Save the Cat Goes to the Movies (24 page)

I like to think of the narrative I call the “Whydunit” as a trip into the ever-smaller chambers of a nautilus shell. As we progress deeper into the secrecy that makes up the very best of this type of story, we begin to feel scared, claustrophobic, and in the dark. It’s not evil we’ll discover in that last little room … it’s ourselves.

Who knows what madness lurks in the minds of men? If you are writing what is universally termed a “mystery,” the answer must be sought in the darkness. While we’re uncertain of exactly what we’re looking for, what lies in wait is sure to shock us. And no amount of good intentions or righteousness on our part can stop us from being affected by what we find.

The model Whydunit involves the following: A man in a dingy office spies a woman through the frosted glass where we see his name: “EDAPS MAS” or “EWOLRAM PILIHP.” But when
she
walks in, we not only have the feeling Lauren or Faye will get busy with our Detective, he may even have to “send her over” as part of his penance for having gotten involved when he knew he shouldn’t. This is how we imagine the Whydunit — and in fact is the basis of them all! For whether it’s a “private dick on a case,” a robot bounty hunter, or a couple of journos chasing a hot lead, the story ends in the same surprise:

There is no mystery. There is only revelation.

The Whydunit can be of the “Film Noir” kind about a detective and his dark world as seen in classics like
The Maltese Falcon
, the Robert Altman take in
The Long Goodbye
, Roman Polanski’s
Chinatown
, or the recent postmodern high school version,
Brick.
What makes these noirish is tone — and a shadow world only our hero can negotiate. There’s also the “Political Whydunit,” played out in the realm of governmental or corporate power
(All
the President’s Men, JFK
, and
Missing)
, or the “Fantasy Whydunit” where the “case” is set in another world
(Blade Runner, Who Framed Roger Rabbit, The Sixth Sense).

This genre also includes the by-the-book (or not) police procedural of a “Cop Whydunit” where a lawman solves the crime — that turns out to be as much about
his
crime as anyone’s
(Tightrope, Basic Instinct
, and
Fargo).
It might also be the amateur sleuth of a “Personal Whydunit,” usually a “civilian” who is on the case out of curiosity or necessity to save himself or others — yet finds things about himself that are just as shocking, as portrayed in
Mystic River, Rear Window
, and
Dressed to Kill.

Despite the wide-ranging canvases these Whydunits use, the gumshoe — whoever he is — and the case he gets involved in — whatever it is — have the same MO. As opposed to Monster in the House stories that are more concerned with stopping a supernatural bad boy than understanding him, Whydunits are about discovering the secret that prompted the crime in the first place. And unlike a typical Golden Fleece yarn whose hero, or heroes, seek a known goal — and the surprises that happen along the way to change that goal — the Whydunit is only concerned with
turning over cards
, those “reveals” writers can explode like time-bombs all along the trail.

The components of all Whydunits are the same: (1) a “detective” who starts out thinking he’s seen it all, but is unprepared for what he’ll find; (2) a “secret,” the hunt for which is the raison d’etre of the whole shebang; and (3) a “dark turn,” the moment the hero breaks the rules in pursuit of the secret, his own or society’s, which makes him a part of the crime.

The wide-ranging permutations of these basics cover the waterfront … and can be applied to almost any “case.”

In terms of the “detective,” a Whydunit lead is unique. The hero of a Whydunit is the closest thing to a narrator. He is, by proxy, “us,” showing us the clues as he discovers them, and revealing their meaning. He will not be changed by what he finds — but we, most likely, will.

Isn’t Jake Gittes the same guy with the same beliefs at the end of
Chinatown
as he is at the start? We don’t yet know how this caper affects him, for he shows no sign of treating the next case any differently. The only difference is, we get the feeling if you asked him on his deathbed what case reinforced his cynical beliefs the most, it would be the one about the Mulwrays and the Water Department — and keeping it all in the family. Likewise, the detectives of any political mystery, e.g., the two journalists in
All the President’s Men
and the DA in
JFK
, don’t “change.” We’re doing that for them, based on what we are being shown.

The “secret” — and the need to know what that is — makes the mystery, which often starts with something very small or seemingly unrelated. A Whydunit means using all five Ws: Who, What, When, Where, and Why — and the lure to uncover every one is strong. In
All the President’s Men
, Robert Redford and Dustin Hoffman portray young journalists just wanting a good story. “They’re hungry! Remember when you were hungry?” Jack Warden asks their boss, Jason Robards. And soon their hunger propels them from a seemingly innocuous burglary all the way into the Oval Office.

Likewise in any number of tales, from the graphic murders in
Mystic River
, to fantasies like
Blade Runner
, to political mysteries like
Missing
, the need to know what’s in that last little room is overwhelming — not just because the challenge of finding the answer is so great, but because we are unable to stop looking regardless. The secret that is driving us on grows in power throughout.

Inevitably, the “dark turn” comes when the hero gets so involved that he goes against his own rules, or the group’s, to find the answer — and at some point realizes he is either setting himself up to be part of the crime, or has been guilty of a similar crime all along. Isn’t Michael Douglas in
Basic Instinct
, while pursuing Sharon Stone, also on the path to being her next victim? Yet the attraction is so great Michael is literally dying to know.

Somewhere along the line, Whydunit heroes willingly become part of the darkness. “Of course, he has to swim in the same water we all do,” says Jake Gittes in
Chinatown.
And that commonality does indeed include all of us.

At the end of the line, the trail doubles back on itself and onto those investigating the crime. This is why the set-up of many a detective story involves one case that seems to end — even end badly as in Altman’s
The Long Goodbye
— and then has a reappearance as a new case with new players that brings the hero back to the initial escapade in a way we know will address the real problem. This Whydunit feature is called
the case within a case
, and often reveals the theme. By returning to the first caper, and discovering what it means to the detective, we learn what the real story has been about all along.

For those writers who wish to enter the dark world of the Whydunit, it’s best to start with the crime and the criminals who engineered it. Though you should appear to
not
know what’s happening as you begin to “turn over the cards” of evidence that lead to the evil, in fact you must know it all. Start by standing in the shoes of the bad guy and figuring out why he committed the crime and how he misdirected others to cover his tracks. Your job as the Whydunit’s creator is to be brilliant in your obfuscation, then be just as brilliant as you uncover it — and do so fast, before the bad guy gets away! This two-part approach to writing your grim tale, if imagined smartly, guarantees a scary and revealing finale.

If you have a mystery on your hands and the overwhelming need to know what’s in that last little room, get a clue:

1. The “detective” does not change, we do; yet he can be any kind of gumshoe — from pro to amateur to imaginary.
   
2. The “secret” of the case is so strong it overwhelms the worldly lures of money, sex, power, or fame. We
   gots
   to know! And so does the Whydunit hero.
   
3. Finally, the “dark turn” shows that in pursuit of the secret, the detective will break the rules, even his own — often ones he has relied on for years to keep him safe. The pull of the secret is too great.
   

So don’t make me get tough with you, toots; take a gander at a few stories from my casebook, and trust me … they’re doozies.

“I guess I don’t have the taste for the jugular you guys have.”

When a female reporter at the
Washington Post
says this line to Robert Redford and Dustin Hoffman, it shows the “dark turn” the two reporters have made. What begins when Bob is told to investigate a “third-rate burglary” at The Watergate is now a “compulsion.” They have momentarily lost their way — and their confusion is what makes this “Political Whydunit” a winner. Director Alan Pakula knows that at the heart of any mystery, especially one about power, is a story about flirting with its dark side. And even though the visage of Richard Nixon is waiting behind the last little door, we must ask what we’re willing to do to expose him.

If we are no better than our enemies, what are we?

In his Hollywood tell-all,
Adventures in the Screen Trade
, screenwriter William Goldman reports that writing this script nearly drove him mad. It was due to Pakula’s mantra: “Don’t deny me any riches” (meaning “let’s wring every drop of story out of these events”). It’s become a line I tell myself, and others, when working on a project. And the results here prove we writers are not always the best judges of when it’s going well! It may not be the legendary Mr. Goldman’s favorite script; it is certainly one of mine.

W Type: Political Whydunit

W Cousins:
Z, The Parallax View, Missing, The China Syndrome, JFK, The Insider, The Quiet American, The Manchurian Candidate, The Constant Gardener, The Interpreter

ALL THE PRESIDENT’S MEN

Screenplay by
William Goldman
Based on the book by
Carl Bernstein
and
Bob Woodward

Opening Image:
Like gunshots, the date “June 17, 1972” is pounded out by a booming typewriter as President Nixon’s helicopter lands triumphantly; he is at the height of power.

Theme Stated:
Burglars are arrested at the Watergate Hotel. On the story,
Washington Post
reporter Bob Woodward (Robert Redford) arrives at court where they’re being arraigned. When Bob asks the burglars’ counsel how he got there, the lawyer replies: “I’m not here.” The theme is subterfuge by the men behind the men that govern us.

Set-Up:
Bob digs into the case while another reporter, Carl Bernstein (Dustin Hoffman), realizes this is a big story and wants on it “bad.” Bob learns that one of the men arrested worked for the CIA. Is there more going on than a break-in? Bob is assigned to the story, while Dustin dogs the edges, trying to be included. As the reporters attempt to work out their differing styles, Bob learns the phone number for the White House was in one of the burglar’s address books, and finds out another of the President’s men, Howard Hunt, was also in the CIA.

Catalyst:
At Minute 23, the two are told they’re both on the story. They begin in earnest to write their first byline together.

Debate:
Are these two reporters too green to do the job? As the stakes keep getting raised, we always come back to this question.

Break into Two:
At Minute 33, they file their first story and interact with boss Ben Bradlee (Jason Robards), who shoots it down. “Bury it in the back somewhere,” he grumbles. And now the team must
choose: Quit or re-double their efforts? They decide to go back to work and get the story right.

B Story:
Twin B stories as Bob and Dustin find two mentors who inspire them to dissect the “subterfuge” that is our theme. One is Jason, whose “love” for the rookie reporters pushes them on when the going gets tough. The other is “Deep Throat,” the real-life mystery man (revealed in 2005 to be Mark Felt) who provided Bob Woodward with inside information. We meet him (Hal Holbrook) in the underground parking lot scene this film is most noted for.

Fun and Games:
Told by Deep Throat to “follow the money” (a famous line created out of whole cloth by writer Goldman), the boys have newfound direction. Jetting to Florida, Dustin tricks a secretary to see a local official (Ned Beatty). Armed with what Dustin dug up, Bob tracks down the Midwest Finance Chairman of CREEP (The Committee to Re-Elect the President), who reveals it was his check that wound up in the bank account of one of the burglars. This is the “promise of the premise.” Like any great detective story, the first blush of the case and the assorted clues connected to it are exciting. The story — and this mystery — can go anywhere!

Midpoint:
The flurry of stories “Woodstein” files (the boys are working so closely, they’ve earned the nickname) are all sweet victories; their coverage of “Watergate” is making the reporters famous, and even getting results as Nixon’s finance team is audited. But at Minute 56, A and B stories cross as Jason “raises the stakes” when he tells them he wants more — and bridles at the idea of Deep Throat, whom he now learns about. We get a “false defeat” as the reporters hit bottom at Minute 70 when they reach the end of a list of Nixon employees they’ve been investigating. It looks like the clues have dried up. “We’ll just have to start all over again,” says Bob, as they go back to the top of the list.