The Grand Finale

We’re here, at the end of the journey… almost.

Act Three should be the most fast-paced, end-game-driven act of the movie. It’s time to wrap up all the story lines, carry the jeopardy through to the highest point, and place the protagonist in such circumstances that she will now square off, once and for all, against the dominant values and forces of antagonism. Wrapping up need not entail tying up everything into a neat little package with a bow on top. My point in this chapter isn’t to exhaust what it takes to create a great ending. For now, I want you to know enough to begin mapping out your plot.

Every great ending has a beginning, middle, and end. We’ll explore what this looks like through some examples.

In STAR WARS IV: A NEW HOPE, the three-part ending can be summarized in the most barebones format as follows: First, Luke and the rebellion articulate the plan. A weakness has been found in the Death Star. It’s a long shot, but one proton torpedo fired in the right spot will blow up the whole thing. The rebels have a plan, but jeopardy remains high. Only a perfectly aimed shot stands between them and oblivion. Can the targeting computer even make that shot? We must sense that the protagonist is up against overbearing odds. At most, there’s a glimmer of the hope of success. The final battle surpasses all other moments of testing the protagonist has faced over the course of the story.

Second, Luke and the X-wing team make their approach. The ticking clock counts down—very literally, on screen—as the rebel base approaches firing range. As X-wing pilots get picked off one by one, the towers stop firing and one fighter even gets a shot at the target…but misses the mark. We are now in the middle of the end, mirroring the downhill spiral of the second half of Act Two. Darth Vader decides to settle the score once and for all. The pilots are trapped, sitting ducks, until only Luke remains. This part of Act Three mimics, to all intents and purposes, the brick wall. Except now, Luke has no choice to make: he pushes on. He already committed to carrying the mission to term when he passed into Act Three. His conviction is palpable.
 

Isolated from everyone else, Luke makes the final attempt. Note how jeopardy continues to carry the scene. Darth Vader even gets a lock on Luke. In an unexpected reversal, Han Solo returns, fires Vader off into space, and Luke makes the shot in the nick of time. As we cheer along with the characters, there’s only one matter of business remaining—one last scene of resolution to show the results of the final face-off, or climax. The crisis has, for now, been averted.

Even the protagonist of a romantic comedy has a plan going into a great third act, an idea on how to get the girl (or guy). This last-ditch effort may fall short. Maybe the love interest wasn’t at the airport or the plane already left, or perhaps the protagonist can’t make it to city hall in time to halt the wedding. Ultimately, though, a new piece of information alerts the lover that things are not as they first appear. There’s still a chance to win the heart of the love interest but it will take making a grand stand. The affection-averse title character of JERRY MAGUIRE (1996) must confess his love publicly in front of all of Dorothy’s friends. In NOTTING HILL, William summons the courage to speak out in front of every reporter in London. And in ABOUT TIME, a son spends the very last of his extra time in the best way he can imagine—by taking a walk with his father. In this last example, the grand stand may be private but it is one nonetheless, for the protagonist finds truth and beauty in the simple things of life we all have the tendency to take for granted.
   

GLADIATOR, too, offers up a great three-part finale. Maximus commits to meeting his garrison outside the city and makes considerable progress toward that goal, only to find out that Cicero is tied to his horse and Commodus has found him out. As we approach the final climax, the stakes are raised even further when Commodus and Maximus privately face off beneath the Coliseum; Maximus in shackles, Commodus resplendent in white robes and shiny battle armor. Everything about this moment portrays Commodus as the dominant figure. The antagonist is on the verge of triumph. As extra insurance, he fatally wounds Maximus before facing him in the arena. (In order for it to be believable that Commodus could actually face off against Maximus, the writers carefully illustrated his gift in swordsmanship during a practice scene earlier in the script.)

The end of the end—the final face-off, the climax of the movie—is the physical fight in front of all of Rome. The unexpected reversal comes in the form of Maximus’s former friend in the legion, now of the imperial guard, who refuses to furnish the emperor a replacement sword. Maximus may die, but he overcomes every possible obstacle to give Rome back to the people before joining his family in the afterlife. (The actions of the legionary friend—his refusal to yield a sword to Commodus—echo Han Solo’s surprise return. Writers often refer to such moments as the Judas reversal or Han Solo moment.)

Watch as many movies as you can, read scripts, plays and great novels and ask yourself: What is it about this story that commands staying power, year after year, century after century? Undoubtedly, you’ll find a great plot, great characters, unexpected twists and turns. You’ll identify a great ending that carries jeopardy right through the whole of Act Three. At the end of the day, when the credits roll, that’s what will be on the minds of the audience as they walk away. This is the grand finale. This is where the rubber finally meets the road. Make it count. This is when the protagonist, armed with everything she has learned, solidifies her ultimate transformation and faces off against the forces of antagonism for the final stand. The fate of the world—the love story, or perhaps the survival of the family, or even the human race—hangs in the balance. The protagonist’s fate is sealed, and in that moment, so, too, is the undergirding premise of the movie.

Great stories don’t end in stalemate. At high noon, one cowboy makes the shot; only one walks away alive.
       

© SJ Murray, 2018