Three act structue visual, CC BY-SA 4.0, via Wikipedia, by Jft701, no changes made

Some people rail against screenwriting methods and “story paradigms” like Save the Cat’s.

They decry “Hollywood formulas” and “paint-by-numbers” theories that seem to be offering a too-easy, one-size-fits-all snake oil for gullible writers looking to cash in. (And see these as coming from authors looking to do the same.)

They view filmmaking as an art form that expresses the singular vision of a creator who must be free to pursue their genius without regard to such lame and restrictive guidelines.

That is definitely one way to view it.

And it’s sometimes proven as a viable approach by writer-directors able to secure funding outside the “system,” usually in the low budget range, who are then able to win awards and great reviews. And ultimately a following. And thus more funding. And creative freedom.

This can lead to groundbreaking films that seem to defy traditional guidelines for story structure and yet still “work” – at least for enough people (or the right people) for the filmmaker to continue doing what they’re doing.

It’s a great gig if you can get it.

That’s never been my approach or way of thinking about it. Maybe because I never felt gifted enough to be an “artist” in that way. And also because my favorite films tended to reach a wider audience and be less about singular and groundbreaking approaches.

But I knew that I couldn’t do that either.

So I became obsessed to figure out how they did. So I could learn to do the same. While still telling stories I believe in with my unique voice, interests and taste.

It didn’t start off well.

When I was in film school, one of my professors urged me to make sure my projects had a strong story.

I didn’t know what that meant.

Then I got feedback on an early script saying it needed more conflict.

“What, like arguments? Fight scenes?” I didn’t really know what that meant either.

I took a screenwriting class and there was one textbook: Syd Field’s Screenplay.

It introduced me to the idea of 3-act structure in movies. While leaving pretty mysterious how to use that effectively as a writer.

So I began my journey of trying to understand story and writing so I could apply it and become competent at this, even professionally competent. I was desperate and obsessed. (Like good main characters, I suppose.) And feeling completely in the dark.

I looked everywhere.

I stumbled upon a printed newsletter called “Story Notes” by Jeff Newman. Subscribed to it. Had it sent to my house. And devoured it. It taught me about active main characters and rising difficulty late in the second act. Stuff that’s a given to me now but was a revelation then.

Next it was John Truby. Then Dramatica. Eventually Chris Vogler, Robert McKee, Michael Hauge, Save the Cat. Classes at UCLA Extension’s Writers’ Program. And other books and websites.

No one source was the be-all and end-all. But they all helped me on a journey that miraculously led to a professional career as a screenwriter. And to now being one of those people who also teaches and tries to explain what I’ve learned to other writers.

But let me be clear on how those different theories about story fit into the scheme of things for me… 

At the end of the day, if something “works,” it works. And you can’t necessarily say it’s because it followed certain rules. (Or because it broke all the rules.)

It’s not as simple as that. And the “rules” will never just create great writing if dutifully followed.

But does that mean story and writing can’t be taught, and learned? That you’re just born with it, or you’re not? That there aren’t principles worth understanding and trying to master?

I think there are. And a lot of this is learnable.

But to study and learn – even if it’s just by getting your work critiqued by others – it’s helpful to have a common language for discussing the pros and cons of a script. Of course if one person loves it and another hates it, then there’s not even an agreement on whether it “works” or not. Opinions are subjective and can vary for different reaons.

But when there is agreement – and/or openness from the writer to hear the opinion of the reader – then it helps to have reasons behind the critiques and principles that could be understood and used in future drafts and other scripts.

That’s where all these books and story paradigms come in. They posit reasons and principles that all of us can use. None of them are sacred. But in trying to communicate why a reader finds a character, scene or story to be not that engaging, the question is why? How can you talk about where you’re not just saying, “I didn’t like it”?

If you can explain why you didn’t think it worked in light of principles others have written about that seem like they make it sense, then you have a common language. Then it’s not just one person’s opinion. It’s about whether certain wisdom about writing can be applied here to good effect.

So when I talk about a movie or series (like I did recently with Anora and the new season of The White Lotus) and try to explain why I didn’t have as positive a reaction as some did, I try to back it up with accepted and well-known writing principles – in hopes that’s useful to those who also didn’t love it but don’t quite know why.

Of course, if you did love it, then it can seem like I’m trying to make you wrong. I get it. I never love hearing people talk down about stuff I love. I think they’re wrong. That’s where the subjectivity comes in.

It’s more this: because I do this for a living, I never just think, “I didn’t like that.” I try to understand why I didn’t like it (or aspects of it). And if I’m talking to a fellow writer about it, I try to frame it in terms that come from a common language we’re both familiar with. Whether that’s Save the Cat or something else.

That doesn’t mean that book is holy and I require every movie to follow it, for me to like it. Or that I can only think in terms of “what would Save the Cat say.” It’s more that I’m either engaged by something or not engaged. And I try to figure out why, and communicate it.

When it comes to these story paradigms, books, websites, software, etc., my advice is to take what you can from wherever you can get it. Treat none of it as the “only right method” of understanding story and writing.

But also don’t dismiss it all as beneath you as an artist who just wants to express and create.

I still have something of a beginner’s mind with each new thing I write. I am in no way fully confident that it works. And I try to keep working at it until it’s the best version it can be. Both in terms of my own personal happiness with it, and the extent to which it successfully follows proven guidelines – in hopes that many other people will take to it, as well. And the wisdom and theories of those that came before me can help with that.

In the end I don’t do it just for myself. It’s not a “take it or leave it” proposition. It’s a presentation to an audience (and first, potential backers and collaborators) of something I hope will have a positive impact on many. And in order to achieve that, it helps to have some grounding in the attributes of successful projects from the past that have done that.

There will always be exceptions and works that colored outside certain lines and still worked. But I believe that by and large the most outstanding scripts that stand the test of time, if you examine them objectively, follow more than they deviate from the most consensus wisdom across ALL the paradigms about “what makes something good.”