TheFinale. The Coup de’ Grace. The End – No matter what you call it, the resolutionof a story is one of the most important aspects of a tale well told. While anentertaining journey is always worth the trip, the destination at the end ofthe journey cannot help but color our perception of the entire process. To analogizepoorly, a dog may enjoy a car-ride but his impressions will change greatly oncehe realizes he’s arrivedat the vet. In any case, whether you’re writing a short story or making an epictelevision show based on a hit fantasy novel series featuring dragons, arrivingat a satisfying and logical endpoint is a requirement if one aims to appeasethe audience. As a result, I thought it would be fun to take a (brief) look atwhat makes an ending work and why some are “good” and others not so much. Let’sget started…
(Very Basic) Story Structure
While Ihave a great deal to say on the concept of story structure, particularly as itrelates to its overly-formulaic (and thus confining) use within the modern worldof screenwriting, it is still important for anyone looking to tell (orunderstand) a story. While it might seem a basic concept, we should start by mentioningthat all stories – large or small – can be split into three distinct stages: Beginning,Middle, and End. The connection between those three is, at its best, anunbreakable bond that links them all in one continuous chain. Each exists to precipitate,or as a direct result of, the other.
Thebeginning is a promise to the audience, the middle is the keeping of thatpromise, and the end is the fulfillment of that promise made manifest. Moresimply put: the beginning sets up the characters, world, problems, and plot,the middle plays out the events set in place by the beginning, and the endingbrings all of this to a close. A story without an ending is much akin to a sportingmatch without a winner – a somewhat hollow and unfulfilling experience. Additionally,given the intrinsic bond between all parts of a story, a weak ending can retroactivelydamage a strong beginning or middle – the whole is only as strong as itsweakest link.
Last Impressions
Beyondthe structural reasons why a poor ending may degrade a story, another reasonthat a bad finish can be damning is the fact that it is the last impression astory leaves on the audience. Much like a sour bite at the end of a sweetdessert, the taste that lingers in our mouth at the end of a story can colorour entire experience. A good ending leaves the audience at its most engaged – turningover the details, events, and characters in their mind and wanting to discussthese aspects with those around them. It draws the viewer deeper into the worldof the story and makes them almost sad to see it end – feeling content whilestill longing for a bit more.
Thisdesire to linger just a while longer drives a certain excitement. It inspiresthe viewer to reminisce fondly over the things that they loved and to ponderwhat may lie next. Life itself is so full of unanswered questions andimperfections that the relative safety of a satisfying ending can provide a comfortnot always afforded by other aspects of existence. This does not mean that allstories must end with every thread resolved and each rock overturned, but justthat the final impression left to the viewer is one of completion – that whilethere may be more story yet to tell, this particular narrative is over. As aresult, do not discount the power of the final line/shot/scene to which theaudience is exposed – itmay well be the defining one of the piece.
Connective Tissue
Asmentioned before, the finale should (ultimately) bring to a close the variousthreads set forward at the outset. Characters should find themselves changed orre-confirmed in their values. Events should have played out to their logicalconclusions. The very world in which the story takes place should find itself permanentlyaltered in ways either big or small. One should be able to draw a straight linebetween specific things in the beginning and their corresponding resolutions atthe end. This doesn’t mean that a story cannot evolve and expand over time,finding various new routes to follow along the way, but just that it must deliveron its own premises.
Afamous example of this line of thinking is a concept known as Chekhov’s Gun. This particular“rule” of storytelling states that “elements should not appear to make ‘falsepromises’ by never coming into play.” An example, and one in whence the titular ‘gun’ appears, isthe notion that if a story makes particular mention of a gun then that gunshould be used in a meaningful way by the end of the narrative. To do otherwiseis a betrayal of audience expectations and investment – it tells them that payingattention to the details was a fool’s errand and thus diminishes their enjoymentof the story.
Satisfying and Logical
Anotherimportant aspect of the ending of a story is that it is both satisfying andlogical. Do the resolutions to storylines feel as if they are the logicalconclusion to the events proceeding them? Do plot elements or character arcsfeel natural or are they forced? While it is true that a good story can veer offin sometimes unexpected directions, the ultimate destination should always feelas if it was preordained – not in the sense that some broad notion of ‘fate’brought it there, but because it was a legitimate outcome based upon all thathad come before.
A good way tosee this notion in practice isto look at when it is handled poorly. The best example of such an occurrence isthe use of the ‘Deus ExMachina (a god from the machine).’ A Deus Ex Machina is “a plotdevice whereby a seemingly unsolvable problem in a story is suddenly andabruptly resolved by an unexpected and seemingly unlikely occurrence, typicallyso much as to seem contrived. Its function can be to resolve an otherwiseirresolvable plot situation, to surprise the audience, to bring the tale to ahappy ending, or act as a comedic device.”
The use of such a device – like havingyour characters rescued from an isolated sinking ship in their final moments bya randomly passing fishing boat – provides little satisfaction to the viewer.While they might be happy that things worked out well for the characters, they(rightly) feel as if the resolution was utterly disconnected from the rest ofthe story. It devalues the actions of the characters and undercuts theirsuccess – after all, what was the point of following along with their strugglesif they had no impact on their ultimate fate? It causes the entire story tofeel inconsequential and more akin to an anecdote than a narrative journey.
Compare the above example to analternate scenario wherein the same basic events occur, only this time they aredirectly influenced by the characters – people on an isolated sinking ship attemptto maneuver it closer to a well-known fishing spot and are then saved in theirfinal moments by a passing boat. While the same events technically occur, inthis case, they are a direct result of actions that take place over the courseof the story. Thus, unlike the empty outcome from before, the audience canappreciate that the character’s salvation was a consequence of thecirc*mstances they had been a party to. The logical nature of this resolutionis thus satisfying to the audience in a way that mere happenstance could neverbe.
Worthwhile Payoff
While we have spoken, viaChekhov’s gun, about the importance of using all the plot elements of the storyby its completion, the notion of a worthwhile payoff is deeper than merelychecking a few boxes. For instance, it is possible to have an entire filmdedicated to attempting to blow up a building only to then show the building explodeas a tiny blip from miles away. While this is technically following up on the notions set forth previously, it isalso likely (unless done for a very good reason) to anger the viewer. Asatisfying payoff is about not just arriving at the ‘promise of premise,’ butof it living up to the audience’sexpectations. Again, not in the sense that films can’t subvert expectations(this can be a very effective tactic), but just that it should deliver aresolution equal to or greater than that which a viewer might be reasonable toexpect based upon what was set up prior in the story.
Does the film promise a grandlove story? There better be an epickiss at the end, not some weak tentative flop. Disaster flick? Somethingmassive better be destroyed – no house of cards falling over, here. These arebut two examples of the type of worthwhile payoff that the audience wants.Additionally, as mentioned before, if you can find a narratively satisfying or compellingreason to not give us these things(the aforementioned subversion of expectations) then that can work just as well(if not better). That said, it is important that any such subversion, insofaras it relates to a finale, is not done merely for its own sake but to serve alarger purpose. People don’t mind being denied as long as they are givensomething equally interesting in its place and feel that their denial was an importantcomponent to their enjoyment. In short, don’t be anti-climactic – unless that’sthe point.
Resolution
Perhaps the most important jobof an ending is to provide resolution to the various aspects which comprise thestory in the mind of the audience. Again, unless intentional, avoid havingdangling threads or unanswered questions – basically, don’t leave the audiencefeeling as if they have experienced something incomplete. A good ending is simultaneouslythe cherry on top of the Sundae and the very bowl in which it rests. At itsmost pure, the ending is the way out of the story, both for the characters andthe viewer. It is the state in which we leave the world of the narrative andour expectations for a future untold.
Too many films choose to end their story with a teaser for an upcoming adventure – the promise that there is more to come. While knowing that characters we’ve (hopefully) come to know and love will live on, such a non-ending feels a slight to the viewer, a perpetual “tune-in next time.” While this can be justified in larger stories wherein a follow-up is both planned and known (think The Empire Strikes Back), it is too often implemented as a crutch by smaller tales who can think of no better use for the finale than to promote a sequel. Rather than consider what is best for the story they are telling, creators run the risk of focusing too heavily on what is to come. They feel that they can cover up a lackluster tale by promising to the audience that there are better things on the horizon – completely ignoring the fact that if they had a better story to tell then that’s where they should have started. After all, if they can’t live up the promise made within one film, why should the audience expect them to be able to do so on a grander scale?
Conclusion
In the end, the completion ofany story is as foundational as its beginning. They are inexorably linked – twohalves of the same whole. Without one the other has no meaning. The best storyin the world, told as well as any before, carries no weight without adestination. It is the reason that so many of the plotlines in soap operas tendto be mocked – not because of a poor performance from the actors (though thatcan happen), nor even bad writers (though, again, possible). No, the truereason is that, by their very nature of being never-ending stories, they cannotconclude. They must perpetually spin a yarn that stretches on into the infinite– Sisyphus,perpetually rolling the rock up a hill, never to be made whole by the completionof his task. Stakes give a story impact. Finality gives it meaning.
In truth, people are often willing to overlook a great manyfailings when it comes to stories: low production value, poor acting, badwriting, lackluster effects, and convoluted plots. Of all these, only one hasthe ability to so greatly alter the perception of all that has come before – a poorending. Look no further than the lasting damage done to the legacies ofonce-revered television shows because of the perception of an underwhelmingending (true or not): Dexter, LOST,and Game of Thrones just to name afew. While but one medium, these examples showcase the damage and loss of goodwillthat can result from an audience who feels betrayed.
The ending, in many ways, is the greatest display of themeand message that a story can offer. It provides the audience with the tools tounderstand both where it came from and how they can apply its lessons in theirown mind. While the phrase “It’s the journey, not the destination.” can certainlybe true of many things, rarely is that the case in storytelling. It is the destination that provides context andmeaning to the journey. Unlike the random and chaotic nature of existence,stories (in all forms) are a curated and controlled environment where each and everything that happens does so at the express will of an omnipotent creator(s). Thus,a story with a poor or nonexistent ending is but a reflection of the ineptitudeof those who have created it – of a lack of care or skill in the technique.More than that, a bad ending represents an artist unconcerned with the experienceof the audience – more interested in pumping out a product or meeting adeadline than of the actual impact of their work.
All this to say: if you are creating a story, no matter the lengthor medium, make sure you take care to craft an ending that lives up to your own expectations. If you are not fully satisfied,it is unlikely that anyone else will be either. Just like in aeronautics,sticking the landing is perhaps even more important than getting off theground.
And then he was rescued by a randomly passing ship. The End.
Chris
