Plausible Stupidity

I do believe in "stupid." It happens all the time. I might be doing it now. And I am sure from some outside perspective my actions do not seem reasonable. But in a story, movie or novel, a sense of plausibility should not be suspended.

There is something I'll call "Plausible Stupidity." As an example, the heroine in a horror film opens the door that everyone (but her) knows should not be opened. Something in the story should give her a real reason for opening the door, missing boyfriend, suspicious noise, something needs to explain/justify her foolish action. Without that slim hook of plausibility her actions are just stupid.

Here are three examples of flawed plausibility which made me lay the books down and carefully and slowly walk away. In Stieg Larson's “The Girl Who Played With Fire” the police accuse Lisbeth Salander of multiple murders and have a nationwide dragnet searching for her while she hunts down her terrible father. Lisbeth's father shoots her and buries her alive. She digs her way out and shoots him. When the third novel, “The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest” opens, Lisbeth and her father are in the same hospital, next door to each other, neighbors. And there is no policeman in sight. Really? Suspected murderer, two suspected attempted murderers and not a policeman one to watch over either of them. I wonder what is going to happen next? Actually I don't wonder. I set the book down. That scenario violates “Plausible Stupidity” by the police.

How about this: I am hunting in South Texas and I discover the scene of a drug cartel shootout. Only one guy, who is just barely alive, has survived and he asks me for water. Of course I ignore him and search for the money. I find the money take it home and hide it, drink a beer, eat some supper, sleep with my wife and then wake up and decide to take some water to the dying guy. Really? Guess who by now is waiting for me at the shootout locale? This is the “Plausible” opening from “No Country for Old Men” by Cormac McCarthy.

Or this one. It's 1964 and I am a journalist living undercover as a former Nazi SS death camp guard. I've infiltrated a high level group that is supporting and protecting wanted Nazis. So I drive my highly visible and identifiable English sports car all over Germany from hiding place to hiding place. That's the plan to protect my cover in Frederick Forsyth's “The Odessa File.” For me these examples breach the “Plausibility” quotient. There is also something else they share, best seller success and movie deals. Obviously one man's implausible is another man's plausible.

George W. Parker