The Writer's Toolkit: "Can they?" vs "Will they?" · 9:26pm Nov 12th, 2013
Overthinking It is a website that I love to read. They publish articles looking at pop culture through the lens of philosophy, classical analysis, or statistical analysis, and while I don't always agree, it's a great place to find food for thought. Their most recent article, Man of Steel, Man of Will uses the philosopher Schopenhauer to discuss what's wrong with the movie Man of Steel. I've never seen the movie, so I don't have much of an opinion, but in discussing it the author brought up an idea I found fascinating.
Towards the beginning of the article, he's discussing what makes memorable scenes in action movies, and he makes this point:
[Note: Spelling of "McClain" is from the original article.]
Consider Die Hard or Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, which in my canon are near the peak of the action/adventure genre. The dramatic tension for most scenes in those movies, the question that must be resolved before the scene can end, is “can our hero do this?” Can John McClain overpower the blond guard with the assault rifle? (Yes). Can Dr. Jones learn where his father has been taken? (Yes) Can John McClain escape Hans and the other Germans uninjured? (No, his feet get cut up by glass) Can Dr. Jones escape from the castle without attracting attention? (No, he sets the drawing room on fire) And so on.
And yet, the astute critic notes, the scenes with the most catharsis and emotional resonance revolve around a different question altogether: “will our hero do this?” Here the tension arises not from capability but from choice. Will John McClain hand over the detonators to save Ellis’s life? (No) Will Dr. Jones trust his father over Elsa? (No) Will John McClain charge onto the roof to save the civilians from the explosives? (Yes) Will Dr. Jones let the Holy Grail go? (Yes)
Questions of will are more emotionally resonant than questions of capability because they make it easier for us, the relatively schlubby audience, to identify with the protagonist. We can’t fling ourselves off skyscrapers or pilot a speedboat between two tanker ships, but we would put our lives on the line for the people we love (or we like to believe we would).
The character of Superman is an extreme case of this form of characterization, almost a deliberate handicap, in that there’s nothing he canonically can’t do. Various writers have posed limits on Supes’ capabilities in the past, and other writers have disregarded them. He is usually strong enough to lift a skyscraper; he is sometimes strong enough to kick the Moon out of orbit; he is, rarely, strong enough to fly around the Earth so fast he goes backward in time. He’s vibrated fast enough to pass through solid objects and he’s used his super-breath to erase someone’s memory. Nothing, with the right set of excuses, is off-limits to Superman.
Therefore, with the Man of Tomorrow, the question of capability is taken entirely off the table, and Superman’s actions and choices become entirely a question of will.
-- John Perich, Man of Steel, Man of Will
Now, he goes on to say some more interesting stuff about philosophy and motive, and I recommend reading the article. But as I writer, this is the part I found interesting. Once again, I don't totally agree with all of it, but I recognize it as something to consider in stories.
The first thing I disagree with is that a "can" conflict is necessarily less dramatically satisfying than a "will" story. Sonic Rainboom is a "can" story-- Can Rainbow Dash still do a sonic rainboom?" The things that make the story satisfying are that we really don't (within the world of the story) know the answer to this, that Rainbow Dash is a character we love and want to succeed, and that they add the tiniest hint of "will" in "will Rainbow's overcome her nerves?" But it is still a "can" story, because they show us first that she can't do it, when she's able to do her other tricks just fine.
I do think, though, that it's harder to construct a good "can" story than a "will" story. A story about if a character is willing to do something is naturally more interesting because, tying into my last post, it's the character's personality on the line. A "will" conflict is a moment where we find out who a character really is-- Dash got her "will" story in Wonderbolts Academy-- she could have passed the academy, no question. But if she hadn't walked out of Spitfire's office, she would have been a different character. Not being able to do a sonic rainboom might have affected how she saw herself, and who she would be in the future, but whether she still wanted to be a Wonderbolt after that mess was a question of who she is at the core.
The secret to either type of story is to make the conflict difficult to overcome. A good "can" story presents us with a situation where we legitimately question if it's possible for a character to do this; a good "will" story gives us a situation where the decision pits two parts of a character against each other and asks which is more important. Making either too easy ruins the conflict.
Anyway, people are welcome to talk about this in the comments. As with anything in the toolbox, this isn't going to apply universally, but it's something to have in the back of your mind for times in stories when it might be useful-- even if you have a situation where a character can easily do something, you can still make a good story by asking if she will do something.
This is helpful.
1. Schlubby? There's a new word. *stores it in mind*
2. I can't disagree with what you say. I agree that a 'can' story can be successful, like a 'will' story can be. For me, there are a few things that make a story entertaining, that can be used for different stories; I think stakes are a big one, as well as something to lose and something to gain. This is just being simple, but that's what I think on it.
*McClane, not McLain
1503273
Go tell the dude who wrote the article, I just copy/pasted.
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Done and done :)
Also, I know you were quoting. Maybe go through and add a [sic] after each, to handle my fellow anal types?
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After each one might be a bit much, given how often it appears, but I did add a note to the top of the quote.
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Danke Danke :D
Ah, it's always good to have one of those little tools where you suddenly start seeing it everywhere. Very nice article.
I wonder though. This is just free-typing my response; I reserve the right to admit later that I was wrong.
A story purely about whether a character "can" do something or not is going to be inherently less satisfying than a story where "will" (or just will) is in play. I don't think you could write a story about weight training, and only weight training, where I am emotionally invested in the mechanics of picking things up and putting them down.
Why do I care?
It's not the mechanics of the story. It's not the training regimen's details. It doesn't matter to the reader how many reps Johnny did. (unless the reader lifts, in which case he wants to see that the details are right). But I do care, and I just pulled that out of my ass. Why should I care? I don't even lift.
Did Johnny have the discipline? Did Johnny have the will?
I can relate to that. I can relate to how hard Dash had to work to achieve the sonic rainboom, even if I've never flown close to the sound barrier unaided. If the climax of the story is "Can the character do it?" then for it to be a satisfying climax*, the real, underlying question had to be "Do they have the will to do what it takes? Will they make the sacrifice needed to succeed.
Or, did they, because we're finding out afterwards if they did or not.
But that gets back to the point. If the story does not focus on the character's choices, then I find it hard to imagine a scenario where I care.
* I'm sure there are stories that are exceptions, but I can't think of any offhand.
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I don't think those questions have to do with "will" in the way it's being talked about here. "Do they have what it takes?" is a "can they do it" question. A "will they do it" question is one where they can do it, but they have to make a decision about whether it's the right thing.
In Sonic Rainboom, the "can she do it" question is "Can Dash do a Sonic Rainboom?" There's no question of "will she," because if it's possible that she can, she will. In a story based on "can" the question of "will they make the sacrifices" isn't really a question-- it's assumed that when the goal is that big and important, they'll make all the sacrifices they can for it. We don't even really see Dash train that much, we just assume that Dash trained her tail off because she would have for this goal.
What makes this kind of story satisfying is what's at stake. We probably wouldn't have cared about Dash's ability to do a sonic rainboom, except that she was doing it in front of Wonderbolts, for a big competition. And this is actually the driving tension of the story.
The "will" question subplot is "will she be able to try it?" She obviously can fly out there and attempt her routine, but sitting backstage and letting other competetors pass her by, she has a decision to make. As soon as she flys into the arena, the "will" componant is resolved, and we're left with "can she?"
And the tension is still there in the episode, because we don't know the answer to that. It doesn't have to do with "did she train enough?" (which, for all we know, doesn't matter to doing a sonic rainboom) or "does she want it bad enough?" (hell yes,) it has to do with the simple ability to do a sonic rainboom.
1503648 If I recall correctly, she was still nervous even as she was in the arena, and the nerves lasted until Rarity started falling.
It's then the the final decision is made, and all other possibilities are cut off.
But you have a point: then tension isn't resolved until she actually catches them.
btw, thank for the link.
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She was still nervous, but there was no longer a choice based on the nerves. She never considered leaving the arena, it was just an aspect of the challenge at that point.
And you're welcome, it's one of my favorite sites.
This is my central story-telling philosophy, pretty much. ahemit'swhyIlikeRarijacksomuchahemahem
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That story and the joke afterwards were both
I'm probably going to be remembering this little piece in a year or two. (Or forever, you can never tell with memory.)
beautifulhilarious.1505182
A part of the reason that "can they do it?" stories are hard to write is because they so often have this tendency to have the stakes be some main character's death. In most series, the fans already know that the main character(s) aren't going to die. Unless this is Game of Thrones - though I would argue perhaps Game of Thrones took this too far. I don't watch it (*gasp*) but from what I hear, if you ever see a character you like in more trouble than usual and ask yourself "Oh no, are they going to make it?" then the answer is no. No they aren't. You should just give up and get the dissappointment over with already. ANYWAYS, in most stories, the main character is going to live, and they're definitely going to live through the middle of the book. Sure, you can argue that the character doesn't know if they're going to live or die, but this pre-knowledge that the audience has can be a real obstacle to proper suspense.
For example of this kind of story handled poorly (IMO), look at a bad Steven Seagal movie. It's basically a plotline where "there is this main character who is so bada** he blows up everything. The end." Bleh. And if a villain manages to get into a situation where he could actually hurt the hero, you can bet he'll do something magnificently stupid to ruin the opportunity.
You may want to be more inventive in the stakes, create something where it still has meaning to the character, but the audience doesn't automatically know the outcome before it starts.
I think that something we're looking for is that a good "can they" story comes with catharsis after the victory, such as in "Sonic Rainboom." And if you can make the fight emotional enough, it can really draw in and immerse the viewers. Man, there's too many examples to list. But for one example, the writers of Avatar: The Last Airbender didn't really plan on killing any of their main characters in the finale. However, that show still had one of the best climax/finales of anything I've seen, like, ever.
Or maybe, if you've watched Samurai Champloo, that show had a darker/older feel than Avatar, and it used that to good effect. The "will they?" questions are answered in the next-to-last episode, leaving the characters in a really bad position. Even so, it's very satisfying to see them bite, and scratch, and claw their way through their problems. I couldn't really point to a single moment and say "here is the climax." That whole episode is like 25 minutes of pure climax. Though at the end, when it's finally, truly over, there is this moment...and then there is such a release in tension. Oh my gosh. It's intense for me just thinking about it.
I'm rambling now, but I have to give one more example. Samwise Gamgee vs. Shelob. Freak, man. That was intense. And freaky. And at the end, there is a rush of good feeling and victory as Shelob scurries away, with Samwise shouting "Come back, you! I'M NOT DONE!"
And I know I've already written one wall of text, but I have another subject to mention. There may even be different types of "can they?" plot threads.
For example, even when your character has a habit of living through difficult situations, there can still be an element (especially in rather brainy or cerebral stories) of "How can they possibly?" For example, Code Geass uses this to great extent. You've got an intelligent protagonist faced with a seemingly impossible challenge, and you get to watch how the heck he's going to get past this one. Or sometimes in a story, you may know a character's not going to die, but you wonder "How the heck are they going to get out of this one?"
And then we could get into a whole new conversation about stories with more than two options. We've been talking about "Can they?" and "Will they?" in yes or no terms, but it can get a whole lot more complicated than that. For example, in Season 1 of Dexter, there was some tension in the main plot line of the season, and a little bit of tension in the plot line of each episode, but really, once Dexter started tailing a new serial killer, we knew how that was going to end. What was much more interesting was the threat of his girlfriend's (ex-ish)-husband. He was constantly causing Dexter and his girlfriend problems, but he was a threat that Dexter couldn't just eliminate by killing him. We had to wonder "What will Dexter do now?"
So, a little more open-ended situations can be fascinating, too.
Love this post.
This reminds me of a terrible graphic novel by Samuel Delaney called Empire. It was a "can" story that the author kept pretending was a "will" story. At the end, when the hero has reached the lever that she must pull in order to destroy the evil Empire and save her own life and the life of her only friend, Delaney suddenly pretended it was a moral dilemma whether or not to pull it.
1503454 I once set myself the goal of benching 300 pounds. It took me two years to do it. If I could explain why it was important to me — what insecurities lead me to feel that I had to succeed at that task that I was particularly unsuited for, the sacrifices I made, the risks I took for it, and why — I think that would make a good story. Every "can" story needs to establish why the hero cares, which comes back to character.
The big "can" story has lots of "will" moments in it. Will he train through this injury? Will he risk death to use insulin? Will he stop lifting when his girlfriend begs him to? Will he risk five years in jail and plunge a giant needle an inch and a half deep into his butt full of Mexican steroids? Will he tell a doctor about the resulting blood infection, or try to treat it himself with black-market antibiotics? Will he continue going to the gym after the other guys find out about the ponies? Etc.