Storytelling is an ancient art, but few understood its power better than William Shakespeare. His genius wasn’t just in crafting words but in structuring stories that gripped audiences—audiences that, quite literally, could turn deadly if they were bored. Corey Mandell, screenwriter and screenwriting instructor, highlights a crucial lesson from Shakespeare’s survival in a brutal theatrical world: the necessity of heightened concept.
The Shakespearean Lesson: Holding an Audience’s Attention
Imagine the scene. The Globe Theatre in the early 1600s: an unregulated part of London, teeming with brothels, gambling, and crime. The audience—mostly common folk unfamiliar with theatre—stood in a filthy pit, drinking, chatting, and occasionally dying from the Bubonic Plague. Shakespeare had one shot to grab their attention before they turned rowdy—or worse.
So, what did he do? He didn’t rely on high-concept—something grand or explosive, like a meteor about to destroy the world—because his audience wouldn’t care. Instead, he delivered extraordinary stories rooted in ordinary emotions. He took universal struggles (power, love, betrayal, ambition) and heightened them to the extreme. Hamlet isn’t just about a prince mourning his father—it’s a meditation on revenge, madness, and the nature of existence, set against a backdrop of murder and political intrigue. Macbeth isn’t just about ambition—it’s a harrowing descent into tyranny, paranoia, and madness, driven by prophecy and ruthless power.
This technique isn’t just Shakespearean—it’s used in every great film and TV show today.
Breaking Bad, Fleabag, and the Power of Heightened Concept
Vince Gilligan’s Breaking Bad is a modern masterclass in heightened concept. Walter White’s dilemma is one many can relate to: economic hardship, feeling unfulfilled, and fearing for his family’s future. But the story doesn’t stop there. Instead of taking on another job or cutting expenses, he turns to cooking meth. That escalation—rooted in an ordinary struggle but pushed to an extraordinary extreme—creates an irresistible premise.
Similarly, Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s Fleabag builds its narrative around universal human pain. Grief, guilt, self-destruction—we’ve all been there. But Fleabag’s way of coping isn’t a few bad nights out; she spirals into an affair with her best friend’s boyfriend, indirectly leading to her best friend’s death. It’s recognisable yet extreme enough to be compelling.
The Office and the Wizard of Oz: Comedy and Courage
Even comedy thrives on heightened concept. Take The Office—a series about a man desperate to be loved and respected, yet so painfully unaware of his social shortcomings that he becomes a walking disaster. We all know someone like Michael Scott. We may even see bits of ourselves in him. But his exaggerated delusions make it safe (and hilarious) to watch.
Meanwhile, The Wizard of Oz provides a classic example of courage in storytelling. Dorothy’s emotional journey is universal: facing fears, seeking to belong, and overcoming obstacles. But her world is heightened when a tornado transports her to Oz, witches threaten her life, and flying monkeys chase her. The story’s emotional truth remains grounded, but the stakes are extraordinary.
What This Means for Writers
As Mandell points out, the key to compelling storytelling isn’t high-concept but heightened concept. Writers must:
- Start with a universally relatable emotion or situation. What is the core struggle your audience can connect with?
- Push it to the extreme. How do you raise the stakes so it becomes something no one can ignore?
- Ensure it remains emotionally real. If the audience doesn’t believe in the emotional core, the heightened concept falls flat.
Shakespeare, the Coen Brothers, Tina Fey, Phoebe Waller-Bridge, Vince Gilligan—every great storyteller understands this. So the real question is: do you have the courage to push your story there?
This post first appeared on Substack. The post includes reviews of Presence, Flight Risk, September 5 and Companion plus a round-up of news and useful resources. It’s published bi-weekly on Saturdays.