8-Part Story Structure: Second Sequence
Sequence 2: Excuse Me, But I Have a Concern
Just at the end of the first sequence, we are introduced to the first point of attack, where the main characters are faced with a problem that they didn’t really have before. No matter how hectic their lives might have daily been up to that point, this new problem was not part of their plan. Instead, it’s something unique, a problem that they hadn’t anticipated, but which presents an extremely large thorn in their side, or possibly a huge possible reward or goal for our hero to obtain.
This new “problem” presents the main objective for the protagonist(s), and the audience is able to realize what kind of ride that they’re going to be on.
In the movie Paycheck, we already know from the first sequence that Michael Jennings is a brilliant engineer who makes a comfortable living doing engineering work for other companies, and then having his memory erased so that he will not be able to betray that technology to anyone else. In return, he is paid very well, but he doesn’t have a clue as to what he might have worked on.
In the second sequence, he is presented with a chance to make a huge paycheck, in return for a job that would require him to lose three years of his life. He decides to take the chance, and when he “wakes up” after the job is all done, he goes out to retrieve his money, but finds out that his money is gone, and all he has is an envelope with twenty seemingly common objects that aren’t worth nearly enough to compensate him, and on top of that, he’s got a number of people after him trying to kill him for reasons unknown.
This second sequence, again, takes around 10-15 minutes, but lays out the main problem that the protagonist and we, as an audience, are going to be concerned with for the remainder of the film. It raises the questions in our minds that we expect to have answered by the end of the film:
“Why did he give up all the money?” “What do the objects have to do with anything?” “What was he working on for the past three years?” “What are these random flashbacks?”
The main purpose of the second sequence is the introduction of whatever it is that is going to occupy the time and efforts of the protagonist, but it also must be laid out in an interesting way. Just having a random person say “Well, here’s your new problem” like a plumber might identify the source of a leak, isn’t going to cut it. This is entertainment. This is something that people are paying money and sacrificing time to see. They deserve a well-crafted scenario creatively portrayed, and that’s what you have to give them.
By the end of this sequence, the protagonist should have set his goal as to what he needs to do, or at least have a semi-solid objective in mind. If not, then the sequence is not yet over, and it needs to be retooled until that is the result.
Summary
- What is the point of attack? Show the main problem that the protagonist is going to have to face for the remainder of the film.
- The character should also set the goal for themselves, regardless of their own amount of motivation in pursuing it.
8-Part Story Structure: First Sequence
Sequence 1: Homeostasis – Our New Ordinary World
The first act of the film is always extremely important. You have to grab the audience’s attention, and thrust them into this new world of your story as quickly as possible, immersing them into the adventure that they will be experiencing over the next one-and-a-half to two hours (or sometimes more, if trends continue). You also need to help the audience realize the main conflict that will dominate the tension in the film, so that by the end of the first act, all of the main players will have been introduced, the main problem is identified, and the second act can start the audience on their way to figuring out how things are going to be resolved.
The first sequence involves the audience being thrown right into the story without any prior knowledge. There should not be any explanation required, and we shouldn’t need any real narration. The story should just plain start.
Take, for example, The Raiders of the Lost Ark. In the opening sequence, we see just a few men walking through a South American jungle, following another man whose face we cannot see. Instead, we see his leather jacket and brown fedora, and we realize the dangers of this place by the expressions of the men following him. We come to understand that this leader misses very little, as one of the men tries to betray him with a revolver, but a whip strikes out fast as lightning to snap the weapon away, sending the man scurrying away into the darkness. And finally, we see the rougish face of Indiana Jones.
We follow him into a hidden temple, and watch with wonder as he expertly navigates a tomb that is riddled with booby-traps, all the while keeping his companion safe despite himself. We watch as he moves towards the golden idol, and we see the greediness in his eyes as he makes the fateful swap that sets the ancient machine traps in motion.
In a blur, he rushes through the tomb, renavigating the previous obstacles with lightning speed, just on the verge of death as he flees for his life with the idol in hand. We watch as he is betrayed by his other companion, and realize that as long as a person trusts in Indy, they’re going to be alright, but if they betray him, then they’re probably going to die.
He rushes from the caverns, and finally from a giant rolling stone ball, and eventually lands at the feet of Belloch, who relieves him of the idol at the point of several dozen blowguns. Then, Indy is forced to make his escape, dodging death yet again, and finally reaching the plane, and his rescue, in the nick of time. And as a final bonus, we find out that Indy absolutely cannot stand snakes, which will come into play later in the story.
Just in that little sequence, we’ve introduced Indiana Jones as a character, we’ve shown his traits, and his life, and we’ve introduced the main villian, all in about 15 minutes. In our own stories, we have to be sure that this in a similar fashion. This is a perfect example of an excellent first sequence.
We need to give the audience a taste of what to expect from the rest of the film, the kind of “flavor” that they should be ready for. We need to show at least the main character, and possibly the main villian (if applicable), and identify some of the traits of each of these characters. We need to establish the setting of the film, the time, setting, place, environment, and cultural situation. Each of these parts are essential to a successful first sequence, and a quality story will address them.
Other wonderful examples include the opening sequence of The Shawshank Redemption, as well as Jurassic Park, Star Wars, and even non-adventury type films such as While You Were Sleeping and In the Heat of the Night. Each does a wonderful job of opening the film, and giving the audience a chance to accustom themselves to the world that they’re going to be in for the next couple of hours.
Summary
- This is the first time that we’re seeing our protagonists, the setting, the time, and everything else about the story. Show the protagonist(s) in their homeostasis.
- See the conflict that pulls the protagonist out of their “norm”.
- Set the tone for the rest of the film.
The 8-Part Story Structure: Introduction
I’ve been running through my notes lately, of old classes and projects, all in an attempt to further hone my skills and better understand exactly what makes up the essence of story. It’s not a simply matter of cool characters, just an interesting idea, or whatever, but instead there’s a definite formula that seems to penetrate most stories, especially those of a presentative nature, such as film or theatre.
That’s not to say that every single story is exactly identical, but instead, there is a certain form that must be seriously considered when a story is created, or else the audience will not make sense of it. One of a writer’s chief concerns should always be the audience, and how they are going to react to any certain part of your presentation. And in that vein, the audience generally will respond favorably to a new, fresh, unfamiliar story, told using a familiar formula.
This formula was laid out best, I believe, by Czech filmmaker Frank Daniel, who’s largest contribution, at least to Western Cinema, was his “8-Sequence Structure” paradigm, which he developed during his time as head of the Graduate Screenwriting Program at the University of Southern California. With this structure, he outlines the very basic formula that most films, if not most stories, should follow.
The formula is to seperate the story into eight 10-15 minute sequences, with each sequence acting almost as its own “mini-movie”, with an individual three-act structure. In the overarching structure of the film, the first two sequences combine to form the film’s first act. The next four sequences then create the film’s second act. Finally, the last two sequences complete the resolution and dénouement of the story. Each sequence’s resolution creates the situation which sets up the next sequence.
This structure has its roots in the limitations of early films, where film reels were really only about 10-15 minutes in length, and the projectionist had to then swap the reels (in what is known as a changeover) for the film to continue. Early screenwriters, knowing these limitations, began to write their films with a definitive beginning and end to each reel, so that the story wouldn’t simply “jump” halfway through a scene. Feature films, which were often around 90-120 minutes in length, consisted of eight separate reels. Even in some older theaters, the changeover continues for feature films, which are delivered as a package of five to eight different reels that have to be threaded properly.
This rhythm became familiar to audiences and writers alike, and so even as technology has progressed to the point where the film no longer “jumps”, the film-viewing audience has been trained to understand that most films have that rhythm at their heart, regardless of what the film is about. As such, you’ll quickly see that when a story is not told with an understanding of this formula, it begins to be uncomfortable to watch. And as is said often in the business, you need to know the rules before you can break the rules.
What I’d like to explain over the next few installments are the different sequences as I understand them, in an attempt to help others in their own stories, and also to help myself to better internalize them. In my own life, whenever I’ve been able to share things with others, I tend to understand them a little better, and I get them permanently into my mind. So, feel free to follow along as we explore this amazing storymaking formula.
The Embers Were Still Burning
I stood near my car, watching the passers-by make their way from place to place, each individual with a solid mission, a goal in mind, from the common goal of making it home for dinner, or something more extreme, each had a purpose in mind as they made their way from the double doors to the parking lot.
The noon-day sun was bright in the sky, and I adjusted the sunglasses on my face, their blue lenses protecting my eyes from the heat of the day. Despite it all, however, it wasn’t my eyes that seemed to warm, but instead a feeling began to permeate my chest. One that I had thought long-gone, not since… I’m getting ahead of myself.
I checked my watch again, the Citizen quietly reminding me of the seconds that were ticking by. There, on my hood, were the two bottles that I’d purchased, sweating in the sun, their chilled contents expressing distaste at having to sit in the heat, but I paid them little heed. After all, if they were sweating, then I knew that I would be, too.
A glance back at the parking meter confirmed that I still had plenty of time, but even so, the anxiety seemed to be growing within me. A subtle nervousness was causing my hand to start to shake, so I hooked my thumb on my pocket, and forced myself to calm down. After all, this wasn’t the first time that I’d seen her.
We’d known each other for nearly two years, actually. But for some reason this felt like the first time all over again. For some reason it felt like I was being introduced all over again, yet my face betrayed no small hint of my inner turmoil. I forced myself to keep my feelings in check, and told myself to just stay calm. After all, she just wanted to talk. It wasn’t like we had never done that before. We saw each other all the time before, but after the semester ended, it had been a while, probably somewhere around two months.
I’d spent the better part of a year adjusting, diminishing the flame that had continued to burn in my heart despite itself, until finally there was nothing but a few small embers to remind me of the bonfire that had scorched me before.
Finally she walked out the door. Like many of the others, she walked with purpose, with a definite stride, but it seemed that she didn’t so much have a goal in mind, but that she was searching. Her gaze wandered about, scanning the area, but I just watched, waiting. I knew that she was trying to find me, but there I was in plain sight, so I waited for the recognition.
When she finally spotted me, she smiled and waved, and I responded in kind. That feeling in my chest pounded slightly, but I suppressed it again, leaving the past in the past. We said our hellos, and started up the conversation as if there had never been a break at all. She spoke of her family, and about how things had been going, and about how her life was treating her. I shared with her the goings-on in my life, from work to ideas to school and family. There was no pause in the conversation, it was just a sense of belonging, a sense that here were two souls who meshed together. We didn’t really have anywhere specific that we were walking, instead it was just whatever spot we happened to be standing on.
And that feeling in my chest continued to hiccup, no matter how many times I kept pushing it down.
Near the end, the conversation turned serious, and I finally realized why she had wanted to talk. I listened with an understanding ear, and agreed with her on every point, at least in my internal responses. But outwardly, I offered the sensible, assuring answers, intentionally not showing the feelings that I truly felt.
And then, with a goodbye and a quick embrace, she was gone, leaving me there wondering where to go. All around me, they continued to walk with purpose, and with a reason. For me, however, the purpose was done. I walked away slowly, holding my head up so as not to betray the feeling in my chest. But inside, I was wracked, as the fire that had for so long been dormant suddenly sprung to life.
I sat quietly in the heat of the sun, and just pondered. I pondered my place, and I pondered my future.
I closed my eyes, and in the darkness of my mind, I swear I could see the glow. In the far recesses of my conscience, I could see the embers.
And those embers were still burning.
- Kyle
Smart and Stupid Characters, Howitshouldhaveended.com
I realize that the past couple of posts have been a little “moody”, so I thought I’d give you guys something with a lighter tone.
Have you ever been watching a movie or a TV show, and start wondering why these characters are so stupid? You just want to yell at the screen, “Hey, morons! Why don’t you try that rocket launcher that you had a few episodes ago?!” Or maybe, “You idiot, how ’bout you don’t just run in there with only a toothpick for protection!?”
I know there’s a number of times when I’ve just been annoyed that the characters in films act so stupid for no reason whatsoever. I mean, who doesn’t love the scene in Raiders of the Lost Ark where the big, sword-swinging guy comes at Indiana Jones, doing an elaborate bunch of swinging and posturing, only for Indy to look at him, annoyed, before pulling out his revolver and shooting him before walking away. Of course, it’s one of the most clever scenes in movie history, but it was actually a joke.
Originally, there was a huge, choreographed fight between the two characters, with Indy’s opponent having an upper hand with his gigantic sword. But when it came time for the scene, the star wasn’t really up to it. See, Harrison Ford was sick with dysentery at the time, and so when the shot came up, he just pulled out his gun and fired. The crew liked it so much that that’s the final cut that was left in.
But not only is that good characterization, and an excellent scene, but it’s just plain smart. It’s a character using a bit of sense, and that seems pretty rare in films nowadays, at least from what I’ve seen. I mean, work smarter, not harder, right? We don’t need big fight for the sake of big fight. Have a reason already.
Anyway, I was at work the other day and randomly happened upon a little site called “How It Should Have Ended”. Basically, it’s a bunch of cartoons (of pretty decent quality, actually) detailing how certain movies should have ended, with a funny, witty twist, of course.
I would highly recommend checking it out. My favorites are the ones on Spider-Man 3, Lord of the Rings, and It’s a Wonderful Life. Just some really funny stuff. Alright, I’m out.
- Kyle
Don't Blink, It's Over
I think that it’s strange the feelings that you get. Sometimes something sudden just happens, and you’re not really sure what to feel about it, and then in a moment of sudden realization, you feel a tightness around your heart and you struggle to come to grips with it.
This morning I got a phone call from my family letting me know that a friend had been killed in an auto accident. When I first got the call, I thought of it kind of objectively. Mostly because I didn’t really recognize the name, and so it didn’t seem to be that big of a deal. It was sad, to be sure, but because I hadn’t made that personal connection, my feelings weren’t as concerned.
You see, growing up, I’ve had people pass away in my life before. Often, they’re just acquaintances, people that I’d heard of, etc. As such, again, it was sad, to be sure, but it was still at a distance. It was impersonal, and so I could look at it objectively.
But after getting a second call this morning, I realized who it was. For the sake of anonymity, I’ll call her Marie. I’d really only met her once, when I was asked if she could hitch a ride after a holiday break. At the time, I didn’t know anything about her, but her family was good friends with mine, and so I said that would be fine.
It wasn’t really a huge, life changing drive or anything, and to be honest, I haven’t talked with her since. But when you spend a few hours in a car with someone, you get to talking, and you make a connection. So when I finally realized who it was, my heart kind of hiccuped.
It’s strange to realize just how fragile life can be. With so many things to do, so many different things to see, do, and take care of… Work, school, family, friends, careers, travel… and suddenly it’s just gone in the blink of an eye.
I realize it’s a somber note, but it’s definitely something sobering to realize. I guess it’s just more incentive to live every day like it’s your last.
Cause one day, and you never no when, you’ll blink and it will be.
- Kyle
