Viewer freedom

20 January 2025. Published by Benoît Labourdette.
  3 min
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Screenwriting often relies on narrative mastery to control the viewer’s emotions. Yet this quest for control can conflict with an ethic of viewer freedom. Why not consider film as a space for sharing knowledge, where viewers are free to think and feel, rather than seeking to manipulate them? I propose an introduction to the nuances between manipulative narration and respect for the viewer’s freedom. And let’s discover why leaving the viewer free can transform a film into a masterpiece.

An Ethic of the Relationship Between the Work and Its Viewer

The arsenal of narrative techniques in screenwriting, or rather the set of storytelling tools we use, aims to master the narrative process: emotions, character arcs, evolutions, and levels of intensity. We strive to control what the viewer experiences and what the characters go through. And I, too, can be tempted by this fantasy of control. But the viewer must be free. This is an ethic I uphold in life, so why not within films?

If, in life, I believe we should share knowledge so that each person, within the human collective, can contribute freely and respectfully, why would I, in a film, construct a manipulative enterprise that restricts the viewer’s freedom to think and feel during the viewing experience?

Against Manipulation

One might argue that telling a story is not manipulation but a conscious choice to engage with a narrative. Absolutely. Storytelling is not inherently manipulative. And indeed, there are multiple ways to tell stories: manipulative ways and non-manipulative ways. The focus of this reflection is to distinguish, within storytelling methods, what constitutes manipulation and what respects the viewer’s freedom. These methods may seem similar, but they are philosophically very different.

One might also argue that if we don’t force the viewer to feel emotions, they will be bored. For example, a film consisting of a static shot of a street for an hour and a half would likely be very dull, even if the viewer is free to think whatever they want. In reality, the viewer wouldn’t truly be free: they would be held hostage by this singular perspective. Imposing a static shot for an hour and a half does not necessarily respect their freedom.

The Democracy of Screenwriting

What makes people free is access to knowledge. Thus, what distinguishes, in my view, the respect for the viewer’s freedom in a film is how knowledge is shared with them. Are we manipulating them? Are we making them believe one thing only to reveal another later? This is where nuance comes into play.

I agree that hiding the truth for a while, making the viewer believe something, and then revealing something else can make a film interesting. But there’s a difference between doing this manipulatively and doing it playfully. If we explicitly offer viewers a game, making them understand that they only have part of the reality and that they will discover other facets as the story unfolds, we are not lying to them. We don’t give them all the information at once, but we acknowledge it as part of the game.

Believing that lying to the viewer makes the film more interesting is a mistake. In reality, it’s simply easier to lie than to construct a complex and respectful narrative. For example, if the main character is manipulated by others, the viewer can be let in on the secret: they know the others are lying to the protagonist, but the protagonist does not. Thus, the viewer is free because they have the information. They don’t know the full extent of the lies, but they know they exist.

Barry Lyndon

A good example of this approach is Stanley Kubrick’s *Barry Lyndon* (1975). The film is divided into chapters, each introduced by an intertitle that reveals the essential element of the upcoming story. For example, one chapter announces that Barry Lyndon is “destined to leave no descendant.” Then, we see scenes with his beloved child. The viewer knows the child will die. This knowledge allows us to reflect, to step out of the film, and to engage in philosophical contemplation about parenthood, death, etc.

This film tells a story we follow, but it also invites us to produce our own reflections, to connect with our emotions without being trapped by the narrative. One might think this technique reduces the film’s appeal—what we now call “spoilers”—but on the contrary, it makes our personal journey richer and more nuanced. This is what makes *Barry Lyndon* a film we can revisit without losing interest, as it offers us a space of freedom to develop our own reflections on its themes.

The Delicacy of Masterpieces

This is, undoubtedly, what distinguishes a masterpiece from a film we watch once without wanting to revisit. A masterpiece is an artistic object that leaves us free. Works that do not provide, in their structure, a space for the viewer’s freedom quickly lose their appeal.

Thus, it is more refined, more complex, more difficult, more nuanced, and more delicate to create a film or write a screenplay that leaves the viewer free to chart their own path. But I believe this additional challenge is absolutely worth taking on, as it leads to far more compelling works. Writing a screenplay is already a considerable task, and I believe we can strive to do it with an ethic of the relationship between the film and its viewer.

The freedom of the viewer lies at the heart of a narrative ethic that prioritizes the sharing of knowledge over manipulation. Films like *Barry Lyndon* show that transparency and narrative complexity can enrich the viewer’s experience, giving them space to reflect and feel freely. Writing a screenplay that respects this freedom is a challenge, but it paves the way for deeper and more enduring works. Ultimately, a masterpiece is one that leaves us free to think, to feel, and to return, again and again.

Tools and Techniques for Screenwriting and Film Project Development.

In our world where artificial intelligences create films directly from the desires of their authors expressed in very few words, in this world where 3.5-hour films in dark theaters coexist with 10-second videos on social networks—which of these require screenplays, why, and what is a screenplay?

Is a screenplay still useful in an era where everyone carries in their pocket audiovisual creation tools of nearly professional quality? What is the purpose of a screenplay?

For writers, directors, producers, and especially content creators, as they are most often called today, I believe that the screenplay, its methods of creation, its writing techniques, and its ways of telling stories, is an extremely powerful tool to help us create the most impactful audiovisual works possible—works that will best connect with their audiences today and tomorrow, across their respective distribution platforms, whether in movie theaters, on television screens, on SVOD platforms, on community video sites, or on new media built exclusively around collaborative video like TikTok.

This guide does not claim to be exhaustive, but it is based on concrete experiences—those I have lived and those I have facilitated. For over 30 years, I have supported thousands of people in making films of all genres, founded and directed several film festivals, created numerous innovative events around audiovisual media, and also served on creative funding committees. What I share here is therefore subjective and practical, drawn from my journey and my observations in practice.


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