Great Scenes: How A Lie Creates Tension

As has been well-recorded here, Clint Eastwood’s Unforgiven is one of my favorite movies. In fact, I’d go so far as to say it’s the perfect movie. Today I’ll be looking at two key scenes and illustrate how Eastwood uses lies to ratchet up the tension. These aren’t the iconic scenes, of which this movie has several, but what I call drawbridge scenes.

What’s a drawbridge Scene?

A drawbridge scene is similar to a transitional scene, except instead of moving the plot forward (i.e., get the main character from here to there), its chief function is to dramatically increase the tension. It should lead to a climax (not necessarily THE climax, but a high point that we’ve been building towards). I call them a drawbridge scene because it’s like the raising of a drawbridge in a movie. You know that once the drawbridge starts going up, you’ve got a problem on your hands.

So let’s start by describing the two scenes.

In the first scene, English Bob, already established as a feared gunslinger, is exiting a barbershop in Big Whiskey. He comes out to find himself surrounded by several gun-toting deputies. Big Whiskey has a strictly enforced ordinance that forbids the carrying of firearms within town limits, and he is definitely carrying firearms.

Bob tries to deny he’s armed, but everyone within the scene, as well as the audience, knows very well that he’s lying. He then pleads with Little Bill, the sheriff, that it would be too dangerous for him to go without a weapon, as there are people that would want to kill him. After taking away one weapon, the tension eases a little, before Bill asks if he still keeps a second piece hidden on him. What I especially like is the awkward conversation between the two before they get down to business. This both helps to establish the relationship between the two men while letting us know that they both despise and fear each other.

Once he is disarmed, Little Bill then proceeds to beat Bob mercilessly in front of the whole town (This is one of the iconic scenes of the movie,).

*Unfortunately, the internet doesn’t seem to have the heart of the scene I’m talking about. We have the set-up, and then the resolution, but the middle portion is missing. You’ll have to watch the whole movie to watch the full scene.

Scene two directly parallels the first scene. William Munney, the protagonist, has arrived in Big Whiskey with his two companions. It’s raining, dark, and Munney is sick. With his companions upstairs in the saloon, Munney is alone when Little Bill and his deputies arrive, ready to disarm the visitors in similar fashion to the earlier scene.

When confronted, Munney twice says that he’s unarmed, and also lies about his name. Again, everyone knows that he is armed, and the tension is doubly thick, because we know what happened to Bob earlier.

This scene ends up with the same result. After being disarmed, Bill beats Munney and sends him out into the rain, dangerously close to death. He then rushes upstairs to get the other two, only to find they’ve escaped through the window.

These scenes do a good job of illustrating how lies can be used to create dramatic tension. We can’t help but feel that things would go easier if the characters chose to tell the truth. Each has a reason to lie–Bob because he knows he’s got a beating coming either way, Munney because he isn’t thinking clearly–but the audience sees a situation where lies are causing an already tense stand-off to become worse.

They also show how you don’t need a lot of action to draw in the audience. These stand-offs don’t turn into shootouts. Each starts slowly, as the character carrying the weapons tries to lie his way out of the situation. Each lie they tell compounds the last. We know that they won’t get away with these lies. We can’t help but feel they would have been better off telling the truth. And even though their situations are helpless, at least in Munney’s case, we hope for him to get away with his lies and avoid punishment.

A good writer knows how to incorporate lying into their work. Sometimes it’s a protagonist who lies when they shouldn’t lie. Sometimes it’s when they tell the truth when it would have been smarter to be dishonest. Sometimes a lie begets another lie, and another, and another until the fictions spiral out of control.

These aren’t the only scenes in Unforgiven that rely on the truth and lies to propel the story. I highly recommend you check out the film the next chance you get.

On a side note, it’s time to reflect on last week’s Journaling Idea, where I committed to 48 hours of honesty. It turns out it’s really hard to always be completely honest. It wasn’t too much of a challenge, for me at least, to avoid any big lies, but it’s the small lies that get you. My boss walked up to me and asked if I was busy, and I said I just finished something. I could have just said no, but I didn’t want him to think I wasn’t working hard.

Later, I was on the phone with a friend, and we were debating when to meet, and rather than explain the process of how I needed to clean my apartment, then shower, then walk and feed my dog, then bike all the way over to meet him, I just said I had something going on and couldn’t meet until 4. This is what I call a lie of convenience. You’re not trying to be misleading, but it’s easier to tell a small lie rather than explain the entire situation.

I’m not sure what these lies can tell me about my writing. But maybe there’s something there, a person who thinks of themselves as honest, yet is always telling these small lies. It’s something to think about anyway.

Check out Decater's new novel, available now at Amazon. Plus, don't forget his earlier books: Ahab's Adventures in Wonderland and Picasso Painted Dinosaurs.