Thing 2 watched Wreck-It Ralph three or four times this weekend, meaning I watched it three or four times, too. Thing 2 doesn’t get a lot of screen time, but when he did, he picked Wreck-It Ralph.
Sunday, when it was time for lunch, I made him pause it once the movie reached a good stopping place. I picked the scene where Ralph, sneaks away from his game, where he’s the villain, to become a hero in a first-person shooter called Hero’s Duty. I hit “pause” right as Ralph crossed the threshold from Game Central Station into the other game, and I noticed the time:
Ralph enters Hero’s Duty right around the 17-minute mark.
In terms of storytelling, Act I is the setup. It’s where we meet the characters, find out when and where we are and what motivates the hero, and then something happens that changes the status quo and starts story gets rolling:
- H.I. climbs the ladder a second time to finally kidnap one of the Arizona quints (“They got more’n they can handle”) at around the 17-minute mark of Raising Arizona.
- Luke’s takes possession of the droids 17 minutes into Star Wars. The droids are what leads Luke to Obi-Wan Kenobi and Princess Leia and, ultimiately, the Death Star.
- Buddy leaves the North Pole to find is real dad 17 minutes into Elf.
- The shark eats the little boy on the raft 17 minutes into Jaws. It’s the movie’s second attack, but it’s what forces the town to close the beach and go after the shark.
- Kevin Costner is thinking about plowing under the baseball field he built in his cornfield until Shoeless Joe appears 17 minutes after the credits in Field of Dreams.
Of course, the 17-minute rule isn’t set in stone.
In the book I was reading, Lew Hunter’s Screenwriting 424, the chairman emeritus of UCLA’s film school calls it the “floating page 17″ rule, meaning the scene setting up the rest of the movie should come around page 17. There are plenty of examples of where that scene comes sooner or later — but only a little sooner or later.
How come?
Hunter says, basically, that 17 pages (about 17 minutes of screen time) is about how long it takes to set up the story and pull people in. Sooner, and we don’t know enough about the characters to care about what happens. Later, we just get bored.
Ever since I read Hunter’s book, I can’t help but notice when Act I ends and Act II begins. It’s usually around the 17-minute mark.
That’s interesting that it can be broken down into minutes. I always felt that there was a perfect balance of giving enough information, but also leaving out enough to keep the viewer interested. I love that you’ve noticed this practice in action. I’m the same way when I learn a “trade secret” or practice I definitely notice it every time as well.
Start checking your watch!
I definitely will!
Those are all big moments in those movies and pretty consistent proof of the 17 minute rule. I wonder if there is a similar idea for books.
See, now you’ve sent me off on a Google chase to find the specific forumlas for for writing genre fiction. I hope you’re happy.
hmmmm. I took a dialogue writing course a couple of years ago. It was focused on screenplays and I must’ve been absent when they spoke about the rule of 17. It makes sense though. Seems like you’re doing quite a bit with movies these days? Off to write one?
Nah. Just working.
Reblogged this on rendrasyahputrablog.
Aren’t there a few more rules along this line? I have a vague sense of encountering them somewhere. TV shows, of course, must have a slew of their own, just to set up the breaks for the commercials. And that’s even before we get around to placement of the opening credits, right off the bat or a few minutes later.
But contrarian that I am, I hate these formulas. They lead to cliches.
Can you think of any successful movies that avoid the rule of 17 — or for that matter, ignore going beyond an Act I?
There also seems to be a rule in a lot of dramas to have something tht shifts the action–e.g. a scene that is very sexy, sentimental, surprising, funny, big movement by the characters, or violent –happen every 8.5 minutes.