Everything Changes

The inciting incident becomes a pivotal moment in your character’s life.

Today we’ll learn about the inciting incident (also known as the catalyst). This is the moment when the story takes a major turn. An example of an inciting incident is when Peter Parker gets bitten by a spider (SPIDER-MAN, 2002). He doesn’t know it yet, but the venom is about to give him superpowers.

First, a few comments on the importance of point of view (POV). In general, movies that are successful at the box office are driven by the narrative POV of one character. This person is your protagonist. The story revolves around the things that happen to provoke a profound change in the protagonist—even if that change comes through encountering another person. Look, for example, at the character of Antonio Salieri in AMADEUS (1984). His life is profoundly impacted by his meeting Mozart. Yet, the movie is very much Salieri’s story and told from his POV.

While movies with multiple POVs do exist (they are known as multiplots), they tend to be less successful at the box office. That’s not because audiences are brainwashed by the Hollywood model, mind you. Nor is it because the average audience member lacks intelligence or taste. Simply put, by immersing the audience in one single POV, they develop an emotional attachment to the story—the audience feels what the character feels.

When the protagonist’s POV is clear, we root for or against her. We fear for her safety. We hang on to the hope the world can still be saved. Watch FINDING NEMO or HOW TO TRAIN YOUR DRAGON 2 (2014) to see what I mean. Both movies draw the audience in so well that we forget we’re not watching actual fish or dragons in danger, but a collection of animated pixels. That’s because the emotions we feel are real. When the story is well told, the audience becomes a part of it. We don’t simply suspend disbelief, we forget about the so-called “real” world and become immersed in the world of the story.

I won’t focus in this book on the art of the multiplot. Instead, you’ll learn to write a strong, single POV movie. Be thinking over the next day or two about some of the defining traits of your protagonist. We’ll return to such considerations a little further down the road.

Back to the inciting incident. This is the first major story beat, or twist, in your plot. We’ll illustrate the inciting incident by taking another look at THE PROPOSAL.

Margaret is on top of the world, working her dream job and devoting herself entirely to her career. She’s so darn busy doing what it takes to succeed at work that she doesn’t have time for such paltry things as verifying her visa status. Who cares about those kinds of details?

The day we meet Margaret and Andrew, everything changes—for both of them, since we’re in the midst of a romantic comedy (but the story remains primarily hers). Margaret drives the action.

It’s important to understand the difference between what the writer knows and what the characters know. As the inciting incident approaches, the writer knows exactly what’s coming. Everything is about to change. The audience suspects this too; they’ve seen plenty of movies. It’s paramount, however, that your characters not realize that someone is just about to light a stick of dynamite underneath them.

Keep in mind, as you move forward with your story, that what you want and seek to accomplish as a writer must be kept quite separate from what your characters know and want. Every time your protagonist walks out the door, she must face very real decisions in the most believable way possible, driven by what she is seeking to accomplish. This is what writers call the character’s desire line.
  

At the beginning of every scene, ask yourself, “What does my character want? How is this different from what I am seeking to accomplish as a writer?” And then keep those goals separate. Doing so will help you avoid the dreaded coincidence (e.g., your character decides to go somewhere because you, the author, need her to).

So, how does all of this play out in THE PROPOSAL? Margaret goes in to work. We have a good sense by now of how she is as a person and as a boss. In spite of her character flaws, we also get the sense that she’s good at her job. It’s very much in character, then, that she congratulates herself upon getting the message to come up and speak with her bosses. Margaret has a one-track mind. She has landed a great writer—perhaps one of the greatest coups of her career—and she fully expects to be lavished with praise and kudos for a job well done. Time to pour the champagne, even if it is before lunch. Margaret has positively no idea what’s about to happen.
    

Imagine her surprise when she discovers she’s being let go. It seems there’s a problem with her U.S. visa. They’re sending her back to Canada. But Margaret will not allow it. Note that fighting back is a believable and established trait of her personality, too. Quick to think, she announces her engagement to an equally surprised Andrew. Since the fate of his own publishing career rests in Margaret’s hands, Andrew goes along with her lie, if somewhat reluctantly.

There is much to be gleaned about writing from this pivotal moment of THE PROPOSAL. As a writer, you must learn to play with the boundary between what your character knows vs. what the audience knows. As we watch THE PROPOSAL, the audience is well aware that Margaret is making up her engagement to Andrew. Because of this, we experience Andrew’s shock, discomfort and strained attempt to play along. We also know that Margaret’s bosses are out of the loop. The gap between what we know and what they know creates comic relief. Moreover, it builds suspense. How will Margaret pull off the subterfuge? How will Andrew respond once they’re in private? The stick of dynamite is lit and the fuse is burning—but it hasn’t exploded yet.
       

NOTTING HILL (1999) deals with the inciting incident in a slightly different, although equally endearing, way. The movie opens with the voice of William Thacker, an unsuccessful bookstore owner in the Notting Hill section of London. William introduces us to his neighborhood, the storybook world. He reveals that today is the day everything changes for him. (We presume the narrator must be looking back, recounting the events after the fact.)

William’s pronouncement sets the stage for the inciting incident. What’s about to happen that will change his life forever? Anna Scott, the most famous movie star in the world, walks into his little shop. Again, the stick of dynamite is lit. Note, however, that William makes no attempt to ask her for her number at this time. That comes a little later when he bumps into her in the street and spills orange juice all over her. The “meet cute” (the moment when the boy meets the girl) in the shop sets everything in motion. In that scene, the seeds of the possible romance are sown.

The principle of not allowing the characters to know what happens next is well implemented here, too. When Anna walks out of the shop, William is sure he’ll never see her again. He goes out to get coffee and to unwind—not to look for her. Similarly, in STAR WARS IV: A NEW HOPE, Luke stumbles across his destiny when he is looking for it the least, as he follows his uncle’s instructions and prepares to wipe the memories of the two droids they just acquired from the Jawas. Nothing prepares Luke for what he finds: Princess Leia’s distress message concealed by R2D2. The message sets in motion Luke’s quest. It makes real and palpable a simple farm boy’s call to greatness. After seeing Leia’s message, Luke cannot shake the possibility the droid might have belonged to someone he knows, old Ben Kenobi. He’s driven to investigate this mystery, yet has no idea about the adventure upon which he’s about to embark.

In all of these examples, the inciting incident lights the fuse—and it burns until the stick of dynamite explodes. Remember, the inciting incident needn’t be the most mind-blowing change in the world (although it could be). Rather, it serves as a catalyst for the journey ahead, setting in motion the irreversible and inevitable process of change.

© SJ Murray, 2018