Tag: pet peeves

So I hear you’re in a bit of a bind with your story. You need a character to do something they know they shouldn’t, but aren’t sure how to get them to do it. Well, I’ve got the perfect solution for you, no matter the situation:

Temporary memory loss.

Yes, it means that the audience will have to relearn already established information with the character in question. Yes, the audience will have to watch certain plot threads and character arcs be re-litigated. Yes, it will make the stakes feel lower. But does it matter? You’ll have a blank slate to work with!

Clearly, I have issues with temporary memory loss for the reasons described above. To me, it feels like a cop-out; a way to dance around the plot for a while, buy some time, while the characters spin their wheels. It frustrates me because I want to see the characters grow and the plot progress.

Kingsman: The Golden Circle is a recent example of this. Galahad, one of the main characters in the first Kingsmen, is killed with a bullet to the head in the first movie. It serves as a large part of the conflict in the third act and motivation for the main character, Eggsy, to save the day. So when he’s brought back to life via a deus ex machina in the sequel it retroactively dilutes those stakes. Now when anyone takes a headshot you know they can just be brought back for story convenience. Not only that, but because he no longer has his memory we have to watch him re-establish his relationship with Eggsy. A large part of the movie is also spent just trying to get him to remember who he is, why he’s important, and what his skills are. Totally robs the story of forward momentum, in my opinion.

How common is this in storytelling? Common enough that TV Tropes has over 20 different classifications just for amnesia. I think it’s much more interesting to watch well-informed, intelligent characters use their smarts to work through problems than for the plot to be pushed forward because of convenient memory loss.

On the recommendation of a close friend I’ve tried to read William Gibson’s NEUROMANCER multiple times. I always quit around the same spot. There are multiple reasons for my leaving the book unfinished, but the final straw in every attempt is a scene where the badass woman in the novel, Molly, a cybernetic “street samurai” suddenly and inexplicably* has sex with Case, the protagonist and anti-hero.

Most male creators fall into a trope of what I call the “irresistible protagonist.” This is well-documented, and (in my mind) is a combination of three well-known tropes, as detailed at TV Tropes: 1) The Pornomancer, 2) Chick Magnet, and 3) Most Writers Are Men.

In NEUROMANCER the moment feels random, unearned on the author’s part, and more like the author making himself the protagonist and then inventing a hot woman to desire him. I find this in a lot of storytelling. It’s so prevalent that there is a well-worn sitcom joke about the hot chick with the dumpy guy. In its worst cases, it feels like someone else’s fantasy playing out in front of the audience.

In real life, sex and relationships tend to be subtle things (unless they’re purposefully not–that’s a different story). What bothers me about these types of tropes, of the the irresistible protagonist in general, is that besides from being creepy it’s uninteresting. The nuances of attraction, the dance of courtship if you will, are where the interesting things happen between two people. For a character to meet someone and ten minutes later (seemingly for no other reason than an overwhelming physical attractiveness) they’re banging it out sucks the dramatic energy from the relationship. As with anything in storytelling, it’s more fun if the author earns it.

To me, there’s a fine line for suspension of disbelief for an author to walk. The irresistible protagonist is a good way to lose me.

*I know from later reading synopses of the novel that the sex is more about Molly than it is Case and therefore probably isn’t the best example to open this post. While reading, though, it feels random, which is exactly my pet peeve.

Picture it: The heroes are overwhelmed. Bad guys swarm from every direction, beating them back as it looks like all hope is lost. But then, with a decisive final blow, the big boss is defeated and all of its minions fall dead.

Classic hive mind.

THE AVENGERS, THE AVENGERS: AGE OF ULTRON, ENDER’S GAME, JUSTICE LEAGUE, STRANGER THINGS, EDGE OF TOMORROW, STAR TREK, and so many more stories fall prey to this trope. I don’t want to talk about what a hive mind is, or all the different variations of it throughout media, but instead what a hive mind means to any specific story.

While hive minds allow the writer to ratchet up tension by presenting the protagonist with overwhelming odds within a story, it also immediately deflates the established stakes by giving the heroes an easy out.

Part of one’s investment in a story is being drawn into the difficulty of the task at hand. We root for a character because their journey is difficult. In that difficulty we can often find ourselves reflected, because our own lives are so often difficult.

So when our protagonist finally overcomes the main villain, as the Avengers did with the Chitauri, and the rest also fall defeated, we’re negating all of the consequences of the conflict. It’s too tidy to be satisfying–because it doesn’t reflect our lived experiences. Even when we succeed at overcoming a challenge in our lives, there are loose ends and consequences that we still have to contend with.

This also better reflects our understanding of reality. Hive insects aren’t mindless drones that can’t operate without their leader. They’re independent beings that exercise free will. When something happens to, say, a queen bee the hive doesn’t end. It evolves. I find that to be a much more interesting possibility than the hive minds that are depicted throughout media.

There are applications for hive minds in great storytelling. ENDER’S GAME is great because of what its hive mind says about the story and humanity. But when used as an easy way to end a story and allow the hero to overcome overwhelming odds without actually losing anything or facing long-term consequences, you’re cheating the story and the audience.