Bleeding Love: Another English Lesson

So I am a SYTYCD fanatic. For those of you not in the know, I'm talking about So You Think You Can Dance. I love this show. It makes me wish I was skinny and a dancer. I could write a whole big long essay about why SYTYCD is SOOOO much better than American Idol, but I don't have the time, and I really don't want to right now. So instead, I am going to write an essay about how much I love this dance by Chelsie and Mark (btw: Chelsie is our own little Mormon girl hailing from Pleasant Grove. Go Chelsie!) So I Have spent the last four or five weeks watching this routine on that blessed invention called the DVR. I can't seem to get over it. Why? I don't know. Well, at least I didn't know until my brain started to get into school mode again over the last couple of weeks. It was only then I realized why I love this routine so much: it is a perfect example of great storytelling. You know me. I can't leave it at that. I have to explain. So, I hope you are ready for another English lesson....

There are three parts to a story: beginning, middle, and end, otherwise known as exposition, rising action, climax, and falling action. I know. This information blows my students away, too. There are very important things that need to happen in each section, and if these things don't happen, the reader (or the viewer, in this case) is left feeling unfulfilled. And we don't want that to happen, do we? Okay, so each part has a job. The beginning part of the story (aka EXPOSITION) has two important jobs: 1) introduce the audience to the main characters. This can be done in any way the author (or choreographer, director, etc) chooses. Most people prefer names and descriptions, but it doesn't always have to be this way. 2) The exposition also needs to pose the dramatic question. What is the dramatic question? Well, the dramatic question is a yes or no question that should arise in the audience's mind before they begin to move on to the rising action. The yes or no question gears the plot and keeps the readers reading. A few popular examples of dramatic questions for novels: will Gatsby end up with Daisy (The Great Gatsby)?, will Harry defeat Voldemort (every HP novel except Prisoner of Azkaban. This question is also the dramatic question for the whole series)? Will Bella and Edward stay together despite their differences (Twilight)? Will Bella and Edward get back together desite Jacob's love for Bella (New Moon)? Will Bella choose Edward over Jacob (Eclipse), and the dramatic question for the series is Will Bella Ever Become a Vampire? Depending on your view, Will Andie break Ben? Or Will Ben Break Andie (How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days)? These are all dramatic questions because they are yes or no, everything in the plot builds around these questions, they were posed in the beginning of the story, and these questions were answered at the climax of the story. See? It seems like an easy job for the exposition to do, but have you ever tried to write a story? The beginning is the most important part because if you have a crappy question that no one cares about, then you have a crappy story that no one cares about.

Once the dramatic question is established, the story moves on to the middle part of the story: the rising action and the climax. This takes up the bulk of the text. The job of the rising action is to take the characters through conflict after conflict, each one building on the last, each one giving the audience the information it needs to answer the dramatic question. Finally, where there have been so many conflicts, and the tension is at it's thickest, we reach the most important job of the middle part of the story: the climax. The climax is usually described as the most exciting part of the story. This is not true. The climax is simply the part where the dramatic question is answered: when the readers get to know whether Bella chooses Edward over Jacob (which, logically, I didn't agree with--but I'm an infertile Indian, so I'm biased. This is a whole different post), or whether Daisy actually chooses Gatsby (which she doesn't. Sigh. I'll have you, Jay Gatsby!) Then, once the dramatic question is answered, the story is almost done. It's just the falling action that needs to happen now.

The falling action (also called the dénouement) is where the story's loose ends are tied up. What happens now? Sometimes the falling action is quite long, like in the Great Gatsby, where the falling action is a chapter about Jay Gatsby's funeral. Sometimes it is very short, like in Gone With the Wind, when Rhett tells Scarlett that he doesn't give a damn (the climax) and then leaves, and all she says is, "I'll think about it tomorrow at Tara, after all, tomorrow is another day" (And the music swells, da daaaaa da da, da daaaaa da da). That one sentence is the whole falling action. Which is why we are all screaming for a real sequel, because that ending certainly wasn't satisfying. When most people die, they say they are going to talk to Joseph Smith first thing, or maybe Nephi. Not me. I'm making a bee line for Margaret Mitchell. I want to find out what REALLY happened between Rhett and Scarlett. But I digress. The point is, the falling action can be the smallest part of the book. But it too, is very, very important, mostly because it shows the change in the characters from the beginning of the book to the end, so the readers can see how it affected them, how they reacted to it, and ultimately, apply the story and the lesson to their own lives.

So why do I love the Bleeding Hear dance? Because, in the small amount of time, it has all three parts of a story, and the story is told beautifully. Let's watch, shall we (you can watch above. Just click, and here we go)? And then we'll do the fun stuff: analyze! YAY! Exposition: Okay, first, we see a shot of the two characters, back to back. This is our introduction. We can deduce a lot about who they are from their clothes. Mark, in the suit and the eternal part, is a business man. Chelsie, in a weird baby doll shirt and ugly jeans and shoes, is the significant other--I'm thinking a wife-type, because only wives allow the men they love to see them in a a get up like that. They are dancing together, in sync, which indicates to me that they are in a relationship that was very...beautiful in the beginning, but then...."Time starts to pass and before you know it you're frozen...." They point to their watches, and Mark picks up a briefcase BAM! Dramatic Question: Will he really leave her for his work? On to the rising action.

Rising action: There are several types of conflicts in literature. The most basic (and the most interesting if you want my opinion) is man vs man (or woman), and man vs. self. In this dance, we see both. First conflict: she wants him to stay. Easy enough. And he does, for a little while. Second conflict: They love each other, but he has to leave. This is both man vs. man, and man vs. self. You can see on his face, and the way that they did the little embrace walk across the stage that he isn't heartless. But he is torn between his love of a woman, and a his love of his career. Third conflict: She won't let him go. Both of their hearts are breaking. Fourth conflict: most of this is internal: she wants him to stay, he won't, and her heart is breaking. His is a little more complex. He wants to stay, but he can't. He is basically facing a tug-of-war between her and his job. And he can't decide. Look at the way he holds his head in the dance, up and down. That's a sign of indecision; a struggle between the two things he really wants. There is another huge conflict here: he tries to love her when he can, but she's so upset, she won't allow it. Watch when he face slides next to hers--she moves away. This is her inner conflict: does she just allow herself to be a back burner? She chooses no. And he feels rejected. So they turn away from each other, physically in the dance, which we all know signifies emotionally in the story. Then they face each other. They are doing the same dance, but they are moving in opposite directions. To me, this says they are both trying the best they know how, but the other person won't respond to their attempts. If she would only let him in, or if he would only listen for a minute, then things could be okay. But it's a no go; they just can't seem to get their lives to be in sync like they did at the beginning. As a result, another conflict arises: he begins manipulating her--using her as a object, not really seeing her as a person he loves, but more as a thing in his life that doesn't take priority in his work. Finally, the last straw? The climax, or the answer to our dramatic question: Will Mark really leave her for his work? They have one last moment of love, but the damage is done. Slowly, he takes her heart in his hand, and walks away. Yes. He will. And this leads us to the falling action.

Falling action: what happens next? Not much. She is morally crushed. Her heart is broken and she is permanently scarred. He just walks away. But wait…maybe it's a trick! He looks back! No. You cut me open. And he leaves. Story over.

Heartbreaking. I know. But that's why I love it! It follows the pattern of every great American novel: choosing prosperity over what really matters and what happens as a result. That's why we love these sad stories so much: because we can see ourselves in the characters, and the characters choose what we would never choose, and we get to see the result and learn from their mistakes. It's beautiful.

(p.s. if anyone knows how to use a VCR with a DVR to record shows, would you mind letting me know? I would love to use this lesson in Creative Writing)