Michael Arndt: “Beginnings: Setting a Story Into Motion” (Part 1)

I have been a big fan of screenwriter Michael Arndt ever since I read his script Little Miss Sunshine, then saw the movie. And, of course, there’s Toy Story 3 which Arndt penned. My admiration goes beyond his writing, it extends to how Arndt thinks about writing as clearly he has done a great deal of reflection about the craft. Fortunately for us, he has gone public with at least some of those thoughts. I have featured his ruminations multiple times through years including here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, and here. So I was interested to see this recent blog post by John August referencing this video:

In his post, John wrote this:

When I saw this video, I immediately wondered what it was from. It’s clearly professionally made, so why is it on some random guy’s YouTube account?

I emailed Michael Arndt, who wrote back that it was originally a bonus feature on the Blu-ray for Toy Story 3. He gave me his blessing to link to it.

I’m aware the model I set up here applies imperfectly to TS3 itself. (It applies much more cleanly [for example] to TOOTSIE, which I consider one of the best comedy first acts of all time.) The broader point is that the emotional fuel for your first act break is largely set up in your inciting incident — and that is something that does apply to TS3.

Disney and/or Pixar own the copyright on the video, so they could pull it down. But I hope they won’t. This kind of lesson celebrates what’s made their films so successful, and deserves wider exposure.

Knowing the whims of the Internet gods, I forwarded the link to the video to my stalwart development assistant Wendy Cohen and she was kind enough to produce a transcript, so we would at least have Arndt’s words down in print in case the video got yanked.

While I encourage you to watch the video — which is great — I want to dig deeper into the content of what Arndt says. So I will divide his observations into two parts, the first part today, second tomorrow, then follow with some reflections and open it up for discussion. Here is a transcript of the first half of the video:

The number one metaphor I have in my mind for writing a screenplay is that you’re trying to climb a mountain blindfolded. And the funny thing about that is, you think, “Okay, that’s hard because you’re climbing up a rock face, and you don’t know where you’re going, and you don’t know where the top is, you can’t see what’s below you.” But actually, the hardest part about climbing a mountain blindfolded is just finding the mountain.

Hey everybody, I’m Michael Arndt, the screenwriter of “Toy Story 3.” Now, at Pixar, there’s a lot of people who contribute ideas to the story, but I’m the guy who actually has to sit down and type them into a computer. So when we started working on “Toy Story 3,” we had a hard time getting the story set up in the right way. And I think this is a common problem in screenwriting. A lot of times when a film doesn’t work, it seems like the problem is with the ending. But in fact, the seeds of failure have been planted at the beginning.

So, on “Toy Story 3” after several months of some floundering around and going in circles, I finally decided to go back and look at “Toy Story,” and “Finding Nemo,” and “The Incredibles” and figure out, “How do they set up their characters, and their worlds, and their stories?”

So, this is something I learned at Pixar: how to write a good beginning. Usually a script is about 100 pages long with three acts. And the first act is about 25 pages long, the second act is about 50 pages, and the third act is the last 25. Now, you start your first act by setting up your hero in his or her world. And by page 25, you’ve given your hero a goal and set them off on the journey that they’ll take in the second act. So let’s begin at the beginning, page one, introducing your main character. So, usually what you do when you’re introducing your main character is you show them doing the thing they love most. This is their grand passion, it’s their defining trait, it’s the center of their whole universe. So, in Woody’s case, he’s introduced playing with Andy. And that’s his favorite thing. That’s the thing that defines who he is as a person. With Marlin, Marlin’s a family man. He’s just moved into a new house with his wife, they have a whole new brood of little eggs and he couldn’t be happier. And then with “The Incredibles” you introduce Mr. Incredible being a superhero. So you start with your main character, you introduce the universe they live in, and you show your hero doing the thing they love to do most.

But then your character needs one more thing: she needs a flaw. Now, what’s key here is that your character’s flaw actually comes out of her grand passion. It’s a good thing that’s just been taken too far. So in Woody’s case, he takes pride in being Andy’s favorite toy. He loves being Andy’s favorite toy so much and he doesn’t want to share that with anyone. In the case of “Finding Nemo,” Marlin wants so badly to be a good parent that he’s a little bit insecure. With “The Incredibles,” Mr. Incredible’s a little bit like Woody in that he takes pride in his place of being Mr. Number One, and he doesn’t want to share that with anyone. Like you see when he bumps into Buddy. And you see it again when he bumps into Elastigirl on the roof. So you establish a character, you establish the world they live in, you establish the grand passion that they’re defined by, and you establish a hidden flaw that comes out of this grand passion. And then you want to establish storm clouds on the horizon, which is your character’s walking down the road of life, it’s a nice, bright sunny day, but off there on the horizon there’s some dark storm clouds gathering. So in the case of “Toy Story,” it’s Andy’s birthday party. And all the toys are fretting about being replaced and Woody has to say, “No one’s getting replaced.” And with “Finding Nemo,” you set up the fact that there’s an indoors inside the anemone where they’re safe, and there’s an outdoors, the rest of the ocean, which is implicitly dangerous. And then for “The Incredibles” Helen is saying to Bob, “Things are going to change after we get married,” and then you have Buddy showing up and being jealous of Mr. Incredible. So you’re establishing that there’s a resentment out there from normal people against superheroes and you’re establishing Helen saying to Bob, “Look, things are gonna change.”

Some observations:

* “A lot of times when a film doesn’t work, it seems like the problem is with the ending. But in fact, the seeds of failure have been planted at the beginning.” Reminds me of Billy Wilder’s quote:

“If you have a problem with the third act, the real problem is in the first act.”

I doubt there’s a professional screenwriter alive who would argue with this point.

* For those supposed screenwriting gurus who decry three act structure, here is yet again another professional screenwriter who subscribes to the theory. If it was good enough for Aristotle and Joseph Campbell (Separation / Initiation / Return), it’s good enough for most of us.

* Speaking of Campbell, he would refer to this first part of a story as setting up the Old World or Ordinary World. As Arndt says, “you start your first act by setting up your hero in his or her world.” This is critical to establish a baseline of understanding where the Protagonist begins their adventure. You cannot measure their metamorphosis if you don’t know where they start out.

* Arndt adds this: “And by page 25, you’ve given your hero a goal and set them off on the journey that they’ll take in the second act.” The Protagonist’s goal not only creates an end point for the plot, it also — per Arndt’s language — generates External Stakes. The goal is important to the Protagonist. Not achieving that goal would be a significant blow or sense of loss. Hence, stakes. Hence, drama.

The most interesting idea here is this: “So, usually what you do when you’re introducing your main character is you show them doing the thing they love most. This is their grand passion, it’s their defining trait, it’s the center of their whole universe.” If you think this pertains only to Pixar movies, how about this:

Meet Charles Foster Kane as a youth, having a wonderful time in the snowy climes of Colorado. Couldn’t be happier. Then yanked away to live in New York City. Never happy again. Indeed, always — at least subconsciously — attempting to make up for the loss of his idyllic childhood home which is, of course, where Rosebud comes in.

While we’re on the subject of beginnings, let me toss out this idea: The story’s ending is implied in its beginning. I call it the narrative imperative. When you reach the ending of a story and it feels emotionally satisfying, that means it has been set up well in the beginning.

We shall continue with Arndt’s musings tomorrow in Part 2, but let’s carry over this conversation to comments (click on Reply). What do you think of this idea: As part of a Protagonist’s setup, show them reveling in their “grand passion”.

Michael Arndt’s IMDB page here.

Follow John August’s blog here.

Follow John and Craig Mazin’s podcast Scriptnotes here.

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