Never Tell Me The Odds

Word vs. Image, or Why Movies are Doomed:

The thing that has always bothered me about movies is that they have such a limited lifespan. The medium of film is so temporary, so prone to dating and vulnerable to time passage, so dependent on ever-changing trends in technology and the cultural climate that it renders a movie unwatchable to general audiences in a generation or two. I should note here that I exclude anyone with an otherwise greater than average interest in film from my definition of a general audience.

Movies are very much like tales told by the campfire on a summer night. They belong to the time they are born in. After that they become pale memories.

A great and popular movie is like a cultural explosion, it reaches a multitude of people and then with time slowly turns into something of a museum piece to be studied by scholars and enjoyed by film connoisseurs, but otherwise remaining unavailable to larger audiences of new generations.

Classic movies like “Casablanca”, “Citizen Kane” and “Vertigo” may top the best-films-of-all-time lists of most critics, yet the average audience member has little desire to see them. You think the average kid gets excited about seeing “The Wizard of Oz”?

Right. Probably not.

In fact, when was the last time you saw a bunch of kids, or adults for that matter, getting excited over a movie that was made before they were born? Right again. That doesn’t happen too often, does it. And when it does we are probably talking about a movie like “Star Wars” which has a longer than usual lifespan due to the phenomenon known as franchising, as in multiple sequels, prequels, novelizations, comics, all accompanied by an ongoing massive merchandise campaign, including video games and toys.

Everything in film is about a specific moment in time. The current technology used in the production, the particular storytelling trends, the way people talk in the movie, the socio-political and cultural climate, the sensibilities of the period, the popular tastes and fashions in vogue, the reflected general attitudes in the relationships, and so on.

In a movie everything is set in stone. Or, rather photographed. Freeze-framed. A specific moment gets frozen in time exactly as it occurred, guided by the creative effort of the filmmakers. It's exactly the way you see it. Never to be changed. There is no option for varying and evolving interpretations as there is in literature among different readers.

Compared to literature movies have a far more pressing if not a definite expiration date stamped over them. The ability of words to allow for constant and current interpretation and reinvention is the reason for their endurance and staying power. In literature every word is reborn for each particular reader through his or her imagination. The reader creates a unique mental image filtered through current cultural perspectives.

In film, the image is already there, prefabricated and ready for mass consumption. Ready to be instantly processed. This combined specificity of the medium timeframes everything it captures. This is how a movie gets its expiration date. This is the process that dooms it.

This is not to say that literature doesn't age. Yes, it does. Nobody talks like Shakespeare anymore. Sure, most books also depart into obscurity. But then there are the classics that stay. Here, I am referring to the notion of general lifespan. Let's make it fair. Classic literature versus classic movies? No contest. Literature lives longer. Why? Words have more endurance than images. Words age better. Old movies look... hmm, old. They feel like ancient history. Old words, on the other hand, feel stylized.

Do I sense your crying out for an example? Sure. Take the currently popular children's literature instant-classic series "Harry Potter" and its contemporary movie adaptations. In a hundred years the books will probably still be a popular read among children. The movies? You guessed it. There will probably be newer movie adaptations that will reflect the current cultural climate and sensibilities much better.

There is a definite nostalgic pleasure to watching a classic movie. Film buffs revel in the nostalgia factor, after all, it's what makes a geek a true geek... It’s like watching something that once was glorious and is now just a pale memory of it all. A certain melancholic quality can be perceived as in the music of Ennio Morricone. Like an old man reminiscing about his youth. Wow, that Lauren Bacall, she was a hot number. Just look at how gorgeous she is in “The Big Sleep”. Nothing wrong with her. At least nothing that Humphrey Bogart can't fix. See what I mean?

# posted by Luben : 12:31 PM

Movies are Fashion:

Watching DVD filmmaker commentaries can be an insightful experience. The good ones will always leave you more knowledgeable about a particular filmmaker's process, craft and philosophy. Some commentaries are so accomplished that they almost become an artform unto themselves.

My favorite commentary is by director David Fincher and his star Brad Pitt for the special edition DVD of the modern classic film "Seven". I remember being utterly floored by the flow of their report together and by the simultaneously analytical and anecdotal nature of their insightful conversation. One particular statement Fincher made in this commentary truly stood out. It is the type of comment you never forget, because it is as truthful as can be and yet somehow you managed never to think of it before.

"Seven" is one of those films that broke new stylistic ground and set lasting trends for a number of films that were to come out afterwards. I remember how for years many other thrillers tried to replicate the style of its title sequence, the dreary lighting and muted color palette... I believe Fincher was discussing the unique look of the movie, which cinematographer Darius Khondji helped create, when he simply observed that "movies are fashion". In films, one trend gets replaced by another, which in turn is put out of circulation by the next trend.

# posted by Luben : 10:30 PM

The Persuasive Tongue:

It is the storyteller's nature to be a salesman. To persuade, convince, sweet-talk, tall-tale, lie if necessary, that what he or she is selling -- the story -- is just what its intended audience wants and needs.

The very nature of storytelling is to achieve a certain conviction in the minds of others. To relate a definite view of the world, a clear perspective, a concrete philosophy. Or, if we want to be honest, storytelling is propaganda. To be a storyteller is to engage in propagation of information that reflects a specific philosophy, interests, doctrines, moral codes and causes.

There are many degrees of propaganda, some subtle and some not so subtle. What I am referring to here is the quality of the propaganda, whether it is high-grade or low-grade stuff; the former being interesting ideas communicating insightful perspectives and the latter being ideas expressing views that are purely exploitative in nature. The ability to distinguish between the two types of propaganda is what sets great storytellers apart. It is no easy task navigating the treacherous undercurrents of social ideas, causes, codes and beliefs, due to the large gray area occupying the space between high-grade and low-grade propaganda. And therein lies the danger...

How does a storyteller avoid being seduced by the allure of exploitative propaganda, that is, if it is something he or she is actually not aiming to engage in? And why do so many succumb to its instant gratification nature? And what is at stake if one does fall into its trap? Ah, these are the questions...

Storytelling is about sharing perspectives. And perspectives can be dangerous. An audience experiences a story through the eyes of its protagonists or the storyteller's observations and is naturally prone to identify with their views. It is essential that a story allows for rationalizations and identification with those views. Thus the process of identification with a story's perspective is a powerful tool for shaping the minds of audiences. It is an instrument for propagation of ideas some of which may very well be of dubious nature. Of course, that requires us to define what constitutes the notion of "dubious nature", or in essence to open a whole new can of arguable worms...

Low-grade type propaganda can be found in various forms in all storytelling mediums. The most obvious example being the political warmongering or wartime propaganda in literature and movies. Nothing sells better to a group of people than the glorification of that group's beliefs, ideals, actions, the justification of their hatred and aggression, and the dehumanization of their enemies. Everyone who has seen Leni Riefenstahl's masterful "The Triumph of the Will" will know what I mean. "The Triumph of the Will" is a particularly notable example of such propaganda as it is an exceptionally well-made film that works at the top artistic levels of the cinematic medium.

There are numerous other lesser examples of wartime propaganda movies that don't rise above the level of their genre. For example, few of the American WWII anti-Japanese or anti-German movies are remembered today, mostly because they were pretty low-grade stuff propaganda. They served their purpose in rousing the war spirit in the population and then promptly were forgotten... One notable Hollywood WWII propaganda movie though is "Five Graves to Cairo", made by none other than the great Billy Wilder. At that time many other major Hollywood filmmakers, like John Huston and Frank Capra, also made their share of propaganda movies mainly for the Military. Here it would be a mistake not to mention also the Soviet film industry which specialized in the art of the propaganda film prior, during and after WWII.

But propaganda doesn't exist only as a pro-war phenomenon. There are just as many examples of it in literature and film propagating the ideas of pacifism. Such books or films are usually of the higher grade type of propaganda as they tend to get their message across by showing the horrible nature of war. Films like Oliver Stone's "Platoon", Francis Coppola's "Apocalypse Now", Stanley Kubrick's "Full Metal Jacket", Elem Klimov's "Come and See", Steven Spielberg's "Schindler's List", Roman Polanski's "The Pianist" and Wolfgang Petersen's "Das Boot" champion the ideas of the anti-war movement. In literature, Homer's "The Iliad" towers over other books as the quintessential anti-war story.

Propaganda can also be found in stories regarding other battle fields such as those of the world religions. Notable examples are such films as Mel Gibson's "The Passion of the Christ", Martin Scorcese's "The Last Temptation of Christ", the children's animated feature "The Prince of Egypt" and Cecil B. DeMille's "The Ten Commandments". And let's not even get into all the religious propaganda that has accumulated in the history of literature from the bible to "The Da Vinci Code"...

There are many other aspects of propaganda, particularly of the low-grade type, that thrive today. One of them is its application in the commercial industry. Both in commercials and movies, the advertisement of various products has reached such a pervasive level that it is part of our way of life, part of our environment. So common that it is almost invisible. Seamless. So essential to our economic system that it is its driving force. Through the messages of this propaganda we are basically told what we need in our lives. We are told what will make us feel healthier, live easier, be more successful, be cooler, look more attractive, etc. We are constantly told what products we need to improve the quality of our lives. The message is clear and simple: in order to achieve the desired image being projected one must get the products and comply with the way of life that is being peddled in the message itself.

Pressing political and social issues have always found their voice in propaganda. Issues regarding the balance of power among the classes, races, religions and sexes. Issues such as equal rights, political correctness, war on terror, evolutionism and creationism are currently pervading our culture through ideas being propagated in movies, TV shows, books, etc.

Then there is the propaganda found in stories that pass for pure entertainment. Even in stories that are supposed to be escapist in nature such as the average novel or Hollywood movie, the complexity of the mish-mash of various social ideas, issues, product advertisements, attitudes, prejudices, moral codes, beliefs and causes that are being navigated is as present as in the most obvious examples of propaganda.

It would only be fair, since I am on a roll, to remember not to somehow conveniently forget to mention the pervasiveness of personal views propaganda of the new storytelling phenomenon known as blogging currently flourishing globally thanks to the internet. Yes, all of the above has been nothing but the pure propagation of ideas belonging to the author of this writing. As to the exact type of my propaganda, I can only suggest that it exists somewhere within the large gray area that occupies the space between the low-grade and the high-grade stuff. You know, where the danger lies... But beware, that could be just my persuasive tongue trying to sweet-talk you into buying what I'm peddling here.

# posted by Luben : 11:30 PM

The Major in the Minor:

Someone said somewhere that God is in the details. I've always tried to understand the significance of what that means. I'm not sure if I do, but I keep trying... When I think of a particular story, certain minor details, the presence or lack of which does not have a direct impact on the actual denouement of the story, interestingly enough, surface in my mind as its defining moments. To me these minor details have assumed an iconic status to such a degree as to have ingrained themselves in my mind and become impossible to be dissociated from the bigger picture of the story they are part of.

These minor details usually have to do with character specifics -- of a person or a place. Or, with a particular choice of storytelling style.

In Alfred Hitchcock's suspense classic "Psycho", Arbogast, the private detective, finds out during his interview with Norman Bates that the latter lied to him about the missing girl, Marion, checking in the motel. Arbogast points to the motel guest book and produces a sample of the girl's handwriting matching that of a recent log, signed under a different name. Norman feigns feeble memory and laments the difficulty of keeping track of time when one is stuck taking care of an out-of-the-way motel such as this one... Displaying surprise bordering on disbelief, he cranes his neck in a bird-like fashion over the guest book to inspect Marion's entry while vigorously chewing gum. In the background an ominous predatory stuffed bird hangs from the wall, a silent observer of Bates's twisted little game...

In Alexandre Dumas's relentless tale of revenge "The Count of Monte Christo", the much wronged and long-suffering Edmond Dantes, who has returned in the disguise of the mysterious and exotic titular character to exact vengeance on his old enemies, is depicted as someone who never eats in the presence of others even when he hosts lavish dinner parties, especially if some of the guests fall into the former category. Dumas goes out of his way to point out this eccentricity of the Count's... It is a minor detail which however defines the character's theme best, thus becoming essential in retrospect. This singular character choice speaks volumes about the Count's determination, borderline misanthropic mistrust and all-consuming hunger for revenge...

In Brian De Palma's prohibition era crime drama "The Untouchables", it is Al Capone's right hand gangster and executioner Frank Nitti's immaculate and stylish white suit (designed by Giorgio Armani) which is symbolically at odds with the nature of his character -- a vile, slippery, arrogant and murderous villain, generally the type that an audience can't wait to watch him plunge to a horrible death; especially, after he kills the old cop, Jim Malone, and brags about it to the latter's friend and colleague, Eliot Ness, who has just arrested him in a rooftop chase... No doubt, as everyone will agree, any great villain who can deliver a slimy line such as "...your friend died screaming like a stuck Irish pig. Now you think about that when I beat the rap" deserves to wear something really sharp before getting pushed over from a tall building...

In Homer's timeless tale of adventure and enduring love "The Odyssey", the clever but unlucky Odysseus gets trapped with some of his men in the cave of a blood-thirsty, man-eating, one-eyed giant Cyclops, who can't really be reasoned with as he yields the power of life and death over our protagonist and his comrades. Odysseus perceives the gravity of the situation and knows he has to buy more time for him and his men. He tries to outwit the Cyclops, who is far from being an intellectual match for our hero, by entertaining him with wine and clever talk. Amused, the Cyclops promises Odysseus a present and asks him about his name. The latter, having figured out the inebriated giant's intellectual capacity, replies "My name is Noman." The Cyclops's present: a promise to Odysseus to be the last one eaten from his party... Later, Odysseus and the remaining men blind the giant in his sleep. The latter, in his pain makes so much noise that he wakes up other Cyclopses in the neighborhood, who come around outside his cave to inquire if any man is trying to kill him. The blind and raging Cyclops yells back that Noman is trying to kill him. They take him for mad and go back to their caves... It becomes clear that Odysseus has cleverly been setting up the Cyclops for his comeuppance. Here, the sense of triumph of the intellect over brute force is amplified by the cleverness of Odysseus's humiliating punishment of the evil Cyclops...

In one of the final scenes of Roman Polanski’s taut psychological horror “Rosemary’s Baby”, a paranoid and distraught Rosemary, in a Vidal Sassoon short hair style, clutches a particularly big kitchen knife and mutters to herself as she walks down a hallway in her apartment... The size of the knife in her hand is in contrast with her fragile and unhealthy skeleton-like figure. It emphasizes the disturbing effect of her emaciation...

In another Hitchcock movie, the romantic thriller "Rear Window", Grace Kelly's character, Lisa Fremont, is introduced as she sneaks up and kisses the napping Jefferies, Jimmy Stewart's voyeuristic photographer, who with a broken leg is confined to a wheel chair by his window. The shot of Lisa bending down to kiss Jeff is processed in an unusual way that gives it the feel of slow motion... The effect is that the moment of the kiss becomes beyond erotic. It somehow manages to make their relationship more nuanced for us in a few seconds...

In Roman Polanski's bleak neo-noir film "Chinatown", the protagonist, private eye J.J. Gittes, in the course of snooping around, gets a nasty cut on his nose as a warning to mind his business. From the next scene on, J.J. Gittes struts around with a nose bandage for a good portion of the rest of the movie... The symbolism of the nose bandage in Gittes's case is clear. Gittes is someone who pokes his nose in other people's business and suffers for it, but he's not about to hide, in fact he gets a certain pleasure making a defiant display out of it, for everyone to see: He's just trying to make an honest living...

In Hitchcock's classic movie of romance and suspense "North By Northwest", our protagonist, Roger Thornhill, has to escape from a hospital room where he's locked against his will. The only way out is through the window which is several stories high. He has to walk down the outside ledge, avoid falling to his doom, use the next door window to get in and exit through that room. As Roger steps into the room, however, the patient bedding in there, a young and attractive woman, who happens to be nearsighted, hears him enter and awakes. As she turns on the light, she screams in terror: "Stop!" Then she puts on her glasses to have a better look. Roger is unperturbed and moves on towards the exit. Once the woman sees how handsome Roger is (Oh, my god, it's Cary Grant!), and that he is on his way out, she repeats: "Stop" -- only this time her tone is quite different. She sounds inviting and swooning, willing to make up for her initial silly mistake... Roger replies on his way out: "Eh-eh-eh!" And with that, he jokingly acknowledges the gravity of her mistake as if he's just caught her in some unforgivable act...

In Stanley Kubrick's black comedy "Lolita", it is Quilty's ping-pong antics with which he barrages the homicidal Humbert Humbert while the latter desperately attempts to get him to understand who he is and why he is about to murder him, that introduce the character of the former as a manic prankster who views everything as some sort of a cartoonish game. Even in the gravest of circumstances Quilty loves to toy around with people and pull their strings regardless of the effect that may have on them... To him, people are just like the characters in one of his plays, easy to manipulate into dramatic dilemmas that can be viewed in comedic terms. Well, that is until Humbert Humbert goes bonkers and zeros in on him. Now the prankster must pay...

In Steven Spielberg's "Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom", the titular character and his sidekick, Short Round, get trapped inside a "squash room" with the ceiling slowly coming down. To rescue them, the character of the showgirl, Willie, who's on the outside, must reach into a crevice full of bugs in order to pull the lever that will stop the ceiling from crushing the heroes... When she finally overcomes her utter disgust and reaches in, her hand disappears into a mass of swarming insects. We know this character has just achieved some sort of an arc...

Regardless of a story’s impact and endurance in the collective consciousness of our culture, there are certain minor details about it that in our minds encompass the essence of its characters or the storyteller’s style. In retrospect, these minor details are of importance, but by calling them “minor” I only want to convey their lack of immediate influence over the course and resolution of the story. These minor details tend to be distinguishable on a subjective level. In a particular story, the minor details that define it for you may very well be different from those that define it for me. But they are there, waiting to be found by you and me...

# posted by Luben : 11:00 PM

The Seduction of Style:

Ah, the purity and essence of style... Slippery to define and elusive to contain within rigid boundaries. Always shifting and open to the winds of innovation. Paradoxically mysterious and lucid at the same time... There is definitely something about style. Something that is meant to seduce.

In storytelling, style is the particular way in which a story is told. Style exists to make things more aesthetically pleasant and harmonious, or more fluid and efficient, or more interesting and exciting, and generally easier to process. Here, style is the storyteller's way to improve communication. A particular style makes the story more available to a particular target audience. It is the ultimate seduction.

It would be silly to claim that there are rigid rules the storyteller must follow in this regard, but then again it would be even more ridiculous to say that there aren't certain elements of style that seem to have consistency in improving the quality of a story. By noting some of these consistencies it is possible to establish a few guidelines for a more seductive style.

When I think about style, for some reason one of the first things that come to my mind is Erich von Stroheim's performance as a WWI German officer in Jean Renoir's film "The Grand Illusion". Stroheim's character, Captain von Raufferstein, is an impeccable gentleman with a code of strictness about him that is only equaled by the aura of his nobility and humanism. It is his circumstances -- having to wear a neck cast because of a battle injury that has reduced him from an illustrious pilot to a warden running a POW camp for enemy officers -- and the way he carries himself despite it all that truly reveal who he is. The compassion with which this character is portrayed is what makes him memorable, unique and emotionally resonant.

Or, take Alfred Hitchcock, and his signature blend of anxiety and humor which stands out in the direction of his movies. Or his sometimes subversively dark sense of humor, which somehow manages to escape being cynical and remain optimistic in its regard of human nature. His exploration of our voyeuristic compulsions. His particular predilection for cold blonds who burn with repressed passions underneath the surface in his choice for leading ladies. The precision of the visuals. His trademark approach of submerging us in a nightmare, from which he would wake us up in the end. The suaveness and glamour of the characters. The slipperiness of the villains... and the darkness they dwell in. The structural perfection of his films...

Or, Vladimir Nabokov, and the light-on-its-feet feel and flow of his prose. The subtle sophistication and subversiveness of his humor. The brilliance of his command of the language...

Or, Stanley Kubrick's measured cinematic pace. His exactness. The dark pervading sarcasm, that never fails to achieve an atmosphere of outrageous hilarity. The anti-hero qualities of the protagonists. The immaculate structure of the storylines. The astonishing clarity of his vision as a filmmaker...

Or, Jane Austen's acute sense for melodrama. Her signature wit. Her fairy tale sensibilities. The trademark intelligence of her heroines and their emotional wisdom. Her fascination with men who conceal much about them under the surface. Men who are capable of choosing unpopularity in order to uphold higher moral principles...

Or, Steven Spielberg's hopeful view of humanity. His love of all things adventurous and amazing. His unparalleled sense of "what if?". The universality of his story sensibilities and the power of his visions. The scope of his movies. His humanity. His sense of fun and excitement. His precision and clarity. His refreshing lack of cynicism...

Or, the prevalent aesthetic of cynicism and dark view of humanity in David Fincher's movies. His sense of the oppressive and the traumatic. His exploration of the fears and the aberrant within us. The complexity of his visuals and their potency...

Or, Homer's acute sense of drama and unparalleled understanding of the human emotional makeup. His detached objectivity as a narrator. His blending of drama with comedy, fantasy with brutal realism, darkness with light, the savage with the noble in our nature. The purity of his observations of the human condition. The simplicity and clarity of his language. The epic scope of his stories...

Or, Alexandre Dumas's undisputed mastery of the novel of intrigue...

Or, Billy Wilder and I.O.L. Diamond's trademark distillation of the sour and the sweet in life in their romantic comedies. The signature brilliance and wit of their dialog. The comedic quirkiness of their characterizations...

Or, the bleakness and paranoia mixed in with tongue-in-cheek black comedy in Roman Polanski's psychological and neo-noir thrillers...

Or, the pervading aesthetic of voyeurism, and the exploration of obsession, irrational fears and psychological detours in Brian De Palma's cinematic thrillers...

Or, the underlying humanistic outlook and kind understanding of human struggles in Frank Capra's gentle comedies...

There is a classic little book called "The Elements of Style" by William Strunk and E.B. White, which probably sits on the desk of every editor of every publication in English. If it doesn't, it should. It contains some essential insight on grammatic rules and clarity of expression. It is lean and it is mean. As you read it, if you listen hard enough you will sometimes swear that you can hear the squeak of brand new leather boots and the occasional sound of a whip cutting through the air...

It is from Strunk and White's manual that I have drawn inspiration in outlining the following guidelines for what constitutes a more seductive storytelling style. I find that rules of language grammar have interesting parallels in storytelling grammar, and that lucid style of expression is subject to the same principles both in the construction of a single sentence and the communication of an entire story regardless of its medium.

Great storytellers are masters of the art of audience seduction. They are aware of the particular style they have chosen for the task as well as of the accessibility of their target audience. Styles vary with various types of stories and audiences, but there are certain stylistic elements all good storytellers look to establish in their communication as a given.

In the creation of a story, capable storytellers choose a clear structural design to follow. Using individual scenes for building blocks they construct the story within a well-defined structure. It isn't really a big secret: structure gives the story a concrete shape and makes it easier to process by the audience.

The crafty storyteller is well aware of the importance of interconnectedness between the story building blocks. A scene has to lead up to the next scene somehow. The internal logic of the story must be uninterrupted, or if it is, it has to be done for a particular effect.

Following this logic, the engaging storyteller will keep the most important story development point in a scene for its end. That way the audience has something to look forward to -- the denouement of that story point in upcoming scenes.

Once a story point is made, wise storytellers won't make it again -- unless it is entirely necessary. Redundant storytellers shoot themselves in the foot. By being redundant, they show little respect for the audience and can't expect to be respected in return.

Powerful storytellers are never patronizing. They don't explain too much, instead they allow the audience to put two and two together. This way the audience feels compelled to keep up with the story.

By allowing the story to unfold through a series of direct character actions and interactions the storyteller achieves dramatic tension. The story becomes more forcefully engaging and emotionally resonant.

Intuitive storytellers go for broke. Strunk and White proclaim: "Avoid tame, colorless, hesitating, noncommital language". In other words, tell the story as confidently as possible. After all, style is primarily about projecting confidence. Being timid and undecided spells the storyteller's doom. Never hesitate, unless of course that is the intentionally chosen style for a particular effect. General rule of thumb: wherever there is timidness there is mediocrity.

According to Strunk and White, being "specific, definite, and concrete" makes for lucid style. Vivid storytellers are logical, clear and strive to eliminate confusion by being specific. They evoke specific images in our minds.

Wise storytellers are economical and to the point. They give us just enough and never too much. They avoid the unnecessary. They serve their story lean, mean and light on its feet. Less once again turns out to be more. Meandering only causes us to lose sight.

Clever storytellers appreciate the benefits of consistency and prefer the tried and true ways of communicating something to the experimental and unproven ones. They look to express similar ideas in similar ways. Strunk and White intone: "The likeness of form enables the reader to recognize more readily the likeness of content and function." Hence all the different genres out there.

Truly powerful storytellers draw attention to the characters in the story and away from themselves. They are simply the detached observers allowing the story to unfold on its own.

Finally, the best storytellers always choose the way of simplicity over the way of elaboration. The easiest and most natural way to communicate something is usually the best way.

# posted by Luben : 8:00 AM

Storyteller Evolved:

The ways we tell stories have been evolving since the first time someone said "once upon a time" or whatever the equivalent of the phrase was at the dawn of our civilization.

New ways to tell stories were created throughout history as part of a desire to communicate on a more immediate emotional level. All storytelling forms that developed followed a similar pattern in their establishment. Each started in the shadow of an existing one, then itself rose to proliferate and dominate as a form, and then it made room for yet another storytelling form. From campfire tales in the cave to charcoal pictures on its walls. From poetry to the theater, and from the novel to comic books... And to movies -- which are now here to stay as the dominant form, for a while...

The evolutionary progress of storytelling seems to be of a cyclic nature. A movement from words to images and back. Words and images are the tools of the storyteller. Both have the same purpose, which is to relay information. But they do so in different ways.

When you hear or read a word, your brain immediately deciphers its meaning (granted it is a familiar one) when it matches it to an image of some sort from your memory. That is what language is: specific signs for specific actions or things that exist in the world. Because we first learn by seeing, we know what a thing or an action is, as we have an image of it in our mind (even if we actually have never seen but only heard about something we will construct our own mental visualization of it), but we don't have a natural way to communicate that image, so we assign a specific word for it. That word is our code for what the thing or action is.

After encountering the word in writing or conversation our brain retranslates it back to its corresponding image and we get the picture, so to speak. Now, this process is automatic for us to such an extent that we don't pay any attention to it. We are so used to it in our fluency as communicators that we can process thousands of words in intricate sequences and never think of the actual work our brains do.

On the other hand, images communicate information in a more direct way. Unlike with words, when we see a familiar image we don't need to translate it in our brains. We already know what the image is as we have a ready match of it in our memory. The process I'm talking about here is so incredibly fast, that it is difficult to comprehend. The time we gain by not having to translate images as we do with words is only a fraction, but the process of image recognition is already a step ahead of the process of word recognition by skipping a whole level of encoding and decoding. It is a more streamlined relay of information, which naturally makes it the faster, easier, simpler and more effective way to communicate... That explains one common quality among great storytellers, which is that they communicate visually. Capable writers and filmmakers use words and images that dwell in the collective consciousness to create and brand unique and iconic visuals in our minds.

Images also possess the quality of being universally recognizable, whereas words of a specific language are confined within the constraints of that particular language and its users only. At this point of human history there is yet to come into an existence a universal language. Images are universal, words are not. Or, as Umberto Eco put it: "For images are the literature of the layman".

Because they carry certain meanings and associations, both words and images trigger within us various emotional responses. For every word and image the brain processes it releases a specific emotional response through the central nervous system. Some words and images trigger strong emotional responses, others almost imperceptible ones. Emotional responses may vary between the extreme positive or extreme negative. So a specific sequence of words or images when processed by our brains will trigger a specific sequence of emotional responses, which may alternate in being strong or weak, and positive or negative.

Storytellers are natural button pushers, the focus of their craft being to manipulate emotional responses in others. A good storyteller has a special vision. He or she is able to see the human emotional “control panel” with all its ware. This "control panel" is visible only to the most perceptive storyteller. In a sense, only the storyteller who is truly aware of the human emotional makeup can reach us on a deeper level.

On a technical level a story is just a sequence of words or images, or both. What makes it involving is the clarity of its internal logic and its ability to connect to us on an emotional level. Gifted storytellers are experts at story logic and at pushing the right emotional buttons. They have a good idea about the kind of emotional responses a sequence of words or images, or both, will produce in our minds.

When broken down to its basics a story will be translated by our brains to a series of various emotional responses. If we record those responses for a particular story the sequence could look something like this: Awe. Surprise! Suspense. Fear. Funny. Suspense. Fear. Fear. Funny. Relief... And so on to the end. Did you recognize this story? No? Why, it’s the opening of the original “Star Wars” movie! A rebel ship is chased and captured by an Imperial star cruiser. Two anxious and comic droids try to save themselves in the ensuing chaos of the battle. The rebels are overcome. The intimidating figure of Darth Vader makes an entrance. Princess Lea is captured. Vader’s might is revealed during an interrogation scene. More comic relief with the two droids on the run follows, as they escape in a pod... Or something like that.

I guess the essential question here could be where is storytelling headed? What will be the next step in its evolutionary process? This is certainly a question that has been open to speculation and it remains so. If we follow the pattern of the storytelling evolutionary process, which has been to streamline its techniques and search for ever more emotionally direct ways of communication, then we might speculate that one day we will experience stories purely on an emotional level.

What if someone invented a storytelling technology with which it would be possible to push our emotional buttons by connecting directly to our central nervous systems? The storyteller would be able to compose an emotional sequence and play the audience like a piano. One composition will make us laugh, another cry, yet another will terrify us, and yet another awe us, and so on. Storytellers would be able to write entire unique sequences of emotional symphonies that would be beamed directly into our central nervous systems. In a sense, the audience has always been an "instrument" in the hands of a capable storyteller. But could we be heading towards a time when we would willingly assume the passive role of being the storyteller's indiscriminate "instruments"?

Or, perhaps the next evolutionary step in storytelling will happen on a more interactive level between storyteller and audience? In such a scenario, would the audience have a say in determining the denouement of the story being told? And if the audience becomes a participant in the story decision making process and transforms into a storyteller, would that happen on a collective or on an individual level? Or, perhaps that could also be an available option? Oh, the possibilities that await the storytellers of the world.

# posted by Luben : 10:00 PM

A Story is Like a Bicycle:

There is a well-documented tradition in the history of our pursuit of knowledge to resort to the safehouse of making profound analogies in explaining the nature of things. Someone said somewhere that it is possible to draw an analogy between any two completely different things. That concept has always intrigued me. In trying to come up with a streamlined explanation of the elements of a story I have decided to resort to this honorable tradition...

Take a bicycle for example, it being a nice metaphor for a ride. Much like a bicycle is put together with a number of basic parts, a story consists of several essential elements... In a bicycle there are the main frame, the front wheel, the rear wheel, the pedals, the seat, the chain and the handlebars. No doubt there are a lot more parts in a design of the latest bike technology, but for the purpose of this analogy we'll concentrate only on the main parts and paint the picture in broad strokes. So, what are the elements that a story needs in order to become a satisfying ride? In a run-along commentary to the analogy outline I will use as an example the popular story of the original "Star Wars" movie to offer ready parallels.

The "main frame" of the story in our analogy will be represented by the protagonist, someone who's at the center of the action and through whose point of view we, the audience, experience the story. This is an easy one. In "Star Wars" it is Luke Skywalker who's our "main frame" for the ride.

The "seat" of the ride can be described as the protagonist's problems (get it, what he or she is sitting on?). This includes external (difficulties and complications in daily life) and internal (character flaws) ones that prevent the achievement of personal goals. In Luke's case, the external problem is that he wants to go study at the Flight Academy and become a pilot but his uncle won't let him do so for another whole year because he needs him to help around the farm. As a result, Luke is frustrated and bored to tears, which makes him complain a lot. On top of that, he's got a couple of new droids (one particularly irritating and the other outrageously feisty and pig-headed in its claims that it is the property of some Obi-Wan Kenobi person) that he is supposed to take care of. Things come to a head when the feisty little droid decides to disappear... Luke's internal problems are numerous. He is rash, insecure, impatient, haunted by the death of his parents and especially that of his father, he dreams big, but lacks the commitment at this point, he feels he's powerless and weak, he victimizes himself and whines about his plight.

The "front wheel" (pointing the current direction) is the protagonist's dilemma which stems from his or her present circumstances... Here, Luke needs to get out of his uncle's farm and make his mark in the galaxy.

The "rear wheel", being the part that most of the bicycle weight falls on which makes it most difficult to turn -- and turn it must -- in order to get things moving forward, is a natural choice to parallel the role of the antagonist or the opposition in the story. This is a character who stands in the hero's way of achieving the needed goals. There may be more than one antagonist in a story, but certainly there is always one that is most important and most dangerous. I can't stress enough the importance of the antagonist in a story. Hitchcock defined the rule of thumb in this respect when he proclaimed "the more successful the villain, the more successful the picture".

Interestingly enough, the opposition is sometimes also represented by the protagonist's romantic interest (especially in romantic comedies or romance adventures) who must be won over or reconciled with. Obviously, in "Star Wars" the general opposition is the Empire and its agents, and the most important antagonist of them all is Darth Vader who is bent on crushing the last hope of the Republic, represented by the Rebellion with which Luke gets himself involved. Luke has to help the rebels to stop the Empire from achieving galactic domination through the power of a new secret weapon -- the Death Star.

The role of the "pedals" here is played by the sidekicks and confidants of the protagonist. They are our hero's little helpers. In Luke's case, the confidant is none other than the wise old jedi knight Ben Kenobi. Han Solo, Lea, Chewbacca, and the two eccentric droids Treepeeo and R2, become the sidekicks or the protagonist's allies.

The "chain" is represented in the story by the conflict of interests or the challenge which snaps the protagonist out of limbo and into action. Nothing can be sprung forward without a main chain of events leading to necessity for action... Luke discovers from Ben Kenobi that Vader killed his father. Then his aunt and uncle are killed by agents of the Empire who are looking for the two droids, presently in Luke's possession, that carry the stolen plans to the Death Star. Through this chain of events Luke is propelled into choosing a side to fight on and into action.

Finally, the "handlebars", used to stir the course of the ride, are tricky to control and as such may cause a less careful rider to crash. Here, they are replaced by the level of danger present in the story. In other words, what's at stake for the protagonist and everything he or she represents. General rule of thumb: the higher the stakes, the better. In "Star Wars" the stakes are as high as they can get -- the freedom of the Galaxy hangs in the balance and must be saved for all from an evil oppression by the Empire.

But before you say: "Hey, where are the brakes? You can't just ride around with no brakes!" -- let me suggest that a story needs most of all to be unstoppable. So, why give it brakes?! That would be defeating its purpose. A story should be a force of sheer momentum and when it has to stop, it has to do so on its own. In other words, a story has to ride itself out in order to bring itself to a stop... Wait. Wait. On second thought, forget everything I said about a story being like a bicycle. A much better analogy just occurred to me. A story should be like a cannon ball. A cannon ball whizzing by through the sky at great speed. A cannon ball we, the audience, must ride like the Baron Munchhausen. A cannon ball closing in on its target... and reaching it. Then we can truly speak of a story in terms of it being a "hit".

# posted by Luben : 10:10 PM