Words like “theme” and “premise” are used interchangeably, but let's say for our purposes of story discussion that a theme is a one-word statement of some human drive or quality that runs as a unifying factor all the way through the story. And let's say that a premise is a more developed articulation of that theme, turning the one word into a short sentence that specifies what the creators think about that feature of humanity. One form it can take is almost like a mathematical equation: X behavior leads to Y consequences.
Theme (from Greek) means something set down, a proposition or a deposit. Premise (from Latin) means something sent ahead, or again a proposition. A premise in logic is a proposition, a statement, set down first in a chain of ideas, on which all the other ideas will depend.
If the theme of Macbeth is ambition, then Shakespeare's premise is that a certain kind of ambition, ruthless ambition, leads inevitably to destruction. The play unfolds to prove that point, scene by scene.
Macbeth himself doesn't see it that way, not until it's too late. The premise on which he runs his life is “Ruthless ambition leads inevitably to being king.” It's a clear instance of the story trying to teach the eternal lesson, “Ask not for what you want but for what you really need.” He could have chosen another premise, such as “Selfless ambition, tempered by mercy, leads to a long and happy reign.” Instead, he wanted to be king at any cost, not realizing it would ultimately cut him off from the rest of humanity and seal his doom.
I'm generally in favor of a clear statement of a theme or premise in a line of dialogue somewhere early in the first act. It might be a wish spoken aloud by the hero, or an opinion about life offered by another character. The hero might accept it or challenge it, but it will resonate throughout the rest of the story. It will hang as a question over the subsequent scenes. It will be challenged in every possible way and we will get to explore many arguments for and against the proposition. If one character comforts a heart-broken lover with the premise statement, “Don't worry, love conquers all,” then that idea will be battered with all kinds of counter-arguments from characters who cynically believe love is a trap or a delusion of fools. At the end, we'll return to the premise, perhaps rephrasing it to reflect what we've learned, or simply repeating it, but with much deeper understanding because of the lessons the story has taught us about that particular human quality.
The theme or premise may not be stated so openly. In some scripts it may only drift into our consciousness through the repetition of certain words, phrases or situations. I once had the assignment of rewriting an action script that seemed to have no perceivable theme or premise. There was no dramatic or emotional level to the story, only a sequence of action scenes. I struggled along for seventy pages of the rewrite until I noticed that a certain word of dialogue was recurring in the mouths of different characters, in lines I'd written like “I don't trust my instincts anymore,” “You'll have to trust me on this one,” and “How do we know we can trust you?” It dawned on me that “trust” could be a good theme for this movie, about an untested young woman officer suddenly thrown into a combat situation. I immediately went back to the first scene and re-conceived it as being about trust, showing how the young woman didn't trust her own instincts. I continued through the script, trying to find some way to explore the theme of trust in every scene. I decided the premise was that “Learning to trust yourself leads to being trusted by others.” Alas, that movie never got made, but I'd had my first experience of seeing how a script becomes more textured and dramatically interesting when unified by a theme and premise.
Knowing the theme and premise makes a whole series of aesthetic choices easier and clearer. If you know the essence of the story, what it's really about, you know what moods and feelings you are trying to create, and thus what colors to paint the set, what pace to keep, what kind of music to use. The work begins to feel organic, coherent, interconnected, and purposeful, more like a living being organized around a common spine and central nervous system.
Feel free to change your mind during the development process about the story's true theme and premise. That may not emerge clearly until the story is well along, and your first thoughts about it may or may not end up reflecting the true essence of the story as it evolves. But at some point the writer or director must commit to a theme and premise, and from then on the whole script or production should fall into line to support the argument of the play, allowing the audience to join in evaluating all sides of a given human condition.
What can we say is the theme of The Wrestler, with its lonely anti-hero who tries to make a go of a normal life but decides it's his true nature to go out in a heroic blaze of glory? Some have said Redemption; maybe it's Integrity: To thine own self be true. What do you think?
SOMETHING TO THINK ABOUT
What is the one-word theme of your life? What is your one-sentence premise? Is there anything you'd like to change?
What is the one-word theme of your favorite movie or novel? What is its one-sentence premise? Does it expand on the one word, expressing a strong point of view about that human quality?
NOTE FROM McKENNA
Since this book is a two-hander, I'm going to chime in occasionally to comment on Chris's contributions and he will do the same for mine.
Like Chris, I am frequently hired by screenwriting clients to provide critical feedback. Applying the “theme” tool helps me build immediate trust and provide a path forward. When my client knows I understand his/her story on the fundamental level, we have a point of rapport and a launching pad for the re-write process.
Recently a lawyer-turned-screenwriter had me analyze his script about a groundbreaking case he'd argued. His screenplay masterfully described the issues of law, but it felt more like a thoughtful documentary than an emotionally compelling drama.
When we sat down to discuss all this, I told him that his law case had engaged me intellectually but left me hungry for emotional involvement. I needed a tasty theme. We started talking about the themes of our favorite lawyer films (memories of Anatomy of a Murder, Erin Brockovich and The Verdict popped up) and deduced that those movies worked emotionally because the legal arguments had been spiced with transcendent personal stories.
Would the corporate pollution case in Erin Brockovich matter to us if it didn't include the thematic collision between trailer trash Erin and her upscale, uptight colleagues? David Mamet posits a good case of medical neglect in The Verdict. But his story stays with us because a boozy defense lawyer is fighting the uncaring system to redeem his very soul.
My client and I were sniffing out this sort of theme when he mentioned something amazing. He admitted that handling the case introduced him to a level of responsibility that he'd never experienced before. Bingo!
Could this theme of responsibility exist in all the threads of the script? Indeed it could. In fact, that theme seemed to be waiting at all points to see if we'd be smart enough to find it. Bingo, Part Two!
Once we enticed our theme out of its hiding place, our new approach took care of itself. The script would no longer be a mere play-by-play about a legal question: it became a series of dramatic showdowns forcing the characters to confront their personal responsibilities for the conditions of their lives.
Within a few weeks, my client completed a new draft: a taut legal thriller about a groundbreaking lawsuit that transforms the lives of almost everyone involved in it. We used a very simple tool to elevate fact into drama.
CHAPTER TWO
THE “WANT” LIST
—— McKENNA ——
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