Deconstructing the story sandwich in 2013’s The Double
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Om, nom, nom, delicious character arc.
Here’s a test.
Take one of your favorite movies. Look up the script. Look over the entire 120-page journey that those memorable characters went through. Remember all the challenges, the tribulations, the great moments and the terrible tragedies.
Ah. That’s nice.
Now throw it all out.
Toss every last page in the freaking trash… except for two. Hold onto the first and the last. You’re going to need those.
In 2010, writer and comedian Richard Ayoade was coming off of his feature debut, Submarine, adapted from a Welsh coming-of-age novel written only two years prior. It won a great deal of plaudits for its story, acting, and unique tone.
Of course, any new director is likely to be aware of the sophomore slump, in which supposedly fraudulent talents will be exposed upon their second release. It’s a silly idea with far more exceptions than examples, but hey, let’s keep it around I guess (we really don’t have to, guys).
In 2013, Ayoade released his follow-up. He turned not to another modern bildungsroman but a slightly older story.
A slightly not-so-young story.
He turned to goddamn Russian literature.
Starring Jesse Eisenberg, Mia Wasikowska, the inimitable Wallace Shawn, and a whole host of under-utilized talent, The Double is a re-telling of Dostoevsky’s 1846 novella, written by Ayoade and Avi Korine (yes, brother of Harmony). In it, a low-level bureaucrat discovers his much more confident doppelgänger who gradually ruins his life and assumes his identity. The novel is often read as Dostoevsky’s response to Nikolai Gogol’s use of surrealism and fantastical elements to critique Russian society.
The film incorporates much of this off-kilter atmosphere detailed in the novella, with tiny misfortunes plaguing the clumsy protagonist, and moments littered throughout where it’s unclear whether you should laugh or wince.
The movie itself is a strange trip, kind of a blast, and a lesson in beating down protagonists to force character growth.
Remember those two pages you’re holding onto? Good. You’re going to need them. Today, we’re going to look at the first and last pages of 2013’s The Double to examine the character arc of Ayoade’s protagonist, Simon James.
Any last words? How about first words?
The most important pages of any script are the first and the last. Both offer precious real estate and must be treated as such, written and re-written over and over until every wrinkle is ironed out. The first introduces the audience to the tone, the story world, and likely the main character of the movie. The last page closes everything out, setting the character down as a changed man in his new world. It’s the big checkout, when all loose ends must be tied up or deliberately left to hang. Together, the first and last page are the two slices of bread that keep all the contents of the sandwich from slipping out.
It’s evident that Ayoada and Korine took a great deal of time tinkering around with the first and last moments until they finally captured everything the story is about.
Now, let’s take a look at the first page of the script of The Double.
Simon James is on a familiar path. He is not on the open road or the yawning sea. He is on a train. Whether he knows it or not, his life is on rails. He has accepted the path given to him. He is unassuming, unconfident, and utterly unmemorable. Soon, he will be knocked off his axis entirely.
In this empty train car, a stranger walks up to him and says, “You’re in my place.” Simon thinks the request odd but stands up and moves to a different seat. He can’t stand up for himself. Acting as contrast, the stranger is confident, assertive, and a bit of an asshole, three qualities Simon will struggle to attain for the entire movie.
Not only does this introduce us to the meek Simon but it foreshadows the very conflict that Simon will face in the meat of the story. “You’re in my place,” is the very sentiment expressed by Simon’s doppelgänger, James. Throughout the movie, Simon will be pushed out of society by a man who clearly knows more about how to enter a room, occupy space, and impress himself upon people. Oh yeah, and the man is himself.
The stranger could very well have said, “This town ain’t big enough for the two of us,” though that may have felt a little out of place in rickety subway.
Now, on to the last page (we’ll actually look at the last two pages, please don’t sue me).
Simon has finally rid himself and the world of James, putting himself in grave danger in the process. He has earned his name. He asserts himself upon the world as a new man.
Not only has Simon learned to become a new man for himself, but others can recognize it as well. The colonel, the unseen bureaucrat who Simon tries endlessly to please throughout the film finally recognizes him. “You’re one in a million, James.”
Except, this isn’t how the film ends. The last line of the film is Simon’s, “I’d like to think I’m pretty unique.” It’s a more definite ending than the script, and arguably a more simplistic one. Simon gets the last word. He asserts himself. While the script has the character ending with an ambivalent sentiment, calling into question whether his change was ever truly possible, the film seems to suggest that character change has certainly occurred but it’s not necessarily virtuous.
Regardless, Simon has cemented himself as a new man and a memorable man and the Colonel can see that as well. Whether this recognition is actually a good thing for the broader society is certainly up for debate, but it’s a polar opposite to the Simon we saw on the first page.
Don’t forget your buns, people.
Seriously, don’t forget your freaking buns. Sure, the meat and lettuce is great and all and a little mustard never hurt anybody, but if your character’s change isn’t permanent and obvious simply by comparing who he is from the first page to the last… congratulations, your sandwich fell apart.
If a reader looks at only the first and last pages of any script, she ought to be able to trace the character change that resulted from the story world beating down upon the protagonist. This protagonist is living in imperfection. He is living in stasis. The entire function of the story is to force him to change, even against his will, so much so that the change is evident and irrevocable. In the Double, Ayoade and Korine accomplish this in spades.
