shakespearemom

Actors are well-known for asking this question, mainly because, even though the final scene of Hamlet may be the culmination of conflict for four or five main actors, Hamlet most especially, the final scene is also filled with a bunch of other people: noblemen, soldiers, courtiers, bystanders, servants, etc. And while what the fifth soldier feels won’t be compelling to most of the audience, it will have an effect on the overall scene, on the overall movement of the play. 

Think about this in your personal life. How many times has motivation not kicked in? How many Sunday mornings have you wanted to lie under the covers, slumbering peacefully, while the rest of the world keeps turning? How often have you found it difficult to motivate others? I consider this question every day, especially on mornings when I manage to convince my son to undress, but it takes an open threat to get him to put clothes on. 

Now think about your characters, whether the persona of a poem or the tiniest character in a novel. What motivates these people? Why do they act as they do? Perhaps what they say is typically funny, or sarcastic, or angry, or kind, or stupid–but why? Why do they speak at all? Why do they reveal information about themselves or about others? 

Now, you may just say, “Look, my characters are mine, and I just put them in the scene, and then write down what they end up doing.” Larry McMurtry claims his characters act on their own, and he’s not the only writer who does this. But I’ve noticed so many characters who serve the action of the story, who further the movement of the main characters, but even after rereading (or rewatching) I can’t figure out why. 

And while the motivation for a minor character will likely not make the entire novel fail, it does lessen the impact of it. If we don’t see why someone does something, even if it only registers subconsciously, our suspension of disbelief may be what suffers. 

My favorite bone to pick? What motivates a love interest–guy or girl, doesn’t matter which–to change his or her mind and come back to a partner. From My Fair Lady to pretty much every single romantic comedy in American film, this is how the plot ends. We think the two people are separate forever, that what one of them did–lies, abuse, rage, cheating, misunderstanding, etc.–is too much for the other to forgive. So we follow that person who was left behind, while the soft, sad music is whining in the background, until the strings get a bit louder, the person looks up, and, LO! There she is, breathtaking in the sunlight, a smile on her face, forgiveness in her eyes. 

But why? Why on earth would she forgive him? Or he her? Why don’t they show a scene or two where the one who left is out in the world, figuring it all out? Are we just supposed to accept the idea that “love conquers all”? 

I need more than that, both as a reader and a watcher of films. After all, you want me to feel motivated to come back, don’t you? To see another film? Read another book?

Oh, you do? Then motivate me. 

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