How to Create a Great Action Sequence: 'Clear and Present Danger'

A beat-by-beat breakdown of one of the best action scenes of all time

Okay, ignore the title of this essay. I have to come up with these things to entice you to read what I write, because writing these things is no fun if people don’t interact with them. I’m not a “how to” kind of storyteller, is the point. I like to consider art, contextualize it for specific audiences, and hope that those audiences — such as aspiring screenwriters, in this case— might find something useful in my “lessons”.

In other words: lets just have a conversation about what makes most action sequences great.

So many screenwriters I know are terrified of writing them. Everyone intuitively understands at this point what a great one is, but the prospect of crafting one, of conceiving and executing one on the page, proves daunting for many. What I’m going to do here is take a look at a single key action sequence in Clear and Present Danger (1994), and offer some thoughts on both why it is a masterful example of what we’re talking about and what can be learned from it when setting out to dream up your own action sequences.

For context, I have written many action scripts at this point in my career. In fact, the first third of my career was built entirely on pitching, selling, and then writing action films and television series. This isn’t to say I’m a master on the subject, but I’ve been around the block.

As for this film…

…Clear and Present Danger is an adaptation of Tom Clancy’s Jack Ryan novel of the same name, though I wouldn’t dare suggest it has that much to do with the novel (which I read many, many years ago and have long since entirely forgotten); Clancy adaptations rarely seem to. Nevertheless, this “adaptation” was written by John Milius, Donald E. Stewart, and Steven Zaillian — one hell of a trio of writers, right? Phillip Noyce, who has never been celebrated as much as he should be, directed with aplomb.

Here’s the trailer to refamiliarize yourself with the film:

---

The scene we’re going to look at comes around the middle of Clear and Present Danger, and involves a visit by Ryan to Colombia to contend with a mounting drug war there. While in country, a convoy he is part of is ambushed at the direction of the drug lord’s intelligence officer.

It’s a hell of a sequence, so enjoy it if you’ve never seen it before — especially the point where Harrison Ford, playing Ryan in his second outing as the character, gets to run and emote at the same time. This is a special acting gift Ford possesses.

So, what do you think makes this sequence so exceptional?

I mean, it’s not especially brilliant as a set piece idea: a convoy of US government SUVs is ambushed on a narrow Colombian street.

From my perspective, this sequence is so successful because it follows a three act narrative structure. Specifically, a three act filmic structure — including every emotional beat typically included in it.

The definition of this structure varies, usually just in terms of vernacular, but here’s how I see it in terms so intentionally reductive I apologize in advance:

Act 1: Set-up…then inciting incident…and, eventually, after some typically internal conflict, the first act turn (which propels us into the real story of the narrative by giving our protagonist/s a mission.

Act 2: This typically involves a midpoint in-between the first act and second act turns; this midpoint flips the protagonist/s’ goal on its head in some way. Then comes a low point, bringing the protagonist/s to his/their darkest point in the story. How do they get out of this? At the second act turn, the protagonist/s set/s about find their way out of the dark and, essentially, “save the day”.

Act 3: The protagonist/s save/s the day, or whatever amounts to that in the story. This is typically followed by some sort of resolution beat.

---

Next, let’s rewatch the Clear and Present Danger ambush scene through the lens of the three act cinematic structure. Here it is again, so you don’t have to scroll back up. As you do, keep geography in mind, as well. Watch how well Noyce establishes every detail you need to keep track of in the audience, which any screenwriter would be expected to also do on the page. Action means nothing if the reader/viewer can’t understand what’s going on.

Now, I’ll break down the action sequence for you, beat by beat, so you see what I see.

ACT 1

The set-up/inciting incident: Including a few moments before this YouTube click begins, we get a set-up of a convoy…a motorcycle cop who seems fishy…and then, bang, the cop reveals himself to be the chief henchman of our bad guy. Uh-oh.

Then, we get some internal conflict as the tension/suspense mounts. Jack Ryan, thanks to Ford’s superb expressiveness, lets us know something feels…off. Cool character work, because all the other professionals present, most of them real soldiers, don’t catch any of this.

Lots of geography work, too, like I mentioned. Setting up the street we begin to realize is where the proverbial shit is going to hit the fan.

Ka-boom, at roughly 01:20 into this clip, it does. “Back up! Back up!” Ryan shouts. This is our act one turn.

An interesting thing to note here is that most screenplays are 100 pages long. Twenty-five or so pages in is where the act one turn typically falls. That’s 25 or so percent of the way into the script, a percentage that tends to hold true if a script is shorter than 100 pages or longer. In the case of the ambush’s act one turn, it falls at roughly 24.5% of the way through the scene. We’re actually perfect following a three act filmic structure at this point.

ACT 2

Here, we get lots of action as Ryan and his convoy try to escape the trap that’s been laid for them. No matter what they do, it keeps getting worse. They are so fucked. But hey, they also have Ryan with them, and in no time he’s behind the wheel, replacing the dead driver of his SUV. What’s great about this is it keeps Ryan the center of the narrative; he’s not just caught up in the action, he’s literally driving it.

Then, we get the to midpoint. Remember, this is where the protagonist/s’ goal on its head in some way. That happens when the convoy, shot to hell, is left stopped in the middle of the street. Most of them are dead. Ryan and the others have no choice but to get out of the “safety” of their vehicles, and flee on foot.

The math of this midpoint is slightly off, as it comes at 02:36, about five seconds too early, but I think we can overlook this (heh). Noyce and his editor Neil Travis clearly know what they’re doing.

How about that low point? Well, at 03:05, Ryan’s good friend, Dan, is shot down in the street. Let’s call this a reversal; scripts (and action scenes) need lots of these. It doesn’t stop, though, because Dan gets shot some more, giving Ryan a chance to run in slow-motion at him. By the time Ryan gets him to cover, Dan is dead. It’s roughly 03:44 into the sequence at this point, our low point.

Let’s look at the math of it again. In a 100 page script, the low point tends to arrive somewhere between 65 and 70 pages into the script, in my experience closer to seventy percent of the way into the script. Where does the ambush’s low point fall in this sequence? Sixty-nine percent of the way through it. I mean, Jesus, that’s tight editing.

A few moments later, one of the other agents shouts, “We can’t stay here!” No shit, buddy. Don’t worry, Ryan, after a think, has a plan because he’s our protagonist. They’re all going to make a run to the last functioning, albeit swiss cheese-looking SUV in the convoy. At 04:10, “Go!” announces the second act turn, 77% of the way into the sequence — pretty much right on schedule, if you forgive it a few seconds (second act turns typically arrive around 75% of the way into a 100 page script).

ACT 3

Blam-blam, bang-bangity-bangbangbang, BOOM. Lots more gunfire. Ryan literally gets hit with a rocket. But he escapes, or saves the day, and at 05:05, realizes this a beat later than the audience. Unfortunately, the only other surviving member of the convoy is now dead. Ryan, our protagonist, made it out alive, but alone and broken. The last ten seconds of the sequence are spent on Ryan processing what just happened — a resolution beat — which is really just an excuse for Ford to deliver the goods because the audience needs to walk away from this scene knowing Ryan has changed. And, oh boy, do they.

---

Now, do all action sequences need to be tightly crafted three act narratives?

No, of course not. You can do it your own way. Maybe you’re the one who will revolutionize the genre in some way. Outside of the United States, there are certainly a lot of other ways to do this.

But consider this, Hollywood-type action films have been around for decades now. The best of them have succeeded by doing everything I just described here.

I mean, are you a fan of Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981)? Okay, go rewatch it and do so through the lens of this essay. You’ll see Steven Spielberg does the same with every action sequence in it, too.

Audiences, especially Western audiences, have internalized these rules, as a result. They understand them in a way they don’t understand the real world. Yes, that means you can play with the rules, even use their expectations to surprise audiences. But I have not seen that many examples of filmmakers completely blowing them up and getting away with it, not without just throwing endlessly confusing CGI at the problem until audiences don’t even know what they’re watching. I call this “the spectacle of the absurd”, and, while I don’t declare there many axioms in cinematic storytelling, avoiding this feels like as close to one I can think of.

There’s an additional problem as you work on your action sequences: the reader. Typically, an agent, manager, producer, or studio executive.

These gatekeepers to success are no different than the rest of the audiences out there. They have internalized rules they often can’t even articulate. You need to make sure they understand what you’re writing and get excited about it. Reinvent the wheel, pretend like there aren’t real conscious and unconscious expectations about how these things work, does not — at least from my experience — work in your favor.

---

While this deep look at a single action sequence in one of Harrison Ford’s less iconic blockbusters could not possibly unlock the secrets of the universe for you with regards to why action sequences tend to work and how to craft and execute your own, I hope you’ve found something valuable to take away from it. I also hope I’ve inspired you to go back and rewatch all of Clear and Present Danger, which is one hell of a film with one of my favorite screenplays of the nineties. Speaking of which, you can read that script here.

---

If this article added anything to your life but you’re not up for a paid subscription, please consider buying me a “coffee” so I can keep as much of this newsletter free as possible for the dreamers who couldn’t afford it otherwise.