Film Trends: The Misconception That Stories Must Be Structurally Complex

Where Does a Film’s Appeal Truly Lie?

Among the films we find “interesting,” I believe there are two types:

• Films worth studying and emulating
• Films best enjoyed but not imitated

The latter includes works by directors with exceptional talent—those who bend or break cinematic rules with flair. Sometimes, they deliberately use techniques that would normally be considered mistakes, as if to say, “Rules are for those without taste. If you have it, you don’t need them.”

Unless you’re a genius yourself, it’s safer not to imitate such rule-breaking. What works for them may not work for you.

Another type of film not worth emulating is one whose appeal can’t be structurally analyzed. I have favorite films that I’ve watched repeatedly and thoroughly enjoyed, yet I can’t pinpoint what makes them work. Perhaps it’s the charisma of the actors, the music, or the visuals. If that’s the case, then the appeal is difficult to reproduce.

As creators, we should focus on films whose appeal stems from structure. Story structure is reproducible. If the structure itself makes the story compelling, then even with a modest budget, you can create something engaging.

To put it bluntly: structurally strong films are often “conventional.” And I’d argue that conventional story planning is the most powerful tool we have.

Two Types of Creators

Creators tend to fall into two categories:

1. Those who understand and apply “conventional” storytelling to entertain a wide audience
2. Those who seek to overturn existing norms and create something radically new—the “revolutionaries”

There are purists who insist that creators must aim to be revolutionaries, and that making crowd-pleasing, conventional films is akin to selling your soul. These purists often disparage commercially successful films—but frankly, that’s just envy.

I believe we need a small percentage of revolutionaries—maybe 1%—but there’s zero value in tearing down success.

The Power of Convention in Godzilla Minus One

In 2023, I was thoroughly impressed by Takashi Yamazaki’s Godzilla Minus One. Some film purists seem to think it’s fair game to criticize Yamazaki simply because he’s commercially successful, but their disdain borders on absurd.

As a fan of Yamazaki’s Sunset on Third Street and its masterful use of conventional structure, I found Godzilla Minus One deeply satisfying. It reminded me that “conventional is okay.”

Without spoiling anything, the story follows a classic arc:

• The protagonist begins with a heavy burden
• They seek peace while carrying that burden
• Disaster strikes and peace is lost
• By choosing to fight for peace, they are freed from their burden

It’s simple. Familiar. Conventional. And it works.

To be honest, I often find myself unable to fully grasp the storylines of recent films. Maybe it’s my aging brain, or maybe I was never that sharp to begin with. But I suspect the real issue is that modern films and novels have become overly complex.

It’s as if there are three main storylines, each with thick branches, and those branches have their own thick sub-branches. The result is a tangled structure that’s hard to follow. I often struggle to recall the plot even right after watching.

This complexity may be a trend aimed at keeping audiences engaged, but I personally find it exhausting. I’ve wondered whether simple yet captivating films like Clint Eastwood’s are no longer possible—until Godzilla Minus One proved otherwise.

Yamazaki is known for his stunning VFX, but I’ve always felt his greatest strength lies in his screenwriting. I’d love to read a book by him on the art of storytelling.

Can Simple Stories Work in Indie Films?

When discussing film, it’s easy to slip into the role of critic—and critics often sound pompous. But I prefer to enjoy films as a creator, and I ask myself: can these insights apply to indie or DIY filmmaking?

While I haven’t reached a definitive answer, I do think indie filmmakers must be aware of their limitations.

One major challenge is that indie films often lack standout actors or visuals. Professional actors have star power, and skilled crews can amplify that. But in indie filmmaking, it’s safer to assume your raw materials have zero inherent appeal—and plan accordingly.

That’s why story structure becomes your strongest weapon. Conventional storytelling is powerful.

Imagine making a parody of Rocky with low production values. It might look rough, but the familiar structure would still make it enjoyable. That’s the power of convention.

Now imagine parodying something like Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny. Despite your best efforts, the result might be confusing. Complex stories require technical skill to execute. Without it, audiences can’t tell whether you’re presenting multiple timelines and perspectives—or just failing to communicate clearly.

Complexity can offer:

• Curiosity and engagement
• Rich world-building through multiple perspectives
• Suspense and surprise via unpredictable twists

But these benefits only emerge with skill. Otherwise, complexity becomes a burden, and most viewers will simply say, “I didn’t get it.”

Indie films don’t have to chase mass appeal. Creative freedom is essential. But don’t mistake personal satisfaction for pure self-indulgence. The joy of seeing your collaborators and audience genuinely enjoy your work is far greater than solitary pride.

To sustain your creative motivation, I believe the best approach is to build on the power of convention—use a simple story structure, and layer in surprises to keep things fresh.

I hope this perspective proves useful.