The End of the Story

 "Why can't these writers come up with endings that work?" 

This sounds like a quote from some modern-day film producer or book critic. In fact, it was written by Aristotle who predates movies and the printed word by a good few years. 

 

Endings are hard. Have you ever sat through a perfectly good movie only to be disappointed, confused or even angry at the end? One of the problems with endings is that the really satisfying ones are often also the most predictable. This is partly because the ending we want as a viewer is the one that does all the things we are hoping will happen. As a writer, sometimes the job is to get to this end in a way that looks like you won't get there or provide an end which is original. There is a need to be creative amongst writers that can make going for the obvious distasteful.  

 

In improv, obvious is very much our friend. Doing what is obvious to you and hopefully the group allows you to build a story in steps that keeps everyone on board and allows you to make a longer, more cohesive story than if you take big "creative" steps. 

 

The ending in an improv scene or narrative can also be obvious. It should, in general, be a tying up of as many things that have been established as possible without it feeling overdone or trite. And given the fact that improv audiences are more forgiving than moviegoers, knowing as they do what is being done is being made up there and then (and not been in production for the best part of a year), you shouldn't worry too much about overdoing it and certainly you should not overthink it. 

 

Surprise endings in general rarely work well. It’s fantastic when they do (these are the story endings that get celebrated), but so often they don’t quite get it right. Even in movies and books, where the writer has time to put enough subtle clues in so that the surprise is surprising but also still satisfying, I would say most attempts at a "surprise ending" don't please the audience. In improv, we can't be nearly so clever as to pepper subtle clues to something we have no idea about at that moment. Truly random ends to stories with no clues to them are the ones that make people the most confused and angry. Many people reading this will recall improvised stories they were in where at the last minute something unexpected was introduced that became or triggered the end. 

 

The satisfying ends are when something that has been struggled or searched for is finally achieved or found. Or it is not found, but the characters realise something important about themselves, in particular that they didn’t need it and what they really needed they had all along. A good end comes from a clear want or need, either of the central character or the group as a whole. In fact, a very satisfying story sees the group get what they need, the hero gets something they wanted, and the antagonist gets what they deserve. Another common end is to end up back where you started but with a new perspective. 

 

That’s not to say all endings should be like these. Tragic endings are the opposite, where the protagonist doesn't get what they, the group doesn’t succeed, and, indeed, everyone might be dead. These absolutely work for some types of story. And in between are the perhaps more realistic “poignant victories” where something has been achieved but at a cost.” Some endings are deliberately anticlimactic or ambiguous. Some genres demand it. But they should still feel true to the events and the world of the story. 

 

The end is a hard time, but we are instinctive storytellers. It might be hard to know what to do for an end, but when an end happens, we feel it. The audience especially does. I have been at enough shows where the audience has felt the end and is surprised the story is continuing. Sometimes leading to a further end or pleasing “denouement” but mostly not. 

 

So, if you have listened hard throughout, stopped making up new things after the middle, played and explored the characters, situations and world you have, realise what the characters want and need, and set the on the path to achieving that, you’ll be on your way to something that feels like an end. 

What if there is No Chase?

In my last post, Cutting to the Chase vs. Building to the Chase, I talked about how if you set something up, you should do it. You can delay it, but you have to do it. Now I'm going to tell you that you don't always have to do it. Just to muddy the waters. But to clarify if delaying the action happens for 10% of things set up, not doing them is closer to 0.1%. (Percentages estimated.)

The main tenet to follow is that everything happens for a reason and if it doesn't happen, it doesn't happen for a reason.

Thus if a character says he'll do something and doesn't early on, this clearly establishes him as the sort of person who doesn't keep his promises, is flaky, etc. Or things set up and not done might be a game in itself. I haven't thought of other examples apart from the following...

Sam Super, Ryan Millar and Peter More by Tatjana Todorovic

In the last entry, I mentioned how Shakespeare would love to build up action by having the character torment him or herself over it. I gave the example of Hamlet doing his "To Be" bit. Hamlet in the mentioned scene is contemplating the pros and cons of suicide, which he doesn't go through with. So, that begs the question do we always have to go through with what's set up even if we have made a big fuss about doing it? The answer is no, but you nearly always should. So there is another guideline we can consider...

If you set something up, you don't have to go through with it, as long as you have a compelling reason AND there are consequences of not doing it. 

This is harder to deal with from a conventional improv-training point of view. To not do what is set up. I agree, this should not be the norm. In fact it should not be the first offer that is not fulfilled because that initiates a pattern of not doing what is set up and is like the first example of a flaky character.

In fact for beginners, we should be wary as it is probably an example of the actor wimping, i.e. not wanting to go there. But it is okay on occasion for the character to "wimp" if there are consequences for this character or other characters by the inaction. So the event not happening should, generally, be marked as a point in time where a decision was made NOT to do it. It should come from a strong reason that compels one or more character.

A classic example of a story which includes something like this is Snow White. The huntsman is charged with killing Snow White. In most conventional improv terms, this means Snow White should be killed – we should do the deed and see what happens next. But in the story, the huntsman takes pity on her and lets her free. The pity is a compelling reason. And the consequences? Well, the whole rest of the story hinges on Snow White not being dead, otherwise it would be a story about a wicked queen who simply kills anyone more beautiful than her and then marries a wondering prince. Or maybe the tale of a huntsman who carries out a killing ordered by his mistress, and the effect that has on him.

The compassion shown by the huntsman heightens the cruelty of the queen and the innocence of Snow White. In a Fairy Tale it helps establish her up as the main character. And in terms of a hero's journey, she has undergone a near-death experience and been forced out of her ordinary world, which clearly defines her as the hero at that moment.

This is interesting, because from an 'unstructured' story point of view, the moment Snow White is not killed the story has the chance to fork into three possible broad paths:

1. It is Snow White's story as the person who has lost the most and thus has the most to gain.
2. It is the story of the huntsman who has now been shown to be compassionate, but has put himself at risk of displeasing so cruel a queen.
3. It is the story of the wicked queen and this is almost certainly planting the seeds of her destruction.

 If this story was improvised, I do think it would more likely end up as (3) or (2) than (1) which is what the fairy tale actually is. Partly because these are the order of the strongest, most defined characters.

Not killing Snow White is not blocking as long as it's justified why the huntsman doesn't go through with it. The offer from the queen can be stated, "I want Snow White dead." It is a desire and desires and opinions can be contradicted by other players – they are allowed to have opposing desires and opinions. And as long as the huntsman agrees that the queen wants Snow White dead, agrees that the queen has ordered him to do so and that the queen is powerful and disobeying her is not something one should do lightly, not killing Snow White is "yessing" all that and adding that he himself has compassion and morality. In fact this acts to heighten the evilness and power of the queen. After all the huntsman didn't simply turn to her and say, "no way, José! That's just wrong." He is afraid of her and at least goes through the motions of going through with it. It all proves she rules the kingdom by fear.

Dizzy and the Pit Kittens by Catherine Gray.

As you can see, this can be complex to analyse, but not if you view it in terms of the wants of each of the characters. And at that moment (and for the rest of the story), the queen wants Snow White dead, Snow White wants to live, and the huntsman wants to do his job, but does not want to upset his own conscience. The huntsman, with his dilemma is, in a way, the focus of the story at that moment.

In fact, tragedy can often be seen the hero not doing something he ought to do, or doing something he has been warned not to do, which all leads to his demise. If the huntsman had killed the innocent Snow White after some moments of uncertainty, then this has all the makings of a tragedy whereby the echoes of that killing reverberate throughout the story until the tormented huntsman takes the life of the queen before turning the axe on himself.

So, to summarise...

If you set something up, nearly always do it. However, getting there can take time depending on how important or difficult it is. In rare circumstances, it might not get done as long as the character(s) have a compelling reason and its not happening is significant to the story.

That's enough complications. Please don't think about this during shows, but feel free to use it in the analysis of the stories you end up telling. Or don't use it, if you have a compelling reason not to. ;-)

Reincorporation example #1: One, Two, Three (1961)

So, been playing with video and sound and decided to make some illustrations of comedy concepts. These are not only useful for improvisers, but for stand-ups and all sorts of writers. Reincororation is not just for comedy, in fact it's a big part of storytelling. If nothing comes back, you don't have a story. Love to know your thoughts.

Reincorporation

Reincorporation is an important part storytelling. In fact you can't tell a story without bringing things back from earlier. If you don't bring any information back or continue any things that are set up, you aren't telling a story but simply saying a bunch of random stuff. It's also an important part of comedy. Catchphrases and running jokes are clear comedic examples of reincorporation.

Reincorporation, if you're not familiar with the term and not worked it out from the beginning, is reusing something you set up earlier in a scene or story or show. In James Bond movies, James is given some innocuous looking gadgets by Q whilst Bond goofs off to distract you from how important these objects are. They are in fact magical weapons in terms of mythical hero's journey. Later on these objects are reincorporated at a key moment to save our hero.

Reincorporation being important in storytelling has two main implications. Firstly that if you establish something, it should used or referred to later on. The Russian author and doctor Anton Chekhov is credited with outlining this by stating that if a gun is set up in act one, it should go off by act three. In writing this means don't set up more than you need. Everything should have a purpose. Even if that purpose is not to be reused, but to be there to illustrate character, the severity of the situation, etc. In improv this means use what you set up.

Creativity in stories, is not, as it first appears, simply about creating new things, but much more about using and reusing the things that are set up.

One thing I've learned performing improv, and had highlighted by doing solo shows, is that there is no such thing as a throwaway line. Everything has meaning. And I don't just mean the lines said by other characters, I also mean your own lines. So many improvisers, even very good ones who listen so well to what others say, don't listen to themselves. They don't see if they said was what they meant to say, or if they said it how they meant to say it. If you meant to say one thing but said something slightly different (as frequently happens on and off stage), what you actually said is what has been put out there and overrides what you meant to say. If you're not aware of that, suddenly you are not on the same page as your fellow performers who were listening to what you said. If you meant to sound angry, but you realise it came out more as confused, then your character is confused. Use it.

Ideally everything set up will be used somehow. You shouldn't be creating new things if old things are lying unused.

The other implication is that towards the end of a story, you should only be using what has been set up previously. You should have all the information you need to finish the story. If Jack pulls a gun in the final scene to save his life that was never referred to before, this is disappointing. Same with any reveal at the end that was not set up before. A good murder mystery should keep you guessing until the end but when the secret is revealed, it should be so satisfying because all the pieces make sense. Mystery endings where important information had been held back from the reader or viewer so that there would have been no way of working it out make you feel cheated. Endings like this care called "Deus ex machine" or "god from the machine" because it was often how the Greeks ended plays, with a god coming down and magically making everything all right rather than having the characters solve it themselves. It nearly always makes for disappointing endings. Especially to a modern audience who are not used to having gods meddle so much in their stories.

With writing, you have the luxury of what I call preincorporation. This is where you can go back and add information at the beginning of the story once you know what you need at the end. So if the only way for Jack to save himself is to have a gun, then go back and set up early on that he keeps a gun in his third drawer down. Bingo! Goes from deus ex machina to deus ex syrtária.

We don't have this luxury in improv (and don't have to use it in writing). We can be more creative. In improv you need to use what you have set up to help you out. And trust me, something you (or someone) has said or established and can be reused to save you. Remember that chewing gum Jack put in your pocket to keep because Florence had touched it? Yes that.

In fact the skill in movies and books is for the things to be set up and reused just as the audience has forgotten about them being there. It's a subtle balance. The audience must, when reminded, remember what was set up, so it usually has to be more than just something hanging on the wall amongst a whole bunch of things. The audience's attention has to be drawn to it without them being aware of it. If you go in too strong, the audience will realise it's being set up and the pay off won't work. Too subtle and most people won't remember where the thing came from and again will seem like a deus in the machina. A very good way of doing it is to draw our attention to it, but make us think it's served its purpose. Such as the gum in the pocket which was set up to illustrate Jack's obsession with Florence but which finds a new use as the magical weapon that saves him from his nemesis.

In improv, you rarely have the luxury of knowing what objects you will use later. And being subtle about them but remembering them is close to impossible. Ideally you will use all of the objects and ideas you set up. And use them several times. It is way more satisfying to get a lot of use out of a few important objects than hardly any use out of a vast collection of artefacts. As Jack thought popping the gum into his mouth, not only reincorporating it as an object one last time but also using it to illustrate how his journey had cured him of his obsession with Florence.

Writing Through Improv

I started writing before I started doing improv. In fact improv was just a fun thing I started doing that might help my writing. It was and it did, but it also took over somewhat. Improv fueled that side of me that loves the latest, shiny, new idea which can make it hard for the old ideas to keep shining. Old ideas often in the form of something I'm half-way through writing. And it also took up much of my time and energy.

But over the years, I have still written quite a lot, and finished a good chunk of it; and even earned a few shekels from a tidy little pile in the corner there. It's something I'll hopefully be doing long after I've got the strength to haul myself up on the stage and make things up there and then.

Reading at an Open Stanza in Amsterdam

Where am I going with this? Well, after several years of intention, I'm finally getting round to teaching writing. The first foray will be a joint weekend workshop with fellow improviser and writer, Ryan Millar, exploring using improv to develop and generate writing. I'm very excited about this as it's been a long time brewing. Or at least the idea of brewing it has been there a long time. But the teabag is now definitely in the pot.

The workshop will take place on the 27th-28th of July and is co-organised with easylaughs. Details on the easylaughs special workshops page.