This May has been quite a busy month, and I haven't managed to read much. However, I have finally finished studying Luca Aimeri's _Manuale di Sceneggiatura Cinematografica_ (Screenwriting Manual). It was an interesting read, surprising in some ways. Little by little, I'm summarizing in these pages the things that struck me most and that I'm trying to make my own. ### Our Narrative Laws (So Far) In the three previous posts of this somewhat impromptu series, we've distilled some "rules" or, if you prefer, recurring insights into the world of writing and narration: 1. There is no story without conflict, just as there is no conflict without a story within it. [Anatomy of an Idea](BLOG/2025/05/Anatomy%20of%20an%20Idea%20-%20When%20a%20Question%20Becomes%20a%20Story.md) 2. There is no story without characters, and there are no (engaging) characters without (significant) actions. [It's All About Them](BLOG/2025/05/It's%20All%20About%20Them%20-%20Unpacking%20the%20Centrality%20of%20Characters%20in%20Any%20Story.md) 3. There is no story without a fall that initiates it, nor a fall without the push that causes it. [No Change, No Story](BLOG/2025/05/No%20Change,%20No%20Story%20-%20The%20Necessity%20of%20Breaking%20a%20Character's%20Equilibrium.md) We have therefore reached the point where we know that stories are born from the breaking of an equilibrium (the _fall_, triggered by a _push_), develop through the actions of characters, and are held together by persistent conflict. But, like a navigator who has the map and knows the starting point, we are still missing something fundamental to undertake the journey: the destination. Or, at least, a direction. ### The Character's Compass: The Indispensable Goal Our characters, shaken by the breaking of equilibrium, have an implicit macro-goal of returning to a new position of stability, possibly (but not necessarily) better than the starting point. But how can they orient themselves in this stormy sea? How can they give meaning to their actions? **A specific goal is missing.** We must provide our characters with a clear purpose, "something" to achieve, to obtain, to conquer. And the story, in large part, thus becomes the tale of how a character, usually the protagonist, desperately tries to reach that goal. It doesn't matter how long or tortuous the journey will be, nor how many trials they will have to face: **everything revolves around this objective, whether real or symbolic.** Goals can take countless forms, adapting to the nature of the story and the character: - **Concrete and tangible**: finding a hidden treasure, saving a loved one from imminent danger, defeating a sworn enemy, reaching a mythical place. - **Abstract and internal**: conquering lost happiness, finding one's place in the world, overcoming a paralyzing fear, obtaining redemption for past mistakes. - **Imposed from the outside**: a mission to be accomplished on behalf of a higher authority, an injustice to be righted to defend the weakest. - **Born from a deep and visceral need**: the search for truth at all costs, an irrepressible desire for revenge, the compelling need to protect something or someone. ### The Importance of Importance (for the Character) And here comes a crucial point, also emphasized by Aimeri: it is not even strictly necessary for the goal to be fully shared, understood, or even known in minute detail by the reader or viewer. **The only thing that truly matters is that the goal is absolutely fundamental, vital, for the character.** It is they, with their inner world, their value system, their desires, and their fears, who infuse value and meaning into this **objective**. ### The Elusive Allure of the McGuffin There is a term, made famous by Alfred Hitchcock, that perfectly encapsulates this concept of "a goal that drives the plot but is not necessarily significant for the audience": the **McGuffin**. The McGuffin can be a physical object (secret documents, a jewel, a statuette), a secret, a scientific formula, a person, or even an abstract idea. It is that "something" that the characters in the story desperately seek, for which they fight and risk everything. But for us viewers or readers, its intrinsic nature can be entirely secondary, sometimes even unknown. To clarify this better, let's think of a couple of classic examples: - In Hitchcock's _North by Northwest_, the entire plot revolves around the search for phantom "government secrets." A deliberately vague definition, almost an empty formula, which is nevertheless sufficient to trigger all the characters' adventures. - In Quentin Tarantino's _Pulp Fiction_, a mysterious briefcase is at the center of many of the events. The characters are willing to kill for it, but we viewers will never find out what it contains. Its content is, for the purpose of our experience, irrelevant. But the examples could go on: the Death Star plans in _Star Wars_ are vital for the Rebellion, but for us, they are just the pretext for an epic adventure. The Ark of the Covenant in _Raiders of the Lost Ark_ is the object of desire for the entire duration of the film, only to end up, once its narrative function is fulfilled, abandoned in an anonymous government warehouse. **Moreover, a story often features a chain of McGuffins**, or intermediate goals. In classic treasure hunt stories, the final goal is the chest full of gold doubloons. But to get there, it might first be necessary to find a map indicating its location; and even before that, perhaps, to acquire a suitable ship to sail the seven seas. This mechanism highlights a possible, and sometimes necessary, disconnect between the characters' perception and that of the audience: **it is not essential for the goal to have universal value or to be understandable in minute detail by those experiencing the story**. What is absolutely crucial is that it is **perceived as fundamental by the protagonist**. It is the character who, with their obsession, their desire, their fear, or their determination, gives importance to the goal. As Aimeri reminds us, "**It is the protagonist's action to achieve that goal that gives value and is the engine of the story**." The goal, therefore, whether it's a fabulous treasure, a mysterious briefcase, or the salvation of a loved one, serves essential narrative functions: 1. **To give clear and defined direction to the protagonist's action.** 2. **To generate conflict**, both with antagonists who aspire to the same result, and with the obstacles (physical, mental, emotional) that stand in the way of its achievement. 3. **To reveal the protagonist's character** through the choices they make, the limits they are willing to overcome, and the sacrifices they are ready to face to reach the goal. Whether the goal is considered noble or petty, whether it is concrete as a mountain of gold or abstract as inner peace, it becomes the **measure of the character's commitment** and the **catalyst for their transformations**. At this point, we can add a fourth "law" to our collection: > There is no character without a goal to propel them, nor a goal that does not define their journey and their worth. Once our hero has a goal, a clear direction towards which to strive, their journey can truly begin. But a story is not just a starting point and an ending point, nor the simple description of a goal. It is made of intermediate stages, crucial choices, and significant events that follow one another with an internal logic. And how are these events chosen and organized? How is the path built that leads from the broken equilibrium to the (perhaps) new equilibrium, passing through the achievement (or failure to achieve) the goal? Of this, and the crucial art of selecting narrative events, we will talk in our next post. For now, these reflections on the goal and the McGuffin will suffice. See you around! 👋