Luke Lyon-Wall: Chekhov’s Grenade

Vol 1 | Issue 25 | ISSN 2979-8744 (online)

Let’s start with some pleasantries. Hi everyone! I’m Luke Lyon-Wall, a writer and script editor (a little more about me at the end). The wonderful Helen has given me the keys to her newsletter this week - with one caveat: that I share my own Bridget Jones moment… stick around for that and I shall do my utmost not to drive it straight into the nearest brick wall. I promise.

When Helen asked if I’d write a guest post, my first thought was to make sure I avoided treading on her toes. Aside from ruining her uniquely fabulous shoes, she already talks far more insightfully than I could about the career side of this business. However, no doubt influenced by 7 years working with Robert McKee, I’ve begun sharing my thoughts on storytelling principles over on LinkedIn. And so I’ve elected to follow my experience, and heart, and talk process with you. It’s something I find endlessly fascinating and fulfilling. So my hope is by rolling around in the creative dirt, so to speak, there’s something to be learned. I find there usually is.

Without further pomp and ceremony, let’s begin this journey with a bang.

Yes - that’s incorrect. But it’s just a setup, it’ll pay off in a moment (I promise).

The Russian playright Anton Chekhov once said in a letter to a colleague: “One must never place a loaded rifle on the stage if it isn’t going to go off.” The principle, known as Chekhov’s Gun, is one of the more famous storytelling theories.

And like most ideas that endure, I believe this one works - to the degree that by considering it when writing, it will help your creative process and ultimately make your draft better. Whether you take this principle at face value, or use it more deftly, it’s something worth having in your toolbox.

But why? And how?

Well, first let’s look at a clear example. One of the most interesting, and fun, implementations I’ve seen is not a rifle, but a grenade (told you it’d pay off).

In Season 1, Episode 2 of THE WALKING DEAD, the now ex-Deputy Sheriff Rick Grimes finds himself trapped in a tank, surrounded by the show’s titular flesh-eating monsters. Searching for ammunition that might aid a desperate escape, he finds a single grenade. After determining it’s not immediately useful, Rick pockets the item. With that single beat,, writer Frank Darabont was making a promise: “This is going to go off.” And it does…

But not until you forgot it was there.

Here’s why I find this example so fun to talk about. When Chekhov defined the principle, longform storytelling didn’t exist, at least to the degree modern television has given us. But here, the grenade is all but forgotten about until the climax of Season One, 5 storytelling hours later. When Rick and his group become sealed in a military institution, set to self-destruct, he uses the grenade to blow their way out. Just in the nick of time. Naturally.

Frank kept his promise, and the audience were treated to an exhilarating season climax.

Now, I’m self-aware enough to realise some of you may already have this principle in your writing toolbox. I hope that’s true. I also hope you’re still with me, because here’s where I want to get granular.

Of his infamous “gun,” Chekhov went on to say: “It’s wrong to make promises you don’t mean to keep.”

His principle, applied more broadly, is talking about setups and payoffs. The setup, or promise, could be as simple as a loaded gun, or a grenade. But in reality, it could be anything.

The opening shot of Rian Johnson’s neo-noir BRICK (2005) depicts a dead body dumped by a drainage tunnel. In the remake of THE INVISIBLE MAN (2020), when a character leaves a scene, the camera sometimes lingers, implying the room is not in fact empty. In ALIEN (1979) Ripley delivers this foreboding set up: “It doesn’t look like an S.O.S… it looks like a warning.” These, by design, are all promises. The audience instinctively senses the importance of these moments, and waits for the payoff; “Who killed Emily?”; “Will Cecilia discover her invisible stalker before it’s too late?”; “What will the crew of the Nostromo find on that planet?”

I recently binged (is there any other way to watch television at this point?) the masterfully crafted limited series BEHIND HER EYES (2021). The adaptation, based on Sarah Pinborough’s novel of the same name, uses colour very deliberately. In clothing, on walls, the characters’ eyes, lighting, and more.

Everything is emphasised. It’s a subtle promise to the audience: “In this story, colour means something.” The genius in this example is that by, one could argue, overusing deliberate colour, the show was able to hide the real clue to that ending amongst everything else.

If you haven’t seen it, I won’t spoil the pay off. But trust me when I say it was good enough for me to involuntarily and audibly gasp.   

When you write a story, you offer the audience a contract, of sorts. And when they begin turning pages, or sit down to watch, that contract is signed. This implicit document promises that your story will compel them, from opening to climax. That it will make them feel. And that when the credits roll, or the final page is turned, they will be satisfied.

As writers, it’s unwise to set something up without giving the audience the satisfaction of seeing the question answered, or loop closed. This makes a promise to the audience you have no intention of keeping. And that’s just what a set up is, an emphasised promise.

And just to close my own loop here for a moment, it’s also a pretty terrible idea to include a crucial beat that was never set up in the first place. Such conincidental moments leave the audience confused.

When drafting a story, particularly in the earlier stages, it’s incredibly easy to do both of these things. Sometimes you’re rushing, sometimes you simply don’t realise the impact certain beats will have on your audience. Something you thought was insignificant might be screaming at the top of its lungs. That’s OK. Writing is art. By its very nature, it’s slippery, fragile, and messy as all hell. And the categorically hardest thing to do as a writer is think about your work objectively.

That’s what multiple drafts, and trusted readers (thanks Helen) are for. Finding those mistakes, those beats you’ve over/underemphasised, so you can do what any good creative ought to do with something that doesn’t work…

… setting it down next to a grenade, and pulling the pin.

I was told I could have the keys to Helen’s newsletter on one condition: I had to provide my own Bridget Jones moment. So here it is.

Just after I went full-time, I’d neglected to prepare for professional meetings. Too much time spent doing 16-hour writing sessions in my pyjamas.

I was staying overnight in London before a working lunch, so I packed accordingly: smart clothes, including my single smart shirt.

What I discovered the next morning was that my single smart shirt no longer fitted me. Like, at all. The top four buttons wouldn’t even pretend to do up.

I’d have had to turn up looking like John Travolta circa Saturday Night Fever if I hadn’t accidentally packed a jumper.

I’m friends with the guy I was meeting now. I have since told him what an absolute mess I was beneath the woollen veneer.

So there you go. Profusely sweating is professionalism. Apparently.

All art is open to interpretation. This has been mine. If any of this resonates, or even if it doesn’t, come follow me on LinkedIn where I’ll be sharing more articles on storytelling. I enthusiastically invite you to share your thoughts. I love discussing story, but I also love to learn. So let’s chat.

Luke

Luke is a writer, script editor and musician from Folkestone, Kent. He writes comedy, crime, and elevated horror, mixing wit with character‑first storytelling. His work explores the odd and often terrifying human corners of modern life.

He’s had the privilege of writing for the BBC, and working with talent across various projects, including Robert McKee (STORY), Emmy-winner Matt Hastings (FALLEN, THE HANDMAID’S TALE), Amy Tuckwell (TASKMASTER), James Northcote (THE LAST KINGDOM, FOOL ME ONCE, FINAL FANTASY XVI), Elisabeth Hopper (CASUALTY, DOCTOR WHO, BLACK MIRROR), Marie Lawrence (CLASS DISMISSED, MURDER IN SUCCESSVILLE) and more.

Next up… (Helen’s back!) What Revelations Have I Gained Recently (and why that almost made me throw in the towel)

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