1 An Exploration of Parallel Narrative - Jasmine Roth

Life is Messy:
An Exploration of Parallel Narrative
Jasmine Roth
Bachelor of Communication (Media)
Submitted in partial fulfilment of the requirements of the Bachelor of

Communication (Media) (Honours)
Supervised by Christine Rogers

RMIT University
School of Media and Communication
Submitted 29 October 2010
Statement of Authorship
I, Jasmine Roth, hereby certify that this exegsis contains no material which
has been accepted for the award of any other degree or diploma in any tertiary
institution, and that, to the best of my knowledge and belief, contains no
material previously published or written by another person, except where due
reference is made in the text of this thesis.
Jasmine Roth
29 October 2010
Acknowledgements
There are a number of people who played a part in shaping my honours work,
and without whom I could not have survived through this year. I would like to
thank them and acknowledge their contribution to this project.
I would like to thank my very close friends and fellow writers Clair Humphreys
and Chris McCoy for their ongoing interest in my project and their ever-insightful
suggestions. Thankyou to my wonderful friend Karin Christensen who gave up
huge amounts of her time to help me with other endeavours this year, and for
always wanting to talk about film. To all those friends who listened patiently to
my passionate rants about parallel narrative, thank you too.
Having a great honours class has made this year that much more enjoyable. I
would especially like to thank Daniel OFarrell for very helpfully providing me
with articles and films to point my research in the right direction, and for his
outstanding proof-reading abilities. James Thompson, too, has been a refreshing
source of ideas, with his wacky suggestions and encouragement.
I give an enormous thanks to my supervisor Christine Rogers who always went
above and beyond to offer advice on my work. Her thoroughness, honesty and
praise have been instrumental in making my project what it is. Many thanks
to the Honours Coordinator Adrian Miles, who patiently endured my pedantic
questions, and who, however unwittingly, always pushed me to achieve the
highest standards in my work. I would also like to acknowledge Linda Aronson
for making it her business to contact and offer professional advice to a fellow
lover of parallel narrative.
Finally, I acknowledge my family for their love, humour and unwavering support.
A special thankyou goes to my mum Vickie Roth for her unique ability to calm
me through times of panic, for her wisdom, for allowing her dining room table to
disappear beneath my mountain of books and films, and for always remembering
not to put lilies near me while I studied.
Contents
9
Summary
11
Introduction
15
Chapter 1: Parallel Narrative: An Emerging Form
31
Chapter 2: Constructing Parallel Narrative
49
Chapter 3: Script Reflections
71
Concluding Points
75
Bibliography
79
Filmography
Summary
Parallel narrative films depicting several main protagonists and intertwining

plotlines are becoming increasingly prevalent in mainstream Hollywood cinema.
These complex narratives present[s] a particular craft challenge (Bordwell
2006c, pg. 99) to contemporary screenwriters.
My honours project is a short film script of thirty minutes based on a particular
mode of parallel narrative entitled fractured tandem. Fractured tandem
possesses a number of specific traits such as non-linearity and a focus on the
themes of coincidence, tragic accidents and consequences. The aim of the script
is to adhere to some of these principles of fractured tandem whilst containing
the story to thirty pages of script.
This exegesis contains a discussion of the possible origins of parallel narrative,
its unique characteristics, and why it has gained such relevance in commerical
cinematic storytelling over the past two decades. It also addresses the issue
of how to approach parallel narrative, particularly fractured tandem, from a
screenwriting point of view, providing a number of models and devices upon
which parallel structures are based. Finally, the exegesis contains a series of
detailed reflections documenting the process of writing my short fractured
tandem film script.
Life is Messy: An Exploration of Parallel Narrative
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Jasmine Roth
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Introduction
I initially approached my Honours year with one goal in mind: to write a film
script. I had no idea as to the subject matter I wished to explore, nor any
thoughts about characters or plot. All I knew of was my continuing fascination
with stories that chart the experiences of an array of protagonists, and that
explore the consequences of random, tragic intersections and coincidental
events. In my mind, these films are more realistic than single protagonist plots
because they provide a more accurate portrayal of the messy, interconnected
nature of human existence. Given this, I knew that I wanted to write a script
based on these principles.
Before I could write my film script, however, I knew I had to find out more about
this intriguing form. It was only when I began researching such films that I
discovered they were fast forming a storytelling mode all of their own. I further
found this mode had a range of names, from network narrative (Bordwell
2006c), hyperlink cinema (Quart 2005), smart film (Peters 2008), to Linda
Aronsons notion of parallel narrative (2010), the latter being the term I have
selected for the purpose of this project. I was both astounded and delighted
to discover the number of writers and film theorists who shared my view that
parallel narrative often successfully depicts the chaotic, random situations that
befall human beings all the time.
Through my own viewing of parallel narrative films, I have noticed that the
duration of many of these films extends further than the standard ninety-minute
feature length. Some even surpass the three-hour mark. This was a finding that
also came up in my research. In light of this, I thought it would be an interesting
challenge to see if I could write a parallel narrative to the time constraints of a
short film. Thirty minutes seemed like an appropriate length for a project of this
kind. It is situated at the lengthier end of short film duration, and I knew I would
need a substantial amount of screen time in order to successfully explore the
multiple characters and their respective plotlines.
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After gaining some understanding through my initial research as to parallel

narratives function in contemporary mainstream cinema, the next step was to
ask, how does one actually go about writing a parallel narrative film? In order
to answer this, I turned to screenwriting manuals. I quickly discovered that
while this storytelling mode is rapidly becoming more prevalent in commercial
filmmaking, there is limited instructional material in current screenwriting
theory on how to construct parallel narrative stories. It was therefore difficult to
find sources that offered detailed discussions on the structures and strategies
upon which the form is based. After much difficulty and seemingly fruitless
searching, I did manage to locate exactly what I was looking for. For this
success, I have those around me to thank. A helpful classmate Daniel OFarrell
pointed me in the direction of David Bordwells The Way Hollywood Tells it, in
which Bordwell has written extensively on what he labels network narrative.
Although a film theorist and not a screenwriter, Bordwell describes in detail the
various ways these narratives operate as stories, providing substantial insight
into how the screenwriter approaches them.
I also borrowed Linda Aronsons 2001 screenwriting manual Screenwriting
Updated: New (and Conventional) Ways of Writing for the Screen from my
supervisor Christine Rogers. This was a pivotal moment for me. Not only does
Aronson dedicate entire chapters to parallel narrative, this particular model
also forms the basis of her work in the book. When Aronson herself contacted
me via my student honours blog to offer advice on writing a parallel narrative,
I was delighted. Her words were extremely encouraging, and I was thrilled to
converse with a writer for whom I have much admiration. She informed me of
her newest book The 21st Century Screenplay (2010), which in even more detail
delves into writing parallel narrative. I went out and bought it immediately - it is
one the best decisions I have made this year. In the book, Aronson identifies six
specific modes of parallel narrative. In light of her work, I was able to distinguish
the mode that deals most explicitly with the themes of tragic accidents,
coincidences and consequences: what Aronson calls fractured tandem.
In addition, I sought out screenwriting manuals that focus specifically on the
construction of short film narratives. In understanding some of the central
characteristics of the short film, I was able to evaluate both the possibilities and
constraints of writing a short fractured tandem film. Finally, in light of the work
of Bordwell and Aronson, as well as other key instructors such as Linda Cowgill,
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I had the means to finally start writing my own short fractured tandem film
script.
This exegesis is structured in much the same way as the order in which I
approached my project. It is divided into three main chapters. The first chapter
is entitled Parallel Narrative: An Emerging Form. It examines the ways in which
parallel narrative has infiltrated mainstream Hollywood cinema in the last two
decades and is becoming an increasingly popular filmmaking trend. It also
highlights some of the possible origins of this developing form, such as digital
and experimental storytelling practices and recent discourses of the popular
sciences, as well as suggesting that it has origins in both stage and television
drama. Furthermore, the first chapter outlines the central characteristics of
parallel narrative, including its representation of non-linearity, melodrama, its
tendency to challenge the audience intellectually, and its reliance on the themes
of chance, fate and coincidence. Ultimately, this chapter explains why this
storytelling mode is becoming more and more relevant to contemporary cinema
audiences.
The second chapter, Constructing Parallel Narrative, discusses various methods
of writing parallel narrative films. Firstly, it examines characterization and
dramatic structure in traditional storytelling practices, demonstrating the ways
in which parallel narrative is based somewhat on classical design. It then goes
on to discuss characterization and dramatic structure in parallel storytelling,
and provides a series of devices that commonly connect main protagonists
in parallel narrative films, what I call connecting devices. This chapter also
describes each of the six parallel narrative modes identified by Aronson, and in
doing so, pinpoints fractured tandem, the specific mode I have chosen to adopt
for my thirty-minute film script. It also highlights the importance of theme in
creating dramatic unity and narrative coherence, as well as the crucial role
suspense and surprise play in maintaining audience engagement in parallel
storytelling. In addition, the second chapter identifies some of the characteristics
of fictional short film narrative, and reveals structural similarities between it and
fractured tandem narrative.
The third chapter forms the lengthiest section of the exegesis. It illustrates the
overall process of writing my short film script. Quite simply, this process was
to write a draft of the script, and then reflect upon it afterwards. I ended up
with four drafts in total, the fourth being my final completed draft. As a result,
I have written four script reflections. The third chapter contains only the script
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reflections. All drafts of the script are located in a separate accompanying

document entitled Tied: A Short Film Script. The notes in the third chapter are
part of a journal I maintained throughout the year documenting the development
of the project, and should therefore be read chronologically. They discuss my
reasons and methods behind the use of particular narrative devices, both
parallel and conventional, whilst pointing out areas in each draft that require
further attention.
Finally, my exegesis concludes with a discussion about what I have achieved
by undertaking this project, the constraints I faced, and what I learned over the
course of the year in terms of my own writing practice, screenwriting as a craft,
and this fascinating thing called parallel narrative.
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CHAPTER ONE
Parallel Narrative:
An Emerging Form
In the past two decades, commercial cinema has seen an increasing movement
towards multiple character stories. These stories, which have been labelled
parallel narrative (Aronson 2010a, p. 167), have become particularly prominent
in mainstream Hollywood cinema. In this chapter, I will discuss the origins of
parallel narrative, suggesting stage theatre, digital storytelling practices, current
television programming, and a number of recent popular scientific discourses
as possible influences. I will seek to demonstrate that, unlike more conventional
storytelling methods such as the single-protagonist one-hero film, parallel
narrative better represents what I have called the messiness of human existence.
I will further argue that although parallel narrative contains elements common
to melodrama, it is, within the world of fiction storytelling, the most effective
storytelling mode in realistically depicting the chaos and randomness of life.
Another objective of this chapter is to outline the unique attributes of the form,
such as its use of non-linearity, its thematic explorations of chance, fate and
coincidence, and its primacy of character. In addition, I will respond to recent
criticism that such films are too confusing for audiences by contending that they
can be told coherently and engagingly despite the challenge they may present
audiences.
Linda Aronson has written extensively on parallel narrative. She describes
this storytelling mode as films that use several separate narratives running in
parallel, often involving non-linearity, time jumps, large casts, or all of these
(2010a, pg. 167). For the purpose of this project, I will be adopting Aronsons
term and referring to this form as parallel narrative. David Bordwell has also
published a number of works on this particular narrative model, labelling it
network narrative (2006a, p. 1). He similarly defines parallel narrative films as
highlighting several protagonists inhabiting distinct, but intermingling, story
lines (2006b, p. 1).
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Shirley Law notes the way in which [m]ainstream film directors from around
the mid-90s have increasingly explored complex multiple-story and non-linear
forms (2006, p. 123). Ma del Mar Azcona Montoli similarly views parallel
narrative as a cinematic form that has all of a sudden become an important
player in contemporary cinema (2009). For David Denby, the recent adoption
of this storytelling mode may be due to Hollywood directors merely acting out
their boredom with that Hollywood script-conference menace the conventional
story arc (2007, p. 2). However, the reason behind the increasing popularity of
parallel storytelling in commercial cinema warrants deeper inquiry. As Bordwell
asserts, [w]e need to think more about where this impulse toward innovation
comes from and how it shows itself (2006b, p. 5). I will therefore be looking first
at how and why this innovative tendency is likely to have arisen.
Origins
Stage drama
The growing trend of parallel narrative seemingly originates from a number of
different storytelling practices. For one, it appears to have groundings in stage
drama. Aronson points out that parallel storytelling is a technique traditionally
used in theatre (2001, p. 197). She highlights that in traditional stage drama,
stories are usually chosen on the basis of how they can interconnect and knit
the drama together (2001, p. 197). Just as an array of protagonists in parallel
narrative films interconnect in what we understand to be a kind of web-of-life
plot (Bordwell & Thompson 2004, p. 437) - a device with which the screenwriter
constructs the overall story - theatre deals with multiple narrators and those
mini-narrations, in dialectical relationship with each other, combine to form
the global narration (McAuley 1987). Furthermore, the nonlinear storytelling
techniques often utilized in parallel narrative films are also present in theatre.
As Gay McAuley highlights, film commonly dramatises past and future
events (in flashbacks and flashforwards), while these are precisely the events
which in theatre are commonly recounted (the dream, the recit, etc.) (1987). As
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such, there is evidence that parallel narrative films have grown out of storytelling
traditions first developed in stage plays.
Television
Television is another medium that employs parallel storytelling strategies. This
is particularly evident in television programming of the past two decades. In
his article Narrative Complexity in Contemporary American Television, Jason
Mittell argues that, like recent departures from convention in mainstream
cinematic storytelling, American television of the past twenty years will be
remembered as an era of narrative experimentation and innovation, challenging
the norms of what the medium can do (2006, p. 29). As such, multiple narrative
forms in current television programming are quite likely to have influenced
the expanding number of parallel narrative films in contemporary commercial
cinema. Paul Thompson shares this view, stating, the public raised on the
multiple storytelling techniques of episodic television is perfectly capable of
following the interwoven narratives of modern cinema (2001, xii). Marshall
McLuhan goes further, stating, American movies have advanced toward
maturity owing to the influence of TV (1964, p. 333). Though McLuhans words,
published in 1964, refer to the introduction of television in the 1950s, it is still
indicative of the way in which film and television are mediums that have always
adapted in relation to one another.
Jason Mittell recognises the growing popularity of multiple storytelling in
television, stating, HBO has built its reputation and subscriber base upon
narratively complex shows, such as The Sopranos, Six Feet Under, Curb Your
Enthusiasm, and The Wire (2006, p. 29). In his view, the complexity of these
shows offer[s] an alternative to conventional television narrative (2006, p. 29).
The popularity of such programs may be due to their tendency to challenge
viewers intellectually. As Mittell states, there is no doubt that this brand of
television storytelling encourages audiences to become more actively engaged
and offers a broader range of rewards and pleasures than most conventional
programming (2006, p. 32). Audience engagement arises from the opportunity
to actively participate in the process of deciphering the connections between
characters and overlapping plot lines. As we will see later in this chapter, this is
an also attribute of parallel narrative.
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In Mittells view, parallel storytelling in television differs from film in that it

gives viewers more time to think about what they are watching and to unravel
the densely netted causal relations of the action. As he states, extended
character depth, ongoing plotting, and episodic variations are simply unavailable
options within a two-hour film (2006, p. 31). The serial nature of television
programming means that writers are able to draw out character and plot strands
over time. It is therefore little wonder that some parallel narrative films struggle
to achieve this in two hours. Magnolia (dir. Paul Thomas Anderson 1999), for
example, reaches a lengthy three hours. In this light, it seems worth considering
Aronsons point that the longer the film, the more opportunity for the audience
to feel exhausted or lose concentration or both (2001, p. 188).
Mittell suggests that this kind of complex storytelling in television is generally
more successful in television than in film because, as Mittell puts it, [w]hile
innovative film narration has emerged as a boutique form over the past years in
the guise of puzzle films like Memento and Adaptation, the norms of Hollywood
still favour spectacle and formulas suitable for a peak opening weekend (2006,
p. 31). In television, comparatively, narratively complex programs are among the
mediums biggest hits, suggesting that the market for complexity may be more
valued on television than in film (Mittell 2006, p. 31). The huge fan bases for
multiple narrative television programs such as The Sopranos, which normalized,
then popularized, the idea that a TV show could measure up against the best of
any art form (Sternbergh 2008, p. 1) demonstrate that audience expectations are
changing to embrace more elaborate story forms in television.
Experimental storytelling
The complex and innovative nature of parallel narrative is also reflective of a
number of recent changes in the making and viewing of contemporary cinema.
It would seem that digital media has made possible a range of storytelling
possibilities, and encouraged the employment of experimental narrative
techniques in commercial contexts. Examples include the creation of mash-ups
and the decentralised nature of hypertext narrative. James C. Beck asserts it is
with the computerisation of culture that a certain database logic begins to
permeate all of our existence fiction-based Hollywood films are infected with
[this] kind of database logic (2004, p. 59). Modern film audiences today not only
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have access to digital content, they are more familiar with digital media making
practices and are therefore more literate in experimental devices. According
to Bordwell, these devices are absorbed into existing [storytelling] forms, like
classical script structure, genres or stylistic principles (2006b, p. 4).
Alissa Quarts notion of hyperlink cinema (Quart 2005), a term she uses to
describe parallel narrative films, ascribes to the idea that internet literacy is
contributing more and more to current filmmaking approaches. M. Keith Booker
agrees, describing hyperlink cinema as a method in which multiple narratives
intertwine in a single film, allowing (and requiring) viewers to jump about in
time within a story and from one story to another much in the way they jump
about among websites on the Internet (2007, p. 12). Like Quart, he believes
hyperlink cinema [is] a distinct film phenomenon that seems to be catching
on (2007, p. 12). Quart identifies Don Roos Happy Endings (2005) as an example
of hyperlink cinema. In this film, the story toggles back and forth between its
ending and beginning (three interwoven storylines track the destinies of 10
characters in all) (Quart 2005). Not unlike the way in which we are presented
with information when we browse the internet, in Happy Endings we are given
information about a characters fate, [and] the action then clicks back to fill in
the missing pieces (Quart 2005).
One way in which parallel narrative has been clearly influenced by experimental
storytelling techniques can be perceived in its employment of non-linearity.
Complex parallel narrative films such as 21 Grams (dir. Alejandro Gonzalez
Inarritu 2003) and Babel (dir. Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu 2006) toy with
temporal ordering, manipulating story time both to break convention and
challenge their audiences. Quentin Tarantinos Pulp Fiction (1994), a parallel
narrative film that was so commercially successful that it virtually demolished
the boundary between independent and Hollywood cinema (Booker 2007, p.
13), is perhaps one of the most famous displays of non-linear storytelling in the
past two decades. Of the film, Tarantino comments, its not the fact that Im on
this big crusade against linear storytelling ... but its not the only game in town
(Berg 2006).
Denby suggests innovative narrative practices are inevitable because film
production itself is vulnerable to manipulation, expressing, thanks to the
mechanical nature of the recording medium playing with sequence and
representation is almost irresistible (2007, p. 3). Booker makes a similar point
in his assertion, the increasing fragmentation of postmodern film can in
many ways be seen as a logical extension of older montage techniques and
indeed of the evolution of film as a medium itself (2007, p. 2). Bordwell also
illustrates the way in which American filmmaking has often renewed itself
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by absorbing all manner of experiment, from German Expressionism (for 1930s

horror films) to serial music (for 1950s dramas) (2006b, p. 4). It seems Hollywood
cinema is undergoing yet another process of reinvention, this time through its
appropriation of parallel narrative.
The influence of popular scientific discourses

For some theorists, popular scientific discourses are partially responsible for
the shift towards this adventurous attitude toward storytelling (Bordwell
2006b, p. 5) in modern mainstream cinema. Azcona Montoli contends that
the development of the multi-protagonist genre in the last two decades has
run parallel with the significant cultural impact of a series of scientific and
social discourses - such as chaos theory, the butterfly effect, the global village
conception of the world and six degrees of separation theories - which have both
challenged traditional notions of causality and emphasized the network nature
of human life and interaction in an increasingly shrinking and globalized world
(2009). Lindsay Peters shares this view, arguing the resurgence of the network
narrative corresponds closely with the ever-increasing societal concern over
the effects of globalization (2008). As such, the rise of such popular scientific
theories may be a contributing factor in the recent increase of parallel narrative
films.
A representation of life
Unlike the conventional single-protagonist story, parallel narrative is particularly
known for providing a realistic representation of the interconnectedness of
human life. As H. Porter Abbot argues, the increasing popularity of network
narrative storytelling in mainstream cinema is yet one more way in which
narrative worlds replicate the actual world we live in (2008, p. 167). Dancyger
and Rush also explore the notion that such stories reflect a vivid realism in their
discussion of Traffic (dir. Steven Soderbergh 2000). They argue that the films
rejection of linear narrative structure and its use of multiple protagonists to
represent the manifold horrors of the drug wars offers a more realistic depiction
of the human sensibility in reaction to personal and political hardship, and that
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this effect seems to be enhanced by Soderberghs reluctant to privilege one

character over another: [t]here are no heroes in Traffic that would require
more use of plot; here, there are only human beings whom we watch affirm their
humanness (2002, p. 66).
Roger Ebert makes a similar statement of Babel. In his view, Babel builds to
a stunning impact because it does not hammer us with heroes and villains
but asks us to empathize with all of its characters (2007). This film does not
ask its audience to take sides, but instead to attempt to understand the tragic
experiences of every one of its central characters. In doing so, the film appeals
to the audiences sense of humanity, and this is precisely what makes it so
powerful.
Linda Cowgill agrees that parallel narrative films can be sublimely satisfying
because the audience generally feels it has had a real look at life (Cowgill 1999,
pg. 123). She highlights that in such films some plot lines conclude ambiguously
and others unhappily, [and] this view of life seems more authentic than the
standard Hollywood fare with its happily ever after endings (1999, pg. 126).
Cowgill further emphasises the point that, as viewers, we are better able to
relate the often ambiguous, open-ended nature of parallel narrative films to
our own experiences as human beings because this storytelling mode more
accurately reflects the world we live in, where some things work and others do
not (1999, pg. 126). For this reason, she believes parallel narrative can be viewed
as essentially a description of life (1999, pg. 126).
In his foreword to Aronsons book, Thompson best articulates the possible
reasons why some current scriptwriters are moving away from conventional
narrative models such as Hollywoods chronologically linear, beginning-middleend, three-act structure (Berg 2006) and towards more innovative forms such as
parallel narrative:
It is difficult to say why so many recent movies are unconventionally
structured. It would be nice to think it is an attempt by contemporary writers
to reflect an increasingly complex world with accuracy. We live in confusing
times. It is an enormous challenge for the storyteller to impose artistic order on
current chaos and to extract some kind of significance from the avalanche of
meaningless events that bombard our lives It may be that the contradictions
of our times can no longer be convincingly represented by a single protagonist
overcoming overwhelming odds in two hours of screen time. It may be that the
modern screenwriter has to choose between perpetuating old myths or telling
new truths and this choice might require the rewriting of some of the rules
(Thompson 2001, xi).
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Coincidence, Chance, Fate and Melodrama

Parallel narrative films possess a number of unique traits. For one, they are
frequently reliant on the themes of chance, fate and coincidence as a means
of establishing and maintaining a sense of interconnectedness for the main
characters and their respective plotlines. Coincidence in particular has emerged
as a recurring theme, as well as a way of manufacturing causal links. Azcona
Montoli highlights this fact, stating, [c]oincidences of several sorts are, of
course, not exclusive to films with multiple protagonistsbut their visibility and
the narrative relevance that they have acquired in this genre are unprecedented
(2009).
Bordwell believes coincidence in parallel narrative is required to keep
audiences on track (2006a, p. 1). However, the use of coincidence in parallel
narrative remains subject to some criticism. Peters argues parallel narrative
films are hindered by their consistent use of unrealistic coincidence (Peters
2008). Adrian McKinty similarly expresses in his blog post Coincidence?
Er yeah. that coincidence has no place in twenty first century writing
(2010). In his view, coincidence is a worse device for solving problems than
the supernatural coincidence assumes that you, the paying punter, are
really really stupid (2010). According to Peters, Crash (dir. Paul Haggis, 2005)
is the exemplar of excessive coincidence (2008). In her view, Crash presents
an implausible portrayal of its story action because its use of coincidence
ultimately forces a suspension of belief on the part of the viewer in order to
follow a particular pair of narrative strands to their (unrealistic) conclusions
(2008).
Peters does admit, however, that when used skilfully coincidence can in fact
produce a realistic effect. She uses Inarritus Babel as an example. Because
Babel utilizes a single object, a hunting rifle, to establish a point of connection
for the four narrative strands, the film is able to avoid creating disbelief on the
part of the viewer. As Peters explains, [w]hile coincidence is integral to its
narrative construct, the measure with which it is used attempts to establish a
realistic logic of the random (2008). For Jeffery Sconce, the idea of randomness
is a consistent point of focus in parallel narrative films because they often depict
a rotating series of interlocking episodes, centering on a series of seemingly
random events befalling a loosely related set of characters (2002, p. 362).
According to Peters, the notion of a realistic logic of the random stems from
elements of melodrama, contending that in parallel narrative the repetitive,
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artificially constructed encounters correspond to the melodramatic tendency

to produce meaningful realism by way of random occurrence (2008). Michael
Stewart identifies melodramatic qualities in Inarritus 21 Grams, asserting
the film possesses a number of melodramatic traditions of imploding and
dysfunctional families, suffering women, broken and disorientated men,
and intense and expressive forms of realism and affect (2007, p.49). Sconce
additionally describes Inarritus particular filmmaking tendencies as cold
melodrama (2002, p. 350). Intriguingly, parallel narrative films are frequently
able to establish a measure of realism whilst producing dramatic effect.
P. T. Andersons Magnolia is perhaps the most apt piece of screenwriting for
discussing the ways in which melodramatic techniques team up with the use
of chance, fate and coincidence to produce a sense of realism. It is Joanne
Clark Dillmans view that [l]ike soap operas and melodramas, Magnolia
is characterized by excess (2005, p. 146). This is due to its element of the
hysterical (Dillman 2005, p. 146) in both its characters and storytelling style.
The films fragmented structure is also representative of the melodramatic
tendency towards an episodic form (Peters 2008). This episodic style works
alongside the films theme of random, coincidental encounters as a means of
making a statement about life.
Magnolias frog rain sequence is a kooky but enormously original representation
of Andersons message that life is random and inexplicable and we should not
attempt to find a reason for or an answer to all things. The most intriguing part
about this freak event is that none of the characters are shown discussing its
peculiarity. We only see them stare, stunned and disbelieving, at the tirade of
frogs descending from the heavens, smacking into car windows, into people, and
breaking clean through kitchen skylights. Each characters reaction is revealed
in a kind of episodic, successive pattern. It is left entirely unexplained, and there
is a reason for this. The characters acceptance of the frog rain phenomenon is
precisely what Anderson seems to be telling his audience to do: embrace the
strange, the inexplicable, because events such as this really do happen and they
should be understood simply as a part of life. In reflection of this idea, the voiceover narration that bookends Magnolia imparts the following words towards the
films close:
There are stories of coincidence, and chance, and intersections, and strange
things told, and which is which, who only knows. And we generally say: Well,
if that was in a movie, I wouldnt believe it. Someones so-and-so met someone
elses so-and-so, and so on. And it is in the humble opinion of this narrator that
strange things happen all the time.
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This narration self-consciously brings the films use of chance and coincidence
to the forefront of the viewers experience. It also suggests that while parallel
narrative films rely heavily on themes of chance and coincidence to function
effectively, such themes are not restricted to the world of cinema. They are
governing factors in our everyday lives. In Magnolia, Anderson seems to be
conveying the message that, as human beings, our pathways through life
and our connections with others are determined by chance. Thus, through
self-conscious recognition of its own themes, and a fragmented non-classical
narrative structure, a key constitutive factor of the melodramatic form (Peters
2008), Magnolia makes a very strong case for the role of chance and coincidence
in human existence.
It is important to reiterate that chance, fate and coincidence in parallel narrative
are devices carefully selected and constructed by the screenwriter. Such themes
are used as a means to connect characters to one another and in doing so create
action with which the story is able to drive forward. Bordwell acknowledges
this fact, stating, although the network model can claim to be a realistic device
(in our world, our projects commingle), its almost always presented through
a series of conventions traffic accidents, people brushing past each other
We recognize these as part of the artifice in this tradition of storytelling
(2006b, p. 2). Denby agrees with Bordwell on this point, arguing the adversity
the characters in a parallel narrative film must endure cant pass itself off as
the mere impersonal merciless working out of fate (2007, p. 6). In his view,
[experience cant be random and also structured like a cage (2007, p. 6).
Yet, the issue of artifice in parallel narrative cannot be one of great significance,
as it is something inherent to all film. As Denby admits, a film is not a piece
of life; we know that it is something made (2007, p. 4). Paul Joseph Gulino
reinforces this idea in his assurance that drama is a contrivance (2004, p.
13). The melodramatic tendencies often associated with parallel narrative films
are a further indication of this. Thus, films such as Crash, which Peters argues
overuses coincidence, cannot be accused of causing audience dissatisfaction
due to disbelief in their narrative structure because it is precisely these
coincidences and chance meetings that make the drama and maintain audience
engagement. It may seem unlikely that Officer John Ryan (Matt Dillon), the
policeman who pulls African-American woman Christine Thayer (Thandie
Newton) from her burning car towards the end of Crash, is the very policeman
who expresses racism towards her earlier on. Yet, this is one of the films most
powerful moments. It is essential to the policemans realisation that this woman
is just as worthy of civil treatment as he, and therefore crucial to his character
development.
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In opposition to what critics perceive as the issue of chance and coincidence

in parallel narrative, Azcona Montoli asserts, it is difficult to think of a
narrative that does not include a coincidence of one type or another (2009). It
can therefore be argued that although this narrative mode contains elements
common to melodrama and instances of unrealistic coincidence, it is, within
the world of fiction storytelling, the most representative of the messiness of
human life. The fact that contingency and chance rule a good part of our
behaviour (Denby 2007, p. 2) indicates this running theme in parallel narrative
is consistently explored due to its grounding in human sensibility.
An emphasis on character
Parallel narrative also tends to prioritise the experiences of its main protagonists
over distinct causal links. Aronson highlights that in parallel narrative films,
the various stories are linked via characters or theme (2001, p. 187) rather
than through conventional linear structure. Often, it is the characters goals,
experiences and the adversities they face that form the emotional connection
between the film and its audience. As Azcona Montolis states of non-linear film
21 Grams, [c]haracters desires are part of the emotional continuum running
through the film (2009). A similar statement could be made of Babel. Babels
melancholic tone demonstrates director Inarritus compassion for his characters
and unwillingness to undermine or dismiss their plights by succumbing to
the conventional happy ending. Ebert, who believes the film to be among the
adornments of recent cinema (2007), shares this view, expressing, Inarritu films
more in sorrow than anger, and spares most of his characters tragic retribution
because he loves and understands them too much to simply grind them in a
plot (2007). Inarritu himself says of Babel,
I think that film always has the opportunity and power to make us understand
a little bit better who we are, and to reveal a little bit of our human condition.
We can have different language[s] today but we are in a common ground as
human beings. And I want that everybody know its not a film by me; its a film
by us I started out doing a film about the differences between human beings,
and ended up doing a film about what brings us together, not what tears up
apart (Inarritu in Under Construction Notes).
It is significant that the theme of human interconnectedness arose throughout

the making of the film, which was, as Inarritu states, initially intended to
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highlight the cultural, linguistic and emotional barriers between human beings.
Like Magnolia and Crash, Babel represents the interconnectedness of human
life, a central unifying force in many parallel narrative films.
Despite the powerfully moving sentiments conveyed by such parallel narrative
films, some writers and film theorists have expressed concern that the heavy
focus on character can obscure narrative coherence. Linda Aronson shows
admiration for Magnolia, calling it a remarkable and moving tandem narrative
(2001, p. 188). Yet, she feels Anderson gets carried away with the characters
experiences to the detriment of the plot, arguing that it is as if the writer/
director did not quite know where or how to stop (2001, p. 189). Ebert makes a
similar statement of 21 Grams. He finds the film disorientating at times both due
to its employment of non-linearity and its concentration on character, stating,
the interlocking stories spun a little out of [Inarritus] control [and] there was
sometimes the sense that we were more disoriented than the film really wanted
us to be (2007). McKee, however, puts this concern to rest by assuring us that
character and plot are intrinsically related as structure is character; character
is structure (1997, p. 100). Anderson explains that in his script for Magnolia, his
intentions were to create
one story, so youre not watching, like, piece, piece, piece. It all has to be
one connection. Youre watching one story and you feel like if one piece was
missing... do you know what I mean? ... I was trying to figure out how many
stories there really were, I guess its nine main characters... [but] Im trying to
make one story (Anderon in Magnolia Diaries).
Here, Anderson seems to be saying that each of the character paths make up
vital cogs in the functioning of the films overall narrative. The musical sequence
in which the protagonists sing sections of Aimee Manns Wise Up represents
this idea of one story, as well as the characters interconnectedness. Perhaps
Magnolia as a film becomes distracted from its plot by its large ensemble of
characters, but Anderson shows that, at script stage anyhow, story was as much
a consideration as character.
A smarter audience
Due to the complex nature of parallel narrative, the audience is often required
think critically throughout the watching of parallel narrative films. This usually
means having to make connections between separate plotlines and figure out
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what the film is attempting to convey as a whole. As a result, some film critics
complain that parallel narrative creates confusion for viewers. Denby expresses
concern for such films, arguing their clogged-sink narratives are so heavily
loaded with subplots and complicated information that the story can hardly seep
through the surrounding material (2007, p. 2). Bordwell demonstrates a similar
attitude. According to him, this maybe too common (2006a, p. 1) mode of
storytelling can all too easily fall down and become confusing for the audience if
not enough energy is spent sharpening and deepening the plotlines themselves
(2006a, p. 3).
I would argue, however, that rather than creating confusion for audiences,
parallel narrative provides an opportunity for viewers to be intellectually
challenged. Denby agrees that when the audiences pleasure in narrative is
diverted, or postponed, it may realize how conventional that pleasure usually is
how easily most movies yield to the desire for tension, release, and resolution
(2007, p. 3). Quart, too, enthusiastically believes the new genrehyperlink
cinema, could be the most iq-enhancing of all (2005).
According to Patricia Gruben, a films formal qualities are not fixed and selfcontained structures that exist independently of our perception: rather, meaning
is created by the viewer (2005, p. 271). Parallel narrative plays with this idea by
allowing the audience to continually guess at the meaning of a film. The form
frequently achieves this effect on viewers through the employment of non-linear
tactics. Michael Z. Newman commends 21 Grams on its artful use of temporal
reordering to keep audiences guessing, stating, one senses while watching 21
Grams that order is around the corner, that the narration has carefully selected
and ordered the events to produce certain effects and that the a ha! moment
when things fall into place will be all the more satisfying after a run-up of
anticipation and excitement (2006). He argues that [o]nly by presenting the
plot so playfully can this kind of anticipatory effect really work (2006). Denby,
too, recognises that the use of non-linearity in parallel narrative can leave the
viewer experiencing reactions before actions, denouements before climaxes,
disillusion before ecstasy (Denby 2007, p. 1). Thus, we can see the way in
which parallel narrative uses non-linearity to provide an enriching experience
for contemporary cinema audiences by requiring them to think through and form
their own meanings of the material being presented onscreen.
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To recap
Parallel narrative is gaining increasing prominence in mainstream Hollywood
cinema. There are a number of possible reasons as to why this form has emerged
so significantly in the past two decades. The rise of internet literacy has seen
modern film audiences and filmmakers adopting more experimental techniques.
Such techniques include non-linearity and fragmentation, and these are strongly
reflected in the episodic nature of parallel narrative films. It is also evident that
popular scientific discourses such as Chaos Theory and six degrees of separation
theories, with their emphasis on the chaotic, interconnected nature of human
existence, have heavily contributed to the increasing shift towards parallel
storytelling in current commercial cinema. Furthermore, the forms employment
of multiple protagonists and intertwining storylines indicates strong groundings
in both traditional stage drama and television.
This developing storytelling form displays a number of unique attributes.
Themes surrounding ideas of chance, fate, coincidence and randomness are a
repeated focus in parallel narrative, with coincidence in particular emerging
as a recurrent theme. Parallel narratives constant emphasis on coincidence
(Azcona Montoli 2009) and random, fateful encounters between characters
has been recognised as melodramatic. Although there are some instances
in which the implementation of these melodramatic trope[s] (Peters 2008)
are not used successfully and evoke disbelief on the part of the viewer, they
must be taken for what they are: constructs. Alternatively, I argue that these
devices, although heavily dramatized, can in fact be seen to represent the
messy, interconnectedness of human existence. Another distinct trait of the
form is its tendency to prioritize character experiences. Through the rejection
of conventional Hollywood storytelling structures, parallel narrative brings
characters emotions to the forefront of the viewers. This indicates that often
what is most important to these films are the characters themselves. Primacy
of character is, as I have shown, another way in which parallel narrative is more
reflective of the human disposition.
The complex nature of many parallel narrative films has further resulted
in altered viewing practices. Narrative techniques such as non-linearity,
fragmentation and open-endedness are challenging audiences intellectually.
As such, audiences are now becoming accustomed to forming their own
meanings and connections during the watching of parallel narrative films.
As I have argued, this should not be condemned as confusing, but instead
perceived positively as means of providing audiences with an enriching viewing
experience. For David Denby, complex parallel narrative films have the potential
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power to jolt us into a new understanding of art, or even a new understanding

of life (2007, p. 2). Quart goes even further, suggesting that this narrative mode
might end up being the new Hollywood weve been waiting for (2005). It is
therefore evident that parallel narratives potential has yet to be fulfilled. For
screenwriters, filmmakers and audiences interested in this specific form, this is
an exciting prospect.
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CHAPTER TWO
Constructing Parallel
Narrative
As parallel narrative structures are becoming increasingly prominent in
mainstream Hollywood filmmaking, instructional material addressing how
exactly to go about writing such films is gradually expanding. In 2001, Linda
Aronson noted the lack of commentary in film theory on the matter of writing
parallel stories, stating, there is little in the way of theory for writers who want
to write film using parallel narrative structures (pg. xiii). Yet, her most recent
screenwriting manual The 21st Century Screenplay (2010) illustrates the way in
which, ten years on, models are now being formed around parallel structures to
which writers can look. In the last decade or so, more and more screenwriters
have pushed the boundaries of narrative even further, creating ever more
complex script structures in films like 21 Grams, Crash, The Hours, Eternal
Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, City of God and Memento, films that, excitingly,
displayed consistent patterns that meant writers could use them as templates
(Aronson 2010a, pg. xv).
I will begin this chapter by discussing characterization and dramatic structure
in traditional cinematic narrative. In doing so, I aim to demonstrate the ways
in which newer, unconventional forms of storytelling are inevitably reliant
on elements of classical design. I will then list and describe the six modes
of parallel narrative identified by Aronson, before illustrating the function
of characterization and dramatic structure in parallel narrative. Next, I will
discuss three methods of constructing parallel narrative plots, in terms of
three connecting devices: the story frame, the connecting incident, and
the circulating object. Furthermore, I will highlight the way in which theme
is essential in creating dramatic unity and an overall sense of meaning and
coherence in parallel narrative films. This will be followed by a detailed
discussion of the importance of surprise and suspense in the mode of parallel
narrative I have chosen for my thirty-minute film script, fractured tandem. This
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will include an illustration of some of the key devices employed in fractured

tandem, namely the way non-linearity is used to create dread, a threat of death
for the protagonists, and a suspenseful detective story. Finally, I will identify
some central characteristics of the short film, and discuss possible ways of
writing a fractured tandem narrative within the time constraints of the short
film.
In her first scriptwriting manual Screenwriting Updated: New (and Conventional)
Ways of Writing for the Screen (2001) Aronson emphasises that in order
for parallel narrative films to be accessible to audiences, the writer must
simultaneously adhere to classical storytelling norms whilst exploring new
structures, stating, writers who wanted to master the new forms needed a very
firm grounding in the old (pg. xiii). Bordwell shares this view, asserting, [m]ost
of the daring storytelling we find in modern American film offers legible variants
on well-entrenched strategies for presenting time, space, goal achievement,
causal connection, and the like (2006c, pg. 75). In fact, all innovative practices
are born out of convention, as [e]very new artistic achievement revises existing
practices, and often the unconventional strategy simply draws on other
conventions (Bordwell 2006c, pg. 75). As such, the first section of this chapter
will examine two of the most recognised conventional narrative models currently
dominating Hollywood: the single protagonist hero plot and the three-act
structure.
Characterization in traditional narrative

Traditionally, storytelling in film centres on a single protagonist. As Robert
McKee states, the classically told story usually places a single protagonist
man, woman, or child at the heart of the telling (1997, pg. 49). As such,
the overwhelming majority of instructional scriptwriting books emphasise
the necessity of the main character. Among these instructors is the highly
recognised Syd Field, who suggests that the main character alone determines
what course the action takes, as the main character must always cause things
to happen (1998, p. 168). Lisa Dethridge similarly privileges the notion of the
single protagonist, contending, the writers main job is to set up the basic world
of the story and to establish the main character or protagonist (2003, p. 59).
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In her view, there is no room for multiple characters of equal significance in a

script because the main protagonist is the central figure in your screenplay
the most fully realised onscreen character (2003, p. 59). McKee presents a
slightly different stance, in that he acknowledges the importance of an array
of characters and the storytelling possibilities they create. He argues that by
altering the relationship between the main protagonist and secondary characters
in more traditional arrangements a scriptwriter can suggest that no one
character is privileged, and that the main character has to deal with the same
limitations as all the other characters (1997, p. 171). However, while McKee does
not adhere to conceptions of story as rigid as those of Dethridge, in his famous
screenwriting manual Story: Substance, Structure, Style, and the Principles of
Screenwriting the writer still maintains a kind of reverence for the notion of the
central narrative figure.
Perhaps the most significant convention used in single protagonist stories is
the character arc. The character arc is when the central narrative figure is
transformed significantly by the events of the story (Cowgill 1999, pg. 48).
According to Cowgill, characterization is most effective when it charts the
growth or development of the characters (1999, pg. 48). As such, characters in
traditional storytelling almost always undergo some kind of transformation by
the end of the film. Usually, this development comes as a result of experiencing a
life-altering situation, whereby the characters are changed, for better or worse,
when they encounter extraordinary events (Cowgill 1999, pg. 48). Aronson
asserts that the main protagonist does not need to improve or be redeemed
(although usually the protagonist does need to undergo change) (2010, pg. 47).
It is therefore the screenwriters job to force dramatic, life-changing situations
on their characters (Cowgill 1999, pg. 48), from which the characters gain new
knowledge and are, as a result, able to grow.
The character arc is also commonly understood in screenwriting theory as
the heros journey. Christopher Vogler describes fictional heroes as bearing
qualities that we can all identify with and recognize in ourselves. They are
propelled by universal drives that we can all understand: the desire to be loved
and understood, to succeed, survive, be free, get revenge, right wrongs, or seek
self-expression (1998, p. 36). William Indick similarly contends, [h]eroes are
simply ourselves projected outwardly... and their adventures are meaningful only
to the degree that we can identify with the heroes struggles and anxieties
(2004). According to Kal Bishop, The Heros Journey is the template upon which
the vast majority of successful stories and Hollywood blockbusters are based
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upon (2010). In his view, [u]nderstanding this template is a priority for story or
screenwriters (2010) because, as he argues, the heros journey plays a significant
role in ensuring screenplays, and as such films, prosper in the mainstream.
Dramatic structure in traditional narrative

In terms of structure, conventional narrative is characterised by what is referred
to in screenwriting terms as the three-act structure. The three-act structure
has been described as the basis for every mainstream American screenplay
(Dancyer & Rush 2002, pg. 18), and its dominance in commercial filmmaking
practice is indicative of its success as a narrative formula. Aronson believes
the three-act model is effective because it builds in a fast pace and rising
suspenseful chronological build to closure (2010a, pg. 47). For this reason, she
argues, it is the most prevalent model, the most streamlined model, the basic
model, and, crucially, the safest model (2010a, pg. 47) for screenwriters to adopt.
Bishop agrees, screenwriters have a higher probability of producing quality
work when they mirror the recurring patterns found in successful screenplays
(2010).
According to Ken Dancyger and Jeff Rush, the three-act formula is derived
from Aristotles broad notion that all dramas have a beginning, a middle, and
an end, and that these parts are in some proportion to one another (2002,
pg. 18). They outline the three-act structure as the following: [t]he first act is
concerned with setup, the second act with confrontation, and the third act with
resolution (2002, pg. 19). Cowgill describes this model in a similar way. In line
with Aristotle, she seems to find it useful to think of act one as the beginning,
act two as the middle, and act three as the end. She contends, the beginning
of a film must set up the dramatic problem. The middle consists of the storys
rising action which builds to the final climax and resolution (1997, pg. 51
[emphasis in original]). Traditionally, the three-act formula centres on a single
protagonist and story time progresses in a linear fashion. As such, Aronson
refers to it as the three-act one-hero linear model (2010a, pg. 47).
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Modes of parallel narrative

The complexity of parallel storytelling is evident in the way it requires six
different modes, appointed by Aronson, in order to fully comprehend its scope.
The six modes, tandem, multiple protagonist, double journeys, flashback,
consecutive-stories and fractured tandem, each have their own specifications
in terms of structure, style and ideology. Aronson splits these modes into two
groups of three. She uses the umbrella terms ensemble narrative and nonlinear narrative to define the two groups. Ensemble films have a large cast and
a series of stories that run simultaneously and chronologically in the same time
frame (Aronson 2010a, pg. 172). Non-linear films, on the other hand, use several
stories, sometimes of varying importance, either set in several time frames, OR
told one after the other (Aronson 2010a, pg. 172 [emphasis in original]). The
three modes belonging to ensemble narrative are tandem, multiple protagonist
and double journeys. The three modes that fall under non-linear narrative are
flashback, consecutive-stories and fractured tandem. Aronson argues that
while these forms, for the moment, stand relatively on their own, we must
expect hybridisation (2010a, pg. 171) as they continue to infiltrate mainstream
Hollywood cinema.
To begin with, I will outline the three ensemble modes. Firstly, tandem narrative
uses equally important stories on the same theme, running simultaneously
in the same time frame and geographical area, with the films action jumping
between stories (Aronson 2010a, pg. 174). Examples of tandem narrative are
Traffic, Magnolia and Love Actually (dir. Richard Curtis 2003). Secondly, multiple
protagonist narratives such as The Big Chill (dir. Lawrence Kasdan 1983) and
The Full Monty (dir. Peter Cattaneo 1997) revolve around a small group of people
thrown together in a group adventure which is specifically a quest, a reunion
or a siege (emotional and/or actual) (Aronson 2010a, pg. 174). Thirdly, double
journeys narratives are multiple protagonist films that deal with a very specific
relationship; namely, two characters journeying either towards each other, in
parallel, or apart (physically, emotionally, or both) (Aronson 2010a, pg. 173).
Double journeys films include Brokeback Mountain (dir. Ang Lee 2005) and The
Departed (dir. Martin Scorsese 2006).
Next, are the three non-linear forms. The first non-linear mode Aronson identifies
is flashback. There are six varieties of flashback some simple, some complex,
each serving a different story purpose (Aronson 2010a, pg. 175). The second
non-linear mode is consecutive-stories, which she initially termed sequential
narrative (2001, pg. 185) in Screenwriting Updated. Consecutive-stories
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employ separate stories (with separate protagonists) told one after the other,
coming together at the end (Aronson 2010a, pg. 176). Pulp Fiction (dir. Quentin
Tarantino 1994), The Butterfly Effect (dir. Eric Bress & J. Mackye Gruber 2004)
and Amores Perros (dir. Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu 2000) are examples of
consecutive-stories films.
The third and final mode of non-linear narrative Aronson identifies is fractured
tandem. To make matters more complex, fractured tandem is in fact a crosspollination of ensemble narrative and non-linear narrative. Essentially, it
is tandem narrative told in a non-linear fashion. As Aronson explains, [f]
ractured tandem runs equally important tandem narratives but fractures them,
jumping between time frames (2010a, pg. 176). She asserts that this specific
form of parallel narrative, more so than others, heavily rests on the themes of
randomness, coincidence, and consequences, stating that fractured tandem is
tandem narrative chopped up and put together out of chronological sequence in
order to pump up speed and transmit a philosophy about accidental tragedies
and tragic, unforeseen consequences (2010a, pg. 176). Examples of fractured
tandem films are 21 Grams, Crash, Babel and The Hours (dir. Stephen Daldry
2002). Because my film idea involves coincidence and accidental intersections
between its protagonists, Aronsons notion of fractured tandem is the mode of
parallel narrative I will be adopting for my thirty-minute film script.
Characterization in parallel narrative

Parallel narratives revolve around an array of equally weighted characters. Each
main character hosts her or his own plotline, which, depending on the particular
mode of parallel narrative, may or may not overlap with others. However, they
almost always cross paths at some stage in the plot. Cowgill refers to these
distinct plotlines as miniplots (1999, pg. 124). In her view, these miniplots
dont need as much development as a single plot to drive a film because
intercutting among them diverts the audience (1999, pg. 124). Because the
writer must juggle several miniplots at once, each main protagonist cannot be
given as much attention as is afforded a sole protagonist in a classical one-hero
film. However, this lessened attention does not prevent characters in parallel
narrative stories from undergoing their individual transformations.
The character arc is present in many parallel narrative films. Like classical
storytelling design, the character arc in parallel narrative occurs as a result of
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life-changing events. Fractured tandem mode places accidental intersections at

the centre of the telling. These intersections bring together isolated characters,
and are often tragic and irreversible. In such films, accidental or random
events become the means through which the main protagonists undergo
their transformations. As Ma del Mar Azcona Montoli explains, [c]haracter
development and narrative turning points do not originate as much from human
determination as from the accidental intersections between different characters
and their narrative lines (2009). The point she is making here is that the
random encounters between characters are what triggers the opportunity for
their individual developments. This device can be seen in Babel, whereby the
accidental shooting of Susan Jones (Cate Blanchett) re-establishes the closeness
between her and her husband Richard Jones (Brad Pitt), forcing them to forgive
one another in what they fear to be her final moments. Without the random,
coincidental occurence of the shooting, these characters would not have the
opportunity to experience growth.
With several protagonists of equal importance, parallel narrative clearly rejects
the classical convention of the single protagonist. However, there are elements
of this convention that writers incorporate into parallel narrative films to better
identify with the audience. For example, there are parallel narrative films that
make good use of the hero formula. In one of the final scenes from fractured
tandem film Crash, bigoted policeman John Ryan (Matt Dillon) pulls an AfricanAmerican woman Christine Thayer (Thandie Newton) from the burning
wreckage of her car. Coincidentally, and rather ironically, this is the very same
woman towards whom he expresses racism and whom he sexually humiliates
before her husband (Terence Howard) earlier in the film. It could be argued
that because Officer Ryan is able to overcome his feelings of hatred towards
this woman and pull her from the accident scene, he demonstrates attributes
common to the stereotypical hero. As Vogler explains, [h]eroes overcome
obstacles and achieve goals, but they also gain new knowledge and wisdom
(1998, p. 37). This transition is made all the more powerful by Ryans role as
villain throughout the entirety of the film up until this point. The presence of the
heros journey in Crash reflects Aronsons assertion that [a]s writers we need
to master the new structures, indeed, we need to take them even further, always
recognizing that while they seem to blow apart the old rules of storytelling, in
fact it is in traditional narrative that they have their core (2001, pg. xv).
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Dramatic structure in parallel narrative

Although parallel narrative stories are often structured in radically
unconventional ways, the traditional three-act model maintains a strong
presence in parallel storytelling. Aronson illustrates this in her assertion, all
of the parallel narrative forms work by splitting, reassembling and sometimes
either truncating or doubling the conventional three-act narrative structure
(2010a, pg. 48). It would seem that because the three-act one-hero linear
structure is an excellent and extraordinarily versatile model (Aronson 2010a,
pg. 47), screenwriters are able to use it as a basis for constructing more
unconventional forms. Furthermore, it could be argued that writers who make
use of the heros journey, as the way Paul Haggis does in Crash, are inevitably
adapting the three-act model because three-act stories are structured around
one central character (Dancyer & Rush 2002, pg. 22). Thus, we can further see
the way that new storytelling structures are reliant on classical structures.
Three connecting devices

Structurally, there are a series of strategies writers may adopt when constructing
stories for parallel narrative films, three of which I will discuss here. Firstly,
there is Cowgills notion of the event frame (Cowgill 1999, pg. 128) or story
frame (Cowgill 1999, pg. 128), which Bordwell describes as a common fate or
significant occasion (2006c, pg. 97). Story frames are used in ensemble films
that do not employ a mutual goal as a unifying agent (Cowgill 1999, pg. 128).
In these narratives, a story frame anchors the plot to an event that will play
out by the end of the film (Cowgill 1999, pg. 128), thus creating a situation in
which the characters physically encounter one another, usually at the films
climax. Cowgill argues this unifying event must be foreshadowed, and, for
most films, the earlier the better (1999, pg. 129). The importance of setting up
an expectation of the final event, she asserts, is that it creates a focal point
for both characters and audience as the film narrows in scope and reaches its
end (1999, pg. 129). At the end of multiple protagonist film Parenthood (dir.
Ron Howard 1989), for example, all the characters come together at a birth.
This event is foreshadowed early on by one couple in disagreement over having
another child, and by another couple accidentally conceiving one. Ultimately,
story frames create overall unity across the separate plotlines, bringing the
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major characters together at the end to give a sense of wholeness (Cowgill 1999,
pg. 129). It should be noted that story frames do not apply to siege and quest
films (Aronson 2010a, pg. 174), examples of which are Armageddon (dir. Michael
Bay 1998) and Independence Day (dir. Roland Emmerich 1996). In these films, the
multiple characters share a common goal or problem, and are therefore already
united by a centralized conflict (Cowgill 1999, pg. 128).
The second strategy for constructing parallel narrative is what I have termed
the connecting incident. Fractured tandem, the mode I am adopting for my
script, is about random accidents, about, as it demonstrated so clearly in
Crash, individual strangers accidentally colliding (Aronson 2010a, pg. 382). As
such, in fractured tandem there is no story frame within which the multiple
plotlines operate. As Bordwells explains, [i]f theres no overarching event
frame, unacquainted characters might be granted more autonomy, pursuing
their own lives but intersecting occasionally by sheer accident (2006c, pg. 97).
Azcona Montoli reiterates this point in her statement that in such films random
encounters carry most of the narrative weight and may even end up deflecting
the plot in unexpected directions (2009). In her view, [a]ccidental interactions
are not just the means to tell a story: they are the story itself (2009). For this
reason, I am calling the second strategy the connecting incident, to which
fractured tandem is predominantly attributed.
The work of screenwriter Guillermo Arriaga provides successful methods of
writing non-linear parallel narrative by utilising a connecting incident. In
both 21 Grams and Amores Perros, Arriaga uses traffic accidents as a means
of bringing together the three narrative threads that run through each film.
In each film, a traffic collision becomes the pivotal event around which the
whole structure of the film revolves (Azcona Montoli 2009). Arriagas writing
strongly reflects Aronsons notion of fractured tandem as being primarily about
unexpected, often tragic, connections between apparently or initially very
disparate people, triggered by an accident or random event (2010a, pg. 180). It
seems the tragic nature of these accidental intersections is constructed in order
to increase the element of drama, and provide meaning to each protagonists
story by having the connecting incident change each of their lives in some
unprecedented way.
The third strategy for writing parallel narrative is to tie the characters together
by a circulating object (Bordwell 2006c, pg. 97). Circulating objects are usually
employed when plotlines are drastically isolated from one another. In Babel, for
example, a rifle loosely links the four stories. It is a connecting strategy that has
been represented also by a car in The Yellow Rolls Royce (1964), and a currency
note in Twenty Bucks (1993) (Bordwell 2006c, pg. 97). According to Bordwell, [c]
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irculating-object plots like Twenty Bucks tend to create convergences by having

characters from one story return as walk-ons in others (2006c, pg. 98). Aronson
identifies the same characteristic in tandem narrative, whereby characters often
literally walk into and out of each others stories (although characters may not
always know each other when they pass) (2010a, pg. 185). A circulating object
is therefore an effective method of linking protagonists in ways both known and
unbeknownst to them.
Theme and dramatic unity

One of the most important elements in any film script is theme. Cowgill believes,
however, that theme is perhaps even more essential in parallel narrative than
in conventional storytelling, arguing, the key ingredient in all great ensemble
films is dramatic unity the synthesis of thematic ideas and plot movement
which enables the screenwriter and filmmaker to interpret the lines of action
and construct the framework for the films plot (1999, pg. 124). When writing
a parallel narrative film, an overarching theme allows the writer to focus
the material and manage the information so that even as he breaks with the
more conventional story telling techniques (a sole protagonist, linear narrative
structure), he winds up with an intelligible, unified whole (Cowgill 1999, pg.
124). Linking each protagonist this way in some kind of shared experience is,
Cowgill argues, what enables the audience to understand a parallel narrative
films overall meaning (1999, pg. 125).
Cowgills words, although first published more than ten years ago, continue
to resonate today, and have become possibly more important in contemporary
Hollywood filmmaking than she may have anticipated. In todays developing
forms such as fractured tandem, theme is even more of a consideration than
in the more established, much older ensemble plots. Because the plotlines in
fractured tandem are frequently isolated from one another, the writer needs to
create a common denominator between the characters and their problems
(Cowgill 1999, pg. 125) so that the audience understands why these stories
have been chosen and how they relate. For the moment, stories in fractured
tandem films tend to have the same theme and subject matter, namely tragic
accidents or coincidental connections between strangers and chain reactions
(Aronson 2010a, pg. 382). What creates a sense of unity in these films is the
context in which such themes are explored. Each fractured tandem film I have
mentioned so far in this chapter looks at accidents and consequences in a
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different context; for example, in Crash, the context of race and racism, in Three
Burials, the context of loneliness, friendship and justice (Aronson 2010a, pg.
382). Arriaga too, who is obsessed with the impact of death on the living
(Aronson 2010a, pg. 379), draws parallels between his characters through their
experiences of death, which, in his work, is almost always the reason behind the
tragic ways they intersect.
In parallel narratives in which central figures do not physically intersect, writers
must use thematic relations in order to achieve unity and overall coherence.
When protagonists do not cross paths, thematic explorations rather than
causal links are most often used as a means of drawing parallels between the
separate story lines. Bordwell uses The Hours as an example of how a uniform
theme, or themes, can create a sense of intimacy between isolated plot strands,
expressing The Hours (2002) undercuts three women in three eras (1921, 1951,
and 2001), and although slender causal connections among them are eventually
revealed, the dominant impression is of thematic parallels the temptation of
suicide and the difficulty of accepting life and love (2006c, pg. 94). Roger Ebert
similarly demonstrates how Magnolia, in which the array of main protagonists
are linked by blood, coincidence and by the way their lives seem parallel (Ebert
2000), rests heavily on the central ideas of the deaths of fathers, the resentments
of children, the failure of early promise, the way all plans and ambitions can be
undermined by sudden and astonishing events (2000). The main characters in
Magnolia do not need to physically encounter one another, and often dont, for
the audience to understand the connections they share, as these are explored
via the films themes.
Suspense and surprise: the essential ingredients

According to Aronson, the most challenging aspects of writing a parallel
narrative film are a) the difficulty of maintaining suspense when jumping
between stories b) the need to create several very powerful and unusual stories
c) the pay off the final ending which will surprise yet seem absolutely fitting
(2010b). Cowgill similarly asserts that the main difficulties in writing such
narratives are how to focus the story and keep audience attention; how to
shift from one plot to another; and how to create a synthesis which holds all the
plotlines together (1999, pg. 124). According to Aronson, it is very much the
maintenance of suspense and the effective use of surprise in parallel narrative
that creates and fosters audience engagement. In a comment she posted on my
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student honours blog, she expresses that the use of these story elements are
crucial in preventing a script with several protagonists from deviating from its
main points of action, advising I be very careful to maintain suspense, indeed,
cold-bloodedly plot it in (2010b). In addition, Aronson consistently reiterates in
her discussions on parallel narrative that [s]urprises are the key (2010a, pg.
196) and that suspense is the magic ingredient (2010a, pg. 190) in maintaining
audience engagement.
Surprise is an important device in any good film script, both conventional
and unconventional. According to Cowgill, [s]urprise is a key element of
successful screenwriting, as it plays a part in maintaining suspense (1997, pg.
107). Cowgill argues that surprise is required in order to keep the audiences
attention, and that if we are not surprised, the film will not hold us (1997,
pg. 107). Similarly, Paul Kooperman contends every story must surprise and
enlighten to keep an audience engaged and interested (2009, pg. 29). Cowgill
highlights that surprise is often achieved [w]hen a plot takes a sudden turn in
an unexpected direction [or] When a character behaves in a startling way or
does something seemingly explicable (1997, pg. 107). Surprise is therefore just
as crucial to more traditional forms of cinematic storytelling as it is to parallel
narrative.
Consecutive-stories film Pulp Fiction is an outstanding piece of writing because
it uses surprise as a means of maintaining pace (Aronson 2001, p. 199) and
ends climactically. It is through the device surprise that Pulp Fiction manages to
captivate audiences worldwide, despite sporting no distinct resolution. Aronson
explains the phenomenal popularity of this tradition-breaking film in her
statement that audiences seem to be seeking, effectively, a moral, even if that
moral is bizarrely surprising (as in Pulp Fiction) (2001, p. 187).
Alongside surprise operates suspense, the key element in reducing a
storys predictability. As Cowgill states, [t]he worst enemy of suspense is
predictability. If the audience easily foresees whats going to happen and their
expectations are met without surprise, they become bored (1997, pg. 106).
This is particularly important to address when writing parallel narratives, as
predictability is an inbuilt problem of the form (Aronson 2010a, p. 183). The
employment of fractured tandem is a radical, structural way to add pace to
scenarios that might suffer from predictability and/or be exposition-heavy that
is, to deliberately chop up the stories and tell them in a non-linear way (Aronson
2010a, pg. 196). One way fractured tandem tackles predictability and achieves
suspense is by introducing elements of the detective story. Because stories in
this mode are told in a non-linear fashion, every time the film changes scenes
the audience has to act as detective, rapidly working out which story and which
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time frame the film is now in (Aronson 2010a, pg. 378). In Aronsons view, this
is exactly the effect most fractured tandem needs to create to overcome the
potential predictability of its content (2010a, pg. 378). She argues that the use
of this detective element instantly inserts interest and suspense (2010a, pg.
378), keeping viewers intellectually and emotional invested in the story.
Elements of the suspenseful detective story are also introduced by making
the films hook a powerful scene from its ending (Aronson 2010a, pg. 385).
Fractured tandem does this frequently, and can be seen in 21 Grams, Babel
and Crash, where the films climax or second act turning point is placed at the
beginning of the film. This strategy creates suspense by introducing dread of
death or violence for either one or several of the characters early on. As Aronson
explains, death or the threat of it always appears at the start of these films,
so that from the earliest moments the audience is powerfully engaged both
emotionally and intellectually by the most intense and gripping kind of mystery
with the highest jeopardy: a whodunit (2010a, pg. 378). The audience must
then play detective by trying to guess how the characters come together in this
situation, what exactly will happen to them, who injures who, and whether or not
they will survive. In 21 Grams, for example, sections of the climax are inserted
at the beginning of the film, showing main protagonists Cristina Peck (Naomi
Watts), Paul Rivers (Sean Penn) and Jack Jordan (Benicio del Toro) involved in
what seems to be a bloody shooting. The action then cuts to the three characters
in their separate plotlines, still strangers. As a result, the film becomes very
suspenseful because we know there is going to be a bloodbath and we want to
know how these three people end up in that situation (Aronson 2010a, pg. 385).
It is highly important, Aronson stresses, to keep open the possibility of the
characters surviving the violent circumstances presenting in the hook, or even
managing to escape them. She urges the writer to remember suspense requires
possibilities to escape the threat (2010a, pg. 196). Cowgill agrees that [w]hile
its true that the possibility of imminent crises needs to be foreshadowed, it is
the possibility, not the certainty of these crises, which gives rise to suspense
and anticipation (1997, pg. 106 [emphasis in original]). Hence, the importance
of dread in setting up an expectation of something sinister that looks like it
will happen to the characters, but with a little luck, wont. Cowgill highlights
that dread works in conjunction with doubt to keep the fate of the characters
a mystery to the audience, stating, [d]oubt may arise as to whether or not the
event will occur, and doubt should arise to build suspense (1999, pg. 129). An
effective way to make the audience doubt that the characters will in fact be
harmed is to insert credible rays of hope that you can ultimately quash (or not,
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if you want to go for a twist ending) (Aronson 2010a, pg. 196). In light of this,
the writer should strive to sustain dread and doubt right up until the climax.
Finally, at the end of a fractured tandem film comes the surprise of the twist
ending. The twist ending plays out the foreshadowed climax, but in a way the
audience does not expect. Aronson feels the twist ending is necessary because
the film is returning to where it started, so needs a surprise ending, or indeed
a series of surprises (2010a, pg. 383). This makes sense because if the audience
already has an idea of what the climax could be, which is hinted at early on,
then the writer must jolt its expectations. Otherwise, the risk is that the entire
film will seem predictable. Via my blog, Aronson advised me to examine recent
fractured tandem films such as The Hours, Crash and Arriagas films, and note
how all of these films end with a twist (2010b), a large reason for their success.
Therefore, in fractured tandem, the climax should unfold in an unexpected way
in order to satisfy the audience and give the story a powerful, unique ending.
Sramatic structure in the short fractured tandem film

In contemporary Hollywood cinema, feature films reign. It is virtually unheard
of for a short film script to make it to production in Hollywood, as [s]hort form
screenplays go virtually unread at studios and agencies (Cowgill 1997, pg. ix).
As such, commercial parallel narrative films are overwhelmingly produced as
feature films. Such films commonly extend past the standard ninety-minute
feature length, and Aronson agrees, stating, parallel story films are regularly
coming in at three hours (2001, pg. 188). Magnolia, for instance, surpasses the
three-hour mark, and Amores Perros comes to a close after a substantial 153
minutes. It is little wonder that these films often struggle to conclude at ninety
minutes. Because they deal with several central protagonists and thus several
central plotlines, there is potentially a lot of information for the writer to include.
A large part of the scriptwriters challenge is therefore to select what plot and
character material to include and what to omit for each narrative strand, and to
determine how this impacts the story as a whole. Cowgill encourages the writer
to remember that each scene and sequence should contribute to the ultimate
discovery of what the film is about (1999, pg. 151), a helpful way to ascertain
what material should and should not be discarded. This principle, however,
applies to any kind of film, short or feature length, and not just to parallel
narrative alone. Writing a parallel narrative to the time constraints of a short
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film thus presents a significant problem, exacerbated by the fact that [p]arallel
narratives of all kinds are indeed very difficult (Aronson 2010b) in the first place.
Cowgill characterizes the short film as having a running time less than forty
five minutes, and usually less than thirty (1997, pg. ix). In her view, simplicity is
one of the essential qualities of a successful short film, arguing the best story
ideas for short films are relatively simple [and] focus on one main conflict,
sometimes only one incident, which is developed from inception to climax (1997,
pg. 5). Cooper and Dancyger similarly contend, the short screenplay, like the
short story, works best when its plot is uncomplicated (2005, pg. 9). They further
claim that short film writers should aim to work with a single protagonist, as
there simply is not enough time for an audience to identify with more than
one (2005, pg. 51). Therefore, according to these writers, simplicity is achieved
by constructing a tightly focussed story and by keeping the number of central
characters at a minimum.
I would argue, however, that these writers comments on short film writing are
too generalised. In films of eight minutes or less, what Cooper and Dancyger
refer to as short short screenplays (2005, pg. 233), adhering to narrative
simplicity is likely to be good advice. Having said that, in their book Writing the
Short Film (2005) they provide three examples of short short screenplays they
feel have an abundance of narrative, given their brevity [and] are remarkable
examples of what can be accomplished in 8 minutes or less (2005, pg. 233).
They therefore show that the rule of simplicity does not necessary characterize
a good short film. Thirty minutes of screen time is, I contend, long enough to
introduce some degree of narrative complexity. In addition, if a single protagonist
can be satisfactorily explored in an eight-minute film, there is no reason,
mathematically, why three or four protagonists cannot be adequately explored
in thirty minutes. It can therefore be argued that while parallel storytelling
is indeed a complex form, it certainly has potential to work within the time
constraints of the short film.
Short film structure often defies the standard three-act structure found in the
majority of commercially successful feature length films. Cooper and Dancyger
believe there is good reason for this. In their view, while the concept of a full
three-act structure has proven useful to writers of longer films (mainly features),
it can be unhelpful even obtrusive to writers of short films (2005, pg. 55).
Rather than attempting to pack three full acts into a story limited in length, they
suggest, a one- or two-act structure might be a more productive writing device
(2005, pg. 6). They also encourage the scriptwriter to think of the story line
for a short as a single flow of incidents (2005, pg. 55), a helpful way of building
momentum and pace into the short film script.
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Intriguingly, the short film shares some structural similarities with fractured
tandem narrative. Aronson asserts that, like the short film, the fractured tandem
film deviates heavily from the conventional three-act structure. In The 21st
Century Screenplay, she repeatedly expresses the view that three-act structures
are at the heart of parallel narrative (2010a, pg. 381). Yet, she identifies fractured
tandem as an exception, stating, astonishingly, fractured tandem seems
often to do without them (2010a, pg. 381). In her examination of this specific
mode, she highlights, the stories in fractured tandem films often lack rising
suspense frequently have no proper second act or middle, and seem quite
often to consist of a collection of one-act films (2010a, pg. 385). Rather than
adhering to a traditional three-act structure, fractured tandem cleverly creates
the illusion of one through non-linear storytelling methods. As Aronson explains,
pace, connection, meaning and closure can be artificially created in stories that
do not naturally have them, in some cases simply by rearranging them. Instead
of linearity and a rising three-act structure giving you these things, non-linearity
does it (2010a, pg. 378). This allows fractured tandem to successfully handle
stories that contain truncated or practically non-existent second acts (stories
rightly considered unsuitable for the conventional three-act, one-hero paradigm)
(2010a, pg. xvii). In Aronsons view, this is a unique ability of the form.
This discussion merely skims over the surface of Aronsons examination of
fractured tandem narrative structure; obviously, there is much more room for indepth discussion in her scriptwriting manuals. But it is significant and therefore
worth mentioning here that the separate stories in fractured tandem films
demonstrate characteristics structurally very similar to that of the short film,
such as the omission of one or more acts. Thus, in theory, constructing a short
fractured tandem film may not be as improbable as it seems.
To recap
With its array of central protagonists, intersecting plotlines, and its frequent use
of non-linear strategies, parallel narrative is a highly complex and unconventional
storytelling mode. Like any unconventional form, however, it has grown out of
classical design. This is good news for the modern screenwriter, as we are able
to mould the new structures on the basis of the old. Traditional screenwriting
practice utilises a single protagonist, whom we can also refer to as the hero. This
protagonist undergoes a vital transformation, or a character arc, as a result of
the experience of pivotal events in the story. This character arc is perhaps best
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illustrated in the heros journey. As is demonstrated in Crash, parallel storytelling

often incorporates elements of the heros journey. And, just as in classical
narrative, usually characters in parallel narrative films experience some form
of development or growth as a result of life-changing events. The conventional
one-hero three-act model is also heavily present in parallel structures, and is in
fact what the new modes of storytelling base their structure on. Excitingly, this
means we already have the building blocks to construct films in these other
structural forms (Aronson 2010a, pg. 48).
According to Aronson, parallel narrative currently encompasses no less than
six different modes: tandem, multiple protagonist, double journeys, flashback,
consecutive-stories and fractured tandem. Each mode possesses its own unique
attributes, a strong indication of the complex nature of parallel storytelling as
an overall form. The fact that hybridisation between the modes is occurring all
the time is further indication that parallel narrative is undergoing a continuous
process of development. Depending on which particular mode is of interest,
writers have the option of adopting one or more of the three connecting devices
I have identified: the story frame, the connecting incident, and the circulating
object. It is highly likely there are more such devices being employed in current
parallel storytelling that have yet to be written about, and I do not doubt more
will emerge.
Aronson, Bordwell and Cowgill, among other screenwriting instructors,
emphasise the vital role surprise and suspense play in keeping audiences
engaged in parallel narrative films. These two key story elements are particularly
crucial for fractured tandem, enabling stories within this mode to function
effectively as a whole. In fractured tandem, suspense is achieved in a number
of ways. By placing a section of the films violent climax at the start as a hook,
the writer is creating a sense of dread that the characters will suffer an awful
fate. This is also how the threat of death is established for the characters.
Furthermore, jumping between time frames creates a suspenseful detective
element that keeps the audience guessing until the climax. Surprise in fractured
tandem films is largely achieved in the twist ending, which reveals new
information about the climax when it is played out at the end of the film.
In addition, Cowgill strongly advises the writer to construct thematic
relationships between the various plotlines in order to achieve unity and produce
an overall meaning for the audience. And although screenwriting theorists such
as Cooper and Dancyger insist simplicity is one of the vital elements of a good
short screenplay, I argue that a certain degree of narrative complexity can be
achieved in thirty pages of script, perhaps even less. The short film and the
fractured tandem film both function more effectively when they do not adhere to
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a three-act structure. As such, writing a successful fractured tandem narrative

to fit within thirty minutes of screen time is perhaps more possible than
screenwriting theory suggests.
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CHAPTER THREE
Script Reflections
This chapter contains four script reflections. The reflections represent an
ongoing journal on the development of the script as a whole, beginning with
draft one, and ending with the fourth and final draft. Each reflection explains
the reasoning behind my implementation of particular parallel narrative devices
(as well as more conventional ones) and an analysis of whether or not these are
working. This is also a space where I point out flaws in my script and suggest
methods of rectifying them in subsequent drafts.
Each reflection was written after each draft of the script. As such, I advise each
reflection be read after the specific draft to which it corresponds. Reflection one,
for example, should be read after draft one of the script. Reflection two should be
read after draft two, and so on. Reading the documents chronologically from one
to four order is also reccommended. As mentioned in the Introduction section
of this exegesis, all drafts of the script are located in a separate accompanying
document entitled Tied: A Short Film Script.
The first teetering steps: draft one reflection
Imagining the characters

When I am developing an idea for a film, it is usually the characters I think of
first. For this project, the process was no different. Before I had come up with any
semblance of a plot, I had quite a strong idea of who my three characters were.
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Amelia was the first character that came to me. She was immediately intriguing
to me because of the contradictions in her nature: a psychologist who herself
struggles with a mental disorder, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD),
but does little to address it. The loss of her child years ago and subsequent
departure of her ex-husband has also left her terrified of forming romantic
relationships and unable to confront her grief. This is apparent in her cold,
defensive response to Terry when he asks her in the supermarket if she has a
big family. The fact that she feels responsible for Steven tripping over in the
supermarket and apologises to him is an indication that her OCD is likely to
have arisen from the trauma caused by past events in her life.
Amelias conflict is internal. She wants a relationship to fulfil her need to be
loved, but she is scared to take the chance. Not only does she battle with her
disorder, she also struggles to express herself. There is something fascinating
to me about a psychologist who cannot talk openly with others. She is able
to confide in her sister, Fran, which provides her some relief. But she is quite
guarded with her ex-patient and potential love interest Terry during their dinner,
dismissing his attempts to open up to her by making comments such as Its
my job to understand and, when she offers some insight into her painful past,
It was a long time ago. It seems out of character for her to tell him that she
once had a child and a husband, but I feel this is important for the purpose of
providing background into her story. Perhaps over the next couple of drafts I can
tweak her dialogue so that the audience still receives this information without
her volunteering it freely.
Anna was the second character I thought of. Interestingly, she first came to me
as a young concert pianist. I soon discarded that idea, however, because I felt
the notion of the young musician forced to perform by her parents was too clich.
And, as Robert McKee so vehemently argues, clich is at the root of audience
dissatisfaction (1997, pg. 67). I did some brainstorming with the express intent
of usurping such clichs, which gave rise to what was to become one of Annas
most unusual attributes, her enormous physical strength. Hence, I made Anna a
weightlifter, an atypical pursuit for a teenage girl. Weightlifting is also visually
more appealing than her sitting down at piano.
As a young woman, Annas wants and needs are very different to her father
Urys. She feels very controlled by his desire to push her to elite athleticism,
saying to Lee, Its not my life. Its his. She struggles to communicate this
to Ury, however, which results in hostility between them. Like Amelia, part
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of Annas conflict is internal. She tells Ury in their final scene together in the
hospital that she continued weightlifting after her mother died just to make him
happy. So, we gather that this is the reason she has not properly faced up to him
until this point. However, I feel this has not been properly communicated, mainly
because Annas words are too harsh, as is Urys reaction to them. Although he
is not her biological father, he is still the man who raised her, and turning his
back on her completely seems unlikely, particularly because he supports what
he believes to be her desire to be an elite weightlifter. The external conflict in
Annas story is Ury. He is forcing her to pursue a career in weightlifting, which is
at odds with her desire to quit the sport and be a normal teenage girl.
Lastly, there is Sean, who was not as easy to conjure. Initially, he was a young
single father who enters the singing competition Sing It Out in a desperate
attempt to win enough money to care for his daughter, Sarah. However, this
would mean telling his story through a talent show, which I felt would take focus
away from his character by creating too many others (other contestant, judges).
Besides, as Sean is the only central male protagonist, I wanted to give him more
of an edge. One way to do this was by giving him a past he wants to hide. In
this respect, he shares similarities with Amelia. Through Vanessas appearance
in the opening scene, we discover he once dated a junkie, with whom he
accidentally fathered a child. Later on, Vanessa reveals that Sean was involved
in drugs when she says, Im clean now It took me longer than you but I did
it. This immediately introduces drama into his story: having just won a huge
competition, money and fame, he has so much to lose.
The connecting incident

Because I had the characters somewhat formed already, the next challenge was
to construct a connecting incident in which they would cross paths. I thought
about using a traffic accident because the work of Guillermo Arriaga and Paul
Haggis in films such as 21 Grams, Amores Perros and Crash has shown this to
be an effective and powerful device. Bordwell also notes the connecting incident
in fractured tandem films is most often a traffic accident: its dangerous to take
to the roads in todays movies (2006, pg. 97). In 21 Grams, however, the three
protagonists do not face one another in the moment of the hit and run accident
around which the story pivots. They are brought together afterwards, though the
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story is not portrayed in this order. Arriaga uses a similar strategy in Amores
Perros, bringing the characters together but not having them actually face one
another.
This was not what I wanted to do. I wanted the connecting incident to be
something that brought the central players into the same moment and the same
physical space, and for them to confront each other in this space. I decided
that a way achieve this is to have my connecting incident function doubly as
the climax, as the climax in fractured tandem is usually where protagonists
encounter each other. I chose a shooting because it is as dramatic as a car crash,
but in my eyes does not possess the been done before stigma of a car crash as
the connecting incident. A shooting is also a very effective way to create dread,
as the risk of death is high.
In addition, I incorporated elements of the circulating object plot into my script,
the circulating object being the toy helicopter. The helicopter begins in the
hands of Terrys son Steven, is passed onto Amelia, and ends up, brutally, in
Seans throat. Its progression from an innocent plaything to a weapon used to
stab one of the characters might be thought of as alluding to the unpredictability
of human behaviour and of life.
Interweaving the stories

It was difficult to refrain from interweaving the stories straight off the mark.
Before writing, I had envisaged the arch of the overall story a particular way
in my head, and I instinctively set out realising this on the page. I soon found,
however, that this made things rather confusing. The scenes seemed out of
order, and I found I was losing the flow of the story as a whole.
In order to rectify this issue, I returned to the advice Aronson had offered me via
my Honours student blog. She recommended I hasten slowly. Work out the spine
the steps of each story before you interweave or you are likely to meander
off the point and irk your audience (2010b). In light of her words, I proceeded
to carefully plot each of my three narrative threads for Amelia, Anna and Sean
entirely separately from one another. Only once I had done this did I insert
scenes that assisted in the setting up of the climactic shooting that brings
all three characters together. The scene between Anna and her friend Lee, for
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example, draws attention to the danger of the empty wine bottles Lee keeps
lined up on his balcony ledge. Not only does this scene reveal the information
that Ury is not Annas biological father, but it also sets up the trigger of the
shooting: one of Lees empty wine bottles falling from his balcony ledge and
smashing on the ground below.
Tackling the story in 30 pages

Having never written a thirty-minute film script before, I decided it might be
easiest to take a mathematical approach. With thirty minutes of screen time to
write, I endeavoured to allocate the three main characters roughly ten minutes of
screen time each. I made this decision in order to ensure all the main characters
receive equal attention in the script, and also to simplify the writing process.
However, this model began to crumble almost as soon as I began writing.
The opening scene, for example, Seans celebratory party, takes up almost five
minutes of the script. This is half of the screen time I can afford to give to Sean
under this distribution model, yet it is only the beginning of his story.
The reason for this scene being so long is that I was concerned about jumping
between the stories too frequently, and in doing so, losing the audience. Cowgill
expresses concern about constant intercutting between stories in parallel
narrative. She argues that doing so will undermine the tension of an escalating
line of action (1999, pg. 133). On the other hand, I feel it is important to keep
the scenes short not only to maintain pace, but also to tell the story in a more
economical way. Kooperman agrees that in a short film, Scenes should be short
no more than 1 or 2 pages (2009, pg. 21). In the next draft, I will try to find a
happy medium between the two.
Over-using coincidence
As I have noted, fractured tandem is heavily based upon the theme of
connection and coincidence (Aronson 2010a, pg. 383), and is a mode in which
links between characters often form unlikely connections (Aronson 2010a, pg.
382). As such, I wanted to incorporate a lot of coincidence into my story in order
to depict the unlikely situations that frequently appear in fractured tandem films.
I knew that if I went slightly overboard on the use coincidence, it would allow me
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to stand back and evaluate which instances were more believable than others,
and thus determine which ones to keep and which ones to discard.
There are several instances of coincidence in my first draft. The first major
coincidence is when Amelia runs into Terry, an ex-patient of hers, at the
supermarket. It could also be viewed as coincidental that Vanessa rings
Seans mobile at the very moment he needs her. His decision to invite her over
then triggers a series of events that leads him to become involved in the final
shooting. It is a complete coincidence that Terrys choice of restaurant is located
right next to the apartment building where his estranged daughter, Anna,
lives. And the climax is a situation ripe with coincidences: one of Lees empty
wine bottles falls from his balcony ledge and smashes on the ground below just
as Sean is about to shoot Amelia and Anna is running out of her apartment
building after a fight with Ury.
There is one instance of coincidence that is far too unbelievable in my script:
Terry is Annas biological father. Not only is this particularly implausible, finding
her biological father is not the focus of Annas story. Her story is about her
relationship with Ury and her struggle to voice her desire to quit weightlifting.
Finding the theme

It feels as though the script is lacking something important, and I think it is
because there is no distinct overarching theme to tie the characters together
and provide a sense of unity across the whole story. The only thematic parallel I
can currently draw between the three separate stories is that of the complexity
of parent-child relationships. Anna struggles to communicate with Ury, unable
to stand up to him or make him listen to her, and her resentment for him is
exacerbated by his rejection of her desire to find her biological father. Amelia
is mourning the loss of her child years ago, which has caused a decline in her
mental health. Her sister Fran also mentions that Amelia and her mother had a
troubled relationship, in which Amelia rejected her mothers advice while her
mother was still alive. Sean, too, has a strained relationship with his mother,
upon whom he relies to take care of his baby daughter Sarah. His relationship
with the child is virtually non-existent, which indicates that keeping the child
from Vanessa is purely about power. Vanessa further reveals in their final scene
together in Seans kitchen that he has a problematic relationship with his father,
saying to him, You dont have to be your father. Even Annas friend Lee seems
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to harbour some resentment towards his mother, who doesnt listen to him and
whom he suggests is barely around to care for him.
It seems the only positive parent-child relationship in the entire script is the
one between Terry and Steven. While Stevens mother is living in Sydney
with her boyfriend, clearly having chosen a man over her own son (another
troubled mother-son relationship), Terry has him full time, despite being a wellrecognised eating disorder specialist whose job is rather demanding. We know
he is a loving father because of his concern when Steven runs away from him in
the supermarket, the event that leads him to Amelia. He also tells Amelia that
Steven is the best thing in my life, a clear indication of his devotion to the boy.
Despite the presence of problematic parent-child relationships, the theme
doesnt feel developed enough to be the element that provides an overall sense
of meaning. Annas story is the only one of the three that focuses on this notion
throughout. Seans does to an extent, but ends up being more about his need
to control Vanessa through their child Sarah. In Amelias narrative, it is only
touched upon briefly. Whatever the message Im trying to send with my story,
it isnt apparent to me yet. This does not worry me, however, as it may take
several drafts before you discover your theme (Cowgill 1997, pg. 9). My plan for
the next draft is to mend the problems I have identified in this reflection and to
see if a theme thus emerges.
Developing the characters and their relationships

As outlined in the previous chapter, character transformation is an essential
element in any film script, conventional or unconventional. In the first draft of
my script, my characters are not yet adequately developed. Amelia, for example,
is intended to be one of my main protagonists. Yet, she ends up simply being
a vehicle for Anna to meet Terry. She also does not feature until 6 minutes into
the script, which is perhaps a little too late. I feel the audience needs to connect
with her in the first couple of minutes in order to establish that she is one of the
three main protagonists. If I eliminate the idea that Terry is Annas father (which
is too far-fetched anyway) then Terry can operate as a secondary character in
Amelias story. Hopefully, this will bring the focus back to Amelia and allow me
to develop her character more effectively. In addition, if I introduce her earlier in
the script, then it should become clearer that she is one of the main protagonists.
Anna, too, needs development. At the end of the script, she is injured irreparably
from the gunshot wound and can no longer pursue a career in weightlifting.
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While this fulfils her desire to put an end to the weightlifting, it is also taking
much of her choice in her own future away from her, and thus stifling the
opportunity for her character to undergo its crucial development. As outlined in
the previous chapter, character development in fractured tandem films usually
occurs as a result of the accidental intersections between isolated plotlines.
Annas involvement in the shooting should therefore present her with the chance
to take control of her own future, rather than it being left in the hands of fate. For
her, this means making the difficult choice to disrupt her fathers happiness in
order to finally actualise own desire to give up weightlifting and lead a normal
life. While she has already made up her mind about not wanting to continue
weightlifting before the climax of the story, her growth comes from her decision
to finally be honest with Ury. However, I feel this honesty should come from a
desire to improve their relationship as much as it comes from Annas desire to be
true to herself.
The relationship between Anna and Ury is not complex enough. In the first
draft they are very hostile towards each other, particularly in their final scene
at the hospital. There is a sense of finality about this scene that does not mesh
with what their relationship should be like. As a father and daughter who live
and train together, have suffered through grief together, and who seem to have
nobody but each another, we expect there to be closeness between them. Yet,
this is not reflected in the first draft. I think removing the notion that Terry
is Annas father will force Anna and Ury to forgive one another and work on
building a more loving relationship
Sean is, to me, the character in most need of development. Violent, narcissistic
and generally non-likeable, he can barely be classified as a protagonist. His
present status as the bad guy is something that occurred in the writing
process, and is not the way I intended for him to be portrayed. By having so
many horrible things thrown at him, it feels very strongly as though I have tried
to punish Sean for abusing his family. Yet, to reiterate Aronsons point from last
chapter about characters in fractured tandem films, fractured tandem sets out
to demonstrate that nobody is all good or all bad (2010a, pg. 382). Sean should
not therefore be solely responsible for the shooting, and there should be some
hope for him at the end of the script.
I wish to reveal more humanity and complexity in Seans character, and present
him as more of a protagonist than the antagonistic character he has turned out
to be in the first draft. A way to do so is to have him connect more with Vanessa
during the scene in which she comes over to help him take care of their child,
Sarah. Perhaps Sean will realise that he once loved Vanessa, and express some
kindness towards her and potentially towards Sarah too. If he has demonstrated
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affection towards the child, I believe the audience will find it easier to accept his
enraged reaction to Vanessa taking the baby from him.
The hook
Because Im using fractured tandem, non-linearity has to be a crucial part of the
way I tell my story. Without it, as I discussed in the previous chapter, suspense
is largely lost. I decided to reserve this device for the second draft of the script,
as I wanted to use the first draft to get the story onto paper and examine what
was and wasnt working in terms of character and structure.
The most significant way fractured tandem films utilise non-linearity is by
placing the climax at the beginning to provide a hook for the audience. So, in
true fractured tandem style, I want to make the opening scene of my script a
section of the climax. The rest of the story will then be told leading up to the
shooting. In making the shooting the first scene, I will be doing a number of
things. Firstly, I will be introducing Sean, Amelia and Anna altogether, and
indicating to the audience that they each hold equal weight in the story. This
will solve the issue of Amelia being brought too late into the script. Secondly,
I will be providing a hook to engage the audience and create a sense of dread
that something bad is going to happen to the characters. Thirdly, I will be
experimenting with the non-linear structure associated with fractured tandem
narrative.
Finding my feet: draft two reflection

Experimenting with non-linearity
The most drastic change I made to the structure of my script in the second draft
was placing the climax at the beginning as a hook. It is also the most obvious
non-linear storytelling device I utilised. Inserting a hook at the beginning was
done with the intention of creating dread and the threat of death for Anna, whom
we see bleeding from the leg. In showing the moment immediately after the gun
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goes off, I was aiming to make the audience question how Anna came to be shot
and which character might be responsible.
I also included a short scene of Sean hiding behind a dumpster in a dark
alley. His hands are bloodied, linking him to the other characters in the scene
immediately before him. Rather than Sean holding the gun in his hands,
however, he is holding the toy helicopter. This was intended to create several
questions for the audience: is Annas wound actually a stab wound caused by
the helicopter? If it is in fact a gunshot wound and Sean doesnt have the gun,
who does? Does this mean he did not shoot Anna? Within the opening seconds,
the audience hopefully experiences both dread and doubt. As we have seen,
these two emotions are crucial in the creation and maintenance of suspense in
fractured tandem films.
The hook is not quite working yet. I have written it in a very melodramatic way,
and is likely to be both difficult to direct in production, and difficult for the
actors to perform. I also feel as though I have given away too much by revealing
that Anna is the one who gets injured in the shooting. I think it would be far
more enticing for the audience if I only show the seconds leading up to the
gun being fired, rather than the aftermath. That way I will be introducing a
suspenseful detective element by allowing the audience to speculate as to who
is shot, if anyone, and whether or not the wound is fatal.
The other non-linear tactic I used are flashforwards. Flashforwards are an
Arriaga hallmark (Aronson 2010a, pg. 395), and a device that Guillermo Arriaga
uses in his films to pull the plot forward and introduce suspense. Fascinated by
Arriagas use of flash forward in 21 Grams, I wanted to try it out. Like the hook
at the beginning, the two flashfowards in my script were designed to create
dread and doubt, and keep the audience in suspense as the story leads to its
climax. The first flashforward occurs eleven minutes into the script. It shows
Sean holding the gun up to Amelia and cocking it, as she stands frozen to the
spot, helpless and terrified. The reason for inserting this particular moment
is to introduce the idea that there is more to the climax than Anna getting
shot, which there is. It is designed to make the audience thus question if Sean
shoots Amelia rather than Anna, or as well as Anna, and whose blood he is
covered in at the start. Because he has now been linked to a wounded Anna
and a potentially wounded Amelia, it is unlikely the audience will think the
blood on his hands at the start is actually his own. The second flashforward
is located twenty-two minutes in, and shows Anna being rushed through a
hospital corridor on a gurney covered in blood. I placed this flashforward closer
to the climax to pull the focus back to the connecting incident and remind the
audience of what is to come.
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I incorporated the flashforwards purely for the purpose of experimentation. As

happens with experiments, this one did not succeed. Firstly, they seem to be
conveying unnecessary plot information. The first flashforward is designed to
surprise the audience, but Im worried it will be confusing. And the second
flashforward is simply reiterating what happens in the hook; the audience
already knows Anna gets shot. At this point in the script, showing Anna on the
hospital gurney is revealing redundant plot material.
Secondly, my flashfowards feel either misplaced or too random altogether.
Placing the second one twenty-two minutes in is probably far too late into the
story. Aronson argues 21 Grams works well because Arriaga uses persistent
and regular flashforwards in the earlier parts of the film (2010a, pg. 395),
filtering them out as the story progressing towards the climax. This is likely
to be because he has already created a huge amount of suspense in the films
beginning, which is enough for the audience to go on until the revelation of
the climax. If I were to mimic Arriagas style, I would have to include more
flashfowards and bunch them up in the first part of my script. Yet, I doubt this
would have the same impact in only thirty minutes of screen time. I am also
concerned about creating too much confusion for the audience by jumping back
and forth in time in a seemingly unmotivated fashion. The story will likely be
more coherent if I removed the flashforwards altogether and just used the hook to
foreshadow the shooting.
The twist ending

Because elements of the climax are revealed to the audience in the hook, I
needed to think of a way to jolt its expectations when the climax is played out
again in full at the end of the script. At the start, it seems likely that Sean is the
character who carries out the shooting, especially given his violent behaviour
towards Vanessa. This expectation is made greater by the flashforward in which
he is holding a helpless Amelia at gunpoint. It would therefore be a surprise for
the audience to discover that Amelia is the one who shoots Anna. Hence, I made
Amelia the character who pulls the trigger.
It is very important that the shooting be accidental. Accidents and randomness
are some of the key ideas upon which fractured tandem operates, and so must
be represented in my script. Because the shooting is not deliberate, Amelia is
somewhat absolved of responsibility. There is one moment where Amelia raises
the gun to Sean, but it is only because she is unsure what to do. Her actions
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are essentially self-defence. Instead, we still get the sense that Sean is solely
responsible: he brings the gun into the scenario; he tries to steal Amelias car.
His guilt is reinforced in the news report voice over at the end, which describes
him as the perpetrator whom the police are hunting down. And the fact that
he has been unreachable since the incident is an indication that he himself
feels responsible for the shooting. In the next draft, I will endeavour to construct
a scenario in which the three protagonists are neither entirely victims or entirely
to blame.
Adding complexity to characters and their relationships

By eliminating the idea that Terry is Annas father, Amelia is now fulfilling her
role of one of the three main protagonists, rather than simply serving as a means
for Terry and Anna to be united. I feel as though Amelia is a sufficiently complex
character already, although I do need to make some alterations to her behaviour.
There are two instances in which Amelia acts out of character, which need to be
addressed in the next draft. Firstly, she begins a conversation with Terry about
his son during their dinner date, telling him, You have a gorgeous son. If she
is so afflicted over the loss of her own son, to the point where she is terrified of
forming new relationships, she would not mention Terrys son because it would
be too painful for her. It would therefore be more believable if he was the one
who broached the subject.
Secondly, also during the dinner, she quite freely expresses to Terry that she
had a child died who from SIDS and a husband who left soon after the childs
death. Again, she confides in Terry far too easily here, opening up to him about
an experience she finds difficult to face herself. It does not make sense that she
would easily tell him this, then leave the dinner because the date has become
too intimate. While using characters out of character (Aronson 2010a, pg.
196) is a good way to surprise the audience, I dont feel that these particular
instances are believable given the closed-up nature of Amelias character.
With regards to Anna, she feels more complex now that she is able to make
the choice about her own future. The bullet now gets her in the leg rather than
the arm, a wound that will not greatly affect her weightlifting career. As such,
she must decide whether or not she will face up to Ury and confess to him her
desire to quit the sport. In making the hard decision to be honest with him, she
demonstrates a maturity and strength that her character was lacking in the first
draft.
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I also softened the relationship between Anna and Ury in order to create more
complexity. In the first draft, they express contempt for one another, ultimately
disowning one another. As explained in my reflection for the first draft, this is
too harsh and unrealistic. In the second draft, I removed the severity by making
their issue one of communication. Anna is afraid to tell Ury outright about her
desire to quit weightlifting. Instead, she makes comments, such as What if I
dont want to make it to nationals?, hiding behind a sullen attitude. She also
defies him in other ways, such as spoiling her strict diet with chocolate and
wine, and sneaking out to see Lee at night.
Their communication breakdown is exacerbated by the fact that Ury refuses to
listen to Annas hints, instead passing her defiance off as teenage angst. This is
demonstrated when he tells her, You are testing me, subsequently demanding
she carry on training. Ury again rejects her attempts to talk during the kitchen
scene, telling Anna, Unless its an apology, I dont want to hear it. Anna must
resort to smashing a plate to get his attention. It is only in the hospital room
after she has been shot that Ury begins to listen to her. The shooting therefore
allows her the opportunity to finally get the attentiveness she has been asking
for from Ury throughout the story.
I feel like Anna and Urys relationship is gaining more depth. However,
Ury seems to give in too easily when Anna tells him she is finished with
weightlifting. Her confession should be harder for him to swallow. Rather than
become upset and weep, Ury should become angry. Because the news comes as
a shock to him, he is likely to be unable overcome his anger in this scene. This
means inserting another short scene towards the end that gives some hope of
reconciliation for Anna and Ury. Because Ury is the one who is angry, it should
be from his point of view.
I have tried to introduce more depth to Seans character through showing some
softness and vulnerability in his character. In the first draft, he is consistently
cruel to Vanessa, and shows no interest in being a father to their child Sarah. In
the second draft, however, he experiences a moment of connection with Sarah
when Vanessa leaves the room. It is a small moment, but he is suddenly and
unexpectedly forced to acknowledge that this baby came from him, noting she
has, my eyes. In addition, Sean is kind to Vanessa when he needs her help.
When she comes over to pacify Sarah, Sean accommodates her by making
her eggs. He also displays remorse for his violent actions towards Vanessa
during the party scene at the beginning, telling her, I didnt mean to hurt
ya. Unfortunately for Sean, Vanessa is smart. She makes him vulnerable by
mentioning his troubled relationship with his father, sleeps with him, then
makes off with Sarah and his valuables whilst he sleeps. My intention here was
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to create some audience sympathy for Sean, who we finally see a softer side of,
only for him to be taken advantage of for it.
Despite my attempts at portraying him as more humane, Sean remains a morally
corrupt character. He demonstrates violence towards Vanessa when she shows
up on his doorstep, he attempts to control both her and his mother through
Sarah, he tries to steal Amelias car, and, to top it all off, he is sleeping with
his brother Gazs girlfriend, Liz. I suspect this is why I am still struggling with
removing the blame of the shooting from Sean. I still feel as though he must
somehow be punished for his unsavoury behaviour. Perhaps if he demonstrates
some remorse about the shooting, myself and the audience may feel more
sympathetic towards him.
Building the theme

The theme of my story is slowly becoming more apparent. It seems that Amelia,
Anna and Sean are all struggling with courage. Amelia is troubled by her OCD
and the loss of her family years ago, yet she does not seek help for it. When Fran
attempts to raise the issue, Amelia immediately dismisses her sisters concern
with the words, It comes and goes. This shows that she is not only unwilling
to address the matter, she is also unwilling to discuss it. In addition, she flees
the dinner with Terry because she realises she is afraid to open up to him and
let him into her life. Although the moment when she comes to this realisation is
not exactly clear, the reason for it is a lack of courage. For Amelia, it is easier to
suppress her problems than to confront them.
Like Amelia, Anna refrains from discussing her internal conflict, which is
whether or not she should tell Ury about her decision to quit weightlifting. Even
when Lee, the only person she confides in, broaches the subject with her, she
barely responds. He gently encourages her to talk to Ury about her feelings,
but all she replies is that she cant because it would hurt her father too much.
Although she doesnt say so, she is also being held back by her own fear. While
she loves her father and does not want to cause him pain, she herself cannot find
the courage to tell him about her desire to lead the life of a normal teenage girl.
Anna is defiant towards Ury, but this is not courage. It is the opposite; she hides
behind her defiance because it is easier than telling Ury the truth.
Sean lacks a specific kind of courage, and that is the courage to take
responsibility for his actions, the most significant being that he has fathered
a child. He forces his mother to look after Sarah because he refuses to do so
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himself. Behind this refusal is fear, which Vanessa reveals in the kitchen scene
after she has come over to help him with the child. Vanessa insists Sean is
afraid of the child, afraid of what shell turn you into. Vanessas words hit
a nerve, and we know there is truth in her statement that Sean is scared of
becoming like his own father. To add to this, Sean runs away from the scene of
the shooting at the end, and goes into hiding from the police. In doing so, he is
essentially continuing to run away from his responsibilities and neglecting to
take ownership for his actions.
The theme courage is beginning to emerge in this second draft, but needs
development. In order to make it clearer that the film is about courage, I will
have to alter some of the behaviour of the protagonists so that it better reflects
the theme. In other words, I will have to rewrite some of the action so that it
connects the characters more explicitly in their struggles with courage. Because
the three main characters are struggling with aspects of their own personality,
they should overcome their fears and demonstrate some courage and strength of
will in order to undergo their individual developments.
Almost there: draft three reflection
Building pace, momentum and suspense

In the third draft, one of my primary aims was to create more of a build up
towards the shooting. I feel I have achieved this by making a few alterations to
the structure of the script. Most significantly, I chopped up some of the scenes
leading up to the climax and interwove them to add pace. For example, I divided
Amelia and Terrys dinner date into three sections: Amelia arriving outside the
restaurant in her car, Amelia entering the restaurant and beginning to chat with
Terry about his work, and a straight cut back into the two sitting at the dinner
table continuing their discussion before Amelia impulsively flees the restaurant.
In between these three sections, I inserted other scenes that take place in the
minute or so leading up to the shooting. These include Sean awaking to find
Vanessa has taken Sarah and his valuables, the argument between Anna and
Ury, as well as two short snippets of Sean breaking into Amelias car and Anna
running down the stairwell in her apartment building to the street below. The
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short snippets in particularly are, I feel, vital in creating suspense. Not only does
their brevity give a sense of speed to the minutes before the climax, they reveal
information to the audience that the characters are unaware of. For example, the
audience can see that Sean is about to break into Amelias car, but Amelia does
not know it yet.
I have also broken up sequences in other places throughout the script where
there were large chunks dedicated to one central protagonist. In the second
draft, there were four minutes straight of Amelias plotline within the first eleven
minutes of the script. There was also almost six full minutes of Annas narrative
forming a big chunk in the middle of the script. And Seans narrative was taking
up four and a half minutes straight towards the end during the scenes involving
Vanessa. These chunks were disrupting the consistency and flow of the story,
as well as its pace. Seans plotline in particular was problematic because his
large chunk of narrative ended at the twenty-four-minute mark, a point at which
the narrative should be starting to speed up towards the connecting incident.
Therefore, I split these chunks into smaller one- to two-minute scenes, which
allowed me to interweave the separate storylines to greater effect. As a result,
the script feels as though it is working much better overall now in terms of pace,
momentum and suspense.
The tussle
As with every draft, the connecting incident has undergone some changes.
Rather than the incident involving hold ups with the gun, I thought it might
be more dramatic if the characters start tussling with the gun between them.
This way, the gun is obscured from the audiences vision, so that when it goes
off, we do not know who pulled the trigger. Hence, the blame for the shooting is
somewhat removed from Sean. In addition, Anna felt removed from the situation
in the second draft because she was just a bystander. So I included her in the
tussle by having her run in to help Amelia. As such, the climax now involves a
tussle between the three central protagonists. In my view, this is successful in
creating a real moment of intersection between them.
Constructing the climax around a tussle also allows the characters to take
a more active role. The circumstances of the connecting incident have been
determined by external forces: it just so happens that Seans apartment, Annas
apartment and the Indian restaurant are in very close proximity. It just so
happens that Seans chooses Amelias car to steal, and it just so happens that
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he is in the process of stealing it when she leaves the restaurant. Furthermore,

it just so happens that Anna is running down the stairs of her apartment onto
the street at the exact moment Amelia and Sean are tussling with the gun. It is
clear that coincidence has removed any control from the characters about their
involvement in the situation. As Aronson states, fractured tandem is about being
in the wrong place, at the wrong time (2010a, pg. 382).
However, while the protagonists cannot control the way their paths converge,
they can control the way this convergence plays out. All of a sudden, Amelia, a
fairly passive character throughout the script, becomes active. She stabs Sean
with the helicopter and grabs the gun. The unprecedented and life-threatening
situation has emboldened her. By removing the coincidental smashing of the
bottle, Anna is also able to control her involvement in the connecting incident.
Although generally a passive character, she suddenly runs into this dangerous
situation. Anna has faith in her physical strength, and, instinctively, she rushes
to help Amelia. The assumption is that she does not see the gun as the other
two characters are scuffling with it hidden between them. By having Anna
voluntarily run in and pull Sean away from Amelia, she is making herself
partially accountable for the incident. Ironically, it is this very movement of
yanking Sean that contributes to her getting shot. Thus, while she is the one
who comes off injured in the accident, she is not necessarily the victim.
Sean is a very active character, and essentially the character who sets off the
connecting incident by breaking into Amelias car. We get the impression that
Sean takes the gun with him without the intention of using it, which explains
his rejection of the gun when it is presented to him earlier at the party. Yet,
when he sees Amelia through the car window, he makes a grab for the weapon
immediately. So Sean, too, acts impulsively in the heat of the incident. Having
all three characters react instinctively to what is happening around them gives
a sense of unpredictability to the climax, which is intended to hold the audience
in suspense right up until the moment the gun goes off.
I believe these alterations to the climax have vastly improved the hook at the
beginning of the script. Sean is now a part of the drama of the hook, rather
than being removed from it by his own separate scene in the alleyway, as in the
second draft. By showing the moments leading up to the gunshot, I think the
sense of dread and suspense is greater. Now the threat of death is not only there
for Anna, but for all three protagonists. Ending the hook with a gunshot is, I feel,
a successful way of creating the fractured tandem detective story by allowing
the audience to speculate as to what happens next, and wait in suspense for
the answer. The questions this device raises are: Who was shot? Was anyone
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shot? Was it an innocent bystander rather than one of these three characters? If
anyone is shot, do they survive?
Fine-tuning: draft four reflection
An ambiguous shooting
In the fourth and final draft, I made the tussle for the gun much less detailed
and more ambiguous. It felt very choreographed in the third draft, and read too
much like Amelia was holding the gun and Sean trying to snatch it from her.
The way I achieved this ambiguity was by placing Anna right in the midst of
the scuffle and creating the sense that any one of the three protagonists hands
could be on the gun. That way, when the gun goes off, nobody is to blame. The
sense of ambiguity is further reinforced by the police report, which describes the
shooting as accidental.
Building emotional tension

Another focus in the final draft was to build each of the characters stories to an
emotional crescendo that reaches its highest moment of intensity in the climax.
This meant placing them in situations directly before the climax takes place that
would amplify the emotional struggles they have been experiencing throughout
the story. In other words, have them reach breaking point. Sean is already at
breaking point, having had all his valuables, his car and his own daughter stolen
from under his nose by Vanessa. He is out for revenge. Anna is also at breaking
point during the argument with Ury in the kitchen. This is demonstrated in
the way she smashes the plate and shouts at her father to Lift it! The only
thing I changed about her energy in this scene is that I made her run out of the
argument furious rather than upset. If she cries, her emotion is released. So she
needs to be angry in order to burst her way into the connecting incident. I also
amplified Amelias sense of frustration and embarrassment when she leaves the
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dinner with Terry, so that she is in an emotionally escalated state when she finds
Sean in her car.
If each of the characters enter the connecting incident angry, it is also more
feasible for them to act rashly. Anna is furious with Ury because he will not
listen to her, Amelia is deeply frustrated with herself, and Sean has one goal in
mind: to pay Vanessa back for taking advantage of him and stealing from him.
Because they are all in heightened emotional states, they all react impulsively to
the situation. As such, a heated tussle for the gun ensues, a situation in which
none of the characters could have predicted they would find themselves.
Courage
I feel as though the theme courage is being adequately reflected in this final
draft. Throughout the script, all three protagonists struggle with courage. Amelia
cannot confront her own debilitating issues, Anna cannot find the strength to
stand up to Ury and confess to him her desire to quit weightlifting, and Sean
refuses to accept responsibility for his duties as a father. They all undergo some
kind of transformation by the end of the story, and this change reflects the theme
of courage.
As explained above, the characters actions in the connecting incident are more
impulsive than they are courageous. However, it is through the experience of the
shooting that they are able to demonstrate courage. The incident gives Anna the
courage to stand up to Ury and claim her life back, and it is through the incident
that he finally listens to her. Thus, her character development and her emotional
strength comes from the experiencing of the shooting. The final scene we see
of Amelia shows her welcoming Terry and Steven into her home, the indication
here being that she and Terry are now romantically involved. For her, the ordeal
of the shooting forces her to connect with Terry and in doing so, she realises she
is capable of accepting him into her life. The fact that she is also able to accept
the little boy Steven into her life suggests she is also better learning how to deal
with the loss of her own son.
Finally, while Sean flees from the scene of the shooting in an act of cowardice,
he too ultimately displays courage. As a national celebrity, he realises his
involvement in the shooting is likely to damage his reputation considerably. Yet,
rather than attempting to hide as he does in the first three drafts of the script, in
the final draft he confesses the situation to her. It is significant that Sean goes
straight to his mother after the incident. He could go to Gaz, Liz or his producer
67
68
Trevor for help. But instead, he seeks his mothers guidance. If anything, this
is an indication that underneath his tough exterior, he is still a young man who
relies on the support of his mother in desperate situations. So while I included
this scene to add closure to his story and display some courage in Sean, I also
included it in order to gain some audience sympathy. We assume that his mother
is part of the reason he turns himself into police the morning following the
shooting, and that in going to her for help, Sean knew this was likely to be the
outcome. While his future is uncertain, we can see that he has grown as a result
of the incident.
Endings
My aim for the ending of the script was to conclude some of the plotlines
hopefully and others ambiguously. This is because I wanted to better reflect the
idea that in life we cannot foresee what happens next. I believe, as Cowgill does,
that in parallel narrative some plot lines end happily and others tragically, which
is essentially a description of life (1999, pg. 126). In light of this, I refrained
from tying up all the plotlines completely. Seans story probably holds most of
the endings ambiguity. Sean turns himself in to the police and, although the
shooting is regarded as accidental at this stage, it is uncertain whether or not
he will suffer any ramifications. Sarah ends up in the hands of Vanessa and her
boyfriend Richard. Though we see Vanessa help Sean with the child earlier in
the script, she is still an ex-junkie with little money, and the question remains
about whether or not her care is the best place for Sarah to be in.
Amelias and Annas stories, on the other hand, conclude fairly hopefully. Amelia
appears with Terry and Steven at the end and, for the first time, she seems
truly happy. It can be therefore assumed that she has accepted them into her
life and has, as a result, found some peace. While we do not see Anna and Ury
resolve their fight, we know there is hope of reconciliation between them. This
is indicated when Ury leaves the house with the silver necklace and a bunch
the flowers, clearly intended for her. In addition, I have concluded the script
with Anna and Lee eating chocolate on his balcony. My aim for this scene was
to show that Anna is now experiencing a normal girlhood, eating her favourite
foods with a friend who could potentially become something more.
Jasmine Roth
69
The title
Thinking of a title is, in my mind, one of the most difficult tasks involved in
writing a script. I am, quite simply, horrible at it. For the time being, I have
chosen the title Tied. My aim was to reflect something about the characters
individual struggles, whist also making reference to the all-important
connecting incident that allows them to overcome their struggles in some
way. Amelia is tied to her past, which has rendered her fearful of opening up
to others. Anna feels tied to her duty as a daughter, which, since the death
of her mother, she believes is to make her father happy. Sean, contrarily, is
afraid of being tied down to his responsibilities, especially now his career is
on the verge of something huge. In the climactic tussle for the gun, the three
protagonists literally become tied together. Finally, the term tied also connotes
connectedness. This is particularly apt, as the interconnected nature of human
relationships has been one of the major focuses of this project.
70
Jasmine Roth
71
Concluding Points
I was initially attracted to parallel narrative because of its unique way of
realistically depicting the randomness of human life. This storytelling modes
use of several main protagonists, intersecting plotlines, and its exploration
of chance encounters establishes it as one of the best narrative models for
accurately representing what I perceive to be the messy, interconnected
nature of human existence. For the outset, I was drawn to the themes of tragic
accidents, consequences and coincidence, which this form seemed particularly
adept to explore - themes which I myself intended to make use of in my
script. The discovery of Aronsons description and analysis of what she terms
fractured tandem seemed particularly attuned to my needs, as this specific
mode of parallel narrative deals explicitly with the web-like nature of human
relationships. I was just as excited to learn that parallel narrative is rapidly
becoming more prevalent in mainstream Hollywood cinema. This meant I was
exploring a developing area in contemporary screenwriting practice.
Given the amount of critical discourse on parallel narrative films, I expected
information on how to write such films to be easily accessible. Despite much
time spent looking for screenwriting manuals that dealt with parallel narrative,
I only came across a small handful. What I did find, however, proved to be
invaluable. The work of writers such as Linda Aronson, David Bordwell and
Linda Cowgill provided me with the tools with which I could construct my short
fractured tandem film script.
The doubly creative and reflective process of writing the short film script was
without a doubt the most enjoyable part of the project. It was here that I was
able to inject myself into the writing and adapt the principles of fractured
tandem, as well as other more conventional devices, through the characters and
the story.
72
Writing the script presented a series of challenges. Working with a limited

duration of thirty minutes was a definite challenge, which was made greater by
the fact I had chosen to develop no less than three protagonists, each of equal
weight in the story. As I tried to manage these constraints, certain structural
issues arose - these are particularly evident in the first three drafts I produced.
I experienced particular difficulty writing a suspenseful build to the climax,
and it was not until the final draft that I established a clear theme. Finally,
constructing the connecting incident, the climactic shooting in which all three
protagonists are brought together, proved to be a difficult task. I did not want the
moral fault of the shooting to lie with any one of the characters, in the same way
I tried to avoid making the characters mere victims of fate. Yet, in the first three
drafts Sean was consistently portrayed as the perpetrator of the shooting and
Anna the victim.
Through the aforementioned process of reflection and reiteration, however, I was
successful in overcoming these obstacles. I found that if I kept the scenes to one
to two minutes, the task of interweaving the three stories became significantly
easier. Placing short scenes of only a few seconds in the minutes before the
climax also helped create a strong sense of building up to the pivotal moment
in which the three protagonistss stories intersect. These scenes include Sean
breaking to Amelias car, and Anna running down the stairs of her apartment
building. I think that part of the trouble with finding a theme was due to the fact
that the characters initially seemed so different from one another. Eventually
I came to see that they did in fact share many similarities, the most apparent
being their individual battles with courage. As a result of this realisation, the
theme of courage emerged. I feel theme is well represented in the final draft
through the characters reactions to the shooting. Through experiencing the
traumatic shooting with Terry, Amelia is able to accept him into her life as a
romantic partner. As a result of being shot, Anna finally finds the inner strength
and the opportunity to tell her father Ury of her desire to quit weightlifting. And
Sean, after fleeing the scene of the shooting, realises that he must own up to his
responsibilities and turns himself into police the following morning. In my view,
the theme establishes a sense of unity across the separate stories by having all
three protagonists demonstrate courage as a result of the connecting incident.
Finally, I was able to rectify the issue I was experiencing with the connecting
incident simply by involving all three protagonists in an intimate, heated tussle
for the gun. This had the effect of creating more ambiguity as to which character
Jasmine Roth
73
is holding the gun at the time it is fired, therefore removing the blame from any
one of the characters.
Ultimately, I believe I have achieved my aim to write an engaging fractured
tandem film in short-form. I feel my script makes effective use of some of the
main devices employed in fractured tandem, especially in my representation
of the thematic concerns of chance and coincidence. These are explored in the
script by the representation of an accidental shooting, the consequences of this
accident for the characters, and the seemingly coincidental events that bring the
characters together. By placing a hook at the beginning, I was able to create a
sense of dread and foreboding, shadowing the characters with the threat of their
own death. Additionally, by foreshadowing the climax of the film at the start, I
feel I encouraged a more suspenseful engagement with the story - I hope that a
reader will anxiously await the arrival of the violent disturbance glimpsed at the
opening. And, finally, the inclusion of a surprise ending, which reveals Anna is
harmed in the shooting. The final draft is thirty-five minutes, which is slightly
longer than the intended thirty minutes. However, I believe that every scene in
the final draft contributes something towards character, plot and theme. There is
nothing I would remove from the finished piece of work.
Robert McKee states, writing is discovery (1997, pg. 113). I now understand
what he means. More than anything, this process has been one of discovery.
Perhaps most valuable has been the discoveries I have made about my own
writing practices through the task of reflecting upon them. And although I
have gained a solid understanding of how to construct parallel narrative, it has
become apparent to me that there is still so much to learn about screenwriting
as a craft in general. Overall, this project has provided me with the skills to write
complex parallel narratives, and has created a pathway for me into the world of
screenwriting.
74
Jasmine Roth
75
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Booker, M. Keith 2007, Postmodern Hollywood: whats new in film and why it
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of the Superhero, Journal of Media Psychology, vol. 9, issue no. 3, viewed 4 June
2010.
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Filmmaking, Insight Publications, Melbourne, p. 21, 29.
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Beauty, Screen Education, issue no. 43, pp. 123, viewed 9 April 2010,
Communication & Mass Media Complete.
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Continuum: The Australian Journal of Media & Culture, vol. 1, issue no. 2,
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McKee, Robert 1997, Story: Substance, Structure, Style, and the Principles of
Screenwriting, Methuen Publishing Ltd, London, p. 49, 67, 100, 113, 171.
McKinty, Adrian 2010, Coincidence? Er yeah., blog, 21 May, Blogspot.com,
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Cinema: 21 Grams and Passion Fish, Film Criticism, vol. 31, issue no. 1, viewed 4
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Post-Smart American Melodrama, blog, 28 October, Synoptique, viewed 4 June
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Jasmine Roth
79
Filmography
21 Grams (dir. Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu 2003; USA)

Amores Perros (dir. Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu 2000; Mexico)
Armageddon (dir. Michael Bay 1998; USA)
Babel (dir. Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu 2006; USA)
Brokeback Mountain (dir. Ang Lee 2005; USA & Canada)
Crash (dir. Paul Haggis 2005; USA)
Happy Endings (dir. Don Roos 2005; USA)
Independence Day (dir. Roland Emmerich 1996; USA)
Love Actually (dir. Richard Curtis 2003; UK & USA)
Magnolia (dir. Paul Thomas Anderson 1999; USA)
Parenthood (dir. Ron Howard 1989, USA)
Pulp Fiction (dir. Quentin Tarantino 1994; USA)
The Big Chill (dir. Lawrence Kasdan 1983; USA)
The Butterfly Effect (dir. Eric Bress & J. Mackye Gruber 2004; USA)
The Departed (dir. Martin Scorsese 2006; USA)
The Full Monty (dir. Peter Cattaneo 1997; UK)
The Hours (dir. Stephen Daldry 2002; USA)
Traffic (dir. Steven Soderbergh 2000; USA)

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Life is Messy:

An Exploration of Parallel Narrative

Submitted in partial fulfilment of the requirements of the Bachelor of

Supervised by Christine Rogers

Submitted 29 October 2010

Chapter 1: Parallel Narrative: An Emerging Form

Chapter 2: Constructing Parallel Narrative

Chapter 3: Script Reflections

Parallel narrative films depicting several main protagonists and intertwining

Life is Messy: An Exploration of Parallel Narrative

Life is Messy: An Exploration of Parallel Narrative

After gaining some understanding through my initial research as to parallel

Life is Messy: An Exploration of Parallel Narrative

reflections. All drafts of the script are located in a separate accompanying

Life is Messy: An Exploration of Parallel Narrative

Life is Messy: An Exploration of Parallel Narrative

In Mittells view, parallel storytelling in television differs from film in that it

Life is Messy: An Exploration of Parallel Narrative

by absorbing all manner of experiment, from German Expressionism (for 1930s

The influence of popular scientific discourses

this effect seems to be enhanced by Soderberghs reluctant to privilege one

Life is Messy: An Exploration of Parallel Narrative

Coincidence, Chance, Fate and Melodrama

artificially constructed encounters correspond to the melodramatic tendency

Life is Messy: An Exploration of Parallel Narrative

In opposition to what critics perceive as the issue of chance and coincidence

It is significant that the theme of human interconnectedness arose throughout

Life is Messy: An Exploration of Parallel Narrative

Life is Messy: An Exploration of Parallel Narrative

power to jolt us into a new understanding of art, or even a new understanding

Life is Messy: An Exploration of Parallel Narrative

Life is Messy: An Exploration of Parallel Narrative

will include an illustration of some of the key devices employed in fractured

Characterization in traditional narrative

In her view, there is no room for multiple characters of equal significance in a

Life is Messy: An Exploration of Parallel Narrative

Dramatic structure in traditional narrative

Modes of parallel narrative

Life is Messy: An Exploration of Parallel Narrative

Characterization in parallel narrative

life-changing events. Fractured tandem mode places accidental intersections at

Life is Messy: An Exploration of Parallel Narrative

Dramatic structure in parallel narrative

Three connecting devices

Life is Messy: An Exploration of Parallel Narrative

irculating-object plots like Twenty Bucks tend to create convergences by having

Theme and dramatic unity

Suspense and surprise: the essential ingredients

Life is Messy: An Exploration of Parallel Narrative

Life is Messy: An Exploration of Parallel Narrative

Sramatic structure in the short fractured tandem film

Life is Messy: An Exploration of Parallel Narrative

illustrated in the heros journey. As is demonstrated in Crash, parallel storytelling

Life is Messy: An Exploration of Parallel Narrative

a three-act structure. As such, writing a successful fractured tandem narrative

The first teetering steps: draft one reflection

Imagining the characters

Life is Messy: An Exploration of Parallel Narrative

The connecting incident

Life is Messy: An Exploration of Parallel Narrative

Interweaving the stories

Tackling the story in 30 pages

Life is Messy: An Exploration of Parallel Narrative

Finding the theme