Recently, I've noticed something about fictional characters. They're talking more. Here's what I mean.

A ways back, I heard a radio interview given by the actor Michael Caine. The interviewer asked Caine how he'd learned, early on, to play 'tough guys' so effectively. He replied that he'd consulted with real gangsters in London. So the interviewer wanted to know what kind of advice he'd got. He said they told him not to blink too often, and not to talk too much. Real tough guys stare down the opposition. And they're laconic.

That seemed to work for Michael Caine. It worked for John Wayne, too, and Marshal Dillon. Those Western heroes were modeled after the terse fellow in The Virginian. You know, the man who says, 'Smile when you say that, pardner.' This type follows the lead of Leonidas, the ancient Spartan – the guy who answered Persian boastfulness with the Greek equivalent of, 'Well, we'll see.'

The idea behind terse heroes is that their actions speak louder than their words. Excess verbiage detracts from that sort of character. Hemingway's heroes tend to be quiet, like that. You can always tell, when the movie people cast Gary Cooper in the film role. Come to think of It, Cooper did some Ayn Rand, too, didn't he?

Which, of course, puts the writer in a bind. The writer needs to fill in the gap, somehow. Either the other characters do a lot of talking, or the landscape cooperates, or there's a lot of interior monologue. Take Raymond Chandler. His detective isn't allowed to talk much – out loud. But inside his head, the guy never shuts up. In fact, his voice-over stuff is full of elaborate metaphors. Result? You decide that Philip Marlowe is both a lot smarter than everyone thinks he is, and quite a sensitive soul, really. Even if he does drink enough rye to float a battleship, and punch out bad guys on a regular basis.

It's kind of ironic, when you think of it. Writers are verbose people. If they weren't, they wouldn't write. They'd do something else, like take up knitting. So creating characters who don't talk much goes against the grain. For one thing, it's hard to identify with someone who can't just 'spit it out'. For another, the writer's got to do a lot of work setting up those one-line bon mots. It gets tiring. Why not create a hero who thinks like you do? And that's what I've noticed lately.

Let's look at some television characters. Take Arkady Balagan, from Canadian TV's Endgame. Balagan's a chess master from Russia…and he never shuts up. He talks constantly. Worse, he does it in a thick Russian accent. He accuses people of being 'rih-DIII-ka-lus'. So nobody takes him seriously.

And that, of course, is their fatal error. Balagan eats Bad Guys for lunch. The strong, silent types last about five seconds around him. And we chuckle. That'll teach 'em.

Another not-so-silent hero is Tim Roth's Dr Cal Lightman, in the series Lie to Me. Lightman's a mean little Cockney, and he talks, and talks, and talks… In fact, in one episode, he invades an illegal poker game – at this, he's unbeatable – in the character of 'Jimmy the Mouth'. He's well-named. But once again, all that word salad causes the BGs to underestimate him. Right up until they find out that he knows all their secrets. Or until the bar fight starts and he breaks a beer bottle over the counter…

The smart guy doesn't have to be a wimp, you know. Certainly not if he's Tim Roth. There's a lot to be said for being both talkative AND right. The secret? You just have to know what you're talking about.

Arthur Conan Doyle knew that trick. Sherlock Holmes is a bit of a motormouth, himself, not to mention an anorak. He's forever referring to his Guide Entry monograph on the subject of obscure thises and thats. You couldn't get more geeky than that if you tried. Stalwart Watson is actually quieter than Holmes. Probably because the Victorian age was a bit more verbal than the 1930s. Just guessing, here.

So, what do you want to know about your hero? If you want him verbal, give him a reason to talk. Make him educated, or sociable, or just plain curious. Also, give him someone to talk to. He needs a good listener, or a bad listener, or just somebody argumentative to spar with. And finally, decide what his verbal skills do to the flow of the story. Does he interrupt? Does he use talk to conceal? Is the verbal flow a kind of sleight-of-hand, a way of misdirecting? How do others react to all these words?

Once you've figured that out, turn him loose. Let him talk, and see what he tells you.

Writing Right with Dmitri Archive

Dmitri Gheorgheni

21.10.13 Front Page

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