What’s the difference between Comedy and Horror?
I’m not sure I really ever agreed with Aristotle’s definition of Comedy vs Tragedy, but I was thinking today about the trope of “Body Horror,” and how it was used as a comedic element in Deadpool (2016).
I concluded that: in Comedy, we are told everything is going to be okay; in Horror (or Tragedy, for that matter), we are told that it is not.
What’s the best way to give someone quick feedback, especially on some creative work that they have done?
I’ve seen the “Sh!t Sandwich” recommended, but while it can work as part of a longer feedback discussion (for example, an employment review), when its used wen giving a few moments of feedback, the structure is far too transparent. I find that either people recognise the pattern and assume it’s a way to essentially sugar-coat criticism, or they completely miss the critique and only think about the nice bready bits.
Likewise, a simple “hmm… try this,” can come across as know-it-all, especially as sometimes what makes sense in our head makes absolutely no sense in real life.
The best feedback format I know was taught to us by one of our Multimedia Design tutors, and follows this flow:
Most of the directors I’ve loved working with and would be happy to work with again also give redirection following a similar structure.
I think of it as an “Open Sandwich.” Three different layers with three different functions. It maintains the same basic parts of the Sh!t Sandwich, but has something extra on top that really turns it into a special something!
It works well because it forces the person giving feedback to really force themselves to both find something they like (useful if they’re a critical person or “always sees the flaws”), and something they hate (useful if they don’t want to offend or don’t care, or come across as insincere), as well as contribute an idea (ideas are always useful, even if they’re bad: they can trigger awesome ideas!). I find myself thinking and talking this way all the time now. If I sense some resistance, I’ll offer a, “it may not work, but let’s try it.”
Of course, when the trust is built up, the person receiving the feedback knows your intention and is more than happy to try it.
The outcome ends up being that the feedback is taken well, sometimes that idea is tried and works great, sometimes it truly is bad, but in the process of trying something new, the creator finds a new outcome that is greater than both ideas.
One of my responsibilities as Narrative Designer at Blowfish Studios has been to write and design an example/official campaign for Gunscape, which is an FPS level-builder and multiplayer game that heavily references a lot of iconic FPS of the past, and is now only two weeks away from full release!
When I started working on deciding what sort of campaign we might have (keeping in mind that this was late in the development cycle, and there was limited scope for new features), I decided that a good place to start would be to review the games that we were referencing art-wise, to see what patterns I could find in them.
I found that each fell generally into one of two narrative structures. Interestingly, it struck me that these two narrative structures correlated to two concepts described within Trauma research.
Disclaimer: I haven’t played all of the games I researched. I often had to rely on transcripts, level breakdowns, or synopses. Also, the quality or methods of storytelling is incidental to this observation of narrative structure.
At PAX Australia 2015 in Melbourne, I attended Warren Spector’s keynote speech, which included the quote,
“We are all part of a medium nothing else can do: collaborative storytelling. And I think it’s important that we embrace that capability.”
It was an awesome speech, but I found myself mentally griping about that line. I really want to give the benefit of the doubt and assume Mr Spector intended to insert the word “digital” or “screen,” because otherwise we are really missing out on another entertainment medium that can do some incredible collaborative storytelling: live theatre.
Today, I finished playing a game that was recommended to me by a friend a while ago, called The Cat Lady. I can’t say I particularly enjoyed this game. I realised pretty quickly that revenge is a pretty bad motivator for me, and the horrific images they showed seemed to neither shock nor repulse me. In fact, the only thing that drew me back was how strongly my friend had recommended it. But, I also kept in mind that my friend loves horror games, while generally I do not. Continue reading
Every time I brainstorm or critique or give feedback to someone on a creative work of theirs, I always find myself asking,
What’s your point?
In other words: what are you trying to say; what do you want to explore; why do you want to tell this story; why do we want to listen?
This has the same significance whether it’s a one-panel comic or an epic novel series. There can be, and usually is, a difference between the plot (“what happens”) and the point/moral (“what it’s about”). There are a number of ways to tell the same story, and a number of reasons that story could be told. Some reasons are noble, some are indulgent, and none of it really matters. As long as you have that reason for telling your story, you have direction. It’s like having a customer/user/persona when you’re developing a product: you have a focus, a goal. All decisions made in the telling of a story, or the creation of a product, are answered by comparing whether it will help achieve the goal, whether it is in line with the focus.
When you feel that a scene or line is weak, when you start playing around with the storyline, come back and ask yourself, “What’s my point? What’s the point of this scene?” If it doesn’t advance the plot or the characters towards the goal, try changing it to something that does.
Recently, I started thinking about why Adventure games “died” in the late-90s, only to have a resurgance of popularity now, in the mid-2010s. Is it simple nostalgia? Is everyone who “grew up” on the game just get bored of them, and now are thinking back fondly? Or is there something specific to the ideal “Adventure” story structure that no longer resonated with us by 2000, but we’re again thirsty for, 10-15 years later?
Then, the other day, someone mentioned that they haven’t seen an “epic adventure” movie for a long time. Yet, we’ve been fed a steady stream of LOTR/The Hobbit movies. There is clearly something to an “Adventure” story that isn’t the same as following someone on the Hero’s Journey, or even the alternate journey that I’ve talked about a few posts ago.
Question: What do Ferris Bueler, Westley, and Indiana Jones have in common?
Okay, I’d better start by saying that I thought they Lego Movie was pretty awesome. The writing was witty, the jokes were funny, the graphics were obviously incredible, it was poignant, heartwarming, and even had a reference to Lindsay Fleay’s Magic Portal! But that said, it got to the end of the movie and something didn’t feel quite right.
So, I started thinking about it. Emmet wants for something. It’s clearly laid out at the beginning of the film. And, at the end, Emmet delivers a beautiful and inspiring speech. But does the bookending work? Emmet wants more than anything to be part of a team. Everything is Awesome!!! But not for Emmet, who wakes each day and follows “The instructions to fit in, have everybody like you, and always be happy!” And, it all seems great, until we see that all the “special people in [his] life” is his potted plant. That is clearly set up as his goal: Emmet wants to be accepted and be part of a team.
And yet, in the end, he delivers this speech:
“You are the most talented, most interesting and extraordinary person in the universe. And you are capable of amazing things, because you are the Special. And so am I. And so is everyone. The prophecy is made up, but it’s also true. It’s about all of us. Right now, it’s about you. And you still can change everything.”
It’s a beautiful speech. But can you see the contrast here? Emmet wants to fit in, be liked, and be happy. Now he’s giving advice that’s incredibly Individualist. So, the bookends don’t match. Somewhere along the line, the story stopped being about Emmet’s goals, and started being about individual differences. Basically, it feels like the story’s moral had a bit cut off: “The moral of the story is to be special, to be unique, to be yourself, because…” And there is a “because,” because the story has set it up. But the funny part is, it feels like there was just a rewrite somewhere towards the end, because someone wanted to emphasize that Individualism and focus on uniqueness.
I want Emmet to give a different speech to Lord Business:
“You are the most talented, most interesting and extraordinary person in the universe. And you are capable of amazing things, because you are the Special. And so am I. And so is everyone. The prophecy is made up, but it’s also true. It’s about all of us. Right now, its about you and me. And we can still change everything.”
Because that’s what the movie is about: “The moral of the story is to be special, to be unique, to be yourself, because its only in being unique that you can truly find a place among others where it is awesome to be part of a team working together; you will fit in, have everybody like you, and always be happy.”
I’m sure you’ve heard Machiavelli’s quote, “The ends justifies the means.”
And of course there are a number of counter-quotes that disagree with this justification of utilitarianism, but I want to force a semantic shift to talk about it in terms of structure.
A few weeks ago, I wrote about Setup, Conflict, and Payoff. Well, there’s another layer to this: the means to the end. Often, the story hasn’t yet started because there is no obvious path of how to achieve the main character’s desire, which is defined in the Setup and resolved in the Payoff. Basically, the protagonist wants something, but doesn’t know how to get it: (s)he is lacking the means to achieve this end goal.
This could be guidance in terms of a hint or suggestion, an opportunity, even a “call to Adventure.”
What is important is that the means and goal are not confused: the means is the way the protagonist can achieve their original goal, not a new goal that replaces the original desire.
A great example is in Wreck It Ralph, where Ralph’s desire is to be valued and included by both Felix & the townsfolk, as well as himself.
The means is provided through his leaving of his own game, and his subsequent support of Vanellope- through her he learns that flaws are really “super-powers” that are useful elsewhere; and meanwhile, Felix realises that he loses value without Ralph’s contribution. Vanellope teaches Ralph that he isn’t “just” a villain, and he helps her succeed– but the story feels complete when he returns to Fix It Felix Jr and is prized for his role in the game. Through their friendship, Vanellope and Ralph transform themselves and each other, and individually get their desires fulfilled. If Ralph only succeeded in helping Vanellope and this was celebrated as the end of the story, his victory would feel hollow or at most, bittersweet: it would be a different story, one about escaping limitations others put on you, rather than one about being valued for what others put down or take for granted.
I’m starting to think that the middle part of a story isn’t as significant, in terms of audience satisfaction, as maybe we make it out to be. It’s all about the Setup and the Payoff. In between, the Conflict must be what delays achieving the Payoff. That isn’t to say that the meat of the story is put together isn’t important, but that in order for the story to feel “worthwhile,” the Setup and Payoff must feel like bookends to the journey in between. Continue reading
Ellen Jurik 