I'll make some general comments about the script and Tony Gilroy's writing style. There are stylistic choices that are very effective in Gilroy's writing. The whole double dashes in both dialogue and scene descriptions that he does really creates a great forward momentum. Another effective thing he does is to have brief descriptions in the parentheticals, like this: MICHAEL: What’s my time frame here? ZABEL: For you? I don’t know. I didn’t think it was gonna be a problem. (Michael’s silence says it is) I’ll ask. The alternative would have been to add an action line describing Michael and then back to Zabel's dialogue. Maybe that's another “rule” that he breaks, but here it works. Then there are other choices that for me don't work as well or at all. I don't care for the “Michael getting out of the car.” instead of the more active “gets” like we're all told is the “correct” way of writing in a screenplay for spec purposes. His choice, of course, especially since he's the director as well. But not for me. It slows down the read, in my opinion. Then there are places where there is way to much inner dialogue and unfilmables going on. Like this: “MICHAEL’S FACE as he walks. And later on we’ll understand all the forces roiling inside him, but for the moment, the simplest thing to say is that this is a man who needs more than anything to see one pure, natural thing, and by some miracle has found his way to this place. The wet grass and cold air and no coat -- none of it makes any difference to him right now -- he’s a pilgrim stumbling into the cathedral.” That's beautifully written and I wish that would have translated onto film better. I have to watch the film again, but from what I remember, this scene was a bit confusing because all it was was George Clooney walking out in the field with the horses and then his car exploded. He's a good actor but come on, nobody can act out what transpired in the character's mind at that moment. Again, it's Gilroy's choice as a writer and director, but that was one of those moments that didn't translate properly to the screen. The biggest reason is that it happens so early on in the film. This is on page 16 in the script. Had this been later on in the story when we had gotten to know this character and his plight, then it would have worked better. We would have understood what was going on in his mind, we would have put two and two together and understood why he needed that moment of solitude and nature. Watch this scene out of context, and it makes no sense at all. Watch it at the end of a two hour journey and it not only makes perfect sense but is also heartbreaking and feels earned, as in: the filmmakers has earned the right to give us this scene without any dialogue whatsoever, relying only on the actor's expressions and actions to tell us what is going on, and we understand it because of what preceded it. I realize this Michael Clayton scene is a teaser of what's to come, but it does more to confuse the story than create intrigue, in my opinion. That's a small gripe with an otherwise enjoyable read.

I didn't remember a lot about this film upon my first viewing, to be honest. I fell asleep the second time I saw it (shame on me, watching a movie in bed). After awhile, I kept hearing people talking about the movie/script, so I decided to read it and watch the movie and that's when I was really able to appreciate it. Truth is, I don't find the story to be overly complicated. The choices made to open where it does makes sense, but all in all, it's the characters and their complexity that make this a great piece of writing. The story itself isn't all that different from other types of thrillers I've seen over the years - I see many similarities with this and say, Polanski's The Ghost Writer, though they are about different things entirely. That being said, it's a great example of the main character being separated from the protagonist function - and an even better example of a story where the protagonist doesn't fit most people's perception of the function. When I think of stories, the word relationships comes into mind and this is one story that maps them out quite nicely. I see Michael as simply a main character who ends up fulfilling another function by story's end. I find it interesting that, somewhere in my studying of this, To Kill a Mockingbird was referenced - that being another story where we see the story unfold through the events of a character, Scout, who serves as the perspective for the audience while her father, Atticus, actually bears the protagonist role for resolving the story goal. Here, the story goal is closing the case and the protagonist is unequivocally Karen. The antagonist to this effort, or nemesis, is Arthur, and it's the relationship of the characters, the story goal, and the way the story unravels that makes this a beauty because it forces the audience to re-evaluate their assumptions based on earlier events. Arthur comes across as manic and borderline schizophrenic, traits that we as audience members find hard to relate to. That's why we're viewing it through Michael who ultimately is drawn into this web and fulfills the nemesis role after coming to realize Arthur wasn't crazy at all. From the above interview, this part: But I’m much more concerned in this movie with the creation of the villain, and the moment when people decide to do what they do. is extremely clear now as to what Gilroy was doing. Up until this particular point, the functions of the characters exist somewhat in a vacuum - who's right and who's wrong are inconsequential in a sense because we don't know all the details. It's what the characters ultimately do that define them and Karen, the protagonist pushing the story forward to settle the lawsuit, suddenly finds herself willingly crossing that invisible moral line - a line which defines Michael just as much - where she's willing to win the case at any and all costs. Directly opposite of her is Michael who, through the course of the movie, seems to finally understand his own sense of self, his own identity, one that has stood on that other side of the line as a fixer all these years. Anyway, I'm bleeding into other areas for discussion later this week - but for me personally, what made this script truly sing was the juxtapositions of characters and their functions making them more complex as oppose to the story being so.

I enjoyed the script, primarily because of the quality of the writing (Arthur's excellent monologue in the beginning, for example). I did note the unfilmables Teddy mentioned, and, while they might be considered verboten for a pre-pro spec writer, here they added texture to the scenes that helped me envision what the character would look and sound like delivering the line. They helped establish a tone to scenes, too. The most powerful aspect of the script is the dialogue. It has a natural sound to it, as if it were a transcript of actual events, not something contrived. The scene between Karen and the killer, where they each pussyfoot around the subject of murdering Arthur, is excellent. It sounded how you might imagine a neophyte corporate person would ask to have someone killed. I think that it was even better in the actual movie, with Tilda Swinton absolutely nailing the nuance and subtext. As an example of a drama, one of the key takeaways is the effectiveness of showing morally questionable (or illegal) plans that start out simple but eventually unravel to the point where they become tragic, even horrific. (This is the Cohen brothers' stock in trade.) In Michael Clayton, Karen's plans to win the case or get her opponents to settle start out as a simple cover-up backed by lies and--as the scene referenced above attests--eventually reach the point where she's having people murdered. As for a final verdict, in terms of thinking of script vs. film, I think that, though the script provided a solid blueprint for the movie, the movie overall transcended the script and really made the already-good scenes pop with added color and drama.

First thing that struck me, right off the bat, a four page monologue to Michael -- a monologue to the title character. Not the most action packed way to start a script, but the language was interesting, dripping with meaning. Here are some words I underlined the second time through: hidden sins, madness, dictating, babbling, birth, rebirth, renewal, death, clarity, life. Gilroy is clearly crafting something. This was inspiring. I was also struck by his descriptions. Both character and action. Character: "BARRY GRISSOM coming around the table. He's maybe fifty. A killer New York lawyer in his prime. Litigator. Senior partner. Always wrapped a little tight and this moment is no exception -- slowing now and…" (p.5). Unfilmable, in the strictest sense, but rich, specific. It gives a strong sense of character. Gilroy repeats this style with all the major characters. This is definitely a fine line. A lesser writer might embellish too much, or not create a sharp enough picture of the character while being wordy. For me, it seems like the introduction of key characters is a good place to cut loose. Scene Description: Sets the tone. Brief and cutting. When Michael Clayton is laying it out for Mr. Greer, Gilroy splits the dialogue with this description: "There it is. And Mr. Greer doesn't like it one bit" (p. 11). It guides the scene, fills it out, but stays brief, pointed. Take away for me: I work hard to write action that's film able (e.g. something like "Bob looks to his wife, frowns"), but if it fails to get the point across is it better? In a reading script we want the reader to visualize the movie, be enveloped in it. Finally, as in the opening monologue, Gilroy is very poetic. He invokes images: "Hanging there in the fog like ghosts" (p. 15). An embellishment. Maybe too far for some, but sets a tone. For me, I felt like I was in the hands of an experienced writer. He knew his story, what he wanted to say, what he wanted me to feel. Maybe I wasn't going to like the story or even get the story, but I was in the hands of someone who knew how to tell it.

I was amazed by the writing itself. Scene description, character presentation and character reaction. In those crucial moments, it is not simply visual (ex: Michael is struck) and before getting too literary, hangs on a soft balance (in the actual script: "Then the hammer"). You can see Michael's face and you have the tone. Like Ryan Smith wrote, you are enveloped by the scene. The actor can grasp a voice here; the director of photography can envision the light, the hue; the composer can feel the song. Here, you are enveloped by everything. Same thing goes for lining the words on the page - the dashes, the caps locks, the paragraphs, the repetitions (ex: Bottle... Bottle... Bottle...), all sorts of stylistic devices that made my reading so intense (tension; action). It produces great emotion. It is so hard for a script to get so close to the actual film on doing this. So, great way with words and with transcribing deep inner feelings and atmosphere into actually filmable elements. This stands more for the character development field, which I find to be the greatest accomplishment of this work. Complex, multi-layered character - a successful, apparently rich lawyer that is after all profoundly anguished, broke and withering his personal/familiar bonds. We've seen variations of this but it gets strongly surprising: this guy doesn't quite know and can't quite explain what he is or what he truly does. Miracle Worker? Janitor? Arthur tries a lot of names in that first incredible monologue. He eventually gets it, Shiva God of Death (great payoff). He does amazing things with structure to evoke the frantic conspiracy but I leave that for the proper day. I don't agree with TBBB or at least that's not how I interpreted it. For me, Michael is clearly the protagonist and plays that function all the time. Goal: Control Arthur. Subtext Goal: Resolve his moral/identity quest. Plot: The case. How do these three workout? The firm wants to win the case (plot) + Michael has to collaborate with the firm to win the case (goal). The firm sets him to string Arthur up (plot specifics) + Michael has to control Arthur (goal specifics). Michael has and wants to control Arthur (subplot) + Michael has to face his own moral quest (deeper goal). We then add other subtext relating to his identity etc. If we want to archetype it, Karen and U/NORTH would be the antagonists + Arthur would be the trickster (crazy or enlightened?). I think this is a fantastic twist to the usual court dramas. We're always on the same side of barricade (we barely know what the accusation complains about) instead of bouncing between two sides of the story in court, with speeches. Plus, as it is presented to us, more important than the truth is the moral integrity of Michael Clayton.

Another takeaway point that occurred to me is, if you want your main character to be an anti-hero (i.e., more Han Solo than Luke Skywalker) it's best to have people TALK about very illicit or morally questionable things he has done, which keeps the audience's sympathy on his side. The minute you show him doing something really bad, you risk losing the audience's sympathy. In MC, there's a lot of talk about Michael being a fixer and participating in hidden sins, but we never actually see him do something that's balls-out bad. For the first hit-and-run suspect, he basically tells him what you or I would: You're screwed, get a lawyer.(notice how we're informed the victim is all right and not killed; if he were killed that would be a whole different level, but Gilroy stops short of that) He does accept the $80,000 from Marty rather than show him the Secret Memo, but it's still not as if he's murdering someone right in front of us, and Arthur is already gone at that point. Plus, we've already been shown, several times, the loan sharks circling Michael and his brother, so we can kind of understand why he accepts the money. He makes the situation right in the end anyway. Another example of this is Unforgiven, where it's said a couple times that Munny killed women and children, but we never see him do it. Little bill and his crew though, are doing bad things on screen, so we instantly dislike them. As a result, we stay on Munny's side, and even enjoy rooting for a badass, without all that messy guilt stuff. So, the takeaway: Make your anti-hero bad, but not TOO bad. Or, at least make his enemies worse, so he seems good by comparison.

That's great thoughts. Michael Corleone (The Godfather) has that "not too bad". No matter how much he flinches, we know he has ideals, family values. So does Charles F. Kane. His parents and tutor are worse than him, thus providing a context that is in itself worse the Kane, making us identify with his motives and personality.

Great examples from great movies.

Hi Diogo, Let me attempt to clarify my thoughts to see if they help you understand where I'm coming from. Characters can have all sorts of different goals that deviate from or run parallel to the main story goal. If we're talking about Michael's goals, there's the question of money to pay off his debt. Controlling Arthur comes into play, but what purpose does this really serve? It's to serve the story's goal, not the character's personal goal. So at this point, he is a protagonist to the story goal - he's trying to contain Arthur from derailing the whole case. Arthur is the antagonist/nemesis, the one trying to prevent its closure. We, the audience, don't know if the goal is good or bad at this point because we don't know what Arthur has found or its implications. That's why the terms protagonist and antagonist can't be viewed as labels to be loosely interpreted as good guy/bad guy. They're merely opposite sides of the forces dividing the story goal. What everyone is involved with, to some extent, is settling the case. This has been going on for some time before we pick up with the story and includes Arthur. But somewhere in the backstory, a story which comes to the front as we move along, Arthur finds something that changes him profoundly to the point he must stop the settlement. That's the moment that starts the entire inequity for the story, setting a compelling force - one of the firm's top lawyer with all the knowledge of the case - into becoming an antagonist to the goal. The only problem is his desire to expose the case is met with a greater force to see it through to closure, subsequently costing him his life. Had the first option worked - keep Arthur contained and/or on meds - the story would have progressed and ended with the settlement. Michael, once following up on what Arthur was doing becomes a target and barely escapes with his life because he's now carrying the torch, so to speak, now the antagonist to the story goal of the settlement. From that reading, there's no way Michael can be a protagonist who plays the function throughout the course of the movie. He changes and becomes diametrically opposed to the story goal and takes actions to ensure its outcome ends in failure. As Scott likes to say, why does this story happen to this character at this time? It does so for Michael to experience events outside of himself - events that provide a reflection of sorts, allowing him to see who he really is through another guise that force him to change. The fixer isn't what Michael wants to be and, in many regards, that's the role Karen ends up playing - she's trying to fix something. It's through the story events, the death of Arthur in particular, that forces him to realize this, to realize who he really is.

TBBB, Right, now I understand you more clearly. You've got a very interesting POV on this, totally coherent. I believe there's room for both perspectives though. I can't stop seeing Michael as the protagonist because that's the way I'm facing the chessboard. From page 15 onwards, after Arthur's monologue and the explosion, sensing the chemistry between Arthur and Michael, I couldn't avoid having the second as my hero (or anti-hero). I identified with MC and with his goals as some sort of lawyer, one of those becoming "Control Arthur", and progressively with his deeper goals, first having money, even deeper, moral/identity. I could have been surprised and have to rethink the whole operation (as we have to do in "Fargo") but I didn't. I don't see it exclusively as "story goal", I pre-attach the "character goal", so for me there was never an abstract "settling the case", but a "MC's role in settling the case". Anyway, that is a great perspective and it's great that we can figure out all this different angles.

One note for all of you worried about Gilroy's 'unfilmables' -- don't be. They're a valid and entirely useful part of screenwriting, and very nearly all scripts use them in one way or another, professional and amateur alike.

Teddy, I have a question about your comment on passive voice and the speed of story telling. I tend to think that passive can make the story move faster in certain cases, even in the specific instance you mentioned: "Michael gets out of the car." vs "Michael getting out of the car." In the first sentence we see Michael inside the car and he goes through the process of exiting the car. In the second, Michael is already halfway through exiting. At least that's how I might read it. I feel like it plays a fraction of a second faster in the movie in my mind.

The only time it bothers me is when the 'unfilmables' don't translate onto the screen properly as is the case with the scene I mentioned in my earlier comment. I'm sure others have a different opinion about that particular scene, but I maintain my previously stated position on that for now. That might change when I watch the film again this week. It's been a while and I'm going from memory. With Michael Clayton we have the opportunity to compare the written word with the filmed version and deduce whether or not bringing it to the screen was successful, as opposed to an unproduced script where we have a lesser chance of knowing if it would translate or not.

That's interesting that it feels faster for you. I feel the opposite. I don't think there's a right or wrong here, more of a personal preference. It's sort of tied in with the "We see" debate that flares up from time to time on the screenwriting blogs. Some people like it, others, me included, can't stand it. If we were to add "We see" to these lines it would read "We see Michael getting out of the car." That makes total sense. But you couldn't put it in front of the other version: "We see Michael gets out of the car. For me, the shortest most active way of getting that action across would be "Michael gets out of the car." or replacing "gets" with another more colorful word choice, perhaps, to indicate how he gets out of the car. "Getting" reminds me of "We see" a bit. Maybe that's why it rubs me the wrong way.

Teddy, it's entirely OK for 'unfilmables' to bother you and for you not to use them, but to say that no writer should use them or that using them is against "the rules" is wrong. There are no rules. Most every professional script uses so-called 'unfilmables.' Gilroy writes for the read -- that's an important distinction. Not every single moment or beat or piece of the script need be represented on screen. This isn't playwrighting. Sometimes you get into an edit bay and realize that this moment doesn't work or that thing doesn't play so you reconfigure and rework and do things over.

I encourage you to read my comments again. I didn't say not to use them at all or that it's against "the rules." Those are your words, not mine. I'm well aware of the fact that there are no rules, per se, that's why I wrote "rule" and "correct" and that was actually in reference to the active tense and parentheticals comments I made, not the unfilmables. I said it bothers me in this particular scene because I felt it didn't translate properly to the screen. I also wrote "Gilroy’s choice as a writer and director" several times to indicate that it is up to each and every writer to make those stylistic choices. And I thought I was making myself clear with: "The only time it bothers me is when the ‘unfilmables’ don’t translate onto the screen properly." I guess I'll have to express myself more clearly next time.

Re "gets" and "getting": In general, I think you are right, Teddy, better to use the most active form of the verb. However there may be times when the "ing" construction works in this respect: to indicate an action already in progress. It's a subtle distinction and unless there is a good reason to write it like that, probably better to go with the most active form of the verb. The larger point is this: Why use the verb "get"? For example: Michael shoulders out of the car.
Michael lurches out of the car.
Michael explodes out of the car.
Michael slumps out of the car.
In my final edit of a script, I go through every verb choice and think them through carefully to see if I can find and use better, more visual and active choices.

TBBB, that's an interesting analysis, looking at the story through Karen's perspective as the Protagonist. I'll offer up a different take later this week. One thing it does point out: An excellent way to find the humanity in all our primary characters is to see the universe through each of their eyes as the story's Protagonist. Generally, too, the other characters take on different narrative functions. For example, Michael has a different function with Arthur than he does with Karen. It should be fun digging into the characters more fully on Wednesday.

CJ, you may get a kick out of this. Scott Frazier and John Gary will be live-Tweeting a screening of Michael Clayton on Wednesday, March 28 at 8PM Pacific / 11PM Eastern. The idea: Everyone turn on a DVD of the movie at the top of that hour, then comment on the film on Twitter. Probably use the hashtag #MC. More on this tomorrow.

Two things on this. First it's not only acceptable, it's desirable nowadays to provide a 1-2 line thumbnail sense of a primary character's 'core essence' when introducing them. This is not something new. I've seen it in scripts by Wilder & Diamond as early as 1960 and William Goldman in Butch Cassidy, but the tight focus of these character introductions is something that is quite common nowadays. Why: It provides the reader with a sense of key characters and their respective personalities, much easier to sort them out, especially in Act One where most of the story's characters get set up. Second there is a thing I call editorializing in terms of scene description. While we are not writing a novel and are limited in how much we can do it, we do have the right from time to time -- as the Narrative Voice -- to comment on the mood, atmosphere, even go 'inside' a character and express what they are feeling. That whole 'rule' about not writing anything in scene description a moviegoer can't see? That is just wrong. Wrong in the sense that professional screenwriters do it all the time [I don't mean in every line, I mean in all their scripts]. Gilroy is a perfect example. The point is we are trying to convey the story in the most entertaining, compelling and resonant way possible. We can editorialize at key points, we can use psychological writing, and so on. We just have to pick our spots and not overdo it.

I loved the unfilmables, especially in the character descriptions ---MARTY BACH, He's seventy.  It's his name on the door.  Big power.  Sweet eyes.  A thousand neckties.  A velvet switchblade I believe that the passage when his car blew up was written in a way that it stayed with me as the rest of the story unraveled.

I give a little insight to the character mostly to help the actor get a sense of who they're going to be for the next whatever many pages. Although it seems unfilmable, a strong actor can show on screen everything you wrote in those few words. So, IMHO I don't think of it as unfilmable.

Last night I read the script and immediately watched the movie—both for the first time. I found the script unusual in the amount of "unfilmables" and the writer’s style mildly annoying. It felt like I was being spoon-fed and not allowed to draw my own conclusions. So much extraneous detail in a script already overripe with too much exposition was unnecessary in my view. Halfway in, not finding the images particularly interesting visually—at least on my laptop—I shrunk the movie window down and read along. I was surprised at how many stage directions, small details like “Michael nodded,” were simply ignored. And how often the script refused to get-in-late and get-out-early. I suspect, since these scenes were shortened in the film, the writer/director figured it was easier to cut than add, though there was lots of that too. Of all the scripts I’ve read, this was the most jarring compared to the film. In most scripts, it feels like the writer provides a blueprint, which the movie fills in. Here it felt like the writer provided more detail than made it into the movie. Instead of moving from less to more, we went from more to less. Examples of this are Arthur’s monologue, which was dropped form the end, and Karen’s speech to the board. Mostly exposition with minimal visual impact (other than the dark cinematography), there was very little showing and lots of telling. They did blow stuff up, though—not once but twice, car and fuel tank, repeated twice for good measure. But reading, then watching, in such close proximity, I felt that the story was muddled. I agree with Teddy that there is no way that the audience can participate in the lyrical writing in the first scene. And I have a theory on why TBBB fell asleep watching it the second time, after not remembering much of his first viewing. Once I knew the story, written in a way that left the actors and the images very little to add, the movie itself felt like a lesser version of the script. On the other hand, I can’t remember feeling so disoriented comparing a script and a movie. While watching the film I knew things I couldn’t see or hear. It felt like I was reading the characters’ minds, while they themselves were attempting to hide their thoughts and emotions from my gaze and ears. I honestly don’t know what to make of it. Very strange.

Gilroy is certainly one of a kind. He's an incredibly literary writer (sounds stupid but you know what I mean). I don't think you'd want to try to take too many direct hints from the guy's style -- it's all his own. Those long paragraphs full of imagery and editorial. Like someone said up the top, he gets away with that because he's the director. I really love his editorial because it's truly ingenious -- breathtaking at times ("Standing on the sidewalk with a baguette in his hand and a great variety of failures arranging themselves around his heart".) As an example, his introduction of Anna, which is an almost stream of consciousness spray of accretive adjectival phrases - truly putting skin on the bones. And it cleverly, subtly mimics Arthur's manic ramblings, allowing us to experience this character through his eyes just a little (as indicated by the last line). "ANNA KYSURSEN is twenty-three years old. Big. And blonde. Cream skinned. Ripe. Open. Plain. Arthur's dairy madonna." Sure you see those kinds of bolt-on descriptions in a lot of scripts these days, but to me, that would be way to many adjectives heaped on top of one another in an ordinary script. But they work here for the stylistic reason I've suggested. Not to mention the fact that it portrays of Anna's farm environment almost as much as it does her. Another great character descriptor is the tiny part of Gerald, Michael's ex's new hubby. "Gerald was Ivy's doctoral history professor, now he's her second husband." Totally unfilmable, but it plants an indelible image in your mind, and look at the guy they ultimately cast! I think he verges on overuse in certain places but he gets away with it because (a) he's a superb writer, (b) he's the director and (c) the script otherwise moves along at such a five-coffee-heartbeat pace that it's nice to stop and wallow in emotion sometimes.

The horse scene has some motivation provided by the line illustration of the three horses in the copy of the book "Realm and Conquest" owned by Arthur Edens. Michael Clayton sees the drawing (added digitally in post-production, according to the director's commentary track) of the three horses in the book as he is searching Arthur Edens' loft and finds the claim ticket for the xerox store hidden in the book. My feeling is that the scene fits well into the movie because it (a) provides a mood contrast to the upcoming explosion and (b) secondarily provides an illustration to his state of mind. He is trying to escape the chaotic world around him for a brief moment.

Actually, that's the opposite of what I was doing, lol. I think it's good to go through and look at things from various character point of view in relation to the story - but that's a subjective view approach. I was actually looking at it objectively, stripping the characters of their names and viewing them solely as functions - this allows for a dispassionate view of the events, watching the functions battle it out from afar without really being privy to all their motivations and personal issues. I'll expound more on this later today with structure because that's an important element and why I suspect I had a hard time getting into the film the first few attempts.

I watched the movie twice in the past week, once with director commentary and once while reading the script, pausing to make notes (which scenes were cut, which lines were changed, spelling errors in script, subplots, etc). Great movie and great acting, IMHO. General comments: (1) I loved the writing. For some reason, the story-line reminded me of "3:10 to Yuma". (2) Regarding TBBB's interesting comments on the protagonist, I wonder if the following interpretation is possible: Karen Crowder is the antagonist. However, there are two protagonists: Arthur Edens (until his death) and Michael Clayton once his car explodes (the inciting incident). The visual aspect of the movie that I think suggests this is the in the editing (done by the director's brother), there are many cuts from MC to KC or AE to KC. Does that protagonist interpretation possible? (3) I got the sense that the script was written from the perspective of a screenwriter who is planning on being the director. This is why I thought he included so many unfilmable comments. (4) My favorite juxtaposition: from page 106, MC steps off one elevator as KC gets on another one, missing each other by a few yards. I thought that was a really nice visual.

Hi David, I had thought about reversing the roles as you've said and it doesn't really work based on how I'm interpreting protagonist and story goal. It is really a matter of perspective, so it's not that there's any right or wrong. From my understanding of the dramatic functions, pro = for, anti = against. There has to be a force moving forward before somebody provides resistance and, in this case, everyone is moving forward to settling the case until Arthur pushes back. What holds me back from saying Karen is an antagonist is that she does more to drive the story forward to its goal than either Arthur or Michael. She's the one pulling the strings, making the story happen. She hires the surveillance to find out what Arthur knows. She makes the decision to silence him. She makes the call on Michael. She tries to pay Michael off - all in an effort to suppress the memo and settle the case on favorable terms. When we first meet Arthur, we seeing him through the eyes of Michael so he's antagonistic (or nemesis) of the goal everyone is working toward. We don't trust Arthur because he's had a meltdown and we don't have all the facts... yet. If Arthur were to be the protagonist, we'd see the story focused more through his efforts of realizing the truth and taking actions to overcome the antagonistic efforts of Karen... but we don't. We get more or less the bare minimum amount of information making his function in the story - at least early on - "grey". That's balanced by our involvement in Michael - we're invested in his personal stakes and his efforts to bring Arthur under control, so we see Arthur as Michael is meant to. Michael, himself, has a slew of personal problems that overshadow his involvement in the story goal for the most part early on. It becomes apparent his ability to fix his personal problems - or so it seems - is based on controlling the "business problem" of Arthur. As such, Michael's not forcing the story and its events forward - he's just a pawn being told what to do - until late in the story, when his car is blown up. Had that not happened, I don't foresee Michael doing anything different. He has his moment of clarity seeing the horses, but it's his car blowing up that forces reality upon him and into action. Also, when we look at the inciting incident, it's typically the event that throws the world of the protagonist into disorder, forcing them into a new course of action. When Arthur has his meltdown, it impacts Karen MUCH more than it does Michael as he essentially goes about his job as normal. In other words, the event doesn't force him to take new action or upset his world - it's Karen's world that goes into panic mode. Michael isn't thrust into a new direction until he talks to Anne and realizes something's not right. That slowly gets him snooping. Finally, when we look at the climax, we need to see how - for better or worse - the protagonist either solves, or succumbs, to the forces against them. In this case, it feels like Michael's the one who's determining the outcome, but it's really Karen because it's her problem to resolve. Michael "antagonizes" her to the point she simply incriminates herself, the story goal outcome subsequently resulting in failure. That's not a judgment, by the way - that simply means the story goal wasn't accomplished. The judgement falls on the main character, Michael, who is either perceived as "good" or "bad" - this case good because despite the toll taken and what it may mean to his firm, Michael's in a better place and his conscience clean... something Arthur was desperately trying to become at the start of the film. Anyway, just my thoughts on how I see Karen as the protagonist as it pertains to a dramatic function in the narrative - not what most people have come to see as merely the hero of the story or the good guy.

One final thought that might help clarify this idea even better: If we had a story where Obama and Romney were their respective party choices to run for the presidential election, how would you determine whom the protagonist and antagonist is? You wouldn't - the goal of the story would. So if the goal of the story was to uphold Obamacare, Obama would be the protagonist and Romney the antagonist. The fact that the two are running for president itself isn't the goal - it's merely the method each believes is most effective in fulfilling their respective roles toward the story goal.

Very well said and I agree with you. What you said earlier regarding protagonist/antagonist is a great way of looking at it: "They’re merely opposite sides of the forces dividing the story goal." I have argued similar points in previous analyses in this series and I'm usually met with skepticism.

Totally agree. Passive voice takes me out of the story, as I spend the whole time correcting it in my mind!

Thanks TBBB for the clearly worded explanation. I second TP - it provides a more natural interpretation of the action. It's also simpler than having two protagonists.