Great Mystery Thriller Scripts Depend on Characters, Not Clues.
If you saw the season-ending episode of The Mentalist, do you remember the clue that helped catch the killer?
Me, neither.
In the movie version of The Lincoln Lawyer, what was the mistake Ryan Phillippe made that proved he was guilty?
You got me.
In the more recent film, The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo, what led Blomkvist to identify the serial killer?
Who remembers? I'm just glad Lisbeth Salander got there in time to save Mikael!
My point, and I do have one, is that often TV and film writers think the most important aspect of a good mystery is the the ingenuity of the crime, the unraveling of the clues. Which is why many Hollywood writers are scared to death of even trying to write a mystery or thriller.
Fear no more.
Yes, viewers of mysteries and thrillers like tightly-plotted narratives, clever red herrings, and a certain element of surprise. And you should always strive to weave as many of these aspects into your whodunnit or crime script as possible.
But these factors are not what makes an onscreen mystery memorable. Think of TV's Castle, or The Closer. Or a classic series like The Rockford Files. Think of films like Chinatown and Silence of the Lambs. Or iconic Hitchcock films like Rear Window or North By Northwest. As best-selling crime author Michael Connelly wrote, "The best mysteries are about the mystery of character."
But what does that mean?
Let's start with the basics: What is a mystery? In simplest terms, it's a story about the disruption of the social order. A crime against society is committed: A man is murdered, a bank is robbed, whatever. We, the viewer, want to know two things: Who did it, and why.
At least that's what we think we want.
What do we really want? We want order restored. We want the violator of the social compact—the killer, the thief, the blackmailer—to be caught, so that things in our world are set right once more. And who do we want to do this? Our surrogate, that's who—the smarter, wittier, and more doggedly determined version of ourselves: the detective hero.
Whether a street-wise cop like Popeye Doyle in The French Connection, an obsessive-compulsive homicide detective like TV's Monk, or a tea-drinking, sweater-knitting old lady like Miss Marple (in innumerable BBC reboots), we want this one thing from our mystery protagonist above all others: we want order restored.
But not just social order. The best mysteries, whether TV's Prime Suspect (with Helen Mirren) or cinema's Anatomy of a Murder, are also about the exploration and resolution of psychological tension. In other words, how do the characters interact? What do they want?
For example, in most mysteries, whether a suspect is guilty of the crime or not, he or she invariably has a secret. A clandestine relationship, a trauma from the past that haunts them still, perhaps even a connection with the killer (or the victim) that helps complete an entire mosaic of possible motives, entanglements and intrigue.
Henry James famously said: "Plot is characters under stress." Well, nothing ramps up the stress level of a group of characters like the murder of one among them. A further "turn of the screw" results when the murder comes under investigation by an outside agent—the hero or heroine, the cop or private eye—determined to ferret out the truth.
How does that apply to the mystery screenplay or TV pilot you're trying to write? A reasonable question.
Remember what it felt like when some kid broke a window at school and the principal gathered you and all your classmates together? Remember the mounting tension as the principal went down the line, interrogating each of you, sometimes even feigning humor or sympathy, but always with the relentless, eagle-eyed determination of a predator searching for his prey?
Well, do the characters in your mystery or thriller script feel that way? How do they show it—to the camera, to each other, and to the detective? Or, perhaps more importantly, how do they attempt to conceal it?
In most memorable mysteries, or in the best thrillers, this context of mutual suspicion and misdirection of motives is pivotal. It's what keeps the suspense mounting for the viewer. Moreover, it's the crucial element that keeps the laying-in of necessary clues from seeming like a mere litany of exposition. By the time we're halfway through Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy (both the British miniseries and the recent feature), the lies told and attitudes expressed by the suspects has us convinced that pretty much anyone could be the culprit. Which is exactly what you, the mystery writer, wants most of all.
Another important aspect of these types of films, as vital as that of the deceptive nature of the suspects, is the world the story inhabits. All renowned cinematic mysteries, from Laura to Diabolique to Witness for the Prosecution, take place in a specific arena of life. The cutthroat design industry, a private boarding school, the be-wigged world of British courtrooms. Whatever.
If you consider a film like All the President's Men a mystery—and I do, since it meets all the criteria—then the roiling turmoil of Washington politics is the backdrop. As is the economic resurgence of Japan in Rising Sun. As is the sequestered life of the Amish in Witness.
Recall, too, how the key to success for TV's Columbo was the interaction of our rumpled hero with the nuances of the various worlds into which he ventured, from that of classical music to computer science, from Hollywood studios to military schools. His comfortable, familiar character was our vehicle of entry into the specifics of each of these very particular ways of life.
But what does all the above have to do with you, and the film or TV script you're writing? Let's see if we can break it down.
First, let's look at your protagonist. And here's where many new mystery writers get discouraged, and for a very understandable reason. When it comes to the hero—whether hard-boiled private eye or spinster librarian, cop-turned-lawyer or criminal-turned-cop—they've all been done. How do you make your sleuth unique?
For me, there's only one answer: ask yourself, what makes you unique? What scares you, interests you, makes you angry? What do you yearn for, or wish to avoid? What are your hobbies, passions? What's the aspect of your own character about which you're most conflicted, unhappy, even embarrassed? Believe it or not, this is where the seeds of an interesting, unusual protagonist are first sewn.
For example, my friend Earlene Fowler likes to make quilts. As does her amateur sleuth, Benni Harper, now on her 12th or 13th novel in a hugely successful series. I cite this mostly to prove that you don't have to be a forensics pathologist in your day job to create a popular or believable hero.
In my own case, the hero/narrator of my series of crime thrillers, Dr. Daniel Rinaldi, is a therapist, as I am. And while I currently live in Los Angeles, Rinaldi's adventures take place in Pittsburgh, my home town. In both the debut novel, Mirror Image, and its sequel, Fever Dream, I weave aspects of my personal biography, my clinical training, and my views about the current state of the mental health field into the narrative.
This concept operates as well for TV and film as for prose. Many writers of popular TV crime shows and recent film thrillers are patients in my private practice, and I've witnessed first-hand how their own issues, prejudices and concerns are woven into their on-screen characters.
The point is, the closer the hero or heroine of your mystery script is to you, the more vivid and engaging he or she will be to the viewer. After all, as Emerson said, "To know that what is true for you in your private heart is true for everyone—that is genius."
Next, let's look at the "world" of your mystery story. What is the world you inhabit? Suburban soccer mom or single father? Former football coach, magazine editor, or Rhodes scholar? Travel agent, computer specialist, or kindergarten teacher?
After all, you know the details of your particular world so clearly. You know the ins and outs, what goes on "behind the curtain." It's those details that create the backdrop for the crime, that make possible the intrigue, the collision of misleading, back-stabbing, or painfully naïve characters. Think of the casino gambling background in the movie Ocean's 11. Or that of the legal profession in The Firm. Or that of a police precinct in Internal Affairs.
