Five Popular Stories With Conflicts That Are Too Difficult

A fleet of Reapers under fire in Mass Effect 3.

It’s very common for storytellers to accidentally make their big conflicts too easy. But what if I told you the reverse can happen too? These conflicts are too difficult for the hero to credibly overcome, forcing the storytellers to resolve them in an unsatisfying way. This problem is less common in published stories, but I see it all the time in client manuscripts. Today, we go through some examples out in the wild, which should give us an understanding of why this problem appears and the damage it does.

Spoiler Notice: Gideon the Ninth

1. The Mandalorian: Too Many Mooks

Moff Gideon standing in front of a stormtrooper army

It’s a well-worn trope in Star Wars that stormtroopers have terrible aim. It started back in New Hope, when our heroes somehow avoided getting blasted while running around the Death Star’s corridors, and it’s continued through every major addition to the franchise. But guess what? Just because something’s been around for a while doesn’t make it a good idea, as we can see in the Star Wars universe’s newest offering: The Mandalorian.

The Mandalorian is a gritty scifi-western where protagonist Mando has to scrounge for cash and spend multiple episodes getting his ship repaired. This aesthetic is great for distinguishing the show from the movies’ more fantastic atmosphere. Unfortunately, it falls apart whenever Mando gets into a big fight.

I’m not sure why, but the writers really like putting Mando in fights with dozens of enemies at a time. In any rational narrative, Mando would be immediately overwhelmed, but we can’t have that. Instead, the bad guys all shoot like it’s their first time holding a blaster, even as Mando bullseyes them with ease. This is most notable when Mando is fighting stormtroopers, but it happens with mooks of all sorts. In one sequence, Mando is completely surrounded by enemies, but is somehow fine after taking refuge in a wooden cart. In another, his enemies are polite enough to not even bring blasters, despite a seemingly endless supply of speeders and explosives.

In a possible move to alleviate this problem, the show gives Mando blaster-resistant armor, but even then the villains almost never hit him. Presumably, the writers* know that it would destroy all tension if Mando could walk through a hail of blaster fire like the Terminator. Unfortunately, knowing that the villains can’t hit the broad side of a barn also destroys tension; it just lasts a little longer.

The good news is that not all of Mando’s fights fall victim to this issue. Often, he’s only fighting a handful of baddies, so it’s believable that he defeats them without getting hit. Occasionally, the show even figures out ways for Mando to credibly defeat a horde of enemies, like one episode where he’s being covered by two snipers. In that sequence, the stormtroopers either keep their heads down or they get sniped, so we don’t have to sit through a bunch of shots mysteriously flying past Mando’s head.

Despite that, there are lots of scenes where Mando has no cover at all but still has to fight a horde of enemies. Sometimes, instead of having the bad guys miss, they just don’t shoot at him. I’ve lost track of how often stormtroopers demand that our heroes drop their weapons in the middle of a fight. There’s just no credible way for Mando to win such battles, so it’s obviously contrived when he does.

2. His Majesty’s Dragon: An Unwinnable Battle

A dragon curled around a looking glass from the cover of His Majesty's Dragon.

The first novel in Naomi Novik’s Temeraire series is a rip-roaring Napoleonic War story, but with dragons. It follows Captain Laurence as he meets and bonds with the dragon Temeraire who, thanks to some suspiciously fast draconic aging, goes from hatchling to adult in the space of one book. How convenient!

The conflicts are generally well handled until the final act, when that rascally Napoleon plays a dirty trick: he’s going to invade Britain with a fleet of dragon-carried transports, and there’s not a single thing our heroes can do about it! The French dragons are simply too numerous and too strong, while most of the British beasts have been lured away by a feint. So our heroes are off to fight a doomed battle where they can’t retreat and will definitely die, oh no! Stop me if something about that sounds unbelievable.

Normally, it’s not a problem if readers don’t actually believe the hero is going to die. Dangerous situations still create tension as we wait to see whether our heroes will triumph. So long as success and failure are up in their air, we can suspend our disbelief and consider that the hero might die, even though intellectually we know they won’t.

By making such a big deal about how hopeless and doomed the upcoming battle is, His Majesty’s Dragon creates the opposite effect. There’s nothing to help suspend our disbelief, so we call the book’s bluff. Since it’s pretty obvious Laurence and Temeraire aren’t going to die, we’re left to wait for the inevitable twist that will save them.

Sure enough, Temeraire just happens to develop a brand-new power and save the day. Rather than an exciting twist, it feels like this is where the climax finally starts, since it’s the first time the outcome has been in doubt. Everything before the twist was just killing time.

For this ending to work, the good guys would need a plan with some chance of succeeding, even if it’s a slim chance. Maybe their strategy is for every British dragon to make attack runs at the troop transports, since that’s the real invasion force. Napoleon’s dragons would make this extremely difficult, but it’s something. Then, in the actual battle, it could look like this plan is going to fail, which is when Temeraire gains his new power that saves the day. He would still need to karmically earn it to avoid feeling like a deus ex machina, but that’s an entirely different problem.

3. Supernatural: Death by Demon

Sam and Dean in jail from the episode Jus In Bello.

Back in the land of TV, we have the monster-hunting antics of Supernatural. By its very nature, this show requires protagonists Sam and Dean to go up against creatures much stronger than they are, which is exciting but also raises logistical challenges. The problem gets worse in season three, as the brothers take on an ever-growing number of demons rather than one at a time. As each demon is super strong and nearly immune to physical damage, you can see how it might be difficult to justify the good guys’ victory.

This brings us to the episode Jus In Bello,* where Sam and Dean are trapped in a police station with a bunch of hostile demons outside. Right away, we have problems. The demons know that the heroes are trapped in a cell without any of their supernatural gear, protected only by a handful of cops who don’t even know about magic. Since demons are immune to bullets, they could easily walk inside and take the brothers out, but instead they decide to wait for even more demons.

The extra time allows Sam and Dean to convince the cops that magic is real, then fortify the station with anti-demon barriers. So that’s already contrivance number one, but don’t worry, there’s more. Trapped and under siege, our heroes face a moral dilemma. They have a spell that will destroy the demons, but it requires brutally murdering a civilian. Eventually, they turn this down in favor of a new plan, which Dean describes as: “Open the doors, let them all in, and we fight.”

That’s a really frustrating plan because it has zero chance of success. It’s hard to believe the heroes and their few allies will last more than a few seconds against so many demons, let alone defeat them. Even making a break for freedom would be more likely to succeed. But no, they decide to go with Dean’s plan. They don’t even try to channel the demons through a choke point to prevent them from attacking the heroes all at once.

After fighting for a few moments, in which it seems like all the good guys should have been easily killed, we find out that they actually had a hidden plan. They defeat the demons via a mass exorcism spell. That could have worked, but we’ve already had to sit through a whole fight scene where it seemed like the heroes’ plan was just to die. Worse, Dean’s description of the plan now feels dishonest, like he knew there was an audience he had to trick.

Hidden plans are a perfectly serviceable way to resolve conflicts, especially in visual media, but they should be paired with a non-hidden plan. That way, we feel like we know what’s happening, and then discover what the heroes are really up to. Supernatural instead makes it look like Sam and Dean have taken leave of their senses in the face of unbeatable odds.

4. Gideon the Ninth: All-Powerful Necromancers

Gideon wearing skull makeup and sunglasses, surrounded by bones, from Gideon the Ninth cover art.

Tamsyn Muir’s Gideon the Ninth is a Hugo-nominated space fantasy adventure about necromancers and cavaliers exploring a haunted castle while a killer lurks in the background. Naturally, the novel’s climax is an epic fight against this mysterious killer, who turns out to be an ancient necromancer named Cytherea. She’s a Lyctor, an immortal servant of the emperor who possesses godlike power.

It’s that last bit that proves to be a problem. Not only are Lyctors really powerful, but the extent of their magic is super vague. For that matter, the magic in general is very vague, which makes it difficult to tell what any of the necromancers can do. That’s not a problem for protagonist Gideon, whose only power is being good with a sword, but it does affect her necromancer allies like Harrow.

When Gideon and her friends attack, there are lots of snappy one-liners and vivid bone descriptions, but it’s impossible to gauge how well they’re doing. Gideon hacks away at Cytherea’s bone golem, but even if it’s destroyed, can’t Cytherea just summon another one? We know Harrow can create a dozen bone constructs each minute, and Cytherea is far more powerful. Of course, it’s always possible that Cytherea lacks that particular ability, but we have to fill that in ourselves.

It’s also difficult to track what Gideon herself is doing. We know she’s attacking the bone golem, but it’s never described in enough detail to know whether she’s causing serious damage. We’re told about all the joints and phalanges Gideon destroys, but the golem seems to have an endless number of them. After reading through the fight, I could not tell if the golem was any worse for wear after Gideon’s assault.

Then there are Cytherea’s personal powers. When fighting another Lyctor, she’s described as having superspeed, but when she crosses blades with Gideon, that speed is mysteriously gone. She also seems to be impervious to physical damage in some exchanges but vulnerable in others. It’s possible she has some kind of magical protection that the heroes are wearing down, but without a more robust understanding of the magic system, it feels like her powers are inconsistent.

Even worse, what our heroes are trying to accomplish with this battle is an open question. They seem to know they can’t win; are they fighting just for the heck of it? Sometimes the story implies that they’re waiting for help to arrive, but this fight is measured in minutes, and help is hours away at least. In other instances, they briefly mention trying to escape, but that never enters into their tactics, nor is it clear where they would go.

Of course, the battle ends with Gideon’s sacrificing herself in a magic ritual that lets Harrow win. This turning point has its own problems, but it’s fine conceptually. The issue here is similar to His Majesty’s Dragon; everything before the turning point feels like it’s running out the clock. For a second time, the heroes have no plan other than to fight a hopeless battle. The main difference is that Gideon the Ninth’s vague magic makes everything worse. In Novik’s story, we at least know that to win, the good guys have to destroy or turn back the French transports. We’re told that’s impossible, but we can still imagine ways it could be done.

In Muir’s novel, the heroes’ theoretical goal is to kill Cytherea, but she shrugs off most physical damage. This makes it difficult to imagine even a theoretical victory, leaving us a long fight scene that’s well described but ultimately hollow.

5. Mass Effect: Unstoppable Reapers

A fighter craft flying in front of a landed Reaper from Mass Effect 3.

Oh boy, it’s time to complain about Mass Effect again, except this time we won’t even talk about the ending. Mostly. I promise it’s not to rehash my beefs with the color-coded explosion choices.

In the first game, the Reapers are a practically unstoppable enemy. It takes the combined fleets of every major power to defeat just one, and even then, Shepard needs to do some thrilling heroics to finish the job. There are still thousands of Reapers ready to attack, and their only obstacle is being really far away. By the time of Mass Effect 3, the Reapers are still practically unstoppable, but they’ve had time to cross the void of space and invade the galaxy in force. This creates some serious plot problems.

First, the third game starts with an incredibly contrived reveal: we just happen to have discovered a previously unknown anti-Reaper weapon on Mars. This later turns out to be part of a convoluted Reaper plot, but it’s eye-rolling when introduced. Even worse, it’s unclear why the Reapers don’t overrun the galaxy in a matter of days. We’re told that, offscreen, the allied fleets are holding the Reapers at bay, but every time we see the Reapers in action, they cut through all resistance with ease, so how does that work?

From there, the entire plot revolves around this randomly discovered anti-Reaper weapon, eventually culminating in the rightly panned color choice ending. So why did this happen? While it’s tempting to blame everything on the third game, much of the responsibility lies with Mass Effect 2, my personal favorite in the series.

Given how strong the Reapers are in the first game, you’d expect the second installment to be about devising countermeasures against them. That way, when the Reapers arrive in the third game, beating them will be at least remotely possible. Instead, Mass Effect 2 is about foiling a plot that would have made the Reapers even stronger. It’s a compelling story, but it does little to make an eventual victory over the Reapers more credible.

Mass Effect 3 takes this problem and compounds it by refusing to follow up on even the meager avenues the second game left it. Other than occasional clashes with your former allies from Mass Effect 2, it’s almost like the game never happened. This leaves the good guys with no choice but to dig up a deus ex machina on Mars.

To credibly defeat the Reapers, the Mass Effect series needed more time. If it were up to me, there’d be a fourth game where Shepard and co finally get the tools they need to win. If that wasn’t in the budget, I’d have the Reapers show up near the end of game three rather than the beginning. That way, most of the third game could have been spent coming up with countermeasures in a way that’s actually compelling. The game could even keep its reveal that the big anti-Reaper gun you build is actually a plant by the Reapers themselves. That reveal would mean a lot more if it was about something you were actually involved with.

Stories run on conflict, and in most cases, making that conflict tougher for your heroes is the way to go. After all, that’s how you build tension and satisfaction. But in the rush of piling on problems, don’t forget to leave your heroes a path to victory, however narrow and treacherous it may be. If there’s no way forward, the story almost inevitably becomes a dismal slog followed by a contrived ending.

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  1. Cay Reet

    Personally, I try to keep the odds working by not going too far.

    Currently, I’m in the process of writing a story where my MC (Gabrielle Munson, already introduced beforehand as a necromancer) is stuck in an old castle with a group of tourists, three inquisitors (who’d normally be after her), and 20 undead monks who made a deal with the devil 500 years earlier (I love the Blind Dead movies – I couldn’t help myself). I have figured out how the monks will be beaten in the end first, then plotted a story which will lead my MC and one of the inquisitors to the way to destroy them (and give Gabrielle the chance to get away for her next adventure).

    The problem I’ve set is that those monks, due to their age and the way they became undead, can’t be killed with head shots (there’s not enough brain matter left after 500 years). Later on, it will turn out they are very vulnerable to holy water – and every inquisitor is a priest and thus able to create holy water by blessing regular water. The first climax will be the situation in which they find out about, the second and ultimate one the situation in which my MC leads the monks to the courtyard so they can all be attacked at once.

  2. Bellis

    I hate when this happens. I neither enjoy stories where the protagonists lose (as a general rule – there are always exceptions) nor do I like contrived or deus ex machina endings, but mostly I don’t like the time period where the heroes face an impossible problem. This should only be a short moment, not drawn out. It’s fine when the heroes have a plan with a slim chance of success and then during the big confrontation this plan fails. Oh no! Now they have to find another way to win! If this is set up well, that’s a tried and true method. It just has to happen fast enough. Think “moment of despair” not “weeks and chapters of despair”.

  3. SunlessNick

    That could have worked, but we’ve already had to sit through a whole fight scene where it seemed like the heroes’ plan was just to die.

    And the honest version of plan could have created masses of tension: it takes time to do the exorcism spell, during which the demons have to be held off. How many of the defenders will die in the process?

    • Oren Ashkenazi

      Yeah that would have made a lot more sense. I think their problem is they wanted us to think that the brothers had chosen to die rather than use an unethical spell, which was just a flawed concept.

  4. E. H.

    To be fair though, movie snd TV action material tends to have lone or outnumbered heroes fighting large numbers of enemies who miss a lot. The heroes on the other hand have improbable aiming skills.

    It’s not just Star Wars but Westerns, Hong Kong crime films and everything with guns that isn’t really serious or more of a drama with the occasional violent scene. The antagonists can’t hit them from across the room with a shotgun but they can pick a guy off a balcony with a small pistol.

    The rest of the entries in this list were great. The Star Wars one was too but I wonder if audiences are ready to let go of this tradition.

  5. Adam Reynolds

    The presence of mostly useless stormtroopers as the most common antagonists is one of the largest problems with using Star Wars as a setting, made worse by the focus on the OT era. We’re supposed to believe that they are a serious threat to the heroes even though they mostly lose. To actually say something positive about the Star Wars prequels, one of the things they clearly did right is having different types of battle droids. Thus when the stronger ones show up, you have a real threat that can be maintained due to its rarity, while the regular ones are mostly just targets for the heroes unless they have truly overwhelming numbers. Rogue One attempted to do this with the new Death Troopers, but it was not realized to the same extent.

    Mass Effect is a more interesting problem I think, because it is one that is all too easy to fall into with sequels like this. The biggest problem is that Mass Effect 2 is actually a terrible sequel in terms of building on the plot of the first Mass Effect, even as it is a vastly better game in just about every way. It really does absolutely nothing to advance the plot against the Reapers. Had the main story of Mass Effect 2 been about preparing for the Reapers and ending with their attack beginning, it would have allowed Mass Effect 3 to actually wrap things up in a more believable fashion. While the loyalty missions and suicide mission were great as a standalone, they should have been focused on dealing with indoctrinated Reaper agents and surviving the first wave of the Reaper invasion respectively.

  6. Erynus

    My gripe with The Mandalorian (aside for being too fan-aimed as it have characters that only appeared in the expanded universe before) is that they took Boba Fett, a character with some interesting traits, and made a race out of it. Boba Fett not showing his face translated to a planet of hats where noone shows their faces; He being a competent bounty hunter equals a planet of hats full of bounty hunters. Mando is a Beba Fett rip off, but lacking his code of honor.
    Also most of the plot is contrieved. Yoda’s species was show to be part of the Galactic Council back in the prequels, but noone seems to know what a “Yoda” is; and everyone assume that is a child, despite being thousands of races in any shape and size. One wonder why the empire don’t make Stormtrooper armour blaster resistant.
    Authors don’t realize that in the real world “too many” opponents are as few as two. A hero that can fend off two assailants at once is a great fighter, but since it was done too often, the hero needs to fight more and more people at once ( that end up waiting for their turn).

    • Grey

      Spoiler Alert: The group of Mandalorians who refuse to take off their helmets are in fact a cult that branched off of the Death Watch faction, and are seen as such by other Mandalorians, who are more concerned with reclaiming their homeworld from the Empire.

      The Empire also engaged in an extensive campaign of culturally erasing the Jedi and relegating the Force to mysticism, which suited Palpatine’s purposes, while allies of the Jedi were persecuted for harboring them or rebelling against an Empire that was all too happy to glass or annihilate dissident worlds. Additionally, the Star Wars Galaxy is very big, while the focus of the stories tends to be on small groups within this galaxy, which means there are a lot of things relegated to myth and legend as they are spread primarily by word of mouth through spacers.

      • Erynus

        Yeah, i know how the show try to lampshading it. But it don’t erase the fact that all the mandalorian “race” is a Boba Fett knock off.
        Also, Mando switching on and off his “honour code” without consequences is kinda stupid for a mercenary.

        Erasure or not, when Luke was born, Ankin turned into Vader just because the Jedi Council upsat him. 18 years later, the empire fell. We are not talking about hundred of years, not even a generation, and the show takes place shortly after the fall.
        There is even a Jedi doing…things around (being mercenary it seems) and people don’t shit in their pants when she uses two lightsabers. Nor they handwave her as some nonsense.
        The Mandalorian is a show about someone doing things that amount to nothing.

        • Martin Christopher

          I am a huge Star Wars fan. “As big of a fan as you can get before it gets embarrassing”.
          But the one thing that has really been bugging me for decades now is how the Expanded Universe has always followed the paradigm of “the first character of a species you ever see is the archetype for ALL characters of that species”.
          It’s like dwarves in high fantasy. All wookiees are Chewbacca, all male twi’lek are villains, all female twi’lek are sex slaves, all hutts are Jabba, all Mon Calamari are space navy officers, all sullustans are pilots, all corellians are Han Solo.
          And all Mandalorians are Boba Fett.

          • Jason Duncan

            The all characters are archtypes of their species made more sense before the prequels. In a Galaxy ruled by fascist Empire, assumptions and speciesism can be systemic and expected. If you’re less than a generation away from everyone living in harmony and accepting each other and trading technology and having singing kumbaya at force circles, it is less so.

  7. Martin Christopher

    I remember very well seeing the credits for Mass Effect 2 for the first time, and realizing that I couldn’t really get myself excited for the next game that was in development at that time.
    Where are they gonna go from here? Some giant slug-fest where the heroes win the day with an ancient superweapon they find?

    There are lots of problems with ME3, but the weakness of the plot was already entrenched by the weakness of the ending in ME2.

  8. Circe

    “The Madalorian is a gritty sci-fi…” You spelled Mandalorian wrong.

  9. JXMcKie

    Though I hold ME trilogy in very high regard, as one of the greatest Sci-Fi stories at all; and one in which you can even tailor your own favorite hero/heroine, and take him/her through a great, and very emotional storyline, spanning three great games; I must admit that I generally agree with the criticism of ME2 plot.

    ME2 IS a great game, but not because of its main plot, which is basically meaningless nonsense. It would have made much more sense, a better story, and would have connected ME1 and ME3 much better, if the main plot in ME2 had been about Cerberus discovering, that the plans for the Reaper-killing super-weapon, the Crucible, were hidden in some (of course) remote and dangerous part of the Galaxy (as it is in ME2) and that Shepard (due to him/her being exposed to the Prothean beacon, or perhaps for being chosen by the Catalyst, following Shepards action in ME1) was the only one with the “key” to unlocking the plans for the Crucible. This would also much better explain, why Cerberus went to such great lengths, to revive and then recruit Shepard.

    Most of all it would also have laid the foundations for ME3, and the desperate struggle of the Allied forces, to produce the Crucible, and bring it to bear on the Reapers, rather than the plans for the Crucible, mysteriously and conveniently, popping-up in the hour of need.
    It would generally had made much more sense, and a better overall story-arch for the ME-trilogy.

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