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If a story doesn’t relentlessly propel itself forward, narrative momentum stalls and the audience loses interest.
When The Last Frontier hit Apple TV, it arrived with an irresistible premise — a rogue CIA agent Havlock, a plane crash in the Alaskan wilderness, and a small-town U.S. Marshal, Remnick, drawn into a deadly manhunt. It had all the makings of a tight, high-stakes thriller.
Yet, despite its strong start, the series has received a wave of mediocre reviews. Most critics point to the CIA subplot. But for screenwriters, this criticism only scratches the surface.
The problem isn’t the mere presence of a CIA subplot; it’s the execution. A subplot like that could work if it deepened the central conflict or heightened the stakes. Instead, in The Last Frontier, it fragments the narrative and weakens the story’s momentum.
In this post, we’ll explore what really went wrong — how losing narrative drive can derail even the most promising story. We’ll unpack why momentum is everything in a thriller, what happens when it falters, and how writers can keep their stories on track.
The Importance of Narrative Momentum
Narrative momentum is the invisible force that drives a story forward.
At its core, storytelling is simple: you introduce a protagonist, give them a problem to solve, and raise the stakes. The protagonist’s desire to solve their problem propels the narrative forward. And the audience follows, wanting to know what happens next.
In strong thrillers, the antagonist pushes back, creating tension and escalating stakes. This dramatic conflict keeps the audiences engaged. But when the story detours into disconnected subplots, that tension deflates and the momentum driving the narrative forward collapses.
This is exactly what happened in The Last Frontier.
The story begins with a clear narrative drive: Remnick pursuing Havlock and the central question of whether he’ll catch him. Any detour from that pursuit weakens the momentum and dilutes the tension.
Lessons from Stories That Stay Focused and Those That Don't
The Fugitive
The Fugitive is a masterclass in maintaining narrative momentum and never deviates from its central line of tension.
From the moment Harrison Ford’s character escapes, the film drives forward on an unbroken pursuit, with Tommy Lee Jones’s relentless chase sustaining the tension. It only pauses for brief glimpses of Ford’s compassion or ingenuity, which deepen his character while still serving the main plot.
Imagine if halfway through the film we paused the pursuit to explore a subplot about Tommy Lee Jones’s home life — a troubled marriage or a personal dilemma. That detour would instantly puncture the tension and halt the story's forward drive.
In The Last Frontier, the story frequently wanders away from its core chase, diving into subplots about other prisoners, family members, and background threads that are only loosely connected to the main pursuit.
These diversions weaken the narrative spine and drain the tension instead of reinforcing it.
Dept. Q
Dept. Q shows us how a story can both maintain and strategically deviate from narrative momentum.
The premise is deceptively simple: investigators work to uncover what happened to a missing barrister, a woman who disappeared under mysterious circumstances. The core question that drives the story: is she alive, and will they find her?
What makes Dept. Q particularly instructive is how it maintains its momentum while briefly exploring Morck’s personal struggles — his guilt over his partner’s paralysis and the strain in his relationships with his stepson, daughter, and flatmate. These detours work because they’re rooted in Morck’s inner life, revealing the wounds that shape his approach to the case.
Both Dept. Q and The Fugitive show that you can step away from the main narrative as long as those moments deepen the protagonist’s inner world and flaws.
Presumed Innocent
Presumed Innocent shows how courtroom narratives rely on uninterrupted tension to maintain momentum.
The film version gets this right by staying inside the courtroom and letting the trial build steadily toward its reveal and verdict, never breaking the flow or dispersing the pressure. Every scene adds to the tension, keeping the audience locked into the central question of guilt and truth.
By contrast, the TV series splinters the trial across multiple episodes, repeatedly stopping the proceedings and relying on plot‑based cliffhangers to hold attention. Each break releases the tension the story worked to build, making the narrative feel fragmented instead of propulsive.
Parasite
Parasite shows how powerful a story can be when it stays fully committed to its central narrative drive.
The film maintains momentum by focusing tightly on the Kim family’s attempt to escape poverty through infiltrating the wealthy Park household, with each step escalating the tension and pushing the story forward.
The only moments where the film briefly deviates are those that deepen the characters — revealing their desperation, moral choices, and shifting dynamics — and these short digressions always return quickly to the main engine of the story.
In essence, Parasite succeeds because every scene either escalates the central conflict or enriches character in a way that strengthens the momentum.
Fixing the Last Frontier
To fix The Last Frontier, the narrative needs a sharper focus on its true spine: Remnick pursuing Havlock.
The CIA subplot could be removed entirely without harming the story. As it stands, the archive storyline feels disconnected from Remnick, offering no emotional or personal stakes to justify the screen time it consumes.
If the CIA thread must remain, it needs to connect directly to Remnick's past, or threaten someone he loves. Without this personal link, Remnick has no reason to care about the CIA archive, and the audience doesn’t either.
One of the biggest missteps is freeing Remnick’s wife early. Had Havlock kept her, the stakes would have escalated and the chase would have grown more personal and urgent. Keeping her captive would have tightened the narrative, sustained the tension, and given Remnick a powerful emotional drive that aligned with the story’s core.
Another major issue is the sheer number of episodic subplots involving other prisoners and side characters who add little to the central chase. The opening gives us a glimpse of Havlock’s ingenuity as he poses as a pilot, hides in an ambulance, and escapes from the hospital.
But instead of building on this by having Havlock enlist the other prisoners as allies or a covert network working against Remnick, the series splinters into isolated side stories that never cohere. Had these characters been woven directly into Havlock’s plans, the narrative could have become more unified and propulsive.
Until Next Time
Maintaining narrative momentum requires you to keep your story aligned with the central pursuit that drives audience engagement.
A practical way for screenwriters to diagnose momentum issues is to follow a few clear steps:
- Write a one‑sentence summary of your narrative spine.
- Review your beat sheet scene by scene.
- For each scene, check whether it drives the narrative forward or deepens the protagonist.
- Flag scenes that do neither and decide whether to cut, rewrite, or re‑anchor them.
For example, in Parasite, the one‑sentence narrative spine is clear: the Kim family wants to escape poverty and build a better life.
Consider the sequence where the family plots to remove the housekeeper. Does this drive the narrative forward? Yes — it’s a direct pursuit of their goal and a crucial step in infiltrating the Park household.
Now look at a quieter moment: the son tutoring the Park daughter. This also pushes the narrative forward, though less obviously. It deepens his character, reveals his desire to cross the class divide, and reinforces the theme — all while still serving the central drive.
By making sure every scene advances the plot, you keep your story purposeful, propulsive, and emotionally engaging and avoid the momentum issues that weakened The Last Frontier.
