THE DEMON IN THE MACHINE

FOR ALL MANKIND had its third season finale tonight. I will not spoil anything that happened tonight, but for much of this season, there's been a frequent dynamic in play that I've been thinking a lot about. It revolves around everyone's least favorite astronaut ever, Danny Stevens. 

In season two Danny Stevens was a student at the Naval Academy. And he had a huge crush on his best friend's mom, Karen Baldwin, that ended in them sleeping together. Which felt really bad in every way. REALLY bad. She broke it off (thank God), but still. It was really really not good. 

Season three, he's an astronaut, getting married, great wife, all is well. Except HE'S OBSESSED WITH KAREN BALDWIN. And this leads to an more and more bad decisions. He heads to Mars with Karen's ex-husband Ed, who knows nothing, and hacks their video communications with each other, which makes him more crazy. And then he starts stealing oxy from the medical supplies, which makes him even crazier. And then he starts becoming a Real Problem, and is responsible for Really Bad Shit. 

And here's the thing: the longer it all goes on, the less sense it makes. How is nobody aware there are drugs missing from the medical supplies like, for months? And once he starts acting crazy and mouthing off, how are there no consequences? Almost directly after demonstrating Very Clearly that he is a mess, he is put in charge of a job that the entire mission depends on. As my grandma liked to say, It crazy. 

But you know what all of these preposterous beats bring? Conflict. Danger. STAKES. All of which good storytelling usually needs. Your script should have conflict on every page, one of my screenwriting teachers used to tell us. 

He also brings endless complications, new problems everyone else has to deal with. All of which is to say, he creates story. 

In storytelling we talk about the Deus ex Machina, aka God in the Machine--a character, thing or event that solves a problem for your characters. It's usually some kind of cheat on the part of the writers. That doesn't mean it's necessarily bad, but it often can be, because it sort of breaks the reality of the story. Instead of the characters having to save themselves, suddenly something that has nothing to do with them is responsible. 

I think Danny Stevens is actually the same thing, but for bad stuff. He's the Demon in the Machine, the Daemonium ex Machina, a tool the writers use to seriously fuck shit up. And he's different than other characters in that the problems he causes seem artificial in some way. Too much, unbelievable, inorganic. 

I suspect characters hooked on drugs may be highly susceptible to becoming demons in the machine. Because drug use can be a good way to hide the fingerprints of the writers as they use that character to cause drama/complications/story for others. If you've ever watched someone high starting to mess shit up and felt a sort of ugh in the pit of your stomach--I know I have--I think that's our instincts telling us there's something artificial being added here. 

When it comes to FOR ALL MANKIND, the audience rage around Danny is quite something. Some of that is fans being fans, right, wanting the show the way they want it. But I think the level of rage is a pretty big warning light, too. Something is not working. 

I'm sure there are good Demons in the Machine, too, characters where the mess actually feels earned and believable. Prince Joffrey Baratheon, for instance, never seems like just a tool of the writers, even though he is absolutely always there to fuck shit up. Ramsay Snow, same way, although he's so damn good at being bad it does eventually start to ring a little less true.

But Danny Stevens is not one of them. And it's very worth watching season three just to follow his story. If you pay attention to where you're getting pissed off or something feels false, I think there's a lot to learn.

Next Monday is the series finale of BETTER CALL SAUL. I know, it's impossible to believe. And I'm going to spend the week digging into some of the final episodes. It's like Vince Gilligan's Last Lecture (in this world, anyway). Let's see what we can learn.

 

FOR ALL MANKIND LIKES A BUDDY

There's a dynamic I've been noticing while watching FOR ALL MANKIND. Every good character has a hole in them, something they need that they can't fill--and also that they don't know how to fill, or maybe even want to.  

And obviously dealing with that hole is going to end up being a big part of their journey on the show. It's Karen trying to figure out how to be free in season one. It's Margo being so completely alone in the first two seasons. It's Gordo trying to see a way past his fears, really trying to see a future for himself. It's Aleida and her self-destructive tendencies. 

Along the way other characters are going to help them or hinder them on that journey. But usually on MANKIND eventually there will be one character who is, if I can nerd out, the Apollo to their Soyuz.  The person who has the piece that they need.

Karen needs to learn that she can be free and needs someone who can shepherd her on that journey.  And who shows up? Wayne Cobb, Molly's fearful and yet very free artist-husband. For quite a while Karen sees him as an antagonist, which makes total sense. Even before she has the words for what she wants, he is the living example of it. 

In season one Margo seems to get everything that she wanted. But that opening scene with her that I wrote about a couple posts go is instructive--what was her problem? That she was alone. They never make this a big issue, we never get Margo pining after some guy or whatnot. And she's so busy with being awesome in season two I more or less forgot about that as a key part of her character. And then they introduce her counterpart from Russia, Sergei, and immediately her life just seems that much more interesting, because finally this gap--which from our perspective is to say, this untapped story arc--is getting started. 

(One thing I note about both Wayne and Sergei, which could also apply to Aleida's frenemy Bill, is that as soon as they become part of their partner's story, they become characters that we love. I think that's precisely because again, they address that untapped story, they make things more interesting, just by who they are.)

I had originally labeled this kind of character as the "Unexpected Sidekick," which sort of fits: these characters are almost always unexpected in some way. Even if they've been around for a while, still we don't see them coming. But sidekick is not quite right. They're more like BUDDIES to the character they're partnered with. That is to say, they're more than just the character's assistant; they have journeys of their own. Bill has long suffered for something that happened 20 years ago. Wayne is afraid for his wife, and has a great relationship with her. Sergei struggles with what he's asked to do relative to Margo. 

In a way the Buddy is a booster rocket for a character (such a nerd), but instead of falling away those relationships--whether romantic, friendships or mentoring--become part of that character's life.  

I've never noticed a show do this before, especially on a such a broad scale. (And to my mind as we enter season three I'm intrigued to see how that dynamic might play out for other characters, like Ed, who is sort of adrift for the first time, and actually needs some kind of friend, or Ellen, who found a wonderful missing piece for a short time in Tom, but now is once again alone.) It's definitely worth watching MANKIND to see that dynamic at work. It makes me ask in my scripts, who fills those roles for different characters. Or what kind of person will I need down the line to do so. 

More on FOR ALL MANKIND coming Thursday. 

FOR ALL MANKIND HAS TROUBLE WITH THE PAYOFF

For most of the first season of FOR ALL MANKIND, we get a running story about Ed & Karen Baldwin's son Shane. At first it's the story of Ed's relationship with Shane, how he is such a severe and intense father (much to his own regret). Then, once Ed is trapped on the Moon for half a year, we get repeated beats of Shane misbehaving at school alongside the son of another astronaut. 

But the thing is, each next iteration of that problem is pretty much the same as the last. Karen is called into the principal's office, told Shane did something; the principal wants to talk about it. Karen insists she'll take care of it. She yells at Shane, who apologizes. Rinse and repeat. Sometimes we don't get the principal beat, or she's there with the other parent. But it really is the same thing over and over. 

Then suddenly in 107, Shane is finally given a moment to do more than apologize. Mostly all it amounts to is a temper tantrum, but still. He gets to say words and have emotions.  

And then immediately after that he ends up getting hit by a car and dying.

To me it looks like the idea was to force Ed and Karen to confront the dark side of their own parenting choices. Neither parent really stopped to listen to their only child, and this is the result. And obviously it should be this incredibly devastating event. We should feel bad. But I didn't find that to be the case. Shane's death does push Karen to confront some of her own issues. But Ed already has so much going on; he's only just been left on the Moon by himself, for who knows how long. That should be trauma enough.

Also, two episodes later the mission to relieve Ed is going to go completely awry and someone else will end up dying. The fact that this other death has only just happened steals thunder from that one in a big way. 

But I think the bigger problem is that we never get to know Shane. He gets no scenes or conversations or moments that are truly his. He is just a problem in his parents' life; and as a result his death doesn't mean anything to us. In fact, his death ends up spotlighting that we never got to know him, which calls attention to the fact that he was just a plot device. And just like that we're pulled out of the story and into questions about the writers and their machinations. Never the place you want your audience to be...

A big tragic moment in a story has the same basic dynamics as a punch line. You set it up, add a wrinkle or two to lead the audience to think one thing is going to happen and then ideally resolve in a completely unexpected way. So, if you know you're going to kill a couple's little boy (God we are monsters as writers, aren't we...), what do you need to do beforehand? Set up not just the parents' relationship to their son but the son himself. 

And if you're going to have him acting out, each next incident are those wrinkles meant to be pointing us in a certain direction, for instance telling us the way Ed treats him is really fucking him up, so as to make us think Ed really has to change his ways. 

And then BAM, it's too late for that. 

(Even as I write this, I'm not convinced killing him was the right way to go. Shane seems a lot more interesting as an ongoing problem for Ed once he gets back. But that's where the showrunner wanted to take it. And in that case, which happens plenty, your job is to craft the best possible version you can.)

TOMORROW: THE UNLIKELY SIDEKICK

FOR ALL MANKIND KNOWS HOW TO INTRODUCE A CHARACTER

Over the holiday I finally listened to all the people who kept saying FOR ALL MANKIND is a great show and ended up devouring the first season. This week I'm going to talk about some of the things I discovered there, starting today with a great character introduction. 

If you don't know the show, the premise is basically, What if the Russians landed on the Moon first? How would that affect the American Space Program (and lots of other things, too)? In its first season the show focuses entirely on the astronauts and staff of the Apollo program. And after the introduction of the various astronauts and their wives and this new world in which they failed to get to the Moon first, we meet Margo Madison, an engineer who works for the program but is largely ignored, because OMG she's a lady, what would she know? 

And she's introduced in the most delightful way. An alarm rings in the dark, and up she rises out of bed. But as she folds the bed up and moves furniture around it becomes clear, we're in her office. This is where she lives. In short order she puts the room back, lays out her toothpaste and other basic hygiene equipment, and generally gets ready, while reading a book with diagrams of the moon. 

It's clear from how smoothly it all goes that she's done this a million times before, and also that she's completely at ease with it all. She's all business, and that's how she likes it. 

First scenes are such valuable real estate. If you do them well, you tell us everything we need to know about a character. What they like, who they are, what they're good at; but also ideally what they want and where they struggle--i.e what their journey is going to be. And that's the case here. In 90 seconds we know with absolute certainty that what Margo Madison wants is to be the absolute best at her job, to be the boss. 

And we also know with absolute certainty that she's got a big problem, namely that she has no life--not only no significant others but no real relationships. On the most fundamental level she is going it alone. And that will pose issues to her quest. 

If you track Margo's story in season one, it's all there in this scene. Her talent gets her noticed, but then she gets passed over initially for the boss job because she's a loner. And when she gets the big job, her big challenge ends up dealing with the overall team in a crisis. She succeeds to the extent that she is able to accept defeat at the hands of her colleagues, really, and draw on her greatest strength, namely her conceptual brilliance. 

One other great tip to be gained from Margo's introduction: it's all done without a single word. We learn who she is through her actions.

If you're looking for an exercise for yourself: Pick a script of your own and look at how you introduce one of your main characters. How do you use the real estate? Maybe take a second to write out, "This is who my character is, what they want and what is their struggle," based solely on what you see in that scene. And then, for a second go-round, do the same thing, but based on your character's actions alone, no words.  See what you discover!