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No Time To Die – Daniel Craig Goes Out With a Bang

One of the consistent trends of the Eon Bond films is that the actors who have portrayed Bond often conclude their run with weak films. Whether it was Sean Connery ultimately bowing out of Bond with Diamonds Are Forever (no, I don’t count Never Say Never Again) or Roger Moore’s swan song with A View to a Kill or Pierce Brosnan closing his run with Die Another Day, the other actors have tended to go out with a whimper. Even though he was only in two films, I would even include Timothy Dalton in that group with Licence to Kill. So it was with great relief that Daniel Craig ended his run with a strong effort in No Time to Die. I would rank this film right in the middle of the Craig era. It’s a stronger film than Quantum of Solace or Spectre, but not quite up to the standard of Skyfall and Casino Royale, but it is closer to the latter two than to the former.

What holds this film back from reaching the level of Craig’s strongest Bond films is this film’s inconsistency. Director Cari Joji Fukunaga in his Bond directorial debut needs to be applauded for paying homage to the series, and especially the Daniel Craig era in the way that he did. There were several notable Easter Eggs scattered throughout the story, and one line of dialogue from a previous film was given particular importance in the story with great emotional impact. He also attempted to bring back some of the cheekiness from Bond films of the past to No Time to Die with some mixed results. The fight scene in Cuba was a good example of this. There was a lot of back-and-forth banter between Bond and CIA operative Paloma (Ana de Armas) that would have fit well in a Pierce Brosnan or Roger Moore action sequence but felt out of place with Daniel Craig.

And that sequence came after a much more typical opening where Bond is led to believe that the love of his life, Madeleine (Léa Seydoux) has betrayed him, forcing them to escape from a group of armed killers. Craig is at his absolute best in this sequence. He is intense and brooding and impulsive. These are the character traits that Daniel Craig brought to the character more effectively than any of his predecessors, and the film’s first 45 minutes were filled with that, but we kept getting injections of the cheekier Bond at various points throughout the rest of the film, and the results were mixed at best.

One quality that rarely shows up in Bond films is heavy emotion. Yes, there have been many dramatic moments throughout the history of the series, but you would be hard-pressed to find many moments that hit you hard with the feels, outside of the ending of On Her Majesty’s Secret Service. That is not in the least a criticism of the series. People don’t go to James Bond movies to be overwhelmed by emotion. They go to see these movies because they’re fun and funny and are loaded with action. It is the ultimate popcorn movie franchise. That is the lane that Eon Productions has chosen for these movies over the past sixty years, and they have carved out a clear path for themselves, while also blazing a trail for many other franchises to follow.

But No Time to Die broke that mold or at least fractured it. I’m not going to give any spoilers or go too in-depth to the story, but Fukunaga did as good of a job at exploring Bond’s psyche as any director in the series, and he, along with his co-screenwriters Neal Purvis and Robert Wade crafted a story and developed scenarios in which we are rooting for Bond the man rather than Bond the secret agent. Usually, the threat of a supervillain destroying the world is enough to get the audience to care, but Fukunaga, Purvis and Wade made this story personal for Bond.

Another way in which Fukunaga harkened back to the earlier days of Bond was through the villain. The villains of the other Craig films were certainly menacing, but they were never the supervillains of Hugo Drax or Dr. No or earlier incarnations of Blofeld. They were all a part of the same culture and were looking for world domination of resources or certain markets, but there was something more personal as well. The villains of the Craig era despise Bond and have personal vendettas against him for either foiling their plans or being an obstacle for them. But none of them were looking to destroy the world in the same way that Lyutsifer Safin (Remi Malek) was in No Time to Die. Safin fits that archetype with his secret layer filled with minions and his diabolical plans to use a genetically coded biological weapon to wipe out entire populations. It is the kind of pure evil that was commonplace in earlier Bond eras and has been parodied in other franchises like Austin Powers and Despicable Me. Safin does have a personal grudge against Madeleine, but what makes him truly menacing is his desire to unleash this weapon on the world. Now, I wish Fukunga, Purvis and Wade had spent a little more time on Safin’s motivation for wanting to unleash this weapon. The surface was scratched on it, but something like that needed and deserved a little more in-depth.

So in a manner of speaking, Fukunaga, Purvis and Wade flipped the script on this story within the Craig-Bond universe. Rather than giving the villain a personal animus towards Bond and allowing the audience to root for a more global outcome, we are rooting for Bond on an entirely personal level while the villain is acting out globally. There is some crossover between them, of course, but this is the case in the general scheme of things.

All in all, No Time to Die is perhaps the most dramatic Bond film ever. There is more to the story than whatever villainous plot Bond is trying to foil. There is a more personal story of Bond evolving as a man that is common in Craig’s Bond and was practically non-existent in previous Bonds. It’s a strong film that brings a satisfying end to Daniel Craig’s tenure with the role.

With that in mind, a thing or two should be said about that tenure. Going into this film, Craig was holding steady as the #2 Bond of all time behind Sean Connery. Did No Time to Die do enough to vault Craig ahead of the original and to most, still the gold standard? To that question, I can answer a solid “maybe”. I recently started reading all of Ian Flemming’s James Bond novels, and it is my opinion that Daniel Craig plays the character more similar to the books than any of his predecessors with the possible exception of Timothy Dalton. While Licence to Kill was a weak effort, The Living Daylights is a top-6 Bond film for me and Dalton’s brooding heavy performance was the perfect antidote coming off Roger Moore’s utterly forgettable A View to A Kill by which time the role had clearly passed him by. Dalton brought the simmering intensity and depth of personality that Bond had in the books but still held onto some of the lighthearted nature that Connery and Moore brought to the role. Plus, he only made the two films and didn’t have time to truly carve his own niche into the role. Daniel Craig, on the other hand, played the role straight for the first four of the five bond pictures he made. That’s why it was so jarring in No Time to Die when he went light-hearted in the moments that he did. But overall, Craig’s portrayal of the role was serious and flawed and with a touch of mystery. To me, Daniel Craig was the Bond with the most depth.

All that said, with this last film, I believe that Daniel Craig is running neck and neck with Sean Connery for the title of Best Bond. You could extoll the qualities of one over the other to me, and I would have a hard time arguing. I think at this point, and for the first time since George Lazenby replaced Connery, Daniel Craig has opened the possibility that you can now at least have a conversation over who was the best Bond.

Something Novel From Monument Scripts

I admit it. I haven’t paid nearly enough attention to this site for far too long. The reasons for that are many and varied, but a concerted effort will be made to correct that. A part of that effort is the following announcement.

I have written a novel.

It is a Young Adult Fiction novel titled The Salem Witches Book I: The Fifth Point of the Pentagram, and it will be available for purchase on your Kindle or paperback on Amazon starting this weekend. I will also set up a store on monumentscripts.com and paperback copies can be purchased directly.

It is about a teenage girl named Abby who has been groomed by her mother since birth to be a witch. She discovers a secret a few days before her 18th birthday that leads her to question everything she’s ever been taught, and she decides that she no longer wants anything to do with witchcraft. Her mother, however, has big plans and she needs Abby to perform a deadly ritual to see those plans to fruition.

This novel has been in the works for a long time, and it took a rather circuitous route to get where it is today. I first got the idea when I took a Young Adult Fiction writing class a few years ago. It was a 6-week class and I had Chapter 1 written at the end of it. But then I was stuck. I had never written a novel before and I had no idea how to proceed, so I went back to what I know and wrote it as a screenplay. My thought process was that the screenplay could ultimately serve as an outline for a future novel.

I spent a long time reworking the story working with writers’ groups and screenplay classes and coverage services and friends who read it and gave me notes. I’m sure many of you are familiar with this process. I would work on it for several weeks, then shelve it for a while before going back to it again. I always had the idea in the back of my mind that I would someday turn it into a novel, but life has a funny habit of getting in the way and interruptions became more frequent. I became more focused on trying to get the screenplay sold or optioned as more time passed. When that didn’t work, my thoughts turned back to the novel. YA has served as source material for a lot of films over the years. The thought occurred to me that getting traction on a book and building an audience through the novel might be the key to finally getting past the Hollywood gatekeepers.

Like many people, I found myself with more free time than I had had in years with the onset of the pandemic. I was finally able to buckle down and go back to my original idea of using the screenplay as an outline for the novel. Now the novel is complete, and I’m ready to send it out into the world.

Stay tuned for details and an Amazon link for purchase.

2020 Winner for Best Picture – Nomadland

In what should have been a surprise to no one, and could largely be viewed as a coronation, Nomadland walked away with the night’s top honor, along with Oscars for Best Director (Chloé Zhau) and Best Actress in a Leading Role (Frances McDormand). Nomadland is a powerful film about self-discovery, overcoming grief and finding the courage to live outside of what society might consider to be the “norm” so you can find the peace to move on with your life.

For all of that, NomadLand should be lauded. Emotion and character drive this film more than plot. “See you down the road” is not only one of the most important lines of dialogue in the film, it’s also one of the driving thematic principles. Speaking of dialogue, there isn’t a ton of it in the film, and much of the dialogue felt improvised on the spot. It was shot like a docu-drama. If you didn’t know any better, you might have thought you were watching a compelling documentary about people living off the grid.

Also, this film was beautiful. I’m mildly surprised that it didn’t win for Best Cinematography as well, because the cinematography might have been the strongest component of the film. Not only did Zhau and Director of Photography Joshua James Richards capture the spectacular scope and vistas of the American west, they expertly used light and shadow to convey the mood and the state of mind of the characters. Richards also was keenly aware of when to show the depth of the space the characters were in when that was necessary, and when to flatten that space out to show just how small the space they were occupying could be.

I’m not going to get into a full plot summary for this film, because, as I mentioned, plot isn’t what drives this film. Watching Nomadland is like looking at a painting in a museum. To just glance at it, or to look superficially at its surface is to miss the overall point. Often times a painting isn’t just the capturing of a moment in time. There is a story within that painting and the painting needs to be closely examined over a period of time for the story to be made clear. Effort is required on the part of the viewer to discern the painting’s story and/or meaning. The pacing of Nomadland is slow and deliberate. At first glance, it feels like not a lot is going on, but that’s not entirely true.

Not a lot is happening, but there is a lot going on.


The film starts out with some chiron about the death of the city of Empire, Nevada in 2011 due to the closing of a plant that was the city’s main employer for 88 years. We then see Fern (McDormand) cleaning out some personal items from a storage unit. She’s emotionally connected to some old men’s clothes and she carefully takes care of some old dishes before putting them in her van. We discover that she’s living out of that van, parking it in a camping site and working at the local Amazon packing plant for the holidays. But once the holiday season is over, she can no longer stay at the camp site and she needs to move on.

Through a friend she finds out about Bob Wells’ cheap RV living and that a group of people will be gathering in a sort of commune down in Arizona. She makes her way down there and learns the ways of the nomad. But she has found her tribe, if you will, including a kindly and helpful older gentleman named Dave (David Strathairn). She learns basic tricks for survival on the road, but she is still struggling to let go of the past, as evidenced by her angry reaction when Dave accidentlally breaks her dishes.

Over the course of the next hour and a half, Fern slowly learns to see the world around her in a way that she hadn’t before. From smaller details, like having a bucket to defecate in to more important things like making sure that her van has a spare tire, Fern starts to master the ways of the nomad. She’s even making human connections, whether it’s with Dave or her friend Swankie who’s slowly dying of cancer, but still has enough light in her eyes to clearly see the beauty in the world that surrounds us.

Fern does run into trouble when her van breaks down and it’s going to cost $2300 to fix. She doesn’t have the money and needs to borrow it from her sister, Dolly. She has to travel to Dolly’s home and spend some time there in order to get the money. There is a little bit of tension between Fern and Dolly and her husband George, especially when Dolly offers to let Fern stay with them, but Fern tells her she can’t stay there. Dolly hands Fern the cash and admits that she’s not as interesting as what’s “out there”. Dolly tells Fern that she admires her because she was always braver and more honest than everybody else.  There is finally a moment of understanding between the two of them.

With her van back in commission, she then meets up with Dave again. Dave has left the nomad life behind and moved in with his son, who is starting a family of his own. Dave feels guilty because he was never there for his son and he felt like he wasn’t a good father. Fern advised him to be a good grandfather and he’s taking that advice. He asked Fern to come with him, and she finally takes him up on it to meet him there. She stays for a few days. The family likes her and there is a clear bond between Fern and Dave. But the call of the road is too strong, and she steals away one night without saying goodbye.

She meets back up with Bob Wells and his group. Swankie has passed away. She loved rocks so they all toss some rocks into a fire as an act of remembrance. As Bob throws his rock in the fire, he says, “See you down the road, Swankie.” Later on, Fern is talking to Bob and she tells him that after her husband died, she felt that if she left town, there would be no memory of him and it would be like he never existed. That’s why she stayed there even after the town was dead. She feels like now she spent too much of her time just remembering him. Bob then talks of his son who committed suicide a few years earlier. Bob has had a hard time with it, but realizes that he can honor his son by helping other people. He then talks to his about the philosophy of “see you down the road.” The lifestyle of a nomad is one of constant motion. You see people for a time and then move on. But somehow you always run into them again. It could be months, it could he years, but you always see them “down the road.” There is no final goodbye. That philosophy leads him to be certain that he’ll see his son again and she’ll see her husband again.

Fern then goes back to Empire. She empties out her storage unit and gives all her stuff away, saying she won’t miss one thing. She goes to her old house and looks at the view. She can finally move on.

We call carry baggage with us. That baggage can weigh us down and force us to revel in the past rather than living in the present and thinking about the future. Nomadland is telling us that there is a great big wide world out there. We need to break off the shackles of our past and step however we can into the future.

Did the Academy get it right?

I’m inclined to say no. Yes, this was a powerful story thematically. It was told in a nontraditional way and the filmmakers took a risk in doing that. Nomadland is a movie that requires reflection. While I was watching it, I couldn’t wait for it to end. But after thinking about it, I have a much greater appreciation for it and a much deeper understanding of what they were trying to accomplish. I can also say that they did accomplish it. However, my favorite movie of the year was The Sound of Metal. I thought it was nearly as strong thematically and it was a more entertaining film to watch. If Nomadland was like eating your vegetables, The Sound of Metal was like adding a steak to it. I also preferred Judas and the Black Messiah, The Trial of the Chicago 7, Promising Young Woman, Minari, and The Father to Nomadland. There are various reasons for that. All of those films were more entertaining and most of them allowed a deeper emotional connection to the characters and what they were going through. I was not a huge fan of Mank, as I felt the story was too scattered. All that said, I understand why Nomadland won. It probably deserved to win. It just wasn’t my favorite movie of the year.

Should you see it?

Yes, you should. If you are an aspiring screenwriter, or just a fan of good filmmaking, this is a movie that you should be familiar with. It tells a compelling story without a dynamic plot, without CGI effects and without crazy action sequences, or even any action at all. It’s an internal story with internal conflict, and it is a great film.

Minari – An Almost Great Movie

After watching Best Picture nominee Minari, I came away feeling like it was almost a great movie. It is a character-driven movie that relies on the challenges facing the various relationships to build drama. A couple of these relationships effectively hit the mark, but this is a movie that fell into the trap of writer/director Lee Isaak Chung putting characters into difficult situations and then easily and quickly extricating them from those situations. This severely hampered the amount of drama that he was able to build. In fact, almost from the moment the films started, we, as the audience, were being set up for a very dramatic story that was never manifested.

This is a story of a family of Korean immigrants who leave the stifling dead-end jobs of California in search of a better life farming their own land in Arkansas in the 1980’s. The family’s patriarch, Jacob (Steven Yeun) dreams of becoming a successful farmer growing Korean vegetables in the rich Arkansas soil. His wife, Monica (Yeri Han) is less than optimistic that this venture will work and is not happy with their new living conditions. Their young son David (Alan Kim) has a heart condition that prevents him from being able to run or exert himself in any way, and could kill him at any moment. Their daughter Anne (Noel Kate Cho) is at that awkward age of becoming a teenager and wants to be near friends.

They struggle at first with their new living arrangements, and have to work at a chicken sorting plant to make ends meat. But with no one to watch the kids, Monica’s mother, Soonja (Yuh-Jung Youn) moves in with them. She’s not your typical grandmother. She doesn’t cook and she likes to gamble at cards. She sleeps on the floor of David’s room, and their relationship is an awkward one at the start. However, David’s mischievous ways soon endear him to his grandmother, and their relationship grows in a heartwarming way. Soonja has a mischievous streak of her own and she leads the children into the woods one day, even though the kids aren’t allowed to be in there. There, she finds a creek that she declares is the perfect place to grow minari, which can be used as food, medicine and many other things.

I can’t say enough how impressive Chung was in building the relationship between David and Soonja. It starts off with both being antagonistic towards the other. But as they realize they have more in common with each other, their differences are slowly melted away and they form a bond that would have been unthinkable when Soonja was introduced. What’s more, Chung did this in an organic way that didn’t feel forced. There were moments of levity at every stage of the relationship’s development that brought humor to the story. That did two things. It made the characters likable and it allowed us to root for their relationship to grow and flourish.

On the flip side of that coin is the relationship between Jacob and Monica. They love each other as husband and wife, but the combined stress of being immigrants in the United States, having a son with potentially deadly heart condition, and the financial problems their experiencing are staining their relationship perhaps to a point beyond repair. Monica wants to move back to California. Even though they weren’t making much money, at least it was steady and they could live near a hospital. Jacob, however, is also feeling the strain of being an inadequate husband, father and provider for his family. He stubbornly wants to hold on to the farm and goes so far as to choose it over saving his family.

The dynamic between those two relationships should have been have been enough to craft a dramatic story around. Combine that with the fact that their an Asian immigrant family living in Arkansas in the 1980’s and this should be a very dramatic story filled with tension, potential heartbreak and ultimate redemption. Unfortunately, none of that happened because as good as Chung was at building relationships, he was lacking in following through on dramatic situations. It was as though he didn’t want to see his characters suffer too much. I have heard that this is an autobiographical story. That makes sense, because it’s easy to tell that he was too close to the characters. He would put them in potentially dramatic situations but diffuse any chance of any real conflict or drama happening almost as soon as they started.

That’s why this was almost a great movie. There were times where Chung took the story right to the edge of being very dramatic. He had given himself all of the ingredients for a dramatic situation. It would take just one more step to create that conflict and drama and then he pulled back before crossing the event horizon. He did this time and again throughout the film.

Looking at the racial component alone, there are several missed opportunities. This is an Asian family living in Arkansas in the 1980’s and if we’re being honest, they should have experienced significant racism, but they experienced practically none. The only time they get close to experiencing it is in a scene where they go to church and a little white boy asks David why his face is so flat. David says it isn’t and the boy shrugs it off and invites him to his house for a sleep over. Meanwhile Anne meets a little white girl who thinks she’s speaking an Asian language, but is only speaking gibberish. These microaggressions are borne out of ignorance and curiosity. There’s no malice there. Then in a later scene, David is having a sleep over at the boy’s house, and his father is there. The father is full-on redneck, and it’s totally reasonable to think that he’d get angry at the thought of an Asian boy sleeping in his house and eating his food. Nope. He’s totally cool to David and tells him to make sure he helps his daddy.

There’s another scene where Jacob is at a bank applying for a loan. The very nice white banker tells him he can have all he needs and not to be afraid to come back if he needs more.


Where is the drama? Where is the tension? It’s nonexistent.

And I don’t know about you, but if it’s made clear at the beginning of a movie that a cute and likable little boy has a heart defect, then it’s reasonable to expect that something really bad is going to happen to that boy. Think Thomas J from My Girl. We learn early in that film that he’s allergic to bee stings. What happens later in the movie? He walks through a beehive and gets stung so much that he dies. I kept waiting for David’s heart condition to become a source of drama. There were some false starts where it looked like it would, but it was ultimately nothing more than a MacGuffin in a movie filled with MacGuffins.

This is important because the lifeblood of any dramatic story is the obstacle. As a writer or director, you need to put obstacles in front of your main characters that they must overcome in order for the story to move forward. Too many times in this movie are the characters confronted with obstacles that just kind of go away or end up not being obstacles at all.

Minari is a feel-good movie that doesn’t follow through on its dramatic moments and situations. I find it a bit head scratching that it was nominated for Best Picture because it’s ultimately a frustrating movie that doesn’t fully deliver on its promise.

Sound of Metal – A Hero’s Journey

I finally got around to watching Sound of Metal and I found it to be a compelling and riveting story. There was nary an explosion to be found. No gunshots. No car chases. No breakneck action sequences. It was a slow, mostly quiet, deliberately paced story and I could not look away from it. You might ask, how could this be? How could a film with such a dearth of action and violence be so interesting in today’s movie environment? The answer is that it was a well-crafted, well-constructed story that had the solid foundation of a compelling and exquisitely executed Hero’s Journey.

What makes that statement all the more remarkable is that The Sound of Metal, as least after one viewing, skips a couple of key stages. There appears to be no Approach or Supreme Ordeal, and yet there is definitely a midway point in Act II where you can see the story changing direction from Act IIA and Act IIB. It’s a tad jarring, but it still works for this movie. Director Darius Marder also wrote the screenplay with cowriter Abraham Marder and what they did was create an Ordinary World and a Special World that both fit the classical definition of the Hero’s Journey by showing not only how the hero changes, but how his experience in the Special World changes, and how his journey changes his perception of each world.

There may not be any car chases, but the hero is chasing something throughout the entire film.

The hero of this story is Ruben (Riz Ahmed), a drummer in a heavy metal band with his girlfriend, Lou (Olivia Cook). Ruben’s Ordinary World shows him and Lou living in an RV that acts as a recording studio and rehearsal space. Their gigs are at small venues and they play so loud and with so much distortion that it’s almost impossible to understand the lyrics that Lou sings. Ruben is a recovering addict who’s covered in tattoos and has bleached his hair. Lou is barely holding on. She compulsively scratches her arm and her clothes and hair are a mess. They love each other, but this is a lifestyle that neither of them can sustain.

The inciting incident happens when Ruben starts to notice that he’s losing his hearing. This is devastating for a drummer in a Metal band, so he sees a doctor who tells him that it’s going to get worse. He could get surgical implants that could potentially save his hearing, but that would cost between $40K and $80K. Then during a gig, he realizes he can’t hear and he gets up and walks out, eventually confessing his condition to Lou.

Here’s where the script finds its drama. The most compelling stories are the ones that pit what a character wants versus what that character needs. In Sound of Metal, Ruben wants to regain his hearing. What he needs is to find the peace within himself to accept his new reality. This comes to light when he receives his Call to Adventure. Lou finds out about a place that might be able to help him, but it’s in a different way than Ruben expects. It’s a home for the hearing impaired, and this is where Ruben experiences the Meeting with the Mentor. The mentor in this case is Joe (Paul Raci), the kindly man who runs the home. He’s also deaf and also a recovering addict. In classic mythology, the mentor often offers the hero some magical gift or provides the hero with his initial call to adventure. Joe, in archetypal fashion, does both. He offers Ruben the opportunity to live in the home and learn how to live as a hearing impaired person. Ruben, however, Refuses the Call because he sees himself as broken and he wants to be fixed.

It is Lou, however, who finally pushes Ruben to Cross the First Threshold. She tells him that he has to do this, and she makes arrangements to go home to her father. A car comes to pick her up, and they share an emotional good bye. After she leaves in the car, Ruben tearfully walks back to the RV, looking back at the car a couple of times as it drives Lou away.

Ruben leaves the Ordinary World and Crosses the Threshold to the Special World of the adventure when he moves into the home. As a part of the Tests, Allies and Enemies stage of the journey, he has to give up his cell phone and the keys to the RV as a condition of living there. He’s also tested by the fact that everyone else there knows sign language and he does not, making him feel even more like an outsider. He literally does not understand this world or the people in it, and he fails every test laid before him.

Here’s where as a director, Darius Marder showed his chops. The pacing of the second act is brilliant. Ruben slowly learns how to navigate in this new world. He slowly learns the language. He slowly accepts kindness from the people in it, and then he starts to return that kindness. He finds a home in the Special World, but he still doesn’t want to be there. He still wants his hearing back. This is shown through an exercise that Joe gives to Ruben. He instructs Ruben to go to his study early every morning and just sit and be quiet. If he feels the need to do something, he should write. It doesn’t matter what. Just write. But Ruben can’t just sit and be quiet. He has an insatiable desire to keep moving and to lash out. It’s beyond his power at the moment to accept the peace that silence brings.

Act IIB shows Ruben taking some initiative to get his hearing back. He sells all of his recording equipment and the RV, and that gets him enough money to get the surgery. In an interesting bookend to Lou’s departure, the RV pulls away down the road, and he walks away in the other direction, showing no emotion and never looking back. He gets the surgery and can hear again, but it’s not the same. It’s tinny and sounds like a radio that’s having difficulty finding the signal. He tells Joe that he got the surgery and asks Joe for some financial help, but Joe refuses. He tells Ruben that he hopes he finds happiness, but this house is for people who don’t feel broken by being deaf, and he needs to move out right away.

Act III has Ruben on The Road Back and returning to the Ordinary World, but it’s different and he’s different. In his Resurrection, he’s cropped his hair short, symbolic of the inner change he’s experienced, and he goes to find Lou at her father’s house. He’s welcomed in, but Lou is different. She’s cut her hair as well, and she’s wearing nicer clothes. She’s also stopped scratching her arm, and she looks much healthier than she did before. Ruben is invited to a party at the house and he notices that the implants cause him to hear everything at the same level. He can hear everything the same, so he really still can’t hear anything. He later talks to Lou about getting back out on the road, but the thought of that gets her to start scratching her arm again and Ruben finally accepts the fact that his world will never be the same. The Return With the Elixir shows him leaving the next morning. He experiences the same overwhelming sound as he walks through the city. He hears everyone’s voice. He hears every ambient sound. Finally a bell in a clocktower gets him to turn off his implants and everything goes silent. Then, for the first time, he actually sees the world. He sees its silent beauty and he finds the peace that has eluded him.

What makes this Hero’s Journey so effective is the clear difference between the Ordinary World before Ruben goes to the Special World and after he emerges. He can hear again, but it’s not the same. He sees Lou again, but she’s changed. In fact, the Special World changed Ruben as well. He looks different with his implants sticking out of his ears and his cropped hair. But he’s changed on the inside as well, as represented by the different way he hears. He can’t go back to the way he was. The old world is gone and it’s never coming back. The old Ruben is dead and new Ruben has been resurrected in his place.

The only thing for him to do is to embrace the new person that he is and the new world in which he lives.

There is one other thing that I need to briefly touch on about Sound of Metal that doesn’t really have anything to do with the screenplay, but has everything to do with the story, and that is the sound. I’ve always been a proponent of the notion that sound is half of your film. It’s an unappreciated concept that is often taken for granted by the audience. But because the primary relationship in this movie was between the main character and sound, sound takes a large role in this film. There are the obvious times when the mix is done in such a way as to represent Ruben’s hearing loss, but there’s something else. Watch the film again and listen for the ambient sound. When they’re at the house, you can hear the wind blowing, You can hear birds chirping. All of that is brought way up in the mix, allowing the audience to hear what the characters cannot. It’s a huge part of the movie that should not be missed.

How Dead Poets Society Stuck the Landing

In gymnastics they like to say, “Stick the landing.” That’s because a flawless Olympic routine can be ruined by a last-second stumble. No one will ever talk about the amazing feats of athleticism and dexterity that preceded it. All that will be remembered was that a 9.8 turned into an 8.1 because the gymnast couldn’t stick the landing.

How many movies have you seen that are brilliant for the first 110 minutes only to be ruined by an implausible or otherwise contrived ending? It’s a horrible feeling to invest emotionally for nearly two hours with characters and a storyline only to be left unsatisfied because the screenwriter and/or the filmmakers couldn’t “stick the landing”.

Best Picture winners No Country for Old Men and Birdman left more than a few people scratching their heads at their respective endings. You’re asking yourself right now, ok, smart guy, they won Best Picture. How could they be ruined? That’s a fair question, and I will respond by saying that both movies were thisclose to being masterpieces. They were both films that had us on the edge of our seats for two hours wrapped up in deep characters and compelling storylines only to get to the end and have more than half the audience go, “Huh?”

I don’t care if you win Best Picture. If your ending is so ambiguous that half the people don’t get it, then you didn’t stick the landing. One movie that did stick the landing is Dead Poets Society. In fact, Dead Poets Society could serve as a master class in how to end a picture. It’s a layered ending with depth and pathos and it nails every target that it set for itself to get to that point.


If you have not seen Dead Poets Society then I beseech you to stop reading now. Watch the film (it’s streaming for free on Amazon Prime) and then come back and finish reading.

On the surface of this film’s ending, it seems like our hero, John Keating (Robin Williams) has lost. He’s been fired from his teaching position. His favorite student has committed suicide. The school’s headmaster has taken over teaching his class in a way and with a philosophy that is diametrically opposed to Keating’s.

But a quick dash through the Hero’s Journey will reveal the depth of this ending and show that Keating actually won.

The Hero’s Journey as laid out by Joseph Campbell and adapted for screenwriting by Christopher Vogler in his book, The Writer’s Journey lays out the Hero’s Journey thusly.

Here’s the thing about Dead Poets Society. Keating is the hero, but he’s not really the main character. It’s an ensemble story about a group of boys in an all-boys boarding school. The boys are all a representation of the idea of toxic masculinity and how that negative, often self-destructive trait is nurtured in them at a young age. Young boys and young men are taught that success in business or any other chosen field of profession it tantamount to their existence and must be achieved no matter the cost. As the hero of the story, Keating’s goal is to teach the boys that life is more than pursuing professional achievement, and that art and poetry are what we live life for. There’s no shame in a successful career, but it’s ultimately meaningless if you can’t appreciate the beauty of the world in which we live. Not only should you treasure that in life, but you should experience it’s beauty and power everyday.

It’s probably debatable who the “main character” is, but I would argue it’s one of roommates Neil Perry (Robert Sean Leonard) or Todd Anderson (Ethan Hawke). The story revolves around their relationship with each other and their friends, and they’re the characters who grow the most. Neil grows from a subservient and dutiful son to an independent  and free-thinking young man. Todd grows from a timid and introverted boy who’s afraid of failure to a heroic young man who will stand up against authority for what he believes is right.

Those characters drive the plot, but their character arcs are driven and nurtured by Keating.

The Ordinary World of Dead Poets Society shows us a group of boys at the prestigious Welton School for Boys. They’re arriving for the start of a new school year, they say goodbye to their parents, some tearfully so, and even before classes have started, they’re organizing study groups for classes like Latin, Chemistry and Physics. These boys are being groomed to attend universities like Harvard and Yale, and careers in medicine, law and engineering await them. We meet Todd and we learn that he’s a legacy at Welton. His brother graduated from there and it’s clear that Todd is unsure if he’ll be able to measure up. His roommate, Neil, is a confident leader of his friends, but he wilts to his father’s demands to give up extra-curricular activities to solely focus on his studies.

It is Keating who provides the boys with the Call to Adventure in their first Poetry class. He introduces himself and tells them if they’re slightly more daring, they can refer to him as Oh Captain, My Captain in reference to a poem Walt Whitman wrote about Abraham Lincoln. That call is verbalized by the Latin term carpe diem, or seize the day. He implores the boys to live their lives to the fullest. While medicine and engineering are all noble pursuits, poetry and art are the things we live for. Keating tells the boys to live their lives to the fullest and think for themselves so as not be slaves to conformity, which is exactly the opposite of everything they’ve ever been taught at Welton. In this way, Keating also serves as as an archetypal mentor to all of the boys, so the Meeting of the Mentor stage happens at the same time.

Keating gets his students to think for themselves by making them rip out a pretentiously written section of text in their poetry text book and making them stand on their desks so that they can see the world from a different perspective. Keating was once himself a student at “Hell-ton” and they find in his old yearbook reference to the Dead Poets Society. When they ask him about it, he tells them that he and his fellow students would meet in secret and read poetry in a way to suck the marrow out of life.

Neil enthusiastically embraces the Call right away. He encourages his friends to re-form the Dead Poets Society,  and he does something he’s always wanted to do. Against the wishes of his father, Neil auditions for a play and lands the role of Puck in A Midsummer Nights Dream. Todd is less enthusiastic and initially Refuses the Call. He claims to have too much studying to do, and he tries to discourage Neil from auditioning out of fear of Neil provoking his father.

The Approach happens when Neil’s father discovers that he’s in the play and demands that he drop out of it the day before the performance. Once again, Neil appears to bow to the will of his father, but instead he gives a stunning performance, which serves as the Supreme Ordeal. Mr. Keating, Todd, and the rest of his friends watch as Neil applies all that Keating has taught him to this point. Neil is sucking the marrow out of life and living his life in a way that he otherwise never would have. The Reward comes after the show. Everyone is stunned by his performance and he’s on top of the world.

His triumph will be short-lived, however, as his father has also seen the show, and that leads us to the Road Backm which is a literal one. Neil is forced to come home by his father, who is going to withdraw him from Welton and force him to finish out his schooling at a military academy. His father is demanding that he become a doctor, and nothing will stop that in his mind. Except that Neil has other ideas. He knows that he can’t live the life that his father has planned for him, so he’s not even going to try. He finds his father’s pistol and he kills himself.

The Resurrection shows Todd discovering Neil’s death, but finally learning the value of what Keating has taught him. The Headmaster, Mr. Nolan opens an investigation with notion of scapegoating Keaton for Neil’s death. He forces all of the boys, including Todd, to sign a statement saying as much, and Keating is fired, while one of the other boys is expelled for punching a fellow student who was more enthusiastic about Keating’s dismissal.

Then we have the ending. The Return with the Elixir. The boys are in their English class and Mr. Nolan is going to teach it until a replacement teacher can be found. To say that he’s teaching it in a more “traditional” way would be accurate. Keating arrives to collect that last of her personal affects, and after some building tension, Todd finds the courage to stand up and apologize to Keating, telling him that they were all made to sign the paper. Mr. Nolan threatens Todd with expulsion if he doesn’t sit and demands that Keating leave at once. Nolan flashes a cocksure smile as Keating is about to exit, and that’s when Todd climbs to the top of his desk. “Oh Captain, my Captain!” he calls out. Mr. Nolan is apoplectic and demands that Todd get down. But one by one, most of the rest of the Dead Poets climb to the top of their desks and repeat the refrain.

Mr. Nolan continues to threaten them all with expulsion, but he is no longer in control of these boys. With this act of defiance and solidarity, they show the headmaster and Keating that they will be the drivers of their own fates. They will suck the marrow of their own lives. They will live for today.

This emotional and powerful scene can be seen here.

That is what makes this ending so satisfying. What looked like a sure defeat was miraculously turned into a victory. Perhaps, though, miraculously is the wrong word. It only feels miraculous, but it was in fact meticulous. That ending was meticulously designed through the writing of the screenplay and the crafting of the story. All of the lessons that Keating taught, while seemingly self-contained and bordering on episodic, were building to this moment. To the moment where Todd and his classmates would throw off the chains of conformity and stand up for themselves. That is what they did, and that’s how screenwriter Tom Schulman and Director Peter Weir stuck the landing.

Onward – A Middle of the Pack PIXAR Film

The first thing I’ll say about Onward is that the whole thing feels rushed. PIXAR’s movies over the last several years have been pretty formulaic. As much as that formula has worked, both critically and commercially, it feels like PIXAR has painted themselves into a little bit of a corner, and Onward suffers for it. It felt like the filmmakers were trying to cram every last little bit of planting into the film so that we could get the emotional payoff that we’ve all come to expect from them.

Certainly, no one pulls at the heart strings like PIXAR does, and they were successful again in this film. However, it falls short of recent successes like Coco, because it lacks the subtlety that that film had. This one beats you over the head with exposition, and starts off at 90 MPH with little let up. Everything happens fast, from the dialogue to the action. The actors’ delivery of the dialogue feels like it’s playing at 125% speed, especially Chris Pratt as Barley, Julia Louis-Dreyfus as Laurel and Octavia Spencer as The Manticore. There are a couple of times when the pace slows down, like when Ian writes his lists or when Ian meets his father’s old college friend, but even those scenes do little more than allow us to catch our breath. They don’t let the story breathe, and that’s what’s missing from Onward. It’s fun. It’s entertaining. It tugs at the heartstrings. But it needs to breathe. It needs to allow the audience to soak in what it’s trying to tell us.

A perfect example of when they did was during the climactic scene of the movie. I’m not going to give any spoilers, but suffice it to say that Director Dan Scanlon finally did let the movie breathe in this crucial moment, which is ironic because he gave the movie a ticking clock and the clock is about to run out during the climax. But they let us hang. They gave us an extremely emotional beat and they let us experience it for as long as we could, and it worked brilliantly. The last 20 minutes saved this movie, and that’s not the first time I’ve ever said that about a PIXAR film.

The problem was the getting to those last 20 minutes. Another issue that the vast majority of PIXAR films have had over the last decade and a half is that they tend to be road movies. The hero goes on a physical journey, and many of these journeys have been episodic with no real flow to the narrative. They did avoid that trap in this film, although barely. The film is still episodic, but at least there’s a flow to the story. For example, I always felt the problem with Finding Nemo was that you could have taken all of the individual adventures that Marlin and Dory had in that film and changed the order of them and it wouldn’t have changed anything about the order. One adventure didn’t lead organically into the other. In Onward they didn’t have that issue in such a pronounced way. Ian and Barley do have a series of individual adventures, but the filmmakers did a better job in this film of making sure that one adventure led into the next one. The reason for that is that the film as a clear, even if somewhat weak, Hero’s Journey. Warning! Spoilers ahead!

Ordinary World

In a prologue, we learn that this is a world in which magic used to exist, but it was replaced by technology, and now all magic has been forgotten. We meet the Lightfoot family, including Ian (Tom Holland) and his brother Barley (Chris Pratt) and their mother Laurel (Julia Louis-Dreyfus). We learn that Ian is timid and has few friends and that Barley is holding on to his belief in magic and a desire to live in those olden days. We also learn that their father died before Ian was born and Barley only as three memories of him.

Call to Adventure

Laurel shows them the wizard staff that their father left for them, along with a Phoenix Gem and the words to a spell that could bring him back to life for one day. Barley can’t get the spell to work but Ian can. Unfortunately, Barley messes it up half way through and their Dad only comes back from the waist down. With the Phoenix Stone disintegrated, Barley wants to go on a quest to find another one before their Dad disappears forever in 24 hours with the next day’s sunset.

Refusal of the Call

A very short and very weak refusal by Ian lasts only a couple of lines, but he’s soon as excited about the quest as his brother.

Crossing the First Threshold

The load up in Barley’s van, Guinevere, and are off on their quest.

Tests, Allies and Enemies

Ian tries to learn to do magic, but fails at first. They arrive at the Maniticore’s Tavern in order to find the map to the Phoenix Gem. Expecting a magical tavern filled with hoards of rough adventurers longing for their next adventure, they find at a Chuck E. Cheese. They enrage the Manticore and she sets the tavern on fire, burning the map, but giving Ian an opportunity to use the magic he couldn’t before. Even though they don’t have the map, they find a children’s menu that has a clue to find the gem at Raven’s Point. Barley wants to take the Path of Peril, but Ian convinces him to take the Expressway. After running out of gas, they piss off some pixie bikers, but Ian has to drive to get them away. The final test shows Barley finding out that Ian thinks he’s a screw up when they have a run in with a couple of police officers, and he refuses to talk to him. Then they have a dance party with their Dad before deciding to go the way that Barley wanted to go originally.


On the Path or Peril, they come to a bottomless pit that they need to use magic to get across it. But here is where Ian starts to gain confidence that he can do this. It’s an archetypal moment that borrows heavily from Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade (believing in the bridge) and Dumbo (Barley’s rope substituting for the magic feather). They get across the chasm and see a Raven statue pointing to clues.

Supreme Ordeal

Colt Bronco sows up to stop them from going any father. A chase ensues, with Ian driving, A character shift has happened with him now. But they find themselves trapped, and when Ian is unable to do the necessary magic, Barley has to sacrifice Guinevere in order for them to be able to continue. All she leaves behind is a tail light that looks a lot like a Phoenix Stone.


They keep following Ravens until they get to a river that flows through a cave. Ian uses magic to turn a cheese puff into a raft that they take down the river. Ian starts to show some real skill with the magic and the brothers have a bonding moment. Barley reveals another memory of being too scared of their Dad when he was sick and hooked up to all of the tubes and he didn’t look like himself, so he wasn’t able to say good bye to him. That’s when he decided to never be scared again.

The Road Back

They get to another tunnel and need to avoid a series of Booby traps (more Indians Jones). They finally escape, but the escape leads them out a manhole cover that brings them back to their home town right outside the high school.


It looks like they won’t get to fully resurrect their Dad, and Ian thinks that Barley screwed it up his one chance to meet his father. He leaves Barley with the staff and walks away with Dad’s legs. He then goes through the list of all of the things that he wanted to do with his Dad and realizes that he already did all of those things with Barley, and Barley has been the only father to him that he’s really needed. But then, Barley finds the gem in an ancient fountain in town and they’re able to restart the spell. However, it unleashes a curse in the form of a Dragon. While Ian uses magic to defeat the curse, Barley is able to meet their father. Ian watches from a distance as Barley is able to get the closure that he never had before. Their father then disappears. Barley tells Ian that their Dad is proud of the person Ian grew up to be and Ian gives Barley the credit. Barley then gives a hug from their Dad.

Return With the Elixir

Magic is back in the world. Ian teaches people that with a little bit of magic, we can accomplish anything. He has friends now, and Barley has Guinevere the Second, and the brothers take it on another quest.

Overall, Onward has a decent structure and it pushes all of the emotional buttons that PIXAR is generally successful in pushing. However, the story isn’t told with the usual polish of the best PIXAR films. While it isn’t as bad as The Good Dinosaur or Cars 3, it’s nowhere near as good as Coco or The Indredibles or Toy Story 2. It’s definitely somewhere in between. If you’re a fan of PIXAR, you’re sure to be a fan of this film. If you’re not, you’ll probably be left wanting.

1917 Screenplay Analysis

Anyone who follows this blog knows that I am a stickler for story structure. When I evaluate scripts, especially for new and/or undiscovered writers, I make it a point to pay particular attention to the structure of the story and note whether that changes in acts are happening in the right places. My thinking is that when you’re an unknown commodity, you need to demonstrate that you can follow the rules before people will trust you to break them. Sam Mendes is obviously at the point where he can break them, because 1917 broke many of the rules of conventional screenwriting, and yet it got made and became one of the most popular and successful films of 2019. However, even though it did not really follow the typical 3-Act structure, the script still works because it follows a very definite Hero’s Journey.

On one of my social media feeds a person commented that 1917 was nothing more than a glorified video game. We followed the characters through a series of levels having to confront a series of Bosses. When they defeated that level’s Boss, they leveled up and moved on to the next level and the next Boss. Sure it was entertaining and intense, the poster admitted, but it was a video game, not a movie.

You’ll also know, if you follow this blog, that I’m not a fan of Road Movies for the very reasons listed above. I’ve never articulated it that way, but many of those principles apply to why I’m not a fan of that style of storytelling. The stories are often episodic and you can often change the order of the episodes and not change the movie’s story at all.

That is where I part ways with the poster about 1917. Yes, it is a road movie, and on the surface the argument could be made that it’s an episodic story. However, you could not change the order in which they occur. This story follows a definite path which creates a definite arc for the Hero, and that is the big difference in 1917. Or, as the poster pointed out, the characters are doing nothing more than defeating whatever Boss is in front of them and then moving on to the next level. I would like to respectfully disagree and point out that if you break the story down to its Hero’s Journey components you would see that nothing could be farther from the truth. Even though the characters go on a journey, and this is an episodic story, the screenplay provides plenty of examples of quality storytelling and we have a through line that road movies are often missing. This through line provides the spine for the story and shows us that the movie works as a continuous story rather than the episodes that make it up.

For your consideration, here is a breakdown of the Hero’s Journey components in the film 1917.

Ordinary World – We meet Lance Corporal Blake (Dean-Charles Chapman) and Lance Corporal Schofield (George McKay) as they’re resting on a short leave. A Staff Sergeant kicks Blake awake and tells him he’s to report to the general and to bring a friend. He taps Schofield and the two of them go back to the trenches to the General’s quarters.

Call to Adventure – Once they’ve arrived, they’re informed by General Erinmore (Colin Firth) that a major assault is planned because the Germans have baited the 2nd Devers into a trap, and that the attack will fail and that Blake’s brother, who’s a member of that regiment, will be killed along with the other 1600 men he’s with. They get orders to get to the 2nd Devers and bring a letter to Col. Mackenzie ordering him to call off the attack, which is planned for just after dawn the next day. That gives the characters a ticking clock, which will come into play almost immediately, and will stay with us throughout the film.

Refusal of the Call – Schofield shows some reluctance thinking the Germans will be waiting for them. Then he wants to talk to Blake about it because he wants to at least wait until it’s dark. Blake, however, is only thinking of his brother and wants to move out right away. The surveillance says that the Germans have withdrawn so they should be able to cross No Man’s Land, but Schofield isn’t convinced and Blake recklessly rambles ahead.

Meeting the Mentor – The first of many, Lt. Leslie gives them instructions on how to get across No Man’s Land. Like the Archetypal Mentors of old, he gives them a gift to help them on their journey in the form of flare guns to fire off if they make it to the other side.

Crossing the First Threshold – Generally the beginning of Act II, it happens early in this film, just under 17 minutes in. They climb the ladders from the trenches and into No Man’s Land. They have left the Ordinary World and relative safety of the Trenches behind, and are now in the Special World of No Man’s Land and whatever dangers lie beyond.

Tests, Allies & Enemies – They start across No Man’s Land. The Markers that Lt. Leslie gave them are there. They make it to the German lines, dodging barbed wire, trenches and scout planes. They make it to the German trenches. Struggling to find a way through, they come across a tunnel that leads to a huge barracks. Schofield finds a trip wire but before they can move a rat sets it off blowing apart the chamber and burying Schofield in debris. Blake manages to get him up and drags him out of the caverns. The near-death experience fills Schofield with regret for Blake picking him, and the allies nearly become enemies. However Schofield gets his wits back and they move on.

The Approach –  Schofield tells Blake he’ll probably get a medal for saving his life. We learned earlier that Schofield received a medal that he no longer has. He admits to Blake that he swapped it for a bottle of wine. To him it was nothing more than a piece of tin. He didn’t want to take it home because he hated being there when he was there on leave. They arrive at a bombed out house surrounded by cherry blossoms. Blake is an expert on cherries because his mother has an orchard back home. They decide to investigate the house to make sure that it’s abandoned, as they suspect. Finding nothing in the house, Schofield moves out to the shell of what was once a barn where he finds a bucket of fresh milk that he pours into his empty canteen. Blake joins him and they watch the end of dogfight playing out in the distance. The German plane is shot down and they’re nearly killed when it crashes into the barn.

Supreme Ordeal – They pull the German pilot from the flaming plane, his legs still on fire. Schofield wants to put him out of his misery, but Blake tells him to get water. Schofield runs to a nearby well, but he hears a commotion and turns just in time to see that German pilot stabbing Blake with a knife. Schofield shoots the German and tries to tend to Blake’s wound, but it’s too deep and too late. Schofield tries to get Blake to move, but it’s too painful, and they both come to the realization that Blake is dying. Blake tells Schofield that he’ll recognize his brother because the two of them look just like each other. Blake asks Schofield to write to his mom for him, to tell her that he wasn’t scared and that he loves her. Schofield assures Blake that he knows the way, reciting the directions for him. He promises to find the 2nd and warn his brother as Blake dies in his arms. Schofield pulls the orders from Blake’s jacket, removes a family ring and one of his dog tags. Schofield, the hero of this story, is now fully committed to the adventure.

Reward – As he pulls Blake’s body to a better resting spot, another couple of soldiers approach and help move him. He then meets Captain Smith (Mark Strong) who is second in command of a convoy heading to the new line. He offers to take Schofield part of the way. Schofield is put in a truck and tries to hold it together in front of other soldiers he doesn’t know as they laugh and tell stories. But the convoy gets bogged down by a downed bridge and Schofield has to move on alone. Smith wishes him luck and warns him to make sure there are witnesses when he presents the orders to Col. Mackenzie, warning him that some men just want the fight. Schofield crosses the debris of a downed bridge, but starts taking fire from a sniper. He manages to get a shot off and hits the sniper in the building he was hiding in. Going in to investigate, he shoots the sniper at close range, but the sniper manages to get a shot off, hitting Schofield in the helmet, knocking him unconscious.

Resurrection – The longest stage of this particular Hero’s Journey starts off with a literal resurrection as Schofield wakes up hours later. It’s dark and he has no idea what time it is. He’s bleeding out of the back of his head and he struggles to his feet. Flares are illuminating the night sky and he sees the ruined town in front of him that he has to get through. As he traverses the streets he realizes that light means danger, as he can be seen by the enemy and must dodge their bullets. As he wanders, he stumbles across a German soldier who chases him, but he manages to escape into a small alcove where he finds a girl hiding with a baby. He asks if this is Accoust, and she says it is. She tells him that he should follow the river to get where he’s going, but he nearly passes out. She examines his wound and cleans it, archetypally healing him and bringing him back to life. The baby, too, is an archetypal symbol of rebirth just as the girl is the symbol of healing and of peace. He gives them food and the milk that he found in the barn, giving them an opportunity for rebirth as well. Interacting with the baby reignites Schofield’s desire to fulfill his mission and he notices that the morning is coming. The girl tries to get him to stay, but he has to go and his mission is reborn as well. He then stumbles upon a couple of drunken Germans and quietly strangles one as the other obliviously stumbles over and Schofield bullies by him. He jumps into the river to escape the city under a hail of more German bullets. The river is raging and sends him over a waterfall. About to give up, the river calms down and he sees Cherry Blossoms floating in the river, an archetypal and symbolic resurrection of Blake and he is again emboldened to continue. But he eventually runs into a mass of bloated and distended dead bodies collected along the river’s bank. After climbing over them, his emotions get the best of him and he breaks down until he hears the sound of singing in the woods. He follows the sound and finds a group of English soldiers listening to another soldier sing a song that is reminiscent of the ordeal that Schofield has just been through. He tells them he has to find the Devers, and they tell him that’s them. They tell him how to find Mackenzie, and he runs ahead. He ends up with them in a trench, but he can’t get through and the attack is about to commence. In perhaps the most famous scene of the movie, he jumps out of the trench, dodging artillery fire and other soldiers before making it to the headquarters of Col Mackenzie (Benedict Cumberbatch). At first unconvinced, McKenzie reads the orders and dramatically calls off the attack.

Return with the Elixir – The colonel’s aid congratulates Schofield on a job well done, but he doesn’t know where to find Blake. Since the First Wave had already gone over, he suggests that Schofield try the casualty tent behind the line. He makes his way there, and after nearly giving up on the search, he finally does find Lt. Blake. He gives him the unfortunate news that his brother died, presenting him with the family ring and dog tag. Lt. Blake, obviously devastated, holds back his emotions and tells Schofield to get to the mess tent. Schofield tells Lt. Blake that his brother was a good man and he saved his life. Lt. Blake confesses that he was glad Schofield was with him and they shake hands. Schofield walks behind a lonely tree off in the distance and sits. He removes from his pocket a photo of his daughters and one of his wife. He flips that one over and written on the other side are the words, “Come back to me”. Schofield closes his eyes and we cut to black.

Unlike most successful films, this film’s story is largely told in one act. There is a very brief prologue of sorts, but once the adventure begins, there’s no all-is-lost moment or second plot point that changes the direction of the story. Blake and Schofield get their orders and from that point on the only thing they’re doing is trying to get to the 2nd to stop the attack. What makes it work for 1917 is that screenwriters Mendes and Kristy Wilson-Cairns meticulously followed the Hero’s Journey model that led to a compelling, intense and entertaining story.

Again, I don’t recommend this if you’re a writer breaking in to the business. As I mentioned before, you need to show that you can follow the rules before you try to break them. But it is possible. Not only is it possible, but when done properly, it can be very effective.