Why Joe Everyman is A Terrible Lead

Insert self here
Insert self here

Who is Joe Everyman?

You see him everywhere, with his crewcut, t-shirts, jeans, and vintage motorcycle jacket; this white, clean shaven, hetrosexual, twenty to thirty something rules the summer movie season. A de-socialized soldier in civilian clothes, he goes wherever the screenwriters order, not because of a strong desire, but because the plot needs him to be there.

He doesn’t waste screen time illustrating his motivations, those frames are better served with explosions. When there’s a 120 page script with 250 scenes, he’ll be there. When it feels like you’re watching a two hour montage, he’ll be there. When a set piece passes before you can figure out its dimensions, he’ll be there sprinting onto the next one. While other films take time to reveal their characters, Joe Everyman races to the closing credits.

When the premise is the selling point Joe doesn’t slow things down with character development. Every second he needs to evolve, comes at the expense of giant robots knocking over skyscrapers. He keeps things consistent so we can get back to super-sized dinosaurs fighting on beach front property, and UFOs blasting through landmarks.

In screenwriting, there’s a rule: enter a scene late, leave it early. Joe Everyman exploits this rule, to seem like more than what we see. As a cheat, the screenwriter implies Joe is a dynamic three-dimensional character, whenever he’s not there.

Joe can make his wife laugh, though we’ll never hear his joke. She’s swooning over a romantic gesture he performed off screen. They’re deeply in love, see they’re kissing, in a nice warm lit room shown through a shaky camera, so you know its intimate. As for the rest of their relationship, we’ll just have to take the movie’s word for it.

The screenwriter didn’t have time to fill in Joe’s personality, they left you to do it for them. Joe is a mannequin, hanging from train cars, leaping across buildings. A blank template for the viewer to project themselves onto, a surrogate, an empty vessel, a pod person. He’s a cardboard cutout with flat character traits and an empty face, ‘insert self here.’ He has a Madlib in place of a personality.

In this by the numbers story telling equation, the hero is the least important variable.

Without a call to action, Joe Everyman would languish behind a desk for the rest of his life. Stuck in a go nowhere 9 to 5, he’d have his 2.5 kids, and wait for his 401k to come. Coincidence has elevated him to the role of the chosen one, the one who will bring balance to the force, lead our armies against Skynet, and free us from the Matrix. If only there was a mentor figure to tell the rest of us how special we were.

Cardboard Man 2

The Alternative is Always more Attractive

There’s a reason everyone likes Han Solo over Luke Skywalker, Wolverine over Cyclops, Michaelangelo over Leonardo, Hit Girl over Kick Ass, Captain Jack Sparrow over Will Turner, Elizabeth Swann over Will Turner, Captain Barbossa over Will Turner (you see where I’m going with this).

Personality is appealing. Every saga has its vanilla individuals, fine, safe, and boring, then there are the players with some flavor.

Choosing between ‘interesting’ and ‘identifiable’ character attributes, I go with interesting every time. The character’s drive, goals, and failings should make them identifiable, not their broad appeal.

Beige just isn’t my color.

While erratic villains lead the plot in interesting directions, Joe Everyman takes orders between locations. Walking off the set of War of the Worlds, Joe shows up in Godzilla in the exact same outfit. Sam Worthington’s character from Terminator Salvation wondered through Avatar, then onto the set of Clash of the Titans. These were different time periods and places, but the exact same person. Not to make fun of Worthington as an actor, he’s good in everything I’ve seen him in, it’s just these parts were all underwritten.

Joe Everyman makes the supporting cast look cool by accident. He’s always upstaged by misfits whose plots we’d rather follow.

I can’t help but imagine a Matrix movie with Morpheus as the lead, a Thor title starring Loki, or a Godzilla film staring Bryan Cranston (for those of you saying “Don’t we already have one of those?” No, no we don’t).

Cardboard Man 3

Joe Everyman must come into His Own

Joe Everyman is a portrait of the audience, painted in broad strokes, a bad boardwalk caricature. His psych profile is all encompassing. He’s the one size fits all of storytelling. He communicates with all the grace of an advertisement, a Frankenstein Monster stitched together from market research. As authentic as a politician, he’s something for everyone, and everything to no one.

He’s so hyper-average that he threatens the suspension of disbelief.

Plenty of stories start with a pessimistic protagonist. A person who’s been railroaded by life, a victim of a series of accidents who learns to take control of their situation. A passive presence who changes the moment they decide they truly want something. This is when Joe Everyman works best, when he becomes Joe Individual.

In The Matrix, Neo decides he’s not ‘the one.’ Realizing his life is expendable, he sets out to save his mentor. Rather than let the Oracle tell him what he is, he makes a defiant decision (which I know, was her plan all along). Regardless of the existentialist determinist debate, Neo believes he’s made this choice on his own. Killing his Mr. Anderson persona, he evolves into his avatar.

A storytelling crime happens when Joe Everyman is introduced only to stay blank until the very end. He may have gone through an adventure, but made no choices, personal changes, and learned no lessons. Taking orders without making decisions, he’s still just a victim of circumstance.

If a screenwriter wants our empathy, they shouldn’t expect it from the character’s presentation. Sure the guy on screen might look like me, but he has to earn my empathy. Get me invested in his plight, until his goals become my goals, his change becomes my change, and his outcome becomes my outcome. Then, and only then, will I see myself in him.

Do this well and it won’t matter what age, gender, color, or sexual orientation this character comes in, we’ll still see ourselves in them.

When you create a slate for people to project themselves on, take care not to leave it blank. If the vessel stays empty, it will feel hollow to the audience. Average Joe Everyman should end up Exceptional Joe Individual, or at the very least Tragic Joe Anti-Hero.

14 thoughts on “Why Joe Everyman is A Terrible Lead”

  1. Damn good stuff sir. I truly hate comic book adaptations for this reason (and everything else in those movies). Characters don’t exist in cinema anymore.

    1. I know, right. I remember reading that they wanted to have Luke Skywalker end up with Princess Leia, but that audiences responded to her chemistry with Han Solo.

  2. Love, love, love “He has a Madlib in place of a personality.” Why do you suppose the “heroes” all all so beige now? Is it a lack of creativity on the part of the writer, or do you suppose it’s all meant to appeal to a a larger unimaginative audience? Or something else, entirely?

    1. As far as summer movies, like Godzilla go, I think it has a lot to do with pacing and the needs of the plot over those of the characters.

  3. I will say that I liked Kick-Ass over Hit-Girl, but I agree with the rest. I’ve been saying for quite awhile that there’s a lack of imagination and originality in films lately. “You want a flawed hero? Make him alcoholic. Your character has a wife? Have her nag that he’s never home enough to help her take care of the kids.” Repitition is Hollywood’s hallmark. The most fascinating movies have unique leads. For example, The Big Lebowski works because The Dude is a different kind of Joe. He’s an everyman, but of the hippie, White Russian-drinking variety. My favorite generalized-action movie, though, has to be Clive Owen’s “Shoot ‘Em Up,” because it’s everything we’ve come to expect from that genre.

    1. I agree. I’ve seen the depressed alcoholic cop trope played out in far too many mediums.

      I’d say Shoot ‘Em Up is the live action matchup between Bugs Bunny and Elmer Fudd.

      1. Shoot ‘Em Up is hilarious, specifically to those who see it as a proper almost-parody of the genre… nearly in the same vein as Cabin In The Woods. I love absurdity in film

  4. Thoughtful post, 1st off. Loved reading it. As “rachealizations” suggests, it may well be in part a reflection on viewers, writers or both…or something else. I think it’s the essence of intellectual honesty to cop to not knowing, but I can’t help speculating ONE of the things playing out is how out of control busy most of us are.

    Some-perhaps many-don’t want to work that hard when we watch a film. Pathos, nuanced plot & characters require thoughtful consumption. The more nuanced the character…the more ambiguous the ethical dilemmas inherent in the conflict, the harder the viewer has to work. Which is not to say there aren’t peopled interested in sifting plot, story arc, characterization & conflict to capture meaning. But I can’t help wondering (suspecting?) that kind of viewer is statistically less common today than the viewer who wants the writer to keep it simple…

    1. That’s an interesting theory. I’d love to hear more on that. These days, most folks can’t watch TV without sifting through the internet simultaneously. Simple stories, with a limited range of emotion, could be more digestible for that reason. Have you written anything on the subject? Might make a good blog entry.

      Thanks a lot for reading and commenting.

Leave a Reply