Christopher Vogler's books, The Writer's Journey, and Memo to the Story Dept., are available from Michael Wiese Productions.
Dave Watson: Your background is rooted in mythic structure. How did you get started in this?
Christopher Vogler: It’s a childhood thing. It was a response to input, growing up in the fifties and sixties. My mother and grandmother read me fairy tales and they were like “thought laboratories” where I could work out my ideas about how the world works. I just saw Into the Woods and there it is in the lyrics of the final song, where Meryl Streep’s character tells us that “Children will listen” and that it matters what you do and say in front of the kids.
My father also had a big impact. I remember when my mom was in the hospital, and I had to stay home from school because of a sprained ankle, my dad, who was a construction worker and not a big reader, went to the library and brought me a pile of books on myths -- Greek, Roman, Norse, Celtic. It electrified and inspired me because I saw repeating patterns in those stories, suggesting that they all came from some archetypal source.
DW: How old were you when this happened?
CV: Eleven or twelve years old. I saw how the stories revolved around families of Gods, and saw patterns in those stories.
DW: In the book Memo From The Story Dept., you and David McKenna discuss the contract with the audience, beyond entertainment, yet some movies I feel violate this contract five minutes into a movie and some very late in the story. Why?
CV: Violate?
DW: Maybe that’s too strong a word. Ignore?
CV: In some movies the passion of the filmmakers fulfills the contract but some are a “just a piece of business," a phrase used in the industry to justify shoddy stories. What I mean by “contract with the audience” is: the audience is giving up its time, money, and imagination, so you as filmmaker had better give them something pretty valuable in return. Now, some films only exist because they are trying to get as much out of a franchise as possible with twenty-seven unjustified, empty sequels. Some directors, on the other hand, are passionate about storytelling and will always give us something a little provocative, educational, and nutritional.
DW: It’s funny you say nutritional, because seeing a great movie can be so satisfying and inspiring, and it’s why we go back again and again. The contract also holds that the film will be sensational, which is why I love movies. You?
CV: When I first saw films, I didn’t understand that there was a moral lesson to come from or to be drawn from them. I was initially attracted to the industry with the desire to amaze, growing up with the Ray Harryhausen and Disney films. They took me out of my time and place. I didn’t realize they were layered with life lessons, that if you pay to see them you actually score lessons in life. You deal better with people.
DW: You just spoke practically. You can apply movies to your own life.
CV: That transference can also coarsen us, cheapen us. If we celebrate too much negative behavior, we can cross over, way over, into terrible things.
DW: I talked with a friend a few years ago when Django Unchained was out, and he doesn’t like Quentin Tarantino, and I said, “Yes, and people see his movies in droves.” The Wolf of Wall Street also comes to mind.
CV: These are edgy movies. There’s a concept in advertising, that you should push things to the “edge of the table” where people are just about ready to say “That’s too much. That crosses a boundary.” Some filmmakers are most comfortable right on that edge.
DW: About your first book, The Writer’s Journey, why is that the hero’s journey is so common? Why do so many films follow it, even if it’s outside or playing with chronological narrative?
CV: It’s pretty amazing that that journey has occurred and recurred in the shape of entertainment and other fields. It’s a universal description, whether you’re starting a business, a new relationship, starting a family; it’s a model of human behavior, and a tool.
DW: You speak practically, it’s a guide.
CV: From Day one of writing The Writer’s Journey, I’ve called it a practical guide. These stories are built to preserve knowledge and wisdom. We don’t have to reinvent the wheel; it’s hard-wired into us. There’s an academic concept about story called “suturing,” which means the process of gradually drawing an audience into your narrative universe, so they forget they are reading a made-up story or watching actors in front of a camera. The audience is hypnotized and in an altered state of consciousness. When you are in that state, it’s pleasurable, you’re dreaming and you get to process your life through the metaphor of the story. You also think, “Where am I in here?” We like to find ourselves in every story.
DW: No matter how exotic the film is.
CV: Bruno Bettelheim described this in The Uses of Enchantment: how fairy tales work on you in different ways at different times. When I was a kid I saw something admirable in Superman, and I still think of him as an adult. I’m still mining the territory.
DW: Reading your work, you say needs dictate structure. Have you ever seen this reversed? Does it work?
CV: Sure, it can. That’s why I’m delighted by the toolbox. It’s so flexible. You can do a story based on the twelve signs of the Zodiac and the structure can be almost mathematical, and yet it can still be a vehicle for a good emotional, human story. Whether the story comes from passion or is sort of mathematical or schematic, you’re always tapping both sides of the brain. I’m always pleased when people play with this structure and surprised with how stories organize experiences. It’s infinitely fascinating.
DW: Character archetypes still show up, in recent movies such as Wild, The Imitation Game, Nightcrawler, and Birdman. It’s still prevalent.
CV: I think of them as tools, and deep, persistent patterns. Even with two or three Acts, or the twelve stages—they are archetypes of structure. As people we tend to categorize at given moments. We’ll meet someone and think, “That’s a villain, a potential girlfriend, boyfriend.” It helps us organize experience quickly.
I recently went back to St. Louis and saw the family farm where I grew up. I forgot how big the skies are there, and somehow the big sky invited my imagination to expand to fill that space.
DW: In Memo to the Story Dept., you talk about Vladimir Propp’s character functions and the character types described by Theophrastus. They seem just as important today with star-headlined movies. Is it hard to employ them in stories that revolve around one character as so many mainstream movies do?
CV: I believe since earliest times stories are usually built around one character, the hero, and the others develop as reflections of the hero -- his or her ally, antagonist, mentor, lover etc. There are some exceptions and some stories have equally balanced characters. Some of the classics such as The Three Musketeers or modern ones like the Marvel comics franchises.
DW: The new Avengers comes out this summer and that seems to be a balancing act in some ways.
CV: I also like the Hellboy films. They’re all hung on one character but the minor characters add a ton.
DW: Who uses The Writer’s Journey tools the best these days?
CV: Well, (laughs) I’m impressed by how it shows up in the work of some people but I’m not sure they’re aware of it. Obviously George Lucas is influenced by Joseph Campbell and his work. Darren Aronofsky uses the tools brilliantly; I’ve met and discussed his work with him. J.J. Abrams is about to tip the scales as he revived the Star Trek franchise and is about to re-launch the Star Wars empire. He seems to have great intuition as he takes stories and reinvents them. I think great filmmakers intuitively tap into these ideas even if they aren’t consciously aware of them.
Stories come from real people, and people who make films often love people. You can tell that’s why they make films.
DW: Yet some people look at a director, say David Fincher, and with Gone Girl, thought he was a misanthrope.
CV: Otto Preminger was known for that. Hitchcock too, to some extent. Sometimes directors make the same stories over and over with variations. Woody Allen comes to mind. Martin Scorsese’s movies all center around a character behaving outrageously and that behavior destroying the lives of those around him, but having a damned good time doing it.
DW: What are you currently working on? And what’s next?
CV: I’m back in animation, where the storylines still come from classic fairytales. They’re still a treasure trove! And I’m trying to understand how to structure larger stories, in the universe of long-running dramas for TV like Downton Abbey or Breaking Bad. I’m in a program in Puglia, Italy on how to structure these stories. In some ways they are like the epics of ancient times.
DW: Some say, especially Mark Penn with his book Microtrends, that our attention spans aren’t getting shorter, that we yearn for big books and long, extended storylines. You see this in TV series. I can’t get enough of House of Cards.
CV: That’s the one I study the most! The shortening of our attention spans has created a hunger for longer stories. Look at Charles Dickens. I recently had an Italian composer create music based on The Writer’s Journey. He approached me and said he created twelve movements based on the twelve stages. It’s great when you inspire. You can follow the music’s progress on my blog.
DW: After teaching and traveling the world, what is your favorite cinematic moment?
CV: It’s a moment about fifteen minutes into Richard Fleischer’s The Vikings, from 1958 with Kirk Douglas and Tony Curtis. (The History Channel series Vikings is drawn from the same source material, a Norse epic about a real Viking leader.) It’s when Ernest Borgnine, who plays Ragnar, is sailing his ship back to Norway and his ship sails into the fjords. The village rushes down to meet him and it’s an over the top celebration. It’s a wonderful scene that still amazes me.
Clip: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gays7kImkT4
Dave Watson is a writer and educator. He lives in Madison, WI.
Dave Watson: Your background is rooted in mythic structure. How did you get started in this?
Christopher Vogler: It’s a childhood thing. It was a response to input, growing up in the fifties and sixties. My mother and grandmother read me fairy tales and they were like “thought laboratories” where I could work out my ideas about how the world works. I just saw Into the Woods and there it is in the lyrics of the final song, where Meryl Streep’s character tells us that “Children will listen” and that it matters what you do and say in front of the kids.
My father also had a big impact. I remember when my mom was in the hospital, and I had to stay home from school because of a sprained ankle, my dad, who was a construction worker and not a big reader, went to the library and brought me a pile of books on myths -- Greek, Roman, Norse, Celtic. It electrified and inspired me because I saw repeating patterns in those stories, suggesting that they all came from some archetypal source.
DW: How old were you when this happened?
CV: Eleven or twelve years old. I saw how the stories revolved around families of Gods, and saw patterns in those stories.
DW: In the book Memo From The Story Dept., you and David McKenna discuss the contract with the audience, beyond entertainment, yet some movies I feel violate this contract five minutes into a movie and some very late in the story. Why?
CV: Violate?
DW: Maybe that’s too strong a word. Ignore?
CV: In some movies the passion of the filmmakers fulfills the contract but some are a “just a piece of business," a phrase used in the industry to justify shoddy stories. What I mean by “contract with the audience” is: the audience is giving up its time, money, and imagination, so you as filmmaker had better give them something pretty valuable in return. Now, some films only exist because they are trying to get as much out of a franchise as possible with twenty-seven unjustified, empty sequels. Some directors, on the other hand, are passionate about storytelling and will always give us something a little provocative, educational, and nutritional.
DW: It’s funny you say nutritional, because seeing a great movie can be so satisfying and inspiring, and it’s why we go back again and again. The contract also holds that the film will be sensational, which is why I love movies. You?
CV: When I first saw films, I didn’t understand that there was a moral lesson to come from or to be drawn from them. I was initially attracted to the industry with the desire to amaze, growing up with the Ray Harryhausen and Disney films. They took me out of my time and place. I didn’t realize they were layered with life lessons, that if you pay to see them you actually score lessons in life. You deal better with people.
DW: You just spoke practically. You can apply movies to your own life.
CV: That transference can also coarsen us, cheapen us. If we celebrate too much negative behavior, we can cross over, way over, into terrible things.
DW: I talked with a friend a few years ago when Django Unchained was out, and he doesn’t like Quentin Tarantino, and I said, “Yes, and people see his movies in droves.” The Wolf of Wall Street also comes to mind.
CV: These are edgy movies. There’s a concept in advertising, that you should push things to the “edge of the table” where people are just about ready to say “That’s too much. That crosses a boundary.” Some filmmakers are most comfortable right on that edge.
DW: About your first book, The Writer’s Journey, why is that the hero’s journey is so common? Why do so many films follow it, even if it’s outside or playing with chronological narrative?
CV: It’s pretty amazing that that journey has occurred and recurred in the shape of entertainment and other fields. It’s a universal description, whether you’re starting a business, a new relationship, starting a family; it’s a model of human behavior, and a tool.
DW: You speak practically, it’s a guide.
CV: From Day one of writing The Writer’s Journey, I’ve called it a practical guide. These stories are built to preserve knowledge and wisdom. We don’t have to reinvent the wheel; it’s hard-wired into us. There’s an academic concept about story called “suturing,” which means the process of gradually drawing an audience into your narrative universe, so they forget they are reading a made-up story or watching actors in front of a camera. The audience is hypnotized and in an altered state of consciousness. When you are in that state, it’s pleasurable, you’re dreaming and you get to process your life through the metaphor of the story. You also think, “Where am I in here?” We like to find ourselves in every story.
DW: No matter how exotic the film is.
CV: Bruno Bettelheim described this in The Uses of Enchantment: how fairy tales work on you in different ways at different times. When I was a kid I saw something admirable in Superman, and I still think of him as an adult. I’m still mining the territory.
DW: Reading your work, you say needs dictate structure. Have you ever seen this reversed? Does it work?
CV: Sure, it can. That’s why I’m delighted by the toolbox. It’s so flexible. You can do a story based on the twelve signs of the Zodiac and the structure can be almost mathematical, and yet it can still be a vehicle for a good emotional, human story. Whether the story comes from passion or is sort of mathematical or schematic, you’re always tapping both sides of the brain. I’m always pleased when people play with this structure and surprised with how stories organize experiences. It’s infinitely fascinating.
DW: Character archetypes still show up, in recent movies such as Wild, The Imitation Game, Nightcrawler, and Birdman. It’s still prevalent.
CV: I think of them as tools, and deep, persistent patterns. Even with two or three Acts, or the twelve stages—they are archetypes of structure. As people we tend to categorize at given moments. We’ll meet someone and think, “That’s a villain, a potential girlfriend, boyfriend.” It helps us organize experience quickly.
I recently went back to St. Louis and saw the family farm where I grew up. I forgot how big the skies are there, and somehow the big sky invited my imagination to expand to fill that space.
DW: In Memo to the Story Dept., you talk about Vladimir Propp’s character functions and the character types described by Theophrastus. They seem just as important today with star-headlined movies. Is it hard to employ them in stories that revolve around one character as so many mainstream movies do?
CV: I believe since earliest times stories are usually built around one character, the hero, and the others develop as reflections of the hero -- his or her ally, antagonist, mentor, lover etc. There are some exceptions and some stories have equally balanced characters. Some of the classics such as The Three Musketeers or modern ones like the Marvel comics franchises.
DW: The new Avengers comes out this summer and that seems to be a balancing act in some ways.
CV: I also like the Hellboy films. They’re all hung on one character but the minor characters add a ton.
DW: Who uses The Writer’s Journey tools the best these days?
CV: Well, (laughs) I’m impressed by how it shows up in the work of some people but I’m not sure they’re aware of it. Obviously George Lucas is influenced by Joseph Campbell and his work. Darren Aronofsky uses the tools brilliantly; I’ve met and discussed his work with him. J.J. Abrams is about to tip the scales as he revived the Star Trek franchise and is about to re-launch the Star Wars empire. He seems to have great intuition as he takes stories and reinvents them. I think great filmmakers intuitively tap into these ideas even if they aren’t consciously aware of them.
Stories come from real people, and people who make films often love people. You can tell that’s why they make films.
DW: Yet some people look at a director, say David Fincher, and with Gone Girl, thought he was a misanthrope.
CV: Otto Preminger was known for that. Hitchcock too, to some extent. Sometimes directors make the same stories over and over with variations. Woody Allen comes to mind. Martin Scorsese’s movies all center around a character behaving outrageously and that behavior destroying the lives of those around him, but having a damned good time doing it.
DW: What are you currently working on? And what’s next?
CV: I’m back in animation, where the storylines still come from classic fairytales. They’re still a treasure trove! And I’m trying to understand how to structure larger stories, in the universe of long-running dramas for TV like Downton Abbey or Breaking Bad. I’m in a program in Puglia, Italy on how to structure these stories. In some ways they are like the epics of ancient times.
DW: Some say, especially Mark Penn with his book Microtrends, that our attention spans aren’t getting shorter, that we yearn for big books and long, extended storylines. You see this in TV series. I can’t get enough of House of Cards.
CV: That’s the one I study the most! The shortening of our attention spans has created a hunger for longer stories. Look at Charles Dickens. I recently had an Italian composer create music based on The Writer’s Journey. He approached me and said he created twelve movements based on the twelve stages. It’s great when you inspire. You can follow the music’s progress on my blog.
DW: After teaching and traveling the world, what is your favorite cinematic moment?
CV: It’s a moment about fifteen minutes into Richard Fleischer’s The Vikings, from 1958 with Kirk Douglas and Tony Curtis. (The History Channel series Vikings is drawn from the same source material, a Norse epic about a real Viking leader.) It’s when Ernest Borgnine, who plays Ragnar, is sailing his ship back to Norway and his ship sails into the fjords. The village rushes down to meet him and it’s an over the top celebration. It’s a wonderful scene that still amazes me.
Clip: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gays7kImkT4
Dave Watson is a writer and educator. He lives in Madison, WI.
