There are 17 stages that make up the narrative structure of a hero’s path, from the initial challenge to the resolution of the dramatic arc. These can be summarized into three acts: Departure, Initiation, and Return. Around this formulation, presented by Campbell in The Hero with a Thousand Faces (published in 1949), I found an endless number of variations adapted by different instructors—American, it’s worth noting—of courses on documentary screenwriting.
When I felt a film pulsing in my chest and, lacking a formal education in Cinema, I took a few of these courses bit always dropped out halfway through. It seemed there was no escape: in every class, a “good script” meant distorting a story until it lost all its uniqueness so it could be squeezed into this soulless epic formula.

Fortunately, my cowardice and tendency to avoid conflict were protected by the asynchronicity of online courses. Still, my mind kept replaying a conversation between me and the instructor, and it went something like this:

— What’s the hero’s journey in your film?
— They were born, are alive, and do things. These things have consequences, for themselves and for others. This brings anxiety, anguish, miscommunication, the perception of others’ actions as betrayal, but also the possibility of new connections and some joys. She really enjoys public speaking, organizing political meetings, and having people over for coffee, for example. Up close, they are survivor, hero, and antagonist.
— Right. But how do you fit those characteristics—which could belong to any human being—into a narrative of overcoming? I mean, what’s the dramatic arc?
— Honestly? Nothing gets resolved and no one really overcomes anything. The real challenge seems to be understanding how the consequences of being alive and acting in the world—what we might also call life trajectories—coexist and overlap, and what consequences that has for how we inhabit this planet.
— That doesn’t sell…
— We agree, in the end.
— Let’s talk about narrative devices then. From what you’ve said, sounds like your film is going to have a lot of dead time?
— I don’t believe in dead time. A lot is happening even when nothing seems to be. It’s just a matter of shifting your perspective to see it.
— Dead time—as in, that stretch of time that stays on screen after the scene has “ended”…
— Exactly. But I believe that’s still part of the scene. The “after” of the action is still action, still being lived by the character. The suspension of time is still a way of moving time forward. To follow the time lived by another means rethinking our own view of time.
— Don’t you think you’re wasting time here?
— Well...losing time opens the possibility to find it.