Structure, Structure, Structure? Where Art Thou? (Part 2)

This entry is part 2 of 2 in the series Structure:

House Of Gucci

The movie of Patrizia Reggiani (Lady Gaga) who married Maurizio Gucci (Adam Driver) and then was convicted of his murder is also a seemingly schizophrenic one.

In one half you have this storybook romance between Patrizia and Maurizio and the growth of Gucci as a brand; then around midpoint things turn very, very dark as affairs, power grabs, and ego unchecked begin to insert themselves into the narrative.

I can see both sides of an argument that says this could have been a much quicker setup to the main story of the relationship and murder. There are plenty of hints of the darkness that comes in the second half of the film and this fall from grace is appropriately covered. The movie foreshadows the anguish Patrizia Reggiani feels as Maurizio begins to pull away from her as she becomes more manipulative with the family fortunes and he then begins a playboy lifestyle. They both change dramatically and because they’re our focal characters we feel that change as a shift in tone. We’re not liking them as much as we did. It would be like an episode of Mister Rogers where the titular character suddenly lit a cigarette and poured two fingers of scotch.

I liked the way House of Gucci was told; it felt right. Power (ego) corrupts and absolute power (ego) corrupts absolutely. Intent. What was the filmmakers’ intent?  That’s always the key to analyzing where the structure of a film works or doesn’t. The story of greed and ego is a familiar one going back tens of thousands of years. It’s human frailty at its most basic. As such, it worked extremely well to tell this true story.

Nightmare Alley

Now here’s a film that’s a visual and tonal masterpiece as befits Guillermo del Toro. It’s moody, atmospheric, at times grotesque. There isn’t a moment in this movie that doesn’t move you to feeling some dread. But it’s two films in relation to a more traditional structure almost certainly.

Well…maybe.

Bradley Cooper’s character is who we follow and he seems to be the one who changes most going from a hapless drifter to someone who bilks hopeless folk from thousands of dollars using a mentalist act that is all cynical theater. Initially, when you experience this new him it seems he’s changed dramatically from the thoughtful, innocent and naive carny he is in the first half of the movie. In New York he’s rude and abusive to his partner and love, Rooney Mara’s character. He pulls on the trappings of high society where previously he wore dungarees and rough shirts and golly-gee-wizzed his way around the carnival. He’s mesmerized by the sophisticated Cate Blanchett, quickly falling into an illicit affair with her and using her connections to cheat a higher level of clientele. Quite a change in both the character and the tone of the movie.

But, and this is again key to understanding structure and tonal shifts: this character is not the man we thought he was. I won’t spoil it, but be sure to watch to the end (not that you wouldn’t) because in true film noir fashion there’s much more than meets the eye here in more ways than one.

Lucy

Being The Ricardos shows a way to tell both a lengthy (and potentially slow) biographical tale and one that won’t jerk your audience out of the mood of the film if it shifts.

Aaron Sorkin has done this on several of his last movies. He tells the story from three perspectives:

1. “Interviews” with the writers who once worked on the show, a faux cinema verité if you will,
2. A “present day” (main) story about the worst week in the lives of Lucy (Nicole Kidman), Desi (Javier Bardem), and the show,
3. And finally interspersing both with flashbacks that weave in and out to give background material.

This has the effect of creating great pacing and increasing interest. I wouldn’t want all of the movies I watch done this way, but it is effective technique and Sorkin uses it a lot. Steve Jobs, The Trial of the Chicago 7, Molly’s Game, and The Social Network to name a few of Sorkin’s latest films use this storytelling technique.

Before we grow tired of one timeline, the storytelling shifts and we’re back with Lucy or Desi when they were just starting out, segments that interweave to form a compelling and complete story.

Lucy and Desi’s story in Being the Ricardos is complete, taking us back to her early days as an RKO contract actress and meeting Desi for the first time. But instead of a straight ahead “this happens then this happens” biopic Sorkin focuses the main narrative thread on one fateful week of production of I Love Lucy, the show already a hit and with everyone involved already a celebrity, with punch-ins of who they were before they became the biggest stars of the nascent business of TV sitcoms and how they met and fell in love.

Sorkin, to use a cliché phrase, has his cake and eats it too. We get the engaging, “juicy bits” up front to engage us and then, once we’re involved and interested, the parts of the story that round out the narrative are presented in Sorkin’s compelling style that in and of itself alone could have riveted me to the screen.

Conclusion

No matter what people say about structure, some form of it must be utilized. Anyone who says they don’t use structure is deluded. It’s essential to every form of writing. It’s up to us as students of the craft of scriptwriting to understand how and why movies are successful especially with standard structure but also odd or non-standard structure; or if not, why not.

There’s absolutely nothing wrong with the basic Act I, II, III; many brilliant films and TV episodes are still being written using them. But if the structure of something we’re watching isn’t the one we’re used to seeing, trying to parse the filmmaker’s intent and subsequent delivery is a key to beginning to understand some of the different ways of telling a story that perhaps you could use.

As my many teachers have told me over the years: learn the rules first, to then break the rules.