***
[...]
What is a story? The minimal theory
of narrative devised by Todorov (1970) is that a story begins with a fictional
world in equilibrium, that this equilibrium is disturbed, that the characters
must act to restore it and that the story concludes with the establishing of a
new equilibrium. It is useful to compare Todorov’s theory to Campbell’s notion
of the Hero’s Journey (1949). Campbell argues that the hero begins the story in
the familiar world, that he receives ‘the call to adventure’, engages in some
sort of quest through a fabulous world, overcoming obstacles but eventually
reaching his goal, and then returns to the normal world with the ‘boon’ that he
has won. Campbell’s theory sharply contrasts with Todorov’s. In Todorov’s
theory, a single world that is in equilibrium is disturbed and then returns to
equilibrium while Campbell’s theory involves two worlds: a familiar one and a
fantastic one, the narrative involving a passage by the Hero from one to the
other and back. In Todorov’s theory the state of the world causes the action;
in Campbell's it is a summons from the other world.
In Story: Substance, Structure,
Style, and the Principles of Screenwriting (1997),
the influential screenwriting teacher Robert McKee proposes a theory that seems
to combine aspects of Todorov’s and Campbell’s. McKee argues that the unifying
ingredient of a story is Desire:
For better or
worse, an event [the inciting incident] throws a character’s life out of
balance, arousing in him the conscious and/or unconscious desire for that which
he feels will restore balance, launching him on a Quest for his Object of
Desire against forces of antagonism (inner, personal, extra-personal). He may
or may not achieve it. This is story in a nutshell. (p.196-197)
McKee’s notion that the story
begins with a disturbance of equilibrium that motivates the protagonists(s) to
‘restore balance”, is reminiscent of Toldorov. By describing this as a ‘Quest’,
it is more similar to Campbell.
These theories are similar because
they emphasize the idea that is story is held together by the goal-directed
agency of its protagonists. Mckee’s theory seems particularly plausible.
However, I believe that it is incorrect. We can see it is wrong by considering
how many stories do not fit the formula. In Othello, for instance, the protagonist has no clear desire
until towards the end (when he decides to kill Desdemona); it is Iago who
possesses active desire, the desire to destroy Othello, and it is Iago who
drives the story forward. In King Lear, Lear sets the story in motion by giving his kingdom away to two of his
daughters but, for the rest of the play, he is simply responding to the actions
of others. In Moby Dick, the
story is driven by Ahab’s monomaniacal obsession but it is Ishmael who is the
protagonist. In Benny and Joon the
romance between Sam and Joon drives the story forward but it is Benny’s
reactions to this romance that is the focus. In all these examples, the
protagonist is reactive rather than active.
What drives a story forward is not
the desire of the protagonist but the way he reacts to the situations in which
he finds himself. The protagonist is not ‘the desiring agent’ but a surrogate
for the audience; the question a story always asks its audience is, “What might
I do if I was this character in the same situation?” If the protagonist of a
story decides, for no reason, to rob a bank, we do not identify with him. If he
is put in a situation where he has no choice except to rob a bank (because he is up to his eyeballs in debt,
perhaps), then we identify with
him. Even Star Wars (Lucas, 1977),
the modern paradigm for a well-structured narrative, presents a protagonist who
is reactive rather than active. Luke’s first desire is to find Obiwan Kinobe;
later it is to rescue the princess; in the last act it is to help destroy the
Death Star. Each time he changes his desire it is as a reaction to his
circumstances. The intention of the film, to be sure, is to show that Good
triumphs over Evil, but Luke does not begin the story with a burning desire to
destroy the Death Star, nor formulate this desire as a response to the
princess’s plea for help. He ends up the hero without ever seeking to become
it. Luke’s desire changes and, I believe, this is what many of the best stories
show. They dramatize how a character’s desires change as a reaction to different situations.
Generally speaking, then, the
protagonist does not drive the plot forward but is rather caught up in it. Other examples that show this include A Nightmare on Elm Street (Craven, 1984) and Friday the 13th (Cunningham,
1980). In horror films, the
protagonist’s ‘desire’ (if we can call it that) is simply to stay alive; in no
way, though, can this be compared to a Quest. It is not necessary for a protagonist to have a constant
desire. This is important to my film because its protagonist Jess has no
well-defined desire; I worried about this when I was writing it. I now believe,
however, that the convention that the story should begin with a character
determining to achieve a goal and ending with him attaining it is more the
exception than the rule.
***
This could be better written but the point is solid. McKee is wrong. Perhaps in a later post I will elaborate on the other idea of the protagonist of a story reacting to it rather than be an active driver. It is true of virtually all stories.
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