On the surface, Star Wars was always a story of simple black and white, light and dark. Even in its color scheme. Luke wears white. Vader wears black. George Lucas himself famously said, "Bad guys get red lightsabers, and good guys get blue ones." Keep it simple. Joseph Campbell. You know the drill.
But the real secret sauce is the choices despite all that.
What makes Star Wars great is that there is moral ambiguity nestled in amongst those polarities. This is embodied by various characters over time, but initially just by one.
Han Solo was the key to Star Wars (1977). Not just because Harrison Ford played the part. Separating Ford's stardom from the role of Han is virtually impossible, but the two things fed into each other and created a new superstar and another iconic rendition of a familiar archetype to rival those played by Bogart and Gable, or written by everyone from Lord Byron to Raymond Chandler.
In a universe of goods and bads that are as plain as day, Han served as a perfect antidote to such false simplicity. He wanted to be neither. He wasn't sure where he'd land. He finally made up his mind. (Well, for now.)
The story arc of the first Star Wars film is Han's arc. Luke is the protagonist, but it would be like everything else if it all didn't hinge on what Han would choose. Good or evil?
What makes Star Wars different than The Lord of the Rings? Han, of course. The sprinkling of uncertainty.
The same later goes for Luke and Vader in subsequent episodes of the series. Darth Vader becomes a fascinating figure when internal conflict is introduced to him. He becomes an even more dynamic character than Han who, by the end of the trilogy, is pretty much all good.
Every time there is new Star Wars content created it seems this all-important piece is missing. They even brought Han Solo back in sequels, but didn't let him serve his true purpose. It would be like having a Bond movie where Bond has sworn off drinking, fast cars, women, and being a spy. What's even the point of it being Bond?
There is one portion of the Star Wars creative world that does consistently find and utilize morally uncertain characters. That's Dave Filoni and the team he worked with on The Clone Wars, Rebels, and now The Bad Batch.
These animated series end up being more complex than any modern live-action entry, save maybe Rogue One, which also pulled off the Han Solo secret sauce to perfection.
Filoni learned alongside Lucas and has often shared the lessons he took from that. Making sure the universe is presenting good and evil for children young and old is critical, but if there is no choice between good and evil... what is the point?
Bringing some questions of moral standing is important for characters in children's stories. It's what drives the lesson or parable. Filoni's Clone Wars series covered a period of time where one villain pitted two forces against one another in a drawn-out armed conflict where there were few true heroes and true villains. The focus shifted towards those caught in the middle.
The Bad Batch goes even a step further. A team of special clone troops is left uncertain of their role in a changing political landscape. Bred for a war that has ended, working perhaps for the bad guys, unsure if they should be following orders.... even the lead character looks a lot like Rambo... and not just to evoke the spirit of the pure action of First Blood 2: Rambo, but clearly to evoke the moral complexity of First Blood.
How far will The Bad Batch take these ideas? Ultimately we know it will only ever get so dark, since these are meant to be uplifting stories for children of all ages (even 40-year-old ones). But the point remains that Filoni and co. "get it," and that's why these series continue to work better than some of the bigger live-action entries in the very same franchise.
What are your thoughts? Leave them in the comments.
I read somewhere that there are only two best-case scenarios for a great screenplay—either it meets the expectations of the audience or it doesn’t. Either they sigh in relief or gasp out loud in shock.
Giving your audience what they want shouldn’t be difficult for a practiced writer. A character has a desire, and they achieve it at the end of the story. Boom! Expectations met!
But there’s something oddly satisfying about not meeting those expectations in a screenplay, leaving the audience shaken in disbelief.
Many compelling screenplays use something called misdirection—it's sneaky, it's intelligent, and it takes viewers somewhere unexpected. It's all about planting subtle clues that seem insignificant until a revelation forces us to reconsider everything.
Let’s examine how this narrative tool, when used thoughtfully, can transform straightforward storytelling into something more complex and satisfying.
What is Misdirection?
Misdirection is distracting the audience to mislead them, preventing them from getting on to your scheme of actions, until you finally reveal the truth. In essence, it is a style of storytelling, where the “audience proposes, filmmaker disposes.”
In misdirection, a filmmaker manipulates information, character(s), and their timing in the narrative while building the conflict, until everything falls into place to reveal an unexpected resolution that does not match the audience’s expectations.
Many times, the audience is also purposefully misdirected by exploiting their biases, prejudices, and gullibility.
Why Would Any Filmmaker Misdirect Their Audience?
A story is as interesting as its narration. Be it a bedtime story or Nolan’s Inception, if the narrative is linear and flat, it may be less engaging to your audience.
Misdirection is one of the finest tools that acts like a hook to your story. Misdirecting elements are thought-provoking, working with the audience’s psychology to throw them off guard.
Fiction gives you the freedom to alter realities, but even while misdirecting, it is important that the dots connect effectively by the end of the story. Information shouldn’t be irrelevant and without context.
How Do You Misdirect Your Audience?
You can use any story element to misdirect the audience, but the most commonly used are characters, sound, props, plot points, strategic information reveal, and the time of the incident of any event.
Examples of Misdirection in Great Films
Gone Girl by David Fincher
Misdirection by unreliable narrator
This is one of those stories that is completely narrated in misdirection.
The film opens through husband Nick’s (Ben Affleck) perspective, who becomes the prime suspect in the disappearance of his wife, Amy (Rosamund Pike), on their fifth marriage anniversary. As the investigation and media frenzy take over, we are let into the lives of our two main characters and led to believe that Amy might actually be dead.
We learn about their failing marriage and Nick’s extramarital affair. Thus, when Nick lies through his teeth about his loving relationship with Amy to the police, he instantly becomes an unreliable narrator in the story.
Thus, even though his alibis are believable, you cannot trust him and can’t take his word. Rather, you, with the police, start suspecting him.
This automatically shifts all your trust to Amy instead, even though you know even less about her than Nick. Wonderfully, you have begun rooting for her now.
What you might not realize is that you have been misdirected to dislike Nick as a character, so that you automatically take Amy’s side right from the beginning, until it is revealed that Amy is alive and purposefully in hiding.
This is one of the many misdirections in the film.
By regulating how the audience judges the characters, their morality, and their intentions, a filmmaker often shatters the expectations of the audience with misdirection to give them a more surprising resolution than expected.
The Sixth Sense by M. Night Shyamalan
Misdirection by character
Just by establishing a character in a certain way and revealing information about them strategically, a filmmaker can determine the character’s impression on the audience.
This is what M. Night Shyamalan does in The Sixth Sense. The magician of misdirection keeps both the characters and the audience engaged, looking for the ghost, all the while narrating the events through the ghost’s perspective!
The beauty of a nuanced misdirection lies in the clues left throughout a film’s events, leaving you both frustrated and delighted at the same time that you didn’t pick up on them!
Money Heist by Álex Pina
Misdirection by sound
In the Spanish drama series, Money Heist, the makers use a powerful misdirection but with a genius twist. This misdirection is not only for the audience per se, but for the main character—the Professor (Álvaro Morte), too.
In the Season 2 finale of the drama series, the Professor and Raquel (Itziar Ituño), the love of his life and newly minted partner-in-crime known as “Lisbon,” are sprinting through a dense, shadowy forest. The air crackles with urgency as police hounds close in, their shouts breaking the eerie silence of the forest.
Eventually, they are forced to separate, with a radio as their only mode of communication. Raquel ends up taking refuge in a barn, but not for too long. The police arrive, and she is completely surrounded. A gun to her head, she is ordered to compromise the Professor, but she’s steel-willed and denies the police any information.
All the while, the Professor is on the radio with her, frightened and worried, begging her to tell them everything in exchange for her life. The Professor frantically runs through the forest to reach Raquel, when… bang! A gunshot rips through the radio.
The Professor stops dead, the forest swallowing his anguished cry. But as the episode races to its close, the fog clears. The shot? A cruel ruse. She’s alive and in police custody. The Professor’s despair was their bait, and he bit—hard.
What I love about this particular sequence is that the filmmakers don’t use misdirection as a generalized cliff-hanger of “what happens next.”
Instead of revealing that Raquel is alive in an upcoming episode of the next season, they make a choice to reveal it at the tail end of the same episode.
Raquel is a crucial character in the series at this point, so to lose her in the narrative would have been a huge plot twist. At times, thrillers do go for the cheap surprise, whether it makes sense or not. But in Money Heist, the reveal elevates the value of the misdirection because now the audience knows things are going to change forever—for better or worse.
Final Destination 5 by Steven Quale
Misdirection by props
The sequence leading up to Candice’s fall in Final Destination 5 is a series of brilliantly crafted misdirections that keep us on the edge of our seats until the mishap finally happens.
The misdirections also seem to be symbolic, as the death of poor Candice (Ellen Wroe) is a sharp irony. Throughout the scene, we keep worrying about the loose screw in her gymnastic apparatus but how she is killed by it in the end is absolutely unexpected—just how a nuanced misdirection should be.
Psycho by Alfred Hitchcock
Misdirection by casting
Killing the heroine halfway through the film was a risky but brilliantly used misdirection by Alfred Hitchcock in Psycho, especially considering the film dates back to the ‘60s.
An actor’s face value is as important as their acting skills. Big actors usually have strong plot armor and are expected to survive the story.
In Psycho, when a star like Janet Leigh is killed off midway through the movie, the audience is thrown off guard and does not know what to assume, whose story to follow, or what to expect next. This amplifies the shock factor of the plot twist.
Misdirection can turn your story into a fun experience with plenty of unexpected twists and turns. When done well, a reveal should prompt viewers to think, "Of course! How did I miss that?" rather than, "That came out of nowhere!"
The audience hates being deceived. So, not meeting audience expectations doesn’t mean you lie and fill the screenplay with deceiving information, revealed in an untimely way, aiming for a plot twist in the climax that feels isolated and seemingly unmotivated.
Also, be careful not to clutter your narrative with forced misdirections.
For a better understanding, check out the examples in the article—how each misdirection is a strategic literary device, not just a stylized form of storytelling.
