Hello Dolly!
I'm shortly off to the above BBC event, where many writers will attend sessions on an agenda created by other writers like Toby Whithouse and Jack Thorne. The likes of Tony Jordan, John Yorke and Ben Stephenson will be there.
I'm sure I'll blog about it at some point afterwards. But if you want the as-it-happens scoop, then follow me on Twitter. Will do my best to tweet the odd wisdom-pearl. You're welcome.
Showing posts with label TV writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label TV writing. Show all posts
Splendid: The Screening
Hello! How lovely to see you. Have you lost a bit of weight? We recently showed the pilot of our TV sketch show Splendid to a select audience. The evening represented a real milestone after the best part of a year's work.
It all happened in London's Soho, on July 10. Yep, Soho. Yep, July 10. Yep, the day of the fire. Here's how it all went. Cue potentially jarring switch into the present tense... hold on tight...
3pm: Reports start filtering in about a Dean Steet blaze. Twitter immediately proves its power by feeding me minute-by-minute, second-by-second accounts of what's going on - even if some of it's ill-informed or tasteless (given that we don't yet know whether anyone's been hurt). Splendid supremo Dan Turner seems admirably unconcerned, given that our Splendid screening at Wardour Street's Moving Picture Company is merely a stroll away from the apparent inferno. I spend the next hour forwarding him links to pictures like the one to the right, determined to frighten the Christ out of him. Eventually, he concedes, "Oh fuck, that's massive. But will hopefully clear in a couple of hours." It will indeed. But right now, stories circulate of businesses being evacuated, parts of Soho shut off, blackened people diving screaming into sewers to avoid the ravaging plumes of flame...5pm: Dan, production manager Johnny 'Caution' Harrison and I meet in Soho, to prepare for the screening. By this point, the fire looks more like this:
As you can see, Soho's drinkers are terrified. They can barely hold their foaming ales steady, as the plucky fireman on a cherry-picker sprays high-powered water into a nearby building. Only one end of Dean Street's been shut off, and Soho is going about its business as usual. Between now and our 8pm door-opening time, however, we all receive understandably concerned messages from guests: 'Have you all been burnt to ash?', 'Has Soho been destroyed?' and so on.
5.30pm: Dan, Caution and I sensibly remember to eat, before dropping the Splendid pilot off at MPC, having a mini test screening, then heading along the road to buy a load of booze for our guests. MPC is a nice venue - you might remember from the picture above that Dan and I held the screening for our short film Look At Me here. For that screening, we went all-out and invited Everyone In The Known World, attracting about 140-odd guests and forcing us to screen the film twice in MPC's 74-capacity room. This time, though, the screening needed to fulfil two roles: to show our amazing cast 'n' crew the joys of what they'd achieved, and to introduce Splendid to a load of completely unconnected, oblivious folk, in order to get their feedback and spread ground-level buzz. Seventy-odd guests would cover all of this nicely, and we could have just the one cosy, unified screening.
6.45pm: Dan and I meet up with Richard Glover in a nearby pub. A wonderful man, Richard co-created the show with Dan. Weirdly, none of us are nervous, although we have the vague feeling that we should be. Regardless, a pint of organic lager will soon shave off any nascent nerves. 
7.30pm: Another Splendid cast member turns up: the truly remarkable Stephen Evans. Having been unable to attend any of the filming, I'm meeting him for the first time. What an honour. He's a Doctor Who fan, too. Hooray. Then another of our fine actors, Eric Lampaert arrives with friends. Double hooray with fries. We spare many a thought, throughout the evening for our fellow writer Piers Beckley, who is foolishly in Spain running with bulls.7.50pm: Realising that our screening opens its doors quite shortly, we hurriedly down drinking-tools and ramble back over to MPC. Nerves are beginning to kick in now, as I remember that a comedy screening differs from a drama screening in many key respects. Perhaps most importantly, an audience's appreciation of a comedy screening is far more instantly quantifiable - they laugh, or they don't. Sure, some people appreciate comedy without laughing out loud, but let's be honest: you want the laughs.
8pm: A fair number of guests are already here, including Splendid writer Sarah Morgan and our remaining cast, Hayley Jayne Standing and Andrea Donovan! There's also a fine representation of the blogosphere. Look at these three madmen for starters: William Gallagher, Stuart Perry (New Hair Exclusive: You Saw It Here First) and Phill Barron! Just out of shot: Michelle Lipton and the lovely Vicky!
The next hour is all about being delighted to see people (I am), trying not to spill wine over myself (I do) and trying not to act like a cock (I inevitably do, as this is my default setting).
Time for a few rapid-fire pics of this 8pm-9pm shindig. Here are three Splendid men: Glover, Lampaert and Evans...
And three splendid people of assorted genders: storyboard-art guru Rachel Garlick, writer/blogger Helen Smith and writer/blogger David Lemon.
Me, clearly discussing Very Serious Things with Eric, then Stephen (to my right in that picture is Mr Rich Swingle, our genius DOP, who helped make Splendid look so bloody lovely, along with remarkable production designer Jamie Bishop).
9pm: Screening time! People start filtering into the plushly-seated room, and nerves give way to (a) red wine; and (b) excitement. We've been working on Splendid for quite some a while, and now people are going to see it for the very first time! Dan and Richard Glover admirably stride onstage to give the audience a little back-story on the project, while making them laugh and warming them up a tad. In a nutshell, they tell people how we wanted to create something different. And silly.
9.10pm: The screening begins. Inevitably, you wait for that first laugh. And oh, how you want it. If, at this point, a demon popped up and asked if you'd like to trade one of your little fingers for that first laugh, you might give the offer a few seconds of thought. Thankfully - especially as my sketch, Explorers, is the opener - the first laugh doesn't take long to arrive. After that, the sketches steam by in a glorious flurry (few of them are both two minutes in length) eliciting much laughter and smiley faces. You can tell that people are enjoying Splendid, and this feels key. Sure, people inevitably don't always laugh when you expect them to, and laugh at somewhat unexpected things, but there's definitely a very good feeling in the room. Despite often being dark and twisted-as-all-hell, Splendid exudes an upbeat warmth which hopefully can't fail to bleed from the screen.
It's only when watching Splendid with others, that it strikes you how very mental it is. In a good way, naturellement. Perhaps the most surreal moment comes while watching another sketch of mine, Pilots. It's truly bizarre to sit in a screening room full of people, watching what these two pilots (superbly acted by Glover and Evans) end up doing. I'm loving the experience, and feeling so very proud of Dan, cast and crew. Really wish Piers was here, though, to see how well his marvellously preposterous Weapon Shop sketch goes down.
9.30pm: Twenty-five minutes later, the pilot ends, to rapturous applause. We all file back out into what you might well call The Drinking Area. Dan has wisely created a pile of feedback forms, which every attendee dutifully, and anonymously, fills out. It asks for things like people's favourite sketch, their least favourite... what kind of comedy they normally enjoy... Stuff like that. While it's brilliant when so many people congratulate us on a funny and great-looking show, you know for sure that they're going to be 100% honest on an anonymous feedback form. Joyously, these forms turn out to be just as enthusiastic as people's reactions were in person. They will definitely help inform us how to hone our pilot and make it even stronger. Obviously, you have be just a little bullish with comedy, and sticking to your guns, but there's harm in being aware of consensus.
From here on, events become understandably blurry. I remember people smiling a lot, being congratulatory, and generally relieved that Splendid didn't turn out to be a bunch of bell-ends in someone's living room with a camcorder. There is talk of quality and professionalism and channels which Splendid would suit.
Midnight (maybe): Post-MPC, a group of Splendid types and friends wander the streets of Soho for a while, before settling on Brewer Street's lovely Enclave bar. Stephen Evans is delighted to learn that they have cocktails with Doctor Who themed names, although Paradise Towers and Green Death are the only ones I can remember right now. Clearly hyper-conscious that this is a gay-oriented establishment, Richard and Stephen butch it the hell up:
As do Richard and I.
Mmmm, I tell you, you haven't lived until you've experienced the Glover Love. No Glove, no love, that's my new and hastily-assembled motto. Yes.
3am: Things get blurrier still. I'm sitting on a pavement outside the Cro-Bar with Helen Smith, foolishly smoking Cafe Creme cigars and mixing drinks with the kind of fury which I will so regret tomorrow.
The pain will be worth it, though. Tonight was completely and utterly Splendid.
SPLENDID LINKS:
Phill Barron's account of the Splendid screening, including the words "It’s very, very funny and should be picked up for broadcast immediately".
Helen Smith's account of the Splendid screening, including the words "made to broadcast standard".
Dan Turner's account of the Splendid screening, including the words "Those two boys really do see the benefit of mind-stretching word games".
John 'Caution' Harrison's account of the Splendid screening, including the words "as I walked out at the end I know I had a silly beam on my face".
My March 2009 post about the cast, and Splendid in general.
My December 2008 post about the writing process.
Splendid's Facebook group. Join us!
The Story Engine: Lisa Holdsworth On Pitch Docs
Lisa Holdsworth knows what she’s talking about. Her TV writing career, which you can see in full on her agency-biog page here, kicked off with an episode of Fat Friends in 2002, then snowballed through the likes of Emmerdale, New Tricks, Blue Murder, Waterloo Road (for which she notably wrote the excellent book-ending instalments of the show’s recent Series Four) and Robin Hood (she has an episode on this very evening - 6.45pm on BBC One). She has a Twitter page here.
The Story Engine event (see general report in my previous post) saw the lovely, funny Lisa giving a top-notch class on pitch documents – those mysterious beasts which most screenwriters would appreciate being given a step-by-step guide to. So here it is: pitch-docs, the Holdsworth way.
“Sell the sizzle not the steak,” said Lisa in her opening, meaning that you’re pushing the core concept, not the minutiae. “You’re also selling yourself. You’re saying, ‘Look how exciting my writing can be. Look how original I am’.”
DON’T…
- … tell the story in minute detail. If you’ve written over two pages, you’re telling too much story.
- … tell us about every character. And try to avoid character clichés: the geeky-but-cool character, or the feisty single mum. Find something interesting and unusual about your characters.
- … tell us the intended TV slot.
- … tell us how it’ll be shot. “If you say it’ll be shot ‘a bit like The Wire’,” says Lisa, “That makes you sound a bit like an arse”.
- … tell us who you intend to cast… unless an actor is attached. Even imagining an actor can limit you, when writing the character.
- … include comparisons to existing characters or other dramas (although Lisa admits this is more her preference, noting, “Do what feels right for your project”.
DO…
- … communicate excitement. Too may pitch docs are too professional and dry. Without actually saying, “You’ll cry! You’ll laugh”, get that across. Be conversational.
- … explain why this needs to be brought to the screen, right now! Because that’s the first question someone like Channel 4 will ask you. Maybe you’ve got an idea for a period costume drama, but it says something about where we are now.
- … make us love/hate the main characters. Even if they’re flawed, are we going to really enjoy spending time with them?
- … tell us why people will watch your show. Here, Lisa added a related point: “If you don’t watch telly, I don’t know why you’re writing it”.
- … pack a punch. You want the reader to be exhausted by the end. Every paragraph needs to finish with “BANG!”. Not literally, of course.
- … leave them wanting more. This is difficult to do without being too obvious. You want to convey the sense that you’re just giving them a taste. Without actually saying it, you’re saying, “Bring me in for a meeting and you’ll get so much more”. Pitch docs tend not to tell them the end. Says Lisa: “I’ve never worked on a programme where the end didn’t change”. If you’re pitching a film, people need to know it rounds off quite well. Whereas, with a returning series, it’s best to leave it open. Americans are very good at making you wonder how they could do a second series of this.
THE STRUCTURE OF A PITCH (THE HOLDSWORTH WAY)
- A grabbing title. Heroes, Buffy, Demons (which was originally called The Last Van Helsing, until makers Shine realised that this title suggested a weight of history which wasn’t reflected by the execution). Firefly, reckons Lisa, was a great series with a terrible title.
- A logline to create intrigue. This is usually the last thing you put in.
- A summary paragraph that sells the central premise of the show. If your project is an adaptation then here’s the place to mention it, up front, noting that it’s about time this was brought to the screen.
- One-to-five pages of blistering prose that sets up the story, the main characters and the style/tone. Lisa usually writes three pages, then edits it down.
- A final paragraph that explains why this is the show your telly was made for. You’re basically saying, “If you buy this, you’re buying a fantastic piece of TV”. Take your self-deprecating hat off. Don’t be Simon Cowell, but say you believe in this.
- Write nothing about your credits or who you are – it detracts from the flow of the pitch. If you’re sending it ‘cold’, attach your CV as well.
CLOSING THOUGHTS FROM LISA:
- ”Remember – they’re always looking for a reason to say no. Don’t give them one. Don’t mention the scene in which a load of penguins get machine-gunned”.
- ”You won’t be held to the pitch doc, if you get to the next stage. People in the meeting will want to change aspects of it”.
- ”Once in meetings, pick your battles. Don’t argue over the colour of a secondary character’s socks. If someone’s suggestions piss you off, then go away, have a rant, have a cup of tea, then come back and think about it objectively”.
- ”Even if you end up writing seven drafts of a pilot script and it comes to nothing, your final draft will make a great calling card script”.
And check out my:
Drama: Response
This afternoon, I've been having a bit of a cry. Hooray! I feel like celebrating.
See, ever since Tony Jordan spoke at last year's SWF about how writing drama often reduces him to a mess of tears, snot and booze, I've been conscious that nothing I've written has provoked that kind of emotional response in me. It's not like I've since deliberately set about writing something that will have me blubbing like a newborn, but an emotionally-charged story just happens to have grown in my mind over the last few months.
I've spent the first three days of 2009 pouring it all into the 25-page first draft of a TV spec script. This afternoon was the big climax, and I did indeed find myself with something in my eye. Okay, several things. In both eyes. Especially when I realised that what I was writing was also something of a personal exorcism. Of course, repeatedly listening to Soul Asylym's Runaway Train and Everclear's Learning How To Smile didn't help. But it all felt tremendous, like a year's worth of therapy. Mental Spring cleaning.
I don't reckon that everything we write should turn us into emotional wrecks, or even be vaguely cathartic. But as Chemical Brothers pointed out with music, drama should trigger some kind of response. Perhaps if you know what you want your audience to feel, this makes the writing run all the more smoothly, with all the more focus and, ultimately, impact.
So come on - cards on the table. Who's had a bit of sob at their own work? And I don't mean when you re-read it, two weeks later, and realised it was nonsense.
Twelve Things A-Happening!
On the first day of Christmas, my true love kicked me in the nuts. But that's another story. Here, for your delight and astonishment, are a dozen vaguely festive morsels. Nine good, one sad-but-celebratory, then another two good ones to end on. Where to begin, hmmm? In no particular order:1) My full Red Planet Prize script, Undying, has long been submitted for the finals. Thanks to everyone who helped me shape it, over the last few months, into what I now reckon is my best work – the one who read several drafts and gave splendid notes; the one who made me lose one of my favourite lines; the one who helped me turn a clunky, creaking plot-point into a well-oiled beauty; and the one who swore at me a lot (okay, yes, that was Phill). While it would naturally be insanely incredible to win, I’ve realised that my Number One goal is to show RP supremo Tony Jordan that I can write. If I can achieve that, I’ll be delighted. So let’s see. There are 72 finalists, but I’m not thinking in terms of odds – it’s not a lottery. If any of the other 71 scripts are better than mine, then I won’t win. Simple as that. And while I'm waiting, I'm going to write another script.
2) Doctor Who Short Trips: Christmas Around The World, the collection of short stories to which I’ve contributed, is quite literally out now. Your yuletide experience will not be the same without it. My story's called Christmas Every Day, and involves people being eaten. TV’s James Moran’s in this tremendous tome too, temporarily becoming The Literary World’s James Moran in the process. His story is a thing of beauty, my friends. And wasn't his Spooks episode a belter? Ooh yes.
3) Lo and behold, I have my first Script Editor credit, on a nifty new short film called Big Mistake. I’ll let its writer/director Dan Turner tell you all about that when he’s good and ready, but it was very instructive and fulfilling to follow the project from start to finish - especially as with Dan being such a can-do dynamo, it happened like a click of the fingers.
4) The sketch show Splendid, run by Dan Turner and actor/writer/radio host Richard Glover, becomes increasingly exciting. We had a meeting a few weeks ago which was simultaneously nerve-wracking and thrilling. Picture this: several writers around a table, each with print-outs of their sketch-scripts. Each sketch gets passed around in turn, then is discussed and placed on either a Yes, No or Maybe pile. As you might imagine, this process can generate a fair bit of anxiety – hence the small vat of red wine I consumed as the evening went on, despite doing rather well with my own efforts. It reminded me of the 1988 Chevy Chase film Funny Farm, which every writer should see. There’s a scene where he gives his novel manuscript to his wife to read (as a wrapped present!), then sits there, watching her every reaction. “What are you doing?” he protests, as she turns a page. “That was a big laugh, right there!”5) My TV spec script Happy Ever After has been receiving favourable responses from the great and good. Comments have included “it is always really useful to know writers who clearly love a particular genre” (in this case, horror), “a cracking read”, “absolute page turner, good sense of jeopardy and wit” and “the best damn thing I’ve ever read.” Admittedly, that last one was me.
6) Look At Me plays Hollywood next year! Yes, the short which I wrote and Dan Turner directed is playing the British Film Fest in May. I am very much liking those apples.
7) Apparitions has become my favourite new drama series of the year, by a fair old margin. Martin Shaw proves he’s underrated as an actor, bringing an infectiously subtle presence to the freaky proceedings. Once upon a time, you could have easily taken the Pepsi Challenge with BBC One and Channel 4 shows, guessing which were which. These days, the likes of Apparitions, with its countless taboo topics, bloody murder and untold blasphemy, are mixing it right up.
8) Developments are afoot on what will hopefully be Dan Turner and I's next film collaboration, the feature Blood Red Sky. I delivered a new draft over the last few weeks, which is drawing us ever closer to our desired feast of scares, shocks and people's faces exploding.9) The Screenwriters’ Festival have announced their 2009 dates! Now, while the event is one of my very favourite things in the calendar, I must confess to being gutted that the next SWF is in October. This is for the best reasons, though – I just don’t want to have to wait another 10 months for it.
10) Before launching fully into the Christmas spirit, I always spare a whole load of thoughts for Ray Palmer. Legendary rock photographer, champion drinker and an utter charmer, Ray was one of my very best friends. Of course, the past tense will have given the game away there: Ray died six years ago today, whereupon I created a tribute site for him here. I’m going for a drink later, and every last one will be in his honour. Especially the sixth. Here’s to Ray Palmer. Clink.
11) Last night, I dreamt that I was in M Night Shyamalan's underrated film The Happening. Or, rather, in the situation: a world being torn apart by an invisible enemy. It was terrifying, seemed to last as long as the film itself and even threw in new details when people started turning into plants. I found myself wishing I'd mastered Piers' intriguing lucid dreaming technique, as then I could have flown or had sex, rather than frantically beg loved ones not to go off in the city by themselves.
12) Six must-read posts on the blogosphere, as we shriek, are Danny 'Stackman Crothers' Stack's illuminating ruminations on Reading, Writing, Networking, Being An Industry Insider, Getting An Agent and Discipline. If you haven't already, then please read them with the ocular orbs in your head which Satan bestowed upon you.
Good day!
The Greatest Things About Edinburgh # 1
No, not the city itself, although judging by the three days I spent in beautiful, endlessly surprising Edinburgh, that would be a post well worth writing. I'm talking about the Edinburgh TV Festival, which I attended in full, last weekend, with Dan Turner (check out his tremendous new showreel, why don'tcha?). An excellent, inspirational affair, it's only fuelled my already raging desire to spend the rest of my days writing drama for TV.
I feel strongly that, in order to work in the industry, it's vital to understand what it is and what it wants. The TV Festival fired wall-to-wall information at us: there were onstage interviews with practically every major channel's Controller, along with individual masterclasses and some plain ol' entertainment. It was a tremendous barometer of what's happening. Whenever I get a chance, I'm going to scribble about the weekend's finest moments. Here are three for starters:
1) THE RISKY DRAMA SESSIONI began this 9.30am session somewhat bleary of eye, but was soon delighted that we'd made the effort. This hour's theme practically invited cynicism, questioning as it did the amount of risk which TV drama can and should take, so it was a real pleasure to see people onstage speaking about their endeavours with such passion as they discussed the industry's realities.
Ben Stephenson, the BBC's Head Of Drama Commissioning, was especially impressive, and not solely because of his intensely red socks. The man spoke with commendably energetic feeling about his channels' output, insisting that "all drama has to be, in some way, risky." He also pointed out that BBC shows which are perceived as 'safe', like Cranford and Doctor Who, are hardly that - in particular, it was originally a ludicrously large risk to bring back Who. Of course, these days, critics see it as the very epitome of mainstream, safe TV, but it could so easily have blown up in the Beeb's face.
You could plainly see that Stephenson loves the vast majority of the shows which he and Drama Controller Jane Tranter have commissioned, and is perfectly capable of defending them all to the hilt, talking verbal rings around anyone who suggests otherwise. There were, of course, the predictably tedious questions about the pair's supposedly iron-fisted reign. As he said on the matter, "We are the gatekeepers, and that's hard, but it's just the way it has to be." As even Channel 4's Head Of Drama Development, Robert Wulfe-Cochrane, was moved to comment, it's hard to conceive of any other way for a drama department like the BBC's to be structured.
If the session had an inherent flaw, it was that the concept of risk was somewhat nebulous. A little way into proceedings, 'risk' was somewhat weirdly taken to mean 'extreme content', on which of course the BBC has to draw a line, as is only right and proper. The chair, Mark Lawson, asked whether the assembled channel-heads would ever air a film like 9 Songs, Michael Winterbottom's yawnsome piece which featured moments of lacklustre hardcore porn (I've never seen a man ejaculate so listlessly, to be frank). Stephenson drew big laughs from the coffee-cradling crowd as he admitted, "Maybe we can't do penetrative sex, no. If anyone wants to have a go at that, talk to Robert." In a further, surreal part of this particular discussion, the topic of rimming was broached and ultimately licked. Cough.
Surely the session's finest moment came during the Q&A segment. One audience member mused aloud as to whether commissioners "know that their bad programmes are bad". For instance, he wondered, did the person who commissioned Echo Beach know it was "shit"? Stephenson peered at the person posing the question and said, "Aren't you sitting next to her?". The man was indeed sitting right next to ITV's Controller Of Drama Laura Mackie, in one of those glorious moments which you'd have been hard-pressed to set up. Mackie retained her calm impeccably as Mr Questioner desperately tried to retain his cool credentials by repeatedly asking Mackie, "Come on, it's shit, isn't it? Admit it." Which, of course, only dug him an even deeper hole - there's nothing more tiresome than someone who mistakes their own opinions for facts. I only wish that Tony Jordan had been sitting on the other side of him.
2) HENRY NORMALOut of hundreds of delegates at the TV Festival, only a tiny proportion were writers. I mean, literally, ten-or-so. This was an advantage in many ways, although the event isn't especially set up for networking. If it is, then most of the people networking are already within the TV industry and are looking to move upwards/sideways. On the Saturday afternoon, I sat by myself in the event's cafe area, wondering - just for a moment, you understand - if this had been entirely the right festival to attend, in terms of making new contacts.
Then someone sat right next to me at the table and we got chatting. Having read the heading of this bit, you won't be surprised to hear that it was Henry Normal. He founded Baby Cow Productions with Steve Coogan, co-created The Royle Family and has been involved with the likes of Gavin & Stacey, The Mighty Boosh and Nighty Night. Serious credentials, then, for someone who turned out to a seriously nice bloke. We chatted about this and that, and Henry said that he was impressed to see a writer come to the TV Festival, "rather than waiting for the world to come to them". Which instantly re-inserted the spring back into my step, as you can imagine.
Incidentally, it may seem that by recalling this episode, I'm implying that writers who didn't attend Edinburgh were somehow lacking. Not at all. It's just important to remember that producers clearly appreciate and respect the pro-active.
3) GRAHAM LINEHAN'S MASTERCLASSGraham Linehan, as you'll almost certainly be aware, co-created Father Ted and single-handedly brings us The IT Crowd, as well as having a lengthy string of further, impressive CV entries. He didn't want this session to be called a masterclass, but of course it still was. It was also a real inspiration.
Linehan's presentation was, it must be said, shambolic, and endearingly so. He regularly had to refer to printed-out notes, having forgotten what he was about to say, and generally seemed ill at ease onstage. We didn't care about this nervous fumbling, of course, because when he wasn't grinding to a vaguely awkward halt, genuine nuggets of wisdom were flying out of his mouth. Linehan wasn't reinventing the comedic wheel, but he presented some very interesting opinions and, most importantly, made writing comedy seem so simple... and fun.
He told us how procrastination, like ridicule, is nothing to scared of. This confirmed something I've been very much feeling lately - if writing a script is being endlessly delayed by displacement activities, there's no need to beat yourself up about it. Your brain is actually gathering "ammunition", as Linehan put it, and preparing itself to splurge the script onto the screen. Eventually, says Linehan, you reach a point when you can't not let it all out.
The great man spoke out against today's cultural state of affairs whereby almost anything goes in comedy, in terms of explicit content. This, he reasoned, is a bad thing, as it robs comedy of subtlety and effectively makes it less inventive. As an example of comedy being risque without actually, verbally, saying anything offensive, he offered up the episode of Seinfeld which saw characters engage in a contest whereby they're not allowed to masturbate.
Linehan also shared some ingeniously simple sitcom building blocks:
(i) While a film's story structure, which sees a character end up completely different to how they began, can be summed up as "A to Z", the sitcom's structure is essentially "A to B to A" - the character basically ending up where they began.
(ii) Sitcoms, he says, are almost always based on traps. But this works on two levels - the characters are trapped in some way, but the audience must also be trapped, in terms of buying the situation. They must believe that the character couldn't possibly escape their ticklesome trap. As an example, Linehan showed us a scene from one of his favourite films, Dirty Rotten Scoundrels, in which Michael Caine takes great delight in tormenting Steve Martin, who is pretending to be crippled and wheelchair-bound.
(iii) Linehan admitted that a sitcom's content can be as simple as "three or so great set-pieces, preferably with the last one happening at the end. If you have those set-pieces, then you can join them up with a load of gags!".
What with the pincer-movement combination of Normal's encouragement and Linehan's inspirational methodology, it was no wonder that I had a peachy sitcom idea rattling around my head by the time the weekend was out.
More Edinburgh, as and when. If I don't see you before, have the kind of week which inspires feather-spitting envy in others.
Brave New World
I'm not usually one for (a) drawing stuff or (b) going down the road of index cards. Having said that, I do quite like diagrams when putting an idea together. I've found that if you put various elements on a sheet of paper, in their own separate shapes, it helps you free-associate, drawing lines between them and generally getting an overview of the balance of it all.
So here's what I've been up to today, for my new TV series idea, using some sketchpad paper, one particularly large A2 sheet and pens of various colours (just to make it look all purrrdy). One sheet for characters, one for potential storylines and the big one for details of the world I'm putting together. Artistic or autistic? Such a fine line...
So here's what I've been up to today, for my new TV series idea, using some sketchpad paper, one particularly large A2 sheet and pens of various colours (just to make it look all purrrdy). One sheet for characters, one for potential storylines and the big one for details of the world I'm putting together. Artistic or autistic? Such a fine line...
Peep Show Writers: Exclusive Interview
Archival note: this interview took place in 2008, but has dated pretty well, due to mainly focusing on the duo's early writing years.
You do know that I love you, right? Like the brother/sister I never had? Well, in case you were in any doubt, I’d like to treat you to an epic, utterly exclusive interview with Jesse Armstrong (on the left, in the picture) and Sam Bain, the creators and writers of Channel 4’s painfully funny sitcom Peep Show.
I recently interviewed the duo in a Clapham boozer, ostensibly for a forthcoming feature in The Word magazine. They’re a friendly, self-deprecating pair, as dryly funny as you’d expect – and like any self-respecting writers, were delighted when I bought them lunch. While The Word’s feature focuses on the story of how Peep Show came to be, and how it works as an entity, I naturally couldn’t resist asking them all kinds of things which would be primarily of interest to writers and would never make the article. I was thinking of you, dear reader. And, clearly, myself.
Sam and Jesse in the early 90s, while on a university writing course in Manchester. After producing various short stories, they spent a while doing their own thing – novels, short films. They finally got together to collaborate on a script in about 1996, and did a few. 1998 saw them start writing professionally, working on various shows until Peep Show finally convinced the world of their genius in 2003.
So when you started work on Peep Show, did it feel like the classic last roll of the dice? A now-or-never type deal?
Sam: In retrospect, that would’ve been quite pathetic, because it was quite early in our careers! But we definitely felt like we’ve been through the mill a bit. We’d done Days Like These, that big ITV show, which really flopped big-time. So that was quite interesting to be around.
Jesse: Then we did another flop – Ed Stone Is Dead, which starred Richard Blackwood as a man who’d died, then come back to life.
Sam: We were part of a large writing team, but it turned out to be another big failure that we were involved with. After those big projects, it was a bit of a fallow time. I mean, we were always doing okay - we would write links for The Big Breakfast…
Jesse: And a lot of sitcoms, which was good training.
Sam: We know a lot of writers who have real talent, but haven’t had their own original sitcom. And that’s just because they haven’t had the confluence of the right people, the right commissioners, the right production company. It’s a real piece of luck when you can get everything to work, and it all comes together.
Bedsitcom is one of the entries on your pre-Peep Show CV…
Jesse: There are a number of people who have been really important to our careers. Andrew O’Connor was a producer who went on produce Peep Show. But before that, he developed a couple of projects with us, and believed in us when we were at our lowest ebb. That’s when you need the money and the support. Bedsitcom was one of the shows we helped him out with.
And how was working on Smack The Pony?
Jesse: That was one of the ‘jobbing writer’ things we did before Peep Show. I don’t think we ever thought we were particularly good at writing sketches, but it was our first experience of telling people in a pub about a show you’d written for and they’d go, “Oh! I’ve seen that”. So that was quite a nice feeling – to work on a quality show. We’d worked with lots of good performers, but Smack The Pony’s were at the cool end of comedy, rather than the… less cool end.
You knew Peep Show stars David Mitchell and Robert Webb before Peep Show, right? How did that come about? Jesse: We were all part of a writing team experiment at the BBC. We liked them a lot and we had a show which we wanted to write for them. The four of us wrote episodes for the BBC with Gareth Edwards. It was a really good show – a bit like Peep Show, in the sense that two guys shared a flat, and they were a bit like Mark and Jez. There was also a Super Hans figure! It was a helpful process to develop a show like that – we got a sense of Robert and David’s voices, and spend a lot of time collaborating with them. They’ve really got their DNA into Peep Show, because we’ve got similar comic sensibilities. Not always, though – they write amazing sketches that we could never come up with. There’s just a big common ground of comedy stuff that we know from that period – what works for them and what makes them laugh. Not only how they speak, but good comic things that they appreciate. It was an incredibly important and fertile period for us. There are plots and idea and vibes that we still go back to now and plunder.
Did you cannibalise any of it for Peep Show?
Jesse: We did, actually. The Peep Show episode where Mark’s sitting on the toilet at the end is a more developed version of something we originally wrote for that show.
What are the main benefits of writing as a duo?
Sam: With comedy, if the other writer is laughing, you know you’re onto something. It’d be so hard otherwise. You get constant feedback.
Jesse: It’s a morale thing, because it’s quite tough when you’re starting out. It’s good to have someone to talk to and laugh with, about the constant disappointments! With two people, as well, if one of you isn’t having a great day, you can still keep going. It probably triples your output, at least, because you’ve always got double the ideas and can work things out together. As long as you’ve got the same work ethic and sense of humour, it’s gold.
So how does your writing system work? Is one of you the typer, while the other one paces around?Sam: For the actual writing, we use the same method as Richard Curtis and Ben Elton used on Blackadder. We write separately, then cross-edit. But when we are breaking plots, one of us will write stuff down. Often Jesse, because he types faster.
Jesse: I do have a good typing speed. I think that was one of the things Sam originally liked about me. He thought, “This guy can really type!”.
What’s your estimated words-per-minute speed, Jesse?
Jesse: Wellll… it’s not amazing. I’d say 45 words, tops. But on a good day, I go like the wind!
So does one of you ever say, “Hold on a minute, why did you rewrite my scene involving the goose-heads in a bag? That was hilarious, you bastard!”.
Jesse: That’s what collaboration is. We have three of those moments, per page! Co-writing works because you’ve found a way of negotiating difference of opinion. Of course, it’s not always three moments per page. Sometimes I’ll send a scene to Sam and he’ll completely re-write it and I’ll be very pleased because I know it wasn’t totally working. Equally, sometimes you might think, “Hold on, I thought that
You must have a pretty good shorthand with each other by now.
Sam: Or, in our case, “shit” or “acceptable”.
If you ever reach a complete stalemate, does the readthrough ever become the decider?Sam: Yeah, actually, sometimes you do that and see what happens.
Jesse: Often, like a lot of writers, we overwrite. It becomes a difficult decision, as to what to cut and what to leave in. That can often be the most painful part of the process. Up until that point, everything’s like, “Well, give it a go, try it that way – we can always put it back”. But as you move towards that final script, you know that if a joke goes, no-one’s ever gonna see or hear it. That’s why the readthrough is really great, because you know when something’s working or not, and that’s illuminating.
There’s bonus behind-the-scenes readthrough footage on the Peep Show Series Five DVD, which makes it look like you’re all having a right old hoot.Sam: We only film the laughter, of course! Not the uncomfortable, painful silences.
Jesse: It probably looks pretty self-congratulatory, because we all like each other in the room! And our director Becky Martin is a good laugher. It’s important to hear people laughing when that material’s first done.
Sam: The readthrough is make-or-break for us. If a script dies, you have to start again. It happens.
Does the readthrough freeze your guts with terror?
Sam: It’s scary and exciting. We often end up heavily rewriting at least one episode after the first readthrough. Last series, we did major surgery on a couple. We expect that, so it’s not a huge surprise. Obviously it’s disappointing because you want it all to be perfect, but it never is.
Jesse: What often happens is that the episode you thought was great ends up lagging behind and becomes the runt of the litter. You’re like, “Shit! I thought that episode was great, but now it seems to be crap!”.
Did Peep Show’s POV concept go through Channel 4 quite smoothly? Or did someone go, “Christ, I don’t know about that?”
Beyond Peep Show’s neat camera-POV gimmick, it’s Mark and Jez’s internal monologues which really make the show work and make it special. It’s a different approach to the comedy of recognition - revealing people’s lowdown, dirty thoughts, which we might often be ashamed to admit we share. Are human beings that rubbish, or is it an exaggeration?
Jesse: It is an exaggeration…
Sam: We all think reprehensible thoughts. I certainly do, as much as possible.
Jesse: We could have people thinking nice, kind thoughts, and it might be a more accurate picture of the average person. But it really wouldn’t be as funny.
How did you feel when the first episode of Peep Show went out?Sam: And we would’ve been saying, “Yeah, we still know them. They’re still nice to us!”.
Jesse: Sean Lock had a show on at the same time as ours. We thought it was a great show, but it never really ‘arrived’. Our show could’ve so easily been like that.
Sam: Our show is quite small. But after five series, you feel like you have some little place in the culture. You feel as though everyone who might like Peep Show has had a chance to watch it.
I’ve hardly ever met anyone who doesn’t like Peep Show.
The character Jeremy is hilariously selfish. Was it ever a concern, though, that he might become too unlikeable?
Any other learning curve realisations, after the first series?
The media’s partyline on Peep Show is that it has fairly poor viewing figures, but does well on DVD. How true is that?
Sam: It doesn’t really bother us that much. The show keeps being commissioned, we get good reviews. We’re not too worried about beating Jonathan Ross. It’s a good position for us to be in.
Jesse: Channel 4 has been pretty good for us over the years. It would be nice to give the people that we deal with there, like [Channel 4’s head of entertainment and comedy] Andrew Newman, a birthday present in terms of a massive viewing spike. But on a creative level, the main thing is to have the respect of people who I respect. People who I like, like the show.Sam: We’ve been very supported by Channel 4. They’ve never said, “You’ve got to buck your ideas up or we’ll cancel!”. The only thing they ever did was suggest we put a sexy girl in the second series – which turned out to be the American character, Nancy. But that wasn’t even exactly about changing everything: it was about maybe getting a few more viewers.
Jesse: Luckily, we’d had the sexy girl idea anyway.
Mitchell and Webb are credited with additional material on the show. How does that work?Jesse: Before each series, we have a “plot party” at one of our houses. We tell them things we’ve been thinking about, and they tell us what they think of storylines. They offer up ideas and maybe things develop out of that. At the other end of the process, we’ll often send them a script that we’re not happy with and they’ll suggest lines. It’s nice for us to have input from their very good comedy brains and to know they’re available.
I noticed that one episode in Series Five was written by Simon Blackwell – a different writer, for the first time…
Jesse: It wasn’t mentioned in the Radio Times, which was unfortunate, because Simon’s brilliant. It was something we’d been toying with for a while, wondering if Peep Show was too personal. But he did such a brilliant job. We storylined the episode with him, so we still felt involved! Most people wouldn’t have noticed a difference, good or bad. It was such a shame he didn’t get credited more widely.
So how did that come about? Was it a time thing?
Jesse: We’re very collaborative – there’s always been a big committee around. We like having a lot of comedy brains around, so it wasn’t really such a big deal, having someone else come in and go that extra step. Although it actually
It must have been nice, when Series Five was commissioned while Series Four was airing.
Sam: Did we?
Jesse: Oh, didn’t I tell you?
Series Five’s final episode was quite brave territory, I thought, in the sense that Jez joins a cult which could be interpreted as a Scientology affair.
Jesse: Well, we’re both in a cult. So that was handy.
Sam: People have asked if it was all about Scientology, and we thought about doing that. But we didn’t know enough about the subject to do a specific satire of Scientology. It’s just about that world where people go into these places and feel a little wobbled and changed. It felt like a good area to do – especially with Jeremy. I did a ‘personality test’ about ten years ago, while researching a script. It was an emotional experience, which was the jumping-off point for the story. I went in there, not really knowing what I was dealing with, and leaving feeling quite emotionally raw. You go in there, thinking you’re going to patronize these idiots. Then you come out thinking, ‘Maybe my life is all a failure. Maybe I should call my mother and apologise. Oh my God, I need a drink!’. The most interesting scenes, for us, were when Jez was going in and coming out. We only did one scene where he was fully fledged.
How would you sum up your experiences in writing the film Magicians, which also starred Mitchell and Webb, but sadly didn’t do especially well at the cinema box office?Jesse: It was fascinating and Andrew O’Connor directed it, so it was nice to hang around him and David and Robert. It’s hard, getting a film to sustain over 90 minutes. The thing we always think about sitcoms is: if you get a tone that works, most other things will follow from that. Most shows fail, and a lot of them don’t have a certain tone. With film, you don’t get much of a chance to finesse your tone.
Sam: There are no pilots for films.
Jesse: Yeah, you get one shot. We like a lot of things about Magicians, but you need a lot of time to make something really good. We feel like it’s a piece of work that we’re not unhappy that we did. We’re glad we did it and it’s a good film in many ways, but we did learn a lot from doing it. God, I sound like a politician! But it was hard: there were bruising reviews for it, and that was quite tough. A lot of that came from being a well-loved TV show – and because it had David and Robert in it, comparisons were naturally made.
Sam: Everybody mentioned Peep Show. The irony was, we got the film made because of Peep Show, but it was never anything like Peep Show. So everyone was disappointed. That’s a very difficult thing to overcome.
Jesse: It’s one of those films which didn’t take off, but it doesn’t mean we don’t want to do more. We definitely intend to write more films. Just because one film doesn’t take off, doesn’t mean you can’t do the next one. We’re doing rewrites for American films at the moment.
When Magicians was released last year, there seemed to be a mini-wave of magic-centric flicks, with The Prestige and The Illusionist.
How does Peep Show fit into the TV comedy landscape?
Sam: Gavin & Stacey might be that breakthrough show. It feels like it could do that. It’s not in-your-face like Nighty Night, which ripped your head off and shoved it up your arse. It’s more characters and relationships, which works very well.
Can you see Peep Show mellowing any time soon?
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