Writing: the new language of story

During the course of my graduate work, I am seeing increasingly frequent mention of Joseph Campbell and his work in cultural mythology. An understanding of the Heroic Cycle is important for all storytellers, especially writers. However, Campbell’s work infers through its very existence that all humans share the ability to tell a story or at least recognize the elements of a good story. Certainly there are levels of sophistication and personal interest that affect how a story is told and received.

Campbell worked as a story consultant for George Lucas. He died in the mid/late 80’s, just about the time “Return of the Jedi” was being written. Prior to that, of course, Star Wars: A New Hope is a textbook example of the Heroic Cycle (no thanks to George Lucas, who might be a brilliant film-MAKER, isn’t a top notch writer*).

Looking at the original trilogy in a larger sense, A New Hope, The Empire Strikes Back and ever Return of the Jedi mark out a perfect three act structure, with the end of “Empire” being the “all is lost moment.” Vogler’s work by implication suggests that writers lack the natural and fundamental ability to tell a story, something inherent in all humans (it is memory and language, the combination of the two that make STORY – that make us human).

I was recently introduced to Christopher Vogler’s interpretation of Campbell’s work. I’m sure Vogler had the best of intentions when he set out on his quest to simplify something that’s not really simple, but I have to question his results.

I’ve seen hundreds of “whatever book for writers” and their simplicity and lack of originality shock me in nearly every instance. Vogler suggests that he “takes the [heroic cycle concept] out of the academic language” and makes it more accessible. ??Simplifying story-telling results in books and movies like “The DaVinci Code” and “Avatar;” Wildly popular, dreadfully predictable and ultimately poor examples of the writer’s craft. (Come on! You were thinking it in Avatar when you heard the word “Unobtanium” – you know you were!)

Further, I take issue with the idea that story can be reduced to a series of dots on a line. While I understand that structure is actually a side effect of the need for language to describe pieces of story (we do the same with art), I feel that structure as it’s being taught tends to become a crutch for the less inspired writer’s of the world.

As writers, if we can’t be bothered to study our classic literature, to analyze Homer and Sophocles (the world’s first depressed and moody artist) and to dig deep into the origins of myth and story telling, then perhaps we’re in the wrong line of work.

*Sorry George. You were the reason I went to film school. But those last three Star Wars films were pretty rough. People don’t always say what they feel. Is there such a thing as travel time in your universe? Anakin was a failure as a literary character because we didn’t care about his fall from grace. He was always tainted. That was un-epic.

When watching a re-make of any film, one cannot help but compare it to the original. While the original Clash of the Titans was a masterpiece of stop-frame animation and a cult-classic, it was also melodramatic, butchered three myths, combining the tales of Bellerophon and Perseus into a single jumble of mythical Greek goodness.

The film’s refit was only slightly improved when it came to clarity of myth, though that all fell quickly to the wayside when the cameras panned for the first time across beautiful Argos (though, admittedly, my least favorite of Greek cities).

One thing filmmakers need to understand is for this genre of film, expectations have become so high, that had Argos been anything less than epic and astounding and beautiful, it would have been sub-par.

The story itself was easy, solid, typical. Humans, with their hubris have offended the Gods. While I found it odd that Mighty Zeus the Thunderer would wear full plate armor, circa 1200 AD Europe (or from the set of Excalibur – which, by the by, would make a fine remake as well), Liam Neeson was an acceptable choice for the role.

The “pretty face” that played Perseus did a fine job, mostly because it was an action movie requiring little acting. The film’s true mistake, however, was the twenty minute battle with the scorpions, in place of the two-minute confrontation with the Kraken. Technically speaking, the film had no falling action from the plot climax. There was about sixty-seconds of “Good Job, here’s your prize,” and then credits.

Of course, I loved the film, being a fan of the Greek myth cycle and anything that dares attempt to render it for the modern audience. One thing I can’t shake, however – The Kraken is straight out of Norse/Finnish mythology and never was a Titan. I can accept that a creature of a magnitude would be considered a Titan (sort of) but Medusa, was a Gorgon. I suppose Clash of Norse Kraken and Gorgon just didn’t roll off the tongue like “Titans.”

One of the things they taught us in school was that writers should read. That might be one of the only things I remember from college, but it’s served me well. I’m constantly reading. It’s good for the mind, good for the soul, and according to Amazon, Barnes & Noble and Borders, it’s good for the economy as well (yes, I’ve heard of libraries – but there’s something so very ‘what if’ about them).

My latest two book purchases are from the same author, a Professor Stephen T. Asma, a man I was lucky enough to take a philosophy course from several years ago.

The first book is Buddha For Beginners; an illustrated introduction and guide to Buddhism. I might be the only grad student on this green earth who still prefers his texts to have a lot of pictures, but in this case, the illustrations are well planned and only augment the points being made. Though packed with pictures, this book doesn’t skimp on information.  The layout of the book is fluid and a little distracting at first, however, as one delves deeper into the not-so-mysterious-yet-highly-practical nature of Buddhism, the book itself begins to reflect the fluid nature of our reality. Intentional? Who cares? It works like a charm. High recommended for neonate Buddhists, those who are just curious about eastern thought and philosophy or even Dharma-tossin’ experts who’d like a refresher. Perfect for text for your Eastern Religion 101 class.

The second book I’m going to gush about is called On Monsters: An Unnatural History of Our Worst Fears. As a writer, mythology and anthropology are two words that are never far from my conscious mind. It is in these disciplines that we story tellers use to create our epics, to ensure they are received and understood by audiences. This book is a crash course in the worst, yet more blindingly prevalent aspect of human psychology: the monsters under the bed and in the closet. Well researched and thorough, this book covers deftly slides through history, taking time to elaborate on our fears from ancient times to “post-human cyborgs” (which of course, are my personal demons). Asma eventakes time to discuss the vilification of culture in a chapter called “Torturers, Terrorists and Zombies: The Products of Monstrous Societies.”  The icing on the cake is an abundance of photographs and illustrations (I don’t know which stodgy academic Methuselah said knowledge can’t have pictures, but he was dead wrong). This book is a great source of inspiration for writers of any genre, and belongs on your desk, right next to the Maleficus Maleficarum (or your latin dictionary, however you roll) and your Encyclopedia of Physics.

*Photos; book covers from Amazon