Jan 7 2010

The Root of Storytelling

Pablo Picasso:I paint objects as I think them not as I see them.

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The greatest challenge of anyone trying to tell a story visually is to try and figure how to tell the story. For a comic artist, it’s a question of what do I put in the frame, what is its relationship to other things around it, and how close am I going to be to my subject? For the writer, it’s a question of what do I describe, and which and how many words should I use to do so. For film makers and animators, the questions include motion, sound, and the manipulation of time.

So how do you make your choices? There are an infinite amount of possibilities at any moment of your story, and the human brain is physically incapable of analyzing all of those possibilities and selecting a candidate for the best idea. But the human brain is also very good at generalizing and finding simplified heuristic models to understand how any system works. For artists, this is called a theory.

The thing is, every artist operates on their own theory, whether they know it or not, and depending on their theory, their art will be shallow and unoriginal or deeply profound and unique.  Michael Bay’s theory of film making can be summed up in one question: “Is It Awesome?” It’s a theory based entirely on spectacle and resonance with pop-culture and is a common guide of the novice. The other two novice theories are the “make it different” and “do it like them” theories. Either, you are trying to come up with something that hasn’t been done before, or you are copying something cool you saw someone else do. None of these theories are bad theories, in fact I think the best storytellers follow them to a certain extent, but I also think the very best storytellers have a much more important underlying theory guiding what they do.

And here’s what it is: Empathy.

The best artists know, that at its root, storytelling is about understanding the experiences of someone else.

And the tool that the greats use to create empathy is point-of-view.

In 2002, I had the opportunity of participating in Orson Scott Card’s Writer’s Bootcamp. Previous to the Bootcamp, I was assigned to read Characters & Viewpoint by Mr. Card which discusses the importance of point-of-view and particularly the superiority of the 3rd-person-limited-omniscient-narrator in writing. Like most people I understood point-of-view at a surface level-1st person, 2nd person, 3rd person ect. It just means who is telling the story, right?  But it wasn’t until I was in the workshop that I really understood the importance of point-of-view to telling a story.

He gave us some writing samples to read. They were very descriptive passages of landscapes and sunsets and details of clothing, but they were boring as hell. Why? Because the descriptions were too objective. It was like a robot describing a photograph-there was no humanity to the words. Then we read some other passages that were vibrant, gritty and funny. The difference was point-of-view. The writing communicated an attitude, not just a description. That’s why the 3rd-person-limited-omniscient-narrator is such a powerful tool, because it communicates attitude so well. (For a masterful example of 3PLON, look no further than George R. R. Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire series.)

So, point-of-view is not so much about who is telling the story, but how he sees the world. You don’t even have to limit the narrative to just the things a character thinks and sees, as long as the world you are showing is colored by his attitudes.

The textbook example of using point-of-view is Kurosawa’s Rashomon. You see the same event three different times, from three different perspectives. The details and the feeling of the story are widely different with each telling, depending on the attitudes of who is telling the story at the time.

When the Thief tells his version of the story, it’s all bravado and adventure. When the victim tells the story, it’s nightmarish thuggery, and when the guy hiding in the bush tells the story, we see a pathetic struggle for survival. (By the way, the third act of Rashomon includes the truest fight scene in the history of cinema.)

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So, point-of-view is not only an important tool, it’s the most important thing to consider when telling a story, and can better help you decide what artistic decisions to make than any other rubric. If you want to do something awesome, unique or traditional go right ahead, but it’ll be a thousand times more powerful if you can also make it support a specific point-of-view.

Lastly, I want to point you to this clip by Improv Everywhere. If you have the means or the desire, contrast it with the subway scene in Borat. We are seeing the same thing through two very different attitudes. Neither one is “true”, they are simply choices. Ultimately you have the power to choose a point-of-view that will show others how you see the world.

Perhaps that’s the most important choice of all.

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Sep 19 2008

Why I Love Miyazaki

There’s a lot to love about Hiyao Miyazaki’s films: bizarre creatures and settings, heart-pounding action, quiet moments of contemplation, and a loving attention to detail. But there’s one thing above all that stands out about his storytelling, and one thing that makes me want to emulate him: Empathy.

Miyazaki can’t resist the urge to take a villain and show us how they see the world and why they do what they do. He’s so good at doing this that you don’t just understand the “bad guys” but you like them too. At the core of this is a faith Miyazaki shows in human nature and a compassion for the suffering and joys that all humans share.

Probably the two best examples of this are Princess Mononoke and Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind, Vol. 1 (the graphic novel), which are essentially the same story with subtely different characters and conclusions. Both stories are told from the perspective of a character who embodies Miyazaki’s own empathy. Ashitaka and Nausicaa are compassionate, courageous and open-minded. I’d almost say they were objective, if they weren’t so compelled to engage in the dramas they observe. With Ashitaka, his role is outlined a bit more clearly as he’s given the charge to “see with eyes unclouded”, but Nausicaa, in her unqualified compassion of all living things, ends up with essentially the same perspective.

Both narratives involve warring factions who disturb a transcendent power in their quest for dominance. He has the practically interchangeable characters of Princess Kushana and Lady Eboshi that could easily be cast as villains — strong willed, ambitious and truculent women battling for dominance in a world of cruel and idiotic men. But Miyazaki gives us ample reason to admire and care about both of them. They both are unfailingly dutiful and loving leaders who engender equally unfailing loyalty from those they lead. They are both shown to be compassionate. Lady Eboshi takes special care of the lepers, and Princess Kushana risks her own life in trying to save the lives of her soldiers and to rally them to victory.


Miyazaki also gives us the Forest Gods and the Insects, particularly the Wolf God Moro and the Ohmu, respectively. Their fight for survival is in opposition to the progress of humanity. This is particularly evident in the direct conflict between Eboshi and Moro, who each have the death of the other as their top priority. But as with Lady Eboshi, Miyazaki takes the time to teach us to care about and love Moro too. Moro is vulnerable, she’s fighting a hopeless war against the humans, and she’s sentenced to die from the outset of the story. At the same time we admire her for her courage, nobility, strength and reverance for the things she holds sacred.


This is where Miyazaki’s greatest triumph becomes evident. Not just that he can make us care about and even like characters, but that he can create such a riveting conflict between them. This is why the role of Ashitaka and Nausicaa are so important. We see everything from their point of view. To them, there are no good guys or bad guys, just painful conflict. Their struggle is the sacrifice to show the warring parties how destructive their respective paths are.

The most beautiful moment of this sacrifice is optimized in Master Yupa’s death in Nausicaa. After seeing the example of Nausicaa’s equanimity, Yupa finally understands what has to be done to stop the conflict between the Doroks and the Torumekians. At a a crucial point where two camps are preparing to slaughter one another he throws himself on the bayonets of an attacking group of Dorok soldiers. His sacrifice shows the only real solution can’t be found in destroying the enemy, but only in destroying yourself. But it’s not self destruction in a nihilistic or hopeless way, but in a recognition of the inherent goodness in humans; that the sacrifice of a life for the purpose of compassion will touch even the most deeply scarred and suffering people.


This is why Miyazaki is perhaps the greatest living storyteller, because he’s giving the message that has always been the most important: there are no enemies, only suffering. Especially in a time where the complete destruction of humanity is a reality, the need for narratives of compassion are crucial to our survival. But even our simple day to day existence is hobbled if we can’t see past the petty conflicts that lead us to greater and greater misery and hopelessness.

And this is only one of the things that makes Miyazaki’s films so important. I could write another post entirely about Miyazaki’s ability to patiently spend time with beauty; My Neighbor Totoro contains a whole universe of brilliance unto itself. But the main point is if you’re DVD collection isn’t already choked with Miyazaki films, repent and go forth to Amazon and do likewise. And if there’s no room left to squeeze My Neighbor Totoro between Armeggedon and Austin Powers — the choice should be easy.

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