The Fight is the Story
This week’s Fight Clip Club: Star Wars. Also, my famous talk, now on my Substack!
AUTHOR’S NOTE: Hi everyone! So I wanted to honor May the 4th be with you, and also Revenge of the 5th (and sixth), by analyzing a Star Wars fight for today’s Fight Clip Club. But when I sat down to pick which one, I realized I actually did quite a good job with a compare/contrast of two fights from some of the older Star Wars movies, and that those analyses were part of a larger, detailed article about how stage combat works in storytelling and filmmaking. So I figure I’d bring my editing pen over this old piece of mine again, and re-release it for FCC. I’ll keep it free, so those of you who aren’t yet following Fight Clip Club can get some reminders of the breakdown, the process of analysis, and maybe will be tempted to either upgrade to paid or ask me for a comp, so you can continue the fun that is Fight Clip Club! Enjoy, and May the Force be With You. ~Jenn, 2024
Hi all! So I have been doing this as a lecture in classes and a solo panel talk at Denver Comic Con for several years now, and in 2021 had it accepted to publish in the SAFD’s journal, The Fight Master. Thing is, the editing process just…came to a halt and I’m no longer being contacted about it. So I figure it’s safe to share with you, as they don’t seem to want it anymore. I’ve dredged up the latest edited draft of it* for your enjoyment. That’s also why it’s in a non-Substackian format—it’s constructed for them, not for you. But hey—you’re special—you get it anyway. How about that? I even put in some YouTube links just for you, because you deserve it.
*But seriously, though—thanks to Kevin Inouye for his excellent revision suggestions, editing, and feedback, before disappearing into the ether…
It’s rather a longish read, so here’s the abstract first (ooo, lookit me, being all academic), so you can preview it before you take the plunge. But I rant and rave about Star Wars throughout, so why indeed wouldn’t you? Anyway, ahem:
Abstract
The Fight is the Story focuses on two major components: First, a fight scene needs to be an essential part of the overarching story itself; Second, a fight scene needs to tell a story alone: a fight should be physical storytelling. Too often, fight scenes are shoehorned into stories where they have no place, aren’t necessary (and therefore are not interesting), and are completely gratuitous. To make sure The Fight is the Story, a choreographer could do worse than to use the Three Rules of acting (Objective, Tactics, Obstacles) within the fight’s structure.
The Fight is the Story: Quit Being Cool and Use the Three Rules
by Jenn Zuko, independent choreographer
We’ve all seen it before: An actor is beautifully, compellingly acting in a scene that leaves us breathless. A weapon is picked up, and suddenly their face goes dead, and where committed, strong emotion was in their eyes a moment ago, there is now nothing but memorized choreography. It’s the “act-then-fight-then-act” syndrome, especially prevalent in live theatre, but commonly found across all genres and media where fight scenes are found.
The problem happens when fights are shoehorned into a story, for the sole reason that they look cool. Which, let’s be honest: fight scenes are empirically cool. But if that’s all they are, then they’re supernumerary to what’s most important in a show: the story. Stanislavski’s Three Rules of Acting (Objective, Tactics, and Obstacles) are a simple and essential tool to make sure that not only do scenes of action fit into the overall story arc of the show, but that the choreography itself serves the story. In other words: Not only is the fight an essential part of the story, but the fight is a story in itself.
David Mamet talks about this concept of paring down action to its essentials in his customary terse manner in his book On Directing Film:
“As long as the protagonist wants something, the audience will want something. As long as the protagonist is clearly going out and attempting to get that something, the audience will wonder whether or not he’s going to succeed. The moment the protagonist, or the auteur of the movie, stops trying to get something and starts trying to influence someone, the audience will go to sleep.” (1)
As long as an action fulfills the protagonist’s objective, then it’s a strong choice. If it’s only interesting but isn’t relevant to the story being told, it will not actually seem interesting to the viewer. The same holds true for writing: the minute a writer stops writing beautiful, interesting prose and concerns herself with “what do I want” (see Rule 1 below), she will begin to write gripping works of whatever genre, sans the “prophylactic garnish of irony” (2) that can easily happen when one is focused more on sounding cool than on the story. Mamet calls this “uninflected, … requiring no additional gloss” (3), which I love as a term for this idea of unadorned, simple, compelling work.
How does this relate to action? In the martial arts and especially in theatrical combat, it’s so easy to fall into what I call the “coolness” trap; it’s irresistible to the ego to choreograph interesting stuff; to fall into the trap of the overornate, forgetting the needs of the story being told. An artist doesn’t want to look boring or plain, she wants to look cool. It seems contrary that the simplest choice is actually the strongest, but it’s true: even with fancier-looking or comedic styles, if the creator of the fight focuses on the story being told, the audience will be immersed. Much over-the-top action in films looks fancy but is elaborate without story substance: wire-fu, elaborately long fight sequences, sleek catsuits, gratuitous acrobatics, hey go ahead and spin that lightsaber another time or three... Not that there’s anything inherently wrong with fancy moves in and of themselves, just that each fight move should be part of the physical storytelling of the fight itself, and also of the whole.
Not only is the fight an essential part of the story, but the fight is a story in itself.
Obviously there are plenty of theatrical fight styles besides gritty, dramatic realism: stylized fights like those found in slapstick comedies, wuxia action dramas, long swashbuckling delights like in so many versions of Three Musketeers, or even musical numbers like the famous opening sequence in West Side Story. Stylized fights can look exaggerated, funny, abstract to the point of being dance-like, or purely acrobatic, and that’s all fine, as long as they stick to the story the fight is supposed to be telling. Big, long, or abstract dancey fights are still fights, in other words, and within the style of the piece they appear in, they should serve the function of a fight. A fight should (no matter the theatrical style) not only be an essential building block in the story of the whole piece, but tell a story by itself. This is something that all artists involved in the fight scene should keep in mind, from the choreographer building the fight to the performer executing it. The playwright with the seed idea, the director in charge of audience or camera angles, all the way to the CG artist in charge of finishing touches.
The problem for the artist ego is that the fanciest, most complex moves might seem cool, but often won't connect to the tactics of the story of the fight—cool stuff will be added for the coolness factor instead of furthering the story. Similarly for actors performing the fight: the Three Rules we all learn in acting training have everything to do with cutting out the unnecessary inflection and getting straight to the heart of a scene. The streamlining of the Three Rules are essential guidelines for all artists involved in creating and executing fight scenes.
What are the Three Rules? Here’s a reminder:
What do I want? (OBJECTIVE)—why am I fighting; what’s my goal? Do I want to cause harm? Prove a point? How do I want the fight to end? What do I want the results to be, for everyone involved?
What do I do to get what I want? (TACTICS)—What actions specifically do I need to accomplish to achieve my objective? Weak or waffly (or “cool”) choices here will fail. In a martial arts situation, a movement that isn’t connected to a clear tactic leads to a smack in the head or even a fatality (or a lost match, if we’re talking sport martial arts). In theatrical combat? It leads to muddiness, vagueness, and often will pull a viewer out of the action.
What stands in my way? (OBSTACLES)—is my opponent’s guard up? Armor or weapons involved? Are there innocents anywhere? Is the law on my side? Is the space restricted, either physically or otherwise? How skilled am I, and how skilled is my opponent? Am I hampered by intense emotion, wounds, or fatigue?
When I regularly present this “Fight is the Story” concept at Denver Comic/Pop Culture Con, I focus on two major tenets to illustrate it: First, a fight scene needs to be an essential part of the overarching story itself; Second, a fight scene needs to tell a story alone: a fight should be physical storytelling. Too often, fight scenes are shoehorned into stories where they have no place, aren’t necessary, and therefore are not compelling to watch.
Whenever a character speaks, that is a TACTIC. The only reason a character ever opens her mouth is as a tactic to obtain her OBJECTIVE. When she has run out of words—that is, when each one of her verbal tactics has failed, then and only then does she resort to physical ones. This is (or, should be) the only reason a fight scene occurs. When the words run out, that’s when the fight happens.
So when I’m choreographing a fight scene, I look at the whole script. I ask myself (and the director) the following vital questions: Why does this fight have to happen here, now? Why between these characters? Why these weapons? What about all these things are vital tactics, to bring the characters to what objectives? What do the characters want, that they are resorting to fighting to get it? Often directors will be surprised at how little actual fighting needs to be seen onstage or onscreen.
Each move within a fight scene, too, is a tactic to gain an objective. Each thing a character does physically is in order to move him closer to his objective. Tools used in filmed fight scenes such as CGI or cuts can either help tell the story of a fight by clarifying these things (as well as character, setting, and movement), or they can be overornate, gratuitous, and distracting, such as the multiple cuts in many of the Bourne movie fights. When the effects obscure the fight scene’s physical storytelling, the audience can’t see what anyone’s tactics are, and so loses the thread of the story.
EXAMPLE ONE: The Phantom Menace (4)
The scene in question is the big three-way lightsaber fight towards the end of the movie. You know the one. “Duel of the Fates” and such? (I know, I’m humming the music now as I write). Here it is, for my Substackers:
So, let’s talk about Rule 1: Why these characters, here and now? What is Darth Maul’s OBJECTIVE? What is Qui-Gon Jinn’s? Obi-Wan seems to be rather tagging along with his teacher, but it’s unclear what his objective is, either, except for one brief and fleeting moment (which I’ll talk about in a minute). Are the Jedi protecting the Queen? Well, no, it doesn’t seem like Maul is really threatening her, and she’s off being a badass with her army somewhere else anyway. The only thing I can see here is: Jedi vs. Sith. No reason for the fight to happen, here and now, and the only reason I can even tell who’re the good guys and who’s the bad guy is that the good guys are white men dressed in light earth tones, and the bad guy looks like an amalgam of multiple cultures’ portrayals of demons and devils through history. Sorry (not sorry), but it’s true: nothing in this fight needs to be happening now, as far as the over-arching plot goes (such as it is). Are the Jedi wanting to kill the Sith, or disarm him? Doesn’t seem like either, at least not judging from any of the moves seen here. And what’s Maul trying to do? Besides show off his aerial cartwheel skills? Which brings me to:
Rule 2: Nobody is trying to do anything to anyone else. There are zero TACTICS going on here, and no objectives to speak of at all, as we’ve just ascertained. Now, a lightsaber is a pretty versatile weapon: you can stab, cut, sever, throw and catch, and even do stuff to the environment with it. Is any of that happening here? No. Not for any tactical reason anyway. It’s all for show. There’s a lot of spinning going on, both of blades and of bodies, for no reason (and yes, Virginia, I am a martial artist and I do know what spins are actually for. Nobody is spinning anything for any of those reasons). The lightsaber blades are literally meeting in the air between characters, and not in a stance-before-the-duel sort of way. Some of the parries (or blocks) are put in place before the attack is initiated, further showing how much this is set choreography. To be fair to the choreographer (who is a legend and definitely someone who knows what he’s doing), a good amount of this problem is not as much from the moves themselves but in where the camera is placed, and to some degree the timing of the performers. Still, though—as I’ve averred earlier, all the artists involved in creating a fight should be on board with the story the fight is telling, first and foremost. A perfectly legitimate physical tactic can look terrible if shown from the wrong angle, acted badly, timed wrongly, or the like.
There’s one brief moment of a clear objective in this fight: when Qui-Gon Jinn is killed. Obi-Wan then suddenly, clearly, and beautifully shows us a reason he’s fighting. He doesn’t have to speak it aloud for it to be apparent: “You killed my teacher; I’m going to kill you!” However, that objective promptly disappears into the purposeless, spinning choreography as soon as it starts up again, and Ewan MacGregor’s brilliant acting reverts once again to Dancer Face. Act, then fight.
My opinion about this fight is an educated guess: The only reason this fight scene is here is that the writers suddenly realized, “Oh no! We don’t have a big spectacular lightsaber fight yet! The movie’s almost over! Quick, put one in!” Because fight scenes are cool, and lightsabers some of the coolest. Thing is: if the only lightsaber fight in The Phantom Menace was that brief drive-by encounter on Tatooine, earlier, that would have been much more compelling, much more impactful, and would have made a whole lot more sense. Think about it: Maul has a specific objective for having engaged in that quick fight. His purpose was clear: to reveal himself, scare the midichlorians out of the Jedi, and leave them to take the terrifying news back to the Council. That way, we in the audience would have wondered with the Jedi: what the heck is gonna happen in the next movie? Was that the master, or the apprentice? What will they do next? (Of course, those of us nerdy enough to remember that the Emperor’s name was Palpatine in Episode 6 would already know this, but still!)
EXAMPLE TWO: Return of the Jedi (5)
Again, the fight we’re looking at is close to the end of the movie and as such is meant to be a climactic scene for the whole plot. Go ahead and watch it; I’ve included it below. I’ll wait…
Let’s look at the basics first: this, like the Phantom Menace fight, is a master and apprentice vs. a solo opponent. What’s that? Oh yes, it is. If you are under the impression that the Emperor isn’t a part of this fight because he isn’t whipping out a lightsaber, that’s where you’re wrong, and that’s also where you’re falling into the same trap as so many storytellers and choreographers out there do, when it comes to fights. The Emperor is a major part of this fight, throughout. In fact, he starts it.
So. Rule 1: Why here, why now, why these characters fighting? What’s everyone’s OBJECTIVE? It’s quite clear: Luke’s objective: to bring his father back with him. Vader’s: same thing, basically: to keep his son here with him, enjoy blissful life in the Dark Side as father and son. And our third fighter in this scene, the Emperor? He wants these two to fight to the death. Remember what Vader seems to have forgotten: there’s only a master and an apprentice Sith at any one time. Now for the Emperor, he’d obviously rather have Luke, as he’s younger and stronger with the Force, but hey, if Vader ends up killing his own son, well, talk about Dark Side, and he’s been a pretty gosh darn good viscount of terror for this many years. Really either way is fine as far as he’s concerned. And no, you don’t have to have read Extended Universe novels or anything to get this information from the fight scene—in fact, if you didn’t see any of the rest of the movie, it would still be clear as day.
How about Rule 2? Lots of clear TACTICS going on here, starting with Palpatine’s biggest tactic, the one he’s best at: To Seduce. Notice that he’s using mainly words in this fight, up until the end, that is. Why? Because words are his strongest weapon (particularly when backed with the mind control of the Force)! Palpatine has no need to resort to physical tactics through most of this fight. Why? Because his verbal tactics are working. It’s his insidious tease and threat to Luke’s friends that spurs Luke to grab his lightsaber and attempt to kill him. And yeah, it’s obvious that that is what he’s trying to do: the way the first movement is choreographed makes that apparent.
Vader’s objective? To make his son turn to the Dark Side (after an initial protection move to keep his master intact). Through the first part of that whole fight, every physical move Luke does (after the initial failed one) is to try and defend himself, and get away from his father, so he won’t have to fight him. Kicking him away, blocking Vader’s blows, jumping up to the catwalk—all these things are attempts to stop fighting Vader. Why does he start fighting him again? Well, Vader himself pulls out the verbal tactics, to get Luke to come out of hiding and continue the fight. He finds out about Leia, and threatens her safety. This verbal tactic works: Luke is overwhelmed with anger and launches himself at Vader, his attacks now vicious.
This is where we see the fight take a major turn. (And this is where the biggest fight scene mistake was made in Star Wars Episode 2: the ridiculous Yoda vs. Dooku lightsaber fight [6], when compared.)
Luke accidentally cuts off Vader’s hand. This shocks him, and makes him stop his barrage, remembering what his OBJECTIVE is and how this attack was not a TACTIC to get him that objective. Palpatine takes this opportunity to pounce: still using verbal tactics, he reveals his objective to the other fighters. He tells Luke to kill Vader and take his place. When Luke turns off his lightsaber, throws it away, and says, “No,” this is the moment when Palpatine’s verbal tactics have run out. Then, and only then, does Palpatine resort to physical violence. And he does so in a way appropriate to his character (unlike Yoda vs. Dooku). Does he whip out a lightsaber and suddenly, against character, become agile? No, of course not, that would make no sense. Instead, he uses a physical weapon much more apropos to him: the Force lightning. Luke has no idea this is even a thing, and has no defense against it—all he can do is collapse, screaming in agony. Luke does have one more verbal tactic left in him, though: he calls for his father to help him.
And boy does that tactic work: Vader then uses a physical tactic to stop the barrage. And once he realizes he won’t be able to achieve his initial objective, he changes it. Now, Vader’s objective is to kill Palpatine, because he knows he won’t survive to collect on his previous objective. And thus he succeeds. All of this is crystal clear to us, not from reading up on obscure back story fics or wikis, but from the fight itself.
Not a whole lot of spinning blades in this fight scene—this one is uninflected. But what a more compelling, interesting, gripping, and exciting fight this was than the one in Phantom Menace. Well, the music in the other one was pretty cool, I have to admit…
ENDNOTES
Mamet, D. p.14
Pullman, P. (n.p.)
Mamet, D. p.16
Lucas, G. Phantom Menace
RoTJ citation
Lucas, G. Attack of the Clones
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References
Lucas, G (author, director) (2002). Attack of the Clones [Motion Picture]. US: Lucasfilm.
Lucas, G (author, director) (1999). The Phantom Menace [Motion Picture]. US: Lucasfilm.
Mamet, D (1991). On Directing Film. New York: Penguin Books.
Marquand, R (director) (1983). Return of the Jedi [Motion Picture]. US: Lucasfilm.
Pullman, P (1996). “Carnegie Medal Acceptance Speech.” Retrieved: http://djamesauthor.blogspot.com/2013/10/philip-pullmans-carnegie-medal.html**
**I canNOT, for the life of me, find this speech in anything more official a capacity than this blog appearance. Anyone out there have a better source for the text of this speech? I have an ancient printout of it from a different (official publisher’s) website, but it’s not there anymore. I’m at my wits’ end, but I’m going to continue to share it, since it’s a fabulous speech.
You need to have fights play a role in advancing the story, not have them for the sake of having them. "Return Of The Jedi" did that to perfection.