An objective makes a plot

An objective makes a plot

STRUGGLE AND SUSPENSE Without struggle there is nothing to arouse the interest. Without suspense there is nothing to hold it, and the greater the uncertainty as to the outcome the greater will be the sustained interest. 2.A mere record of events, even with some struggle, is history. History oftentimes is dull. It is only when history approaches plot that it gains interest. Most beginners are prone to regard anything they write as a story whether it be merely a recital of facts they have heard or a string of incident without plot because without the object that provides the opportunity for struggle. If the student of struggle will bear in mind that without objective there cannot be anything to be stru gled for, and that, without struggle there can be no suspense, then he cannot go far wrong in realizing what his plot must be. He will know the difference between the tale and the story with the plot. The beginner, in search of a theme, decides that the adventures of a book agent should be interesting. He writes the story of Tim Smith, who sells books. Tim suffers various indigni- ties at the hands of irate housewives whose door bells he has rung, but the story gets nowhere because it has no objective; no place to which to go. The recital can continue so long as the author's ability to invent fresh incident holds out. The story might even be continued be- yond Tim's death if he wills his business to a successor. Taking the same start, the tale can be made into a story if an objective is provided. It is supposed that he calls upon John Green and that Green is particularly offensive in his manner of replying. Tim vows that he will sell him a book. At once the object provides the element of struggle. Tim struggles to sell the book. Green struV gles to avoid Tim. Each time Tim gains access to Green suspense is created because our hopes are raised. Each time he fails, hope is dashed and suspense is continued. Tim enters Green's office through the door, through the transom, through the window and from the next office. He is the waiter at Green's club and waylays him as he comes from his home. Each time Green escapes. Finally Tim catches him coming home, late at night and at peace with all the world. He not only sells him a book, but also sells to Green's convivial companions. Each time the attempt is made and fails the crisis improves the suspense while providing for fresh and more determined struggle against the obstacle. Struggle must be directed against a specific and not a general object. Tim struggles to sell books in order to gain a livelihood. In the loose collection of incident this objective is present, but it is too general, too long continued to hold interest. The objective must be concrete; something that may definitely be realized in order that the struggle may be terminated by the accomplishment of this object. That Tim is trying to make a living is an object, but it is too general to focus interest There is no definite point at which the answer can be given and the story terminated. Tim tries to sell a book to Green. He does. That is all we need to seek to know. Struggle here is di- rected against a definite and positive obstacle, and it is easy to centre the interest. 8. The question might be more broadly stated in that Tim is a book agent because he wants to pay off the mortgage on the old home, for here the story would stop when the mortgage was paid off, but the struggle now would be to pay off the mortgage and not to sell books. Selling books is merely the means by which Tim struggles to pay off the mortgage. It is not now a matter of definite interest. He might change over and sell potato slicers without impairing the value of the story. Objective is always necessary to struggle, just as struggle must make the objective interesting. The sales and rebuffs he meets in a general practice of his "career may be interesting or amusing for the moment, but they carry no punch, for there is no object aimed at upon which he can concentrate his energies of ;truggle. It is the aim or objective that gives interest. A fine horse galloping down the road is a pleasing picture of spirited action, but a picture and not a story. Pit him against another horse in a race and the struggle for supremacy gives interest to the mere beauty of the action. What before was pleasing for its beauty now becomes of absorbing interest because of its struggle. To continue the simile, if it is a runaway race; if one horse goes to the front and stays there throughout the distance, then the race is less interesting because of the one-sidedness of the struggle. Suspense is present only when the outcome is in doubt. If our interest is engaged in one particular horse, we follow his fortunes with breathless interest so long as he has a chance to win. If he leads we are exultant. If he drops behind we are in despair. If he regains the advantage we are hopeful. Each time he comes to the front we exult. Each time he drops behind hope is dashed, though if he gamely fights every foot of the way we never lose hope, for we know he still stands a chance and is not a beaten horse dropping back. When he wins we feel more enthusiasm because of the gameness of the fight. Had the issue never been in doubt; had he romped in ahead of the field the last half mile, we should have lost suspense. It would then merely be a case of waiting for him to cross the wire. The more frequent the alternations of hope and doubt the more deeply are we moved and the more intense is our enjoyment of the winning. Up to a certain point the sustaining and slight prolongation of suspense makes for greater interest. Past that point interest wanes through sheer force of excess of emotion. 11. This holds good in every line. In the late nineties Ralph Johnstone, one of the earliest of the Wright Brothers' exhibition aviators, and who was killed in an aeroplane accident, was appearing in vaudeville in the stair climbing act on a bicycle. Discussing showmanship one day he made this point: "I can climb the flight of steps the first time, every show," he contended, "but to do so would rob me of applause. I must work them up. To do the trick the first time would make it look too easy. The first time you are in the theatre I'll do the trick twice. The second time I'll fake it. They'll not know that I am there the first time." He made good his point. Early in the act tte rode to the foot of the steps and mounted them, one after the other, without the least effort. There was a mild ripple of applause. He performed some other tricks and came back to the stairs. This time he dropped to the stage four times. The fifth he fought his way, step by step, ascending three and dropping one, gaining four and losing three, until, with a final effort, he lifted himself to the platform. This time the applause, which had been growing as the struggle continued, was deafening. Precisely the same trick had been performed with al- most absurd ease earlier in the act and had passed almost unnoticed. This time he had worked up enthusiasm through playing on sus- pense. By interposing obstacle, heightened by suspense, he had made his point. It is precisely the same in photoplay. What appears to be easy and without struggle or suspense cannot interest. If the result seems predetermined there can be no suspense be- cause there can be no question as to the outcome of suspense. We must first make it apparent that the protagonist must fight to attain his object and then make it clear that the outcome of the fight is in doubt We get the spectator interested in Mary and Sam. Sam wants to marry Mary. Then we introduce Gregg, a miserly old man, who admires Mary's youthful freshness and seeks her for his wife. A struggle between a young man and an old one generally has but one outcome in fiction. The younger man wins. Gregg interests the father. Suspense begins. The odds seem to be against Sam. But Mary declares she will never marry Gregg. Sam is in the ascend- ant. Gregg gets a mortgage on the farm. Mary does not care. Sam has a farm and will care for her father. Gregg gets a mortgage on that, too. Now Mary does care. She does not want to injure Sam. She does not tell him she loves him still, but she does promise to marry Gregg. It looks black for Sam, but at the church door Gregg is arrested for usury, Sam's rich uncle dies, he pays off both mort- gages and lives happily ever after. Each time hope is dashed and revived the interest becomes stronger through the use of suspense, and the more cleverly this sus- pense is planned the greater becomes our interest in the story. The placid surface of a lake is beautiful in a way, but it lacks the life and action of the rush of that same water down rock-strewn rapids.