going down that hole. Screenwriters often organize
a film’s narrative structure around the viewer’s
desire to learn the answers to such central ques-
tions as, Will Dorothy get back to Kansas? or Will
Frodo destroy the ring?
In Sam Mendes’s American Beauty(1999; screen-
writer: Alan Ball), the very first scene introduces
us to two of the film’s central characters—Jane
Burnham (Thora Birch), the daughter of Lester
Burnham (Kevin Spacey); and Ricky Fitts (Wes
Bentley), the charismatic marijuana dealer and
video artist who lives next door—in a manner that
plants the idea that Ricky will kill Lester. The scene
opens with Jane on-screen being videotaped by
Ricky, whom we can hear but not see. Jane com-
plains about her father, calling him a “horny geek-
boy” rather than a “role model,” and she concludes
that “someone really should put him out of his mis-
ery.” Ricky, still offscreen, asks, “Want me to kill
him for you?” After a moment’s pause, Jane looks
straight into the camera and replies, “Yeah, would
you?” This scene (and the one that immediately fol-
lows, in which Lester tells us in a voice-over that
“in less than a year, I’ll be dead”) shapes our expec-
tations during the rest of the movie.
As we learn more about Ricky’s rebellious and
idiosyncratic nature, we wonder whether he may
be capable of using a deadly weapon at some point.
Our suspense is heightened as we learn more about
Ricky’s father, Frank Fitts (Chris Cooper), a gung-
ho, physically abusive marine colonel who collects
Nazi memorabilia. The complications mount as
Ricky and Lester strike up a friendly rapport and
as Jane’s mother, Carolyn Burnham (Annette Ben-
ing), starts brandishing a gun, implying that she
will use it to kill the husband she despises. At each
point, we adjust our expectations about the final
outcome, even as we know (because Lester has told
us) what that outcome will be.
Director Alfred Hitchcock treated his audi-
ences’ expectations in ironic, even playful, ways—
sometimes using the gun, so to speak, and
sometimes not—and this became one of his major
stylistic traits. Hitchcock used the otherwise
meaningless term MacGuffinto refer to an object,
document, or secret within a story that is of vital
importance to the characters, and thus motivates
their actions and the conflict, but that turns out to
be less significant to the overall narrative than we
might at first expect.^1 In Psycho(1960; screenwriter:FORM AND EXPECTATIONS 41(^1) Hitchcock discusses the MacGuffin in François Truffaut,
Hitchcock, rev. ed. (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1984),
pp. 137–139.
1
2
Expectations in Bonnie and ClydeMuch of the
development and ultimate impact of Arthur Penn’s Bonnie
and Clyde(1967) depends on the sexual chemistry between
the title characters [1], established through physical
expression, dialogue, and overt symbolism. Early in the film,
Clyde (Warren Beatty), ruthless and handsome, brandishes
his gun threateningly and phallically [2]. Attracted by this
display and others, the beautiful Bonnie (Faye Dunaway) is as
surprised as we are when Clyde later rebuffs her obvious
sexual attraction to him (at one point, he demurs, “I ain’t
much of a lover boy”). We may not like this contradiction, but
it is established early in the film and quickly teaches us that
our expectations will not always be satisfied.