BARBARIAN and the Timing of Information (Patreon)

When I talk about story structure I often talk about it as “the timing of information,” because that’s all it really is. You are sequencing information AKA depicted events in terms of relevancy to the audience, right? But quite often, storytellers like to imagine a whole host of imagined details in order to fill out their worlds with detail (this is particularly true of genres like fantasy and sci-fi). That stuff is certainly fun. And it is often done in the belief that it makes the world of their story “more real” and complete feeling. But while this process often leads to some good ideation, it can also be a trap. For one, a lot of times this leads the author to see a whole realized character in their own head that does not necessarily translate to what appears on the page or on the screen. Secondly, the storyteller has to understand that in order for a reader or viewer to care about all that character background or world lore, they have to care about the story first. I mean, the lineage of kings only matters if you write a story as good as The Lord of the Rings first. Same goes for the planetary systems of Star Wars. But so many young writers try to put the cart before the horse and hope that one imbues the other with such importance. They want the history and backstory to steep everything with deeper meaning, which kind of misunderstands the whole point of sequencing in the first place. Because if you want to tell a story in as compelling a fashion as possible, you want to sequence the order of information in as dramatic a way as possible. That may sound obvious, but it’s really the whole question of how we approach the structure of writing in every single story. And it comes with a whole host of questions. What do we actually need to know? What don’t we need to know? And then there’s the most pressing question…

WHEN do we actually need to know it?

I feel like this has been a bit of a problem for Hollywood in the last decade or so (though it thankfully seems to be waning). As for the original source of the problem, I really love most of LOST, but I feel like it messed with the sensibilities of an entire generation of writers. For one, the mystery box confused actual mystery with vagueness, teasing, and a constant withholding of information often in the didactic forms “of you’re not ready yet!” and even “what if like, you can NEVER know the answers, man?” Which is all proof-pudding that even the most tantalizing set-up is worthless without a meaningful pay-off (and since they’re so directly interconnected, proof it’s not even a good set-up). But I think even the show’s weekly flashback format was part of the problem, too. Don’t get me wrong, it was a great way to learn about all these characters on the Island and they often told these beautiful little parables. But I worry that breaking out the gate with incredible episodes like “Walkabout” created this insatiable need to try and “wow” with every new episode, as if always trying to end on some kind of revelatory crescendo.They did a pretty good job for awhile, but it’s just really, really hard to sustain. Their structures are more storytelling exceptions - these crucial pivots of surprise - and it’s hard when you try to make exceptions become the rule.

However, I’m not here to argue specifics of that one show (which again, I like), but more examine the way it impacted a lot of storytelling instincts. Because I feel like I saw way more artists want to go for the crescendo “wow” and thus had a desire to hold off on information as long as possible. To try and stamp everything with one last big hit and leave so little room for actual exploration. I often remark that this is when an artist is “hiding.” Sometimes they’ll even have a central idea then build up the entire story into revealing the premise of the ding dang movie. Why do that? Well, it’s because telling a rip roaring yarn is really difficult. Thus, mainstream storytelling seemed to take a hit because it really, truly thrives off the drama that comes with clear conflict. And it specially applies to what information should be told and which information should be held onto. I’ve talked about this endlessly with the Finding Nemo / John Carter comparison so I won’t get into it again. But to generalize, the biggest guideline I like to ask is: what is the conflict that is created by NOT knowing the information? How long can that believably sustain conflict without being repetitive? And then what is the conflict created by knowing the answer? And how long can that conflict sustain before you have to evolve to a new conflict? This is at the heart of everything in structural pacing.

And I’m thinking about it so much because 1) I finally watched Barbarian and loved it and 2) I want to talk about how the film plays with these exact notions. To wit, you may have seen a lot of people talk about it in hush hush tones and saying “go in blind” and it’s not that the film is some super twisty puzzle movie where you have to do guesswork. Instead, I think it is just a great illustrative example of how the timing of information works. Because it’s so so so good at knowing where the tension is and using that information to tell the story.

But only read more if you’ve seen because here be spoilers!

REPEAT read only if you’ve seen! Cuz hoo boy spoilers.

Anyway, fundamental to the success of this movie is actually the film’s trailer. In an age where trailers tend to show everything through the finale, instead, all we get is the film’s basic premise.  (which runs through some of the beats of the first third of the film). Two people, Tess and Keith, have booked the same house on Airbnb. It’s a rainy night. She can’t find a place to stay. Thus, they begin navigating the very real danger of being in the same space as a stranger, left all alone in this weird ass neighborhood (the film is really just a spectacular ANTI-ad for Airbnb-like services). Dramatically-speaking, it’s asking that essential question: what can you trust? And this is actually the section where not knowing a lot of information is instrumental. We only know what she knows. We’re in her mind. Thus, we know nothing of this other dude's motives. From here, the film is so good at riding the line. I mean, because this is a horror movie, we know things are going to go bad so there is this palpable sense of dread and a few lingering questions (like how did her door get open). But we also get to see her sense of empathy and caring that maybe this dude is alright and they’re stuck in this weird place together. But right when things seem safe, she gets locked in the basement and discovers what seems to be a fucked up murder room? Hoo boy. She’s ready to leave. But naturally for most “I have to see it to believe it” guys, he wants to see it for himself. Why isn’t he trusting her? Is he trying to keep her there cause he likes her? Does he just like her and not want her to leave? Or is he trying to trap her down there? It all starts crescendoing. He’s yelling for her, lost in the dark. Is this a trick? Then the big moment comes. She finds him terrified, crawling and saying “something bit me.” And then that “something” comes. A giant, seemingly mutated naked woman appears, pulverizes the guys head into the wall and roars at our heroine.

Cut to black. The audience was this perfect mix of screaming and laughing and the horror and audaciousness of what just happened. What the fuck?

Cut to bright sunny LA! And a new character! Once again, we ask what the hell? Are we gonna Psycho-this structure? It could seem that way, but not quite. Here we get Justin Long playing AJ, one of the true pieces of crap in modern horror history, but it all ends up being instrumental to the story that gets told (also, note the way it slowly keeps pulling back layer after layer of his piece of shit-ness, from his misogynistic denials, to his homophobic slur, to his confirmation of what happened, etc. It’s sequencing the information so carefully, piece by piece). But now this newly-disgraced Hollywood Boy has had to return home and sell some ofthis “Michigan properties” to pay for his newly mounting legal bills. And yes, he is the owner of the Airbnb house in question. But just when worried it’s going to draw out the same kind of tension with what we just experienced in the first third, the film instead hits ground running with a different kind of tension: comedic irony. Because this time WE KNOW the specificity of the danger. We know this horrifying lady creature thing is down there. And where Tess was someone cautious, this dude is utterly ignorant of all the danger right around him. The murder room and secret hallway don’t give him a second pause. He’s just too excited that he gets to add to the square footage of the house (I’ve never seen so many laughs as a tape measure being used). I know it sounds like I’m just recapping the plot here, but it’s so important to examine how, from a conflict perspective, this is actually a completely different dramatic approach. But of course, AJ soon runs into the danger of our giant mutant woman. He barely gets away with this life, falls or tossed into a pit of some sort. Instantly, a woman puts her hand to his and it’s Tess! She’s still alive!

Cut to black. But this time we have a cutaway to the same house surrounded by beautiful houses. What is this? The future? Have they been trapped there for years? No, from the cars and the radio we realize it’s 1980 in Reagan’s America (and part of some great commentary about white flight) and thus, this is a flashback. We see this haunted, quiet, weird middle aged man come from the house. It seems he’s the owner. But the details start spilling out. He’s buying a birthing video. He’s “having a home birth” it seems. We also realize he’s a monster who is abducting and killing women, along with doing who knows what else. At the end of the quick flashback, we see him go into the basement where we hear screams below and then it returns to the present. I love this sequence. It’s filmed with this really interesting fish-eye look that helps set the tone and it’s so good about giving us just enough information to get a sense of this “original owner.” These answers set up a few clear new conflicts, fears, and questions. Namely, where is this terrifying man now?

Then the conflict with the giant woman starts playing out, but with this amazing wrinkle. She’s offering the bottle of (awful looking) milk in the bottle and Tess tells us she just wants to be a mother to her babies (we can start putting the pieces together with the video of what we’ve seen). This is critical because suddenly there’s a new logic to how they have to interact with her. Again, note the way the tenor of the conflict has changed. If they can be docile and baby-like and not scare her, they can get through unharmed. It just involves doing gross things like drinking from the bottle (which is somehow more disturbing to me than the breast feeding scene?!). The cat and mouse game begins to play out so beautifully. Tess barely escapes and runs into the homeless man she ran from earlier (who turns out was trying to warn her). The information comes out. He warns her that she comes out at night and the water tower where he lives is safe. But she can’t just leave that guy in there to die.

“JUST LEAVE HIM!” we yell. And it’s here where all the set-up of their two backstories comes into play, once again because it can play into dramatic irony. Namely, we know she’s great and we know he sucks. But she doesn’t know that. To her, he’s just some random person who also got trapped and deserves to be saved. Cue all the more back and forths like going to the police and trying to rescue him. I don’t need to describe in detail, safe to say Tess keeps risking herself and he keeps fucking up and even shooting her. Again,, more information comes dolled out in these little nuggets. The man’s still alive, but dying. Note the way we use dramatic irony and the way AJ thinks this guy is another prisoner. He tells him the police are coming, so the old man kills himself rather than be caught (and introduces a chekovs gun). Note this happens right at the same moment AJ learns about his past from the video. Everything is so motivated in time. When they make it to the water tower, they learn the final piece, that giant woman is a product of all his horrible cycles of abusive inbreeding by this barbaric dude. Does this stretch logic? Oh very much so. It’s possibly even offensive. But we understand the metaphor being aimed at here. And in the end, we gain a weird amount of empathy for her. She’s a weird, feral innocent. He’s the monster. And this will be the thing that plays into the entire ending.

Because there’s this one moment of pathos with AJ. He starts crying for the first time in the film and musing if he’s a bad person for all the bad things he’s done (clearly everything in his life is compounding) and he’s “trying to fix” the situation at hand and save her. Wait, this film isn’t trying to redeem him, we wonder. Well, trying to fix things only matters if you learn the emotional architecture to fix things in yourself first (yay therapy). Because everything goes to hell again and she busts in for them (I keep thinking of the poor homeless man and how correlation doesn’t mean cause. Just because she never came up there before, doesn’t mean she won’t now that she has a reason I.E. to protect her baby). But all of this is set-up for the big choice at the top of the tower. Because AJ, of course, hasn’t learned anything. And rather than “fix this,” he throws her off the water tower so mama will follow and he will be safe. I’m pretty sure one audience member yelled “mother fucker!” the second it happened and we’re so terrified he’s going to walk away from this. But don’t worry, Tess and the giant woman survived and he gets the gross ending he deserves (and boy does eye stuff freak me out). And it all comes full circle to the final moment. The danger is obviously so real, but we so implicitly understand the situation and how the giant woman just wants to love her baby. Tess shares this weird moment of empathy and trust, but she has to put the dangerous mother out of her seeming misery. The cycle has to stop. She puts the gun gently to her head. Blam.

Cut to credits.

I went into all the details to remind you how good the film is at establishing the conflict of the moment and then changing it. So many horror films just think in terms of throwing “constant” danger, but this film knows where all the different kinds of tension are. Sometimes it will be the character dynamics and sometimes they’ll play it for laugh or dread or surprise. But most of all I’m just in awe of it uses information so efficiently. It didn’t put things unnecessarily. You can imagine some bad alternative version of the movie where they’re putting crucial information later to try and “wow” you with surprise, or where they put other information up too far, which ruins the kinds of conflicts that come earlier (like imagine if the flashback with the barbaric dude was at the beginning of the movie to “set the seed” needlessly or something. Instead, it just keeps handing you piece by piece by piece with every scene. And it knows exactly how each piece of information will shape your allegiance and more importantly, your want, all so that it can milk the tension or make you laugh. It’s a really surgically timed film. And right after I watched this I was wondering “how did this come together so well?” And then I was informed it was written and directed by Zach Kregger AKA one of the guys from The Whitest Kids You Know. Perhaps it’s funny to see that a lot of great new horror filmmakers are coming out of comedy. But you know they say the key to comedy is right?

*long awkward pause*

Timing.

<3HULK