Let’s talk about character arcs in screenplays, those magical journeys where characters evolve from one version of themselves to another. Or, at least, they’re supposed to. When done right, a character arc feels like watching your best friend finally figure out how to stop tripping over their own ego. But when it’s inconsistent or forced? Oh boy, it’s like watching a clown juggle flaming torches while riding a unicycle.
You know what I mean: awkward, unnatural, and you just know he’s going to crash. Inconsistent or forced character development is one of the biggest sins in screenwriting, and it can tank even the most promising story. So, let’s unpack why this happens, why it’s a problem, and how to fix it without devolving into a state of despair.
My name is Michael McKown. I’m the co-founder and president of Ghostwriters Central, Inc. We’ve been providing professional screenwriter services to clients worldwide since 2002. We’re also script doctors. If you need help writing or repairing your story, get in touch. Your consultation is free.
First off, what do we mean by “inconsistent” or “forced” character arcs? Picture this: your protagonist, let’s call her Jane, starts as a timid wallflower who’s afraid to speak up. By the end of the movie, she’s supposed to be a confident leader rallying a rebellion. Awesome, right?
But if Jane goes from shrinking violet to sword-wielding revolutionary overnight because she found a magical amulet or had one pep talk from a wise bartender, you’ve got a problem. That’s forced development. It’s a change that feels like it was shoved into the script with a crowbar aided by a hammer. Inconsistent arcs are just as bad. Maybe Jane’s bold in one scene, then inexplicably reverts to her old timid self in the next, like the writer forgot who she was supposed to be. It’s jarring, like a DJ switching from jazz to death metal mid-song.
Why does this happen? Sometimes, it’s because writers get so caught up in the plot that they treat characters like chess pieces, moving them to fit the story’s needs. Plot says Jane needs to lead a charge? Poof, she’s suddenly brave! No buildup, no struggle, just a flip of the switch. Other times, it’s a simple deadline issue. The writer is racing to finish a draft and doesn’t have time to let Jane’s growth simmer.
Or maybe they’re trying to cram too much into a 90-minute runtime, so Jane’s arc feels like a microwave meal: technically done, but lacking flavor. The audience notices. They’re not dumb. If Jane’s transformation doesn’t make sense, they’ll check out faster than you can say “plot hole.”
I assure you that I’ve “checked out” many times. I’ve fallen asleep. I’ve walked out. I’ve stayed in my seat and stayed awake but mentally I was back in my office, at work. I stayed awake for Oliver Stone’s Alexander. I wanted to leave; I asked my wife about leaving but she wanted to stay. Excruciating. Judge Dredd starring Sylvester Stallone? I fell asleep. The explosions kept waking me up.
Let’s look at an example. In Star Wars: The Last Jedi, some fans felt Rey’s arc was a bit forced. She’s already a skilled fighter and Force-user in The Force Awakens, and by the sequel, she’s taking on major challenges with minimal training. Compare that to Luke Skywalker in the original trilogy, who spends years grappling with self-doubt, failure, and training before becoming a Jedi. Rey’s growth, while not terrible, sometimes feels like it skips steps, leaving viewers wanting more of her internal struggle. It’s not that she’s a bad character; it’s that her arc could’ve used more breathing room to feel earned.
So, how do we avoid these pitfalls? First, you’ve got to know your character’s starting point and destination. Think of it like planning a road trip. If Jane’s going from timid to fearless, map out the stops along the way. Maybe she stands up to a bully in Act 1, but it’s a small, shaky victory. By Act 2, she’s speaking up in a group, still nervous but pushing through.
Each step builds on the last. The key is to show the struggle. Nobody changes overnight unless they’re hit by lightning or a really good self-help book. Let Jane doubt herself, fail, and learn. Show her sweating, heart racing, as she makes those tough choices. That’s what makes her growth feel real.
Another trick is to tie the arc to the story’s core conflict. If your movie’s about a rebellion against an evil empire, Jane’s journey from fear to courage should mirror the rebels’ fight. Maybe she’s inspired by a comrade’s sacrifice or forced to act when the empire threatens her family. This isn’t just about giving her a reason to change; it’s about making her arc feel like it belongs in the story.
In The Shawshank Redemption, Andy Dufresne’s arc from despair to hope is woven into the prison’s oppressive world. Every small act of defiance, from carving chess pieces to playing music over the loudspeaker, builds toward his escape. His arc feels seamless because it’s rooted in the story’s DNA.
Pacing is another biggie. You can’t rush a good arc. If Jane’s transformation happens in one scene, it’s like trying to bake a cake in a toaster. Give her time to evolve. Spread key moments across the screenplay. Moments of doubt, tiny wins, setbacks, and breakthroughs. In Legally Blonde, Elle Woods doesn’t go from ditzy sorority girl to ace lawyer in one montage. We see her study, fail, get laughed at, and keep going. Her arc feels earned because it unfolds gradually, with each step showing her grit and growth.
Don’t forget the internal stuff, either. External events, like Jane fighting a villain, aren’t enough. You need to dig into her head. What’s she feeling? Why is she scared to change? Maybe she’s clinging to old beliefs about herself, like “I’m not strong enough.”
Use dialogue, subtext, or even visuals to show this. In Inside Out, Riley’s arc is all about processing her emotions. The external plot, Joy and Sadness’s journey, mirrors Riley’s internal struggle to accept change. It’s a masterclass in making the inner and outer arcs work together.
Here’s a practical tip: write a “character arc timeline.” Sketch out your character’s emotional state at the start, middle, and end. Jot down key scenes that push them forward. For Jane, maybe it’s a moment where she’s forced to speak up or a scene where she fails and learns. This keeps you from accidentally making her arc inconsistent.
Also, avoid the temptation to overdo it. If Jane’s arc is too dramatic, like going from coward to superhero while also solving world hunger, it’ll feel like you’re trying too hard. Keep it focused. One clear, well-executed arc is better than a dozen half-baked ones. Think of Iron Man: Tony Stark’s journey from selfish playboy to selfless hero is simple but powerful because it’s consistent and tied to his guilt over his weapons’ impact.
Finally, test your arc with fresh eyes. Share your script with a friend or writing group and ask: “Does this character’s change make sense?” If they’re confused, you might have a forced or inconsistent arc on your hands. Fix it by adding more stepping stones or clarifying the character’s motivations. It’s not unlike tweaking a recipe until the flavors pop.
In the end, a great character arc is like a good wine. It needs time, care, and the right ingredients to shine. Avoid the trap of rushing or forcing change, and make sure every step feels like it belongs. Your audience will thank you, and your characters will feel like real people, not puppets dancing to the plot’s tune.
So, go forth and craft arcs that make viewers cheer, cry, or at least not throw popcorn at the screen.