If you’re familiar with the hero’s journey story structure, you’re well aware of what lies at the bottom of it — a nasty, unhappy miasma of gloom, misery, and yes, despair. The Save the Cat method has the similar ‘all is lost moment.’ No matter what it’s called, it’s that place the hero goes when all his best efforts are thwarted, when his beloved friend or mentor is killed, or when he realizes his own inadequacy and the strength of his opposition. It’s the darkest part of the story — and is crucial for the next step: redemption.
But I’ve been noticing a curious trend in recent works of fiction — film especially. That place of desolation, which I like to refer to as the pit of despair, has gone missing.
Back in March, our family watched the second Aquaman movie together. I hate Aquaman. And I think the actor is gross. I can’t stand cocky heroes who are always right and never learn. But this movie was even worse than the first. Why?
Well, two reasons. The first was the abject political wokeness woven in throughout, with pirates who looked like white farmers instead of Houthis and messages affirming climate change and ‘believe the science.’
The second was that the pit was missing. There was never really a moment in that film where it looked like Arthur might lose, not really. He had a pretty good grip on things the whole time, and was exactly the same person at the end that he was at the beginning. He never went through any dark moments of despair, and as a result, didn’t have to grow his character to overcome that.
I’m a visual person, and perhaps you are too, so for the sake of illustration I am going to provide an example of the hero’s journey structure below, courtesy of Canva and my literature teacher’s amazing instruction.
The hero’s journey begins with a character living his familiar, comfortable life — until something shows up or something goes wrong, otherwise known as the inciting event. From there, the hero catapults into the unknown, be it literally new lands or else alien experiences, and is left to do his best to find his footing and start climbing. But at some point, he’ll come to the end of his strength, give up on his unsuccessful attempts and slide down, exhausted, into the pit of despair.
And that’s where Aquaman 2 fails. We start of with Arthur living his normal life as the king of Atlantis, going about his daily duties, raising a kid, blah blah blah. Then along comes Manta, (who really should have died after he got battered through a whole village and thrown off a cliff in the first movie,) and his attack sets off the inciting event, forcing Arthur to do something. From there, stuff happens. He breaks his brother out, they interact, there’s a few fight scenes, and then… a gap.
But wait, you might say. Isn’t that whole bit where the lighthouse gets burned down the ‘pit?’
No. No it’s not.
Why?
It takes up all of two or three minutes in an hour-plus film, and ultimately, Arthur doesn’t have to change one bit to rise above it. It’s just another bad thing that happens. Perhaps it’s supposed to make the fight more personal, but heck, having his own people shot and his wife nearly killed is already plenty personal. The lighthouse scene really just felt like an ‘oh no, his dad might die’ moment, but since everyone up to that point had survived, even the villain who realistically should have had his skull crushed in, no one was really ever in fear for Arthur’s dad.
Sure, maybe it’s unfortunate now that his son’s kidnapped, but Arthur doesn’t change one bit and neither does the mission. And frankly, I wasn’t worried a bit for the kid either because I highly doubted we’d see a baby get hurt in a PG-13 movie. Ironic as it is, our culture wouldn’t have hesitated to kill that baby five months prior, but I digress from the topic at hand.
The movie was boring. The holes in the story, and thus the character, caused a failure to fully grab my emotions and make me care. Heck, when they briefly tried to make you think Orm would let Neris die, I was like ‘go for it!’ I seriously thought it would be more interesting that way.
Now, this has been the problem with a lot of films recently — like the latest Indiana Jones, Shazam, Blue Beetle, and the Mario Bros movie. The pit is either shallow or missing entirely. I’ll give you that these are all films meant to be appropriate for children, and thus may not be as intense, but the question remains. Why?
That’s a good question. I’m not a woke filmmaker, so I couldn’t tell you their reasoning, but I have a few theories. First, it’s part of the whole ‘people are innately good’ agenda. Heroes should start out with flaws, and their escape from the pit of despair puts them on the path to overcoming said flaws. But, if all people are innately good, or the way to solving flaws is adapting society and talking to therapists, then that part of the hero’s journey gets in the way.
Another reason may be that we as a culture don’t like to deal with despair — not in a way that ultimately fixes it. Because, of course, the answer to despair is courage and hope… and hope doesn’t exist in a materialist society. If you’re feeling depressed, our society will hand you drugs or electrotherapy, swarming you with commercials about how much better you’ll feel after you go lie on a couch and moan about your past to some psycologist. Our culture doesn’t like dealing with things like firmness of character, hills and valleys in life, or an ultimate prevailing hope. Better just to let their perfect little climate activist never deal with any real challenges and come out alright in the end.
So then… what should a complete hero’s journey look like?
If I were to remake Aquaman 2, (though I am no screenwriter and merely an amateur novelist, keep that in mind,) it might run more along these lines. After freeing Orm, the story proceeds on to the fight scene under the green-gas-belching-volcano that somehow no satellites noticed. However, I would up the brother relationship enough to make it more meaningful to the reader. Neither was really yielding any ground, and sure, maybe they fought for each other, but neither character really changed. If I were writing, Arthur would start beginning to see Orm’s side of things — after all, the poor guy was literally raised for the day when he’d take down Arthur, and his mom is clearly picking favorites. Orm would also ease up a little and begin searching for affection in his cold heart. But then, when there was that whole fight scene underneath the volcano, I’d kill Orm… and have Arthur almost able to save him. Why?
Because that would break a character. It’s one thing for his son to be kidnapped while he’s gone. It’s another for his brother, who he’s just starting to bond with, get killed on his watch. That would make someone like him, a king trying to grow into his responsibilities, feel terrible, crushing guilt and drive him to a place of despair. One must take who the character is and what he wants and turn it against him. And it would then be up to Arthur to either pull himself up by the bootstraps, or to accept the motivating words of someone near him, perhaps his wife or some other friend.
The pit of despair has to be personal to your character. It can’t just be some bad thing that happens to him. It has to be something he caused, or something he personally struggles with. Maybe his behavior causes him to lose something, he comes to the end of his strength, or his many defeats cause him to fall back on an old habit of sin. When Edmund finds himself in the White Witch’s prison, learning that he’s condemned his cell-mate Tumnus, or when Frodo collapses on the slope of Mount Doom, unable to go on and plagued by the Ring — that’s the pit of despair. That is what’s missing from much of popular fiction these days.
Now, I will grant you that it is a movie, and one has less time and less ways of digging into who a character is. Still, older films pulled this off well — most old Pixar and Dreamworks movies have solid, complete plots that can be traced and tracked. The Tom Holland Spiderman movies all have very distinct pits of despair, from when Vulture crushes him under a building, to the scene where Happy picks him up after Mysterio tricks him into revealing his friends, to the moment on the rooftop after May’s death where Peter’s friends encourage him to get up and keep fighting. These are all moments where the character’s resolve, and ultimately his very nature, is challenged and threatened like never before. Whether in screenwriting or in novels, the pit of despair is an essential part of a character’s journey that cannot be left out. No human is perfect — and even if your character is a panda or a superpowered merman this still applies. Your character must be relatable to humans and must fail before he can succeed. Failure is often what teaches him the lesson or gives him a new strength, making him into something that he wasn’t before. Po the Dragon Warrior after he learns about his parents and grieves for what he’s lost is not the same panda that was trying to figure out inner peace, and neither should Arthur the merman be the same irritating man-child at the end of the movie that he was at the beginning.
So, dear reader, next time you watch a movie, read a book, or create a story of your own, pay attention to the structure. Failure and struggle are key parts of a hero’s transformation, and transformation is an important element of any truly worthwhile tale. Pay attention to who the hero is at the beginning, and who he is at the end. Pay attention to your own reactions, worries, emotions, and expectations. Stories are supposed to evoke caring and a sense of connection with the hero, and character and story are so well intwined that if one fails, both fail. If your character does not change, part of your story structure is missing. If the pit of despair isn’t there, your character will be incomplete. They are the same, and overall, the effect on the narrative will be detrimental.
The pit of despair may not be fun to write or enjoyable to go through, but it is absolutely, positively necessary. Please, my friends, do not leave it out, or your writing will suffer for it.
That’s all for now, folks. I hope you have a lovely day and I wish you good writing and happy reading. Adios!
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