The Screen Time Mortality Index

It is a commonly known factoid that in a movie, a character recently introduced has a high degree of mortality. This mortality is in actuality screen-time. As even in a deathless romantic comedy, characters recently introduced are unlikely to ever be seen again. However, it is in "mortal films" where this dynamic is represented in a metaphorical translation function.

To illustrate this principle, I propose the following thought experiment. Imagine that you are a fictional character. (for most people, this will be either extremely difficult, because they lack imaginations, or extremely easy, for the imaginative are quite skilled at existing in a autonomic fantasy in which they are the star) Now, as this character, you see Bruce Willis. You would instantly feel the need to either escape quietly before the explosions start, or immediately presenting your worth to him, so that when the explosions start, he will protect you.

This is your instinctive response to The Screen-Time Mortality Index, which you, as a person are intimately familiar with, but we'll get to that later.

The Screen-Time Mortality Index Table (2:00 run-time scale)

1: 1-15 seconds = Survival rate: 99%
2: 16 seconds to one minute = Survival rate: 75%
3: One minute, one second-5 minutes = Survival rate: 25%
4: Five minutes, one second-30 minutes = Survival Rate: 50%
5: 30 minutes, one second-one hour = Survival rate: 90%
6: One hour, one second- one hour, forty minutes = Survival rate: 99%
7: One hour, forty minutes, one second - 2 hours = Survival rate: 0%

Now that it's later, we can get to why you already know this. You see, The Screen-Time Mortality Index is actually a transduction of basic human interaction into any perceived reality microcosm. Or to the layman, we see stories as miniature versions of our lives.

If we just meet someone, we tend to not care if we see them again or not. We don't know anything about them, so we don't know if seeing them again would be welcome or not. So, when watching a movie, those characters get to survive, because we don't know what happened to them off-screen, but they might as well have lived. Because after all, they use toilet paper, I use toilet paper, we have common interests, I wish them well.

However, if we've been around someone for a little while, we know whether we like them or not, and our opinion is unlikely to change soon. And 75% of the time, we wouldn't mind seeing them again briefly.

Now, after being around them a bit more, we've exhausted all our superficial interest in them, and look at the person with a question in mind: "Does this person seem to have anything to offer me, in exchange for my continued interest in their survival?" If we decide that they do not, they are dead to us, and in a movie, literally dead. However, if we sense further value in interacting with them, we invest in them and actively engage in "caring" for them. In movie terms, once someone has been on-screen for over a minute, we want them to survive, because we don't want to be forced to invest emotionally in someone else. In life terms, "All right John, I've known you for a little while, and if we're going to become "friends", and make it an official policy to hold no ill-will towards each-other, you'd better make it worth my while."

However, once we've got to know John a little better, we decide that it's an even bet that we've wasted our time not wishing harm to him. So, his demise could easily be either a sad day, or a nice change of pace, because the funeral will probably have grilled-cheese finger sandwiches. Or in movie terms, I get it, you're the funny tech guy, now either turn evil or die nobly, because you're not worth the effort anymore. Ill-will wished!

However, if we've had the time to really get to know John. Like, know him as a human being, and not just a 'guy', then he'd better stick around to the end, or at least, die in such a way that motivates me to save the day. Because, man, I just really care about your role in my life, you know?

John: "I know, bro. I care about your role in my life, too."

You hug it out.

From this point on, John is just like... Your boy, you know? That dude would straight-up give you a kidney. And he's only got one! Or in movie terms: Okay Kenneth "slumming-it-in-Hollywood" Branagh, your scruffy wisdom has got to me, and I wish you well sir. I wish you well!

If however, a characters screen-time exceeds what this study has dubbed The "oh, snap. This is a biography, yo!" Horizon, that character becomes the audience's Autonomic Empathic Transference Avatar. And they cease to see the character as a representation of themselves, but as them as themselves in-omnia. At this point, the character is doomed. His reckless encrouchment on the center-of-frame has forced me to see Kenneth Branagh's distinguished handsome face as a virtual reflection of my ego. And thus I wish him death, for all things there is a season, turn turn turn and so on. For one day I must return to the stars of which I am their substance, and for which I shall return. And we are all the universe, and the universe is one. Or in movie terms, if one character has so dominated the movie that there can be no end but their death, then obviously that character will perish in a very satisfying scene.

And that is it for The Screen-Time Mortality Index. Stay tuned for my upcoming essay expounding on discoveries made investigating the STMI (pronounced "stmi" around the office) into the Women Are Shallow Inverse Square Rule.