Season 2 of Apple TV’s hit offbeat thriller Severance wrapped up the other week, sending fans racing to Reddit threads and video essays to talk about what the hell just happened and what the hell could happen next.
If you’re unfamiliar, Severance is set in a world where workers can sever their work memories from their life memories. From the “Outie’s” perspective, they earn money just for showing up, but the “Innie” is perpetually at work, existing only within the confines of the office.
Severance’s core concept is one of those brilliant ideas which no doubt made other writers snap their fingers in frustration and say aloud, “If only I had thought of that,” when it first debuted back in 2022.
It’s a fantastic premise which instantly conjures up a wealth of plot possibilities and feels current with many people’s concerns over corporate greed and work-life balance. Much has been said about the show’s world-building and social commentary, but Severance is also a masterclass in character writing.
Because Severance knows that character does not exist.
Character Does Not Exist
In a finished screenplay elements like dialogue and stage directions (in other words, action) exist as their own entities. One can identify when a line of dialogue is clunky or when a stage direction is contrived. But character? Where exactly do we find that?
It would be more accurate to describe character as something which has an effect on a screenplay rather than an element within it. What we call character is something we infer about a person from their behaviour.
Blake Snyder’s famous “Save the Cat” maxim is a great example. If we see someone save a cat we know they are good. If we see someone hurt a cat we know they’re an asshole. It’s their behaviour which defines their character, not the other way around.
Character is Plot and Plot is Character
When it comes to learning about the craft of storytelling, writers are often taught about plot structure first. We all learn about the three-act structure, Joseph Campbell’s Hero’s Journey or Snyder’s own beat sheet.
In Aristotle’s Poetics, the philosopher names plot as the most important element in good storytelling.
So it’s no surprise many writers, aspiring and professional, view plot and character as separate elements which are then plugged into each other.
However, Aristotle also emphasised the importance of unity of action, character consistency and causality within a plot. Putting it simply, though real people can contain a plethora of desires and goals, in a story they should be driven by a single objective and their actions should build on each other; one thing should logically lead to the next.
With this in mind, character is really the only thing a writer needs to get right to tell a good story. Nothing happens in a story unless it springs from a character’s actions and decisions.
In other words, character is plot.
What Makes a “Good” Character?
Personally, I tend to avoid using terms like “good” and “bad” when describing the traits of a character. Not because I don’t believe in standards of quality (I’ll talk about that in another article), but because these descriptors lack context.
For example, people often criticise Superman for being too powerful and not having enough flaws, but these people are wrong. Superman works in Superman stories because his inherent goodness is what drives the plots of those stories. Obviously, if you put the same character in Sicario - a story explicitly about moral relativism - he wouldn’t work.
Instead, I tend to use the terms “weak” and “strong” when describing characters. So what makes a strong character? The simplest answer is dynamism and agency.
As Alexander MacKendrick says in the book On Filmmaking he states the obvious fact that film is a visual medium. It relies on action. A book can spend whole chapters inside a character’s head, but a visual medium must show us something.
If character is plot then the strongest characters are those who take action. Characters have to do something. Any trait within a character that stops them from doing must be swapped out for a trait that forces them into doing.
What exactly those traits are depends on the context of the story the writer is attempting to tell.
With all this in mind…
Let’s Write Severance
Severance is a brilliant example of character as plot because the Innies are completely cut off from the outside world. They have no elaborate backstories to inform their behaviour. The majority of the show is restricted to a handful of locations inhabited by characters doing things.
As a result, the main foursome of Mark S., Helly R., Dylan G and Irving B. are immediately distinct, memorable and interesting.
LIGHT SPOILERS FOR SEASON 1
Severance Episode 1 starts with Helly R. waking up on a table inside a meeting room with no memory of who she is or how she got there. A voice (Mark S.) asks odd questions through an analogue speaker.
That’s the premise of the scene. So how do we write the rest and have it driven by the characters? What actions can Helly take which will tell us about her character?
[Disclaimer: I don’t know if Severance was literally written this way. This is simply a thought experiment].
What if Helly is overcome with fear? She curls up on the table and after some confusion, she meekly answers Mark’s questions. Afterwards, he opens the door and orients her to her new life as an Innie.
Functionally, this works: We learn something about Helly and Mark and we’re introduced to the unique world of Severance. However, there are some problems.
Firstly, the scene (though intriguing at first) mostly amounts to someone sitting on a table and talking to a speaker. It only evolves when Mark enters the room to kick off more talking. And what about what happens next?
Does Mark guide this timid, scared person through the office, introducing her to her job, the concept of Severance and the other employees? Again, it functions as a way to convey information, but it’s still rather inert.
If the writer is following the three-act structure, this sequence would establish the “normal world” which will then be broken by an inciting incident. However, in this version, there’s no impetus for the inciting incident. Something would just kind of have to happen to break up the monotony which would violate Aristotle’s rule about causality.
No wonder then that this is not the version of the episode the writers went with.
Fear is an understandable reaction in Helly’s situation, but another equally understandable response is anger. Scared people tend to flee or shut down, but angry people tend to lash out. In other words, they take action which is exactly what MacKendrick says strong characters should do.
So in the actual episode, Helly shakes off her drowsiness, ignores the weird questions, hops off the table and immediately goes for the door. When it won’t open and she realises she’s trapped she paces frantically, shouting to be let out.
When Mark eventually comes into the room, Helly grabs the speaker, lobs it at his head and then makes a break for it.
This is not only more engaging to watch, but it establishes Helly as a rebel who takes charge of her own destiny and despises being told what to do. Mark on the other hand is established as a milk toast middle manager with no noteworthy skills just trying to do his job.
This one scene creates the impetus for the entire plot of season 1. As Helly tries again and again to escape, Mark is forced to either cover for her or reprimand her. Dylan G. and Irving B. are also pulled in when Helly’s curiosity takes them beyond their own department to meet other Innies, kicking off arcs for both of them. The more rules the Innies break, the more they conflict with their bosses and so on…
Nothing happens just because the plot structure says it should happen. Every event feels natural and motivated by the characters.
Because strong characters and a strong plot are one and the same.
The Fun of Writing
Following books like Save the Cat or The Hero’s Journey accomplishes the mechanical, but not the creative. Viewing character and plot as separate entities can make the writing process feel like trying to solve an engineering problem. The task is to figure out how to make these components fit together.
I’m sure that kind of process is satisfying to some and I have no doubt great scripts have been written that way, but storytelling is more than just engineering.
Viewing character and plot as synonymous leads to a dynamic and exciting process where one is constantly creating. Sometimes writers themselves are surprised by the turns their stories take. I’ve had that experience myself and it’s simultaneously frustrating and delightful.
Rather than trying to figure out what should happen, writing is about trying to figure out what can happen. Sitting back and seeing where a story takes us is what makes telling that story so much fun.
And Severance, for all its sobering commentary and dark subject matter, is a very fun show.