backwards-upside-down

[backwards-upside-down]

Conclusion

So, what have we learned about nonlinear stories?

Nonlinear stories work well in genres which emphasize the supernatural. Inception’s dream logic, Arrival’s aliens and House of Leaves’ labyrinth all place their human characters in settings so outside of an everyday life that they are forced to adapt. We see this also in webseries like Marble Hornets, which turns a student film set into a supernatural horror. 

But this isn’t necessarily true: Hamilton is historical fiction and Catch-22 is a war novel.

Nonlinear stories help explore multiple perspectives from a large cast of characters. Catch-22 and Hamilton shift narrators to show the appropriate scene with the most emotional impact. Memories of the past influence present actions and moments of yesteryear still inform the decisions characters (and readers) make. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead also reminds us that other people have rich, complex experiences. We can connect to and even understand people through those experiences.

Nonlinear stories are not suited to any particular medium. Because they appear in such a wide variety of media (even old media like books, theatre and movies), these stories have access to a wide variety of techniques: flashbacks, flashforwards, medleys, remixes, footnotes.  

Nonlinear storytelling isn’t a gimmick. It can be an important tool for storytelling. Even if the story turns backwards and upside-down.

[backwards-upside-down]

Gesturing Across: Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead and Hamilton

SPOILERS for Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead and Hamilton

Last time, we discussed how novels can use nonlinear techniques to constantly drive their narrative from different perspectives. Now let’s consider how a story can connect to sources outside of itself. 

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead (1967, by Tom Stoppard) and Hamilton (2015, by Lin-Manuel Miranda) might not seem too similar at first. Here’s a summary if you’d like.

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern (the play hereafter referred to as R&G, the characters hereafter referred to as Ros and Guil) starts slowly. Ros and Guil don’t remember where or why they sit flipping coins on an empty stage.

Hamilton (the play hereafter referred to as Hamilton, the character hereafter referred to as Alexander) starts immediately. Unnamed narrators introduce Alexander’s backstory and immigration to the American colonies in the song “Alexander Hamilton”. These characters also foreshadow their roles in the play.

R&G sends the present to the characters. As soon as Ros and Guil begin moving forwards after remembering part of their mission, they come across traveling actors. The troupe has no control over what they perform and try to leave before being interrupted many times.

Hamilton forces characters to constantly catch up to the present and look to the future. The second song, “Aaron Burr, Sir” introduces Alexander to Aaron Burr, referencing an event during Alexander’s college days before this song but after Alexander’s arrival at the colonies. After almost four minutes of backstory, the audience still needs a little more to put the moment in context.

R&G is interrupted by characters from “Hamlet”: Hamlet running after Ophelia across the stage, then king Polonius and queen Gertrude instructing Ros and Guil to figure out why Hamlet is acting so weird.

Alexander tries to take active steps forward and fails. Ros and Guil tend to wait and let the plot of “Hamlet” come to them.

The musical moves mostly forward until “Helpless” and “Satisfied”, two back-to-back numbers from two of the Schuyler Sisters, daughters of a wealthy aristocrat who both attract Alexander’s attention during a party. The younger of the two, Eliza, begins a relationship with and later marries Alexander. Then the story rewinds and shows the party again from the elder sister Angelica’s perspective. This alternate take adds emotional depth and context to the encounter.

At the end of Hamilton’s first act, the song “Non-Stop” sees Alexander’s promotion to treasury secretary by now-president George Washington. Near the end of the song, characters all at once reprise snippets of previous songs to comment on Alexander. Burr questions Alexander’s pridefulness with the refrain of this song. Washington notes Alexander’s rise to leadership and role in history with the refrain from a previous military promotion. Eliza wonders if Alexander can temper career ambition with his family with the refrain from a previous announcement of her pregnancy. Angelica fears that balance is impossible with a refrain from “Satisfied”. The ensemble continues the refrain from “Non-Stop”, suggesting an endless pursuit of progress. These simultaneous motifs echo across the play, carried over across time.

Characters in both R&G and Hamilton feel a sense of helplessness, unable to change their impending arcs and juxtaposed against forces they cannot comprehend.

[backwards-upside-down]

Flipping Through: Catch-22 and House of Leaves

SPOILERS for Catch-22 and House of Leaves

Last time, we discussed some of the ways movies use nonlinear techniques, and how those techniques can benefit a flexible medium like film. 

But how do those techniques influence writing that is intensely linear, that can only show one word at a time: novels?

“Catch-22” (1955, by Joseph Heller) and “House of Leaves” (2000, by Mark Z. Danielewski) might not seem too similar at first. “Catch-22” is a World War II novel following bombardier John Yossarian. “House of Leaves” is a documentary film review whose commentary follows tattoo artist Johnny Truant. Here’s a summary if you’d like.

But these descriptions are only vaguely true. To say that Catch-22 is about Yossarian ignores dozens of other characters who end up in a narrator’s role. Many of these characters have a chapter or more dedicated to their adventures on an Air Force base outside Italy. Likewise, to say that House of Leaves is about Truant ignores Truant’s discovery of the film review from a deceased neighbor and the subjects of the film itself, whose stories are interwoven.

A single story does not exist independent of any other. So these stories caution us against looking for insight that is not there.

The characters also make choices with effects that they don’t see right away.

Yossarian starts his novel in a hospital bed because he looks just sick enough to stay in bed, even though he doesn’t have any distinguishable symptoms. He’s assigned a task to censor outgoing letters so none of the soldiers accidently reveal sensitive information. Yossarian gets bored of this quickly and occasionally starts adding information, like the forged signature of his chaplain. His superiors discover this about halfway through the book and interrogate the oblivious chaplain.

Truant starts his novel somewhat disinterested but wanting to see the film review finished. He gets more interested after an incident at his parlor, which resurfaces an old memory. The same motivating strangeness appears in the film review.

 Both novels shift perspective often. Catch-22 moves between Yossarian, his friends, his commanding officers, and other people he meets while trying to avoid flying more missions. Everyone knows the cost of living in the war. Few seem to care. House of Leaves moves between Truant, the old man who reviewed the film, and the subjects of the film itself. These shifts disorient the reader. They suggest pasts that get suppressed, questions of yesteryear that go unanswered. They suggest futures that go unacknowledged, dreams buried under routine and pain.

House of Leaves contains academic criticism from critics that don’t exist or certainly did not say what the book implies. Catch-22 contains memories from soldiers who are so wrapped up in their personal goals that they can’t understand the people around them. Yossarian just wants to live another day, but what sense does that make to Milo Minderbinder, who treats the war as an opportunity to get rich? Johnny Truant just wants to finish the book, but what sense does that make when his life starts ending up on the page?

 The shifts in perspective suggest that everyone has their own fair share of delusions and pain they must navigate. Rather than dividing and confusing, these books suggest that sharing a response to a nonsense world that seeks to divide might be the key to uniting and clarifying.

They don’t always advance, but they always find a way to move forwards.

What will we learn next time?

[backwards-upside-down]

Folding Inwards: Inception and Arrival

SPOILERS for “Inception” and “Arrival”

Last time, we discussed some of the basics of nonlinear storytelling. This time, we’ll talk about two movies that use nonlinear techniques. Here’s a summary if you’d like.

Just what everyone needs: a hot take about Inception ten years late.

“Inception” (2010, dir. Christopher Nolan) and “Arrival” (2016, dir. Denis Villeneuve) might not seem too similar at first.

Sure, they’re both science fiction movies. This gives the movies license to explore a nonlinear structure

But “Inception” is an action movie, a heist story with characters trying to enter targets’ dreams for corporate espionage. “Arrival” is a drama, a first contact story with humans interpreting alien language.

“Inception” discusses dreams and the subconscious. “Arrival” focuses on culture and diplomacy.

The main character of “Inception”, Cobb (Leonardo DiCaprio), is a thief. The main character of “Arrival”, Louise (Amy Adams), is a linguist.  

“Inception” uses a subplot technique. Characters enter different, ever deeper, levels of their target’s subconscious. This gives them more subjective time to complete tasks than they would have in the waking world.

“Arrival” uses an intercut technique. Characters shift between scenes of completely different moments in time with different characters, namely Louise interacting with her daughter.

“Inception” moves inwards, considering different dream levels as different paths with increasing stakes. Time goes slower and slower. “Arrival” moves inwards as well, focusing on the subjective experiences of Louise. The insight she gains from those experiences reflects in her work. The longer she spends interpreting the alien language, the more clarity she finds in their perspective. This isn’t just empathy. It’s structurally reinforcing the characters’ change in response to a nonlinear plot structure.

By setting up a structure alternative to linear time and then going even deeper into that structure, films have to communicate in visuals that reflect this: cityscapes that fold on top of themselves and word symbols shaped like circles.

“Inception” makes dreams take longer than their out-of-dream sense of time. The climax shows dream heisting within the fractions of a second necessary for a kick (which wakes characters up) in the shallowest level.

“Arrival” chooses a more subtle visual change. The logographic alien language helps signify the nonlinear perspectives of the aliens. The aliens have some idea of how humans will react and try to communicate, but the multiple interpretations human translators make change the meaning of the alien visual language.

Cause and effect become muddled, or at least not obvious. Changes in one of “Inception’s” dream level have severe impacts, making obstacles into disasters. Changes in one of “Arrival’s” translation sites impact human-alien efforts at other sites across the world.

Each level of change shifts the entire dynamic of the story. Louise, learning the alien language, gains information she otherwise only knows after the main conflict is over. Cobb, confronting his dream-disrupting trauma and regret, gains emotional closure he otherwise would never experience.

Dreams and language are malleable, changing over the course of their respective stories to adopt a more reflective perspective. Introspective characters and particular genres, like science fiction, seem to work well in a nonlinear structure.

What will we learn next time?

[backwards-upside-down]

Welcome to Backwards-Upside-Down!

Hi. I’m Chandler Arndt.

I like stories. Movies, novels, plays.

I like characters I can relate to, who struggle to make sense of uncertainty. I like a plot that makes those characters learn and change. I like settings that seem like my own, but topsy-turvy and interesting in ways that the real world can never quite replicate.

Basically, I like all the qualities people usually expect from stories.

But there are other qualities that I just can’t wrap my head around so easily.

 Some stories are linear. I think of Star Wars: A New Hope as a classic example. Luke Skywalker starts in a familiar physical location and ends somewhere different. He starts with one view on life and changes over the course of the story. He takes a relatively straightforward path to get there. He doesn’t do too much introspection along the way, but he has to make choices about what’s important to him at certain moments. He faces challenges that momentarily delay his progress, but he still makes active choices that move him forwards. He always moves forwards: to the next clear goal, the next setting, the next obstacle.

If you like stories, this pattern will sound familiar to you.

But not all stories do this. Some stories are nonlinear, meaning they move in a direction that is not consistently forwards. They might start and end at the same place (physically or emotionally). They might do a lot of introspection. They might not move forwards but instead move in a loop or in a tangent. And this fundamentally changes how the story works, even if the movement is temporary.

If you like stories, you might not see the appeal of this. I didn’t for a long time. I had a lot of questions:

What does it mean for a character to actively change the world around them (both rhetorically and functionally)?

Why do some characters understand more about their worlds than the audience does?

What kind of stories use those techniques?

And what are the rhetorical impacts of telling a story like this?

 This limited series will explore these questions and more.

 Welcome to Backwards Upside-Down.