Great film and TV series writing prioritizes turbulence over destination.

What rocks, jolts and unsettles your character sideways as they go from A to B is going to resonate most with your audience.

David Lean probably didn’t have in-flight entertainment in mind when he directed the 1962 classic Lawrence of Arabia. Given the choice between Hangover 2 and this almost four-hour epic, I opted to revisit the deserts of Mada'in Salih, whilst cruising at thirty-five thousand feet on my back from working with feature film writers at Red Sea Labs. Sacrilege perhaps, but finally I had time to watch this classic.

Putting my money where my mouth is I try to identify theme when watching something new and old. This time it got served up on a platter when Sherif Ali, (Omar Sharif) protests to Lawrence (Peter O’Toole) “a man can do whatever he wants. . . you said.” To which Lawrence replies, “He can, but he can’t want what he wants.” Pop this into Google and I’ve been beaten to it by countless others, who’ve stuck their finger on this fantastic paradox, tracing it back to Schopenhauer’s ‘A man can do what he wants, but not want what he wants.’

[As an aside, the film appears to break the rulebook. Up until now, I’ve believed that characters never know the theme that’s haunting them, but that’s for another day.]

Spot the paradox and you can pretty much guarantee you’re got hold of the theme. Paradoxes capture the character’s rock and a hard place, the ‘better it gets, the harder it gets’ Catch 22. Paradoxes lie on another axis, tangential to the arc of the plot, describing a sideways movement rather than one that’s propelling the character forward. Think of it like turbulence on a plane, when you’re trying to get from A to B, the buffeting from conditions outside the plane don’t prevent you from reaching your destination, but boy do they determine how we feel as we travel.

And it’s this constant buffeting between ‘doing what he wants’ whilst ‘not being able to control what he wants’ is precisely what Lawrence struggles with on an existential level, whilst supporting the Arab Kingdom of Hejaz's independence war against its former overlord, the Ottoman Empire (plot). It’s what makes the story, the story. Whilst our lives have little to do with the plot, we do identify with Lawrence as he ping-pongs around in the space with no obvious answers. Paradoxes give no easy outs, hence the tension, hence the strong storytelling. He’s a man that believes that he can control what he wants, and thereby do whatever he wants. Sometimes he’s in control:

Potter: [trying to copy Lawrence's snuffing a match with his fingers] Oooh! It damn well hurts.

Lawrence: Certainly it hurts.

Potter: Well, what's the trick, then?

Lawrence: The trick, William Potter, is not minding that it hurts.

Other times he’s scared of something else pulling his strings:  

Lawrence: I killed two people, I mean two Arabs. One was a boy. That was yesterday. I led him into a quicksand. The other was a man. That was before Aqaba anyway. I had to execute him with my pistol. There was something about it I didn't like.

Allenby: Well, naturally.

Lawrence: No, something else.

Allenby: I see. Well that's all right. Let it be a warning.

Lawrence: No, something else.

Allenby: What then?

Lawrence: I enjoyed it.

Theme is so important to identify when writing a story. Once you have it, you’ll have this axis on which the characters are struggling to find some kind of balance as they journey through the arc of your script.

When I work with film and TV series writers, I look for this turbulence. What pushes and pulls the characters sideways as they attempt to move forward along the arc of the plot because it’s the very thing that will tug at the audience whilst they watch from the comfort of their seat and long after they’ve left the cinema or got up from the sofa.

It’s why they have those little paper bags on airplanes.

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