Ford v. Ferrari

 Showing without telling:

When I was in grade school, we sometimes had show and tell. Somebody would have something cool to show, a new toy or a fossil or a new puppy, and they would show us the cool new thing and talk about it. Some of us never had anything cool to show, but we did have an experience to share. I'm reminded of the time I told the story about getting cow manure in my mouth but blew the ending when in my excitement I said "on my foot" instead of "in my mouth" and thus didn't get the response I was expecting. Anyway, it's a short and not-all-that-entertaining-tale, but I still remember the taste. My point, if I had one, was that now we're told over and over "Show. Don't tell."

I'm firmly committed to doing whichever one I want. No one is the boss of me. Seriously, I think it's better to show than tell, most of the time. However, if that show takes three chapters, three pages, or three paragraphs of boring details or otherwise uninteresting minutiae, just tell me; spare me the boredom. I say, "Show me the good stuff. Tell me the condensed version of the boring stuff, and then only if the story requires it." That was a longer explanation than I anticipated--and it was all telling with no show.

Let me tell you how Ford v. Ferrari showed rather than told. I watched the movie in short chunks over three different days. It's. Totally. Awesome. I've seen it a few times before and get angrier at the Ford VP of Obnoxious Nincompoopery who kept Ken Miles out of the first race and fraudulently stole the title from him in the final race. That's not my point. I do love the movie. At it's heart, it's a great tale of the relationship between Carrol Shelby and Ken Miles as they strive to win a Grand Prix title for Ford, in spite of everything Ford and his malevolent toady do to hinder them. 

There's a scene after Miles has been denied the chance to race in the Grand Prix after doing all the testing and providing the technical advance to perfect the car when Shelby comes to ask him to come back to the team and do it again. Miles takes the request poorly and they fight, with Miles dropping his bag of groceries. As viewers, we don't know how serious these two are in their attempt to hurt each other. However, it all becomes clear when Shelby is on the ground with Miles on his back; Shelby grabs a stray can of food with which to strike Miles in the head, but drops it when he realizes the kind of damage it could do and instead begins walloping Miles with a bag of bread. It was brilliant. That one small act demonstrated the relationship and the terms of the fight. It was showing, not telling. It didn't take a long explanation (like the description I just gave) or require the viewer to interpret motivations based on the intersectionality and relative victimhood of the characters. It was straight forward and subtle. The detail could easily have been missed. Masterful.

If you haven't seen the 2019 movie directed by James Mangold, I insist that you do so at your earliest convenience. It's on Prime.

If you're interested in more bloviating about writing, check out: 

Part II of my substack post on Forging Unforgettable Stories