Deconstructing the blockbuster: study the parts
of 'Independence Day' so you can write your own
boffo box-office bonanza. Lawrence G. DiTillio.
Abstract: 'Independence Day' serves as a model for
writers who wish to write a script for a blockbuster
film. The scene and story line are set immediately, while
introducing archetypal characters. The dazzling, mythical
action component is then launched, and the film
progresses to the climax at breakneck speed.
Full Text: COPYRIGHT 1996 Writer's Digest
Among the numerous dreams I still hold dear, writing a
blockbuster motion picture is certainly high on the list.
(It's outranked only by winning an Oscar, spending a long
evening with Sophia Loren - and writing a blockbuster
motion picture in which I have a gross points deal.)
A blockbuster, for those of you just visiting Earth, is
any film so entertaining and compelling that it becomes a
worldwide phenomenon. People line up to see it, dialogue
and images from it become part of global pop culture, and
it generates enough cash to build a mid-sized country.
Since reaching an audience is the goal of scriptwriting,
commanding a few hours from several gazillion people
isn't too shabby. Not to mention that the blockbuster
confers instant A-list fame to all who labor on it,
guaranteeing the starry-eyed writer more and more work in
the industry.
Unhappily, blockbusters are not small pictures. They have
hefty budgets, are produced by major industry players,
and are strictly top notch in terms of production values,
distribution and advertising. All of which translates to
Novices Need Not Apply.
Does this mean new writers should avoid trying to script
a "big film"? Practically speaking, yes. Anyone trying to
break into the film industry is better off writing a
movie that can be produced on a modest budget without a
major star. Achieve a few small commercial successes and
work your way up to the blockbuster. George Lucas did THX
1138 before he did Star Wars.
But If You Insist...
But Hollywood, like life, is full of exceptions. So we'll
forgo practicality for the moment, clutch tightly to our
dreams, and enter the world of the ultimate Hollywood
film.
Many serious films have achieved commercial success
(Ghandi, The Godfather trilogy and Schindler's List, for
instance), but the top grossers of all time are generally
what Hollyweird fondly refers to as "pure entertainment."
Star Wars, Raiders of the Lost Ark, Jaws, The Exorcist,
E.T., Terminator 2, Batman and Jurassic Park aren't
box-office platinum because of what they say about the
human condition. They're simply great fun to watch.
They are also comfortable to watch, like old friends come
for coffee and cake. The Star Wars trilogy is a
magnificent tribute to the often-cheesy science-fiction
films of the '50s and '60s that George Lucas grew up
watching, while Raiders of the Lost Ark does the same for
the pulp serials of the '30s and '40s. Jaws and The
Exorcist are straightforward horror flicks. Jurassic Park
is a large tip of the cap to King Kong's Skull Island.
And so on through the list.
In short, the blockbuster is conservative. It works with
established genres and familiar archetypes, never
straying too far from the Hollywood tried-and-true. It's
also politically correct, morally proper and aimed (for
the most part) at a family audience.
Yet at the same time, every blockbuster succeeds because
it paints the established and familiar with new strokes
of technology, pace, social sensibility and storytelling
that refresh the old myths, bringing them to a whole new
generation of filmgoers.
With this perspective, we can now look at how to concoct
the blockbuster.
Building a Blockbuster
Independence Day, this summer's entry in the heavy hits
club, is a textbook example of blockbuster writing. Its
opening scene, a studied homage to Star Wars, tells the
audience, "we're here to see wonders" and swiftly sets
about giving them to us.
This speed is quite deliberate. All blockbusters tend to
follow the same course: Establish the basic story line
immediately, then let the fun begin. It works because
blockbusters are seldom trying to tell a complex story.
Indeed, one can make a case that every blockbuster tells
the same story: There is good and there is evil. Evil is
big and powerful and scary, and it'll throw many
obstacles in good's path. However, through courage, hope,
intelligence, sacrifice and sheer determination, good
will triumph in the end.
This is the essential mythic story, the one Joseph
Campbell spent his life researching to the benefit of
story analysts throughout the world. (For a good overview
of the mythic story as it applies to scriptwriting, I
recommend Chris Vogler's book based on Campbell's work,
The Writer's Journey: Mythic Structure for Storytellers &
Screenwriters, from Michael Wiese Productions.)
Independence Day has it easier than most films when it
comes to establishing story line. Its time period is
contemporary, requiring very little detail to set up.
Conversely, Star Wars necessitates some explanation of
the mythical galaxy it's set in.
Id4's protagonists are set up with equal speed. Bill
Pullman's President and his wife; Will Smith's fighter
pilot, his girlfriend and her son; Randy Quaid's
alcoholic pilot and his family; Jeff Goldblum's
scientist, his ex-wife and father; Robert Loggia's
general; etc.
As is appropriate to the blockbuster, the characters are
drawn as archetypes. Each has a very clearly defined
angst and each wears his or her heart rather firmly on
his or her sleeve. When we meet them, we like them
instantly, just as we liked Luke Skywalker, Indiana:
Jones and E. T.'s Henry. Part of the appeal of these
characters is that they're "regular" people, just like
us. They have vulnerability we can easily relate to and
quirks that never go beyond the bounds of mass-audience
acceptability.
With story and characters in place, the film is ready to
fire its big mythic shot, the aliens wreaking destruction
on Earth. This serves several purposes. It introduces the
magical or mysterious element, a component of almost
every blockbuster film; it establishes very high stakes
(the destruction of the world!); and places ordinary
people in extraordinary circumstances that'll summon
their heroism.
This magical element also enables the audience to enjoy
the film without taking it too seriously. It tells us
that what we're watching is very definitely a movie, an
illusion. This is the comfort factor I mentioned earlier.
Because the audience is reasonably sure aliens aren't
really going to invade Earth, it can actually enjoy the
destruction; something it couldn't do in a realistic film
like Schindler's List.
Faster, Faster ... Ah, Satisfaction
Once the large-scale action cranks up, Independence Day
moves from sequence to sequence at breakneck speed. We
see each of the ensemble cast dealing with the result of
the alien invasion, but there's still one thing we
haven't seen - the face of the enemy. Thus comes the
sequence in which Will Smith captures an alien pilot and
brings "it" to the Area 51 research center - where "it"
revives and brutally snuffs out the life of Brent
Spiner's wacky scientist character before being killed.
Despite the improbable nature of the alien's capture
(Smith not only manages to knock "it" out with a single
punch delivered through what we are later told is heavy
armor, but also is able to drag "it" to just the right
spot before "it" revives), this scene shows that
screenwriters Dean Devlin and Roland Emmerich have a
solid grasp on what is required of their epic tale.
This sequence personalizes the conflict (through the
death of a comic character); gives the audience an
infusion of hope (despite its improbable nature, Smith's
knockout punch invariably draws a cheer from the
viewers); displays yet another piece of the dazzling
technology that drew us to the film; and shows us without
a doubt that the alien enemy is unredeemably evil and
deserves destruction (like the heroes of a blockbuster,
the villains, too, are archetypes).
From this point on, Independence Day barrels toward its
conclusion, charging the story with a series of personal
moments (Smith marries his girl, the President's wife
dies, Goldblum's scientist reconnects with his ex and
father, Quaid's drunken pilot sobers up and reconnects
with his family) until the thrill-filled climax in which
warrior and scientist beard the enemy in its den, the
world unites to fight the good fight, and through Quaid's
sacrifice the aliens get their butts roundly kicked. Fade
out.
All the Elements
Of course, Independence Day is nothing new; we've seen
aliens-invading-Earth films for decades. Yet, in true
blockbuster tradition, it's not the novelty of the idea
but the brilliance of its execution. It's no surprise
that moviegoers love Independence Day. It has unabashed
yet uncloying sentiment, dazzling special effects,
outrageous action, huge jeopardy and a happy ending. In
short, everything that typifies the blockbuster Hollywood
movie.
What's more, it delivers a simple message - despite
differences in nationality, race or lifestyle, humanity
can work together to solve its problems - and does it
without a trace of cynicism. And therein lies the secret
of the blockbuster film - celebrating humanity's virtues,
chastising its vices and doing so with very few shades of
gray. The blockbuster says to us that though the enemy be
aliens, dinosaurs, Nazis or Satan himself, honorable
human beings will inevitably win out. All to the delight
of its audience.
The mythic elements of a blockbuster can, of course, be
applied to other sorts of stories, but there is one
element that cannot be easily translated or even defined:
Dedication to the form. The best example of this is the
work of Steven Spielberg, the king of blockbusters. Many
filmmakers try to copy his mix of simple stories told
with energy, excitement, suspense, sentiment and a
fascination for the unknown - and most fail dismally.
Indeed, on occasion, even he has failed. Nevertheless we
anticipate each of his films because we know his goal is
to entertain us, sending us from the theater with renewed
faith and hope in the human species.
I don't think anyone could accomplish what he has without
complete commitment to the mythic brand of storytelling.
It's why he succeeds so often. As writers we can do no
less.
So go forth and write that blockbuster. Don't do it for
the gross points or the fame, but for love of the form
and the audience. And tell Steven I said "in boca al
lupo!"