It Can’t Be About What It’s About

There is a famous adage in the screenwriting world: “If the scene is about what it’s about, you’re in trouble.” While often attributed to David Mamet or Robert McKee, its wisdom applies beyond a single scene. When we expand this to the scale of an entire novel or film, we discover the secret to narrative depth.

You’ve almost certainly experienced a not-very-good movie where you understood the plot but felt it lacked soul. It felt thin because it was only about what it was about. Conversely, the masterpieces we wake up thinking about days later are so effective because they have two distinct “Abouts”—one on a plot level, another on an idea level.

This second “About” is what we might call the Big Beautiful Idea. Some think of this as as Theme, but I prefer big, beautiful idea because it implies something more active. And, in my view, it is the single most important characteristic of narrative.

The big, beautiful idea is the argument that your plot makes.

So a story has to operate on two levels: the level of plot (the sequence of events) and the level of idea (the philosophical stance). Without this second layer, a reader soon grows bored because all their questions are answered.

This is why, for example, stories about “important” topics like immigration and war can feel so bland and empty while a seemingly trivial fairy tale can feel profound and even life changing.

The big, beautiful idea is not a question or an exploration; it is not open ended. Rather, it is an argument that the narrative embodies.

At the simplest level, we see it in Aesop’s Fables. The Tortoise and the Hare argues that slow and steady wins the race. In masterworks, the argument is scaled up but remains just as central. For example, The Godfather is about the mafia on a plot level, but its big, beautiful idea is that Absolute power corrupts absolutely. The film Uncut Gems is about a jeweler running from the bad guys, but its argument is Bet on yourself every time.

The big, beautiful idea is the axis on which a narrative turns. If writing is, at its core, the mastery of transformation, then the big, beautiful idea is the inevitable conclusion of that change. It is what the protagonist (a far more slippery concept than may realize; more on it another time) transforms into.

In Titanic, the plot is a disaster romance, but the argument is Choose life. Rose is the protagonist because she is the one who transforms from a suicidal trophy wife into a free spirit hungry to live. By understanding the interplay between the Two Abouts, you can add immense depth to your work, ensuring your story resonates long after the final page is turned.

**This post is adapted from a video I made some time ago.