And so the internationally acclaimed fringe festival that has been out of control for years has kicked off again. It's over three weeks long. Everyone knows that's too long. It's unsustainable, but staggers on, consuming the life-savings of comedians, theatre companies and entrepeneurs. From a distance the entire enterprise is preposterous and bewildering.
Until you get there.
I've never taken drugs. Seriously. Had one puff of a cigarette and coughed. Never been into booze either. But Edinburgh is a drug - and it's taken me years to kick the habit. My first trip to Edinburgh was for my sister's wedding was in 1993, I think. Just after I left school. I went to see Moray Hunter & Jack Docherty do a two-man show, having seen them on Absolutely. Even though I was huge fans, the show itself was pretty ordinary. It was a fitting start to my Edinburgh experience - hype, expense, excitement and mild disappointment.
I was determined to take my university revue (Durham) there. They had performed at the Fringe in 1994, I think - a show called Toilet Humour which contained the wonderful Alex Macqueen (Thick of it, Inbetweeners et al). And so my rag-bag revue did a show in 1996 called 'The Usual Sketches' at St John's Church Hall (which has been re-branded several times since then) Somehow we broke even. We returned sharper, tighter and funnier in 1997 and did Massive Deja-Vu at The Gilded Balloon and lost a fortune. But had fun. (Hugh Laurie came to see our show.) Then I returned in 1999 with two members of that revue with a show called Infinite Number of Monkeys, which was nominated for Perrier Best Newcomer. Then another show in 2000, Infinite Number of Monkeys Do Gravity, and then a shorter run in 2001, Infinite Number of Monkeys: The Complete Works. (All above starred the artist currently known as Tim FitzHigham who has been a fringe staple for most of the years since.) Then there was a sketch show in 2002, or maybe 2003, called Innocent Bystanders containing Alex Macqueen again, a duo now known as Domestic Goddi and the now-retired Sports correspondent, Jonny Saunders (from Chris Evans's Breakfast Show).
I recall all above with fondness. I have ignored in my mind the hours spent giving out flyers and promoting the various shows. I have ignored the stress, the rain, the resentment at the success of others less 'worthy', the dreadful things I ate and the awful reviews. I remember only things like regularly standing next to a nice young Kiwi chap called Brett who was promoting a little music double-act bizzarely called Flight of the Concords. (What happened to him? Back in NZ now, probably. Just sad.) I remember frisby in the park, a few full houses, some good reviews, a Perrier Newcomer nod and seeing Bill Bailey for the first, second and third time at the George Square Theatre. (I got in free the first two times with my Gilded Balloon pass. To ensure I got in a third time, I bought a ticket with my own money.)
Since 2003, I have only really visited Edinburgh during the fringe a few times. I've planned and plotted plenty of new shows to take up, even to the point of creating show titles, making enquiries and setting up accounting spreadsheets full of wildly optimistic numbers. My wife, rightly, rolls her eyes, knowing full well that professional and personal commitments - and lack of thousands of pounds to lose - will prevented my return with a show of my own anytime soon. But I still get withdrawal symptoms.
In Praise of Edinburgh
There is plenty to be said about Edinburgh - mostly in favour, actually. It forces comedians to write new material annually. Annually! A new hour of material! Most American comedians would look at that as suicidal. For them, it's mostly honing an act over several years, aiming to get a six minute set which will land them a slot on The Tonight Show. And yet the British, and quasi-British, comedians rise to challenge. Similarly, sketch groups throw themselves together to create something that is frequently dreadful, but occasionally inspired. Somewhere, I have a flyer for a show by a new sketch group called 'League of Gentlemen'. It happens. And Edinburgh is often the catalyst.
Finding an Audience
In Edinburgh, new comedians, sketch-groups and theatre troupes alike will find an audience. It may be small, but it will be people they don't know personally. Hundreds of thousands of people turn up to Edinburgh with an open mind looking to see 'stuff'. This is an astonighly rare phenomenon. Put on a comedy show in London, a city of 8 million people, and you will find a far smaller group of people willing to try something new. Almost every London comedy sketch show is only really watched by friends, and friends of friends. In Edinburgh, you get to find out if you really are funny. It can be an expensive, painful experience, but those tend to be the ones we learn from the most.
There's plenty wrong with the fringe, and future posts will, no doubt, bring these up. There's plenty of good new developments too. It is stupidly commercialised in places, but then there's a Free Fringe things, which are a splendid development.
I'm heading up there myself in a week to be part of a BBC panel thing (here) so these shortcomings will be glaring obvious and blog-worthy. But until then, I am saluting the daft vortex of lunacy that is Edinburgh Fringe.
May your venues be full, may your audiences be merry and may your hangovers be short. (And two out of three's not bad.)
Showing posts with label bbc. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bbc. Show all posts
Monday, 8 August 2011
Wednesday, 13 April 2011
Script Competitions
I've never been keen on sitcom competitions, script initiatives, new writing prizes and all that.
Given that the BBC Writers Room get sent thousands of script a year anyway - ever single one of which is read - there seems little need to spend money on competitions and executives to manage them and readers to read the scripts. You could simply pay writers who show promise a little bit of money to make their scripts better.
But I've been warming, slightly, to these competitions recently since they encourage people to write - and finish - scripts. Many people respond to a deadline, so the fact there is a clear date, a prize and the promise of the script being read.
There is, however, a downside to this. Writing a decent half hour script takes ages. Especially a pilot script for a new show. It involves coming up with characters, honing them, storylining, honing the stories, writing, re-writing and editing. It's the kind of thing that would take me at least three weeks before I had anything I could bear to show to another human being who wasn't genetically programmed to love me unconditionally. That's three weeks of Monday-Friday, ten til six. I can do that because it's sort of my job.
Most people don't have this luxury, because they're holding down a day-job, or raising kids. Therefore, the whole process is done in evenings, or at weekends. This sounds really hard to me. That kind of bitty process probably lends itself to sketch writing, but not writing a half hour scripts. (It normally takes me 90 minutes to really get into a script for a day.) And so writing a script this way will take months. But most people don't have this sort of time, or hear about the competition late, or just don't knuckle down early enough. And therefore the script is half-baked, and sent off anyway.
This seems to be a widespread problem. I was interested to read this post on Chortle about Jon Plowman's session at the London Comedy Writers' Festival. Jon Plowman always says very sensible things about comedy and is a good egg, so anything he says should be given great credence. For me, the telling line was "a recurring theme of the festival [was that] writers [should] think carefully before sending off a script."
This chimes with my own experience. In recent weeks, I've been meeting a number of new and aspiring writers, and many of them said similar things about the last bunch of sitcom competitions. Something along the lines 'I entered the competition, but the script was a mess. I couldn't really get the ending to work, and one of the characters isn't funny. But I thought I'd send it anyway'.
People say these things for all kinds of reason. It might be because it's true. It's partly emotional insurance and a fear of failure, which is completely understandable. It's probably lack of confidence too, along the lines of 'I have no idea what works, so I may have written something good without realising it.' But let's be honest about this. It seems unlikely that a script that even you think isn't working would win a scriptwriting competition. So why send it in that state?
Given the proliferation of these competitions, it might be better to wait until the next competition comes round. Take that extra time to make the script good. Or really good. Put the script to one side for a month and then come back to it fresh. Be brutal. Go through each line. Does this line need to be here? Is it a joke, a set-up to a joke, or developing plot/character? If not, delete it.
The reality is that if you write a decent script, a really decent script, you don't need a competition to succeed. This is simply because there are hardly any decent scripts out there. Micheal Jacob, in his last blog for the BBC, writes:
If you can write - and you also write a superb script (not the same thing) - producers will want to meet you and stuff will happen. It's all about the script. Don't sell it short. Don't let it go off half-cock. Plan it. Mull it. Research it. Filter it. Replan it. Write it. Rewrite it. Edit it. Put it to one side. Forget it. Then get it out. Read it. Re-read it. Edit it. Then put in some more jokes. Then cut some of them out. And check it over again. It might then be ready to send.
It takes ages. Even if you're talented. Perhaps the proliferation of competitions gives people the idea that anyone can have a go because writing is easy. It is true that anyone can have a go. But it isn't easy. I've been doing it for over ten years professionally and only now am I starting to think I might have the beginnings of a clue as to what I'm doing. But I do know this. Talent is fine. But there is no substitute for hard work.
Given that the BBC Writers Room get sent thousands of script a year anyway - ever single one of which is read - there seems little need to spend money on competitions and executives to manage them and readers to read the scripts. You could simply pay writers who show promise a little bit of money to make their scripts better.
But I've been warming, slightly, to these competitions recently since they encourage people to write - and finish - scripts. Many people respond to a deadline, so the fact there is a clear date, a prize and the promise of the script being read.
There is, however, a downside to this. Writing a decent half hour script takes ages. Especially a pilot script for a new show. It involves coming up with characters, honing them, storylining, honing the stories, writing, re-writing and editing. It's the kind of thing that would take me at least three weeks before I had anything I could bear to show to another human being who wasn't genetically programmed to love me unconditionally. That's three weeks of Monday-Friday, ten til six. I can do that because it's sort of my job.
Most people don't have this luxury, because they're holding down a day-job, or raising kids. Therefore, the whole process is done in evenings, or at weekends. This sounds really hard to me. That kind of bitty process probably lends itself to sketch writing, but not writing a half hour scripts. (It normally takes me 90 minutes to really get into a script for a day.) And so writing a script this way will take months. But most people don't have this sort of time, or hear about the competition late, or just don't knuckle down early enough. And therefore the script is half-baked, and sent off anyway.
This seems to be a widespread problem. I was interested to read this post on Chortle about Jon Plowman's session at the London Comedy Writers' Festival. Jon Plowman always says very sensible things about comedy and is a good egg, so anything he says should be given great credence. For me, the telling line was "a recurring theme of the festival [was that] writers [should] think carefully before sending off a script."
This chimes with my own experience. In recent weeks, I've been meeting a number of new and aspiring writers, and many of them said similar things about the last bunch of sitcom competitions. Something along the lines 'I entered the competition, but the script was a mess. I couldn't really get the ending to work, and one of the characters isn't funny. But I thought I'd send it anyway'.
People say these things for all kinds of reason. It might be because it's true. It's partly emotional insurance and a fear of failure, which is completely understandable. It's probably lack of confidence too, along the lines of 'I have no idea what works, so I may have written something good without realising it.' But let's be honest about this. It seems unlikely that a script that even you think isn't working would win a scriptwriting competition. So why send it in that state?
Given the proliferation of these competitions, it might be better to wait until the next competition comes round. Take that extra time to make the script good. Or really good. Put the script to one side for a month and then come back to it fresh. Be brutal. Go through each line. Does this line need to be here? Is it a joke, a set-up to a joke, or developing plot/character? If not, delete it.
The reality is that if you write a decent script, a really decent script, you don't need a competition to succeed. This is simply because there are hardly any decent scripts out there. Micheal Jacob, in his last blog for the BBC, writes:
I must have read - taking competitions and College of Comedy applications into account - maybe 10,000 aspiring scripts or part scripts. And the depressing fact is that no more than 100 were any good. The tragedy of comedy is that many people think they can write it and hardly anyone can.
If you can write - and you also write a superb script (not the same thing) - producers will want to meet you and stuff will happen. It's all about the script. Don't sell it short. Don't let it go off half-cock. Plan it. Mull it. Research it. Filter it. Replan it. Write it. Rewrite it. Edit it. Put it to one side. Forget it. Then get it out. Read it. Re-read it. Edit it. Then put in some more jokes. Then cut some of them out. And check it over again. It might then be ready to send.
It takes ages. Even if you're talented. Perhaps the proliferation of competitions gives people the idea that anyone can have a go because writing is easy. It is true that anyone can have a go. But it isn't easy. I've been doing it for over ten years professionally and only now am I starting to think I might have the beginnings of a clue as to what I'm doing. But I do know this. Talent is fine. But there is no substitute for hard work.
Thursday, 21 October 2010
Strange Times for BBC
We live in strange times.
Yesterday, the Chancellor of the Exchequer gave a long speech about various austerity mesaures, cuts and savings that the government was making. In it, he announced that the Licence Fee would be frozen for six years. What a curious thing to do. Lumping in the cost of a TV Licence with this Spending Review is a serious category error and demonstrates how utterly muddled the thinking is in government about the BBC, government, broadcasting and what the whole thing is for.
Undoubtedly, the TV Licence is a weird anomaly that's a throwback to a past age - like MCC or John McCrirrick. But, unlike John McCrirrick, it is a nice anomaly that most people are prepared to live with.
Comedy writers have to pay close attention to the fortunes of BBC, sadly, since it spends more on comedy than all of the other channels combined. (I've just made this statistic up. I'm not a journalist so that's okay.) It's good to see that Sky are spending serious money on comedy, but when BBC sneezes, we all catch a cold, and then whine about it, although to be fair, we were probably whining already. So I merely mention all of this since it should be of interest to all of us.
Let us leave aside threats about paying for the free licences for the over 75s aside (the irony being that the over 75s are the greatest consumers of TV. And yet are least served by the BBC who, like all the media, are obsessed with the under 30s.)
It seems particularly odd that BBC is now expected to fund the World Service itself. All £340 million of it. No-one outside of Britain pays a licence fee. BBC has no contract with the people of Uganda or Java. There is no doubt that the World Service is a truly wonderful thing that that undoubtedly makes the world a better place. I regularly download their documentaries as podcasts. But BBC itself has no incentive to provide this service. If I were Mark Thompson, I would simply announce that on Jan 1st, The World Service Will End. He won't do this, of course. But he should.
In order to save that money, BBC will probably insist on making the same number of programmes for slightly less money. The good programmes and the bad ones. Already underpaid broadcast assistants and runners will get even less. Creativity will be curbed. Ambition for interesting television will be tempered. And anyone earning over £250,000 a year will no doubt take a long hard look at whether they should really collect their whole bonus this year.
The fact is that BBC could make some very easy cuts that no-one would miss - and do a deal with the private sector at the same time. BBC's daytime schedule, and some of the evening schedule that resemble daytime programmes, is almost totally pointless. A couple of days ago, BBC broadcast the following gems on one day: Cash in the Attic; Bargain Hunt; Put Your Money Where Your Mouth Is; Flog it; Escape to the Country; Instant Restaurant; Cowboy Trap; Animal Park; Snog Marry Avoid; Don’t Tell the Bride; Traffic Cops; Homes Under the Hammer. This is six hours of television that do not education, inform or entertain. Why does BBC make them? Given that it's almost impossible to legally make an hour of broadcast television for less than £50k an hour, there's £300k right there spend on lousy TV that is cheerfully produced by the private sector on other channels. In one day. Over one year, that's approximately £109 million or 203JBs (JB = Jana Bennetts). And we've not even touched Doctors or the importing of Diagnosis Murder.
Would we really be so impoverished as a nation if we did not have all these cheaply-made, hopelessly contrived, idiotically conceived, falsely-jeopardied moving pictures? Especially given that they are available on commercial channels, and therefore being paid for by advertisers?
If you really can’t live without Homes Under the Hammer, why not just sit in a branch of Foxtons for half an hour at no expense to the licence fee or the taxpayer? The characters are much more amusingly grotesque, better looking and they might even give you a bottle of mineral water. You may be talked buying a three-bed semi in Deptford but that’s all part of the interactive element.
Instead of these programmes, BBC could broadcast the wonderfully educational, informative and entertaining programmes that it does make and systematically hides on BBC4. Or documentaries by David Attenborough. Or costume dramas. Or just dramas (remember them?). Six hours of decent TV from the millions of hours of archives stretching back decades
If repeat fees were too high, pages of Ceefax could be broadcast. Or BBC Online. Or a picture of Tess Daly. Or simply a succession of suggestions like 'Have you tried reading a book by PG Wodehouse? They're an easy read. Go on.' or 'Isn't it time you put up those shelves?' or 'Have you thought about watching Channel 4? It's where we got half our daytime formats anyway.'
Or they could leave the screens blank and broadcast the truly wonderful, rich and cost-effective BBC World Service. Made for us. And then shared with the world. Just a thought.
Yesterday, the Chancellor of the Exchequer gave a long speech about various austerity mesaures, cuts and savings that the government was making. In it, he announced that the Licence Fee would be frozen for six years. What a curious thing to do. Lumping in the cost of a TV Licence with this Spending Review is a serious category error and demonstrates how utterly muddled the thinking is in government about the BBC, government, broadcasting and what the whole thing is for.
Undoubtedly, the TV Licence is a weird anomaly that's a throwback to a past age - like MCC or John McCrirrick. But, unlike John McCrirrick, it is a nice anomaly that most people are prepared to live with.
Comedy writers have to pay close attention to the fortunes of BBC, sadly, since it spends more on comedy than all of the other channels combined. (I've just made this statistic up. I'm not a journalist so that's okay.) It's good to see that Sky are spending serious money on comedy, but when BBC sneezes, we all catch a cold, and then whine about it, although to be fair, we were probably whining already. So I merely mention all of this since it should be of interest to all of us.
Let us leave aside threats about paying for the free licences for the over 75s aside (the irony being that the over 75s are the greatest consumers of TV. And yet are least served by the BBC who, like all the media, are obsessed with the under 30s.)
It seems particularly odd that BBC is now expected to fund the World Service itself. All £340 million of it. No-one outside of Britain pays a licence fee. BBC has no contract with the people of Uganda or Java. There is no doubt that the World Service is a truly wonderful thing that that undoubtedly makes the world a better place. I regularly download their documentaries as podcasts. But BBC itself has no incentive to provide this service. If I were Mark Thompson, I would simply announce that on Jan 1st, The World Service Will End. He won't do this, of course. But he should.
In order to save that money, BBC will probably insist on making the same number of programmes for slightly less money. The good programmes and the bad ones. Already underpaid broadcast assistants and runners will get even less. Creativity will be curbed. Ambition for interesting television will be tempered. And anyone earning over £250,000 a year will no doubt take a long hard look at whether they should really collect their whole bonus this year.
The fact is that BBC could make some very easy cuts that no-one would miss - and do a deal with the private sector at the same time. BBC's daytime schedule, and some of the evening schedule that resemble daytime programmes, is almost totally pointless. A couple of days ago, BBC broadcast the following gems on one day: Cash in the Attic; Bargain Hunt; Put Your Money Where Your Mouth Is; Flog it; Escape to the Country; Instant Restaurant; Cowboy Trap; Animal Park; Snog Marry Avoid; Don’t Tell the Bride; Traffic Cops; Homes Under the Hammer. This is six hours of television that do not education, inform or entertain. Why does BBC make them? Given that it's almost impossible to legally make an hour of broadcast television for less than £50k an hour, there's £300k right there spend on lousy TV that is cheerfully produced by the private sector on other channels. In one day. Over one year, that's approximately £109 million or 203JBs (JB = Jana Bennetts). And we've not even touched Doctors or the importing of Diagnosis Murder.
Would we really be so impoverished as a nation if we did not have all these cheaply-made, hopelessly contrived, idiotically conceived, falsely-jeopardied moving pictures? Especially given that they are available on commercial channels, and therefore being paid for by advertisers?
If you really can’t live without Homes Under the Hammer, why not just sit in a branch of Foxtons for half an hour at no expense to the licence fee or the taxpayer? The characters are much more amusingly grotesque, better looking and they might even give you a bottle of mineral water. You may be talked buying a three-bed semi in Deptford but that’s all part of the interactive element.
Instead of these programmes, BBC could broadcast the wonderfully educational, informative and entertaining programmes that it does make and systematically hides on BBC4. Or documentaries by David Attenborough. Or costume dramas. Or just dramas (remember them?). Six hours of decent TV from the millions of hours of archives stretching back decades
If repeat fees were too high, pages of Ceefax could be broadcast. Or BBC Online. Or a picture of Tess Daly. Or simply a succession of suggestions like 'Have you tried reading a book by PG Wodehouse? They're an easy read. Go on.' or 'Isn't it time you put up those shelves?' or 'Have you thought about watching Channel 4? It's where we got half our daytime formats anyway.'
Or they could leave the screens blank and broadcast the truly wonderful, rich and cost-effective BBC World Service. Made for us. And then shared with the world. Just a thought.
Friday, 13 August 2010
Happy Tuesdays: Mr and Mrs Smith
I listened to Will Smith's Mr and Mrs Smith the other day - part of the Happy Tuesdays season of pilots on Radio 4. It was a show about a married couple undergoing counselling, and starred Will Smith and Sarah Hadland.
I rather liked it. In fact, I like it a lot.
Why? Here is one reason. There were lots of jokes in it - making me and the studio audience laugh. I like it when that happens. It seems strange to point this out, but there are some comedies out there with scant few jokes in, both on radio and television. It's not that these comedy have lots of jokes that are lame, or misfiring or don't work. It's just that there aren't any in the first place - and yet the show can still be billed as comedy. Which is odd.
If you follow me on Twitter (do so here), you will have seen my mild disappointment with Roger and Val Have Just Go In - which appeared to be a well-cast, well-directed comedy, but one without any jokes in. After 7 minutes, I tweeted that I would be requiring a joke soon. And after 15 minutes, I tweeted that I was going to bed. Which I did. My problem was not that the show wasn't any good. It's just that it wasn't trying to make me laugh out loud with jokes.
It struck me that this is tantamount to making pornography but not including any sex scenes. Now, one could argue that there are much subtler ways of creating the same erotic effect - and that the most sexually charged films do not need to contain sex or nudity but that's not the main reason people buy pornography, I don't think.
Lots of people have tweeted how marvellous they thought Roger and Val was, and that it was clever and subtle and warm et al. And that it was very funny and made them laugh out loud. So clearly, I have more mainstream preferences. (eg I'd take Seinfeld over Curb any day.) I'm pleased that the show is finding an audience, and that the BBC are not trying to sell a pup. They've made something that really connects with people. Well done, Beeb. I just wanted to laugh. And found the show wasn't interested in making me do so all that often. So I went to bed.
Mr and Mrs Smith, on the other, made me laugh out loud plenty of times. From the moment Will started quibbling about the cost of the session and the lost minutes, a refund, and then working it out on the calculator on his phone, I knew I was going to enjoy it.
But the show was more than a succession of jokes (as if that were easy to do anyway). The characters inter-played well - or at least disappointed each other again and again. The format of the characters explaining it, and cutting in to actually hear the event being explained, worked. It can be muddling, but I was never in doubt as to what I was listening to - which always fights comedy. (Confusion is the enemy) There were plenty of call-backs and running jokes too and overall it didn't feel like any lines were wasted. Every line delivered in terms of being a joke, revealing character or advancing the plot - and many did more than one of those things.
If I had one suggestion for the show, should it be commissioned for a thoroughly merited series, I would make a plea to warm up the central characters a little. This doesn't mean making them 'likeable', but making their failings and foibles more forgivable. Will Smith's character throughout the show was worried about getting back in time to see Avatar with his lifelong best friend. This was funny and he wouldn't give up on it, so provided a really good distraction and quest for him, that was fighting the romantic weekend at every turn. It's just his desire to sacrifice romance for his friend seemed a little unreasonable and hard to forgive. It might have been better if these was some extra reason why he had to see Avatar with his friend on that particular day - something stemming back to a poignant moment in childhood or adolescence. It could have served the plot well in demonstrating how Will's character is unable or unwilling to let go of the uncomplicated life of being a single man. I'd also say that his job as a would-be novelist is also a little self-indulgence and needs some sort of redemption.
But all of these changes are just a minor adjustment in detail and tone. There's a lovely show here that's properly funny. And it'll be even funnier if we care even more about Mr and Mrs Smith. More please, Radio 4.
I rather liked it. In fact, I like it a lot.
Why? Here is one reason. There were lots of jokes in it - making me and the studio audience laugh. I like it when that happens. It seems strange to point this out, but there are some comedies out there with scant few jokes in, both on radio and television. It's not that these comedy have lots of jokes that are lame, or misfiring or don't work. It's just that there aren't any in the first place - and yet the show can still be billed as comedy. Which is odd.
If you follow me on Twitter (do so here), you will have seen my mild disappointment with Roger and Val Have Just Go In - which appeared to be a well-cast, well-directed comedy, but one without any jokes in. After 7 minutes, I tweeted that I would be requiring a joke soon. And after 15 minutes, I tweeted that I was going to bed. Which I did. My problem was not that the show wasn't any good. It's just that it wasn't trying to make me laugh out loud with jokes.
It struck me that this is tantamount to making pornography but not including any sex scenes. Now, one could argue that there are much subtler ways of creating the same erotic effect - and that the most sexually charged films do not need to contain sex or nudity but that's not the main reason people buy pornography, I don't think.
Lots of people have tweeted how marvellous they thought Roger and Val was, and that it was clever and subtle and warm et al. And that it was very funny and made them laugh out loud. So clearly, I have more mainstream preferences. (eg I'd take Seinfeld over Curb any day.) I'm pleased that the show is finding an audience, and that the BBC are not trying to sell a pup. They've made something that really connects with people. Well done, Beeb. I just wanted to laugh. And found the show wasn't interested in making me do so all that often. So I went to bed.
Mr and Mrs Smith, on the other, made me laugh out loud plenty of times. From the moment Will started quibbling about the cost of the session and the lost minutes, a refund, and then working it out on the calculator on his phone, I knew I was going to enjoy it.
But the show was more than a succession of jokes (as if that were easy to do anyway). The characters inter-played well - or at least disappointed each other again and again. The format of the characters explaining it, and cutting in to actually hear the event being explained, worked. It can be muddling, but I was never in doubt as to what I was listening to - which always fights comedy. (Confusion is the enemy) There were plenty of call-backs and running jokes too and overall it didn't feel like any lines were wasted. Every line delivered in terms of being a joke, revealing character or advancing the plot - and many did more than one of those things.
If I had one suggestion for the show, should it be commissioned for a thoroughly merited series, I would make a plea to warm up the central characters a little. This doesn't mean making them 'likeable', but making their failings and foibles more forgivable. Will Smith's character throughout the show was worried about getting back in time to see Avatar with his lifelong best friend. This was funny and he wouldn't give up on it, so provided a really good distraction and quest for him, that was fighting the romantic weekend at every turn. It's just his desire to sacrifice romance for his friend seemed a little unreasonable and hard to forgive. It might have been better if these was some extra reason why he had to see Avatar with his friend on that particular day - something stemming back to a poignant moment in childhood or adolescence. It could have served the plot well in demonstrating how Will's character is unable or unwilling to let go of the uncomplicated life of being a single man. I'd also say that his job as a would-be novelist is also a little self-indulgence and needs some sort of redemption.
But all of these changes are just a minor adjustment in detail and tone. There's a lovely show here that's properly funny. And it'll be even funnier if we care even more about Mr and Mrs Smith. More please, Radio 4.
Monday, 31 May 2010
A Very Bad Week in British Comedy
This week is a very bad week for the British sitcom. It's probably not the first week of its kind. And won't be the last of its kind either, sadly. But I think I'm right in saying that on terrestrial TV there is not one single new episode of British scripted comedy. None. I'm pretty sure there's not even a repeat. There are a few panel games (sorry, but they just don't make me want to throw my hat in the air). And some original American stuff (My Name is Earl on Channel 4) but nothing British, narrative and scripted. The sad fact is that the 'death of the British sitcom' is a self-fulfilling prophecy. Hopefully, I'll explain how below.
In the 70s and 80s, there were plenty of sitcoms on TV. In fact, there often two or three a night across the three or four channels. Yes, even ITV made audience comedy - some of them brilliant, like Rising Damp and The New Statesman. Plenty of these sitcoms were forgotten, but that's not to say there were not worth making. Brushstrokes is a largely forgotten sitcom and not hailed as a 'classic' but it ran for five years between 1986 and 1991, and they made 40 episodes. I remember enjoying it immensely. It wasn't ground-breaking. Just funny - but that doesn't seem to be enough at the moment. And yet ultimately, that's all the vast majority of the audience really want. It seems obvious to point it out, but the people at home don't really care whether or not their favourite show is lauded by critics or wins awards. They want good characters, good situations and good jokes. That's why they still happily watch My Family.
There are some obvious benefits to having lots of sitcoms on TV, even though most sitcoms aren't, in fact, much good. Even if they're well-written, they might be miscast. Even if they're well-cast, they might be poorly directed. I remember a highly respected colleague recalling the readthrough of Chalk, a sitcom about a deputy head teacher. He said the scripts were some of the funniest he'd ever read and it seemed like a hit, right up until the point they started making it and something went wrong. Failure rate is high - in sitcom and all other fields. Most new products launched don't last. (I've just tried Starbucks' new 'Seattle Latte'. I give it six months). Most films make a loss. There's no cast-iron guarantees in any business. As William Goldman points out, 'nobody knows anything'.
So if a TV network wants a hit, it'll have to commission ten sitcoms, because at best, five will be dire, three passable, one okay and one brilliant. And it's further complicated by the fact that one of those ones that started dire could turn into something decent, and the one that's brilliant could be deeply flawed, or the writers will insist on only doing two series, because Fawlty Towers did that or some such pompous reason.
Here is the big problem. Sitcom is very expensive. Commissioning ten of them is scary for any commissioner. But the problem is that if you only commission five, you might commission the wrong five. These days, it feels like they're only commissioning two or three and just hoping. What this does it put massive pressure on the few sitcoms that get through the system and make it onto the screen. As a result, new comedies are mercilessly reviewed and critics seem to delight in showing how much funnier they are than the show, and how basic the mistakes are making, not realising that often the people making the shows are very experienced and made creative decisions for a reason. And that sometimes it pays off, and sometimes it doesn't. The line between 'ground-breaking' and 'fundamentally-flawed' is very fine.
The best any new show can hope for is to be quietly ignored while they work out what's going on and how to make it work. The writers of Peep Show managed to do with Old Guys, which could well turn out to be a huge hit. Outnumbered was overlooked until Series 2 when it was decided that is was a heart-warming, genre-breaking smash hit.
The other problem with having fewer sitcoms is that the mistakes generate success. The BBC has spent the last ten years making numerous documentaries about how funny it used to be and how comedy was made in the 'good old days' - a system that has been replaced for no obvious creative reason. Dodgy, mythical nostalgia aside, if one watches this rash of documentaries, one will see how often decent actors were found even in poor or unsuccessful sitcoms, how writers, producers and directors learn from the process - and how a combination of a writer who is learning along with an actor who needs to be better cast can lead to a huge, popular hit.
Recently, I heard a documentary about Silicon Valley and how it keeps reinventing itself, building successful companies on the failures of others. It's often the same people, doing something similar but they've learned the hard way and now have a hit on their hands. It's the same with comedy. For it to succeed, it needs commitment, and understanding that failure is not just inevitable but often has some upsides - and is part of the process. To the outsider, the process will seem immensely wasteful. But given that the rewards of success are very high, it really isn't all that different to any other business.
And that is why this is a Very Bad Week for British Comedy. The less decent narrative comedy - and bad narrative comedy - there is, less there will be in the future. It does not bode well for us sitcom geeks.
In the 70s and 80s, there were plenty of sitcoms on TV. In fact, there often two or three a night across the three or four channels. Yes, even ITV made audience comedy - some of them brilliant, like Rising Damp and The New Statesman. Plenty of these sitcoms were forgotten, but that's not to say there were not worth making. Brushstrokes is a largely forgotten sitcom and not hailed as a 'classic' but it ran for five years between 1986 and 1991, and they made 40 episodes. I remember enjoying it immensely. It wasn't ground-breaking. Just funny - but that doesn't seem to be enough at the moment. And yet ultimately, that's all the vast majority of the audience really want. It seems obvious to point it out, but the people at home don't really care whether or not their favourite show is lauded by critics or wins awards. They want good characters, good situations and good jokes. That's why they still happily watch My Family.
There are some obvious benefits to having lots of sitcoms on TV, even though most sitcoms aren't, in fact, much good. Even if they're well-written, they might be miscast. Even if they're well-cast, they might be poorly directed. I remember a highly respected colleague recalling the readthrough of Chalk, a sitcom about a deputy head teacher. He said the scripts were some of the funniest he'd ever read and it seemed like a hit, right up until the point they started making it and something went wrong. Failure rate is high - in sitcom and all other fields. Most new products launched don't last. (I've just tried Starbucks' new 'Seattle Latte'. I give it six months). Most films make a loss. There's no cast-iron guarantees in any business. As William Goldman points out, 'nobody knows anything'.
So if a TV network wants a hit, it'll have to commission ten sitcoms, because at best, five will be dire, three passable, one okay and one brilliant. And it's further complicated by the fact that one of those ones that started dire could turn into something decent, and the one that's brilliant could be deeply flawed, or the writers will insist on only doing two series, because Fawlty Towers did that or some such pompous reason.
Here is the big problem. Sitcom is very expensive. Commissioning ten of them is scary for any commissioner. But the problem is that if you only commission five, you might commission the wrong five. These days, it feels like they're only commissioning two or three and just hoping. What this does it put massive pressure on the few sitcoms that get through the system and make it onto the screen. As a result, new comedies are mercilessly reviewed and critics seem to delight in showing how much funnier they are than the show, and how basic the mistakes are making, not realising that often the people making the shows are very experienced and made creative decisions for a reason. And that sometimes it pays off, and sometimes it doesn't. The line between 'ground-breaking' and 'fundamentally-flawed' is very fine.
The best any new show can hope for is to be quietly ignored while they work out what's going on and how to make it work. The writers of Peep Show managed to do with Old Guys, which could well turn out to be a huge hit. Outnumbered was overlooked until Series 2 when it was decided that is was a heart-warming, genre-breaking smash hit.
The other problem with having fewer sitcoms is that the mistakes generate success. The BBC has spent the last ten years making numerous documentaries about how funny it used to be and how comedy was made in the 'good old days' - a system that has been replaced for no obvious creative reason. Dodgy, mythical nostalgia aside, if one watches this rash of documentaries, one will see how often decent actors were found even in poor or unsuccessful sitcoms, how writers, producers and directors learn from the process - and how a combination of a writer who is learning along with an actor who needs to be better cast can lead to a huge, popular hit.
Recently, I heard a documentary about Silicon Valley and how it keeps reinventing itself, building successful companies on the failures of others. It's often the same people, doing something similar but they've learned the hard way and now have a hit on their hands. It's the same with comedy. For it to succeed, it needs commitment, and understanding that failure is not just inevitable but often has some upsides - and is part of the process. To the outsider, the process will seem immensely wasteful. But given that the rewards of success are very high, it really isn't all that different to any other business.
And that is why this is a Very Bad Week for British Comedy. The less decent narrative comedy - and bad narrative comedy - there is, less there will be in the future. It does not bode well for us sitcom geeks.
Friday, 19 February 2010
I Don't Know When To Be Happy For You
I've managed to watch every episode of The Persuasionists. As you might have guessed, I've been disappointed. I blogged that I rather liked the show - based mainly on Episode 2, which did make me laugh a lot. Clearly I haven't been as disappointed as the BBC who buried the show after Newsnight and dumped the last episode on a Saturday night. This is, I guess, their right. The show will have cost them over a £1 million so they can do whatever they like with it.
I've been trying to work out why it hasn't come together as a show. Failure was not inevitable as some like to suggest. People like to say things like 'I could have told them at the start why the show was never going to work'. The fact is, for me at least, Episode 2 did work quite well. Failure is not always predictably inevitable.
So here's one thought about that particular show - suggested by the title of this blog post. I didn't know when to be happy for to the characters, because their terms of success were very unclear. For example:
The last episode featured the boss wanting to make the office 'more australian', which is a funny enough idea in principle. But what did he mean by that? There seemed know way of knowing when this was the case - we didn't know how well the characters were succeeding at any given time because the boss did not give terms.
In another episode (maybe the fifth), the boss told the characters to 'be more creative' or prove their creativity. And a threat was issued. Setting challenges is always a good start in an audience sitcom - that is, if we know what success looks like. And threats are good too to discourage failure and keep the characters keen. But we have to know what constitutes failure and success. In that episode, the next thing we knew, two of the characters went to buy ultra-cool trainers - for no particular reason. It then transpired that they simply wanted to look creative. It was rather nebulous. I was left wondering 'What's going on, and what the characters trying to do?'
Here's the thing. If I, the viewer, don't know what success for the characters looks like, I don't know if they're winning or losing at any point in the show. If I don't know what they're trying to achieve, then I don't if they're winning or losing. Confusion is the enemy of a laughter. And audience that is baffled can't laugh. I've learned this from experience. I've written a few sitcom episodes for Radio which sounded terribly clever and complex, but the audience just didn't know what was happening, so the laughs dried up.
THis is not to say there is no place for randomness or bizarre events in show. A show can have random beats and moments and unexpected events of course, but they happen within a context. if that context is confusion, and chaos reigns,
When storylining Miranda with, er, Miranda Hart and Richard Hurst, I came up with a term that we used quite a lot. It was 'Clear TOSS'. It was an abbreviation for 'CLEARly defininable Terms Of suceSS'. That is to say, when the character has succeeded, it is obvious, and demonstrated with a single gesture or object. Of course it's contrived and real life isn't usually like that. But this ia s sitcom. It is, by its very nature, a contrivance. The audience know that people aren't that funny in real life. They are suspending of disbelief. They are offering you their hand. You have to take that hand and guide them. And you blindfold them and send them spinning at your peril.
Incidentally, this is why dumb characters are useful. The characters get to explain what's happening to them. They sit there looking vacant and someone says "Look, if we don't sell all these watermelons by 5pm, we're all fired" or "Hey, don't drop that painting or you'll owe Mr Peterson £5million". You get the idea. Hooray for idiots. They really do make life easier for the rest of us.
I've been trying to work out why it hasn't come together as a show. Failure was not inevitable as some like to suggest. People like to say things like 'I could have told them at the start why the show was never going to work'. The fact is, for me at least, Episode 2 did work quite well. Failure is not always predictably inevitable.
So here's one thought about that particular show - suggested by the title of this blog post. I didn't know when to be happy for to the characters, because their terms of success were very unclear. For example:
The last episode featured the boss wanting to make the office 'more australian', which is a funny enough idea in principle. But what did he mean by that? There seemed know way of knowing when this was the case - we didn't know how well the characters were succeeding at any given time because the boss did not give terms.
In another episode (maybe the fifth), the boss told the characters to 'be more creative' or prove their creativity. And a threat was issued. Setting challenges is always a good start in an audience sitcom - that is, if we know what success looks like. And threats are good too to discourage failure and keep the characters keen. But we have to know what constitutes failure and success. In that episode, the next thing we knew, two of the characters went to buy ultra-cool trainers - for no particular reason. It then transpired that they simply wanted to look creative. It was rather nebulous. I was left wondering 'What's going on, and what the characters trying to do?'
Here's the thing. If I, the viewer, don't know what success for the characters looks like, I don't know if they're winning or losing at any point in the show. If I don't know what they're trying to achieve, then I don't if they're winning or losing. Confusion is the enemy of a laughter. And audience that is baffled can't laugh. I've learned this from experience. I've written a few sitcom episodes for Radio which sounded terribly clever and complex, but the audience just didn't know what was happening, so the laughs dried up.
THis is not to say there is no place for randomness or bizarre events in show. A show can have random beats and moments and unexpected events of course, but they happen within a context. if that context is confusion, and chaos reigns,
When storylining Miranda with, er, Miranda Hart and Richard Hurst, I came up with a term that we used quite a lot. It was 'Clear TOSS'. It was an abbreviation for 'CLEARly defininable Terms Of suceSS'. That is to say, when the character has succeeded, it is obvious, and demonstrated with a single gesture or object. Of course it's contrived and real life isn't usually like that. But this ia s sitcom. It is, by its very nature, a contrivance. The audience know that people aren't that funny in real life. They are suspending of disbelief. They are offering you their hand. You have to take that hand and guide them. And you blindfold them and send them spinning at your peril.
Incidentally, this is why dumb characters are useful. The characters get to explain what's happening to them. They sit there looking vacant and someone says "Look, if we don't sell all these watermelons by 5pm, we're all fired" or "Hey, don't drop that painting or you'll owe Mr Peterson £5million". You get the idea. Hooray for idiots. They really do make life easier for the rest of us.
Tuesday, 2 February 2010
Classic British BBC Self-Forgetfulness
In the Loop is a movie based on a humble low-budget single-camera BBC sitcom called The Thick of It. It's a bit of a hidden national treasure. I have just witnessed proof of its hidden-ness. I watched the nominations read out live on BBC News 24 - including In the Loop's nomination for Best Adapted Screenplay. Mark Kermode was talking about the it afterwards with a news anchor lady. They talked for a full fifteen minutes about everything and everyone who was nominated, without once even mentioning In the Loop. Then the cut to the weather and then into the news headlines on the hour. Bafflingly self-deprecating (or forgetful) BBC. Auntie Beeb - you have spawned an Oscar (thanks to some splendid British writers called Ianucci, Blackwell, Roche and Armstrong). Rejoice!
Saturday, 23 January 2010
Watching Comedy as a Comedy Writer
Whenever a new sitcom arrives on TV, I always try and watch it. I do this for a variety of reasons. The most obvious is that I’m sitcom writer myself and a bad person, and I therefore want it to fail. I then repent of this, and try to watch it without prejudice, remembering that I have more reasons to want this show to succeed. Why?
Firstly, a bad TV sitcom makes us writers all look bad. Secondly, the TV controller hates it when his/her shows attract criticism, and there is a special place in the hearts of the British people for sitcoms and slagging them off. People get really specific and offensive - especially online. They say things like “Why do the BBC makes this thing? Which executive approved this - and can their salary be taken away and given to orpans, or back to us viewers?” etc etc “This is the worst half hour I’ve ever spent of my life” and other such hyperboles.
It’s understandable. Comedy, when it doesn’t quite work, is awkward and toe-curling. Even good shows are hard to watch when they go slightly awry, even for one scene) Naturally, any TV channel controller wants to avoid this, and this is, I’m sure, one reason why there are fewer and fewer sitcoms on TV. They are expensive to make (that’s the other reason), so why risk wasting money and copping flack, they would think to themselves. An episode of studio sitcom costs at least £250k. You could have four antiques programmes for that money. They’d be forgettable programmes that won’t make the world a better place, or even fulfill the BBC’s charter, but they won’t make people as angry if they don’t like them.
So, as a writer, I want BBC2 to have some hit comedies so that they’ll want to make more of them. Comedy is a small world, and it’s quite likely that I will know the writer responsible, or will meet them at some stage. Or at least a cast member. In the case of the lastest sitcom, The Persuasionists, I happen to regularly turn up to the same cafe as one of the cast members. It really is that tenuous. But no-one likes having to lie about a show. And some of us have ethical problems with lying, so it’s just easier if the show is actually good so you can say ‘Hey, great show! I loved the bit with the [insert funny moment here].’ And mean it.
That’s why I tend not to ask people I know about stuff that I do. They might not like it and would rather not say so, or lie, so it’s best not to ask. Plus, there’s the fact that I really don’t mind if they don’t like it. I wrote six episodes of My Hero - that were greatly appreciated by 5 or 6 million people on BBC1, mainly families with kids. It’s that sort of show. My contemporaries are the time were graduates without kids who were into Six Feet Under - My Hero wasn’t for them. If they didn’t like it, I had no problem with tha
Finally, I want a sitcom that I can enjoy for myself! I await new episodes of 30 Rock with eager anticipation. I had the same experience with Arrested Development. Both are American shows, sadly. But I did get a frisson of excitement at the next episode of IT Crowd, Black Books and more recently, Gavin and Stacey (the latter of which is not, let’s be fair, an out-and-out comedy, but a splendid show nonetheles
So you may be wondering what I made of The Persuasionists, BBC2’s latest comic offering that I initally wanted to fail (since I am a bad person) and then realised I wanted to succeed, not least because it contains the delightful Adam Buxton, whom I do not know, but enjoy on 6Music - and he comes across as a thoroughly pleasant human being. But here we run into a problem - because writing up a review on blog (which remains in the ether for ever) is a bit of a risk. Dare I say anything negative, given the close-knit comedy world that I work in. And if I do only say positives, will you believe me or will you think I’m just being nice?
Well, I shall give it a little more thought and post a review very shortly…
Firstly, a bad TV sitcom makes us writers all look bad. Secondly, the TV controller hates it when his/her shows attract criticism, and there is a special place in the hearts of the British people for sitcoms and slagging them off. People get really specific and offensive - especially online. They say things like “Why do the BBC makes this thing? Which executive approved this - and can their salary be taken away and given to orpans, or back to us viewers?” etc etc “This is the worst half hour I’ve ever spent of my life” and other such hyperboles.
It’s understandable. Comedy, when it doesn’t quite work, is awkward and toe-curling. Even good shows are hard to watch when they go slightly awry, even for one scene) Naturally, any TV channel controller wants to avoid this, and this is, I’m sure, one reason why there are fewer and fewer sitcoms on TV. They are expensive to make (that’s the other reason), so why risk wasting money and copping flack, they would think to themselves. An episode of studio sitcom costs at least £250k. You could have four antiques programmes for that money. They’d be forgettable programmes that won’t make the world a better place, or even fulfill the BBC’s charter, but they won’t make people as angry if they don’t like them.
So, as a writer, I want BBC2 to have some hit comedies so that they’ll want to make more of them. Comedy is a small world, and it’s quite likely that I will know the writer responsible, or will meet them at some stage. Or at least a cast member. In the case of the lastest sitcom, The Persuasionists, I happen to regularly turn up to the same cafe as one of the cast members. It really is that tenuous. But no-one likes having to lie about a show. And some of us have ethical problems with lying, so it’s just easier if the show is actually good so you can say ‘Hey, great show! I loved the bit with the [insert funny moment here].’ And mean it.
That’s why I tend not to ask people I know about stuff that I do. They might not like it and would rather not say so, or lie, so it’s best not to ask. Plus, there’s the fact that I really don’t mind if they don’t like it. I wrote six episodes of My Hero - that were greatly appreciated by 5 or 6 million people on BBC1, mainly families with kids. It’s that sort of show. My contemporaries are the time were graduates without kids who were into Six Feet Under - My Hero wasn’t for them. If they didn’t like it, I had no problem with tha
Finally, I want a sitcom that I can enjoy for myself! I await new episodes of 30 Rock with eager anticipation. I had the same experience with Arrested Development. Both are American shows, sadly. But I did get a frisson of excitement at the next episode of IT Crowd, Black Books and more recently, Gavin and Stacey (the latter of which is not, let’s be fair, an out-and-out comedy, but a splendid show nonetheles
So you may be wondering what I made of The Persuasionists, BBC2’s latest comic offering that I initally wanted to fail (since I am a bad person) and then realised I wanted to succeed, not least because it contains the delightful Adam Buxton, whom I do not know, but enjoy on 6Music - and he comes across as a thoroughly pleasant human being. But here we run into a problem - because writing up a review on blog (which remains in the ether for ever) is a bit of a risk. Dare I say anything negative, given the close-knit comedy world that I work in. And if I do only say positives, will you believe me or will you think I’m just being nice?
Well, I shall give it a little more thought and post a review very shortly…
What this Blog is for
This blog is about situation comedy - TV and Radio. It’s something the British take very seriously. Any new comedy, good or bad, is subject to intense scrutiny and criticism in the press and now on Twitter and various messageboards. The British are passionate about sitcom and demand the best, and therefore when anything falls slightly short, which sitcoms easily can, it is merciless clubbed to the ground and repeatedly kicked.
The Americans take their sitcom seriously too. This is partly because it’s a billion-dollar industry. Friends, alone, is billion-dollar industry. If you get it right, you’ll not just make millions but hundreds of millions of dollars. And then you can blow all that money on making movies.
Until recently, I’ve been posting comments about situation comedy in general on my Hut 33 blog - which is a blog about a sitcom that I write for BBC Radio 4. But it seems sensible to keep that blog focussed on that show, and reserve comments and thoughts about sitcom in general to a separate blog. So this is Sitcom Geek. Hello.
The Americans take their sitcom seriously too. This is partly because it’s a billion-dollar industry. Friends, alone, is billion-dollar industry. If you get it right, you’ll not just make millions but hundreds of millions of dollars. And then you can blow all that money on making movies.
Until recently, I’ve been posting comments about situation comedy in general on my Hut 33 blog - which is a blog about a sitcom that I write for BBC Radio 4. But it seems sensible to keep that blog focussed on that show, and reserve comments and thoughts about sitcom in general to a separate blog. So this is Sitcom Geek. Hello.
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