Rip Off the Plot Armor

Are any of y'all old enough to have seen the "Peabody & Sherman" show? I imagine not, even though the characters have been rebooted several times at this point. Essentially, it was an odd couple pairing. Sherman was a boy, and Peabody was a genius talking dog. They would get in the "Way Back Machine" to travel through time, have adventures, and learn stuff about history in the 1960s.

No ... I wasn't born seven decades ago. My mom recorded them on VHS in her youth, and I'd watch them growing up.

... You don't know what a VHS is, do you? It's a really old ...

... you know what? It doesn't matter. We're getting off track.

The reason I brought this up is that we're going on a trip in our own Way Back Machine today. Follow me eleven years into the past, and we'll visit young Spike, back when I was a spry, bright-eyed, optimistic twenty-something working my first job in Hollywood. I was an assistant in the feature lit department of a major agency, meaning I set a bunch of meetings for my boss's roster of 100+ writers and directors. But when I wasn't fielding calls or fetching coffee, I would also read those clients' material and give notes on their stuff. Sharpening the skills which would eventually become my bread and butter.

This story is about one client in particular. We'll call her Naomi (her name has been changed because she still works in the industry). Naomi was a hot client for my boss. An up-and-comer with the potential to make serious money. She had just sold a horror movie to a big production company and was getting offers to write franchise films. Naomi had a chance to really break through the glass ceiling and make a name for herself.

Naomi had just turned in a new spec to my boss. For those who are unfamiliar, a spec script is a piece of material you create on your own time. A studio hasn't paid you for the work (that's called "working on assignment"). Naomi was hoping to take the heat she had generated from her last few credits and bring a story she was passionate about to the market.

To be honest, the script was fine but nothing special. Yet. We had to punch it up and help her develop it to bring out the best version. And by we, I mean her team. Her agent (my boss), her manager, and yours truly.

Why am I part of this story, you ask? Why is a 22-year-old kid who thinks he knows everything providing feedback on a writer of this stature's work?

It's because every time Naomi called into the office, I would sing her name as I picked up the phone. I had her number memorized and did it once without thinking when I saw it pop up on the phone screen. She loved it so much that she demanded I do it every time moving forward.

Yeah, I still cringe a bit thinking about it, too. But this endeared me to an important client, and it gave me opportunities to learn development, so I'm not complaining.

But because Naomi liked me so much, she would actually listen to my notes more than others. You see, Naomi had a ... stubborn streak about her. To the point where Naomi's manager once called me directly to ask how I was so successful in giving her notes. And eventually the process became that I would tell Naomi the changes the manager and my boss wanted done. She was more receptive that way.

So, picture this: it's 7 p.m., everyone else in the office has gone home, and there I am, on the phone with a hugely important client, talking to her about her newest script. And I was about to drop a bomb.

"Alright Naomi," I said, steeling myself, "here's the big note I have for this—I think Captain Hot Pants needs to die."

(For the record, the character's name was not Captain Hot Pants. It's been over a decade, and I forget exactly what she named this character [who was the captain of a starship]. But the important part is that is was OBVIOUS to everyone who read the script that Naomi had written her dream guy onscreen. And something else was obvious too ...

She was protecting him like her life depended on it.

"WHAAAAAAAAAAT?!?" Naomi screamed into the phone, exactly the reaction I expected. She went on a five-minute-plus rant about how what I was asking her to do was impossible, and how she'd rightly jump off the Cliffs of Dover before ever making this man deceased.

I listened for a while and let her run out of breath before finally interjecting ...

"Let me ask you something, Naomi ... Do you think the tension in this script is where it needs to be?"

Naomi paused ... but then begrudgingly agreed that it could be better.

"Is Captain Hottie McHotterson the main character here?" I continued.

The answer was no, he wasn't. He was the sidekick / main love interest.

"And exactly how many situations does Dreamy McSteamy flirt with death and make it out unscathed?"

Again, it's been years since I read this script, but the answer was a lot. More than you could count on one hand.

"That's my point. This character should have died multiple times in the story but hasn't yet. And it's really clear why ..."

"Because I want to screw his brains out and let him father all of my babies?" Naomi piped in sheepishly.

"No, it's because he's covered in layers of plot armor!" I said, "And to make this script better, you should seriously consider ripping it off."

After about an hour of back-and-forth negotiation, Naomi agreed to a version of my request. Svelte McManlyMan got half his face ripped off by some horrid space monster and was pretty much useless the rest of the script. And the story improved noticeably due to this.

Because it now had stakes. There was present and palpable danger behind what was happening. And that's the crux of the lesson for this article.

Stakes are one of the most crucial elements of narrative storytelling. And before we go any further, let's define exactly what these are.

Stakes are the "bad stuff" that could potentially happen to your protagonist if they can't solve their problem. Remember: EVERY FILM PROTAGONIST NEEDS A PROBLEM! It's a critical aspect of the necessary layers of a first act. If you have no negative consequences looming large in the background, keeping your audience interested in your story is going to be a real challenge.

In Finding Nemo, Marlon's problem is that is son has been captured by a fisherman and taken far away to the Australian mainland. The stakes of this story are that if he cannot solve this problem, he'll never see his only child again!

In Die Hard, John McClane's problem is that Nakatomi Plaza has been taken over by bloodthirsty terrorists and his wife has been kidnapped. The stakes are that a whole bunch of people, including his wife, are going to be killed if he can't stop them!

In October Sky, Homer Hickman is a boy who is interested in studying rockets and propulsion systems. But he has a coal-mining father who doesn't see the value in that. The stakes here are that if Homer can't get out of this situation, he'll be forced to go into the mines just like his dad and live a miserable existence instead of following his dreams.

Notice how all three above examples have stakes. Each protagonist holds something near and dear to their heart ... they all have something that's important to them.

But notice something else about those films. All of their stakes are different.

Make no mistake, the most powerful version of stakes are of the "life or death" variety. In almost every circumstance, a story is better if death is an option. Because it's the ultimate consequence. There's no coming back from it.

But also know that you don't HAVE to have life or death stakes to have a great story. As long as the character sees the bad stuff as the "end of life as they know it," the stakes work!

If Marlon can't bring Nemo back home, will his life continue? Yes, but it'll be the end of life as he knows it without his son.

If Homer has to work the coal mines rather than studying rocketry, will his life continue? Yeah, but it'll be such a drab, bland existence that it will barely seem like a life worth living to him.

At the beginning of Legally Blonde, will Elle Woods' life go on if she can't go to Harvard and win back Warner? Technically, but that's not how she sees it.

All of these examples prove that your character HAS to care about something! There must be a future scenario they are desperate to avoid in order to achieve the maximum narrative tension in a story!

But what happens if you avoid stakes like Naomi was doing? What happens if you protect your characters from anything bad that could ever happen to them?

Ahhh, that's where the dreaded "plot armor" tag comes in. It's basically when the character is protected from any bad thing that could possibly happen to them. Because the story has already predetermined that they are needed to survive. This often serves as the kiss of death for a great script. Once the audience knows nothing bad is going to happen to a character, that edge is automatically taken off. Because in the very back of your brain, you know things will be okay.

Think back to "Buffy the Vampire Slayer." How many horrid, life-threatening situations does Buffy face in this series? Hundreds (at least one an episode). And she always makes it out okay. And even in the rare times that she doesn't and dies ... she's always brought back! Because Joss Whedon has her clad in plot armor! She can't die or the show will die, too.

And let's examine the early seasons of "Game of Thrones" versus the later ones. At the very end of season one, Ned Stark has been captured by the king's guard and is being put on trail for treason. Up until that point, Ned was the de facto main character of this story. Literally EVERYONE thought he would be rescued from this plight. He even publicly acknowledges Geoffrey as the one true king when he isn't.

And what happens there?

Ned still gets his head chopped off. It's truly one of the most shocking moments in television history.

The moment was so galvanizing because no one expected it. It proved to the audience that anyone could die at any time. And there are multiple moments just as powerful throughout the first four seasons.

But in the second half of the run, specifically from season five on, many characters kinda got plot armor didn't they? Sure, Jon Snow died ... but he got brought back by magic. Everyone loved Tyrion so people knew he was safe. And Daenerys was bound to become the primary villain at the very end and couldn't possibly succumb to anything before then.

The writers of this show ran out of creativity. So they gave the characters they knew they couldn't live without plot armor. They protected them from harm. And that's one of the many reasons that series fizzled out as spectacularly as it did.

As a writer, you can't be afraid to have your characters face consequences. Not everyone is (or should be) Batman. Normal people can't walk into a room filled with 20 bad guys and beat them all up without a scratch on them. And if you do that consistently in your storytelling, I guarantee you're doing yourself a disservice.

And once you do decide that you're going to have stakes—that people are going to die, or have bad things happen to them—I beg you to keep it consistent. Because if you don't, that can be just as confusing or annoying to audiences.

I'll use the Amazon Prime show "Invincible" as a perfect example. This series mainly revolves around Mark, who is the son of a superhero, as he gets powers for the first time and begins fighting crime. But a very interesting thing happens at the end of this pilot (spoiler alert incoming for everyone who doesn't want them) ...

Omni-Man (Mark's father, and basically the strongest person on Earth) kills the Justice League. Literally rips their heads off and punches their hearts out. The equivalent of Batman, Aqua Man, Superman, Wonder Woman, etc., all just died.

Whoa, talk about stakes. Nobody is safe in this series!

I was hooked immediately. I couldn't wait to watch more. And for the most part, it's really good ... except the stakes are uneven. And honestly, it hurt my enjoyment of the show.

I've seen characters get bullets straight to the brain and live. I've seen another character get his eye (singular on purpose) pulled from his body and survive. And I've seen other heroes get absolutely destroyed by strong villains (with visible injuries that should kill anyone) and still make it out okay.

Yes, some people die in this show ... but not as many as SHOULD die. Because again, the stakes are uneven. And it's really frustrating from a viewing perspective to see that.

I want all of you to be bold in your writing. To take action. And hold your protagonists accountable for the bad decisions they make. And if you realize there's a character that you're holding onto very strongly, seriously consider making something bad happen to them.

As we always say in this business: kill your darlings. Or at least rip half their face off. Lol.

Godspeed y'all, and happy writing.

*Feature image by Cristina Conti (Adobe)