Ever come across an unavoidable scene in your story? The kind necessary for the plot to proceed, but the outcome is blatantly obvious to the audience?
The predictable character death.
The lovers’ reconciliation.
Even the inevitable defeat of a villain.
These moments are crucial to the narrative. But readers can see them a mile off.
When a scene feels boring or flat, it’s not necessarily a problem with the quality of your writing or the strength of your characters. Sometimes, the progression of events is so familiar the audience knows what’s coming. They might feel they can anticipate what the characters are going to say, and what the conclusion will be, and this removes their immediacy and kills the scene.
So how do we handle these obvious scenes? How do we keep our audience engaged despite their predictability?
Let’s take a look at a few examples.
No Country For Old Men
I found No Country For Old Men a fascinating movie because it’s one of the few—if only—films not to have a musical score. No soundtrack to manipulate the viewer’s emotions.
It relied on its story and characters to pull the audience onward.
And in those terms, they made a rather unorthodox narrative choice.
For context, Josh Brolin’s protagonist Llewelyn Moss stumbles on a drug deal gone wrong in the desert. Instead of aiding the sole survivor, he steals a briefcase with 2 million dollars. This kicks off a chain of events causing Brolin to be pursued by the police, a hitman hired to retrieve the money, and a Mexican cartel.
Near the end of the movie, Brolin is murdered by the cartel. But we don’t see it happen.
His death occurs off-screen.
Was it shocking?
Yes.
But to the keen viewer, it was unavoidable.
The theme of the movie dealt largely with fate and consequence. A “no bad deed goes unpunished” kind of thing.
After stealing the money, Brolin is struck by a bout of conscience and returns to help the dying gangster—far too late. His death is necessary from a thematic perspective, but also…
No one can survive on their own against police, assassins, and cartels.
Traditional storytelling, especially in movies, would dictate an action scene to make the death impactful—and satisfy the viewer.
The Coen brothers, who wrote and directed, made the decision to omit that scene entirely. They reasoned that Brolin’s death was anticipated with such certainty that it added nothing to the story to show it on screen.
In fact, by leaving it out, they highlighted the pathetic nature of the character.
Instead of trying to twist the scene to create an impactful moment, they added unexpected depth to their story by cutting it out.
What can we learn from this?
Well, sometimes, if a scene is obvious to the point of being expected by your reader, it doesn’t serve a narrative purpose despite how “cool” it might be.
It would have been fun to watch Brolin go out in a hail of bullets, but the story becomes tighter and more interesting by not showing it at all.
If you have a scene in your work that isn’t resonating, consider whether it’s necessary to include it. What will you lose by removing it and only showing the aftermath?
Perhaps more importantly, what might you gain?
The Witcher
So you’ve considered your scene and decided it’s so important for the reader’s understanding of your story that it’s impossible to remove.
But it’s still too obvious to be interesting.
No matter how you fiddle with the wording or sentence structure, it’s still… kind of boring.
The writers of The Witcher ran into this problem in “The Invitation”, episode 4 of the third season.
For context: Henry Cavill’s Geralt finished the previous season feeling betrayed by his love interest Yennefer. The first 3 episodes of season 3 show the characters slowly making up and giving into their feelings for one another.
In The Invitation, they finally have a real conversation, apologize to each other, and get back together.
The scene had to be shown, otherwise it would be confusing for viewers when they suddenly started acting as a couple later on. The trouble is, that make-up conversation is predictable.
It’s been done a hundred times in a hundred different shows.
The writers could have tried to make it interesting by drawing on the characters and twisting the dialogue, but the root of the conversation is still, “I’m sorry. We were being stupid. I love you, and let’s never fight again.”
The path the conversation takes is so obvious that the writers chose instead to lean into it—with humor.
They chose to show the conversation happening from the perspective of two other characters, Jaskier and Ciri, observing from a distance. Like the audience, this pair also knew exactly how the conversation would go, and they amused themselves by making up the dialogue.
Here’s the script:
JASKIER: [as Yennefer] What the hell were you thinking, fighting monsters?
CIRI: That’s not what she’s saying.
JASKIER: Now, that’s the role of poetry, Ciri. To say what others cannot utter. [as Geralt] Oh, you fed her to the magical lion’s den? I trusted you.
CIRI: You’re just making this all up.
JASKIER: (chuckles) Meh. That’s also the role of poetry. [as Yennefer] At least she was in disguise there, not clanging stupid swords when I told her not to draw attention to herself.
CIRI: [as Geralt] Funny, I wonder how she learned such complete and utter disregard for authority.
JASKIER: (laughs) That was a good one.
CIRI: [continuing as Geralt] You’re unbelievable!
JASKIER: [continuing as Yennefer] You’re delusional!
CIRI: I forgive you for your various words and deeds.
JASKIER: Your lack of faith and hope.
CIRI: For your obstinacy. Doggedness.
JASKIER: For your sulking and posing, which are unworthy of a man.
CIRI: I forgive you for being a wily witch who rarely listens and even more rarely admits to being wrong.
JASKIER: Who is stubborn, and stuck-up, and self-righteous.
CIRI: Let’s never do that again.
JASKIER: Mmm. Oh. Oh! Oh yes, take me.
[as Geralt] Do that thing with the tongue I like.
[as Yennefer] Oh, you mean this? Bleugh, bleugh!
[as Geralt] Oh yeah, that’s the stuff. Is there a unicorn nearby, by any chance?
JASKIER & CIRI: (both laughing)
By framing the scene this way, the writers turned a predictable and boring conversation into a funny passage while simultaneously giving the viewer a bonding moment between Jaskier and Ciri.
They proved how well these two knew their friends, and deepened their rapport with each other.
They turned a dull moment entertaining.
What can we learn from this?
When a scene is crucial to the reader’s understanding but risks feeling predictable, cliché, or otherwise boring, look for framing options.
Can you show it through another character’s eyes, providing depth and perspective?
Can you turn a romantic beat humorous, or a joyful beat tragic?
Sometimes predictable conversations are necessary. No need to reinvent the wheel, adding flippant drama or superfluous twists. Just come at it from an unexpected angle.
The King
Speaking of the unexpected, the film The King gives viewers a confrontation that flips the Final Battle trope on its head.
For context, Timothée Chalamet plays King Henry V, who believes he is the target of an assassination attempt by the Dauphin of France (Robert Pattinson). Chalamet sets off on a military campaign in France, culminating in the Battle of Agincourt. At the climax of the big battle, Pattinson challenges him to single combat.
Unlike No Country For Old Men, where Brolin’s death is obvious, the conclusion here is not.
We expect our protagonist to win, but the outcome could go many ways. For example, he could be injured, which would affect the rest of the story. He could win in an underhanded way, thus losing the respect of his men.
So the fight needs to be shown.
As mentioned above, many novels, and Hollywood especially, would take this opportunity to have a drawn-out action sequence.
But, we’ve seen hundreds of final battles. It’s familiar. Good vs evil. The underdog triumphing.
The King is all set for exactly this.
The soldiers circle up and fall silent. Chalamet, exhausted, stands opposite the heavily armored Pattinson. He picks up a muddy, discarded sword from the ground and drops into a crouch.
Pattinson steps forward…
and slips in the mud.
He flounders on the ground, tries to rise, slips again.
The soldiers watch on, incredulous, and finally, Chalamet plants his sword in the dirt and nods to his men.
Four soldiers rush Pattinson and stab him mercilessly.
It was almost anti-climactic, and that’s what made it stand out. This scene was memorable because it didn’t adhere to the traditional script. The scrappy hero didn’t even fight the Big Bad.
It’s important to note, the action was true to the story, and the characters. Slipping in the mud is plausible for a royal knight who’s likely trained exclusively on marble floors. Tripping over his own feet would have been unrealistic, and therefore ineffective.
Likewise, a King need not risk himself by approaching the flailing enemy, instead motioning his subjects forward to do the deed for him. A character who spent the entire runtime declaring he doesn’t need anyone’s help couldn’t get away with it.
The writers of The King took the clichéd trope of the final 1-v-1 and decided to do just about the opposite.
They provided an element of surprise in an otherwise obvious scenario.
So what can we learn from this?
If the scene is obvious, but cannot be removed, and can’t be reframed, look for ways to subvert it.
Ask yourself what the audience’s expectations are, then see how close to the opposite you can get.
Make sure it’s plausible, and aligns with the story and the characters. Even though it’s surprising, it should still feel true.
Take the obvious scene and flip it.
Now It’s Your Turn
Handling predictable scenes in your narrative is less about avoiding them and more about creatively navigating them.
Whether it’s through omission, like in “No Country For Old Men”, adding a layer of humor as in “The Witcher”, or subverting expectations like in “The King”, there are many ways to breathe life into your obvious scenes.
It’s about recognizing the expectations your audience brings to the table and utilizing those expectations to your advantage.
Can the scene be removed without negatively impacting the narrative?
Can it be reframed through a different perspective to provide new insights?
If it can’t be removed or reframed, can expectations be subverted in a plausible and character-consistent way?
Every story will inevitably tread familiar ground, but it’s the unique spin you put on these familiar elements that will keep your audience engaged and eager for more.
So now it’s time to apply this to your own writing.
Take a look at your current project and identify a scene that feels familiar. Like in the examples above, it could be the death of a character, the lovers’ reconciliation, or the final battle. Or it could be something else: the farmhand’s call to adventure, the heroes deciding to go into dangerous territory, the detective getting pulled off the case, the vacation meet-cute, the fight with the parents and running away from home.
Anything that feels like it’s been done before, or anything that feels obvious.
It might be hard to identify when it’s your own work, but developing this skill will serve you in the long run.
Once you’ve found your “obvious scene”, list out what would happen if you removed it, reframed it, or completely subverted it. Decide which would be best in this instance, and write the scene from the new angle.
How does it affect the reader’s engagement?
How does it affect the rest of the story?
Even if you choose not to keep it, do this every now and then when drafting, and when revising. Because sometimes, it’s not the quality of your writing that’s killing your scene, but the familiarity of your audience.
Feel free to post your thoughts on this article, and your written scenes, in the AuthorHQ area of the Discord community.
