Is this one thing the KEY to transforming emotional attraction based storytelling?

.... From a rib clutch moment at The Moulin Rouge, to a powerful newsletter discovery and ONE thing to really help transform emotional storytelling at attractions and experiences.

She clutches her rib, coughs and gasps. I gasp too.

In that moment … I can REALLY feel her pain.

I know that this story ends tragically, because I’ve experienced it before. I’ve seen it in on the big screen, at the movies and I’ve watched it on the TV, at home.

But there, this weekend, on stage,  I felt it, I REALLY felt it…

I watched the story unfold, low lighting, “hear-a-pin-drop” silence throughout the theatre, Satine clutching the underneath of her rib in pain, as she coughs and croakily, softly, tragically, yet beautifully sings a melody that has the entire theatre breathless; feeling the moment, feeling the story.

I know that Satine’s fate lies in that one final performance at The Moulin Rouge and then, her untimely ending, as she loses her life to Tuberculosis. BUT, even in knowing the story from seeing it previously, in different forms, formats and perspectives, this weekend ... the story, it landed differently.

It left me speechless (If anyone reading this was sat behind me in Edinburgh Playhouse, I apologise for the sniffles).

Powerful.

It got me thinking, as these experiences always do, about how and why some stories land differently and in a far more impactful way, even when it’s the same narrative you’ve heard before.

Of course, this naturally led to thinking of my work in the attractions and experience industry (we never really switch it off, eh?!) and how the delivery of story in these experiences have even more potential to create the same powerful response for guests that I experienced at the weekend.

We’ll get to that bit shorty, but first ...

Post Analysis.

The following day, I was taking a walk, replaying parts of the story in my head, but especially that final scene.

In the build up to that beautiful and fateful scene, there is a sequence of events. We hear a part of the story from the perspective of Christian, Satine's secret lover, the penniless writer and male protagonist in the story.

We witness his heartbreak and rejection from Satine as she (unknowingly to him) tries to protect him from harm by the Duke; if the Duke was to find out about their love affair. As the audience, you want to scream at the stage that she does love him, so that he knows, but you watch him struggle as the story unravels. The final, fateful scene show’s their coming back together for her final moments, following a series of confusing moments and heartbreak for both Christian and Satine. It is beautiful.

Prior to this, as an audience, we see a much wider picture and weaving of stories. We see perspectives from Nina (Satine’s friend) and others, as they prepare for her death. Everything feels busy and hectic, theres a fast pace and a panic, we are taken along with characters through the weaving of experiences. It feels as though we're preparing with them. At this point in the production, we're not in the centre of the story with Satine and her illness, we're in the chaos surrounding it.

There are also a various narrators, transitioning us between the many different moving parts as we lead up to the culmination - the emotional, heartfelt performance by Satine.

Finally, when the moment comes, the music stops. All the busy that has taken place in the build up, ceases. Movement slows to a complete halt and there is intense focus on the one emotional moment between Satine and Christian, centre stage.

As she takes her last breath, you can feel the whole cast exhale. You could hear the whole audience exhale too. Time feels like it has stopped and everything is focused on the one moment. As an audience we are there in the emotional heart of it, we are not just watching it, we are feeling it. You can literally feel the pace change, the halt, the contrast from being in the busy lead up to the stillness of this moment. Then, the feeling of the lump in the back of your throat and eyes filling with tears.

All cast characters are now surrounding Satine, her body is draped over Christian, those closest to her are weeping, Christian is shattered to pieces and a number of her fellow Moulin Rouge colleagues, friends and performers lift up her body, in community, in friendship, in support, to take her off stage.

Real raw emotion.

Multiple character perspectives and storylines weaving together.

Fast pace becomes slow pace, then stillness.

As an audience, we've been on a rollercoaster of perspectives and a journey of different paces.

It's a melting pot of storytelling that is unfathomable in the emotional impact it creates.

Unfathomable to describe and to term ...

That was, until I read something that landed in my inbox on Sunday, in a very timely manner and it helped give clarity to what I've been describing above. It centres around something called Narrative Distance.

Narrative Distance:

I've been able to describe the impact of this before, but I've never known how to properly and eloquently term or express it, until I read a favourite storytelling newsletter, from Nathan Baugh. I highly recommend reading his newsletter, if you enjoy studying storytelling like I do. There is always something to learn when it comes to storytelling, or a fresh perspective to consider, if we want to become better storytellers (I've linked the newsletter at the bottom of this blog). Within this edition, he shares a brilliant explanation of Narrative Distance from another storyteller, Eric Falden.

The newsletter helps to make sense of my Moulin Rouge experience and why this particular viewing experience, above all other versions, was so very powerful.

Here's some segments from Nathan's Newsletter (In Italics)... he shares this, from Eric:

"Some stories pack a punch with just a few lines. A heartbeat, a choice, a moment of poignant reflection that hits you in the gut.

Other stories feel like you’re hearing it second-hand: same events, same people, but the impact just isn’t there.

The difference? Narrative distance.

It’s one of the most important considerations for storytelling in any genre, through any medium – but so many storytellers don’t even know what it is.

I’ve even watched very established authors twist themselves into knots trying to describe it, but fail because they don’t know this single term.

Once you understand it, you’ll see it everywhere.

It’s like a secret weapon

What’s Narrative Distance?

Narrative distance is the perceived separation between the reader (or viewer in my Moulin Rouge theatre experience) and the unfolding story.

That distance is controlled by the narrator, whoever they are.

A close narrative distance is one where the audience sees what the characters see, senses what they sense, understands their emotions, and can read their thoughts. There tends to be vibrant description and a clear sense of place and time.

A far narrative distance is the opposite: this story is from a bird’s eye view, and the reader might know things the characters do not. There will be more summary, and more “telling” rather than “showing.”

On the furthest possible extremes, a close narrative distance describes every detail, every thought, every emotion, every action, and is probably rooted to a particular in-story narrator. The furthest possible narrative distance is an encyclopedia summary.

How do you use it, then?

Close narrative distance is good for action scenes, emotional beats, and moments of big decisions.

But most stories will need moments of “far” distance, simply because time passing in reality is different than what a story’s pacing needs.

Take this (generic) example:

| The next few weeks were tough for Johnny. He laid awake every night thinking about the breakup. But his fortunes began to turn one afternoon when he passed through the door of Neptune’s Diner. He could hear bacon sizzling and smell the fresh coffee. Darlene was behind the register, jabbering with another regular. Johnny plopped his sorry self onto an empty stool. Then, for the first time, he saw her face. In the space of a heartbeat, he already knew he would never forget her |

This passage starts at a very far distance, detached from a specific time and place, and tells the audience only a small amount of information. The distance helps speed things along and sets expectations for the coming scene in the diner (“his fortunes began to turn…”).

But then the distance closes in: we get sensory details, a specific moment. It continues to zoom in until we’re even getting Johnny’s interior movements. The distance closes until the entire narration is linked to his subjective experience.

Far distance is helpful for summary; close distance is helpful for emotional rootedness.

Why Go Close?

Stories with a close narrative distance usually rely on a single point of view narrator. We’re locked into one person’s perspective the entire time.

Why do this?

Emotional investment, that’s why.

A close narrative distance makes it easy for the readers to understand and empathise with that POV character, whoever they are.

A close narrative distance can also help with immersion, since we’re not passive observers of the world. Instead, we’re walking through it with a character.

So Why Go Far, Then?

If close distance is so great, why use a far distance?

Because a close distance comes with serious tradeoffs. A far distance gives you tools that a close, claustrophobic distance can’t.

• Narration Variety: If you’re going to lock the reader in one character’s head, you better hope they like that character. For instance, if you don’t like Katniss, you really really won’t enjoy The Hunger Games.

• Dramatic Irony: Do you want the readers to know about the bomb under the table before the hero does? You can’t do that if you’re locked too close.

• Concision: A close narrative distance, with more detail per moment, takes a hell of a lot longer. Zooming out = speeding up.

• Pacing: More distance allows more summary, so you can move to the next important thing. If a story is in present-tense, for instance, things can only happen “right now.”

That’s only four tools, but many of them are foundational to the structures of the story you want to tell.

To put it another way: some stories simply need a farther narrative distance.

Thank you Nathan, thank you Eric.

Reading this, and relating it to the powerful Moulin Rouge theatre experience, perfectly highlights that the variety and contrast of distances in narrative create those all-time, high emotional peaks.

Put very simplistically:

1)    Satine’s illness and heartbreaking experience (close narrative distance).

2)    The narration / action / preparation surrounding Satine’s death from Nina, narrators and other cast (far narrative distance).

3) Christian's confusion and heartbreak (close narrative distance) with a perspective he didn't know about, but we, as the audience did (far narrative distance).

And many other layerings in-between.

There is much beautiful layering in The Moulin Rouge storytelling and we're privileged, as an audience, to experience the high's and low's of all of it.

Combine this with the fact my experience was human to human, in the theatre, rather than watching it on the screen ... and bingo; the story landed differently.

What can we learn from this for storytelling in attractions and tour experiences?

The great thing about experiences within attractions and destinations, is that they are largely and more often than not human (tour guide or storyteller) to human (guest): just like character to audience in a theatre; big tick.

They are also already taking place in highly immersive environments, another big tick.

However, naturally attractions don’t have a full theatre cast to be able to create the narrative distance that we have talked about. For obvious financial and operational reasons, an experience tour / story is often the responsibility of a single storyteller (sometimes a duo), but more often than not, a single storyteller.  

This is a huge calling, and to be able to solely deliver an experience story, impactfully in the way that many storytellers do, is exceptional.

In the majority (not all) cases of experience delivery, tours are delivered from a far narrative distance, i.e the zoomed out version of a story … the telling / narration / birds-eye-view of history and events. Few zoom into the heart and emotion, in the centre of the action / characters perspective (Like Satine’s illness); close narrative perspective.

How can you incorporate both and create more in-depth immersion and emotion without a full theatre cast?

We might not be able to deliver the same variety of distances, as a full cast theatre production can, but we can certainly "think in theatre" and adapt elements of our tours and experiences to deepen emotional impact and guest perception.

Here's how:

1) Take a look at your tour scripts and identify how and where you could incorporate a variety of close narrative distance and far narrative distance. A simple example could be this: If your experience moves between rooms or locations, your single storyteller could transition and create contrast for your guests by moving between a birds eye view (far narrative distance) in one room or location, as they talk around history and events and then, "zoom in", to take on the role of key character from within the story, to highlight a poignant part of the script, in another room or location. Changing between these perspectives adds depth and dimension to how the story is presented, and received.

2)Think about how you can create contrast with smart use of technology. For example, your storyteller / tour guide could deliver close narrative distance within the experience, whilst the use of technology could provide an alternative voice / birds eye narration to seamlessly weave and create contrast in the way a story is told – multi perspective, multi depths.

3) Think about the pace and tempo of your tours. For example, you can create a closer narrative distance by slowing the pace for a little while and zoning in on very specific moments of the story you tell.

If your character goes through a reflection, a bereavement, a life changing moment, or the like ... ask yourself: are our guests watching the story unfold, from a distance, or, are they right there with the character, experiencing the emotion, the slowness, the sadness, with them?

A slight flip-in-script could transform emotional impact, entirely. Just like in The Moulin Rouge where we experienced the contrast between the busy of the lead up to Satine's final moments, to the stillness of when it finally happened, your script tempo can create a huge impact in how the story feels and the distance between your storyteller and guest.

4) Holistically take an overarching view of all of your tour timings. You can be very smart here, so the script timing of one tour can add depth and create theatre and far narrative distance for another. A great example of this is at The Real Mary King's Close. There is one part of the tour where guests in one group are at the bottom of the close, having gone through the majority of the experience. During this part of the tour experience, you can faintly hear the calling / shouting of "Gardy loo" at the top of the close from another tour guide who is delivering an earlier part of the tour with another group. This creates depth to the experience and a variation in voice from the tour guide within your own group, so you feel the contrast of close narrative distance and far narrative distance.

If you take an overview of your entire tour schedule, ask yourself if you can find moments of overlap, where echos / sounds of one tour, could positively impact perception of another tour that is happening, at a different point in the journey - a brilliant way to create close and far narrative distance.

5) Sensory consideration. Look at the parts of your experience where you could tap into a guests olfactory systems, to bring them closer, in distance, to the story and character perspective.

For example, a guest may have just gone through a part of a tour which is delivered at far narrative distance i.e a tour guide telling them about the lemon groves in Italy, giving a birds-eye overview of the history of lemon groves. The next scene could be from a characters perspective who is working within the lemon groves, at the same time that the narrative changes to their first hand perspective, the room could fill with the scent of lemons, enhancing close narrative distance and guest perception.

All food for thought.

Story is fascinating.

How story is told, even more so.

But we’re not just telling it, we're learning about it, we're experimenting with it, we're living it, being it, designing it and most importantly, moving our guests with emotion through it.

Whilst we might not be able to create full theatre productions, there are ways we can look at experimenting and creating close and far narrative distance within our stories, to create better immersion and a deeper emotional response from our guests.

It doesn’t require reinvention, but a slightly different approach to how we view things, script things and deliver things.

A final note : If you haven’t been to see Moulin Rouge yet, as of this week (commencing 9th June 2025, there is still one week to go in Edinburgh) … you won’t regret it.

As a side note, I happened to be sat next to Satine’s mum (real world mum) in the audience, which meant I got to see a whole other perspective through her eyes too and a wonderful meeting with the cast after! Very special. That's a story for another day!

See you next time!

A link to Nathan Baugh's newsletter, here: https://www.worldbuilders.ai/