Arcaneya

Category: Storytelling

  • Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny (2023): The most underwhelming ending in history of franchises

    Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny delivers everything fans could hope for — thrilling action sequences, nostalgic callbacks, and Harrison Ford’s outstanding performance as an aging yet still spirited Indy. The film balances humor, history, and heart, successfully transporting viewers on one last globe-trotting quest filled with mystery and excitement. For the most part, it’s a satisfying addition to the legendary franchise.

    However, considering this was meant to be Harrison Ford’s final outing as Indiana Jones, the ending was as underwhelming as a birthday party where the host drops the cake—with the candles still lit. Instead of a powerful farewell that honors the character’s legacy, the movie opts for a quiet, almost anticlimactic conclusion. Indy’s fate wasn’t his to decide — Helena knocks him out and drags him back to the present, while the final emotional reconciliation with Marion feels orchestrated off-screen, stripping Indy of any real agency in his own story.

    This lack of meaningful closure undercuts the emotional depth the franchise has carefully built around its beloved hero over five legendary installments. Indiana Jones — a character defined by his courage and decisive action — is reduced to passivity when he should be at his most engaged and reflective. For a franchise that has thrilled audiences for decades and left an unforgettable mark on cinema history, this ending feels like a surprisingly flat finale.

    So the question is: what would a more meaningful ending look like? The filmmakers actually had an incredible opportunity to deliver a deeply emotional and satisfying farewell — one that truly honors Indiana Jones’s legacy — right there in the palm of their hands.

    A Suggested Rewrite for a More Fulfilling Ending

    Imagine if, instead of wanting to stay in ancient Sicily just for the sake of it, Indy confides in the great Archimedes that he’s really trying to escape the chaos in his life — especially the troubles with his wife. Archimedes then becomes a voice of reason and heart, counseling Indy:

    “It is love that truly bends time and amends the past. Your journey isn’t over until you choose to heal what you left behind.”

    This moment would give Indy the emotional clarity and agency to decide to return to the present, not out of force, but out of hope and love. It would also transform the Dial of Destiny from a mere plot device into a destined symbol of his personal redemption and healing.

    Such an ending would provide powerful and poetic closure — showing that after a lifetime of thrilling adventures and chasing legendary artifacts with the power to bend time and space, Indy’s greatest discovery isn’t a material treasure, but the power of love and the courage to express it.

    Ira

  • Understanding the Villains from the Concept That All Is One

    Let’s face it: villains are an essential part of every story. When they make their entrance, we often instinctively feel that their presence is justified—that they belong within the narrative’s world and purpose. Yet, all too often, villains come across as out of place or forced, lacking clear motivations that resonate with the audience. This disconnect can make the story feel unbalanced or unconvincing.

    To craft compelling villains—and to avoid these common pitfalls—we need to understand them on a deeper level. One powerful way to do this is through the concept of oneness, the idea that everything is interconnected. Embracing this perspective can reveal the intricate reasons behind a villain’s appearance and help us see them not as isolated antagonists, but as vital, integrated parts of the story’s whole.

    Mind creates

    First of all, we must remember the creative power of our minds. Our thoughts serve as the blueprint upon which our personal universe is built. When we replace an old belief with a new thought, we change the underlying energy—and our physical reality can do nothing but gradually, yet surely, manifest this new blueprint.

    Others are part of us

    Because they are part of our mind, our thoughts, and the blueprint—consequently our reality—they are nothing but part of us. We can freely choose what our thoughts about everybody else will be, and consequently watch them getting closer to or further away from us.

    If someone is affraid of something, we want them gone

    Because we are one with them, we feel their fear suffocating our soul. Naturally, we want to push them away, and if that fear doesn’t change, we desire to see them gone forever.

    People who are afraid often wither away, as the universe naturally lets go of them. The only way for anyone to truly flourish is through the opposite of fear—love.

    The same goes for selfishness

    So fear is, in a way, our reality’s integral choice to disconnect. But the same idea applies to selfishness, which is a far more deliberate decision.

    When someone makes that choice, they once again separate themselves from the rest of us—and as a result, they will wither away.

    The same goes for all negativity

    The same goes for all other negative acts—anger, hatred, greed, envy, and for example deceit—all serve to deepen the divide, pushing the individual further from unity and vitality, until only isolation remains.

    Villains are universal magic

    The villains are basically the universe’s way of getting rid of the unwanted—those who, through selfishness, fear, or other negative acts, have disconnected from themselves/ourselves. Their emergence in a story reflects the audience’s collective desire to confront and remove these disconnected parts.

    Or rather, present the proganists who made bad choices with trials and tribulations—challenges meant to help them realize that something is amiss within themselves and, if possible, to correct their course and mend their actions.

    Which is exactly what the whole storytelling actually is.

    Final thoughts

    So, when we see a villain on screen, now we know what’s their purpose. They represent hero’s shadow/negative self. And vice versa, when we see a hero being chased by villains, we can now understand why it came to that. It’s rarely that they are innocent victims.

    They have done something fearful or selfish, and the universe—meaning the audience, including yourself—is responding to that.

    You might ask yourself, Why do I want to see this character removed or challenged? This is the very question the audience is asking as well.

    As a writer, know that sooner or later, the audience will want to uncover those hero’s flaws or negative traits—and they will want to see them addressed and transformed. Don’t leave this arc unresolved.

    In this way, the emergence of villains will allways remain meaningful and justified.

    Ira

  • Jurassic World Dominion (2022) – they sure stomped on the plot

    When Jurassic World arrived into theaters in 2015, it wasn’t perfect, but it had enough awe, nostalgia, and teeth to win audiences over. But with each sequel, the franchise’s score — and storytelling quality — has taken a noticeable dive. By the time Dominion arrives, the dinosaurs are still running, but the plot feels like it’s out of breath. The premise of humans and dinosaurs coexisting had real potential, but Dominion squanders it with disjointed storytelling, hollow villains, and the baffling choice to turn a once-promising character like Maisie into little more than a tool to move the story along.

    It’s always sad to see a beloved franchise lose its way. So instead of dwelling on Dominion’s missteps, let’s imagine the story it could’ve told — one that honors the legacy and gives the dinosaurs (and especially characters) the spotlight they deserve.

    For example, let’s center it around the classic girl-meets-boy dynamic, which I don’t think we’ve seen yet with the dinos.

    Lose the opening data dump

    First of all, lose the data dump the the beginning. Nothing kills momentum faster than front-loading a story with walls of exposition. Trust the audience to catch up — let the world unfold naturally, through action, tension, and character. If you have to explain everything upfront, maybe the story’s not ready to be told.

    Ramp up the intensity

    The idea of giant beasts roaming freely through cities completely kills the tension the franchise built up. Instead, imagine dinosaurs contained in secure reservations, with tight monitoring and red alerts blaring whenever one gets too close to humans. That controlled danger keeps the stakes high without turning the story into a chaotic free-for-all.

    Split the world in two camps

    One pushing for strict restrictions and safety protocols, and the other—think Greenpeace-style activists—fighting to give the dinosaurs more freedom. This clash creates real conflict and raises ethical questions, grounding the story in something meaningful instead of just random chaos.

    Increase the debate

    A dinosaur, finally freed by the activists, accidentally stumbles into a town, destroying houses and tragically killing some people. Suddenly, the debate isn’t just theoretical — it’s urgent, messy, and heartbreaking. This forces both sides to confront the real consequences of their choices.

    Give us protagonist who is human/flawed

    Which means starting out fearful. Someone who flinches at every roar, hides when danger comes, and wants nothing more than to stay safe. Maybe because of some bad experience in the past. But slowly, moment by moment, they grow. Not because the fear disappears, but because they learn to move through it. By the end, they don’t just survive the world of dinosaurs — they earn their place in it. A teenage girl would make that part most appropriate with her archetypal scream.

    Make protagonist live her normal life

    Since the premise is a world where humans live alongside dinosaurs, let the protagonist actually live in it. Let her go to school, deal with curfews triggered by a nearby raptor sighting, complain about dino-proof lockers, and maybe awkwardly meet a crush while ducking behind a reinforced bus stop. Show us the everyday normal in this new world — the blend of awe, fear, and routine. That’s where the story starts to feel real.

    The magician archetype

    Although fearful, she’s still magical, like the magician archetype. Have her stand in the middle of Grandma’s doorway with a big gift for her birthday. She smiles sincerely, heart in her eyes, sparkling with potential. She is the gift.

    Grandma: “What’s in it?”
    Her: “It’s the dino radar. ‘Cause you live out here…”

    Also, what’s a more commonplace event than dinner at Grandma’s, complete with an intense debate about the new circumstances?

    Make her boyfriend the opposite

    Her crush? He’s the opposite — bold, fearless, the kind of guy who sneaks into restricted zones just to get a little closer to the dinosaurs, grinning the whole time and take selfies. But it’s not just for show. He likes them — really respects them. Behind the daredevil exterior is someone who feels connected to these creatures, and that’s what draws him toward the environmentalist camp.

    Mirror their differences on the world stage

    The divide between her and her boyfriend is echoed on a larger scale — the government is split too. One side pushes for aggressive control: culling populations, tightening borders, treating dinosaurs as dangerous pests. The other argues for coexistence and protection, pointing to the black market and poaching as the real threat.

    In his eyes she should see who she is

    She takes the cautious path, pushing for stricter control over the dinosaurs. But the harder she fights, the more she sees it’s hurting him — and, in turn, hurting her.

    Have them try to make love in the reinforced cabin in the middle of woods, while she jumps at every little sound outside.

    She’s also too controlling in their relationship, which pulls them further and further apart.

    Introduce the villains, her shadow self

    He spots a small, untagged dino in the woods and convinces her to follow. She’s tense, urging caution, but he’s curious. Suddenly, a tranquilizer shot rings out — poachers. They watch, hidden, as the hunters capture the dino and load it into a truck. He insists they follow them to the conceiled black market.

    The break up

    He expects her to help him free the animals. But she hesitates — it’s too risky, too reckless. They argue. He accuses her of being afraid to do what’s right; she says he’s too impulsive to see the danger. Neither backs down. The tension snaps, and they go their separate ways.

    The break down

    She tries to return to normal—school, curfews, routine—but can’t shake what happened. One day, she quietly tells her friend everything. As she talks, the weight of it hits, and she breaks down. Her friend just listens. It helps, a little.

    Government wins culling legislation

    The control side wins — legislation passes to begin widespread culling. Officials call it a safety measure. News outlets celebrate stability, others are appalled. To her, it feels hollow. A pyrrhic victory. The fear won, but at what cost? The guilt sits heavy: she argued for control, and now it’s happening — not with caution, but with force.

    Then she meets him – the dino

    One day, after some sobbing she is sitting alone near the woods. From the trees, a dinosaur steps out, slow and cautious. She freezes, unsure, but doesn’t scream. The creature doesn’t threaten. Instead, it stops, watching her. Then, almost impossibly, it lets out a gentle compassionate sound.

    She looks up, meeting its eyes. She doesn’t feel afraid. And she loves what she sees staring back. The sparking eyes of her new best friend.

    The sense of freedom and the contrast

    One day, the dinosaur seems unusually calm, almost waiting. She climbs on its back, and it gently carries her to a hilltop. They watch the sunset in silence. It’s peaceful, but the new culling law hangs over her. She’s grateful for the moment — and quietly unsure how many more there will be. They fell asleep with his head in her lap.

    Collapse the world on her head

    Government agents discover she’s hiding the dinosaur. Suddenly, her quiet world collapses — they’re hunting her now, and so are the black-market hunters. She’s caught between two dangerous forces, forced to run and protect the one creature she cares about most.

    She’s determined to fight back

    Determined to fight back, she teams up with her dinosaur companion. Along the way, they gain the unexpected help of a nearby T-Rex, whose presence turns the tide in their favor. Together, they sneak into the black market to free the captured animals — all while staying hidden from government agents. At the last minute her boyfriend magically joins her to help with the efforts.

    Let the dino go, also her boyfriend

    At the end, she knows her dinosaur friend can’t stay—too dangerous for both of them. With a heavy heart, she says goodbye as it prepares to run off with the herd. It’s not just a farewell, but a release.

    She says goodbye to her boyfriend as well, giving him complete freedom with no heavy heart at all.

    She gets arrested and held at the police station for a while.

    They both come back

    One day, government agents search her apartment for evidence of the dinosaur. Suddenly, her dino friend appears in the backyard. The agents raise their guns, but she steps in front of the dinosaur to protect it. They threaten to arrest her. Just then, her boyfriend arrives with legal papers granting her an exception, forcing the agents to back down.

    Meanwhile, back in the government, the appeal succeeds—officials agree to postpone the culling. It’s a temporary victory, giving her and the dinosaurs more time, and a sign that change might still be possible.

    She and her boyfriend might then just for what it’s worth – optimistically ride the dinosaur into the sunset.

    Ira

  • The Suicide Squad 2016 – Or rather “Suicide inducing” – can it be fixed?

    The concept of imprisoned criminals working for the government held great promise but was largely wasted. Like many big-budget productions of this era, the movie fell victim to corporate pressure in its scriptwriting, directing, and editing.

    The end result was a mess—especially storywise. The plot felt rushed and disjointed, trying to juggle too many characters and conflicting villain arcs without giving any of them enough depth. Instead of a cohesive narrative, the film ended up as a patchwork of chaotic scenes that failed to build real tension or emotional investment. So, could it have been put together more coherently?

    Without the corporate pressure and with a bit more diligent storytelling, the fix almost presents itself by itself.

    Lose the opening data dump

    Instead of a smooth setup, the film jumps into rapid-fire character introductions, almost like you’re flipping through a deck of trading cards. This rushed approach strips the Squad of the chance to develop natural, spontaneous motivations or chemistry, making their actions feel forced and disconnected rather than earned.

    Raise the “suicide” stakes

    The film never really shows why the team is called the Suicide Squad—after all, these prisoners are supposed to be expendable, sent on deadly missions with little chance of survival. Yet, surprisingly, hardly any of them actually die in the movie, which undermines the sense of real danger and stakes. Thankfully, this crucial aspect was better addressed in the soft sequel, where the expendability of the characters finally felt real and carried real weight.

    Pump up the Joker character

    The problem with the Joker character was that the writers just left him hanging in the air. There’s no real sense of who he is or why anyone would follow him. Now imagine if they had shown a scene with him in a room full of people—each one deranged in their own way but still likable (important), dressed wildly, laughing like him, completely devoted. The Joker cult. Suddenly, he makes sense. That kind of chaotic atmosphere would have given his presence weight and purpose, turning him from a cringe-worthy oddity into a truly menacing force.

    The Joker isn’t scary just because he’s crazy—he’s scary because his madness spreads. It infects people. That’s what makes him dangerous.

    Show Joker outsmarting everybody

    Let’s face it — there probably shouldn’t be a Joker movie without an intense scene where he outsmarts his opponents like nobody else can. The Joker’s genius lies not just in chaos, but in his unpredictable intellect and cunning.

    He isn’t scary because he is loud and obnoxious, but because he knows something you don’t.

    Streighten up the enchantress shadow archetype

    The film confused the Enchantress’s shadow archetype by turning her into a generic destruction-driven villain rather than embracing the classic manipulative enchantress role. Instead of being a subtle, seductive force who bends others to her will, she’s reduced to a blunt, world-ending threat. Straightening this out would mean highlighting her powers of mind control and manipulation, making her danger more psychological and nuanced rather than just explosive and destructive.

    Give enchantress a proper motivation

    Her motivation should focus on conquering a world that has forgotten her, seeking to be worshiped forever rather than just destroying everything. This desire for power and recognition would make her a more complex and driven villain, rooted in pride and a need for lasting influence.

    Turn Joker culists into enchanted army

    The crucial fix would be to make Joker—the one who doesn’t bend to noone—fall under the Enchantress’s spell. This twist would not only deepen his character but also transform his group of cultists into a truly enchanted, dangerous army. Instead of the brainless cannon fodder army that we’ve witnessed. It would also give Harley Quinn a much richer relationship with Joker, caught between her devotion to him and the supernatural influence controlling him.

    This way, the Joker would have had a proper place in the story. Without it, he basically came across as a pathetic nerd trying to sneak into a cool high school party.

    Make Squad members repent for their sins

    …before you award them their full powers.

    It was such a wasted opportunity. Who better to bring to the point of repentance than disgraced prisoners—outcasts with blood on their hands and regrets buried deep? The story could have allowed them to confront their pasts, wrestle with their inner demons, and gradually earn not just power, but purpose. Only then could the universe, the writers, and—most importantly—the audience in their minds truly reward them with their full expression. Without that journey, their transformations feel unearned, and the emotional payoff never lands.

    In the end, Suicide Squad had all the right ingredients: a bold premise, iconic characters, and a chance to turn a group of villains into something oddly heroic. But under the weight of corporate meddling, confused motivations, and missed opportunities, it collapsed into noise. The tragedy isn’t that it failed—but that it could have been something truly unique.

    Let’s just say that Harley’s smeared lipstick is a story element so I can grade it 2/10.

    Ira

  • Man of steel (2013) – An Overrated Pile of Space Waste

    Storywise ofcourse. But what good are decent cinematography, visuals or acting if your story isn’t solid?

    It actually had a strong premise for meaningful character development: a superpowered extraterrestrial who wants to help but is held back by his father’s doubts and fears. The idea of a reluctant hero destined for greatness once he overcomes those restraints had tremendous dramatic potential. Instead, the story shifts into a demolition derby—city-leveling battles with Kryptonians that, while visually impressive, overshadow the more human and emotional aspects of the narrative. Also, if everyone is infinitely powerful, is anyone really infinitely powerful?

    But that’s not even the worse of it. So here is the list of the most blatant storytelling sins that I’ve gathered:

    They turned Superman into a MacGuffin*

    SuperManGuffin, basically. They hid the krypton codex into the poor guy. And it’s super important all right — because now the entire Kryptonian civilization somehow hinges on him, and they’ll stop at nothing to get to him.

    But why would Jor-El — his own father — do something like that to a baby? And more importantly, why would the writers do that to him?

    Because now his entire identity becomes meaningless. He’s not important because of who he is or what he chooses to stand for — he’s important because of some codex no one in the audience even cares about.

    But here’s the real story problem:

    Villains represent hero’s shadow self

    Villains—in this case, the Kryptonians or whoever they may be—should represent Superman’s shadow self: a reflection of his negative choices, or at most, the karmic baggage of his parents’ past.

    If he’s a force for good in the universe, as he clearly is, the universe should respond in kind. And yet, we still have these guys coming after him with relentless aggression. Sure, they’re technically after the MacGuffin—but still.

    How hard would it really be to write Superman making a bad choice—one that actually leads to the emergence of villains?

    His motivation didn’t even come from him

    No, Superman’s motivation didn’t come from trying to impress his mom, father, Lois, or something similar, that would come from within. But instead, his father Jor-El basically told him what to be.

    “The people of Earth are different. I believe that’s a good thing. They won’t make the same mistakes we did—not if you guide them, not if you give them hope. That’s what this symbol (S) means,” said Jor-El, rather half-heartedly.

    It was almost as if even Russell Crowe knew that wasn’t the way to truly motivate someone. And this whole idea of the “S” somehow representing hope? As far as I can tell, it’s not an H.

    Why did they write Jor-El into the story that way, anyway? Would it really have been so impossible to make Superman a hopeful character without ever knowing his father? Or couldn’t they have introduced him in a different, less intrusive way? Because the way they handled it only dragged the story down even more.

    The data dumping sin

    Clark wanders into a buried Kryptonian scout ship. Jor-El’s hologram appears and just downloads the entire history of Krypton, his origin, and his purpose — all at once.

    The audience gets wall-to-wall exposition:

    • What Krypton was
    • What the Codex is
    • Why he was sent to Earth
    • What Zod is doing
    • Why Clark matters

    And boom — the mystery, the tension, the self-discovery? All gone in 5 minutes of AI hologram monologue.

    And at the end of it, the truly impossible happens.

    The Superman suit from the christmas past

    Jor-El presents Superman with his signature suit—no inspiration, no action, no character development leading up to it, so it ends up being symbolic of nothing.

    And worst of all, it’s somehow just sitting there on a 20,000-year-old Kryptonian ship buried in the Canadian ice. How exactly is that possible? Complete with the House of El crest and everything?

    Sometimes I wonder if I’m being intentionally hit with this kind of cognitive dissonance just so my conscious mind shuts off—and they sneak in some Coca-Cola programming or something.

    Zod hates Clark for no reason

    When you stop and think about it for more than five seconds, why do Krypton people hate Clark? He is one of them and they should trust he would want to cooperate at least a bit.

    Instead? It’s just “Join us or die,” like a generic villain script written with the caps lock stuck on.

    Zod literally attacks the one being who he thinks holds the only chance at rebuilding his people.

    Zod’s TED talk in Clark Kent’s dreams

    And here we go again—another massive info-dump, with Zod unloading his side of Krypton’s lore while Clark is supposedly unconscious.

    I call that the “Dream That Isn’t” sin.

    Everyone says, “Show, don’t tell,” but once you’ve written yourself into a corner a couple of times, the only option left seems to be a data dump just to get the plot moving again.

    However, at this point, it didn’t even matter—the showdown between “gods” was about to begin, heartless and massively destructive.

    Well, at least they managed to acknowledge the obvious Superman character development conundrum: how do you present meaningful trials and tribulations for a character who’s already great?

    And for that, i give the story 2/10.

    Ira

    *MacGuffin – A term, coined by Alfred Hitchcock, describing a story item important to the characters and plot development but not at all to the audidence.

  • Unfrosted 2024 – Bad or just misunderstood?

    “Unfrosted,” Jerry Seinfeld’s movie and directorial debut about the 1960s rivalry between cereal manufacturers Kellogg and Post, was met with some harsh criticism. Jerry himself played the lead role of Bob Cabana, the fictional head of development at Kellogg during that era. Negative feedback focused on the pacing, the humor, the script — and just about everything else. Which leads me to say:

    Cereasly?

    Because I, on the other hand, enjoyed every minute of it. I thought it was brilliant. The humor was sharp and the fast pacing made perfect sense — it mirrored the script’s theme of racing toward the next big breakfast innovation. As for the script itself, I saw it as a storytelling masterclass that was either misunderstood or simply underappreciated.

    Here’s why I thought it was brilliant:

    Storytelling principle: Ending should bring us closer to god

    Let me explain. One man’s effort toward a goal often brings him nothing but exhaustion — a fatigue that typically surfaces around the midpoint of the story (if it follows that structure). It’s not until he turns toward something greater — fate, faith, or even God — and lets go of control that his chances for true success begin to rise.

    In Unfrosted, the ending centers on the success of the Pop-Tarts. So, to make that payoff resonate with this principle (which is a solid storytelling choice), the script wisely implies throughout that their success was, in fact, destined.

    And it was executed expertly:

    • The creation of Pop-Tarts wasn’t the result of one man’s effort, but a culmination of many characters following their passions and doing what they loved.
    • One character even somehow breathed life into his creation — a subtle suggestion that a higher power, or “God,” was near.
    • All their contributions were eventually unified by Bob’s sudden burst of inspiration, triggered by a chance encounter with some kids dumpster diving.
    • Even the name “Pop-Tarts” emerged after a series of almost absurd coincidences — as if destiny had a hand in all of it.
    • All while Bob himself was losing more and more control. He was captured by the “Organized Milk” mob, thrown unprepared into a meeting at the White House, and during the cereal funeral, when Mrs. Schwinn asked if he had planned the “cereal honors,” he simply replied, “I don’t know.”

    So, who other could than be behind it all? 🙂

    Moving forward, in a clear contrast, Post’s efforts in the other camp became apparent when they came up with the uninspired brand name ‘Country Squares’ that flopped.

    Other key story elements were there too — but I’ll save those for another article. Honestly, I don’t think this script could have been put together any better. And I believe that one day, people will come to appreciate it a lot more.

    Ira

  • Snow White 2025 – The Rachel Zegler’s debacle – Should Snow White dream about prince or not?

    We all remember Rachel Zegler’s comment about “not doing the prince thing” the second time around — referring to Disney’s live-action remakes.

    How unheard that a princess should dare dream about a prince?

    It’s safe to say Rachel put at least half of the moviegoing world on high alert with her comment — and into deep contemplation.

    And the verdict? Well, it came with the box office results.

    So, prince it is! But why?

    It’s not that there’s anything wrong with the idea of a more independent princess, right?
    However, stories aren’t really about that. Stories aren’t about perfect people.

    Stories are about flawed characters in search of perfection — in search of themselves.
    Young princesses are still naive, doubtful, and fearful. They dream of security, of someone to take care of them.

    But most importantly, like any other human being, they dream of love. And there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that. Ofcourse if you’re a princess, that love usually comes in the form of a prince.

    The search for love is the guiding principle. In truth, it’s a search for yourself — for the love that is you. Finding a prince and receiving his kiss is just a confirmation that you’ve found it.

    Everything leading up to that moment is the story. And what you do with it once you’ve found it — well, that’s another one.

    The third story – Rachel’s

    In this case, there’s also a third one: good old Rachel Zegler’s story—the one that began with mocking the original film.

    Because no, making fun of something is not love. It’s something else entirely. It’s the attempt to become what one is not. It’s a venture into darkness, where evil resides. We’ve all done it—many times. Some are still caught in it. But those who have emerged from it now have a story to tell.

    Have a nice day,

    Ira

  • What internally drives/motivates a villain

    Throughout the ages of storytelling, countless villains have come and gone—many ultimately dismantled and defeated. And surely, many more are yet to appear. They all share one defining trait: they are evil.

    What they don’t share, however, is motivation. Villains vary greatly in why they do what they do. Some are driven by believable, even relatable motives. Others seem evil just for the sake of being evil—which in the eyes of the audience almost always falls flat.

    Still, we understand why this happens. It’s difficult to write a convincing villain if you aren’t one yourself. In a way, that’s actually reassuring—it means most writers aren’t evil 🙂 But I digress.

    Does that mean writers are angels? Not at all. They sin. Everyone sins. And just like every hero eventually does in a story, they too point fingers. They don’t get it yet. But sooner or later they will. Once they look themselves in the mirror.

    Which is the hard part. To look yourself in the mirror and to realize that what you’re blaming others for is really unresolved within yourself. In a story, this is often the beginning of the end for the villain—who is nothing more than the hero’s shadow self.

    So in short, “behind the scenes”, internally in spirit, something like this is happening:

    • Villain has free will so he can choose sin.
    • Sin is a judgment against God – or love.
    • The villain’s soul is part of God/love, so sin becomes a judgment against himself.
    • The villain feels the universe (doesn’t know that its just himself) is judging him and believes it is out to get him. He is pointing fingers, convinced evil is external to him.
    • He must eliminate everyone who judges him or delay judgment by any means necessary. And this is the villains true motivation!
    • He is too weak internally to atone for his sins, so he turns to aggression.

    And that is exactly what the hero is througout the story—too weak to atone for his sins. If he seem too adorable to be able to sin, he might still be able to put the idea of free will (to choose sin) under some kind of a scrutiny.

    But then later in the story, when the hero grows strong enough to atone, he inevitably in parallel defeats the external villain.

  • The main issue with the Spider-man movies

    If you’ve ever come across Joseph Campbell’s work on the Hero’s Journey, you may be familiar with a stage called “The Magic Flight.” This phase occurs near the end of the hero’s journey. By this point, the hero has discovered their true self and, as a result, unlocked the inner power needed to overcome the darkness—or more precisely, what remains of it.

    In essence, the hero has conquered their smaller, ego-driven self, and as a reflection of that internal transformation, they are finally able to defeat the external evil. They become free.

    Herein lies the conundrum: in nearly all Spider-Man movies, we see Spider-Man swinging freely between buildings well before the midpoint of the story—at a time when, according to the classic Hero’s Journey, the hero should still be fearful and full of doubt.

    The Amazing Spider-Man (2012) also prematurely rewards Peter by having him get together with Gwen Stacy early in the film.

    But when a character has already achieved a sense of their greater self and even “found love,” what remains to motivate them to grow?

    Nothing. And without that motivation, the audience has little reason to stay emotionally engaged. There’s no tension, no internal struggle—just spectacle.

    This same issue applies to many modern hero movies: they rush the hero’s external transformation, leaving little room for meaningful development or deeper stakes.

    The Solution

    Make Spider-Man earn it.

    Let him struggle, deeply and relentlessly, throughout the film. Not just with external villains, but with his inner flaws—his pride, his anger, his impulsiveness, his need for validation. Make him work his ass off, not just physically, but emotionally and morally.

    From the midpoint onward, force him to confront himself. He should:

    • Apologize for every selfish action.
    • Forgive those who hurt him.
    • Let go of attachments—people, expectations, and the illusion of control.
    • Stop clinging to thoughts, ideals, or identities that no longer serve his growth.

    In other words, make him defeat his small ego self—the scared, insecure boy behind the mask. Only when he transcends that can he fully embody what Spider-Man is meant to represent.

    And only then—only when he has truly grown—should he be rewarded with his magical, web-supported flight. Not just as a flashy movement mechanic, but as a symbol: a moment of grace earned through suffering, discipline, and transformation.

    This is the kind of arc that sticks with audiences, because it’s not just about powers—it’s about meaning.



  • Borderlands 2024 – A Quick-Fix Take on the Start and Finish

    We know there are a lot of problems with the Borderlands plot. It’s a cliché-infested Frankenscript, and it would probably take years—or maybe even millennia—for a team of dedicated writers to get it under control. Unfortunately, we just don’t have that kind of time. Nor are we getting paid for it. So, we’ll just quickly address the beginning and the end, which could serve as good starting points for someone else to fill in the middle.

    Beginning

    First of all, lose the “Daughter of Eridia” prophecy. It’s vague and provides no real motivation.

    Then in the initial, cliché-ridden bar scene with Lilith, she should still take down the three middlemen in the same way—but they should have nothing to do with Deukalian Atlas. Also, wasn’t it satisfying to finally see someone take down the slow-clapping guy? And yet in this case, it didn’t even matter!

    Mr. Atlas would therefore need to be present in his human form. And because he’s staring down the barrel of a gun, he would have to be terribly sincere with his proposal.

    How much can you really trust a bad guy who offers above-average pay? I’d say not at all. Sincerity is the perfect way to shine a light through the early monotony and give the plot its initial momentum.

    Of course, Atlas could still shapeshift into a more fitting villain later on. And when he finally shows up on Pandora with his entourage at the end, give him a damn good reason why he couldn’t get there himself in the first place. Right now, he just comes off like Ashton Kutcher punking Lilith.

    Ending

    There was far too much nonsense crammed into the climax before the entrance to Pandora’s Vault. Let’s just say it outright: the key should have been based on pure heart, not pure blood.

    Once inside, the Atlas villain should meet his end by trying to absorb more knowledge than he can handle—more than he is capable of containing. Knowledge is light, and darkness simply cannot carry it. It’s the most obvious opportunity for an ending, served on a silver platter.

    Instead, they went with a stomach-turning conclusion. In the middle of this high-tech, holographic Pandora’s Vault, there’s conveniently a giant hole in the ground. Out of it, some squid-like tentacles emerge and drag Atlas down—because Lilith says “Bye bye.” Because… what? She has also become that thing? Another “chosen one” cliché, wrapped in nonsense.

    I’m sorry but I couldn’t handle more. I’m done.

    Ira