The Surprise Payoff

-or-

Will the Circle of Being Be Unbroken?

A while back I saw 3:10 to Yuma. I tell you, if I'd participated in the making of this film, I would be very upset that it was nominated for a mere two Oscars (original score and sound mixing). You kidding me? This is easily one of the best films of 2007.

And here's the part that knocked my socks off: the protagonist, Dan (Christian Bale), offers up a third-act payoff to his back story that changes how the entire climax plays out... and yet it's a payoff we never saw coming. Never knew we needed until it was right there in front of us.

Got your 3-D Spoiler Glasses on?

Several times as Dan is trying to get Ben Wade (Russell Crowe) onto that 3:10 train to prison, we hear about Dan's wartime injury. There's clearly a sense of shame for Dan regarding the loss of his leg, but the cause for the shame seems self-evident: he was injured in the war and now feels like less of a man. Less able to care for his family now that he's home. We don't question Dan's back story or his shame at all -- it's simply what makes him so determined now to succeed.

It's not until Ben has Dan in a stranglehold that Dan volunteers the truth: in fact, his wartime injury is the result of fellow soldiers shooting at him as he tried to desert.

Talk about shame! Now it all becomes clear: Dan's determination is completely about redeeming himself, particularly in front of his son. It's not something he's choosing to do; it's something he must do.

Ben, upon hearing the story, allows himself to be shepherded to the train. Of course, it's a classic Western, so not everyone makes it to their happy ending... but Dan's story comes full circle as he's able to prove himself worthy in the eyes of his son.

A payoff we didn't even know we needed until it was right there upon us. Wow.

Problems: Part of the Solution

Rewatching Serenity the other night, I was struck by how many things I could blog about. The opening covers so much backstory, yet moves fast and is fun to watch. Our first moments with Serenity's crew (for those who were tragically unfamiliar with Firefly) offer mini-conflicts, getting exposition out without it feeling ham-handed. And there's wonderful moments of subtext in the movie. After the climax, Captain Mal asks Zoe, his right-hand woman who saw her husband die, about the damage to the ship. Her words: "She's torn up plenty, but she'll fly true." Yow.

There was one aspect of the story, though, that I really took note of this time, and that felt like something I've never written about. Which is the idea that everything -- problems as well as their solutions in the story -- is organic and connected. Two examples:

The Solution is Also the Problem

Mal and the Serenity crew have discovered a tragic conspiracy that effectively amounts to genocide on at least one "outer rim" planet. The only way they can get the word out is through Mr. Universe -- the hacker of all hackers, who can show the incriminating video footage on millions of screens across the 'verse simultaneously. When Mal finally gets to Mr. Universe, he's been preemptively killed by the Alliance, and his massive computer network destroyed. In his dying moments, though, Mr. Universe programmed his wife-bot with a message for Mal: instructions to the hidden backup system. This is excellent news -- Mal may still be able to get evidence of the conspiracy out there...

...but unfortunately, the wife-bot was programmed to begin relaying her message when someone walks into the room... not just Mal. Shortly after Mal has heard this crucial bit of information, the villain hot on his tail walks into the same room. And hears the same message.

The solution for Mal also created a problem for him. And thank God, because without this problem, there wouldn't have been much of a climax for the movie.

The Problem is Also the Solution

In this world, the most feared creatures of all are Reavers: humans who have mutated into chaos and madness -- raping, killing, and cannibalizing anyone in their path (and, to paraphrase a famous line from the series, hopefully in that order). When they're on their way to Mr. Universe to make the conspiracy public, Mal and his crew know dozens of Alliance ships are standing guard, waiting to blow them away. They're ridiculously outnumbered. So, moving through Reaver territory, they attack a Reaver ship and draw the attention of dozens if not hundreds of Reaver vessels... and proceed to speed toward the awaiting Alliance ships. The ensuing battle allows Serenity to make it to their destination. (The battle is extra-sweet symbolically, considering we've just learned that the Alliance conspiracy is directly responsible for the manifestation of Reavers to begin with.)

Mal basically took one problem (Reavers) and threw it in the face of another (the Alliance).

I'm thinking, when we're looking for a solution to a problem in our script, our first stop should be to look at what's already there.

Payoffs That Go Pfffffft

By now it's clear that I really care about setups 'n' payoffs. When they feel natural, or surprising (or the movie's having fun with them, as in the case of that last post) they elevate the movie into magical territory. You feel you can just relax and let the story do what it's going to do, because hey, the story knows best.

And then there's the problematic payoff. The payoff that's so forced you're ripped out of the experience and are suddenly sitting in the theatre saying Oh, right. That pays off that earlier moment. I see what you did there...

...or worse, you're reminded that what you're seeing is a payoff for an earlier setup. Such was the case in The Golden Compass.

I don't want to get into too big a debate about this movie. I'm a huge fan of Philip Pullman's books, and of Chris Weitz, too... just not together, I guess. But let me say this one small thing: never, ever, foreshadow a payoff! There's a moment in Compass in which Lyra asks Pan if he remembers 'that thing Mrs. Coulter said about the king of the ice bears' -- how the bear wishes he were human. We then proceed to see Lyra make a plan based on this information.

Don't know about you, but when she says that, my instinct is -- You ought to remember it, that was a mere half an hour ago!

Because here's the problem: time is passing for the characters. They're on a journey, maybe even a long one. Me? I just saw that scene! Let her act on the information rather than talking about it. I'd argue the scene in which Lyra proposes she becomes the king's daemon would have been far better without the preamble.

Even if you're worried about kids in the audience forgetting, for crying out loud, just show us the bear king's foible. Don't have the character say it out loud. If you just show us, and we see Lyra act on the information, we'll feel smart, remembering the information spoken aloud earlier. If you just tell us a payoff is coming, we'll sit there and watch your cool CG polar bear while planning what to have for dinner.

Pleasure of the Payoff

Finally saw half of the Grindhouse release: Planet Terror. What an interesting viewing experience-- it's both totally distancing (Can one really care about these silly characters, and what's happening to them?) as well as completely engaging (There's zombies at the door!).

Probably the most interesting thing for me, though, is the care given to the payoff in this film. I mean everything is a callback to a line of dialogue earlier in the film. From El Wray's "I never miss" to Cherry Darling's "Useless talent #32", the film seems determined to see just how many setups and payoffs it can squeeze in. It almost becomes a game-- we're waiting to hear the next payoff line.

And the real kicker is, the payoffs still satisfy. They're still fun, and they still give you that little pleasure-thrill at having connected something now to something earlier. That's the power of payoffs. It's like the love of the payoff is in our DNA.

Many of us shy away from them, feeling they're too writerly or cutesy. Maybe we shouldn't be so shy after all...