2.1: Elements of Dramatic Structure

The structure most familiar in the West follows a straightforward sequence: beginning, middle, and end. This pattern mirrors Western ideas about life—birth, life, death—and carries with it the implication that stories should move linearly toward resolution. But this is not the only way to shape a dramatic experience. The Japanese aesthetic principle jo-ha-kyū, for example, also divides performances into three parts, and is often compared to beginning, middle, and end. Yet, it is far more intricate. As scholar and Nōh dancer Kunio Komparu writes, “the concept of jo-ha-kyū unifies the contradiction of the essentially opposing concepts of space and time, binding them with a breaking element” (Komparu 1984, 25). Roughly translated to “slow, break, fast” jo-ha-kyū governs not only the arc of an individual play in the Japanese dance drama style called Nōh but also the structure of an entire evening of performance—and even the parts within each play. Each jo contains its own jo-ha-kyū, as does each ha and each kyū. This fractal-like layering results in a carefully controlled rhythm: a slow introduction, a building momentum, and a swift, often sudden, conclusion. Indian Sanskrit dramas offer a model of dramatic structure more focused on emotional transformation than narrative progression. According to the Nāṭyaśāstras, the ancient treatise attributed to the sage Bharata Muni, drama works by stimulating specific emotional states, or bhāvas, in the characters that create corresponding aesthetic experiences, or rasas, in the audience. Through these bhāvas, “the inner idea of the playwright is made to pervade [the mind of the spectators] by means of Words, Gestures, color of the face and Representation of the Sattva [the quality of goodness]” (Ghosh, trans. 1950, 7:2, original emphasis). Feminist dramaturgies pose another, more cyclical model. For example, the plays of Ntozake Shange, Caryl Churchill, María Irene Fornés, and other feminist writers reject linear plot development in favor of repetition, fragmentation, ritual, or return—structures that resonate with feminist critiques of patriarchy, time, and narrative authority.

These feminist structures react against the linear approach formalized by the German playwright Gustav Freytag. In his 1863 treatise, Freytag outlined what is now commonly known as Freytag’s Pyramid.[i] According to Freytag, the structure of drama “rises from the introduction with the entrance of exciting forces to the climax, and falls from here to the catastrophe” (MacEwan, trans. 1900, 114). His model has been adapted, critiqued, and reinterpreted by artists and theorists over the years, but its foundational arc remains. Stories structured in this mode typically begin with a moment of stasis or exposition, a glimpse into the world before the story truly begins. In Disney’s Beauty and the Beast (1991) Belle sings of her “poor provincial life” as she makes her way through her town. In The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkein, Bilbo Baggins enjoys a quiet moment with his pipe in his cozy Hobbit hole. In Pixar’s Inside Out (2015) Riley’s emotions—Joy, Sadness, Fear, Anger, and Disgust—navigate an ordinary day in the mind of an 11-year-old Minnesotan. Then, something shifts. An inciting incident disrupts the norm and sets the story in motion. Belle’s father gets lost and is imprisoned by a monstrous beast. The wizard Gandalf knocks on Bilbo’s door with an adventure in tow. Riley’s family moves cross-country to San Francisco. What follows is the rising action, a series of complications and escalations. Belle tames the Beast but must return home to care for her father. Bilbo faces goblins, spiders, and elves—and discovers a mysterious ring. Riley struggles to find her footing in a strange new city. At the peak comes the climax, a decisive turning point. Gaston and the Beast battle for Belle’s love. The Dragon Smaug’s defeat spirals into the Battle of the Five Armies. Riley nearly runs away but turns back just in time, as Joy and Sadness reunite inside her mind. Finally, there is the falling action, or denouement. Belle’s kiss lifts the curse. Bilbo returns home to write his memoirs. Riley settles into her new life, with puberty waiting just around the corner.

This structure covers many of the stories we encounter daily, including those we might scroll past on social media. For example, a four-part TikTok video that went viral in March 2021 begins with Samantha Hartsoe in her New York City apartment. She notices cold air blowing and locates its source as her bathroom mirror. The video ends with her telling the viewer, “Let me show you what I found in my New York City bathroom” (Hartsoe 2021). In the second video, she removes the mirror and uncovers a hole leading to another apartment. She prepares to go through the hole wearing a face mask and gloves with a flashlight taped to her head and carrying a hammer. In the story’s climax, the third video, she travels through the hole as her friend films her. The final video reveals what she found on the other side. Rather disappointingly, it’s only an unfinished apartment. This series of videos is epic in scale compared to the average viral video depicting only a few seconds of rising action and promising a climax should we click on the link in the comments. Once you understand this linear story structure, you will see it everywhere. You may even become aware of how you consciously or unconsciously structure narratives about your experiences in a similar fashion, casting yourself as the protagonist, marking off various achievements, and capping different “eras.” This is the power of storytelling. Stories define the outer limits of what is possible in each society and structure how the members of that society think both individually and collectively.

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[i] The dramatic structure commonly known as Freytag’s Pyramid was proposed by nineteenth-century German critic Gustav Freytag. It describes a five-part narrative structure—exposition, rising action, climax, falling action, and resolution—based on his analysis of classical and Shakespearean tragedies.