Sometimes I watch a movie and a week later I have forgotten everything, except for one single scene. Do you have that, too? Invariably, this happens more often with movies that have an unusual narrative structure.

After watching Charlie Wilson’s War, I forgot everything except for a handful of masterful scenes and the ‘zen master’ ending.  To me, one scene stood out above all else. It is an instant classic, and a class example of expert use of dramatic construction, exposition and subtext.

You could do a whole masterclass, just on the scene structure of this moment.

Charlie Wilson’s Fail

Charlie Wilson’s War is by all standards a solid film, but most people will agree this is not a great movie.

With Sorkin on story, a budget of $75m, and Tom Hanks’ & Julia Roberts’ star power, the studio must have looked at the domestic result of $66m as a big disappointment. If a film of this calibre doesn’t reach the mainstream, usually the filmmakers are to blame.

But if you’re a discerning viewer, you don’t want the studios to stop making these pictures.  In fact, if you love political intrigue, you’re on the left of the political spectrum, and you enjoy great dialogue, then this film is pure delight.

Sorkin has said that he never has an agenda when he writes. Really? Charlie Wilson makes a pretty darn strong statement.

Out of its contemporary 2007 political context – the West fighting a heavily armed Taliban in Afghanistan – this is a straightforward hero movie with a happy ending. Add the zen master perspective, and it becomes a wry satire about the bungling and moral murkiness of American politics.

The stuff of great drama.

Why Didn’t It Work?

Satire is a tricky genre at the US box office, particularly if it’s just smart, and you leave out the primal elements.

Borat worked – primal allover – but what other satires do you know that broke out and went big?

Charlie Wilson’s War recounts the eponymous Texan Congressman’s lobbying in the arms race during the Soviet-Afghan war of the late 70’s.

What started as a covert operation with a budget of $5m spins out of control to an all-out war effort spending more than a hundred times that amount.

With stars like Tom Hanks, Julia Roberts, Philip Seymour Hoffman and Emily Blunt, a screenplay by Aaron Sorkin and Mike Nichols at the helm, this is nothing short of a dream team. Still, the movie didn’t made its money back.

In my view, one reason the film didn’t work is because it ends ironically. (The reason it did work for me, is Sorkin’s addictive dialogue, and his masterful sense of scene structure)

In the McKee sense of the word, the resolution is a tainted victory. There is no clear happy ending. Wilson wins his war, but at the end of the film we are reminded of where the resources of this arms race ended up: with the Mujahideen – and by extension, the Taliban.

We don’t really need McKee to explain that this is also pure, literal irony.

Flawed Movie – Fabulous Scene

If Sorkin’s movies lack cinematic arcs, their individual scene structure makes up for it. Borrowed from stage theatre, he creates sweeping mini-movements that put the best visual screenwriters to shame.

How often do we find a well-constructed, meaty, dramatic scene these days? Pressured by the kinetic editing rhythm of today’s action movies, scenes are often kept too short.

This movie moment from Charlie Wilson’s War is the exception: a classic three-act scene structure with a spectacular climax, and the entire event clocking off at three minutes sharp.

Interestingly, the protagonist is absent; the scene introduces the supporting character of CIA spy Gust Avrakotos.

Hero For One Scene: Gust

In a spectacular collision between Gust and his superior Craigley, we learn all there is to know about Gust.

His CV is substantial, and he gives us all the fine detail. Yet, we happily swallow the expositional subtext, as the drama keeps us at the edge of our seat.

The exposition is subtextual because at the surface, it all starts about an apology. But when Gust arrives at the Langley office, the last thing he wants to do is apologise.

The function of this scene is simple: to introduce the character of Gust.

In my classes, I explain how the most important character aspects are (in order) psychology and sociology. Craigley tells Gust to his face that the reason he lost the Finland job is because he is coarse.

In the scene’s final act, Gust speaks five words that sum up his character’s function (or sociology) in this movie, as well as the scene’s reason d’être: “I am an American spy.”

This has been the subtext of the entire argument, ultimately floating to the surface in the climax.

Scene Structure – Mini Hero’s Journey

When we understand that the argument is no longer about the apology, but about Gust’s missed career opportunity, Sorkin signals this with a First Threshold: a tradesman opens the door, and interrupts the conversation. Scene structure emphasised by action and setting. Beautiful.

If you don’t believe this constitutes the mythical curtain between the scene’s first and second act, do read on.

Gust builds his argument, with tension increasing to the boiling point. At the mid point, things get personal. Gust goes so far that he risks losing his job – and in Hero’s Journey terms his identity – when he attacks Craigley ad hominem, by revealing he knows about an affair. This is the scene’s lowest point, or Ordeal.

Time for the Final Threshold, and guess what Gust does… He opens the door again, to find the tradesman!

What follows next, you’ll need to watch for yourself. Too good to spoil. Let’s skip to the aftermath moment.

In the Hero’s Journey, after the hero has completed the quest, he brings the elixir back to his people (here: “How was I?”), and he is hailed by the community for his achievement: thumbs up!

Pure class.

-Karel Segers

Karel FG Segers

Karel Segers wrote his first produced screenplay at age 17. Today he is a story analyst with experience in acquisition, development and production. He has trained students worldwide, and worked with half a dozen Academy Award nominees. Karel speaks more European languages than he has fingers on his left hand, which he is still trying to find a use for in his hometown of Sydney, Australia. The languages, not the fingers.

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Robert McKee went in the right direction with his statement “If the scene is about what the scene is about…” But great writing does not stop at avoiding to ‘write on the nose’.

We just need to go a little further.

I saw Easy Rider for the first time a long time ago. In fairness, I was never too keen on seeing it again. My recollection of it was slow, self-indulgent, and celebrating a culture I am not a part of.
Recently I studied thresholds, those sequences in movies where characters are on the move, as a metaphor of their psychological progress. I wanted to understand what this legendary road movie had to say about that.

Arthouse With A Story

Easy Rider was released in the year Nixon took office. Close to fifty years later, it is baffling how little has changed in the grand scheme of the American socio-political landscape. Easy Rider feels like an end-of-an-era movie, and today we are there again. While all hope is lost, the masses are watching Captain America and preparing to vote for Trump.

The first seven minutes of Easy Rider show what anti-heroes Billy and Wyatt (Captain America) are all about: two seemingly careless bikers who finance their freedom with the occasional drug deal.

When the opening credits roll over Steppenwolf’s Born To Be Wild, the film is already breaking new ground, as soundtracks had never consisted of existing song compilations. Against some spectacular cinematic backdrops – trademark of the movie and its cinematographer Laszlo Kovacs – the sequence launches the first minor threshold, leading us into the story.

And this may be an arthouse pic, but there is a clear visible goal: to make it to New Orleans in time for Mardi Gras.

Of course this is not the type of film that keeps you hooked because of its riveting plot. What matters lies under the surface.

No Subtext Without Serious Digging

After the hippies pick up a hitchhiker, and fill up with gas, we’re in for some serious musical sightseeing. Over The Weight by The Band, the bikers cruise through Monument Valley, where they hole up for the night.

After the beauty, fun and freedom of the riding scenes, Wyatt now seems reflective; perhaps even tormented.
Billy asks “What’s the matter?” Wyatt replies: “I’m a little tired.” Later he says “I’m just getting my thing together.” I believe that’s exactly what this movie is about.

In the non-verbal, conventional sense , what Wyatt is saying here is “I don’t really want to talk with you any further right now.” The real subtext of the scene will only transpire later in the movie, when a pattern is established.

That pattern: Wyatt is tired of this life. He is ready to make new choices. Always being on the run from society may not be the solution for him. To me this seals the first act of this film; we know the destination, and we understand the psychological challenge the hero is facing.

America Getting Its Thing Together

Easy Rider is Captain America’s quest for identity and purpose, and by association, this is a metaphor for the nation’s journey towards redemption. Metaphors are part of the deeper subtext of a story.

When Billy laughs irreverently, the hiker tells him to be ‘a trifle polite’, as “the people this place belongs to are buried right under you.” In a non-verbal sense, the hitchhiker doesn’t like Billy’s attitude.

On a broader subtextual level, this may be why the hiker has fled the city. Because it builds on the burial grounds. His remark to Billy may also be criticising the nihilist attitude of those who attack everyone and everything, but don’t have a valuable alternative to offer.

Billy has long lost any values he might have had. He now floats from one high to the next, ignorant and numb. Without Wyatt, he is nobody. Wyatt seems to be more aware. He wasn’t born to follow – tons of subtext in the music, here – and he is still hopeful for that redemption. If only he might find himself somewhere along Route 66.

Spoiler alert: he won’t.

What Subtext Really Is About

Father Henry Fonda didn’t understand what his son Peter was going on about with Easy Rider. This is not your regular Hollywood picture. Its meaning doesn’t lay bare on the surface. But it’s there for those willing to look.

A scene early in the movie sets it up. Billy (Hopper) and Captain America (Peter Fonda) invite themselves for lunch with a farmer and his large family. “My wife is catholic, you know.” Wyatt commends the rancher on the fact that he’s built a good living for himself.

The contrast between the rancher and his family, and the free-riding bikers who haven’t achieved anything tangible is stark. For Wyatt, this is a call to adventure. Perhaps it is a solution to his empty soul.

“No, I mean it, you’ve got a nice place. It’s not every man that can live off the land, you know. You do your own thing in your own time. You should be proud.”

And although Captain America is literally saying what he means, this line of dialogue provides true subtext. It is the meaning of the movie, and we are not (yet) aware of it. It will gain greater depth as the movie rolls on, and if we make an effort to look beyond merely non-verbal communication, we will slowly become aware of it.

Wyatt is ready to seek a purpose. He even considers settling. Easy Rider is the journey he goes on to figure this out.

-Karel Segers

https://ozzywood.wistia.com/medias/eo7ckdll5v?embedType=iframe&seo=false&videoFoam=true&videoWidth=1080

Karel FG Segers

Karel Segers wrote his first produced screenplay at age 17. Today he is a story analyst with experience in acquisition, development and production. He has trained students worldwide, and worked with half a dozen Academy Award nominees. Karel speaks more European languages than he has fingers on his left hand, which he is still trying to find a use for in his hometown of Sydney, Australia. The languages, not the fingers.

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I’m now also sure the Untitled Blade Runner Project is in the best possible hands. (And I shall henceforth refrain from making derogatory remarks about Canadian film.)

Sicario shows an astonishing directorial discipline, bringing the very best out of its creatives. Roger Deakins’ 2.35 : 1 widescreen camera work is glorious, Emily Blunt gives her best performance ever, and I adore the movie’s score. This picture does full justice to the cinematic format, and reminded me why sometimes it is worth leaving your house to go celebrate theatrical films.

[box style=”rounded”]I may be spoiling some elements of the film, but I will attempt to discuss them in abstracto.

PLAYING WITH FORM

Given the issues of point of view, Sicario is a difficult story to tell for the screen, but Villeneuve delivers the movie with an elegance that belies its challenges.

We open from the POV of FBI agent Kate Macer (Blunt), who gradually learns more about the enigmatic character of Alejandro (Del Toro). When we are ready and we ‘get’ him, we step into his point of view, to witness his actions – including the film’s climactic finale – in the first person. This device, whereby we learn about the main character through the eyes of an ‘exposition character’ reminded me of the first half of the 2^nd act of Inception. In that movie, we learn about of Don Cobb (Di Caprio) from the character of Ariadne (Page).

Only, Villeneuve goes one step further.

Just after the mid point, Alejandro takes a decisive action that promotes him to the story’s Hero. At the end of act 2, he is the character who transitions into the last act, leaving Kate behind.

The final 24 minutes are entirely his, and all Kate does, is complete her Inner Journey in her final shot.

MARKS OF A HERO’S JOURNEY

It took me a while to get into this film. Twenty-five minutes to be precise. Before that time, we see FBI agents killed in a gruesome victim recovery operation at a gangster’s house. Next, we are left in the dark about the future of the team leader, agent Macer, just as much as she is, herself.

What are the FBI’s plans with Kate? Is this an art film? A docudrama? At the exact 25 minute mark, Sicario reveals itself as a mythical story. Not a traditional one, but a powerful journey including all the essential archetypes and plot points of a full-blown quest.

So what happens after twenty-five minutes?

The Sicario Threshold Sequence

The Threshold Journey is the Hero’s travel into the special world. This is often a geographical trip from one place to the next.

At the same time, it is a psychological journey, as the Hero prepares to go into psychological territory that is unfamiliar.

So in a sense, a Hero’s Journey pretty much always shows its protagonist as a fish-out-of-water.

In Raiders, Indie travels from the university to Nepal, and then to Cairo, where the story will take place. This double journey emphasises that the hero is far, far away from home. In Star Wars: A New Hope, Luke travels first to Mos Eisley, and next into deep space.

In the Sicario Threshold, Kate Macer flies to El Paso first, and from there she crosses the Mexican border towards ‘The Beast’: Juarez. This is a monumental sequence, lasting nearly fifteen minutes. All along, our heroine doesn’t do much more than watch, from her seat in a convoy of five fast-moving black chevy SUV’s.

Watching it in awe, I instantly fell in love with the movie. Structurally it threshold resembles a Russian doll, and the border represents the crossing into the second act … of the threshold. You still with me?

Through impressive helicopter shots we see the landscape change; from Kate’s POV we witness the gruesome dangers of the special world, and meanwhile we keep on moving deeper into this foreign territory. The travel becomes increasingly suspenseful, until the cars finally stop. We are now exactly halfway the sequence.

On the way back, the Sicario threshold gets its own hair-raising climax, at the return border crossing towards the US.

The filmmakers clearly understand their threshold journeys.

Needless to say, this time I didn’t walk out.

– Karel Segers

(The clip below doesn’t include the full Threshold Journey. We cut just before a shot that is R-rated.
However, if you watch the video to the end, you will get access to a draft of Taylor Sheridan’s screenplay.)

https://ozzywood.wistia.com/medias/ozgxsxl4iq?embedType=async&videoFoam=true&videoWidth=1080

Karel FG Segers

Karel Segers wrote his first produced screenplay at age 17. Today he is a story analyst with experience in acquisition, development and production. He has trained students worldwide, and worked with half a dozen Academy Award nominees. Karel speaks more European languages than he has fingers on his left hand, which he is still trying to find a use for in his hometown of Sydney, Australia. The languages, not the fingers.

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