The Midpoint

The tide turns.

I think the midpoint is one of the most interesting points in story design. As the tent-pole at the center of the narrative, it holds everything together. At the midpoint, the stakes are raised once again, although at first this may not be glaringly obvious. In no small part, this is where the protagonist makes a decisive move from passive to active. We’ve seen how, at the end of Act One, the protagonist cannot simply be swept away by the events and carried over into Act Two. That said, this does not imply that the protagonist actively drives the direction of the plot at the end of Act One. Rather, she proactively responds to the adventure into which she has been invited. At the midpoint, the protagonist is no longer content with responding to the circumstances around her and makes an active decision that in turn changes the direction of the plot.

Let’s consider an example from classical theatre: Shakespeare’s MACBETH. The play has benefited from several good film adaptations. I’m a fan of the 2006 version created for PBS and starring Patrick Stewart. (Be sure to take a look at a printed copy of the play as well, since movie adaptations tend to cut and shift scenes around.)

In the first scene of MACBETH, we come face to face with three witch-like creatures, perhaps a hat-tip to the ancient world’s Fates. They meet on a heath in Scotland. We know from the dialogue that things are not as they appear: “Fair is foul and foul is fair.” The witches are up to something. They reappear a few scenes later to announce to Macbeth that he will be named Thayne of Cawdor and then king. At this point, we are well prepared to mistrust them. (The witches also foretell of Macbeth’s best friend, Banquo, becoming father to a line of kings.) As if to corroborate the witches’ report, a messenger arrives straight from King Duncan, announcing that Macbeth has been elevated to the rank of Thayne of Cawdor. What foul play is afoot?

Macbeth and Banquo may have thought little of the ill-wrought prophecy, had the messenger not appeared. Yet, once they learn of Macbeth’s new title, they cannot keep from wondering. What if the witches’ prophecy is true? Will Macbeth be king? The treachery is set in motion. We witness, from the audience’s ranks, the very first moment of the hatching of Macbeth’s diabolical plan. He’ll now take matters into his own hands, murder the king and bring about the fulfillment of the prophecy himself. To what ends man will succumb in order to advance himself! (Little has changed.)

To set his plan in motion, Macbeth writes to his wife. We join Lady Macbeth as she reads the letter. We cannot help but be filled with unease when she complies all too willingly with the preparations. Duncan’s days are numbered. Yet, Macbeth arrives home with a changed mind. Duncan has shown him favor; he cannot murder his king! In a terrifying scene, Lady Macbeth holds her husband to the murder plan; he succumbs to the pressure.

In terms of story design, Lady Macbeth functions as Christopher Vogler's “threshold guardian,” who gives her husband the nudge he needs to cross over into Act Two. However, by the time we reach the play’s midpoint, things have changed. We witness Macbeth single-handedly plot the murder of his best friend, Banquo. When Lady Macbeth asks what her husband is up to, he avoids revealing the plan to her altogether, preferring to meet privately with the henchmen and have Banquo’s murder carried out in secret. Macbeth’s move from passive to active shifts the course of the story and seals Macbeth’s downward spiral into self-destruction. There can be no turning back.

Modern movies and novels aren’t the first storytelling media to focus on the midpoint as a moment of decisive shifting. It so happens that the authors of twelfth-century narratives, including the earliest Arthurian legends, were careful to place an important revelation at the midpoint of their tales. It’s right in the middle, for example, that Chrétien de Troyes reveals the true name of the anonymous Knight of the Cart (ca. 1170), dividing the book into two neatly organized halves. Lancelot’s true identity is revealed in the battle sequence right at the center. He takes a stand.
  

GLADIATOR employs a similar technique. Maximus’s identity is revealed to Commodus at the midpoint. The notorious “Spaniard” turns his back to the emperor, a breathtaking act of defiance. Then, under duress, he removes his helmet and reveals his true identity, precipitating a decisive turn in the story. Maximus no longer benefits from the safety of anonymity. Commodus knows his greatest enemy lives.
 

The midpoint shoots the plot off in a new direction, from which there’s no turning back. It signals the beginning of the downward spiral of the second half of Act Two, and the protagonist must now confront obstacles of increasingly monumental proportion. Macbeth’s victory is a false high; the success of the murder plan is the beginning of the end for him. It precipitates his ruin. In contrast, Maximus’s public revelation is a false low; while it ought to precipitate his ruin, it sets in motion the events that allow him to fulfill his promise to Marcus Aurelius and give Rome back to the people. This rule of thumb is typical of the midpoint in blockbuster movies today. (You can read further about highs and lows in Blake Snyder’s   Save The Cat! and Robert McKee’s Story.)

At the threshold to Act Two, the protagonist could conceivably blame either the circumstances into which she has been thrust, or even the threshold guardian, for motivating her to make a decisive commitment to crossing into the extraordinary world. At the midpoint, the protagonist becomes fully responsible for the course the story takes. Sooner or later, she will face the consequences of those actions.

© SJ Murray, 2018