Neptune Noir: Unauthorized Investigations into Veronica Mars Read online

  Beaver-um-the-name's-Cassidy Casablancas. Can't forget the bus-bombing, chlamydia-spreading, clothes-stealing, skyscraper-jumping Beaver-um-the-name's-Cassidy. Any guy who ever lets himself be called Beaver in the first place pretty much defines camp. Go, Beaver! (Um. Sorry. Cassidy.) Most Campified Moment: Trying to look like a killer on the roof with Veronica ("Not Pictured," 2-22). Smart enough to rig a bus bomb, I'll buy. At all able to shoot someone point blank without losing his aim or wetting himself? I don't think so.

  The Shameful Casablancases Final Tally: 0% noir, 100% camp The Rare Exceptions. The thing about tearing something apart in an academic manner (or, in my case, pseudo-academic) is that somewhere along the line, something comes in to bust up your theory, and then you have to do all this work to monkey-wrench them in. In this grand tradition of intellectual (or, in my case, pseudo-intellectual) muscling, we have:

  Wallace Fennel. Wallace is a charming, funny, handsome, fairly unscarred, seemingly well-adjusted young man who has never been victim of, nor party to, murder, rape, or incest. (As of this writing, anyway) The only unbelievable element to Wallace is that Veronica hasn't jumped him. Now that their parents have dated it's a little easier to grasp, because there's a brother-sister element and we really don't need to go down that particular incestual alley again. But in the pre-Keith-hearts-Alicia days, I thought it was completely unpardonable for Veronica to not at least try to snatch her some Fennel flava. (Yeah, I still can't pull it off, can I? Sadly, neither can I resist a good alliteration.) How I'm Making It Fit: Wallace is a foil, the normal character who gives highlight and contrast to the insanity around him. Sound good? Sure. Moving on.

  Cindy "Mac" Mackenzie. Despite the fact that she was the victim of clothes-stealing from her cutesy-yet-murderous boy toy Beaverum-the-name's-Cassidy Casablancas, and she was switched at birth with the heinous Madison Sinclair, I maintain that there's something about Mac that's seductively... normal. From the rebellious but standard streak of blue hair to the Rain Man-ish computer wizardry to the achingly bad taste in men, Mac remains only slightly camp-ofcenter on the noir-camp continuum. Truthfully, she's just a normal girl ... living in a seriously screwed-up town. How I'm Making It Fit: Mac is a foil, the ... uh ... normal character who gives highlight and contrast to the insanity around her. Pay no attention to that academic (or, you know, pseudo-academic) behind the curtain.

  In conclusion, I could be totally full of crap (now, where else in pseudo-academia are you going to get that kind of honesty, huh?) but I really think there's something to this Camp Noir thing. At any rate, the revelation made a convert out of me and for that, even if it's all in my head, I'm grateful. Veronica Mars, for all its carefully constructed insanity, combines outrageous scenarios with fascinating characters and is one of the most cleverly written shows to hit the small screen in a long while. And, since it's not on FOX, I think we can look forward to more coma babies, slutty gold-digging step-moms, and teenage super-sleuthing action for years to come.

  (Oh. And let's not forget those puppy-dog eyes. Ah, Logan. Sigh.)

  LANI DIANE RICH is a wife, mother, and novelist living in central New York. You can get more information about her novels at http://www.lanidianerich.com, or find her blogging with her friends at http://www.literarychicks.com. Feel free to e-mail her with comments at lani@lanidianerich. com ... just don't expect a response on Tuesday nights.

  I rdU mentions in his essay thatJoss Whedon calls a good act break "a thing of beauty forever." It is. And I'm sure Joss would tell you the vast amounts of time a writing staff gives to considering its act breaks. In the VM writers' room, we usually start with the question, "What are our act breaks?" As I write this, we're currently breaking an episode in season three about Wallace's murdered basketball coach. After a day of story-breaking, all we have to show for it are our first four act breaks....

  Cold Open Out Coach's family hires Mars Investigations to save them.

  Act One Out Coach's son, who Veronica has befriended, arrested for crime.

  Act Two Out Coach's son escapes from jail.

  Act Three Out Coach's son, who Veronica has begun to doubt, shows up in Veronica's car.

  Here's the irony. A studio executive, who will remain anonymous, told me once that his studio did a study on the importance of act breaks, believing that they could use the evidence the study provided to goad writers into bigger act breaks. The results actually showed that act breaks meant almost nothing in terms of audience retention. People don't switch channels because of weak act breaks. And yet, we all still think in terms of old serial movies. We need the damsel tied to the railroad tracks, the train steaming towards her and our hero galloping in to save her. That's an act break!

  Geoff makes an important point about VMfinales that holds true for our season two finale and the rape mystery finale from season three that I just finished directing last week. We're a mystery show, that's our stock in trade, but our finales turn into thrillers. For better or worse, we break form.

  Story Structure and

  Veronica Mars

  VERY TIME WE read a book or watch a movie we bring our experiences to bear on what we are reading or watching. Someone with an aversion to violent imagery, for instance, is likely to declare Kill Bill a bad movie without a thought to any aspect of the film beyond the dismemberment. For those of us with an education in the humanities, assumptions may be more explicit, and come with philosophical backing: gender theory, Marxism, psychoanalysis, feminism, formalism, reader response theory, structuralism, deconstruction, post-colonialism, new historicism. For many years my own hobby-horse has been Harold Bloom's poetics of influence, and it still serves me well. These theories, and ones like them, claim to tell us more about our experience of books and movies and music. You thought you knew what Wuthering Heights was about, they say, but let me tell you what it's really about (class, gender, language, and so on).

  Academic ways of looking at literature often add to the sum total of our knowledge, but only rarely (and even then, often accidentally) give us a deeper appreciation of the book we are reading, or the film we are watching. Even worse, many academic approaches lead us to overvalue terribly written but theoretically interesting work. Cultural studies may explain how Allen Ginsburg's Howl can tell us a lot about the climate of the 1960s, but it is nevertheless a very bad poem. One approach to film and television that can affect our appreciation for the better-that can actually offer us what we need, which is better taste-is the lesson in story structure found in any good guide to screenwriting. Because these guides are aimed solely at the burgeoning screenwriter, they don't often find their way into the hands of fans, critics, and academics, in spite of the good they would do. An understanding of character arcs, exposition through conflict, dangling causes, pacing, retardation, beats, scenes, open and closing values in scenes, inciting incidents, acts, act breaks, plot points, sequences, and the classical screenplay structure are vital parts of the aesthetic appreciation of film and television. This understanding should not be solely possessed by those in, or trying to get into, the industry. When Joss Whedon discusses his favorite Buffy episodes in the booklet included in the complete Buffy the Vampire Slayer box set, he singles out the season two episode "Ted," and says, "A good act break is a thing of beauty forever." We should all know enough to be able to agree with him.

  That Whedon quote got me talking to a filmmaker friend of mine, Brad Winderbaum, who pointed me toward Robert McKee's Story: Substance, Style, and the Principles of Screenwriting, David Howard's How to Build a Great Screenplay, Syd Field's Screenwriting (and related books), and Paul Joseph Gulino's Screenwriting: The Sequence Approach. As a fan of Veronica Mars, I want to pass on what I learned by going through "Leave It to Beaver" (1-22), story by Rob Thomas and teleplay by Rob Thomas and Diane Ruggiero, the final episode of season one, with the eye of a screenwriter but the mind of a critic. I want to use screenwriting tools-primarily the idea of act structure-to say why the episode is good, but I want to avoid reducing it
to merely a model for young writers. Television has gotten so good in recent years-Firefly, Lost, 24, Unscripted, Scrubs-we owe it to ourselves to be better viewers, and Derrida isn't the place to go. My look at "Leave It to Beaver" will not touch on every screenplay concept in the books. My more modest hope is to point toward what is missing in our appreciation of film and television.

  Storg Structure

  In film and television, stories are said to have a structure of at least three parts: a character wants something, there is an obstacle to getting it, and then the tension is resolved. This "ending" often involves the creation of a new tension that sets in motion the next part of the story. As Gulino points out, this story structure is like a fractal, iterated at different levels (11): it organizes series, seasons, episodes, acts, and scenes. The structure of Veronica Mars as a whole might be Veronica's simple quest for safety and happiness. The structure of season one is the attempt to solve the murder of Lilly Kane. Weevil finds out that Veronica suspects Logan, and this sets up a new conflict for season two. A major structure in "Leave It to Beaver"-as I will show-has to do with trying to achieve domestic happiness with biological parents. Veronica learns to accept life without her mother, but this has new consequences that will be dealt with in future episodes. The structure of the first act of "Leave It to Beaver" is organized around capturing Logan and healing Veronica's family, but these are only temporary solutions (because they are false ones) and lead into new problems in act two. In a single scene in act one of "Leave It to Beaver," Weevil attempts to kill Logan but Logan is arrested by the police; Weevil attacks because Veronica made him suspect Logan; Veronica (inadvertently) solves the problem by having Logan arrested, but this causes problems that generate the scenes that follow Like boxes nested in boxes, story structure is inescapable.

  The most important structure in a television show is the act structure. After the teaser (the pre-credits sequence), a one-hour cable-television drama is divided into four roughly even-length acts-labelled as such in the script-that are divided by commercial breaks. A typical feature-length movie has three acts: the first act is usually the first thirty minutes, the second is usually the middle hour, and the third is usually the final thirty minutes. (The difference between a three- and four-act structure is minimal, and should not concern us here.) The act structure in a film is further subdivided into several ten- to fifteen-minute sequences (essentially mini-acts each with their own beginning, middle, and end): two sequences in the first and third acts and four sequences in the second act. Without these little "movies within movies" the audience becomes bored and restless.

  Film sequences have their origin in the old Hollywood reels, which could only hold ten to fifteen minutes of material before they had to be changed for fresh film (Gulino 3-4). Once films got longer than fifteen minutes, they consisted of reels strung together. Story structure emerged from this physical limitation, and stayed with us even after reels became obsolete. Though in film acts are subdivided into sequences, in television acts and sequences are one and the same. Acts are thus especially important in the appreciation of cable television, because the demands of commercials make the old Hollywood reel structure indispensable.

  To follow the structure of "Leave It to Beaver" closely we must break it into its component parts and summarize its acts, just as Paul Gulino analyzes sequences in his screenwriting book.

  The Teaser: Establishing the Status Quu

  The purpose of a teaser is obvious: it hooks the audience into the coming show. But it also serves as the starting point that the episode will disrupt. If the show is the same at the end as is was at the beginning, why would we watch it? (The exception to this rule is a show where lack of change is the point, as it was in Seinfeld.) Veronica Mars has unusually long teasers, and "Leave It to Beaver" is no exception. Six of its eight scenes all establish the status quo. The remaining two scenes are the hook, the inciting incident for the plot of the episode.

  It begins at a newspaper office, where Keith Mars is trying to convince someone to run a story about how Abel Koontz is innocent of the murder of Lilly Kane. (Pretentious naming-such as "Cain" and "Abel" in a murder investigation-is one of the few weak points of Veronica Mars.) Rob Thomas re-establishes the season one plot arc that will be resolved in this episode: Who killed Lilly Kane?

  In the second scene, Keith Mars picks up the envelope containing the results of his paternity test before entering into the domestic scene of Veronica and her newly returned mother cooking. This establishes the second season-long plot arc: Can Veronica Mars's family stay together? The water bottle her mother drinks out of is planted in this scene-it will be important in act two-and the family banter reinforces the show's structure on the level of theme: the discussion of how to chop onions without crying points to the real tears between mother and daughter that have been and will be shed, and the discussion of the relevant theme music for a meal (e.g., Creedence Clearwater for hot dogs) points to the relevancy of the theme song for Veronica Mars, the Dandy Warhols's "We Used to Be Friends." The lyrics of the song retool its opening line: "A long time ago, we used to be friends, but I haven't thought of you lately at all." The song can be read in a number of ways: because of her father's investigation into the death of Lilly Kane, Veronica became an outcast at school, and her old friends haven't thought of her lately at all; likewise, Lilly Kane has also not been able to think of her friend Veronica (because Lilly is dead). In the context of this episode, however, the song has a new, ironic dimension: Veronica is obsessed with Lilly; she cannot stop thinking about Lilly. It will be otherwise at the end.

  In the third scene, Keith Mars opens the paternity test and meets with a lawyer about suing the Kane family for the $50,000 they owe him but are refusing to pay. This re-establishes the antagonism between the two families, which will change in the course of the episode.

  In the fourth scene, two minor characters, Dick and Beaver (cf. Kane and Abel, above), read the newspaper article Keith Mars set in motion and remark that they were supposed to keep secret about something. This scene seems especially important at this moment, since the episode is called "Leave It to Beaver." This is the first half of the show's inciting incident, the thing that will set the plot in motion.

  In the fifth scene, Veronica Mars and Wallace discuss the newspaper article. Veronica's pride in her father is re-established, and she gets Wallace to help her avoid Logan Echolls (she found secret video recording equipment in his pool house in the previous episode). Wallace appears here only because he has nothing else to do in the episode, and a season finale would be incomplete without all of the show's main characters.

  In the next scene Keith Mars breaks up with Wallace's mother, Alicia Fennel, because his estranged wife, Veronica's mother, has returned. This break-up parallels the Logan-Veronica split that also occurs in this episode. Both Alicia Fennel and Logan are potential new members of the Mars household, and they have both been rejected. At this point in the episode family unity is what is wanted by both Keith and Veronica.

  We then cut to the Kane house, where Duncan Kane's father tells him that he murdered his sister in an epileptic fit. This is the answer we have been searching for all season, and Duncan has been a major suspect, but it is delivered so suddenly at the top of the finale that we know it is a false answer. The domestic scene at the Kanes'mother, father, and son-parallels Veronica's home life. The sitcom Leave It to Beaver is emblematic of the perfect family, and thus it makes sense that domestic life is at the heart of an episode that is named after it.

  The last scene of the teaser undercuts the "discovery" of the murderer by setting up a new suspect. Beaver arrives to tell Veronica that Logan was jealous of a new lover he discovered Lilly had and that he was not in Mexico as the police thought. The teaser is long, but a lot of information needs to be set up for the episode to work. The scenes are relatively isolated because they either establish or re-establish the status quo before the show gets its inciting incident: Logan killed Lilly and he must be
caught and punished. Now the show is in motion.

  Att One: Rrri sfty Lugatt EthvUs

  If each act is a miniature plot, the plot of act one is "Arresting Logan Echolls." It begins as Veronica and her father discuss Logan as a possible suspect. Veronica calls her father and confirms over the phone that she thinks Logan killed Lilly (Logan suspiciously pointed to Duncan as the killer) but is overheard by Weevil, another of Lilly's lovers. Keith meets with the Kanes, who offer to settle with him for $50,000 if Veronica waives all further claims on the Kane fortune.

  The show has hinted that Veronica is Jake Kane's illegitimate daughter; the next scene ends the question once and for all. Veronica agrees to never sue the Kane family and is told by Keith that she gave away nothing, because the paternity test he has proves that he is her real father. The show, through Keith, immediately suggests that they can go after Logan now. As a major part of the VeronicaDuncan conflict is resolved, a new tension is established: Veronica's brother didn't kill Lilly (she doesn't have a brother); her boyfriend, Logan, did.

  In the next scene, Aaron Echolls answers the door as the police come to search Logan's room, and the air vents in particular. It sets Aaron on the search for the tapes in the air vents in Lilly's room, and thus on a collision course with Veronica. But this scene serves a second important purpose: it re-establishes Aaron's existence in the show When he is revealed to be Lilly's killer, the more we have seen him, and the more recently we have seen him, the more powerful the effect will be. (If, for example, the killer turned out to be a minor character not seen since the pilot, we would feel we had been cheated of a satisfying ending.)

  Weevil goes to attack Logan, but Logan is arrested before he gets the chance. Veronica, responsible for both events, has both put Logan in danger and saved his life. As the police interrogate him, Logan learns it is Veronica who turned him in. This is the end of the show's first act. Acts always end with a plot point that hooks the audience into the next act by changing the direction of the show This act break is a key point of no return. No matter what happens, no matter who killed Lilly, Veronica has betrayed Logan and he knows it. (In season two we see that this betrayal has not prevented them from getting back together, but at this point we don't know that.) Act one closes with a false ending: Veronica Mars has her family back, and Lilly Kane's killer, with motive and opportunity, is in the hands of the police. Act two will take that false ending apart.