Someone has been murdered. Or at least it looks that way. Or some other dastardly thing has happened, or will happen. The main character has to get to the bottom of it — to investigate, identify and catch the bad guys, and stop them or bring them to justice.
This is perhaps the most common type of story we see in commercial fiction and television drama (especially on the broadcast networks). In movies, the Save the Cat books call it the “Whydunit” genre. Their author Blake Snyder wrote that successful movie stories tend to fall into one of ten types, and I think this is a really useful tool for writers developing stories: to determine which genre they are trying to write, and to make sure the story meets the criteria of that type. In the past I have blogged about many of the others, including Dude with a Problem, Out of the Bottle, Golden Fleece, Institutionalized, Rite of Passage, and, to some extent, Buddy Love.
Now it’s time for Whydunit, and the question of how mystery and suspense works in stories in general. The latter is an issue that I see coming up a lot in scripts that I read — especially the use of mystery and suspense regarding the main character of a story. As I’ve blogged about before, I think it’s problematic to leave the audience in the dark about what’s going on in terms of the hero(ine)’s overall problem/goal, its stakes, and what they’re trying to do from scene to scene. That includes withholding information in order to work toward some big twist at the end. In general, if the audience doesn’t solidly identify with and understand the main character, and get invested in what they’re trying to do, I think they tend to have a hard time emotionally engaging with the story. Which I think is a writer’s primary job and goal.
The Whydunit tends to set up a very simple and relatable puzzle to solve. And audiences love to solve puzzles. Usually the main character is playing “detective,” whether professional or not, and in the best movie examples, they have or develop a strong personal connection to solving the case. It’s not just about doing their job.
Virtually every scene is a step in them trying to find out what they need to know, in order to end the mystery. Sometimes they spend the third act climax (or part of it) chasing down the perpetrator after they’ve finally indentified and found them. Other times, the climax is simply about identifying “who done it” — and the final defeat/capture of that person is more of an afterthought. In either case, the great bulk of the story, including all of Act Two (save scenes centered on a B Story) consists of “investigative beats.” These are fun-to-watch scenes of conflict where the main character (sometimes as part of a team) follows up on leads and clues, questions people, observes (sometimes undercover), tries to find out information and generally “works the case.”
The key to keeping things interesting and compelling is that they must make small bits of progress where certain questions get answered, but not enough to reduce the tension or fully solve the problem. It’s kind of like “one step forward, two steps back” — when they figure out something new and important, it usually leads to some bigger complication, question, conflict or challenge that makes things build further, with the status of the mystery changing in virtually every scene, but defying complete resolution.
Difficulty is the key. They usually have to struggle for every little scrap of partial victory, with nothing ever handed to them. There’s conflict at every turn. And speaking of “turns,” Save the Cat describes a “dark turn” happening at some point in a Whydunit — where the hero(ine) goes against their own or society’s rules, and perhaps becomes somewhat guilty or worthy of harsh judgment in their own way, fairly late in the story. I think this is something to be careful with, as it’s easy to lose the audience if this goes too far and isn’t redeemed. But it’s part of what might elevate a standard mystery story (of which there are so many on bookstore shelves) to something movie-worthy — along with the uniqueness and importance of the case itself, and the hero(ine)’s personal connection to and stakes in it.
In the end, there is usually a “secret” at the center of the crime, which is more about “why” the bad guys did what they did (or are doing what they are doing), and not just “who” they are. For the writer, understanding the bad guys and everything they do is pretty important, before one can even begin the intricate plotting of this kind of story, where almost everything is kept hidden from the audience and the main character, and only little pieces are revealed, one by one
It’s easy to confuse a “good guys vs. bad guys” story, in terms of which Save the Cat genre it fits. This often happens when a writer isn’t sure whether the hero should know who the bad guys are or not, be fighting them or not, and be on the run from them or not. I would say if they know who they are, or are fighting them or on the run from them, it’s probably not a Whydunit. It’s probably a Dude with a Problem or Golden Fleece. Or maybe a “Superhero.” Because in a Whydunit, it’s all about not knowing the answers, and being the aggressor — the one who’s on the hunt, giving chase, and most of all, trying to figure it all out.
I asked my friend Michael Hauge, author of the classic Writing Screenplays that Sell, to weigh in on the question of “superior position” — as I remembered him having great insights on this during a class we once team-taught.
He drew a great distinction between investigative mysteries or “Whydunits” — where, as I said above, we don’t want the audience getting ahead of the main character and what they know — and many thrillers or action-adventure stories, where we do, for the purposes of suspense creation:
“I would say that when the hero’s goal is to solve a mystery, the audience doesn’t want to know the solution before the hero – which would kind of defeat purpose of the entire story.
But if the hero’s goal is to STOP a character from doing something that will jeopardize the hero or someone the hero cares about, the audience DOES want superior position – to know what the villain is up to before the hero does – because that creates greater suspense.”
See more of Michael’s work at his website http://www.StoryMastery.com.
Thanks, Erik. Ian my true story, “Most Wanted Dad, ” I will use clues to present a “two step forward, one back” approach to build mystery in my drama script.
If we consider Vertigo an especially popular example of the Whydunit genre film, we have difficulty justifying the idea that it’s problematic to leave the audience in the dark about the protagonist’s central problem. Five minutes into Vertigo, we know the protagonist has a profound fear of heights, but we don’t really no why. For a long time, we are not aware that there is a deeper psychological wound beyond the memory of his partner’s fall from the rooftop in the opening sequence. Hitchcock tells us nothing about the original fall the protagonist witnessed because that memory is buried deep in his unconscious mind. By withholding this information as long as possible, Hitchcock keep us in the dark. He provides no explanation why Jimmy Stewart trails the mysterious blonde from a restaurant to a hotel to a quiet grave site and finally, a monastery. Vertigo pulls us down like gravity because neither the hero nor the audience knows what’s happening for the entire first act. Mimicking a dream, Hitchcock deliberately evades logic and obscures meaning. As a result, we do not watch Vertigo, we fall headlong into a carefully contrived trance. And not knowing what’s going on is what makes this film stand out from the myriad of less memorable Whydunit movies.
I think you raise some great points and it really comes down to taste, at a certain point. I think for mainstream commercial cinema, withholding all that information from the audience is generally problematic, but that’s not to say there aren’t some films from the masters which have broken certain “rules” and earned them critical praise and reverence. For my money, knowing what the problem is and getting invested in it, in a film like Rear Window, for instance, is more emotionally involving, and probably more commercially viable, in most cases, but possibly not as ultimately satisfying to some sophisticated viewers. I might not be as sophisticated as my film school mentor would’ve liked, in that he thought Vertigo was the greatest film by his most beloved filmmaker (who he’d published a book about), whereas I left the screening of it (at age 20, granted), decidedly underwhelmed. In any case, it’s hard to argue with history’s assessment of its greatness and I don’t like to be in the position of trying to talk anyone out of loving what they love. The principles I write about are, I think, appropriate for writers trying to break into the business, and I often see writers withholding information in such a way that I think there’s not much for the audience to grab onto and care about, perhaps differently and less intriguingly than how Vertigo did it. But I would never say “never” with any of these things — I only try to provide guidance that I think generally is helpful and applicable, knowing that a great artist/writer can sometimes do something that is really one of a kind and that seems to go a different way. I think this usually happens later in the career of someone who is already established, like Hitchcock, but I suppose it can happen at the beginning of a career, as well.
I agree that Vertigo is overrated and that in the end, whether we like a film or not, is purely a matter of taste. But, I think it’s important for writers to try to keep the audience guessing at all times. And the more movies I see, the more I’ve come to believe that we crave suspense even more than dramatic conflict, dialog, character, etc. Regardless of genre or cast, we always want to know what happens next, and how it all turns out. Not knowing who will win is what makes a conflict scene interesting. Not knowing the punchline is what makes a joke funny. Everything between the setup and the payoff is suspense.
I agree. My main contention (which you might disagree with) is that the audience needs to know what’s at stake and have a reason to care, so that they will be engaged during the process of that suspense. Sometimes writers don’t quite provide enough upfront to give the audience something to grab onto emotionally. Once the audiences has that, then yes, keeping them guessing is awesome. I just maintain that we usually don’t want to keep them guessing about the main character and their intentions/desires (though I get that some great movies have some sections that do that) — that we mainly want to keep them guessing about what other people might be doing and about whether the main character will achieve what they want to achieve. And there can be lots of complications and suspense along the way where they (and we) don’t quite know what’s going on in terms of the main character’s antagonistic forces — but they have a clear and important goal they are pursuing, which keeps us invested..
I just stumbled onto this discussion. It’s great. I’m a software architect who likes to write. There is a principal in habit-forming software design called “variable rewards” that might apply. Users become attached to rewards with a degree of unpredictability. If you always get a gold coin when you jump, you will tire of the game. If you usually get a gold coin, sometimes get five coins or even a hundred coins, and sometimes, rarely, get killed, you will continue playing longer and come back again more than if there is a consistently predictable reward. (It’s also called the “slot machine principle.”)
I think variable rewards may apply to withheld knowledge in storytelling. As the story winds out, the pacing of insight revelation should vary, big and deep, small and suggestive, and sometimes, though rarely, a deceptive slap. Unpredictability played with finesse draws the audience in. This principle explains to me the attraction of both Vertigo and Rear Window. I love them both and I think one of Hitchcock’s secrets is to play the audience into varying levels of reward in their insight into the action.
Thanks for very useful insights as always, Erik!
Personally, I am mystified by how many shows seem to get away with convoluted stories for the sake of “mystery”.
I’m also slightly surprised when the likes of Steven Spielberg sign off on them. To me, it gets old fast.
I’m thinking of Under the Dome (2013 — 2015), Extant (2014–2015) and The Returned (2015) to name only a few.
Great blog as usual, Eric.