Showing posts with label TV series. Show all posts
Showing posts with label TV series. Show all posts

Thursday, March 28, 2019

Plotting Board, Part 7

Plotting Board, Part 7



In this post, I offer a few tips on plotting, many of which are implied, if not directly stated in Monsters of the Week: The Complete Critical Companion to the X-Files by Zach Handlen and Todd VanDerWerff.

Problem-Solution Plotting

One of the X-Files's enduring plot devices is the introduction of a problem and its eventual solution. The problem-solution dynamic has built-in suspense: once a problem is posed, we want—maybe we even ache—for it to be solved. In The X-Files, the central problem, as set forth in the series's “mythology” about a possible alien invasion preceding possible alien colonization, becomes, more or less continually, more and more complicated, so the solution, which is put off again and again, has a much greater and more intense emotional payoff when it does come—or should have, at any rate.



According to VanDerWerff, episode 16 of season nine, “Release,” finally “wraps up one of the [show's] major [remaining] mysteries” (419). This mystery is “What happened to Doggett's son when he was murdered?” (410) Although this episode “answers that question,” VanDerWerff says, the answer is anything but clear. Perhaps bringing clarity and closure would make a problem-solution plot much stronger, as readers have invested much time and emotion in the ongoing, long-term, increasingly complex problem. After the tease, it's only fair to deliver.

Techno Thrills

Technology is constantly changing and developing. My father's life encompassed by the Model T and the landing of an astronaut on the moon. My own includes black-and-white television which featured, on tiny, thick screens, programming from ABC, CBS, NBC, and a local affiliate, WTTG, to drones, DARPA's robotic wonders, and self-driving cars (and there's still much more to come—or, at least, I hope there will be.)



That's the point that VanDerWerff makes about storytelling when he writes:

. . . Video software and image manipulation programs are getting so good that it will soon be incredibly difficult to ascertain when footage that seems too good (or too bad) to be true has been faked. We won't always know who's dead and who's alive, and all it will take for those in power to introduce suspicion around a certain set of facts is to stand up in front of all of us and shrug and say, “Nobody knows for sure” (469).

As always, the possibilities are only as limited as our imaginations.

Backfield in Motion

A way of developing plots while characterizing characters is to build a character's backstory. Of course, too much of a good thing is generally a bad thing, so writers have to be careful not to include too much backstory and, when they do build such a history, the character's past should be delivered piecemeal over a number of episodes or, if we're talking book series, a number of volumes.



A case in point is “Kitten,” the sixth episode of The X-Files's season eleven. This episode is unusual, VanDerWerff thinks, because it “takes what was already a serviceable character backstory (specifically that of Water Skinner) and attempts a direct dramatization of it” (474). The character's “Vietnam background” was presented in previous episodes (“One Breath,” [season two, episode eight] and “Avatar” [season three, episode twenty one]. In “Kitten,” viewers learn about Skinner's sacrifice of his own “career to support Mulder and Scully” based on Skinner's belief that their “mission to expose the truth of what the country was doing to some of its most vulnerable citizens was more important than his personal advancement” (475).

As long as a character's backstory doesn't start to take over the current story, as it does, for example, in Arrow and verges upon doing in Punisher, building a character's background to show how it has helped to shape him or her, how it has, in part, made him or her the person he or she is today, is a good way to add to a narrative's plot.



Monsters of the Week: The Complete Critical Companion to the X-Files has much to recommend it, not the least of which is its even-handed balance of praise and condemnation for the series it evaluates. Both Handlen and VanDerWerff point out what they believe is right and what they believe is wrong with the series's episodes. Mostly, in reviewing their book, while tossing in a few of my own observations, I've concentrated on what these critics state and imply about the plotting of the sci fi-horror series. However, depending on one's purpose, on how one reads the book, Monsters of the Week can provide a good many more—and different—insights.

And, remember: the truth is out there!

Sunday, March 24, 2019

Sounding Board, Part 4

Copyright 2019 by Gary L. Pullman



In this post, I offer a few tips on plotting, many of which are implied, if not directly stated in Monsters of the Week: The Complete Critical Companion to the X-Files by Zach Handlen and Todd VanDerWerff.

 Role Playing


To generate plots, the writers of The X-Files sometimes have a character adopt the role of another literary figure. For example,
VanDerWerff notes that "The X-Files seems heavily influenced by the doubting apostle Thomas," (114) especially in regard to Scully, the series's skeptic who is, paradoxically, also a practicing Catholic.


In addition, in the "731" episode, Handlen explains, Mulder plays a Don-Quixote-like figure who must accept that the "answers" he finds on his "quest" differ from those he'd expected to learn. There are no aliens; his sister, therefore, was not abducted by extraterrestrial beings. Instead, "the government has been kidnapping and running tests on humans and hiding it under the cover of 'alien abductions'" (114-115).

By adopting roles played by earlier characters of other stories, which roles are thematically appropriate to the plight of their own characters, The X-Files writers not only enrich the series's storytelling through allusions, but they also acquire vehicles for advancing their narrative's own plot in a meaningful way.

"Assume" Makes an . . . .


Among the many other plot-generating devices employed by The X-Files writers is that of having a character (often Mulder) make wrong assumptions, which then produce "bad decisions," which, in turn, tend to result in potentially fatal situations (117). For example, Handlen reminds his readers, in the episode "War of the Coprophages," although Mulder and other characters believe "a bunch of bugs from outer space" have come "to earth to mess with our minds," skeptical Scully is right again; the insects "are only cockroaches," just as she'd supposed (116-118). Thanks to the false assumption of the citizens of Miller's Grove, where the roaches land (and to Mulder, of course), quite a bit of the episode's plot is generated, demonstrating the truth of the idea that false assumptions can be effective plot generators.

Either-or Premise

As VanDerWerff notes, The X-Files plays with two alternative explanations as to the causes of the series's strange events: (1) "The government did bad things, and now it's trying to keep them covered up" (Scully's point of view) and (2) "yes, aliens . . . have been visiting our world and, yes, they intend to colonize it" (Mulder's perspective) (124). This either-or premise maintains the series's fantastic character ("fantastic" in Tzvetan Todorov's sense of the word), its mystery, and its suspense, while offering a dual approach to plotting.

Memory Sucks


One way of advancing the plot while examining the human condition is to offer a definition of what it means to be a human being and then, after eliminating this identifying quality, character, or state, explore whether the character from whom the essence of humanity has been stripped is still a person, still a human being. If, VanDerWerff asks, "we are our memories," and those "memories are sucked out," do we still exist as human beings or, as X-Files writer Darin Morgan puts it, "If someone has the ability to manipulate your memory--all your memory--then, what are you, if, say, your happiest memory or your most depressing memory are [sic] all fiction?" (133-135). 

Of course, other writers might posit other characteristics or abilities as essential to human existence as such: intelligence, compassion, the ability to effect cause, religious belief, etc. However, the story would still follow the same avenue: by eliminating this characteristic or ability (or whatever else is considered essential to human existence), it would explore whether the character who lost it remains human at all, and if not, why not. By exploring what it means to be human, writers can generate plots. This approach is most suited, perhaps, to stories of fantasy, but it could inform almost any genre.

We Are What We Choose to Be

Another way to investigate the human condition is to ask not what makes people human, but whether a person is who he or she is because of the way that he or she chooses to live or because of how other people treat him or her.


The "Small Potatoes" episode of The X-Files tests this question, VanDerWerff suggests, by having a shape-shifter become other people--but he always reverts back to his own identity, resigned to being himself. He is who he is because he has adopted the persona (that of a "loser"), based on everyone else's view of him, rather than asserting his own identity through the choices he makes (193-195).

This way of developing plots has the benefit of allowing writers to investigate such heady matters as those which are more ordinarily examined within the sphere of philosophy or psychology,  thereby enriching the more mundane affairs of the typical X-Files story.

In an interesting footnote, as it were, to this question, Handlen suggests that, in fiction, autonomy is represented as an effect of doing; in doing, a character forces others to react to what he or she has done. Mulder, he says, is a doer; therefore, he is autonomous. Scully, on the other hand, more often follows a path set for her by Mulder or someone else; she is more likely to be reactive than active, and she is, therefore, only partially autonomous (224).

NEXT: More of the same! 


Saturday, June 30, 2018

Plot Generators: The Key to Writing a Series of Novels

Copyright 2018 by Gary L. Pullman

As its name suggests, a plot generator generates plots for a series of stories, such as those which are shown on a television show. Occasionally, the title of the series references its plot generator. The plot generators are sources of both the conflict (and often the villains) and the explanation of the series' bizarre events. In addition, plot generators determine the type of the threats (e. g., science fiction, fantasy, horror).

Well-known examples of plot devices include:

The Time Tunnel (1966-1967) Time machine (i. e., the Time Tunnel)
Star Trek (1966-1969) Mission (to explore new worlds)
The Prisoner (1967-1968) Village (island prison)
Land of the Giants (1968-1970) Planet other than Earth
The X-Files (1993-2002) X-Files (unsolved cases involving bizarre paranormal or supernatural events or agents)
Buffy the Vampire Slayer (1997-2003) Hellmouth (mystical gateway between Earth and hell)
Haven (2005 - ) and Arrow (2012- ) (first season) Troubles (a mysterious affliction suffered by the “Troubled”)
Supernaturals (season one) (2005) John Winchester's notebook
Flash (2014- ) Particle accelerator explosion
Supergirl (2015 - ) Prison

Since Chillers and Thrillers is concerned with horror fiction more than with science fiction or fantasy per se, we'll limit our discussion of plot generators to those used in the horror genre: The X-Files, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Haven, and Supernaturals.




For The X-Files, the plot generator is the X-Files (unsolved cases involving bizarre paranormal or supernatural events or agents). These mysterious files involve FBI agents Fox (“I want to believe”) Mulder and skeptical Dana Scully in investigations of alleged alien abductions, supposed government conspiracies, mysterious murders, ghosts, murderous computers equipped with artificial intelligence, UFO crashes, a eugenics program, pyrokinesis, psychics, astral projection, age reversal, miracle healings, werewolves, unseen forces, human hibernation, and reincarnation—and these investigations all occur in the first of the series' eleven seasons.



The Hellmouth, an inter-dimensional portal between Earth and hell, is the plot generator in Buffy the Vampire Slayer. The current slayer, Buffy Summers, is the one and only slayer in 1997, when she dies at the hands of The Master, a centuries-old vampire trapped inside The Hellmouth. Although she is resuscitated shortly after her death, her demise triggers the activation of her replacement, Kendra Young, who has come to the United States from Jamaica to assume her duties as the “new” slayer under the tutelage of Buffy's Watcher (mentor), Rupert Giles, the librarian of Sunnydale High School in Sunnydale, California. Kendra is replaced, in turn, by Faith Lehane, the slayer who assumes Kendra's role as slayer upon Kendra's death. First with Kendra, and then with Faith, Buffy became the first slayer in history to share her title and responsibilities with another slayer equipped with her own supernatural powers.

The Hellmouth is located beneath Sunnydale, California. In addition to its being an inter-dimensional gateway to hell, the Hellmouth also enhances supernatural energy, causing bizarre, dangerous incidents to occur with regularity. Due to the intensified supernatural energy caused by The Hellmouth, the portal also attracts demons. Numerous attempts are made to open The Hellmouth, but none succeed until the end of the series, when Buffy, Faith, and Potential Slayers (girls who have the powers of the slayer but who have not been activated as such) open The Hellmouth's Seal. After the Sunnydale Hellmouth is destroyed, Giles tells Buffy and her friends that another Hellmouth exists in Cincinnati.



In Haven, Maine, when the characters of Haven known as The Troubled undergo emotional crises, they experience The Troubles, which are characterized by supernatural incidents, including weather phenomena, the perception of one's worst fears, and the realization of personal fantasies. The Troubles began 350 years ago, when Haven was founded, and have been occurring ever since. In some cases, The Troubled can be treated or controlled, if not cured, through medication, temporary confinement, a job change, or other means.



Supernatural's John Winchester, monster hunter, records information about his prey in a journal that had previously belonged to his father, Henry. After John's death, his sons, Dean and Sam, whom he trained to follow his own unusual occupation, use the journal as a guide. Not only does the journal contain myriad entries concerning particular demons, monsters, ghosts, and other supernatural entities, but it also provides information concerning Azazel, a powerful demon to whose defeat John had dedicated his life. After season nine, the journal is used only infrequently, although it remains a resource throughout the series and is employed once more in season thirteen, as Dean and Sam seek information about the Hell Gate and the Princes of Hell. 

Each of these plot generators has several elements in common with the others, suggesting those that any such device should be or include:
  • the facilitation of encounters with a variety of paranormal and/or supernatural entities or forces
  • a source of conflict between the protagonists and antagonists
  • information concerning the paranormal and/or supernatural threats the protagonists encountering, including, in some cases, the means for overcoming them
  • a history that predates the plot generator itself and often includes previous protagonists who used or were affected by the device
  • the opportunity for the plot generator itself to become the subject of a book published by the permission of the show's creator, producer, production company, owner, or other authorized authority, as in the case of Supernatural: John Winchester's Journal.
For novelists or short story writers who are interested in developing a series of related sequels, the creation and use of a plot generator is an effective, imaginative way to accomplish this goal.


 

Paranormal vs. Supernatural: What’s the Diff?

Copyright 2009 by Gary L. Pullman

Sometimes, in demonstrating how to brainstorm about an essay topic, selecting horror movies, I ask students to name the titles of as many such movies as spring to mind (seldom a difficult feat for them, as the genre remains quite popular among young adults). Then, I ask them to identify the monster, or threat--the antagonist, to use the proper terminology--that appears in each of the films they have named. Again, this is usually a quick and easy task. Finally, I ask them to group the films’ adversaries into one of three possible categories: natural, paranormal, or supernatural. This is where the fun begins.

It’s a simple enough matter, usually, to identify the threats which fall under the “natural” label, especially after I supply my students with the scientific definition of “nature”: everything that exists as either matter or energy (which are, of course, the same thing, in different forms--in other words, the universe itself. The supernatural is anything which falls outside, or is beyond, the universe: God, angels, demons, and the like, if they exist. Mad scientists, mutant cannibals (and just plain cannibals), serial killers, and such are examples of natural threats. So far, so simple.

What about borderline creatures, though? Are vampires, werewolves, and zombies, for example, natural or supernatural? And what about Freddy Krueger? In fact, what does the word “paranormal” mean, anyway? If the universe is nature and anything outside or beyond the universe is supernatural, where does the paranormal fit into the scheme of things?

According to the Online Etymology Dictionary, the word “paranormal,” formed of the prefix “para,” meaning alongside, and “normal,” meaning “conforming to common standards, usual,” was coined in 1920. The American Heritage Dictionary defines “paranormal” to mean “beyond the range of normal experience or scientific explanation.” In other words, the paranormal is not supernatural--it is not outside or beyond the universe; it is natural, but, at the present, at least, inexplicable, which is to say that science cannot yet explain its nature. The same dictionary offers, as examples of paranormal phenomena, telepathy and “a medium’s paranormal powers.”

Wikipedia offers a few other examples of such phenomena or of paranormal sciences, including the percentages of the American population which, according to a Gallup poll, believes in each phenomenon, shown here in parentheses: psychic or spiritual healing (54), extrasensory perception (ESP) (50), ghosts (42), demons (41), extraterrestrials (33), clairvoyance and prophecy (32), communication with the dead (28), astrology (28), witchcraft (26), reincarnation (25), and channeling (15); 36 percent believe in telepathy.

As can be seen from this list, which includes demons, ghosts, and witches along with psychics and extraterrestrials, there is a confusion as to which phenomena and which individuals belong to the paranormal and which belong to the supernatural categories. This confusion, I believe, results from the scientism of our age, which makes it fashionable for people who fancy themselves intelligent and educated to dismiss whatever cannot be explained scientifically or, if such phenomena cannot be entirely rejected, to classify them as as-yet inexplicable natural phenomena. That way, the existence of a supernatural realm need not be admitted or even entertained. Scientists tend to be materialists, believing that the real consists only of the twofold unity of matter and energy, not dualists who believe that there is both the material (matter and energy) and the spiritual, or supernatural. If so, everything that was once regarded as having been supernatural will be regarded (if it cannot be dismissed) as paranormal and, maybe, if and when it is explained by science, as natural. Indeed, Sigmund Freud sought to explain even God as but a natural--and in Freud’s opinion, an obsolete--phenomenon.

Meanwhile, among skeptics, there is an ongoing campaign to eliminate the paranormal by explaining them as products of ignorance, misunderstanding, or deceit. Ridicule is also a tactic that skeptics sometimes employ in this campaign. For example, The Skeptics’ Dictionary contends that the perception of some “events” as being of a paranormal nature may be attributed to “ignorance or magical thinking.” The dictionary is equally suspicious of each individual phenomenon or “paranormal science” as well. Concerning psychics’ alleged ability to discern future events, for example, The Skeptic’s Dictionary quotes Jay Leno (“How come you never see a headline like 'Psychic Wins Lottery'?”), following with a number of similar observations:

Psychics don't rely on psychics to warn them of impending disasters. Psychics don't predict their own deaths or diseases. They go to the dentist like the rest of us. They're as surprised and disturbed as the rest of us when they have to call a plumber or an electrician to fix some defect at home. Their planes are delayed without their being able to anticipate the delays. If they want to know something about Abraham Lincoln, they go to the library; they don't try to talk to Abe's spirit. In short, psychics live by the known laws of nature except when they are playing the psychic game with people.
In An Encyclopedia of Claims, Frauds, and Hoaxes of the Occult and Supernatural, James Randi, a magician who exercises a skeptical attitude toward all things alleged to be paranormal or supernatural, takes issue with the notion of such phenomena as well, often employing the same arguments and rhetorical strategies as The Skeptic’s Dictionary.

In short, the difference between the paranormal and the supernatural lies in whether one is a materialist, believing in only the existence of matter and energy, or a dualist, believing in the existence of both matter and energy and spirit. If one maintains a belief in the reality of the spiritual, he or she will classify such entities as angels, demons, ghosts, gods, vampires, and other threats of a spiritual nature as supernatural, rather than paranormal, phenomena. He or she may also include witches (because, although they are human, they are empowered by the devil, who is himself a supernatural entity) and other natural threats that are energized, so to speak, by a power that transcends nature and is, as such, outside or beyond the universe. Otherwise, one is likely to reject the supernatural as a category altogether, identifying every inexplicable phenomenon as paranormal, whether it is dark matter or a teenage werewolf. Indeed, some scientists dedicate at least part of their time to debunking allegedly paranormal phenomena, explaining what natural conditions or processes may explain them, as the author of The Serpent and the Rainbow explains the creation of zombies by voodoo priests.

Based upon my recent reading of Tzvetan Todorov's The Fantastic: A Structural Approach to the Fantastic, I add the following addendum to this essay.

According to Todorov:

The fantastic. . . lasts only as long as a certain hesitation [in deciding] whether or not what they [the reader and the protagonist] perceive derives from "reality" as it exists in the common opinion. . . . If he [the reader] decides that the laws of reality remain intact and permit an explanation of the phenomena described, we can say that the work belongs to the another genre [than the fantastic]: the uncanny. If, on the contrary, he decides that new laws of nature must be entertained to account for the phenomena, we enter the genre of the marvelous (The Fantastic: A Structural Approach to a Literary Genre, 41).
Todorov further differentiates these two categories by characterizing the uncanny as “the supernatural explained” and the marvelous as “the supernatural accepted” (41-42).

Interestingly, the prejudice against even the possibility of the supernatural’s existence which is implicit in the designation of natural versus paranormal phenomena, which excludes any consideration of the supernatural, suggests that there are no marvelous phenomena; instead, there can be only the uncanny. Consequently, for those who subscribe to this view, the fantastic itself no longer exists in this scheme, for the fantastic depends, as Todorov points out, upon the tension of indecision concerning to which category an incident belongs, the natural or the supernatural. The paranormal is understood, by those who posit it, in lieu of the supernatural, as the natural as yet unexplained.

And now, back to a fate worse than death: grading students’ papers.

My Cup of Blood

Anyone who becomes an aficionado of anything tends, eventually, to develop criteria for elements or features of the person, place, or thing of whom or which he or she has become enamored. Horror fiction--admittedly not everyone’s cuppa blood--is no different (okay, maybe it’s a little different): it, too, appeals to different fans, each for reasons of his or her own. Of course, in general, book reviews, the flyleaves of novels, and movie trailers suggest what many, maybe even most, readers of a particular type of fiction enjoy, but, right here, right now, I’m talking more specifically--one might say, even more eccentrically. In other words, I’m talking what I happen to like, without assuming (assuming makes an “ass” of “u” and “me”) that you also like the same. It’s entirely possible that you will; on the other hand, it’s entirely likely that you won’t.

Anyway, this is what I happen to like in horror fiction:

Small-town settings in which I get to know the townspeople, both the good, the bad, and the ugly. For this reason alone, I’m a sucker for most of Stephen King’s novels. Most of them, from 'Salem's Lot to Under the Dome, are set in small towns that are peopled by the good, the bad, and the ugly. Part of the appeal here, granted, is the sense of community that such settings entail.

Isolated settings, such as caves, desert wastelands, islands, mountaintops, space, swamps, where characters are cut off from civilization and culture and must survive and thrive or die on their own, without assistance, by their wits and other personal resources. Many are the examples of such novels and screenplays, but Alien, The Shining, The Descent, Desperation, and The Island of Dr. Moreau, are some of the ones that come readily to mind.

Total institutions as settings. Camps, hospitals, military installations, nursing homes, prisons, resorts, spaceships, and other worlds unto themselves are examples of such settings, and Sleepaway Camp, Coma, The Green Mile, and Aliens are some of the novels or films that take place in such settings.

Anecdotal scenes--in other words, short scenes that showcase a character--usually, an unusual, even eccentric, character. Both Dean Koontz and the dynamic duo, Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child, excel at this, so I keep reading their series (although Koontz’s canine companions frequently--indeed, almost always--annoy, as does his relentless optimism).

Atmosphere, mood, and tone. Here, King is king, but so is Bentley Little. In the use of description to terrorize and horrify, both are masters of the craft.

A bit of erotica (okay, okay, sex--are you satisfied?), often of the unusual variety. Sex sells, and, yes, sex whets my reader’s appetite. Bentley Little is the go-to guy for this spicy ingredient, although Koontz has done a bit of seasoning with this spice, too, in such novels as Lightning and Demon Seed (and, some say, Hung).

Believable characters. Stephen King, Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child, and Dan Simmons are great at creating characters that stick to readers’ ribs.

Innovation. Bram Stoker demonstrates it, especially in his short story “Dracula’s Guest,” as does H. P. Lovecraft, Edgar Allan Poe, Shirley Jackson, and a host of other, mostly classical, horror novelists and short story writers. For an example, check out my post on Stoker’s story, which is a real stoker, to be sure. Stephen King shows innovation, too, in ‘Salem’s Lot, The Shining, It, and other novels. One might even argue that Dean Koontz’s something-for-everyone, cross-genre writing is innovative; he seems to have been one of the first, if not the first, to pen such tales.

Technique. Check out Frank Peretti’s use of maps and his allusions to the senses in Monster; my post on this very topic is worth a look, if I do say so myself, which, of course, I do. Opening chapters that accomplish a multitude of narrative purposes (not usually all at once, but successively) are attractive, too, and Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child are as good as anyone, and better than many, at this art.

A connective universe--a mythos, if you will, such as both H. P. Lovecraft and Stephen King, and, to a lesser extent, Dean Koontz, Bentley Little, and even Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child have created through the use of recurring settings, characters, themes, and other elements of fiction.

A lack of pretentiousness. Dean Koontz has it, as do Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child, Bentley Little, and (to some extent, although he has become condescending and self-indulgent of late, Stephen King); unfortunately, both Dan Simmons and Robert McCammon have become too self-important in their later works, Simmons almost to the point of becoming unreadable. Come on, people, you’re writing about monsters--you should be humble.

Longevity. Writers who have been around for a while usually get better, Stephen King, Dan Simmons, and Robert McCammon excepted.

Pacing. Neither too fast nor too slow. Dean Koontz is good, maybe the best, here, of contemporary horror writers.


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