by Brian.


It seems to me that a current trend is growing in Hollywood film that I don't like at all. Too many movies of late have started off very strong, promising a film soaked in quality and post-production attention and turning tide about half way through toward a race for the credits. Fight Club, Three Kings, Office Space, and even Magnolia all start out brilliantly, but end with a hurried or tired note. Do these directors suffer from poor time management techniques? Do these writers paint themselves into corners and force themselves through a squeaky resolution? Do these editors slowly wear themselves off their amphetamine of choice as they cut the film, ending up splicing the last reel in a daze? Do these studio chiefs even watch the second halves of these films?

Fight Club's first half is nothing short of genius. With witty voiceover, splitting lines of narrative and point of view, stylistically CGI flights of fancy and eventual building lunacy, it can do no wrong. An hour and a half in however, the train wrecks. Suddenly I find myself in a chase flick, waiting for the end. In Three Kings, David O. Russell beautifully introduces his characters with wit, charm, and speed. With a nice mix of comedy, he takes us through the story until, when the Act three curtain rises, it train wrecks. This is an anti-war Morality Play now? Mark Walhberg has a tube in his chest that he has to periodically open? Is this the same movie? Where are the credits? Office Space opens with a superb account of what every white-collar technology employee perceives as hell. From the gangsta rap-listening white boy coworker to being stalled in commuting traffic right down to walking up to the door and knowing that the handle will give you a shock, just like it does every morning, strikes at the heart of anyone who has worked for the likes of Innertrode or RetroTech. However, about an hour in, the train wrecks. What? There's a thievery scheme? He's having problems with his girlfriend? Enough of this just burn the building down and let me leave. And yes, even Magnolia, with its ingenuously enthralling prologue and frenetic ten-minute montage of introduction, slows down to the rate of, you guessed it, a wrecked train by the climax.

Despite certain criticism, this has not always been the case. Movies did not always rely on their first act to cover their second and third. Any Syd Field student will tell you that the climax usually comes toward the end. Maybe this means that the stories in these films are weak, and so the director is doing the best with what he has, but certainly the dramatic or hilarious end to an hour of building up should be better than the first ten minutes.

I remember high school English class, learning the basic techniques of Term Paper construction. In the Five-paragraph form, you have introduction, body 1, body 2, body 3, and then conclusion. Within the three body paragraphs, you save best for last, second best first, and weakest floating second. You always save the best for last.

These filmmakers are clearly the type of people who like to eat their most favorite portion of the meal first, in fear that they will be too full to enjoy it if they save it for last. I, like many other filmgoers, like to save the best for last. A film is an army meal, you take what you want but you eat what you take. The filmmaker does not need to worry about the viewer being too full for more drama by the end of the film. He's expecting the best, for which he's eaten the rest of his meal anticipating.

I recently watched a film that tricked me completely. The first hour and a half was good quality, albeit somewhat slow drama. However, when the climax hit, I was floored. The sudden rush of energy, emotion, and vitality stormed right through the unguarded gates of my attention and hit me right in the psyche. Through the rest of the film I was shocked and amazed by its profound quality. That film was Two English Girls by Francois Truffaut.

I hate to bring up a perfect film like Casablanca, but it still stands a monument of story structure to this day. Yes we're captivated by Rick's Café Americán, Bogey in that simply dashing white tux, and we're swept off our feet by the pace and character of the first act, but right as the first curtain falls, right after we're alarmed by Ingrid Bergman's soft-cheeked entrance, we're given time to rest in Paris. The flashback serves to settle us down after the surprise of the first act but also to set us up for the heightened climax of the third. Going from ten to eleven still puts the climax at eleven, but it's nowhere near as energizing or thrilling as starting from seven.

These modern films that I mention start at eleven and steadily slump down to three. There's no humps there, no thrills, just disappointment. Take note writers, directors, editors and chiefs. A strong first reel doesn't make a strong movie!


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