Walt.

Image courtesy AMC.

This is the winning entry from our March contest (thanks for all the great submissions, everyone!) and it serves as the introduction to a series of articles – an online screenwriting workshop, if you will – by Heidi Fuhr, wherein she will break down the ten specific plot points that, whether you’ll admit it or not, make up almost every great story you’ve ever heard or seen. And to put it all into a familiar context, she will be using the pilot episode of AMC’s Breaking Bad as an example.

Buckle up and take note. Here we go.

INTRODUCTION: How Do You Plot Character-Driven Stories?

Is your screenplay-in-progress stuck? Do you have nearly completed screenplays wasting away on your hard drive because you know they’re just not quite . . . right? Are you waiting for the elusive muse of creative genius to strike? Do you have an amazing character, but you can’t figure out what should happen to him? Or do you have an exciting plot, but the protagonist could be anybody?

The best screenplays strike a fine balance between plot and character. Like space and time, plot and character are inextricably linked. I know – it sounds like alchemy, but it isn’t. Creating a good screenplay isn’t as intangible as we like to think. In fact, it’s almost formulaic. Yes, I know; the word “formula” has a sleazy ring to it. We’re artists, not mathematicians! I don’t mean to suggest that screenplays can be slapped together by just anyone who can follow a recipe (unless you write for network TV, maybe). Of course it’s not that easy. But neither is it magical, nor bestowed upon us by story Gods, for whom we’re merely scribes. It’s a skill that can be broken into parts and mastered, with practice.

Almost every great story strikes ten specific plot points in a given order. Yes, these plot points can also be seen in stupid, predictable summer blockbusters; that’s why they make so much money, because they scratch an itch for story that lies deep in the human soul. But the very same plot points can also be found in the most sophisticated independent films, the most prestigious award-winners, and the most revered literary fiction from Homer to David Foster Wallace.

As humans, artists, and critical examiners of fiction in all its forms, the story formula is already installed on our creative hard drives. But story is so intuitive, it can be difficult to recognize how it works. As you learn the basics, you’ll begin to recognize how it manifests in the films and television you watch.

At first, it will seem simplistic. It’s easy to recognize the formula in cheesy, crowd-pleasing slapstick comedy films of the Adam Sandler/Jack Black ilk or the action-packed blockbusters that value explosions and sex scenes over artistic substance. But the more you look for it in the films and television you enjoy, the more you’ll see how versatile it is. In the right hands, this formula can be used with subtlety and sophistication to create an infinite variety of fresh, surprising, and deeply complex stories. This blog series will explain each point of the plot formula, but it will also look closely at how character is interwoven from beginning to end.

The plot structure has been used in some form by generations of screenwriters, centuries of novelists, and eons of storytellers. From Aristotle’s Poetics to Joseph Campbell’s Hero’s Journey to Blake Snyder’s Beat Sheet, writers and scholars have already done the work of nailing down the science of telling a great story. As a screenwriter, you can save a lot of time, and take the mystery out of solving story problems, by learning the age-old formula of storytelling.

PART I – and the rest of the series can be found here, as the articles are published.

Image courtesy Neighborhood Nini