There are screenwriting books that everyone references, and there are great screenwriting books. There are obviously a lot fewer of the latter, but John Yorke’s Into the Woods is one of them.
There’s probably a good reason that Into the Woods gets fewer name-checks than, for example, Save the Cat, which is–not to put too fine a point on it–that stupid people like easy answers.*
Into the Woods, however, proposes a structure quite a bit more sophisticated than the tired BS2. As such, it is of more use to experienced writers given that it provides a deeper structural, and thematic framework.
Into the Woods addresses not just the plot points with–if you’re lucky–a token reference to theme, but tracks the emotional resonance of the story alongside external events.
Yorke is absolutely correct that the Aristotelian three-act structure focuses primarily on external plot events. It works for what it is, but it specifically ignores that the emotional ride of the characters–the subjective story–can also influence the plot, but more importantly, it’s the reason we’re engaged enough to keep watching.
Conversely, if your story lacks a good subjective (emotional) story, your plot can have the best beats in the world and your story will still always seem flat.
Crucially, Yorke doesn’t throw the baby out with the bathwater.** His system doesn’t simply toss the three-act model; it deepens the model. It tracks what happens to the character as well as how the character changes in response.
The extra line being tracked here–the subjective journey–will be particularly useful where the story has a core psychological component.
As a case study, we’ll use Fight Club (1999), which is a specifically useful film to address here because the plot often seems jagged or disjointed when put into a three-act structure.** many are
Let’s break this down using Fight Club, one of the richest examples of a character-driven film that still functions with tight structure.
*Which, let’s be honest, explains just about everything wrong with the world. And AI.
**Take note, dear Humanities department.
Not because a bunch of limpdick fascist numbskulls like this film, failing to understand the fact that Fight Club is satire. I mean that’s true, but it’s not what we’re talking about here.
Rather, people often track the formation of Fight Club itself (the objective journey) while ignoring the relationship with Marla (the subjective journey). What we’ll see is that many crucial beats are based on/only involve the subjective journey.
I’ve often heard people squirm to explain why the film’s Inciting Incident is 30 minutes into the film (“I want you to hit me as hard as you can.”).
Hint: it’s not. It’s when Marla shows up at the support group meetings.
Jack (the Narrator) is challenged when a person just as fucked up as him enters his life. Someone might actually be able to understand him. If he can get over his own damage enough to let her in.
Yorke’s framework allows us to track Jack’s necessary breakdown and rebuild of the self–without giving us whiplash by flicking back and forth between sweaty, grunty men punching one other in lieu of fucking and, you know, the love story.
The skeleton of Yorke’s structure is here:
Act I: No Knowledge / Grounding / Awakening
Act II: Doubt / Overcoming Reluctance / Acceptance
Act III: Experimenting with Knowledge / MIDPOINT / Experimenting Post-Knowledge
Act IV: Doubt / Growing Reluctance / Regression
Act V: Reawakening / Reacceptance / Total Mastery
Let’s map each of these on to Fight Club.
Key Plot Points:
“No knowledge” means that Jack is in a broken place. He has a problem, but no way to fix it. His attempt at “grounding” is the support groups, but Marla disrupts this. He has an “awakening” when Tyler challenges him.
As we see, Act I serves to establish Jack’s psychological/emotional difficulty and its practical manifestation (insomnia). The mirror to his own psyche is introduced (Marla!), challenging him to change. It takes Tyler, however, to initiate the rupture/awakening.
If you’re still hung up on Tyler, I know Brad Pitt can do laundry on his own abs, but consider why Tyler appears when he appears. Tyler–wait for it–is a reaction to Marla.
Key Plot Points:
Subjective Arc:
Even though Jack is surprised at the squalor of Tyler’s squat house, he accepts it because of the obvious benefits Fight Club brings him. However, he still resents the vulnerability he would need to engage with Marla. He is totally put off by Tyler’s dalliance with Marla, but learns to live with it (Overcoming Reluctance). Finally, at Tyler’s urging, he kicks Marla out of the house (Acceptance). Why mess with things when Fight Club itself is going so well?
Function of Act II:
Jack is getting a lot out of Fight Club itself, but the toxic dynamic between Jack, Tyler, and Marla is unsustainable. Jack is put in a position of reliving his own childhood as a go-between for his parents’ difficult relationship.
From this standpoint, it is unclear how he can self-actualize even with the help of Fight Club.
Key Plot Points:
Subjective Arc:
The “human sacrifice” moment is both liberating and traumatic. Raymond K. Hessel might actually do what Tyler suggests, but only after he’s pissed himself with fear. This guerilla life coaching moment–surprisingly functional, yet fundamentally traumatizing–stinks of the worst qualities of Jack and Tyler’s baby, Fight Club.
Then Tyler gives Jack the lye kiss on the back of his hand. The branding is, effectively, Tyler stating his ownership of Jack. This crosses the line from self-actualization and empowerment to tyranny and subjugation.
Note how from the beginning of this act, we begin to see the film’s core point that self-actualization* taken to its extreme risks becoming fascism.
After the kiss, Project Mayhem goes about its mischief. The delicate balance Jack had been striking at work falls to shit when his boss finds the Fight Club rules in the copy machine.
*Let’s qualify this: at least in its guru-worship form. Cf. Zen master Linji: “If you meet the Buddha on the road, kill him.” Is that not where Jack ends up?
Function of Act III:
This is the hinge of the story.
Everything before this builds up, while everything after is consequences.
Experimenting with knowledge: the human sacrifice. The Midpoint: the kiss. Experimenting post-knowledge: Project Mayhem has fun, but consequences arise with Jack’s job.
Key Plot Points:
Subjective Arc:
Jack begins to question Tyler’s mission. He is scared of where it is (rather obviously) going, but he feels apathetic and powerless to stop it. He feels like he’s losing control of the thing he created (Fight Club) while Tyler becomes increasingly dictatorial. The father-son (or lover-lover) dynamic between Jack and Tyler goes sour when Tyler shows affection to Angel Face (Jared Leto). Jack learns that this was all a conspiracy: Tyler blew up Jack’s apartment in the first place. In the car crash, Tyler makes a human sacrifice of Jack. Then Tyler disappears.
Function of Act IV:
Jack feels powerless; Tyler has left him emotionally, then literally. Doubt: Jack is no longer on board with the scope of Fight Club/Project Mayhem. Growing Reluctance: Jack loses his connection with Tyler as well as his power to stop anything; he takes it out on Jared Leto.* Regression: Tyler tries to scare Jack straight with the car crash; then Tyler disappears.
Key Plot Points:
Subjective Arc:
Reawakening is Jack finally realizing the importance of his connection with Marla. Reacceptance is Jack accepting that Tyler is his own creation. Total Mastery is Jack’s ability to integrate the positive aspects of Tyler and become a whole person for the first time. He kills Tyler not out of violence, but clarity. He has chosen Marla–love–over destruction.
Function of Act V:
Note specifically how the internal and external plots converge here. Jack transforms not from winning an external battle, but because he has identified and integrated the fractured parts of his own diseased mind. Specifically, he does this by choosing a greater path: vulnerability, love, and truth–alongside the one person who is fucked up enough to appreciate him: Marla.
*Notably, this is long before 30 Seconds to Mars made punching Jared Leto in the face a collective human fantasy.
None of this is to suggest that Fight Club can’t be mapped into a traditional three-act structure. If we did so, it would look something like this:
The problem you might notice here is how the arc of Jack’s relationship with Marla gets muted by the louder plot points of the fighting/Project Mayhem. A lot of Act I gets lost, and we really have no idea how Marla weaves into the story.
However, with the five-act structure, we can make a good argument that the real turning points of the plot revolve around the shifting dynamic between Jack and Marla. Tyler appears because Marla appears: Jack, alone, is not able to appeal to Marla so he creates Tyler for the job. Then things get out of hand.
In short, Yorke isn’t expecting the writer to give up on a three-act structure entirely; rather, the five-act structure allows more nuance and subjective story into the plot. Given that Yorke’s analysis is based around psychological change, it’s hard to make the (common) mistake of prioritizing the external and muting the internal.
If you’re working on a plot-heavy story where it’s really just about a heist or protecting the people from the terrorists who just took over the building, then three acts is probably sufficient.
However, many stories benefit from deeper psychological engagement. If your story deals with questions of identity, inner struggles, breakdown, redemption, or transformation, then you might do well to consider a five-act map for your story.
In many ways, these stories are the subjective arc. That is, plot acts as a vehicle for the subjective change, not vice-versa.
Because these stories are the subjective arc. The plot serves the change, not the other way around.
Yorke’s core thesis is that story is about how someone changes at least as much as about what happens. The change, however, constitutes a tortuous path full of reversal, doubt, and rediscovery.
Imagine saying that Fight Club’s fundamental change is about blowing up credit card companies. That happens, but it rings hollow. The real story is about Jack coming to terms with his own fractured self, and realizing the work he must do to achieve true connection with another human being.
In such a story, Yorke’s five-act model gives you a firm way to grasp character arcs, emotional stakes, and guide a story through more than simple plot mechanics.
Take your current screenplay and answer the following for your protagonist:
Remember, the emotional map is what makes your story resonate for decades–not just disappear after you leave the theater.
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