Tuesday, September 30, 2014

Storyteller's Rulebook: The Best Voiceover is Unreliable Voiceover

Raising Arizona is a great example of how you can use an unexpected metaphor family to reveal character and justify voiceover. Why do audiences usually get annoyed by heavy voiceover? Any type of voiceover can be written well, but it tends to be weak when it’s used in these ways:
  • Convey plot information that the writer doesn’t have time to portray onscreen.
  • Narrate events that are already being shown visually.
  • Give the hero’s snarky opinions on what we’re seeing.
But the best voiceover is unreliable voiceover: giving us a skewed perspective that contrasts with what we see onscreen. Think of Sissy Spacek’s childlike interpretation of the horrific events in Badlands, or Guy Pearce’s chilling misinterpretation of reality in Memento.
This brings us to Hi’s delusional metaphor family. Hi helpfully spells out what his metaphor family is here:
  • “See, I come from a long line of frontiersmen and outdoor types”
Now, of course, we know that this is crazy. Hi may or may not have that in his family tree, but he himself is certainly not a frontiersmen and outdoor type. Nevertheless, that’s the persona he’s adopted, and makes him quite likeable, such as in these choice bits of voiceover:
  • “Her insides were a rocky place where my seed could find no purchase.”
  • “I preminisced no return of the salad days.”
  • “Even my job seemed as dry and bitter as the prairie wind.”
For once, the voiceover is indespensible, because it provides us with something we can’t get  onscreen: In Hi’s mind, he’s a cowboy. This both amuses us royally and helps justify his nutty actions to us.

Sunday, September 28, 2014

Rulebook Casefile: The (Strange) Way the World Works in Raising Arizona

In the checklist, I recommend that you establish whether the physics of your world are realistic or stylized, but when I went to my 15 existing checklist roadtests, I was surprised to find that all 15 fell in the “realistic” category (even in The Bourne Identity and Iron Man, the physics are relatively realistic, compared to similar movies in those genres).

But Raising Arizona introduces us to the world of gentle physics. This is most obvious in the blessed life of Nathan Jr, who manages to fall of the roof of a car and endures many other hardships without so much as a scratch.

So how does a movie get us to accept stylized physics? By creating a very stylized tone right away. Star Wars uses its famous fairy-tale title card to temper our expectation of realistic physics in that world, and this movie does something similar with its banjo-and-yodel opening music and shaggy-dog-story narration. This establishes a mood that might be described as “tall tale” or “folk ballad”.

This also brings us back around to the light consequences of this movie that we discussed last time. This is a movie, after all, in which a couple steal a rich man’s baby easily, just by putting a latter against his house, then return it the same way, even after he’s on his guard, and when he finally catches them in the act, he just says “aw shucks, that’s okay,” and gives them advice on how to save their marriage!

Usually, audiences demand that movies reflect the way the world works, and that have real consequences for the characters’ actions. We want these things so that we can believe in and invest in this world, so that we can play along in our seats and try to guess what might happen, secure in the knowledge that the movie will “play fair” with us, and not give itself an out that we couldn’t have guessed.

But this movie alters those expectations very quickly, creating a surreal space in which we shift to a more child-like type of viewing. Here we will receive a different sort of comfort: instead of the reassurance that things will conform to our understanding of behavior, this offers us the reassurance that, thought we’re in a absurd and unpredictable world, at least we’re in gentle hands, and nothing that bad can happen, even when babies go flying off of car roofs, and likable kidnappers get caught red-handed.

Wednesday, September 24, 2014

Straying from the Party Line: The Tidy Conclusion of Raising Arizona

Deviation #2: The movie ends with another long voiceover montage in order to wrap everything up.

The Problem: This should also be off-putting, denying the audience a chance to decide for ourselves what everything means in the end. And by tying off all of the loose plot threads, we have less to think about afterwards.

Does the Movie Get Away With It? Somewhat, but it’s more problematic than the opening montage. Let’s start with the montage of what happens to all of the other characters. On the one hand, it’s delightful to see Gale and Evelle go back to prison by climbing back into the mudhole they climbed out of, but surely there was no need to show brother-in-law Glen getting his eventual comeuppance after telling a Polish joke to a Polish cop?

Recently, the Coens’ endings have been anything but tidy. For the most part that’s good: We enjoy the frustration of not knowing what happened to the money in Fargo or No Country for Old Men, for instance. One could argue that in their most recent movies they’ve actually take this a little too far in the other direction (see the anticlimactic endings of A Serious Man and Inside Llewyn Davis) but their recent instincts are still good: it’s better to trust the viewers rather than hold their hands at the end.

As for Hi’s summation of what happens to himself and Ed, the ending tries a little too hard to be satisfying by having it both ways:
  • First we get the “real consequences” version, in which the couple, still childless, content themselves to send anonymous gifts to Nathan Arizona, Jr, every year, and live vicariously through his accomplishments.
  • But then we get another vague ending tacked onto that one, implying that Hi and Ed somehow did get to raise kids and have a large family of their own someday.
This feels a little “80s” to me, like the Coens are being overgenerous to the their characters. This was still a point when indies were anxious to prove that they could be just as satisfying as Hollywood films. Don’t get me wrong, this is far preferable to modern indie movies, which too often equate “realism” with bleakness and misery, but I do wish that the Coens had trusted their bittersweet “root for Nathan, Jr. from afar” ending.

Tuesday, September 23, 2014

Straying from the Party Line: Telling vs Showing in Raising Arizona

Deviation #1: The movie begins with a massive 10 minute voiceover montage in order to introduce its characters and launch its plot. This is the definition of a showing-not-telling: an undramatized info dump.

The Problem: This should be boring, stultifying and off-putting, denying the audience a chance to decide for ourselves what we think of this world and the characters in it.

Does the Movie Get Away With It? Very much so. Why? The short answer is: for the same reason that the Coens have been able to get away with breaking the rules ever since.
  • It’s so funny it makes you weep. Cage’s monologue is marvelously droll and witty, and the little snippets of what other people say are just as funny.
  • Cage’s performance is mesmerizing. He becomes a star in front of our eyes. Hunter as well. She has a lot to sell here: convincing us, with almost no dialogue, that she, as a cop, will gradually fall in love with a crook over the course of a few bookings, but she beautifully pulls it off.
  • In the same manner as an absurd “shaggy dog story”, the Coens always have an element of audacity: intentionally tapping into our sense of “Movies can’t do this!” in a way that excites us instead of annoying us. This montage, more than anything in their previous feature Blood Simple, establishes the sort of refreshingly-bizarre narrative sprawl that has lasted them throughout their careers.
  • Crucially, there’s only one piece of (fantastic) music used throughout, to let us know that this is all prologue to the story. They’re not dumping the actual story on us, they’re just getting us to the starting line, which is more acceptable. When the music finally ends, we are subtly assured that they’ll start playing by the rules now and dramatizing each scene in real time.
But let’s look at one last problem: in the very first Storyteller’s Rulebook, I talked about how audience are actually willing to have you tell them the plot (which this does in abundance) but they’re far more insistent that you show them who the characters are: Let us hear some dialogue and decide how much we like this guy, stead of being told to like him. As I put it then:
  • In real life, if someone tells me, “I’m a doctor,” I’ll probably believe him. If that doctor then tells me “I’m well-known and well-liked and very honorable,” I get suspicious. I don't want them to tell me that. I’m not going to believe them anyway. The only way I’ll believe that is if they show me. It’s the same way with writing. Audiences don’t mind being told what’s going on, but they’re not going to let you just tell them which characters to like or dislike.
So why, in this case, are we willing to have Hi describe not only the plot but his character as well? Here it’s useful to look at the script. The Coens are famous for their meticulous scripting, and indeed this entire montage appears verbatim in the script …with the exception of one very funny line that was cut:
  • “I was in for writing hot checks which, when businessmen do it, is called an overdraft. I'm not complainin’, mind you; just sayin’ there ain’t no pancake so thin it ain’t got two sides.”
That’s a great line, so why was it cut? Because, in its attempt to make Hi more sympathetic, this line makes him less so. In the final film, we assume that he is going to jail for stick-up work, a more serious crime for which he offers no mitigation, but because he isn’t telling us that he’s not so bad, we’re more likely to reach that conclusion for ourselves.

So while this is clearly an example of telling-not-showing the plot, the Coens made the smart decision to show-not-tell character.

Sunday, September 21, 2014

The Ultimate Story Checklist: Raising Arizona

Criminal H. I. McDunnough (“Hi”) goes straight when he marries policewoman Edwina (“Ed”). When Ed discovers that she’s barren, she convinces Hi to kidnap a baby from a local millionaire with quintuplets. Soon everyone is coming after the baby: Ed’s brother-in-law/boss Glen, Hi’s prison buddies Gale and Evelle, and demonic bounty hunter Leonard Smalls.
PART #1: CONCEPT 20/21
The Pitch: Does this concept excite everyone who hears about it?
Is the one sentence description uniquely appealing?
 A desperate childless couple steal a baby from a family with quintuplets, but two escaped convicts and a ruthless bounty hunter complicate things.
Is this a new twist on a classic type of story?
 A zanier and sweeter rich-man’s-baby-gets-taken story.
Does the concept contain an intriguing ironic contradiction?
 Hi tries to goes straight by kidnapping a baby.
Is this a story anyone can identify with, projected onto a bigger canvas, with higher stakes?
 The urge to have a family at all costs, combined with the fear of family commitment, get pushed to absurd extremes.
Story Fundamentals: Will this concept generate a strong story?
Is the concept simple enough to spend more time on character than plot?
 Not really.  It’s pretty complicated.  The first ten minutes is all narrated montage. 
Is there one character that the audience will choose to be their “hero”?
Is the story about the hero’s problem, not the hero’s life? 
 For instance, when it starts to cut away to Smalls, it uses the excuse of a dream in which Hi conjures up Smalls as a projection of his guilt, allowing this second storyline to become an extension of the one problem.
Is it about a unique relationship?
 The couple are an ex-con and ex-cop.
Is at least one actual human being opposed to what the hero is doing?
 Lots of them.
Does this challenge represent the hero’s greatest hope and/or greatest fear and/or an ironic answer to the hero’s question?
 Greatest hope (have a family) and greatest fear (return to crime).
Does something inside the hero have a particularly volatile reaction to the challenge?
 His first instinct when things go wrong is to rob another convenience store.
Does this challenge become something that is the not just hard for the hero to do (an obstacle) but hard for the hero to want to do (a conflict)?
 They’re good people, and they don’t want to steal a baby.
Is the hero the person working the hardest to solve the problem?
In the end, is the hero the only one who can solve the problem?
 It comes down to just Hi and Smalls.
Does the hero permanently transform the situation?
Does the situation permanently transform the hero?
 He finds out what family really means and matures.
The Hook: Will this be marketable and generate word of mouth?
Does this story show us at least one image we haven’t seen before (that can be used to promote the final product)?
 The five babies, the bounty hunter, the prison escape, etc.
Is there at least one “Holy Crap!” scene (to create word of mouth)?
 The prison escape, the baby on the roof of the car, etc.
Does the story contain a surprise that is not obvious from the beginning?
 The escapees taking the baby, etc.
Is the story marketable without revealing the surprise?
Is the conflict compelling and ironic both before and after the surprise?
Believe: Do we recognize the hero as a human being?
Does the hero have a moment of humanity early on? (A funny, or kind, or oddball, or out-of-character, or comically vain, or unique-but-universal “I thought I was the only one who did that!” moment?)
 Funny narration, compassion towards Ed, out-of-character hatred then respect towards Reagan.
Is the hero defined by actions and attitudes, not by backstory?
 Despite all that opening narration, we know very little backstory, just current actions.
Does the hero have a well-defined public identity?
 The no-good convenience store robber.
Does that ironically contrast with a hidden interior self?
 The sweet do-gooder husband.
Does the hero have a consistent metaphor family (drawn from his or her job, background, or developmental state)?
 Ambition: cowboy: “See, I come from a long line of frontiersmen and outdoor types” “Her insides were a rocky place where my seed could find no purchase.” “I preminisced no return of the salad days.” “Even my job seemed as dry and bitter as the prairie wind.”
Does the hero have a default personality trait?
 Mild, underreacting, put-upon
Does the hero have a default argument tactic?
 Folds quickly
Is the hero’s primary motivation for tackling this challenge strong, simple, not-selfless, and revealed early on?
 Get his wife a baby.
Care: Do we feel for the hero?
Does the hero start out with a false philosophy (or accept a false piece of advice early on)?
 Accepts bad advice from Gale: “Sometimes your career (crime) has to come before family.”
Does the hero have a false or short-sighted goal when we first meet him or her?
 Raise Nathan Jr. as their own.
Does the hero have an open anxiety about his or her future?
 Going back to jail
Does the hero also have a hidden, private fear?
 That he’ll be a bad dad.
Is the hero vulnerable, both physically and emotionally?
Does the hero have an untenable great flaw that we empathize with? (but…)
 Criminal tendency, desire to take the easy path, perhaps a secret wish to return to jail.  As the brothers say, “Either way we’ll be set for life.”
Invest: Can we trust the hero to tackle this challenge?
…Is that great flaw the natural flip-side of a great strength that we admire?
 Not really the flip side: he’s loving and totally dedicated to Ed’s happiness.
Is the hero curious?
Is the hero generally resourceful?
Does the hero have rules he or she lives by (either stated or implied)?
 He thinks he does (he has vague notions about what it means to be a man) but in reality he gets pulled in different directions and talked out of things easily.
Is the hero surrounded by people who sorely lack his or her most valuable quality?
 Most lack his inclination to fly right (even Ed and her sister and brother-in-law).  He’s the ex-con, but everybody has a little larceny in their heart (although, like him, everybody is won over by Nathan Jr.)
…And is the hero willing to let them know that, subtly or directly?
 No, he’s reluctant to criticize
Is the hero actively pursuing an early goal when we first meet him or her?
 Yes, he’s pursuing Ed as much as he can during their brief encounters.
Does the hero have (or claim) decision-making authority?
Does the hero use pre-established special skills from his or her past to solve problems (rather than doing what anybody would do)?
 Armed robbery, which he resorts to again and again.
1st Quarter: Is the challenge laid out in the first quarter?
When the story begins, is the hero becoming increasingly irritated about his or her longstanding social problem (while still in denial about an internal flaw)?
 Tired of going back to prison, drawn to Ed.
Does this problem become undeniable due to a social humiliation at the beginning of the story?
 Keeps getting sent back, finds out they’re infertile.
Does the hero discover an intimidating opportunity to fix the problem?
 They hear about the Arizona quintuplets.
Does the hero hesitate until the stakes are raised?
 Not that we see.  They go for it.
Does the hero commit to pursuing the opportunity by the end of the first quarter?
 They take the kid.
2nd Quarter: Does the hero try the easy way in the second quarter?
Does the hero’s pursuit of the opportunity quickly lead to an unforeseen conflict with another person?
 The brothers escape prison.
Does the hero try the easy way throughout the second quarter?
 They lie to the brothers.
Does the hero (and/or villain) get to have a little fun at this point, in a way that exemplifies the appeal of the concept?
 They love having the kid.
Does the hero get excited about the possibility of success?
 Not really.  They’re pretty worried the whole time.
Does this culminate in a midpoint disaster?
 Several: The in-laws come over. They have lots of questions about Jr. Hi punches out his boss for suggesting wife swapping. Hi steals some Huggies and some money, which leads to lots of complications with cops, dogs, and an armed clerk. The in-law confronts Hi and demands the baby, the brothers take the baby.
3rd Quarter: Does the hero try the hard way in the third quarter?
Does the hero lose a safe space and/or sheltering relationship at this point?
 Hi loses his job and his baby and his house gets trashed.
Does the hero try the hard way from this point on?
 They take off to get their baby back.
By halfway through, are character decisions driving the plot, rather than external plot complications?
 Somewhat.  There are more character complications now, but there’s still lots of plot.
Does the hero find out who his or her real friends and real enemies are?
 The brothers and the brother-in-law turn on Hi.
Do the stakes, pace, and motivation all escalate at this point?
Does the hero learn from mistakes in a painful way?
 They realize it was wrong to take the baby.
Does a further setback lead to a spiritual crisis?
 They decide to split up after all this is over.
4th Quarter: Does the challenge climax in the fourth quarter?
Does the hero adopt a corrected philosophy after the spiritual crisis?
 “You were right and I was wrong. We got a family here and I’m gonna start acting responsibly.
After that crisis, does the hero finally commit to pursuing a corrected goal, which still seems far away?
 Save the baby, then return him.
Before the final quarter of the story begins, (if not long before) has your hero switched to being proactive, instead of reactive?
 They lock and load and hit the road.
Despite these proactive steps, is the timeline unexpectedly moved up, forcing the hero to improvise for the finale?
 Leonard Smalls shows up.
Do all strands of the story and most of the characters come together for the climactic confrontation?
 Pretty much.
Does the hero’s inner struggle climax shortly after (or possible at the same time as) his or her outer struggle?
 Yes, after Smalls is dead, they hash out their relationship issues with Nathan Arizona.
Is there an epilogue/ aftermath/ denouement in which the challenge is finally resolved (or succumbed to), and we see how much the hero has changed (possibly through reversible behavior)
  They send gifts to Nathan Jr. as he grows up.  Maybe they’re able to have kids, or maybe that’s just a dream.
PART #4: SCENEWORK 23/23 (During Hi and Ed’s first night with Junior, brothers Gale and Evelle show up having just escaped from jail, and begin to suspect the truth)
The Set-Up: Does this scene begin with the essential elements it needs?
Were tense and/or hopeful (and usually false) expectations for this interaction established beforehand?
 Ed just made him promise,“Everything decent and normal from here on out.” When they first knock at the door, Ed and Hi fear that it’s the police and load a gun.
Does the scene eliminate small talk and repeated beats by cutting out the beginning (or possibly even the middle)?
 Hi greets them before Ed comes in, so that we don’t have to hear that twice.
Is this an intimidating setting that keeps characters active?
 All sorts of clues in the room give away their lies.
Is one of the scene partners not planning to have this conversation (and quite possibly has something better to do)?
 Ed and Hi just want to sleep.
Is there at least one non-plot element complicating the scene?
 They tunneled through a sewer, so they stink to high heaven.
Does the scene establish its own mini-ticking-clock (if only through subconscious anticipation)?
 They want to get the kids down
The Conflict: Do the conflicts play out in a lively manner?
Does this scene both advance the plot and reveal character?
 Very much so.
Are one or more characters in the scene emotionally affected by this interaction or action as the scene progresses?
 Hi feels humiliated by the brothers’ ribbing, Ed has her worst fears about Hi confirmed
Does the audience have (or develop) a rooting interest in this scene (which may sometimes shift)?
 We mostly side with Ed, but we’re very sympathetic to Hi’s dilemma.
Are two agendas genuinely clashing (rather than merely two personalities)?
 The brothers demand to stay, Ed demands they go.
Does the scene have both a surface conflict and a suppressed conflict (one of which is the primary conflict in this scene)?
 Surface: Can they stay? Suppressed: Is Hi going to have to change for his family? Is he going to stay out of jail?
Is the suppressed conflict (which may or may not come to the surface) implied through subtext (and/or called out by the other character)?
 See above.
Are the characters cagy (or in denial) about their own feelings?
 Ed uses the baby as an excuse to kick them out.
Do characters use verbal tricks and traps to get what they want, not just direct confrontation?
 Gale traps them into lying about where the baby came from, traps Hi into letting them stay by ribbing him.
Is there re-blocking, including literal push and pull between the scene partners (often resulting in just one touch)?
 Hi hug Evelle, then playfully slaps Gale, then puts an arm around Evelle, then goes and puts an arm around Ed instead. 
Are objects given or taken, representing larger values?
 Evelle paws through their M&M’s while talking about going through the sewage. 
If this is a big scene, is it broken down into a series of mini-goals?
 First they want in, then they want to find out about the baby, then they want to stay.
The Outcome: Does this scene change the story going forward?
As a result of this scene, does at least one of the scene partners end up doing something that he or she didn’t intend to do when the scene began?
 Hi lets them stay.
Does the outcome of the scene ironically reverse (and/or ironically fulfill) the original intention?
 They were afraid it would be someone who wanted to send them to prison, but it was friends, but the friends also seem destined to send them back.
Are previously-asked questions answered?
 Where are the brothers going.
Are new questions posed that will be left unanswered for now?
 What will Gale do with his suspicions about the baby.
Is the audience left with a growing hope and/or fear for what might happen next? (Not just in the next scene, but generally)
 We are now filled with dread. We’re sure that these guys will bring disaster to the house.
Does the scene cut out early, on a question (possibly to be answered instantly by the circumstances of the next scene)?
 “Got you on a pretty short leash, doesn’t she, Hi?”
Empathetic: Is the dialogue true to human nature?
Does the writing demonstrate empathy for all of the characters?
 Very much so.  Jr. brings out everybody’s vulnerabilities.
Does each of the characters, including the hero, have a limited perspective?
 Very much so.  Hi’s humble voiceover is more about what he doesn’t know than what he does know. 
Do the characters consciously and unconsciously prioritize their own wants, rather than the wants of others?
 Very much so.
Are the characters resistant to openly admitting their feelings (to others and even to themselves)?
 Very much so.
Do the characters avoid saying things they wouldn’t say?
 Hi is very mealy-mouthed.
Do the characters listen poorly?
Do the characters interrupt each other more often than not?
 Yes, Hi never gets to finish a sentence.
Specific: Is the dialogue specific to this world and each personality?
Does the dialogue capture the jargon of the profession and/or setting?
 Yes. “We released ourselves on our own recognizance.”
Does the dialogue capture the tradecraft of the profession being portrayed?
 Somewhat: committing crimes with an unloaded gun because the sentences are so much shorter, banks putting in paint packets, etc.
Are there additional characters with distinct metaphor families (different from the hero’s, even if they’re in the same profession)?
 Gale: reform, Evelle: pop-psychology, Glen: jokes
Are there additional characters with default personality traits?
 Glen: bigotry,
Are there additional characters with default argument strategies?
 Glen: Ed: asking a long line of pointed questions,
Heightened: Is the dialogue more pointed and dynamic than real talk?
Is the dialogue more concise than real talk?
Does the dialogue have more personality than real talk?
Is there a minimum of commas in the dialogue (the lines are not prefaced with Yes, No, Well, Look, or the other character’s name)?
Do non-professor characters speak without dependent clauses, conditionals, or parallel construction?
Are the non-3-dimensional characters impartially polarized into head, heart and gut?
 Even though they have elements of caricature, they’re all actually fairly well-rounded, with elements of head, heart and gut. (Exceptions: Evelle has no head, Smalls has no heart)
Strategic: Are certain dialogue scenes withheld until necessary?
Is exposition withheld until the hero and the audience are both demanding to know it?
 Nope, we begin with a massive ten-minute info-dump.
Is there one gutpunch scene, where the subtext falls away and the characters really lay into each other?
 Yes, they discuss splitting up.
PART #6: TONE 16/16
Genre: Does the story tap into pre-established expectations?
Is the story limited to one genre (or multiple genres that are merged from the beginning, without introducing a new genre after the first quarter?)
 The small-time-crook black-comedy
Is the story limited to sub-genres that are compatible with each other, without mixing metaphors?
 A minor sub-genre of noir that the Coens revived from, the fictional film that mimics the absurdities of true-crime stories at their strangest.  
Does the story satisfy the basic human urges that get people to buy and recommend this genre and sub-genre?
 Lots of big laughs, such as the big chase scene.
Are unrealistic genre-specific elements a big metaphor for a more common experience (not how life really is, but how life really feels)? 
 Smalls represents his guilt, etc.
Does the ending satisfy most of the expectations of the genre, and defy a few others?
 They get an unlikely happy ending (getting forgiven for the crime), but not as happy as it could have been (if they had gotten to keep the kid)
Mood: Does the story create a certain feeling?
Separate from the genre, is a consistent mood (goofy, grim, ‘fairy tale’, etc.) established early and maintained throughout?
 The amazing theme song creates a “folk-ballad” mood.
Are the physics of the world (realistic or stylized?) established early and maintained throughout?
 The physics are simpler and more gentle than our world: the brothers tunnel out through the mud, the baby survives falling off a car roof twice
Is the nature of the stakes (lethal, social, psychological and/or spiritual?) established early and maintained throughout?
 Social and spiritual. Hi’s dreams about Smalls establish the stakes long before they appear.
Framing: Does the story set, reset, upset and ultimately exceed its own expectations?
Are open questions posed in the first half, which will keep the audience from asking the wrong questions later on?
 Sort of.  Will the salad days return?  Who is this man in Hi’s dreams?
Is there a dramatic question posed early on, which will establish in the audience’s mind which moment will mark the end of the story?
 At what point will Nathan Arizona confront his kid’s kidnappers.
Does the story use framing devices to establish genre, mood and expectations?
 Tons of voiceover and montage.
Are there characters whose situations prefigure various fates that might await the hero?
 Her sister and brother-in-law represent his worst fears of becoming a dad, and the brothers represent his worst fears of returning to a life of crime.
Does foreshadowing create anticipation and suspense (and refocus the audience’s attention on what’s important)?
 The dreams about Smalls.
Are set-up and pay-off used to dazzle the audience (and maybe distract attention from plot contrivances)?
 The bank is nicely set up, with them showing him the clipping, and then the place getting trashed, and then Smalls finding the clipping in the trashed house, so that they can all end up in the same place.
Are reversible behaviors used to foreshadow and then confirm change?
 The Spock book is finally left behind, etc. 
Is the dramatic question answered at the very end of the story?
 They finally come face to face with Nathan Sr.
PART 7: THEME 10/14
Difficult: Is the meaning of the story derived from a fundamental moral dilemma?
Can the overall theme be stated in the form of an irreconcilable good vs. good (or evil vs. evil) dilemma?
 Settle for a meager legal life vs. achieving a better life through extra-legal means.
Is a thematic question asked out loud (or clearly implied) in the first half, and left open?
 He asks us, “Now I don’t know where you come down on the incarceration question, whether it’s for rehabilitation or revenge…”
Do the characters consistently have to choose between goods, or between evils, instead of choosing between good and evil?
 Put fugitives out of your house in the rain?  Swap wives to keep your job?
Grounded: Do the stakes ring true to the world of the audience?
Does the story reflect the way the world works?
 No. This follows the rules of a folk-ballad (it’s easy to break into the rich man’s house, and then he forgives them when he finds out they’ve taken his kid, and even takes an interest in saving their marriage! Certainly, Smalls, too, is very unrealistic.)
Does the story have something authentic to say about this type of setting (Is it based more on observations of this type of setting than ideas about it)?
 There’s lots of good Southwest oddity, such as watching the sunset from deck chairs, various state laws, etc.
Does the story include twinges of real life national pain?
 Very much so. JFK, Nixon and Reagan are all name checked. “I tried to stand up and fly straight, but it wasn’t easy with that sumbitch Reagan in the White House. I dunno, they say he’s a decent man, so… maybe his advisors are confused.”
Are these issues addressed in a way that avoids moral hypocrisy?
 Yes.  Mr. Arizona isn’t turned into a monster in order to justify the kidnapping, for instance. 
Do all of the actions have real consequences?
 Yes and no.  It makes sense that the whole thing unravels so quickly, but it’s crazy that they face no consequences for the kidnapping (or for killing Smalls!).  As for the consequences of giving up on a baby, the movie hedges, first implying that they had to content themselves with sending gifts to Nathan Jr. from afar, but then implying that maybe they did have kids after all.
Subtle: Is the theme interwoven throughout so that it need not be discussed often?
Do many small details throughout subtly and/or ironically tie into the thematic dilemma?
 Very much so: when the brothers break out of jail, it looks like a birth, Smalls has baby shoes on his bike.  Ed sings song to baby about dad going to prison.
Are one or more objects representing larger ideas exchanged throughout the story, growing in meaning each time?
 The Dr. Spock book, the baby himself, the guns.
Untidy: Is the dilemma ultimate irresolvable?
Does the ending tip towards on one side of the thematic dilemma without resolving it entirely?
 Settling for a meager legal life is better, though disappointing.
Does the story’s outcome ironically contrast with the initial goal?
 Yes, they are pushed apart by stealing the baby and brought back together by returning it.
In the end, is the plot not entirely tidy (some small plot threads left unresolved, some answers left vague)?
 It’s fairly tidy, using lots of voiceover to explain lots of little things, like what happened to the brother-in-law, etc.
Do the characters refuse (or fail) to synthesize the meaning of the story, forcing the audience to do that?
 Nope, he does a lot of synthesizing, at the end and through out. Even when he doubts his conclusion (about Reagan, for instance) we don’t.

Final Score: 128 out of 140