Last week I went and saw Salt. Wow. The movie started with a bang and was off to the races with lots of great action. Unlike many action films where the characters perform stunts which are simply too hokey for me to buy into, I found myself believing in all but two of Salt’s. So I was wowed most of the time instead of thinking about whether they were using wires or what or that it was all so wrong and geeze don’t these guys have consultants? They weren’t as stunning as the opening of Casino Royale, but what is?
But it wasn’t just action. The premise and acting were all great as well (yes, I recant, I slammed Jolie a while back as an actress cast only for her face value; and while you know that’s one of the reasons why she was here, she still was convincing in her role). Furthermore, the story had a lot of great reversals and reveals. But this was also its ultimate downfall.
When I got to the ending, I did not feel a climax release. No catharsis. No afterglow. It just ended and left me feeling empty. It’s an awful feeling. Totally unsatisfactory. Such a maddening cut off.
But why? It was all so good up to that point.
*** SPOILERS ***
As I was talking it over with Nellie I believe I indentified the answer: in their effort to be surprising, the director and writers removed everything that would have built suspense. So instead of getting a Sixth Sense ending where the surprise adds to the climax and gives it a wonderful texture, we got a slap of surpise and then nothing.
For me to feel relief, triumph, and the desire to stand up and cheer–all those great climax emotions–I have to be worried about a character. Stressed, thinking they’re going to fail. They need to fight courageously against insurmountable odds and actually come to a point where it appears all is lost. Where I groan inside. All this creates massive pent up worry and anxiety for them. And at that point, the character snatches victory from the jaws of defeat.
Boom! The climax floods me and it’s delight, relief, cheer, joy.
It’s just like a football game where we bite our nails until the very end. Where our non-ranked team is playing the #3 team in the nation. Maybe we jump ahead in the second quarter, but in the third we fall behind. We make some great plays but can’t catch up. And when we do put points on the board, the other team immediately responds. There are three seconds left. We’ve stalled at the twenty yard line. We have one more play. From the moment it starts it appears to be broken, our QB is going down, and then . . . he passes to a running back who has made some space. Who is standing open in the end zone! Yeeeeeaaaaaaahhhhhh!
In order to feel a release a climax, something has to build up. The thing that builds is worry, fret, desperate hope. This is what we mean when we talk about suspense. We know the team’s goal, see their predicament, see the overwhelming odds. See them about to lose it all. The dread of defeat and what will be lost rises.
But in Salt the director and writers went for the effect of surprise instead of suspense and triumph. The moment Salt starts in on the Russian president I thought she was the bad guy. Yes, there was the bit about the spider that had me wondering. Yes, I knew she felt anguish about her husband being killed (that smart little reveal in her expression). I knew all of that. But the movie kept me busy thinking she was the bad guy up until almost the very end. Everything in the film lead me to believe this. Not because I didn’t get it. I got it precisely. It’s exactly what the director wanted. It was the setup for the big surprise/reversal at the end.
But when they went for surprise by not letting the audience know what Salt was really up to, the immediately removed the possibility of suspense. So I didn’t feel any suspense at her infiltrating the old group of spies. No relief at her killing them–that was just her revenge. No suspsense when she went to the White House. Nothing when she chased the president down the elevator shaft. The whole time I was thinking, crap, they really did indoctrinate her. She’s bad.
More importantly, there was no rooting, no worry building to release proportions.
Not until the very end do we realize what she’s been trying to do. Oh, the role reversal with her and Ted Winter (btw, like Liev Schreiber who plays the part) was all a big surprise, as it was designed to be. But the surprise faded and there was . . . nothing to replace it. That’s how surprise works. It’s a relatively short effect.
Yes, she kills Winter. Yes, he was a threat at the end with his scissors, but I didn’t care that much. I hadn’t been whipped into a fever pitch. Not like I was in Gladiator with the emperor and the lead in the coliseum. There was no pressurized worry ready to burst. There wasn’t any because we hadn’t had any time for it to build and because by that time nothing for Salt was really at stake. The one meaningful thing she stood to loose–her relationship with her husband–was taken away from us in an earlier scene when he was shot dead. So what was at stake? A big old nuclear war. Well, who cares about that? Nobody. It’s too generalized. We cared about Salt and her husband.
The result was that the director and writers traded climax for surprise. Alas.
So here’s my conclusion. Surprise is a relatively easy effect to create. You simply have something unexpected but logical occur. Relief, triumph, climax needs something much different. And surprise can be a part of it. But in our effort to build surprise we must not remove the conditions necessary for please-dear-mother suspense. Suspense requires we root for and worry about a character for a significant period, our unease growing until it’s drawn taut, straining. All the time something significant has to be at stake. Something we can sympathize with. Something personal to the person we care about. Only then can we feel the climactic release. Only then will we stand up and cheer in holy-crap-no-way relief and delight.
(Amusingly, I had to look up what Glee was before remembering it’s only about the most popular TV show in the world right now…)
But my thinking is an antagonist is anyone who works against the protagonist in some way. But regarding the first point, I don’t think the antagonist needs to be stronger than the protagonist… Otherwise the antagonist would always succeed, yes? In many works of fiction the antagonist starts out stronger in some way, but through a series of events the protagonist becomes the stronger one in the end.
Regarding points two and three, I think the important thing is just to make sure the antagonist is an interesting, three-dimensional character just as the protagonist and secondary characters should be.
I take issue with number 3 on her list. Sometimes you just want to hate someone in the story. It’s hard to hate Sue, because we sometimes feel sympathy for her. In some stories, a sympathetic villain just doesn’t work.
Thanks for a very timely post. I’m finishing up the pre-draft stage on my next novel, and am working on my antagonist(s).
My take on Crusie’s list—these qualities increase reader empathy for the protagonist when the antagonist demonstrates them. To put it specifically, being stronger than the protagonist makes the hero more vulnerable, which increases our fear for them. Stopping at nothing, in essence being implacable, in order to achieve their goals, makes the antagonist more dangerous—thus more interesting for the reader, and again, ups the threat against the hero, increasing our concern over their fate. In terms of story, this comes down to making things harder on the character, which can complicate their attempts to resolve the story problem. All of this, for me at least, can lead to “stand up and cheer moments”—when the hero finally triumphs against the odds and defeats the antagonist, escapes the antagonist, or saves or converts the antagonist –a classic cinema example would be Luke saving Darth Vader at the end of Return of the Jedi. I don’t think the first is necessary—though it is important for the antagonist to at least be equal to the foe and probably superior at the start, since the hero is likely to grow in ability and knowledge, though the antagonist could as well
In Lord of the Rings Sauron possessed the first two attributes Crusie lists, but not the third, which, for me at least is crucial for deepening reader interest in the story and adding crucial believability. Plus Sauron largely lurked over the horizon, with various minions threatening our heroes. This made him less interesting.
Gollum, on the other hand, was a great antagonist. He was implacable in his desire for the ring. He wouldn’t quit. He was also vulnerable. We learn that he had been a hobbit who had been seduced by the ring and was now enslaved (and addicted) to it. Physically he was stronger than the ring weakened Frodo, and a fierce fighter (in his class ;-), but more than anything, he wouldn’t quit. There was a brief moment where it looked like he might be saved, but it was not to be.
In Dean Koontz’s The Good Guy (your earlier referencing of this novel lead to my reading it a few weeks ago) the assassin is very capable-at least the equal of our male hero, will definitely stop at nothing, but was only vulnerable in his supreme hubris. For me, at the end, he became unbelievable. An aside—while a simply crazy villain can be scary, I don’t find them nearly as interesting as one that has more depth—is vulnerable, and acting on understandable motives. Granted, Gollum was at least partially insane but he had moments of lucidity, and displayed weakness, scarring and vulnerabilities, which ‘humanized’ him.
A crucial element missing from Crusie’s list is the tendency for the antagonist to let the ends justify the means. In other words, they tend to feel that achieving a goal is more important than side consequences that result from their actions. It seems to me that this can be played off as a contrasting effect if the hero is forced to doing this (and, because they are the hero, they tend to regret and want to atone for the side consequences), or if the villain takes pains to use the right means but does it for the wrong reasons.
I don’t think that great antagonists have to demonstrate all three of Crusie’s attributes. There are also other attributes that can define the antagonist and increase reader interest and fears, such as letting the ends justify the means, being uncaring about consequences, making the conflict very personal (this one really ups my reader interest), etc.
I strongly suspect how crucial her three attributes are depends on the reader. I do think it’s necessary for the villain to be at least as capable as the hero. I disagree with her claim that the antagonist must be vastly more capable. The odds need to be long, at first, for the hero, to be sure, but being at least as capable or slightly more can be just as dramatically powerful as being vastly more capable. The antagonist stopping at nothing, being implacable in other words, is pretty important, and probably necessary. Finally, for me as a reader, showing vulnerability and thus humanizing the villain is important.
My conclusion is that these three are important, but that they are only three of several attributes antagonist can possess.
I want to thank you again, not just for this thought-provoking and personally timely article, but for all your writings on the craft of fiction. I’ve found them very insightful and quite helpful. In the past two years I’ve been studying the craft of fiction pretty intensely, and your focus on effecting the reader is proving very useful.
I also really enjoyed your appearances on Writing Excuses and look forward to reading my copy of “Servant of a Dark God.”
Love these responses.
Dale, thanks for taking the time to post that thoughtful and well-reasoned response. I like the point about means and ends. That’s a valuable insight. It’s in the same vein as Crusie’s #2, but provides it’s own possibilities. Nice. I also think the ideas about the relative strength of protagonist and antagonist are important. I think the more powerful the antagonist, the higher the possibility of failure in the reader’s mind. Where you set it, I agree, I don’t know if there’s an ideal location on the dial.
With regards to the last rule, I tend to agree with Ben and Dale, that it depends on reader taste and the type of story you’re writing. Alien worked, and the antagonist was not vulnerable. Still, her word choice of “vulnerable” is interesting. But I just don’t see all the stories I love having that, although some do, and it is a wonderful effect.
I guess I’m a little late to the party, but here’s my input.
I think that as with everything else, whether these rules apply or not depend on what you’re trying to do. If you want this type of antagonist, because it fits your story, then sure, go for it. But does every story need this type of antagonist? Certainly not. I guess that’s what you meant when you said, “You know what I think of rules and of form outside the context of function.”
So, to answer your questions . . .
What function or effect do these qualities have on the reader or on story elements that impact the reader?
* (1) She is much stronger than the protagonist she sets out to destroy,
Obviously, this sets our hero at a disadvantage and makes things hard. That’s rather important to conflict. If it’s too easy we lose interest. I think a key element here is “sets out to destroy.” Within the context of a story, a BIG antagonist isn’t just annoyed by the protagonist. The protagonist and the antagonist don’t just happen to pass into conflict. Rather, they directly butt heads. They are in direct opposition to each other, and are determined in foiling the other. No middle ground. Does this make for a strong antagonist? Why, yes it does.
*(2) She will stop at nothing to achieve her goal
This, too, increases tension. If we know that our bad guy will do anything, we are more likely to fear for the characters we love and want to win. The stakes are higher with a bad guy that is willing to do anything.
*(3) despite all that strength and implacability, she’s a vulnerable human being, not a cartoon.
To me, to ask if this is necessary for a great antagonist begs the following question: “What is a great antagonist?” I think there are some great antagonists that don’t seem to have a human side. So, the question is, why might you include this in your antagonist? I think this does a few things for the reader. First, it shows that things aren’t all black and white, and that when the bad guy loses, it’s sad to a degree. Second, it might put the nature of the outcome in question: if there is good in the bad guy, that increases the realm of possible endings; maybe the bad guy will turn; maybe the bad guy will relent; maybe there will be some twist in the end; maybe it won’t be absolute. I suppose there’s more this does, but as with everything, the question is: is making your antagonist more human going to accomplish what you want with your story? In the end, the net effect is that things are grayed a little bit. It’s one thing to defeat an inhumane monster, but another thing entirely to defeat a person who cares for homeless children in his spare time. If you wonder what this “human” characteristic does for an antagonist, consider how you felt about Hunger at various points in Servant of a Dark God: when he first attacked, when you learned more about his struggle, when he was defeated.
Do all great antagonists exhibit these three qualities?
No. But certain types of memorable antagonists do. However, the same can be said about any list that describes an antagonist.
If not, are any of these critical for antagonists?
For certain types of stories, sure.
What’s your conclusion about these three rules?
They’re useful to build a certain type of antagonist. Tuck it away for future reference.
I think maybe for my next book, I will start with a bid bad antagonist, and build from there. Seems like I usually build from the protagonist’s side, but it might be interesting to start from the bad guy’s side, and build a protagonist that will grow enough to defeat the antagonist by the end.
We’re never late here because we’re running on John Brown time 🙂
Great stuff, Hezekiah. I agree with what you’ve written. With regards to your last thought, I know with all my novels, because the villain is the force behind the external problem, I have to think about it from the villain’s pov.
What’s the situation?
What does she know?
What’s his/her goal?
What’s her plan for accomplishing that?
How far along is she when the hero gets involved?
Then boom, my hero runs headlong into this and begins to react and form his own plans.
Is that what you’re talking about?