Screenplay The Three-Act Structure

Screenplay The Three-Act Structure

The 3-act structure is an old principle widely adhered to in storytelling today. It can be found in plays, poetry, novels, comic books, short stories, video games, and the movies. It was present in the novels of Conan Doyle, the plays of Shakespeare, the fables of Aesop, the poetry of Aristotle, and the films of Hitchcock. It’s older than Greek dramaturgy. Hollywood and Broadway use it well. It’s irrefutable and bullet-proof, so to speak.

Though quite simple, the 3-act structure has proven to be a valuable weapon in the arsenal of any screenwriter. Yes, there are alternatives to telling a story. But the 3-act structure is a highly accepted and greatly successful method.

In a nutshell, the 3 acts are labeled as:

Act I: Setup

Act II: Confrontation

Act III: Resolution

Some people like to call them beginning, middle, and end, which is not inaccurate. The point of the acts is to make sure that the story evolves and the stakes get higher.

All acts have their own sets of guidelines and rules that make the foundation of story development. The next sections will go over the differences of one act and the other, plus the obvious and the obscure dos and don’ts of the craft.

Spoiler Alert: The following sections contain story spoilers, used here to illustrate the concept at hand.

Act I: The Setup

The first act is where all the major characters of the story are introduced, plus the world where they live in, and the conflict that will move the story forward. In Act I, the writer has the freedom to create any setting and reality that he so wishes. It’s in the first pages of the script that he defines the reasoning and logic of the story. This early in the script, anything is possible.

The story may happen in the distant future or long time ago in a galaxy far far away. It may take place in downtown New York or in an African jungle. The first act also establishes genre. It may be a drama about a widow that struggles to re-encounter love, or a suspense about a young trainee summoned out of the FBI academy in a special assignment to interview a dangerous psychopath.

The writer may even distort reality or create his own. Toy Story (1995) opens with a young boy, Andy, playing with his toys. As soon as Andy exits the bedroom, leaving the place unsupervised, his toys promptly gain life. Yet we don’t frown or disapprove of it. At the movie’s very beginning, the audience has their mind open for practically anything. As the movie progresses, the viewer unconsciously forms a frame for the story, and their suspension of disbelief narrows, limiting what they will accept as plausible and congruent.

Ideally, your main character can never be lucky further down in the script. But while the story is introduced, this gimmick is acceptable if done right. In Three Days of the Condor (1975), CIA employee Joseph Turner (Robert Redford) survives a massacre that kills all of his colleagues while he steps out of the office to get lunch. In Dances With Wolves (1991), Lieutenant John J. Dunbar (Kevin Costner), learning that he must have his injured leg amputated, decides to commit suicide. He steals a cavalry horse and runs it into the infantry of the Confederate army. In doing so, he incites his fellow Union soldiers to rally, which leads to an unexpected victory. His plan to die fails, but he becomes a hero.

Act I must also present a strong hook – an exciting scene early in the script that grabs the audience’s interest and hooks them. Steven Spielberg’s Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981) starts with an action-packed, attention-grabbing sequence that introduces Indiana Jones (Harrison Ford) performing acrobatic stunts while penetrating a cave and lost temples to find a valuable artifact.

Part of that hook is the inciting incident that takes place somewhere in the beginning of Act I. This inciting incident often provokes a change in the protagonist’s routine – something new they experience that could either challenge or encourage them. In The Silence of the Lambs (1991), FBI trainee Clarice Starling (Jodie Foster) meets with Dr. Hannibal “the Cannibal” Lecter (Anthony Hopkins). The confrontation of both parties is nerve-wracking.

Act I ends with the first plot point of the movie. In Thelma & Louise (1991), Plot Point I happens when Louise shoots dead a man who was on the verge of raping Thelma. This action completely changes the course of the story . Thelma and Louise were up until now just trying to have some off-time away from their tedious lives. But when Thelma kills that guy, they become criminals. Quickly, the police are brought into the picture.

Act II: Confrontation

The second act is by far the longest, encompassing half of the movie and taking place between the first and third acts. For some screenwriters, Act II is the hardest one to squeeze out. This happens because after the initial boost of a new story, the writer is left without plot elements to introduce. The story, its characters and conflict are all established. At this point, the writer has created a solid frame for his narrative. Yet he’s still roughly sixty pages away from the ending.

With so many blank pages remaining, the writer faces the challenge of keeping the story moving forward and not boring the audience. One device to accomplish this feat is the creation of subplot. The subplot is a minor story layered under the main narrative. It often adds a three-dimensionality aspect to the characters by allowing them to engage in a behavior that is not necessarily connected to the main plot, but still relevant in the overall narrative and often linked to a central theme.

In Peter Weir’s Witness (1985), the main storyline follows Philadelphia policeman John Book (Harrison Ford), as he investigates the assassination of a fellow police officer. His only witness is an Amish boy (Lukas Haas), who saw the murder happen at a train station restroom in the big city. When Officer Book discovers that someone from his own precinct ordered the killing, his life is in danger, and, after being shot, he runs away to the Amish countryside of Lancaster. During the second act of Witness, John Book and Amish widow Rachel Lapp (Kelly McGillis) engage in a brief courtship that fails to evolve into an affair. Also during Act II, Book befriends many members of the Amish community – an event that foreshadows the resolution in Act III, when the community comes to Book’s rescue .

As epitomized in Witness, the second act may be a moment in which the hero leaves his comfort zone, which fuels the writer with another set of possibilities. In The Lion King (1994), after Mufasa dies, Simba runs away. Timon and Pumbaa save him from the desert, and Simba has to live in the Jungle, eating bugs and beetles! During Act II in Toy Story, while Andy’s mom’s fills up her vehicle, Woody leaps out of the car in order to rescue Buzz. But before Woody can convince Buzz to climb back in the car, Andy and his mom take off, leaving Buzz and Woody stranded in the gas station. Before the movie’s resolution, the two toys find themselves into an even worse setting – Sid’s creepy bedroom.

In the second act, the stakes escalate. If the hero is “on the fence” or confused about what he should do, then something must happen by the midpoint of the script to make his goal clear. In Thelma & Louise, the two protagonists realize that, with the police on their tail, they cannot return home and live a normal life. They have to keep driving towards Mexico.

A pivotal element of this escalation inherent to Act II is Plot Point II, which catapults the story into the third and final act. Much like Plot Point I, Plot Point II also affects the main character by changing the direction he’s headed. The difference is that the stakes are much higher. This is often a moment of crisis, in which all hope seems lost.

       

Act III: Resolution

The last act, Act III presents the final confrontation of the movie, followed by the denouement. This act is usually the shortest in length because quickly after the second turning point of the script, the main character is face to face with the villain or just about. Showdown ensues and then conclusion.

In The Silence of the Lambs, the third act kicks off when Agent Starling enters the house of Buffalo Bill (Ted Levine), the criminal who she’s been trying to find. This moment is tension-packed because little does Starling know the identity of the man that’s welcoming her. When Starling finally finds out, she’s inside the serial killer’s domain and unable to call for back-up.

As illustrated by The Silence of the Lambs, Act III contains a moment often labeled as mandatory – the confrontation between hero and villain, the clash between good and evil, a duel. In the moment that Clarice Starling walks into Buffalo Bill’s house, the writer fulfills a promise made by him in the first act, when he set up those two opposing forces.

The spectators are smart, so don’t underestimate them. Whenever the writer establishes a prince, a princess, and a dragon, the audience will urge for a confrontation in which the prince slays the dragon to rescue the princess (like in Sleeping Beauty). You can always tweak the formula (like in Enchanted), but if the dragon is not dead by the end of the film, your audience will walk out dissatisfied, even if they can’t pinpoint the reason.

The third act is also when the writer ties up any loose ends and offers a resolution to the subplots. In Witness, the third act takes off when the corrupt cops find John Book hidden in the Amish community. The mandatory confrontation between the opposing forces takes place, and then Book and Rachel meet. Both have to make a choice. Either Book stays to be with Rachel or Rachel leaves to be with Book.

In the final moments of Orson Welles’ Citizen Kane, the audience learns what “rosebud” means – a questions asked in the first act.

The resolution can also give extra information for a more elaborate character arc. In Titanic (1997), after revealing what happened to the Heart of the Ocean, we cut to Old Rose’ bedroom. The movement of the camera shows her nightstand with photos of adventures she did when young – promises kept to Jack.

Are you obsessing over three-act structure? Here’s what you should do instead. 

If there’s so much information out there on how to craft the perfect three-act structure, why is it so hard to put it into practice in your own script? Why is it so difficult to know how the hell to fill those 50-60 pages in Act Two?

With close to a million different theories on three-act structure out there, this confusion is easy to understand.

Should you structure your script using Christopher Vogler’s Hero’s Journey or John Truby’s 21 Steps? Or should you go for the Save the Cat Beat Sheet or maybe Syd Field’s classic three-act structure?

In today’s post, we’re going to show you why you should stop fretting over plot points, page numbers and all the different structure theories that are out there. And what to focus on instead.

We’re going to show you the pros and cons of three-act structure and the right way to approach it so it empowers your creativity rather than stifles it.

Here’s what’s coming up:

• What is three-act structure?

• Why three-act structure works

• The problem with this structure

• A better approach

• How to write a story by first forgetting three-act structure

• So, do you really need three-act structure or what?

So let’s dive on in.

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First, just what is three-act structure?

As we’ve already mentioned, there are many different screenwriting structure theories out there. However, they all fall into and work in harmony with what’s known as “classic” or “traditional” three-act structure.

Here’s a quick breakdown of classic/traditional three-act structure in a movie screenplay:

A screenplay should be roughly 90-110 pages long.

A single page roughly equals one minute of screen time. So the sweet spot of a 110-page screenplay is about a one-hour-fifty-minute long movie.

Applying a three-act structure divides these pages/minutes up like so:

• Act One: First 25-30 pages/minutes
• Act Two: Second 50-60 pages/minutes
• Act Three: Third 25-30 pages/minutes

Or like this:

• Act One: Beginning/Set-Up
• Act Two: Middle/Confrontation
• Act Three: End/Resolution

Or, as the saying goes:

• Act One: Get your protagonist up a tree
• Act Two: Throw rocks at him or her
• Act Three: Get them down again

More detail on what classic three-act structure entails. 

• Act one (the beginning) sets up the story world, the protagonist and antagonist and what’s at stake—the problem/crisis they have to resolve over the course of the story in direct opposition to one another.

• Act two (the middle) shows the protagonist and antagonist battling over this goal—what’s at stake in the story. Things get increasingly complicated for the protagonist as the antagonist reveals new obstacles and challenges them to ever greater degrees.

• Act three (the end) brings the story to a resolution when either the protagonist or the antagonist win the final battle, and what’s at stake has either been won or lost.

As the protagonist makes their way through the three-act structure paradigm, they’re hit by multiple crises that form major turning points in the story. For example, the Call to Action, Act One Turning Point, Midpoint and so on.

Why three-act structure works. 

There’s a reason why this three-act structure paradigm has stood the test of time, all the way from Aristotle through to Frozen II…

Because it so effectively imitates real life and its recurring Rule of 3.

Think:

• Birth/Life/Death
• Sunrise/Day/Sunset
• The Son/the Father/the Holy Ghost
• Departure/Journey/Return
• Thesis/Antithesis/Synthesis

And so on…

Even on a day-to-day level nearly everything we do can be boiled down to a three-act structure paradigm.

Let’s say you get a call from the doctor asking you to come in for a scan because they noticed something unusual in your blood results.

• Act One might be thought of as the initial blood test and the doctor’s call asking you to come in for a scan (Set-Up).

• Act Two might be thought of the scan itself and any rising conflict and trauma that arises (Confrontation).

• Act Three might be the worry before you get the result which finally arrives letting you know you’re okay (Resolution).

In other words, a negative conflict arose with something that was at stake (You went up the tree). The conflict developed when you took an action (Rocks were thrown at you). And was resolved with a positive result (You came down from the tree).

Now that we’ve covered the basics of three-act structure and why it resonates with audiences, let’s take a look at some of its drawbacks.

The problem with three-act structure. 

Three-act structure is a very useful tool when it comes to plotting a screenplay. As are the various structure theories that fit within it. Problems can arise, however, when too much emphasis is placed on them too soon in the development of a story.

In preparation for writing the first draft of a script, professional writers don’t usually sit down with a Save the Cat Beat Sheet and mull over what their “Bad Guys Close In” section will be between pages 55-75.

Aspiring writers, on the other hand, often do.

Some put three-act structure up on a pedestal as something at the forefront of their writing process and spend a great deal of time obsessing over its finer details, like “What event needs to happen on this page?” And… “How should this event happen?”

Here’s an excerpt from John Truby’s The Anatomy of Story in which he lays out the “Revelation 1 Sequence” in Alien:

• Revelation 1: The crew realizes that the Alien is using the air vents to move through the ship.

• Decision: They decide to flush the Alien toward the airlock and vent it into space.

• Changed Desire: Ripley and the others want to kill the Alien.

• Changed Motive: They must kill the Alien or die.

This is all perfectly true. But it also tends to make a writer impose structure on the story rather than let it emerge naturally.

If you try to work out your plot while stuck in the weeds of Revelations, Decisions, Changed Desires and so on, your mind is unlikely to be free enough to come up with a good story.

Overall, starting a script with three-act structure and these kinds of intricacies at the forefront of a writing process almost always comes at the detriment of character and story.

It usually leads to a script without much emotion or narrative sense, with events happening randomly, instead of organically because of a previous scene’s events.

Now, we’re not saying it’s impossible to write a great script with John Truby’s 21 Steps or the Save the Cat Beat Sheet at the forefront of your mind.

But if you really want to free your imagination to write the best story possible, then it’s a good idea to not start out in the weeds of three-act structure theory.

A better way to approach three-act structure. 

First, step away from the books.

Remember: people don’t leave movie theaters thinking “Gee, I loved the way the Act One break happened slap bang on minute 25.”

Also, these three-act structure theories are the result of people analyzing a story that’s been written (probably) without those very same theories in mind.

In part two of this post we’re going to show you how all of these theories fit within three-act structure, but for now put them out of your mind.

Instead, focus on what’s most important: your characters and story.

How to write a story by first forgetting three-act structure. 

The mistake many aspiring screenwriters make is trying to create structure before they write. In reality, structure occurs naturally when things happen to your characters and they make decisions and take actions as a result. Just like in real life.

As we’ve already discussed, the Rule of 3 is inherent to the human experience. And when applied to your script, this means the process of writing a story will naturally form a beginning, middle and end.

Rather than approaching story from the angle of index cards, “pinch points” and page numbers, focus on your characters’ goals and desires and the most interesting way you can show them.

Writing your story. 

Getting started is actually really simple: Put all three-act structure theories out of your mind and write your story in prose form.

As you do so, it can be useful to ask yourself questions like:

• What’s the most natural and realistic thing this character would do next?

• If I were in this character’s shoes what would I do next?

• Is this scene a direct consequence of the previous scene?

• What’s the most interesting, surprising, exciting thing that could happen next?

• How can I make my protagonist really suffer?

• How can I make these scenes have the most possible impact on the audience?

• What would I be feeling if I was in a movie theater watching these scenes?

Keeping questions like these in mind as you write your story out in prose, is a great way of letting it come out of you naturally. As a result, your characters will start to behave more naturally and the story will feel more organic.

At this stage, it doesn’t matter if your turning points and act breaks aren’t “where they’re supposed to be.”

All that matters is that your story is compelling. You should be able to read aloud this prose version to someone and have them on the edge of their seat wondering how it all turns out.

If not, you’re still a long way from worrying about what page your midpoint lands on.

Focus on how your protagonist changes

The events your protagonist experiences and choices they make should profoundly change their humanity by the end of the story.

You’ve probably heard this be referred to as a “character arc” but, at this stage, it’s important not to associate the various points along their arc too rigidly within a three-act structure paradigm.

Simply focus on your protagonist’s journey by keeping at the front of your mind questions like:

• How do the events in my story force my protagonist to go from one state of mind to another?

• How do they make them go from taking one set of actions at the beginning to a completely different set of actions at the end?

• How do the scenes in my story logically lay out this evolution?

Think of all the highs and lows you can make us experience with your protagonist along the way toward their eventual triumph or failure.

Instead of focusing on plot points and page numbers, doing this should make your story naturally take on a beginning, middle and end—an Act One, Act Two and Act Three—that charts your protagonist’s change.

(Note: Of course, not all movies involve characters that significantly change, but the majority do. And, as an aspiring screenwriter, it’s well worth sticking to this paradigm. Unless you’re writing horror as traditionally the protagonist doesn’t really change much as the flaw is attributed to society rather than the individual hero.)

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Conclusion.

In part two of this post, we’re going to break down several three-act structure theories as applied to the movie Up In the Air, showing how they are all saying roughly the same thing.

All of these theories—from the Blake Snyder Beat Sheet, to John Truby’s 21 Steps—can show you how you can tighten up an already existing great story to make it even better. Not how to write a great story from scratch.

No one can really do that as it comes from within your imagination. It comes from letting your imagination go and seeing where it takes you, instead of worrying about how it fits within three-act structure.

Remember to always start from the same place—character and story—and you’ll be fine.