Every scene is a chase scene.

That’s not a metaphor. It’s a structural principle.

Frank Hauser and Russell Reich wrote it plainly in Notes on Directing: every scene is a chase. Someone wants something. Someone else blocks it. Power shifts. Someone wins, and someone loses.

The chase doesn’t have to be physical. It doesn’t require a car or a gun or a ticking clock.

The most riveting chase in The Silence of the Lambs takes place in a prison cell. Clarice Starling arrives to “dissect” Hannibal Lecter with a psychological questionnaire. Instead, he dissects her — her background, her character, even her choice of toiletry products. She came to extract information. He turns the interview into an examination of her.

The power shifts multiple times. He is contemptuous, then curious, then quietly furious when another prisoner humiliates her. He sets the terms of their relationship going forward. She leaves with far less than she planned — and far more than she expected. That’s a chase scene. No car. No gun. Pure desire and obstruction.

Ask this about every scene you write or evaluate:

• What does the main character want in this scene, specifically?
• Who or what is blocking them?
• How does the power shift?
• Who wins? Who loses?
• Does the character leave the scene more exposed than when they entered?

If you can’t answer those questions, you don’t have a scene yet. You have a conversation.

The strength of the struggle determines the strength of the scene. And the strength of every scene determines whether your story has the momentum to hold an audience from beginning to end.