Beating Broadway: How to Create Stories for Musicals That Get Standing Ovations

by Steve Cuden

Aristotle is telling us that the beginning of a story should start at a point where nothing before it is needed in order to tell the tale, and that the middle must follow the beginning and lead to a conclusion, or ending, which has nothing after it that is necessary for us to understand the story.

The essence of what Aristotle was saying is, “No fat allowed.”

Most great stories go like this: an interesting, three-dimensional protagonist is instigated by an outside force to intensely pursue a goal. Along the way he runs into an endless series of obstacles that complicate the path to his objective. Yet he stays true to achieving his goal no matter what comes his way, even as his world changes, becoming ever more challenging right before his very eyes. Even in the face of ultimate defeat, he wills himself onward. In the end, his goal will either be achieved or not, but either way he will have grown or learned something significant about himself or the world around him, preferably both.

The concept of “simple plot/complex character” is almost a mantra in Hollywood. I believe the same applies to today’s musicals. To appeal to the widest possible audience, musicals must make sense commercially, meaning simple plot/complex character.

The master of that is the master of all masters, Stephen Sondheim, who chooses such interesting and unconventional subjects to musicalize: Follies, Sweeney Todd, Pacific Overtures, A Little Night Music, Merrily We Roll Along, Assassins, to name a few.

What do your main characters—mainly your protagonist and antagonist—want? What do they desire? Start there.

Premise is basically a proposition leading to a provable conclusion. In other words, it is an assertion that the author makes that he must then prove during the course of telling the story. An example of this would be the infamous maxim “Power corrupts. Absolute power corrupts absolutely.” An author could easily write a story in which this premise is proven by the way in which the story’s characters interact and resolve their desires. In short, the premise is proved by virtue of what happens to the characters in the tale. Theme is what the story is about at its core. Theme underlies the premise. So, as in the above example, if the premise for a story is “Power corrupts. Absolute power corrupts absolutely,” the theme is the effects of power. Themes could be about love, greed, revenge, hate, dishonesty, foolishness, etc. Premise and theme are interrelated, but they are not the same.

three neat chunks, or acts. Each of the three movements will, in almost every case, be composed of many smaller segments within them. These smaller segments are usually self-contained units (though they must be fully integrated into the whole) and are better known as scenes. Each scene ought to lead the audience (not necessarily in a linear manner) to the next scene in a linkage that will ultimately create a wholly integrated story. Each movement will have three movements—beginning, middle, and end. Each scene will have three movements—beginning, middle, and end. Every line of dialogue has three movements—beginning, middle, and end. Every song has three movements—beginning, middle, and end.

Plot is a series of integrated incidents and events—almost always related through the point of view of one character, even if it is only that of an unseen narrator. Story is the compendium of those incidents and events put together in an understandable order that creates a whole.

It is desirable for simpler stories to carry more than one plot. The key is to be sure that those other plots do not occupy the space of the primary story. Those other less prominent stories are called “subplots.” In movies and TV these are often referred to as “B” and “C” stories.

Subplots should not have a life entirely of their own. They should tie in to the protagonist’s tale in some manner or else there is a risk that the secondary story could steal valuable focus from the primary storyline.

If you wish to develop a truly complicated story, then be sure that the plot closely follows the protagonist’s life within the tale. In other words, stay on the protagonist; make the story all about him. This does not mean that you ought to avoid subplots featuring characters other than the protagonist. But doing so requires exceptional care so that those subplots don’t distract from or disintegrate the audience’s ability to follow the protagonist’s primary story.

Once the hero’s goal is determined, be sure he sticks to it come hell or high water.

subplots should never steal focus from the main story, or from the story of a protagonist attempting to achieve an objective.

In the best stories, protagonists face complications that arise, mess things up, and raise all sorts of havoc, but the hero’s through-line, his ultimate goal, must always remain intact.

Remember, the old screenwriting adage is: get in late, get out early. This applies as readily to musicals as to any other form of storytelling.

PLOT POINT ONE—NORMAL WORLD As stated in the last chapter, in all cases, a story must start somewhere. Wherever that may be, it ought to clearly define your story’s normal world. It is critical that you get this right, that the normal world be accurately established, because if you don’t capture the world of the show, it will quickly become more difficult to hold the audience’s attention.

The normal world sets up the entire rest of the show. Getting it right is critical to success. Though trickier to quantify, tone is being established here, and that, too, should remain consistent throughout. Shows that switch tones, say from light to dark or vice versa midway through the story, make it hard for the audience to remain engaged.

When the audience is given a sense of time and place, they are more easily able to begin the process of willingly suspending their disbelief for the remainder of the tale. This is critical for orienting the audience and drawing them into the deep end of the story’s pool.

More often than not, the normal world establishes our principal characters. It is best if the audience is introduced to these people as early as possible in the story, but it is not a requirement that we meet them right at the top. We must learn whose story it is that we will be expected to follow. We ought to discover what the protagonist does, how he operates in the world, what his dreams are—not necessarily his story goal, though that can be express...

In the opening pages or scenes, we should see how the major characters interact with other characters and how they interact with the world itself. And we ought to discover what it is that the protagonist wants out of his life. This may change once the inciting incident (to be covered shortly) is reached. But at the top the protagonist w...

More than one show has died because it didn’t establish its world in a way that was clear and entertaining.

Once the opening of a show sets up the world that our characters live in, that tone, attitude, style, and sensibility must pervade the rest of the show.

The opening must draw us in and engage us quickly—and leave us wanting to know and see more. The normal world must arouse our curiosity and our desire to see and hear more.

PLOT POINT TWO—INCITING INCIDENT So, you’ve established the world that the protagonist, antagonist, and other characters dwell in. And you’ve shown the audience how those characters interact. You’ve set up what the protagonist wants in his life, but not necessarily his overall goal just yet. A catalyst must occur to drive the protagonist out of his normal world, down a new road, probably toward some bigger, more important goal, and into some sort of life-altering or mind-expanding adventure (this can be external or internal). He, and therefore we, will learn a few new things about his life and how it could or should be lived.

Many musical stories are about love and its limitless power over us. But protagonists are frequently unaware at the outset of their journey that their true love awaits them at the end of the road. This catalyst, or springboard, is referred to by many, including me, as the “inciting incident.” In most cases, this moment will powerfully alter the protagonist’s perspective. In all likelihood, the inciting incident will give him both a new goal as well as the drive to achieve it. It is likely to be some event, usually notable in the protagonist’s life, which forces him to take action. This new goal can be either his original want taken to a new level, or it can be an entirely new goal. But it must be something important in the protagonist’s life. Why? Because this new goal must form the spine of the hero’s story.

The inciting incident works best when it happens to our protagonist as an outside event, when it is thrust upon the hero, often without his choosing it. Of note, this goal is something he must have the ability to achi...

This master goal, established by the inciting incident, is called a superobjective. This force drives him forward for the entire story. He will be after this goal until he achieves it or fails in his pursuit. Only at the end of the tale will the audience know whether he succeeds at getting what he wants or not.

The inciting incident is the spark that lights the fire under the protagonist to head toward his superobjective. Once the protagonist is clearly motivated and on his way toward achieving his goal, he must undergo many trials. That means that he will encounter troubles and problems in every moment of his journey. Each of these troubles or struggles represents a separate goal or goals for each individual scene. These individual goals are called objectives. Though each objective may or may not be directly related to the superobjective, it will be necessary for your protagonist to meet those individual objectives before moving on toward eventually achieving his overall superobjective. These endless obstacles should increase in scope as the show progresses. This doesn’t necessarily mean that the obstacles become bigger, though they can, but they should definitely become harder, more frustrating, and more onerous the deeper the protagonist moves toward his goal. As his troubles increase in difficulty, so should the intensity of the emotions that the protagonist feels. This is part of what’s known as “rising action.”

Pretty much all successful shows start at a low-level intensity that builds like a boiling pot of water. It starts smaller, more slowly, and less intensely, growing to a more fevered pitch as the show continues. In other words, the action and its intensity should not stay the same or diminish throughout the show. The ...

BEYOND THE INCITING INCIDENT At this juncture, the story is still in its first movement. As the protagonist marches beyond the inciting incident toward the next story milestone, he should continue to be at the mercy of a host of unknown problems and obstacles. He will likely be locked in a struggle, both externally and internally, to figure out how to get to his goal. Meeting with one conflict after another makes the task all the more daunting. If your hero is fairly intelligent or street savvy, soon enough he will come to an understanding of how he can actually achieve his heart’s desire. But coming to this awareness should take some struggle. Eventually, the protagonist will realize he must take a bold step forward in order to get what he now wants ever so badly. He is rapidly approaching a very important crossroads. This represents the reaching of a threshold over which he must step in order to succeed. Or else he must fold his tent, turn back, and head home defeated.

After the inciting incident, the protagonist should experience lots of conflict as he struggles to find the way to achieve his goal. He rapidly approaches a point of no return in which he will be unable to turn back and return home ever again.

PLOT POINT THREE—POINT OF NO RETURN NOTE: THIS OCCURS WITHIN THE MUSICAL’S “ACT ONE” Now that the protagonist has a powerful, ultimate goal to achieve, and the burning desire to achieve it, he has the drive, ambition, and will to move forward. Without the will to accomplish a task, it is not likely to get done. The protagonist, having been incited to head inexorably toward his goal, has encountered lots of obstacles in his path. But he believes he has found his bearings, and he realizes that the journey has been, and will be, worth the effort. Maybe he’s explored a few possibilities in regard to a plan, or already has a detailed plan in place. There must then come a time when the hero has no alternative but to leave the comfort and ease of his ordinary, normal world and set out on that fearfully unknowable road to get what he now so intensely wants.

Of course, there must continue to be plenty of obstacles in his way, but this moment, which is usually fairly easy to identify, is full of high hopes or real determination. This is the moment when the protagonist actually crosses the threshold as he exits the world of his old life to begin his exciting new journey. This moment (or sometimes a sequence of moments) regularly shows up at the end of the story’s first movement—the end of the story’s beginning—and designates the leap into the greatest gulf of the story, its middle, thereby initiating the story’s second movement.

A CONSCIOUS, PURPOSEFUL DECISION Venturing into the story’s second movement is almost always determined after the protagonist makes a conscious decision to move forward. Unlike the inciting incident, this moment does not usually happen to the protagonist; this time he causes it to happen. This works best when the protagonist has no other good alternative in order to achieve his goal. He must move forward because he is compelled by circumstance to do so. He may choose between alternative routes to his goal, but in the best stories there is nothing he can do except to move onward. It is an act of inevitability. What makes this moment truly distinct, and why it’s often easy to spot, is that this is the juncture in so many stories at which that the protagonist clearly cannot go back to the...

CROSSING THE THRESHOLD The moment of the protagonist crossing the threshold is also known as “the point of no return.” The protagonist is now in totally uncharted territory. For the audience, this should be an exciting step into a new journey, be it emotional or physical—ideally both. This is the true beginning of the protagonist’s road to discovery, redemption, love, vengeance, happiness, doom, or whatever winds up being his destiny. In musicals, this moment usually occurs sometime within the first thirty to forty-five minutes of the production’s Act One. You read that right—the story’s true second movement happens during what the writers and producers have all agreed to call Act One. This is the way it is for almost every commercial musical produced today.

In My Fair Lady it happens when Henry accepts Pickering’s wager to pass off Eliza as a duchess at the embassy ball. Of course, Eliza has to go along with this, too, or it won’t work. They both decide to take on the challenge.

BEYOND THE POINT OF NO RETURN Wading into the story’s second movement is never an easy task for the hero. He must continue to endure many hurdles along the way, and he has much to accomplish. Upon crossing the threshold, he may be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed due to an exhilarating sense of embarking upon a new adventure, but he can also be filled with nervous anticipation or dread. It is a good idea for your hero to strongly feel something as he starts his journey into the new and unknown. It ought to be a big deal to him.

As the hero moves beyond the threshold, he immediately begins to confront new frustrations and conflicts in his way. These will be more in reaction to two things: 1) the now solid superobjective that he seeks, and 2) a more pervasive opposition by the antagonist. Though the hero now more than ever knows what he wants, there will be more pitfalls and roadblocks in the way, each looming larger, or more dangerous, or more difficult, or more important—or all those. No matter how thorny these are, or how many of them are in his path, he must meet each one head-on and find a way to move forward. There can be no stopping at this point. The hero knows that he must complete the mission to reach his goal. As he goes over, under, around, and through one obstacle after another, he will eventually have seen enough and will have had his fill. He will have learned a few things, and this will cause the hero to recalculate what has happened to him. He has to plan further for whatever it is that he must do to carry on. He will reach a moment in which he won’t put up with being kicked around anymore. He comes to a point of realization that he must be more responsible for his own actions and less at the mercy of circumstances or the whims of others. This is the perfect moment to take stock and maybe switch gears again. This is a moment of inspiration…

PLOT POINT FOUR—MIDPOINT BEGINS—INTERMISSION The midpoint is an essential, dynamic turning point. It’s a place where the protagonist reaches a major change in his understanding of what he must do to achieve his goal. Usually it involves another self-motivated decision to forge ahead despite having endured so many difficulties up to this point, and in spite of all the obstacles that he is able to see on the road ahead. Perhaps he develops a new plan that helps him to be less concerned about the roadblocks yet to come. More often than not, the protagonist is fed up with being pushed around and beaten down.

There is a special place where the midpoint of the majority of musical stories occurs. And it comes complete with a mini-climax and a chance to button up a part of the story in a way that, if done well, will drive the audience’s desire for much more.

This special place is located at the end of the musical’s designated Act One, he...

MIDPOINT DEFINED So, what is this mysterious midpoint, and how does it work? Audiences expect a moment to occur in every story that tips them off that the protagonist is making a major transition—hopefully in his favor—toward taking control of his journey. A protagonist must stop being only reactive to the numerous, seemingly endless obstacles he has endured throughout the tale. It is human nature to favor heroes. Audiences want the hero to succeed (though not too early in the story, for what fun would that be?). After the hero accumulates information and experience, one or more ways to resolve his issues ought to occur to him. Will such revelations always work out in his favor? No. But it starts him rolling down the road with a new perspective and a reinvigorated sense of purpose and determination. Some writers call this moment a “midpoint reversal,” because the fortunes, attitudes, and directions of the protagonist may reverse course, be it temporarily or permanently. But I (and many fellow writers) think that calling this moment a “reversal” doesn’t go far enough. I believe it is much more powerful to consider this to be the moment when the protagonist takes charge of his destiny.

FATE VS. DESTINY At the midpoint of most stories, the protagonist summons the courage to take charge of what he is doing as he marches toward his goal. He stops being subject to the myriad obstacles in his way. He stops being victimized by circumstance. He stops being reactive and becomes proactive. He sucks up his courage and takes command of his destiny.

“You seek your destiny. You succumb to your fate. Destiny originates within the self; fate comes from the outside.”

This moment of self-realization and self-actualization most often occurs at the midpoint of a story. It is as if the protagonist has climbed up to a high overlook and can see into the valley of his future in a way that makes clear to him—or clearer than it has been to that point—how he must proceed in order to achieve his goal. If crafted well, the audience will joyfully go along for the ride. Hopefully, by this juncture the audience will have developed an entrenched rooting interest in the hero. Then the remainder of the story continues to be about the protagonist doing all that he can to head for his goal—with an ever-more-intensifying set of conflicts yet to be confronted and knocked down, only now with a shifted mind-set that enables him to see the light at the end of the tunnel. Or so he (and therefore the audience) thinks.

INTERMISSION Is the midpoint at exactly the musical’s middle point? No. In terms of time, it is about three-fifths of the way through most shows—right before intermissi...

The dynamics of the story’s midpoint are critical for musicals because if a midpoint is set up well then the audience will be hooked back into the theater for more. It must be built in a way that leaves the audience yearning to see what happens next despite being forced “out of the moment” (always a dangerous thing to do) for fifteen long minutes. If crafted well, the audience will become anxious to return to the story. Never take for granted the way you lead into the production’s Act One closing and intermission. This is a critically important moment in your show’s success.

INTO ACT TWO Coming out of intermission into a musical’s Act Two, most shows typically kick up the energy a notch. Many musicals feature an Act Two opening number that is big, bold, and full of sass and life, with upbeat music and a lot of dancing. This is one way to be sure the audience is still awake. It reenergizes them, dragging them joyously back into the swing of the show.

As your intrepid hero forges on into the remainder of the story’s second movement, now with improved focus on his mission, he may have an increased sense of urgency. Or a sense of cockiness because he thinks he knows what he’s doing. Or anger at what has transpired up to that point. Or fear that he’ll miss the boat. And so on. The point is that things will likely have changed between the time the audience headed for the lobby and the opening of Act Two.