This week I'm looking at storytelling takeaways from the 2021 Oscar Nominees for Best Original Screenplay.
Abraham Marder, Darius Marder and Derek Cianfrance's THE SOUND OF METAL has many strengths. First, it's a great Entrance into Another World film, for one, our main character Ruben Stone thrown into a deaf addiction recovery community after his hearing disappears almost overnight.
There's something inherently satisfying about movies that take us into communities that are unfamiliar--suddenly we get to be anthropologists, discovering new rituals and ways of living, over our heads in some ways but at a distance that makes the experience safe and thrilling even when it's scary or frustrating for the hero, as it is for Ruben.
It also doesn't take many beats in that other world to feel like we're really getting a taste of it. The heart of that immersion experience, Ruben trying to find his place, is just twenty minutes in a two hour film. And yet it feels quite substantial.
METAL is also a really interesting version of a Be Careful What You Wish For. Most stories have one of four basic arcs:
- A character has a desire, gets what they want, and it's a good thing.
- A character has a desire, gets what they want, and it's a bad thing.
- A character has a desire, doesn't get what they want, and it's a good thing.
- A character has a desire, doesn't get what they want, and it's a bad thing.
Of these four, the most satisfying are often the middle two--the character gets what they want and it's a bad thing, or the character doesn't get what they want and it turns out to be a good thing. They're naturally more interesting because they seem so counterintuitive. Also, done well you don't see them coming: How could getting the chance to hear again ever be a bad thing?
The writers of METAL do a great job of not hinting at the kind of sound quality Ruben will have, such that when it happens it's as devastating for us as it is for him. That scene at the party where at first we're watching him as we hear his ex-girlfriend sing, then we slowly dial into what he himself is hearing is absolutely heartrending.
But then METAL also finds a way to have it both ways. Rather than ending on Ruben having gotten what he wants and being miserable, we get one more beat, in which him having not gotten what he wants becomes a way into finally discovering that place of silence Joe had kept trying to invite him to explore.
That last moment of him sitting on the park bench, turning off his hearing aids and simply being is extraordinary. Even though it's just 75 seconds long, it feels like such a long time. And as he sits there we see some of the layers of his agitation peel away, and a kind of quiet contentment start to emerge.
The fact it's preceded by the cacophany that accompanies him walking down the street only makes that silence more profound and a greater source of relishment for him and also for us.
And that's a third great strength of the script: It Leaves You With a Gift. Which is to say, not only does it take you on a great and meaningful story -- which is itself gift enough -- it gives you something at the end for your own life. Sitting with Ruben on that bench not only enables me to see this man who has struggled so much find what he needs, it gives me a taste of something I could have in my own life if I wanted. In a sense it reveals a piece of my own deepest need.
Takeaway Questions:
- Which kind of story arc am I writing?
- Is there some part of the world of my story that might be fresh or new to my audience? How can I bring that alive for them?
- As I'm doing my rewrites, do I see a point in my script where I might give the audience a gift?
