Unrealistic Plot Point? Just Hang A Lampshade On It

Ah, the lampshade hang.  It’s a tried-and-true storytelling technique, and it can be anything from incredibly lazy to transcendentally awesome.  What is lampshade hanging?  First of all, it’s not the thing where you put a lampshade on your head when you’re drunk on New Year’s.  I made that mistake when trying to jump into a Serious Literary Conversation and got burned, let me tell you.

One of the problems with stories is that they have to be unlike life – because they have a narrative structure, but also like life – because the audience needs to identify with the characters and believe the plot is realistic (within the confines of the show).  But sometimes a story writes itself into a corner.  The plot needs to move along, so a character shows up in a timely fashion with just the information our heroes need.

Anything that threatens the willing suspension of disbelief is a problem.  It’s the cornerstone of storytelling.  So what do many authors and screenwriters do when they have to include something hackneyed or contrived?  Simple.  They call attention to it.

It seems counter-intuitive, but it actually solves a number of problems.  For one thing, it tells the audience that, yes, the writers are aware of the issue.  It’s a head-fake towards contrition, and a wink to the audience.  Done well, it creates a bond with the viewers – “look, we’re in this together.”  Done poorly, it’s a groan-worthy device that only highlights – and amplifies – the failure of the writing.

Of course, some people take it to another level.  Abed on Community is basically the living embodiment of hanging a lampshade, as he seems to exist to point out the ways in which Greendale is unrealistic and like a TV show.

And of course, no discussion of lampshade hanging would be complete without one of the all-time greats, a movie that celebrated the ridiculousness of its genre even as it pointed it out, gleefully:

It’s one part self-deprecation, and another part celebration of tropes in general.  After all, narrative devices aren’t inherently bad.  Sure, some of them become cliches, but in general, they’re tools.  They’re the meat and potatoes of storytelling.

Lampshade hanging is mostly a comedy trope, but it can be sometimes used to devastating effect, as well.  No Country For Old Men is a serious movie if there ever was one, but it’s self-aware enough to point out cliche in a truly terrifying way:

Then there’s the dark side of lampshade hanging.  Raise your hand if you saw The Core.  Anybody?  Oh, just me then.  I have an admittedly shameful weakness for disaster movies, and much like a heroin addict, I’m not picky about quality when I’m looking for a fix.  In the first act, you have the plucky hero sitting down with the military brass and explaining why it’s literally impossible to drill to the center of the earth and restart the core.  He gets through a long-winded explanation about the vast, impossible feat, telling them in no uncertain terms that it can’t be done, and then another guy leans back and muses, “yes… but what if it could?”

Replace the hero with the writer, and the military brass with studio execs, and you can see how this came about.

Yes, lampshade hanging is a proud and noble storytelling tradition.  It’s endlessly fascinating and will completely change the way you watch television and movies.  And if you think I’m overstating my case, you are perhaps correct.  But knowing how the sausage is made gives you an entirely different level on which to appreciate great stories.  I mean, let’s just take a second to admire the multifaceted brilliance of this line, now that we’re considering lampshade hanging:

httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gazACJ0R1Hc

Now that’s a complex zinger.