Like many screenwriters I have been influenced by and used the precepts in Chris Vogler’s classic The Writer’s Journey, where he lays out the structure beats and archetypes that are common in hero’s journey scripts. Adapting what Joseph Campbell had discussed in The Hero with a Thousand Faces.
It’s great stuff. Some of these elements overlap with or agree in parts with other story paradigms, like the later Save the Cat, while some are totally unique.
So how do you know if you’re writing a hero’s journey script and whether these principles really apply to you?
The way I see it, a hero’s journey story features the following elements. Note how The Matrix, Star Wars and Harry Potter, all hero’s journeys, follow this:
1. The main character is special in some way but doesn’t know it at the beginning.
They have some innate power or legacy. Maybe they are “the one.” But they have a humble life to start. While they might dream of some larger adventure or calling, it’s not happening now and seems like it never will. They might even be seen as “less than” by most, and have a life of deprivation or even abuse. Later they will travel far from the life they’re used to and prove their specialness before returning home.
Now you could say that these things are somewhat true with every great main character in so many kinds of movies, and I wouldn’t completely fight you. Stories tend to elevate underdogs into finding their specialness and putting them through a gauntlet of some kind where that will happen, where they rise into better versions of themselves, often. True. But in hero’s journey scripts it’s more literal and extreme.
And what they also have that many other kinds of stories don’t is:
2. An adventure to go on where they will confront powerful evil villainy, with life and death stakes. If you’re familiar with Save the Cat’s 10 Genres, or my own 8 Types of Story Problems and the 6 traditional core genres I talk about in my course The Idea, you might see that this instantly eliminates most of them. You don’t generally see adventuring against evil villains with life and death stakes in Save the Cat’s Buddy Love, Rite of Passage, Institutionalized, Fool Triumphant or Out of the Bottle. In these genres you often don’t even have an evil villain or specific antagonist, let alone life and death stakes. And in terms of the traditional use of the word genre, this also tends to rules out comedies and dramas. And since hero’s journey scripts tend to put the hero’s own life in danger as they literally fight the evil, it also means most mysteries (Save the Cat’s Whydunit) aren’t really hero’s journeys, either.
3. A heroic mission to protect, rescue and/or save innocents who the villain threatens or is already harming. This narrows things down further. In thrillers or horror films (and in Save the Cat’s Monster in the House or Dude with a Problem), there is often a lot of action and plenty of life and death stakes, but it’s generally not heroic. The person or people trying to survive the onslaught are mostly just playing defense and trying to protect themselves or a small close group.
So hero’s journeys don’t really match 8 of the 10 Save the Cat genres and 5 of what I call the 6 core genres: Comedy, Drama, Mystery, Thriller and Horror. That leaves only one: Action-Adventure.
A hero’s journey is generally an action-adventure story.
In the world of Save the Cat, it might sometimes be a Golden Fleece (that’s where Blake Snyder put Star Wars). But it’s more likely to better fit what he calls a Superhero story. Where the main character is not only heroic but has some special quality that makes them uniquely suited to be the central one fighting the evil. Star Wars doesn’t overemphasize Luke’s special chosenness or powers (although those things are arguably there) and leans more into the Golden Fleece “team” dynamic. But in The Matrix and Harry Potter, although there are still teams, I’d say the focus is more on the differentness of the hero and the cultivation of their special power. But really there’s a lot of overlap here. I would just say that in many Golden Fleeces, the mission isn’t as heroic and the hero isn’t as special as you typically see in a Superhero or Hero’s Journey script.
Why is all this important?
This is my third and most important point:
To succeed as a writer, one needs to know one genre and its core elements, and write to those, while also being fresh and original in some way.
While you could make the argument that even great romcoms or horror films could be said to include certain structure steps from The Writer’s Journey like “Refusal of the Call” and “Approach to the Innermost Cave,” I have also seen writers go off track by trying to make sure they include all of these plus the archetypal characters such stories are famous for (Mentor, Shapeshifter, Trickster, etc.), even though they’re writing a script that definitely does not have the three elements I listed above, in the way a true hero’s journey script would. And they might be better served by foregoing archetypes to write more complex characters, or being a bit looser about trying to fulfill all of those structure beats, which maybe don’t apply across genres perfectly.
Having said that, I’m a big fan of The Writer’s Journey. And I’m not someone who pooh poohs the wisdom in any theory or paradigm of storytelling. I think virtually all of them have some great wisdom and utility in a writer’s toolbox. I’ve used many of them myself.
My main point is that knowing and understanding one’s genre — and choosing to write within a specific type of story that has certain common elements — is a crucial thing worth doing. And is definitely one step in a writer’s (possibly heroic) journey.
Mary gets the closest here to the true nature of the hero’s journey of mythology, at least as Campbell identifies it in Hero with a Thousand Faces, which I just re-read earlier this year.
It is indeed about what happens to the individual on the journey rather than what he represents, who he saves, or the steps of the journey along the way.
But it’s defining feature is being actually impersonal rather than personal. That is, in the classic monomyth, the hero isn’t special at the beginning; he becomes special through his journey. And he becomes heroic by sacrificing his self, the annihilation of his ego, either literally through death or figuratively through transformation, in service of cosmic enlightenment, which he then uses to transform society at large. It’s the story of a Jesus, of a Buddha, enlightening others to universal truths through their own enlightenment.
That is the classic hero’s journey of mythology, why it is so rare—because it’s the rare individual who is capable of such a journey—and why it has resonated so powerfully through the millennia.
That’s not to say that a storyteller can’t riff on that basic motif and get something close to it without telling a Jesus/Buddha story. But if you want to truly tap into that ancient, primal myth, you do have to at least hit enough of the same narrative notes for it to be familiar and to connect with it, and most important understand the nature of the story itself that has always made it strike such a chord in the human psyche. It’s not about self- or wish-fulfillment; on the contrary, it’s about the willing abdication, the rejection of self, in service to others, especially in a way that transforms their perceptions of themselves and the world. The more you can play of that oldest song, the more people will recognize and respond to it.
But I do have to point out how, recognizing that, most people get their understanding of the most classic modern example of the hero’s journey, Star Wars, wrong. They look at Luke as the hero of the hero’s journey, but consider: Skywalker starts the story actually pining to leave home, to join the rebellion. He certainly acts heroically in achieving that goal, but it doesn’t require any rejection of his nature or desires. Who does do that, though? Han Solo and Ben Kenobi. Solo ignores his selfish desires to fight for his friends and something larger than himself, and Kenobi literally sacrifices himself to enlighten Luke to his greater self and to save the rebels.
I think lumping a writer into a specific genre defeats the purpose of imagination as a primary tool. We can have action-adventure and romance genres in the same script. I see movies with those two all the time.
For me, a distinguishing feature of a hero’s journey is that the journey is personal. In the grand scheme of the piece, the hero may represent a vast population or idea, but in the telling, the heroes’ assault on the evil foe is personal, representative of the heroes’ strengths and weaknesses, not the nobility of the entity they represent. Harry Potter confronts Voldemort. Harry might represent all of right-thinking wizardry, but the battle is his, and he alone will determine success or failure. Letting the hero become a symbol instead of a person is a great temptation for authors,;it just seems so cool that Luke Skywalker is truth, bravery, and civility, but his weak person is more interesting and makes a better story.
You are right — and these are all the reasons I don’t really like action-adventure. The hero is unrealistically special; the villain is unrealistically evil; and the hero saves helpless others in an unrealistic, I-alone-can-fix-it way. Despite the fact that the Brothers Grimm made heavy use of this genre in the 1700s and I learned this genre as a toddler, I now find that whole idea unappealing. I prefer nuance, connection, character and comedy. Can you think of an action-adventure script that has that?
I agree with Bella. Almost. For me, The Quiet Place Part 2, was more than a horror movie. I can imagine that daughter Regan Abbott being more than a regular hero, as she followed the legacy of her father Lee. The movie definitely has the stakes needed to qualify as a hero’s journey. Her bravery in facing monsters, defying her mother’s plea to hide, and creating her own team, really resonated with me, especially because she had a handicap that many people (now dead ones) would assume to be limiting. If she were a sleeping warrior princess, the movie would have failed to inspire me.