Creativity addict and a weirdo

Qi: Bringing into Being 

Premiering in 2018, SOTUS S offered audiences one of the first examples that I know of a BL live-action  about an unequivocally established couple. That fact necessitates a model distinct from the traditional romantic arc you’d find in guides like Romancing the Beat by Gwen Hayes and graphed below by Jenna Harte. 

With an established couple, the whole first act of this three act structure is useless. Our pair already met and they like each other. We already watched them fight through this whole mountainous arc to achieve their romantic HEA (happily ever after for those unaware).

Here’s where our 4Act comes in. Qi, our first act, rather than setting up the characters with some spark the protagonist will have to deal with later on, focuses more heavily on establishing the environment the characters exist within. It's less pressed about setting its conflict into motion. As Jay Six explains helpfully in his self-published book, A Practical Guide to: Kishotenketsu, “The story often starts by establishing a detailed, richly textured world. This focus on observation allows readers to immerse themselves in the environment and the characters, setting up a deep connection with the narrative.” In SOTUS S, that means we get domestic fluff with gentle implications about Kongthob and Art sleeping together. We wander the campus to see Kongpob’s friends in the engineering faculty, now in their third year and in the position of hazers (distinct from the American concept for anyone who’s unfamiliar) to a new set of freshmen. We greet Arthit’s friends at the bar. Then, we follow Art to the new setting of an engineering firm where he’s beginning employment after an internship. You will be taken aback if you, like me, expected all of these characters and settings to be relevant to the action throughout the series. 

I have a brain trained to expect the beginnings of a story to provide a clear impetus for a central problem, as if the story ought to have an on-switch that starts the gears of the narrative turning. My first instinct when it became apparent SOTUS S had not done that was to ascribe the emergences and dissipations of certain elements at the university as service to fans of the original series—let them get a taste of the characters, coupledom, and little university scenes they loved before moving onto the meat of the plot. 

That’s a natural expectation when you’re used to stories focusing exclusively on conflict and individual power. Each piece of the story should link to their effort toward their goal. Bindra describes the ‘dharmic structure’ of the Western narrative arc: “The character is pursuing a specific Dharma, a ‘path’ or ‘way,’ toward a tangible end goal.” Whether they succeed or fail matters greatly under this framework. 

In opposition is the ‘Karmic structure,’ where characters “simply go about their lives until they are forced to react to some bizarre, unforeseen circumstance.” All the elements matter in the Karmic structure but not as a set of stairs the protagonist climbs or a steady accumulation of coins to pay off in the end. The general environment has a larger role to play and the individual has less responsibility in the events that unfold, which impacts the opening. Anaea Lay’s description explains the emphasis on thematic development in the beginning over a Western plot ignition.

“You are much less likely to run into an “inciting incident” or similar in this introduction than you would in an X-Act structure. Instead, what you’ll find are the themes and images the work will be using. You aren’t here to find out what kind of wild ride you’re about to engage in; rather, this is setting you up for what argument or ideas you’re about to witness.” 

That’s why anime fans have a three-episode rule before deciding on their engagement with a series. Those first three episodes have no obligation under the 4Act to indicate the adventure that’s about to occur. 

In the first episode we see Arthit stumble through a disorganized orientation to his first day at work, joining the procurement department at an engineering firm, a stepping stone towards a role at the company more suited to his interests. During an early meal out with his new coworkers, he misses the opportunity to share his relationship with his coworkers. His nervousness is palpable in the moment, and Krist shines in portraying Arthit’s acute anxiety realistically throughout the show. The fear of homophobic reactions isn’t made explicit, but the subtext can’t be ignored with the dramatic music, forlorn expression, and greater context. 

Yet, the show is generous enough to present a moment of possibility, too, where Art seems about to share about his partner before getting interrupted. Bravery isn’t a singular character trait, the scene suggests, but a fleeting feeling dependent on circumstance and luck. It renders the ‘coming out’ narrative that emerges for Art a bit different—less individual and insurgent than the classic western coming-out narrative in, say, The Birdcage or Love, Simon. He has legitimate interests in the appropriate setting, occasion, and timing to maintain positive relationships. He didn’t lack courage as much as he missed the proper moment. 

I’m not of any kind of Asian descent, but these were major values in my personal family culture. I only came out to my family once I had a partner and a cousin’s new same-sex partner came up in conversation at the dinner table. My family simply didn’t discuss internal emotional states, straight or queer, my parents didn’t kiss in public or in front of me and my sister, so bringing up a sexual identity without any outward indicator of my own sexuality didn’t make sense. 

And before anyone jumps to the conclusion that this was some deeper issue of generational repression, know that plenty of research backs up this collectivist-oriented relational style as a broader Appalachian cultural norm (which my family exists within). While no culture exists totally on one part of the spectrum, it like most East and Southeast Asian cultures gets categorized as a high context culture, which prioritizes interpersonal relationships and draws on less direct verbal and nonverbal communication strategies to artfully maintain them when possible. Further research, much of it collected in the fascinating book, Between Us: How Cultures Create Emotions by Batja Mesquita, frames psychological well-being not in a single universal way of interacting, but in interactions and understandings that align beneficially with one’s surrounding culture. 

“I’m working [at the company] already,” Arthit in bed advises Kongpob, “but I still have to learn to adapt.” There’s the crux of Arthit’s story in SOTUS S: how can he find proper alignment of his own unique characteristics to integrate himself within his new work culture, in a department he had little desire or skills to master? Protagonists in a 4Act are responsive rather than goal-oriented. With the same acknowledgement that you can’t control the circumstances you’re born into, they don’t have control over the problematic circumstances they are thrust into by the karmic plot. 

Arthit makes a great 4Act protagonist in SOTUS S. He isn’t the strict senior disciplinarian from the opening of the original series, nor is he the warm, open character healed by that show’s happy ending. The senior is now the nervous junior at the firm, eager to please and conform—these latter traits providing continuity with his original characterization. The junior, Kongpob, is now the authority, the head hazer at the university. These role-reversal topics were already thematically relevant in the first series, but SOTUS S makes them more explicit, bringing us into new territory and depicting an alternative view to linear character growth. 

Kim Yoon Mi describes both Japan and Korea introducing a story’s main topic (not to be confused with main conflict) in the first act of this structure and then developing it more deeply in the second, which SOTUS S seems to do. Each character and story element, including the protagonist, is a trickling mountain stream feeding into a larger river of theme rather than plot. In line with that metaphor, some of those elements will evaporate or branch off before reaching the deep reflective pool where the story concludes. We’ll come to see as we reflect back how solidly the show in its first act laid down its thematic foundations: the dynamics between memories of the past (like university life) with the press of time, the blurry lines between private and public, the formation and maintenance of relationships, the privileges of status, and all of them weighted by pervasive queer anxieties that the writing elegantly restrains itself from stating outright. The next act of the show elaborates on all of this, but not in the direct sort of development Western stories prioritize.

Cheng: Understanding

If viewed from the perspective of a three-act hero’s journey, the second act of SOTUS S runs into some major problems. Here’s a graphic from author Patricia Morais (that I particularly like for its regrouping dip) explaining that structure:

Under this model, we could maybe think of Arthit’s failure to come out to his coworkers as the central inciting incident that must be resolved by the end of the story. If you’d like to be more generous, we might instead identify the incident in episode 2 to identify Art’s tag-along meeting with his overly-friendly coworker, John, and a representative from one of their materials’ providers. Then, our main plot focuses around the eventual plastic crisis for the company as the main conflict that will need resolution. However, the fact of dual plotlines that never merge hopefully encourages you to question the familiar expectations of a three-act structure or hero’s journey. Otherwise, you’ll come away from the show believing a lot of fat could’ve been trimmed off in the editing process.

In episodes 2 through 5, SOTUS S has some elements on which action can rise toward a major climax point. John shirks work off onto Arthit over and over again, for example, and another coworker, Earth—who for me so far in my BL viewing is the most grounded female character I’ve seen, not to mention my favorite—slowly reveals her kind heart behind her diligence. On the relationship front, Ai-Oon is running himself ragged trying to balance his work and relationship, losing his patience with Kong at one point when he shows up to the company with a food delivery. 

But many other points don’t add to the plot the way they ought to for a hero’s journey. We get introduced to a few freshman, like Khaofang, whose crush on Kongpob gets gently denied, and Day, resistant to Kongpob’s enlightened initiation rituals, thus igniting the persistence of class president Tew. Neither of those freshman will contribute to the main plots for Kongpob and Arthit. On the faculty beach trip, now paired with tree-planting to skirt the stricter regulations, M and May finally confess their feelings percolating since last season for one another. After these confessions in episode 4 and a discussion of internships at the start of episode 5, they will not reappear until the last episode of the series.

So why include them? I showed charts for the Romance Plot and  3 Act structure above, but let’s look at a visualization of the 4Act from writing coach Anaea Lay.

You’ll notice some key differences. The line isn’t really progressing upward, for one. It also changes width in sections and even color by the end? I’ll discuss our squiggly twist and color change later, but for now let’s focus on our second act for cheng, Understanding, or “development” as the above chart has it.. We have this bold line emerge because the point of the second act, as Lay explains, is to create density, flesh out the topic, enrich it. 

Instead of building up a structure or walking up a mountain path and overcoming obstacles along the way, the cheng stage kneads the narrative into interlocking thematic explorations like the structure of gluten in bread dough. Japanese writers refer to it as ma, a kind of slow infusion through time and spaciousness. You can develop a 4Act narrative with intensification, sure, and that will appear pretty similar to the three-act development stage—I personally think Hunter x Hunter arcs provide fantastic examples of second-act intensification strategies in a kishotenketsu model, and The Campfire team do a fantastic job of explaining how the series, Shogun, uses the 4 Act with escalating pressure in this stage. Yet other strategies also exist. 

SOTUS S chooses to spread out its thematic question during this phase: to different plots, different people, even different times. Tew and Day, for example, who interact the least with our protagonists’ struggles out of any characters, nevertheless reiterate the values of persistence and faith as people develop ties. Despite Day’s overt resistance to the SOTUS rituals, Tew returns to him again and again, tuned into unstated signs of the freshman’s painful past, like his status as a transfer student, and subtle acts of participation in the events, indicating a secret desire for belonging. Art’s new coworkers provide another example of how much we truly know about others’ inner workings just based on first impressions. 

Perhaps the most direct evocation of the main thematic tension occurs not with KongArt, but with M and May who only receive episode 4 for their story. As the freshman walk across their wrists to go receive their gear emblems, May finally demands clarity for feelings simmering since 2016. I’ve slightly shortened the exchange for brevity.

May: “You never bother to tell me your feelings directly.” M: “Do I have to say it out and tell you to make you understand?” May: “I don’t want to assume things.” M: “What I said on the stage…I meant you.” “You know…what it means, right?” May: “I don’t know, M. You could think of me as a close friend.” M: Well, I…like you. I like you more than a close friend. I want to be your boyfriend. I told you my feelings directly. Now it’s your turn to tell me your feelings. May: Are you crazy? There are so many people here. How can I say it?

It’s gorgeous naturalistic dialogue, stuttering and ambiguous, between two reserved characters! Reducing them to their role in the main plot, however, would render the characters and scene meaningless. M and May simply don’t contribute to the issues at Ocean Electric or KongArt’s relationship. They're an indirect illustration of the show's themes.

Indirect communication is central to SOTUS S. We see Kong and Art, open to their friends and on campus but conflicted in how open to be with their affection in public, bridge the gap through indirect displays: a conversation about liking the sea! shared taxi rides! an indirect kiss they share on an Oishi bottle! These coded romantic encounters can be downright erotic. The West doesn’t even have the concept of an indirect kiss, which is emblematic of the kinds of context that one can miss. 

The show layers on reason-upon-reason for keeping affections nebulous: personal temperaments, professionalism, financial precarity, collective belonging, cultural mores on PDA, and societal homophobia, too. The show lays these issues out indirectly. For example, Art’s coworkers Som-O, Durian, and Cherry (the kind of lovely overtly queer character SOTUS did so well, played by Gun Korawit) all skirt the line of appropriate workplace conversations and behavior as they gossip and fawn over new employees. The tension of their flirtations against our knowledge about the fears and hidden relationships at the office is thick, but no one will really confront them directly about how close their speech and actions how they stress those in the closet, nor how close they come to sexual harassment.

Instead, other occurrences will cause them to reflect on behaviors. Cherry, for example,  addresses his own behavior and his subordinates’ after news about Arthit and Kongpob becomes public. Cultures with high-context communication approaches utilize actions, behaviors, and symbols to convey messages rather than verbal specificity, so passive statements and unrelated events are seen as more effective in encouraging behavior change than direct communication about the issue. That’s why the 4Act structure and the indirect elaboration of ideas that occurs in the second-act align culturally. It doesn’t force its issue on the audience.

The most indirect formal element from my perspective occurred with the use of the ‘special scenes’ at the end of each episode, and they fully blew my mind by the time I realized how they were operating. I assumed these flashback scenes to KongArt moments were meant to give the fan-girlies the cute moments between the cute boys and their throwbacks to the og series. That’s how they often seem to work in other BLs. Stupid me, underestimating the series and fan-girlies, whose desires can be as multifaceted as any film critic or academic. The flashbacks at the end of each episode, in addition to their sweetness, emphasize moments of public affection between our main couple, but even more than that they intentionally throw us back in time, breaking up the linear story and a linear trajectory for Arthit’s comfort with public affection. 

The special scenes aren’t simply detached scenes, they’re narrative switchbacks, forcing us an audience to meander like a river in the story. Kim Yoon Mi describes a major element of the East Asian 4Act: “While time is going forwards, the character is returning to a previous point in their life, re-examining it–or forced to reexamine it.” I described the original series as propulsive and unrelenting in its tempo and plotting. SOTUS S, on the other hand, is nostalgic and reflective in both content and its structure. 

Arthit, tired from a day of work, rushes to his alma mater to catch the end of the flag ceremony. “When I get to see the atmosphere like this again,” he confides, “it’s like the fuel tank in me is filled. This can fill the feelings I have lost. My tiredness is gone. I have the strength to go back to work now.” For another example look at the contrast as episode 6 ends with Kongpob standing in an apartment hallway alone after an argument with his boyfriend. The show suddenly cuts to a past moment when Arthit let himself fall asleep on Kongpob’s shoulder in the back of a taxi. When we feel broken, worn-down, or lost, when we undergo big life changes, returning to our memories gives us an opportunity to repair ourselves and cherish the relationships we’ve made. 

Meandering is the shape of easing—mountain roads that reduce the gradient of a climb, water seeking the least resistance. SOTUS S and its narrative structure explore these shapes. In addition to the purpose of nostalgia for its characters, it uses its position as a sequel to address why returning us to an older work might be emotionally useful and why an indirect path through time and our journeys might be nourishing. After the steady fabrication of its attachment to the original series in the first and second acts, the third act shift is all the more potent.

Zhuan: Changing

In the sixth episode, Kongpob joins Ocean Electric as an intern with the encouragement of his father, the CEO of a manufacturing firm Arthit has met and impressed without realizing his relationship to his partner. Kong had left the required internship applications to the last minute, at ease with the connections his wealth and father’s position in his field of study offer him. And with Arthit’s packed work schedule (not to mention Kong’s impish romantic fantasies that only stress out his partner), our nong doesn’t disclose his decision. Art is shocked and appalled when his boyfriend walks into a meeting and gets introduced as the new intern.

The show also introduces new central characters to the cast in the fifth and sixth episode, which is far too late for introductions of main characters in a traditional Western narrative approach. Wad, whose privilege as the nephew of Ocean Electric’s head honcho mirror Kong’s background, joins the procurement department. Another intern, Nai, also joins the proceedings. These characters and their softly-treaded dalliances at Ocean Electric fill in the space left as the story mostly abandons the university and all but two supporting characters we met there.

I've read complaints about that split in SOTUS S, the university-centered plots in the first half overtaken by the corporate setting. Personally, the viewing experience gave me a sense of how ephemeral life is. Four months pass by in a flash and Arthit’s no longer the junior at the office. The university storylines fall away like cherry blossoms or autumn leaves. If that sounds too poetic for you, I'd recommend you stick to the first series and its fantastic linear storytelling (and you can ignore the poetic elements that elevate it, while still enjoying the show). SOTUS S puts its indirect storytelling strategies at the forefront. That’s why I find SOTUS S such a great example to look at the 4Act. The overt shift here makes it hard to square with the continuity of traditional Western dramatic structures.

In the third act of a 4Act structure, the audience comes to understand a new perspective on the proceedings that the first two acts offered them. The Japanese term for it “ten” gets directly translated to ‘twist,’ but that term is so heavily associated with some plot-oriented ‘gotcha!’ moment in the western canon: 

a new piece of evidence in a trial! 

the sheriff is in cahoots with the robber baron! 

Voldemort’s on the back of his head! 

There are many reasons to view two of the most celebrated Western film twists, Star Wars’ paternity reveal and dead Bruce Willis in The Sixth Sense, as blendings with the Eastern third act’s Change. The overt declarations made by characters to render the twists apparent to audiences in those instances along with the instrumental role the change plays in the character’s journey is rooted in Western storytelling. However, the impact it has on how the audience interprets the story, both preceding events and the purpose of the story as a whole, is more akin to the kind of change that occurs in the Eastern model. The zhuan or Change here is less emphatically about a reveal of information and more about a change the audience experiences in their type of engagement with the story. 

Youtuber ‘Pause and Select’ relates the change in the 4Act structure to space. Discussing Attack on Titan, which has the exceptionally clear spatial limit of tightly packed city walls, he explains it as a ‘parallax view,’ a shift in perspective for the audience. Going further, he asserts that the third act shift is NOT meant to be a last-ditch event or realization that aids the story in reaching the conclusions we expected it to reach based on the first two acts. Elle Woods finding out her boss is a skeeve and then taking over to use her knowledge about perms in trial to prove her client’s innocence is a great western ‘twist’ and climax, which includes every feminist element Elle has come to stand for in her development at Harvard law school and brings about the expected conclusion of her success at overcoming all her obstacles to truly become a successful lawyer. However, it does nothing to change the audience’s perspectives about the story’s goals as a female empowerment legal comedy.

 “What matters,” Pause and Select argues about the 4Act change, “is that a breakdown, whether you are a reader or writer of [the 4Act structure], ultimately demands coming to a conclusion as to what you think the structure is trying to do.” The emphasis there is mine. A well-constructed 4Act aims to dislodge expectations about the very nature of the narrative it's telling in its third act. At its most obvious, this could be a genre shift—a romcom becomes a tragedy—but it might also be a change in whose perspective the story takes (Peaceful Property), which character is masterminding the events (a favorite of writer/director Park Chan-wook, like in The Handmaiden), or an expansion of who the audience is meant to feel empathy for (a fav strategy of Miyazaki, like in Laputa, Spirited Away and Princess Mononoke). A common romantic Kdrama trope of this kind, I hear, is the revelation that the characters previously knew each other. No matter the shift, thematic motifs will remain (a good reason to pay attention to indirect elements!), but the plot-type possibilities and full extent of the theme’s message can utterly transform. 

When viewers use Western frameworks to complain about the poor build-up or the introduction of unexpected elements into the second half of BL series, the complaint often comes from a place of ignorance. I’ve even heard unfounded conspiracy theories about studio interference regarding the sense of the unexpected in these sections! When viewed with the goals of the 4Act in mind—and here we ought to note the Korean 4Act model, the giseungjeongyeol, which splits its 4Acts more evenly than the Japanese kishotenketsu, as Kim Yoonmi points out—an audience’s experience of disruption that begins around episode 6 of a 12 ep series can be a sign of successful storytelling and a chance to reevaluate what you assumed the story was going to be.

No wonder I found myself getting weepy around episode 6. Time itself is the core focus of SOTUS S. By the end of the second act in episode 5, the hazing rituals we endured for fifteen episodes in the og had flashed by and completed. I began to fully appreciate the breadth of how SOTUS S intended to instill the experience of no longer being what you were before, the experience of merging into the realm of adulthood where the flowing expanse of life is no longer broken into semesters or organized into class years nor the safety of their forcibly forged friendships. It's an exceptional feat of storytelling to induce that subtle emotional experience for an audience.

With that shift, the problems and consequences shift as well. A third act often introduces an entirely new obstacle. The boss of Ocean Electric announces the yearly product design competition, and the shady dealings of certain employees suggestively simmering in the first half rise to the surface. In a Western telling, the series could’ve easily started right here. It brings the conflict, the battle between good (Earth and Arthit) and evil (John and Som-O), along with the slight moral grayness of Todd to keep it interesting. The pace and tempo of the scenes pick up, especially when the shit hits the fan/the cheap plastic hits the production line. It thrills with the same surge that ran through a majority of the original series. Is this conflict what the story’s about, though? 

Some people have described the 4Act as a conflictless plot structure. That’s baloney! You’ll see battle after battle after battle in shonen manga, like Naruto, Dragon Ball, One Piece, and Jujutsu Kaisen, all organized by the principles of The 4Act. SOTUS S shows off its ability to instill conflict with Ocean Electric’s design competition, too. The difference between the 4Act and the Three-Act or hero’s journey derives from the latter’s centralization of a single conflict compared to the former’s use of diffused conflicts—diffused in the sense of multiple conflicts spread out without a center, and, as I’ll explain for the last act, diffused in the sense of de-escalated. 

The issue of the competition is one conflict beside a number of other dating conflicts, with KongArt’s the most prominent, none of which directly impact each other in terms of plotting. In this section, Todd slowly falls for Earth, who gently turns him down (again, with writing and a performance by Proud Oranicha that solidify Earth as a uniquely naturalistic female character in a genre known for campy female caricatures). The other new intern Nai (Nammon) and head of Production, Yong (Guy Sivakorn) begin the most discrete of bromances, or maybe something more…, until Nai feeling slighted draws back. And KongArt have it out about Kongpob’s surprise internship decision before making up, allowing Ai-oon opportunities to show his growing comfort in his secret bf’s surreptitious seductions in public.

And let’s all appreciate that the boys continue to engage in versatile powerplay dynamics with their displays of affection! 

To properly center a single conflict for a Hollywood version of SOTUS S, all of these individual tensions would end up relating to one another—perhaps Todd and Nai become bitter about their rejection and join John’s plot to win the competition. Then, as a last ditch attempt to gain support for their own team’s entry, they discover and out KongArt’s secret relationship. Plenty of other options could take place, but the point is that they’re meant to be set up like that meme of ever-increasing dominos, building upon one another to create an even greater singular conflict. Instead, we see jealousies that come to nothing, slights that characters move on from without involving others. SOTUS S lets the different conflicts exist independently to separately emphasize the main theme: relationships take time, dedication, communication, and faithfulness to develop and maintain as people’s circumstances change.

The company beach outing provides the landscape for many of the relationship dramas to come to a head (and strikes a narrative beach episode beat with foundations exceeding the BL genre) before things go awry. If I’m honest, elements of Western Romance plotting seem to predominate this last portion of the third act: a false HEA (happily ever after) at the beach, disaster as the bad plastic goes on the line, and true crisis as office busybody, Durian, outs Kong and Art by sharing pics of them kissing from the beach trip. Then episode 12, as second-to-last episodes in romance series are wont to do, offers us a separation of sorts and a long dark night of the soul for Arthit before he arrives at his self-realization. It’s a beat integral to the 4Act and the Romance arc, but in the 4Act, despite its sometimes momentous occasion, the self-realization is secondary to the initial perspective-shift in terms of expected emotional and overall engagement from the viewer. Art announces he’s dating Kongpob in front of the entire office at the intern send-off. In the romance arc, the self-realization and confession change everything. The villains like Lady Catherine are dispelled; the curse on the beast breaks, Here, though; Love Wins! But here, we de-escalate.

He: Drawing Together

The 4Act sensibilities in SOTUS S resurface after the culmination. Arthit finally announces his relationship in front of the whole office, but no character stands-in for homophobia for him to confront. John was fired earlier for his fraud without a big to-do from the office. No one sings “Ding! Dong! The witch is dead!” In fact, a few of our office gossips get together to discuss John and Arthit but keep interrupting one another before landing on any consensus and finally move onto a point unrelated to our plot. The central issues for KongArt are simply not the center of everyone’s lives and neither love nor coming out were the battle Arthit and we as an audience expected them to be.

Where we might expect fireworks in other structures, the 4Act often brings a sense of pacification. No matter how significant a conflict might seem, the 4Act story structure is not built around a conflict’s upswell and subsequent victory. Patricia Thang explains for Book Riot, 

“Whether it is open-ended, whether our characters didn’t go through real development or growth, whether we realize nothing much actually happened at all, it doesn’t matter that much in kishōtenketsu (and is what, in my humble opinion, makes it great). What matters is that the various elements from the different acts of the story come together in a finale, as climactic or as muted as it may be.”

A 4Act story does not attempt to fix but to accept an uncontrollable universe. It's a diplomatic process when division otherwise threatens.

The Chinese character for the he fourth section, 結, apparently refers to the tying of a knot, which presents quite the opposite picture from the ‘reckoning’ expected in Western conclusions. The word ‘reckon’ in addition of its meaning 'to tell a story' etymologically refers to ordering items in a straight line. Instead of straightening out a tangled problem, the 4Act story aims to create an elegant tension between two dissimilar opposing parts by the end. 

We can look at a comic panel illustration of this structure from @stilleatingoranges to try and understand it further. Here are the first two acts:

In the first act, the qi, the ‘bringing into being,’ we see a character selecting a soda at a vending machine. The soda plops into the machine’s outlet. In the second act, the cheng, the Understanding, the character grabs the soda from the machine, continuing the story in an expected way without any hitch. There’s no clear obstacle or goal presented here. If we had to guess what will happen in the third act, we might say she’ll drink the soda. If we think the story needs a problem, she might have received the wrong soda. If we knew a twist was coming, we might guess she throws the can. Here’s the third act of this story:

We do not know this character. We don’t know this setting. This is a particularly demonstrative example of the third act, the zhuan, the Changing, because it shows how this act shifts the audience’s perception of the environment and point of this story. It’s not necessarily a twist in what the characters know and expect—we still have no idea about what they’re thinking and/or they’re relationship at all! It’s a twist for the viewer and what they assume they know and expect.

I’ve left out the final panel in my post so that, before you peek at the fourth act—the he, the Drawing Together—of these panels, you can take the place of a writer/creator and consider some ways these two disparate sections can come to coexist in the fourth panel. The girl might walk past this new isolated boy as she downs her soda. Maybe we see him watching as she opens the pop and it sprays all over her. Then, it brings out topics of impatience and embarrassment. You can probably think of more creative versions than me. The final panel the original artist chose to depict has the woman giving her soda to the newly introduced character. These are all acceptable conclusions to the 4Act as long as they reunite the world of the first two acts with the unexpected element of the third act. If you remember the blue color in the final section in the 4Act chart, it’s this combination of elements it represents. It might be helpful to think of the first two acts shaded yellow, with a suddenly blue third act, and a green fourth act.

For SOTUS S, Kongpob is back on campus in the final episode, reuniting us with the first and second act setting and characters from which the third act leapt away. He’s with his friends who’ve learned their own lessons and formed their own relationships during their internship semester. Arthit is back at his office sans intern-boyfriend with the offer of a new job in his preferred department. He turns down for the time being to support his own team instead. Durian goes to apologize to Arthit for leaking his photo, but he interrupts her before she can. It’s already forgiven. He tactfully offers her the opportunity to save face. 

I’ve seen these sorts of non-apologies across BL. They often ignite many audience member’s consternation who argue the characters didn’t deserve forgiveness for whatever harm they caused because they haven’t demonstrated a change in their behavior or fully acknowledged their wrong-doing. Unlike some other views of forgiveness, though, they often center around Eastern philosophical goals like the Indic-derived concepts of upekkha (translated as equanimity) and karuna (translated as compassion), for example. The latter is even considered a primary rasa, or aesthetic principle, in classical Indian theories of the arts that have persisted in importance into the cinematic era according to its wiki entry. Both are also part of the four heavenly abodes in Theravada Buddhism, the primary religion in Thailand. Rather than creating a world where those conditions don’t occur, these values focus on an individual’s ability to understand and remain balanced in the face of worldly conditions defined in the atthaloka dharma as “gain and loss, good-repute and ill-repute, praise and censure, pain and happiness.” Good and bad come and go, but one isn't meant to overly celebrate or grieve them. People and events are not meant to be ‘fixed’ in this view but understood.

Arthit’s forgiveness of Durian who continues her gossip demonstrates the understanding he gains in the story. As I said at the beginning, Arthit’s main goal is to adapt to his new environment. It’s a spiritual journey in which he achieves a new-found state of harmony within himself and with his group without directly engaging in conflict in the form of confrontation.  

The happy-ending version of the 4Act emphasizes reconnection in the relationships between members of a group, which is why the structure works especially well for a romance about an established couple. For each episode, the Japanese BL What Did You Eat Yesterday, about an older couple who live together, uses the 4Act effectively for its characters to grow in appreciation of each other. While Western stories have struggled to tell stories about established couples, the structure most Japanese iyashikei (slice-of-life genre) utilize works beautifully!

In Thailand, you can see the influence of SOTUS S in Aof Noppharnach’s two series about established couples, Still 2Gether and Dark Blue Kiss. He borrows the structure and even elaborates on subtle motifs in the series, like financial privilege, memories and public documentation through photographs, and invisibility of legally unrecognized and closeted relationships (conveyed in one of my favorite moments in all of the SOTUS series as KongArt transform into silhouettes inside a tunnel in a ‘special scene’). Then Aof blows these elements up into full foregrounded spectacles like Kao’s photographic birthday surprise for Pete or Tine’s walk down memory lane through saved vids and photos of Wat. Then, Aof can focus on subtext that’s more philosophical in his own series: “Love has no form,” Pete theorizes at the end of DBK. Lit Phadung and the rest of his writing team for SOTUS S were never so explicit as to put that theory into the script, but it’s all there in the details. KongArt might re-form their established relationship, bringing it ‘out’ into the view of the office, but it’s contrasted by all the ambiguous relationship endings running parallel to them. 

Those relationships don’t feel incomplete, at least to me. Open endings are a staple of the 4Act structure. It requires the acts to reconnect, but does not require problems to be resolved or questions to be answered. Instead the 4Act emphasizes structural and thematic unity and harmony, even for what we might call unhappy endings in romance. For a recent and clear BL example, The On1y One ends with its romantic leads separated in a similar vein to how they began the story while one of them literally re-ties the circle of a broken couple bracelet as he asks his beloved to return to him in a non-diegetic voiceover. Then the series cuts to a glass pitcher of lemon-water we’ve watched shatter over and over throughout the episodes, now whole and unbroken, as the other answers him. Our fourth act endings, done well, challenge a dualistic view. The two contrasting halves circle around to reconnect without one winning out over the other. Compared to a Western resolution, it might seem like these are unfinished loose ends, but they can be better understood as a satisfying tension or an equipoise. The On1y One ending refuses to accept that people are either together or apart, that time is either past or future. 

If separate narrative ends are looped together in elegant knots, what does this mean for the ‘coming out’ narrative with its journey that requires opposing forces and a protagonist to move from one side to another: in to out, private to public, even straight to queer? Well, in BL you often end up with a version of queerness that resists identitarian approaches. Art, in the most dramatically built-up moment in the series, makes a public statement about dating Kongpob…but he already did this coming out in the original series and he continues to rebuff his boyfriend’s flirtations afterwards. (It’s a part of their sexual foreplay as much as a part of Art’s shame.)

SOTUS S and much of BL depicts coming out as something done again and again cyclically as you enter into new environments or an act that’s not entirely manifesting (think Bad Buddy’s ending). And sexuality is not so simple as defining a gender one feels attracted toward, nor having pride or shame about those feelings. These are aspects of our relationships with ourselves and with others that even after making them public will still remain private, not fully knowable to others—both shared and secret. 

Drawing My Own Thoughts Together

Maybe I’m wrong. Throughout writing this, I nearly abandoned the project. I’m no expert in the history of Eastern media or storytelling, and especially not Thai—I’ve only dove into their BL. I can see how you could line up SOTUS S with a Western hero’s journey or romance plot. In fact, more so than other Asian national film traditions, at least according to the authors of Thai Cinema: The Complete Guide, the Thai media industry has a history and aesthetic interest in mashing genres and global influences into heterogeneous, palimpsestic concoctions. Multiple structures can and do coexist in these works.

I also became aware of how flat I and the resources had to render Western storytelling to illustrate the points about the 4Act. The differentiation between the two region’s approaches becomes much more murky when we bring in nuanced and celebrated works because they flesh out the bones more fully, relish ambiguities and ironies about their own nature, bring in broader influences, and take an interest in the unexpected. The structure’s often harder to pick apart. The goal, I’ve found while writing, is not to be wrong or right about the structure of the series here, but to educate myself and hopefully a few others about an influence of which we could learn more to fully appreciate what we’re watching. 

I was not surprised when after watching the series, I found an instagram post of the screenwriter and director Lit Phadung teaching different film structure approaches at a university. SOTUS S, in my view, simply can't be interpreted as a whole unless you are willing to see how its structure operates differently than the Western arc. It patiently weaves its medium and story about the office closet into an expansive pattern rather than mounting an epic battle between right and wrong.

Rather than take my words for right or wrong, I hope this gives others some threads to follow and thread in a web of info and interpretations. I know some tumblrinas I’ve connected with over BL and some with whom I’ve yet to connect have language skills, literary knowledge, and personal experiences to add on to what I’ve attempted to present here. Despite the prevalent mentions of kishotenketsu and the 4act as a structure used by Miyazaki, Kurosawa, and Bong Joon Ho, as well as a device in manga, anime, and Eastern literature traditions, there’s a dearth of well-sourced break-downs and explanations in English, scholarly or otherwise. This was simply my attempt to bring together information about the model in a BL context.

Throughout, I’ve highlighted specific Western blindspots I’ve noticed in criticism of BL shows: the perspective shift at the top of the third act, the slow development, the blanket forgiveness, among other things. A show can use these strategies and still be unsatisfying, don’t get me wrong. However, viewers miss the point when they frame the dissatisfaction using Western storytelling expectations. I’m insistent that we’ve gotta develop our language and perspectives to describe the intentions and breadth of what these shows aim for along with deepening our understanding of why.

It’s not limited to how we watch SOTUS S or Asian dramas. One of my favorite films, Junebug, which earned Amy Adams her first Oscar nomination, is a family drama set and filmed in the American South by a writing/directing team from the area, but inspired by the films of celebrated Japanese director Yasujiro Ozu because of how similar his style seemed culturally to the southerners they grew up with. Obviously, cultures beyond Asia emphasize these values and it behooves us to understand how to communicate with and within them, especially when a tendency exists to assume those communication values are inherently conservative. In fact, there are moments in all of our lives when we might need to emphasize social harmony, compassion, slow development, or karmic paths over dharmic ones, and the reasoning can be as progressive as any revolution. 

One of the moral values at the core of 4Act structures is appreciating our belonging to one another. “Strive at first to meditate upon the sameness of yourself and others,” reads Shantideva’s writing about the concept of karuna in The Way of the Bodhisattva. “In joy and sorrow all are equal; Thus be guardian of all, as of yourself.” Perceived cultural differences between values and plot structures need not be perceived as so separate. Queerness maybe doesn’t need to be ‘the other.’ Relationships and coming-out don’t need to be a battle. We can change and remain the same at once. SOTUS S and stories like it that use the 4Act demonstrate how art and events in our lives can come along to expand our perspectives without requiring we blame ourselves or others for not realizing it earlier. It holds wrong and right together, difference and unity, without flattening them into assimilation. Two distinct parts held together, which is, after all, the shape of a couple.