Epic

I’ve never read CS Lewis’ Chronicles of Narnia. I thought the movie okay and could see the parallels Christian churches pointed at (I think that spoiled it for a number of movie goers, such was their stridency).

But until I saw Epic Movie, I didn’t see the astonishing characterisations of Lewis.

“Yer… what?” I can hear people say. How does that work?

Epic Movie is a spoof on the big budget movies, somewhat poorly acted, with lame jokes, a dubious plot and a whole lot of tokenism. And yet, in watching it, the counter characterisations came through clearly.

And in recognising that aspect, I could see the depths of the characters in Narnia, particularly Edmund; the overt selfishness and self-interest of a young boy resentful of his brother and sneering contempt for his sisters.

The movie of Christopher Piolini’s Eragon had similar values: an adolescent, unwilling to listen to his elder’s advice and go haring off into peril to save the girl regardless of the cost to anyone else – including the one man who can teach him.

To some, Eragon’s actions are heroic, but they are not. He is willing to sacrifice the one hope of the rebel Vardan – himself – to prove he’s good enough, and to save the trapped girl. He even knows it’s a trap; again, someone unwilling to listen to wisdom, because it’s not what he wants to hear – and being young, he thinks nothing bad will happen to him. Yet recklessness nearly brings him undone.

I’m not criticising Piolini. For such a young writer, the insight into an adolescent male’s mind is invaluable and brilliant characterisation.

It’s all too easy to write cardboard characters without realising it. It’s much harder to write characters with such a deep understanding. Every person is different; every character should be different, too.

Yet, to step away from self and apply totally different characterisations in fiction requires an almost split personality. As writers we have to plunge ourselves into mental cesspools for our villains, scale the dizzying heights of exaggeration for our heroes, slip and slide on banana skins for our sidekicks, bathe in the warm waters of seduction for our love scenes.

The questions to ask yourselves are these: for a villain – what’s the nastiest, most evil thing can you do to people and why do it? Rule through terror, because you can? Rule with an iron fist because you know without it, the people will fall into ruin?

For the hero – what’s the one thing youthink won’t compromise on to achieve your goal and what will you do if faced with that decision? Surrender your ship to the terrorist enemy, knowing you’ll save lives in the short term, but betray your solemn oath to protect your crew to do so? How does your hero react when a fundamental principle is destroyed?

For the sidekick – give advice in form of quips while realising that you really are expendable and will probably die for the hero. Does your sidekick struggle on regardless, or try to get away from the hero, failing at every turn?

For the love interest – How do you make the object of your desire truly see you and not the ideal they think you are? Emotional risk is the biggest risk of all.

It’s a must for all writers to have imagination; it’s turning those images into reality on the page that’s the tough part. Re-read your favourite authors and work out why they are your favs; look at the language and see why you love their characters.

And I got all this from Epic Movie? Yeah, I did. Bad movies can be just as instructive as good ones.