The way I like to figure out the 3rd act is to boil the whole movie down to its central conflict. The 3rd act should be the ultimate embodiment of that conflict. If your story is an escalating comedy about a spy vs. a pigeon, the 3rd act is where we have the ultimate stand off. If your movie is about an old prizefighter trying to make a comeback, the 3rd act is the title fight. Even in romance films, the central conflict is usually between the two partners in the relationship. Act 3 is where the lovers either make up for good, or split apart forever.

Another thing worth mentioning, is that its much more common to have short “tragedies” than in the feature-length world these days. In Act 2 I mentioned that the “All is Lost/Dark Night of the Soul” Moments happen right at the end of Act 2. However, if you’re writing a tragedy where things end badly for the protagonists, you usually want the end of Act 2 to be a positive beat. Act 3 is all about momentum, so the more room the heroes have to either rise from the ashes or fall from the tower, the more awesome it will be. You can also think of Act 3 in terms of the threads of your story. With an upbeat ending, the 3rd act will start with all of the threads in a tangled mess, but will be woven in one at a time to form a beautiful tapestry. In a tragedy, Act 3 starts with the beautiful tapestry and unravels to end in an utter mess.

So by now, you’ve probably noticed that its almost impossible to talk about the 3rd act without referencing what comes before it. Its important to remember that everything is relative. In PI, there was a really awesome action scene at the end of act 2 that was ultimately taken out and replaced by the showdown because it took too much of the energy out of Act 3. The musical analogy is if you want something to seem loud, play really soft right before the loud section.

Similarly, you want the stakes to be as high as possible. If the hero is fighting for his life and his job in act 2, in Act 3 he’s fighting for the fate of the world. Of course, there are limits. You don’t usually want a romantic comedy to turn into World War 3. (Although now that I think of it, that sounds like an interesting movie…) But there does need to be a clear escalation going into Act 3.

One of the things that helps escalate tension is the ticking clock. Its just some narrative device that forces the characters to either succeed or fail RIGHT NOW. I just saw Inception last night, and lost track of all the ticking clocks, both literal, metaphorical, psychological… actually, just about any adjective you can think of had a corresponding ticking clock in that movie. A lot of times the “clock” will start ticking before the 3rd act even begins, but if not, that’s the time to start looking for one.

As we get closer and closer to the end, its time for what I like to call the sucker punch. You never want the hero to waltz through Act 3, so the most surefire way is to ratchet up the tension to the point where the hero is about to fold, and then let him pull some bit of daring-do out of his back pocket to save the day at the last possible second. That final flip from awful to amazing is the icing on the emotional cake. Of course it works the opposite way too. In a tragedy, the best time to kill off a character is when it looks like the battle is won.

The last element of act 3 is the coda. This is the victory lap for the movie, and its really important to let the audience come down a bit and soak everything up before the credits. I’ll admit that on PI, the coda was just too long. It didn’t have the multiple ending problem like Return of the King, but it still overstayed its welcome.

Well that’s it for the three acts, I’d be remiss not to mention that if any type of film can get away with not following this structure, shorts can. However, its definitely the most pervasive structure out there so I still recommend that everyone “master the rules” before breaking them. I’ll be posting some breakdowns up here and looking at some films that both follow and break the 3 acts, in many different ways.

As a result of this, several strategies have been employed to help manage the 2nd act. None of them are absolute “musts” in the world of shorts, but they can help guide you through the 2nd act.

Strategy 1: Break act 2 into two parts. This relatively easy solution employs a “midpoint” so you’ve got an Act 2A and an Act 2B that are both 25% of the running time. In PI, the midpoint is around 2:50 where Walter uses the bagel to stop the pigeon from causing trouble. Just as the pigeon getting inside the briefcase was a major turning point that caused the story to go in a new direction, the midpoint performs a similar function. It puts a stop to the current direction of the story (the pigeon causing trouble with the briefcase) and creates a new scenario (the bagel/briefcase standoff).

Strategy 2: Fun and Games vs. Enemy Regroups. These are terms used by Blake Snyder in his Save The Cat books. (Awesome and highly recommended.) If we’ve broken down act 2 into two parts, Act 2A is the Fun and Games section. This is where we get to have fun with the premise of the movie. So, since the premise of PI is a pigeon wreaking havoc with a high tech briefcase, Act 2A is where that havoc is wreaked. However, the midpoint represents not just a turning point in the plot, but also a tonal shift. The stakes are raised and things suddenly get more serious. This leads us into Act 2B which Snyder calls “The Enemy Regroups” In PI, Walter has just put a halt to the pigeon’s destructive flight by threatening the bagel. He tries to get the pigeon out of the briefcase, but each attempt ends in things just getting worse. Hopefully since PI is a comedy, this section is still funny, but its definitely a very different tone than the unrestrained silliness of Act 2A.

Strategy 3: Aim for the bottom. Another big moment is the last section of Act 2B when things get really bad. Blake Snyder called this the All is Lost/Dark Night of the Soul. The All is Lost moment is the rug being yanked out from under our hero. In PI, Walter has finally succeeded in getting the pigeon out of the briefcase when he accidentally launches the nuke. The Dark Night of the Soul is what happens immediately after that as the hero reacts to the new threat and tries to figure out what to do next. The turning point into Act 3 is the moment when the hero gets an idea for a last ditch effort. Usually something crazy enough that it just might work.

Strategy 4: Use sequences. Paul Joseph Gulino wrote a book called The Sequence Approach. The basic idea is that conceiving an entire act by itself is pretty daunting, so you can break each 25% chunk down into two more parts, so that our 4 quarters become 8 sequences. I didn’t use this for PI because it was so short, but I just thought it was worth mentioning in the event that you have a longer short and need more help getting through act 2.

As I mentioned in the Act 1 breakdown, I’ll be analyzing some other shorts once I finish the 3rd act post, and we’ll probably find that Act 2 is the most varied between different shorts. Some won’t use any of these techniques, and some will use all of them. Its just more tools to have in your pocket to help things out.

• Act 1 is the setup, and takes 25% of the running time.
• Act 2 is the confrontation, and takes 50% of the running time.
• Act 3 is the resolution, and takes the remaining 25% of the running time.

So today lets talk about Act 1. In shorts, this is hands down the hardest part to get right because there is a LOT that needs to happen in a very short amount of time. You need to establish the world/genre, the characters, what they want, the conflict and the tone. By the end of act 1, the audience needs to know everything that’s crucial to the rest of the story. After I get through these posts I’ll do a breakdown of several shorts, but for now I’ll just use PI as an example.

Since PI is roughly 6 minutes long (usually you don’t include credits in the act breakdowns) the first 25% is 1:30. If you watch the film, you’ll notice that right around 1:30, the pigeon gets inside the briefcase. Everything up until that point encompasses the setup…

The genre/world is established in several ways. First, the music is reminiscent of early spy-fi music. Its set in Washington DC, the largest hub for spies in the world. The graphic design uses a circle following the main character walking, an homage to James Bond. Also, Once we go into the title sequence, the images shift to a high-tech motif, showing that there is some sort of technology angle to the spy genre.

The characters in shorts tend to be very simple and not too deep, but its still important to establish their personality before things get going. Walter starts off looking cool, then immediately reveals that he’s a bit incompetent because instead of the James Bond “turning to shoot” moment, he turns at the honk of a car to realize that he’s standing in the middle of oncoming traffic. This klutziness carries through the rest of the establishing shot, until he receives the briefcase which confirms that he’s some sort of spy.

The pigeon’s personality is set up when he begs for the bagel. Walter gives him a piece, but he wants the whole bagel. That shows that he’s more aggressive than most pigeons, a little greedy, and possibly a bit smarter as well. This moment actually pulls triple duty, because in addition to setting up the character, it also shows what he wants (the bagel.)

The “what the characters want” beat is often the most difficult to nail. Sometimes filmmakers are a bit worried about being too “on the nose” and spelling things out to clearly, but in my experience, this is the one case where you can never be too on the nose. If the audience doesn’t know what the character wants, then their actions for the rest of the movie aren’t going to make sense.

The third thing that the pigeon/bagel moment does is establish the tone. After all, the movie is a comedy, so if you don’t have at least one good joke in the first act, the audience isn’t going to be on board. If you were doing a thriller, you’d probably set it up with suspenseful music and eerie cinematography. Whatever it is, the tone needs to be established up front.

Another important thing that needs to go into the first act is what Walter wants. We know that he’s on some sort of a mission, but it needs to be something specific that we can clearly follow. In this case, the briefcase takes on that role. We also have to establish that the briefcase is capable of some pretty cool stuff, so the interior was designed to have some superfluous movement of the control surfaces, just to give it that high-tech gadget feel. We don’t have to know everything it can do, just an idea of what its capable of, and that Walter is in big trouble if he loses it.

And then of course the last thing to set up is the conflict. There’s all sorts of structures for this, but the two crucial pieces are an antagonist, and an obstacle standing in the way of what the character wants. If this were a kung fu movie, the antagonist and the obstacle might be the same, but in PI, the conflict comes from the pigeon being in control of what Walter needs, and Walter being in control of what the pigeon needs.

Phew, that’s a lot to fit into 90 seconds of screen time, especially if you’re trying to make it feel smooth and natural, but that’s why making a short is so hard. A good way to think of it is like loading a cannon. The setups… who the characters are, what they want, etc. are all the individual pieces that go into the cannon… wadding, gunpowder, ball and fuse. The conflict is like lighting the fuse. Without conflict, that cannon isn’t going to fire, but without any of the pieces, its not going to work either. If you do it right, everything will be clear and the audience will be on board, then the rest of the film can focus on the interesting stuff: what happens after the cannon fires.

Podcast #021: Loose Ends includes several tips and tricks that didn’t fit into the other podcasts.

Podcast #022: Music is an audio-only interview with composer Christopher Reyman.

Podcast #023: Sound Design is an audio-only interview with sound designer David Bewley.

The commentary tracks and story featurette are all-new and can only be found on this special edition DVD. If you’ve enjoyed the film and the podcasts, buying one is a great way to show your support!

Buy the Pigeon: Impossible DVD here!

3d Demonstration Reel from eburke on Vimeo.

I just have to say I’m so proud of Eric. When he worked on PI (mostly helping out with the cars) he only had a couple months of 3D experience, but he’s come a very long way in a short amount of time. If he’s got a reel like that after less than 2 years in the industry, I can’t wait to see what his next reel looks like!

For more information, go to Joaquin’s website.

I’m in the process of working on another script that needs to have that “epic” quality to it, so this is something I’ve been thinking a lot about lately. As always, it does indeed start with the script. I think the common mistake is that people think epic means huge. Obviously that’s a part of it, but there’s an equally critical factor: a small hero.

What makes an epic feel huge is the contrast between the small hero and the huge world/scope of events they are caught up in. BTW, the “small hero” doesn’t necessarily mean physically small, although if that happens too, more power to you. Take the hobbits in Lord of the Rings. Trusting the fate of the world to a 3-foot hobbit who’s never left his hometown is about as big of a contrast as you can get. Another one is Gone With the Wind. Its set in the civil war, but doesn’t follow a soldier. Instead it follows a stuck up rich girl on the edge of the fighting: a perfect example of a heroine with little power over her situation. That leads perfectly to the next quality of an epic…

If you’ve ever been surfing or boogie boarding, you know the “washing machine” sensation you get when you’re pulled under a big wave and knocked about a bit. If you’ve never been, just trust me… no matter how good of a swimmer you are, that wave has you and there’s nothing you can do about it. Just let it pass and try to figure out which way is up. That’s the next quality of an epic: the hero is swept up by the events of the story and BARELY in control of their situation. They’re teetering on the edge of oblivion and holding on by their fingertips. Its all about putting the character in a precarious situation, then allowing them a small victory before knocking them back down to an even worse place. In fact, most of the time, the hero takes quite a few beatings (physical and emotional) at the hand of whatever the larger than life opponent is.

So those are the two crucial story components to an epic. Make the opponent bigger, the hero smaller, and then beat up on them until the little guy finally pulls off a desperate, last chance effort to save the day. The next part of an epic is in the execution. Obviously music is a key factor. Its not about volume, its about scale. An 80 piece orchestra sounds bigger than even the coolest piece of techno-trance you can come up with. Its also important to remember the big opponent vs. small hero from a visual standpoint.

Try to keep the camera on the ground because things look larger and more ominous from the hero’s perspective. However, if you do want to pull the camera up and let it breathe, nothing says “epic” like showing how small your character is compared to the colossal forces he’s faced against.

This is big:

This is epic:

The first is Jim Capobianco’s “Leonardo.” From what I understand it will only be online until April 26, 2010. You have to register to watch and vote, but its well worth it and you’ll get that warm fuzzy feeling of helping out a fellow animator.       (Click the image to watch)

The next is Mike Dacko’s “Lightheaded” which shared the 1st place animation award with PI at Rhode Island IFF.