The Expanded Ultimate Story Checklist: Are the characters resistant to openly admitting their feelings to others and even themselves?

Before, we talked about how characters are cagey about their feelings when pursuing their agenda. This should generally be true of all dialogue. We also established that it’s far better to have characters accidentally betray their feelings (through behavior or protesting too much) than to tell anybody what’s actually going on in their head or heart. 

Resist the urge to have characters say they dislike each other. That generates some quick and easy conflict, but it dissipates more conflict than it creates. The longer you can keep that conflict suppressed, the more scenes it can fuel.

Likewise, resist the urge to have characters say, “I love you.” Once you’ve got the audience rooting for the hero and heroine to get together, you might assume they now want to see the characters start gushing about their true feelings, but you’d be wrong.

Audiences have major commitment issues. In the dark, we all crave emotionally withholding lovers. Sure, we want to see two people get together, but first we want them to want to get together for a good long while. After all, wanting love is a far more universal emotion than having it.

Ideally the hero and heroine will never say, “I love you,” because it’s so much more appealing to watch them dance around the issue. But if they have to, the key thing is to make sure there’s a healthy delay. Getting hit with the L-bomb too soon in a story feels just as alienating and manipulative as it does in real life.

Of course, the exception is when heroes suddenly blurt out, “I love you,” as soon as they meet somebody special—and then start kicking themselves, which is endearing because the entire point is to highlight that it’s a mistake. Some examples:

• Patrick Swayze’s character in Ghost almost loses Demi Moore because he doesn’t realize she finds “ditto” more convincing than an actual “I love you.” 
• Harrison Ford, in The Empire Strikes Back, is smart enough to realize that the way to make both Leia and the audience melt is to answer her “I love you” with “I know” rather than the scripted line. 
• Likewise, we love it when Shirley MacLaine simply responds to “I love you” by saying, “Shut up and deal” at the end of The Apartment. 

Call us masochists, but we demand that our fictional lovers leave us wanting more.

The 40 Year Old Virgin	YES. Very much so.
Alien	YES.
An Education	YES.  The final apology from her father is heartbreakingly delivered through a closed door.
The Babadook	YES. Very much so.  Even Sam, who seems to say anything, is coy about his growing knowledge that his mother is the monster.
Blazing Saddles	NO. everybody is pretty up front in this movie.
Blue Velvet	YES. every time Jeffrey wants to say something genuine, he says something dippy instead to stop himself.
The Bourne Identity	YES. the excellent love scene starts with him dying her hair, which forces them into intimacy without talking about it.
Bridesmaids	YES.
Casablanca	YES. Very much so.
Chinatown	YES. Gittes bristles when asked about the past.
Donnie Brasco	YES.  Therapy is useless.  He and Lefty confront each other in the most oblique way possible.
Do the Right Thing	Yes and no.  There are times when they openly discuss issues that probably would not openly discuss or admitted to, but these moments are stylized (almost like Shakespearean asides), so it works.
The Farewell	YES. Very much so.
The Fighter	YES. Well, everybody’s pretty brash except Mickey, but everybody has hard confessions dragged out of them in the end.
Frozen	YES. The awkward scene where Anna and Elsa talk is excellent.  Neither can discuss everything between them.
The Fugitive	YES. Gerard is very reluctant to apologize.
Get Out	YES. Very much so.
Groundhog Day	YES. Very much so.
How to Train Your Dragon	YES. The father and son are wonderfully inarticulate in their discussion.
In a Lonely Place	YES. Very much so.
Iron Man	YES. Very much so. It takes huge events to get Pepper and Tony to admit how much they need each other, and then they won’t admit they’ve said it later.
Lady Bird	YES.
Raising Arizona	YES. Very much so.
Rushmore	YES.
Selma	YES. Again, the adultery comes to mind.
The Shining	YES. even Tony is reluctant to reveal his feelings to Danny!
Sideways	YES. Very much so.
The Silence of the Lambs	YES. Very much so.
Star Wars	YES. The crushes remain sublimated in this movie.
Sunset Boulevard	YES. very much so.

The Expanded Ultimate Story Checklist: Do the characters consciously and unconsciously prioritize their own wants rather than the wants of others?

Anybody who has done any work in sales, community organizing, or political campaigning has heard the same piece of advice: “The only way to motivate people is to appeal to their self-interest.” This is universally true for both “good people” and “bad people,” and if you create a story in which this isn’t true, it will ring false. You need to motivate your villains and your heroes around their own self-interest. 

Good characters must not be motivated by benevolence, and bad characters must not be motivated by malevolence. Characters, just like real people, only want what they want. In a story, it works like this:

• Good: A self-interested goal we empathize and sympathize with. 
• Evil: A self-interested goal we empathize with but don’t sympathize with. 

The audience should empathize with the desires that drive every character. The difference is, while we merely feel for your villain, we feel and root for your hero.

So why do we root for your heroes? Because we think they’re the right people at the right time in the right place to bring about our desired outcome for this story, even if they’re doing this for entirely selfish reasons, which is fine. The fact is that, good or bad, people only want what they want.

Each episode of Mad Men on DVD has a fantastic commentary, usually featuring creator Matt Weiner, and they’re all worth listening to. In one early episode, weaselly advertising executive Pete is stewing in his office, as usual, and boundary-breaking copywriter Peggy comes in to discuss a project. In his commentary, Weiner points out (paraphrasing here): “This is the point on most shows where she would ask, ‘What’s wrong?,’ as if people go around trying to solve each other’s problems all the time.”

But this isn’t that sort of show. Peggy doesn’t notice what’s bothering Pete, even though she’s probably the most sympathetic character on the show (and occasionally in love with him). People only want what they want, and that doesn’t make them bad people. Unless your character is a parent or spouse (okay, let’s get more specific, an exceptionally caring parent or spouse), she shouldn’t become selflessly concerned with the emotional state of another character. Peggy isn’t going to ask Pete what’s wrong unless she has to act that way to get what she wants.

People only want what they want. That may sound terrible, but it’s how life works—and it’s probably for the best.

You, as the writer, know what every character’s problem is, and so you want them to know it, too. The easiest way to do that is to have someone come into the room, size up the situation, and say, “Do you know what your problem is? Well, let me tell you. …” But in real life, such conversations are not only uncommon, they’re unwelcome.

On those rare occasions I do get armchair diagnoses from friends, they tend to be benign but unhelpful, because their friendship keeps them from perceiving my true faults. Ironically, the few times people have spontaneously told me what my problem was and actually got it right, they were people who hated my guts and never wanted to see me again. Needless to say, I wasn’t happy to hear it, and I bit back each time. Only later did I sheepishly realize they had actually told me something I very much needed to hear.

Weiner’s comment has ruined a lot of movies and TV shows for me. Every time someone walks into a room and helps the hero get to the heart of his problem, it now sets my teeth on edge. The ghostly voice of Weiner wafts up from the ether, providing a running commentary to everything I watch: “People only want what they want!”

This is true even in close relationships. Writers are often afraid to embrace this rule for fear that entirely self-interested characters will be unappealing, but the opposite is true. Crazy Stupid Love is a very appealing and good-natured romantic comedy, even though the characters could not be more self-motivated. The story centers on a divorcing couple, Cal and Tracy, but it’s not just them: Their kids, their babysitter, their kids' teachers, everybody keeps getting walloped by their own unrequited, irrational desires, which they are helpless to ignore. Cal and Tracy have entire beautifully written conversations where each one literally doesn’t listen to anything that the other says.

• Cal: Once I’m settled, I’ll get the kids so they can see the place. 
• Tracy: I think I’m having a midlife crisis maybe. Can women have midlife crises? 
• Cal: Make sure the lawn gets enough water. 
• Tracy: In the movies it’s always men having them and buying ridiculous yellow Porsches, but I’m not a man and I really don’t want a yellow Porsche— 
• Cal: You have to fertilize once a month. Not twice a month, not once every two months. 
• Tracy: We got married so young, Cal. And I’m forty-one. And that’s so much older than I thought I’d be. 
• Cal: The sprinklers turn off behind you. 
• Tracy: And I got really upset with an umpire at Molly’s T-ball game last month. … 

Tellingly, there are times when characters try to give each other selfless advice (such as the advice a local lothario gives Cal), but every time, it’s hopelessly tainted by the advice giver’s own frustrated desires and limited perspective.

For better or worse, the rule that “people only want what they want” applies even to friendships and relationships. If you and I are friends, it doesn’t mean we want the same things from each other. I like you for certain reasons, and you like me for your own reasons. Sometimes our interests will actually be the same (we both love karaoke), but sometimes our interests will merely be symbiotic, and that can work, too. Maybe I like to talk and you like to listen, or I like to take and you like to give. Maybe I want a hunting buddy and you just want a drinking buddy. Or maybe we both expect things from each other the other won’t give, and the friendship is ultimately doomed.

The 40 Year Old Virgin	YES. Very much so.  Each man’s advice is hopelessly tainted by his own failings.
Alien	YES. Very much so.
An Education	YES.  Very much so. All except the teacher, but even she wants to live vicariously through Jenny’s academic success (as opposed to everyone else, who all live vicariously through her transgression.)
The Babadook	YES. this is a movie about the myth of selflessness.
Blazing Saddles	YES. everyone.  Even when Bart goes back to help his people, it serves his own goal of saving his neck.
Blue Velvet	YES. Jeffrey seems to be investigating selflessly, but it’s clearly just for his own kicks.  He and Frank have a lot in common, including kinkiness, compulsion, and bouts of crying.
The Bourne Identity	YES. Very much so.  This is a very realistic portrayal of spying, they’re assassinating their former assets, not fighting against evil.
Bridesmaids	YES. There are two exceptions, but they justify themselves. The cop becomes selflessly invested in cheering up Annie, but it begins with a believable urge for sex and baked goods, then blossoms into a more selfless level of concern.  Likewise when Megan selflessly reaches out to cheer up Annie near the end, it’s clearly shown to be a personal oddity that she can’t stand to have depressed acquaintances.
Casablanca	YES. Everybody, even Strasser and Victor, who have strong ideologies, are beholden to (and somewhat frustrated with) their organizations and threading difficult needles.
Chinatown	Yes and no.  Gittes comes off as cynical and self-interested, but if you actually try to track his motivations in the movie, he’s actually acting in the public interest most of the time, against his own self-interest or the interests of his clients. More about this later.
Donnie Brasco	YES.  All of the others only serve themselves.  The mafia code is a joke.  FBI mostly watches its own ass.  Donnie himself, though, is fairly selfless, pursuing the mob despite have little personal motivation to do so.  However, it soon becomes clear that he’s drawn to this fantasy life for neurotic reasons, and reluctant to leave even after the job is done.
Do the Right Thing	YES. Very, very much so.  Even Buggin’ Out, the one person supposedly motivated by civic concerns, is really upset about cheese and his shoes.
The Farewell	YES. It’s about learning to tell the difference.
The Fighter	YES. Well, Mickey’s whole problem is that he fails to do this, but he learns the value of prioritizing his own wants, so that counts.
Frozen	YES. Anna is fairly selfless in her concern for her sister, but their needs coincide enough that it’s not a problem.
The Fugitive	YES. Very much so.  That’s all anybody does, right up to the end.
Get Out	YES. Well, Chris just wants to fit in, so he’s a people-pleaser, but ultimately he’s doing this in order to get love for himself, not out of a selfless love of anybody else.
Groundhog Day	NO. All except Rita, who is fairly selfless, but at least everybody notices how weird that is, so we believe it.
How to Train Your Dragon	YES. Astrid helps him not because she’s dedicated to soothing him, but because she demands to know how he stole her thunder.
In a Lonely Place	YES. For the most part.  Laurel decides to save Dix, but in a believable way: she never sacrifices her own wants and needs to his.
Iron Man	YES. Very much so. Everyone’s motivation tracks.
Lady Bird	YES. Very much so.
Raising Arizona	YES. Very much so.
Rushmore	YES. Max and Blume genuinely try to be friends but neither is willing to check his outrageous selfishness.
Selma	YES. Well that’s tricky.  Our hero is pretty saintly, but of course there is the issue of his adultery.
The Shining	Yes and no.  Wendy doesn’t, but that’s clearly her flaw, not a strength, so that’s okay.  One could argue that Halloran literally serves some sort of “good spirit”, but you could also see it as him merely protecting his own kind.  Kubrick does a good job at keeping him from being a 2-dimensional “magical black man.” (the nude photo on his wall, the call he makes about the caretaker being “a real asshole.”)
Sideways	Mostly. Maya is a little too dedicated to reaching out to this unattractive and unappealing guy, but at least she maintains her wariness and self-respect the whole time.
The Silence of the Lambs	YES. Nobody ever says “This is about the victim, dammit!” Lecter and Bill pursue their own pleasure, not “evil” or Satan or “darkness”.
Star Wars	YES. Luke and Han are both just trying to solve short-term problems until near the end.
Sunset Boulevard	YES. Very much so.  The love interests are both cheating on others.

 

The Expanded Ultimate Story Checklist: Does each character, including the hero, have a limited perspective?

To write dialogue, you must attempt to understand every character with a speaking part in the little universe you’ve created and genuinely feel her wants and needs. To do that, you must understand what each character can and can’t see about her world. 

As you write, you will always be aware of the wider perspective only you can see, but as you craft each character’s dialogue, you must deny yourself that wider view to adopt the limited perspective of that character.

And as you do so, you can’t resent or belittle that limited perspective: Characters only know what they know, and that’s fine. You don’t need to educate or enlighten them to turn them into good people. A limited perspective should make each character more sympathetic, not less.

We all want our heroes to be relatable and their actions to be logical, but you can’t take that too far. A character who's too logical becomes generic. Rather than make her overly logical, you should give her the freedom to do things only she would do.

This is the danger of overmotivation. It’s easy to get a character to act “believably” if she has ten different reasons compelling her to do everything she does. But audiences lose interest in such heroes. The trick is to allow your hero to have reactions that are surprising but still understandable.

If we understand how circumstances have limited the hero’s perspective, then it is possible to intensely empathize with her, even if we know that we would react differently.

In Rise of the Planet of the Apes, Caesar, the superintelligent ape, becomes deeply sympathetic to the audience, even when he declares war on the humans, because the audience can relate to him. In some scenes, they relate to him because he’s clever and makes the decisions they would make, but in other scenes, they relate even more because they see that he has a limited perspective and makes poor decisions as a result.

At first, Caesar is raised as a human, but as he gets older, he instinctively becomes more violent. Eventually, his kindly owner (James Franco) has no choice but to put him in an ape sanctuary. The writers could have had Caesar expelled from his human home as a result of a false accusation or an irrational prejudice, but no: He genuinely freaked out and acted overly violent. He sees his exile as unjust, but the audience doesn’t. And once he’s there, the filmmakers make it clear that, though one of his human keepers is cruel, it’s really not an evil institution, just a much colder place than what he’s used to.

Since Caesar’s banishment is his own fault—Franco did everything in his power to forestall it—and the keepers aren’t overly evil, Caesar’s exaggerated feeling of betrayal is all the more tragic. And because it’s tragic, it’s universal.

Though Caesar has a genius IQ, it doesn’t stop him from feeling a child’s illogical sense of betrayal when he discovers the outside world is harsher than his childhood home and not everyone will treat him as well as those who raised him. We identify with this because we’ve all felt that illogical sense of betrayal. If Caesar had been truly, totally betrayed—if, for instance, the nice playroom the keepers had shown Franco was just a bait and switch, and Caesar had never been allowed to play there—then he would have more motivation to lead a revolt, but we would identify with him less.

We can see Caesar’s sense of betrayal by Franco is unfounded, but we understand his limited perspective (and remember feeling the same way as children), so we intensely sympathize, far more than if Caesar had suffered a more exaggerated betrayal.

The 40 Year Old Virgin	YES. Very much so.
Alien	YES, it takes her a while to catch on.
An Education	YES.  Very much so. The amazing thing is that we come to share her limited perspective, to a certain extent, despite the fact that this story and its outcome are so familiar.
The Babadook	YES.
Blazing Saddles	YES. The hero thinks he sees all, but he learns to see more.
Blue Velvet	YES.
The Bourne Identity	YES. Very much so.  Nobody, good or bad, is ever exactly sure what’s going on.
Bridesmaids	YES. Very much so.
Casablanca	YES. until the very end, when Rick finally learns to reallysee all the angles.
Chinatown	YES. Very much so.
Donnie Brasco	YES.  We see how much Joe’s wife suffers (shoveling the walk, etc.) but he can’t imagine it.
Do the Right Thing	YES. Very much so.  Only the camera sees the riot coming.
The Farewell	YES. very much.  Both Nai Nai and Billi have a very limited perspective, in different ways.
The Fighter	YES. Very much so.
Frozen	YES. Kristoff has more perspective than Anna.
The Fugitive	YES. Very much so.  Kimble is baffled until late in the movie.  Gerard refuses to consider
Get Out	YES. Sure.
Groundhog Day	YES. Less so with Rita, but yes, even her.
How to Train Your Dragon	YES.
In a Lonely Place	YES. Very much so.
Iron Man	YES. Very much so. Even Pepper has moral blind spots, and everybody else has tons.
Lady Bird	YES. Very much so.  The dad is the wisest, but even he has his blind spots.
Raising Arizona	YES. Very much so.  Hi’s humble voiceover is more about what he doesn’t know than what he does know.
Rushmore	YES. Very much so.
Selma	YES. To a certain extent.  King sees almost everything, but not quite.  Coretta sees the value of Malcolm X more than he does.
The Shining	YES.
Sideways	YES. Very much so. The audience understands everybody much better than they do themselves.
The Silence of the Lambs	YES. Very much so.
Star Wars	YES. One could argue that Obi Wan has an unlimited perspective, but he is wisely killed off, leaving lots of people who are unsure of themselves.
Sunset Boulevard	YES. very much so.  He thinks he sees all the angles, but we see how deluded he really is.