The Royal Bodyguard

Thanks to iPlayer (possibly the best use of licence fee money since hiring David Attenborough in the 60s) I finally managed to watch the new BBC1 sitcom, The Royal Bodyguard. I'd tried to avoid too much press before seeing it myself, but saw that some people were saying slightly curious things about it, comparing it to Jonny English, as if that were a bad thing. Daft physical comedy is the oldest, most enduring, most globally successful kind of comedy there is (ask multi-millionaire Rowan Atkinson). Some people just don't like that kind of thing. Fair enough.

It's also worth bearing in mind that The Royal Bodyguard is written by Mark Bussell and Justin Sbresni, who wrote the excellent Worst Week of My Life. They have proven that they are decent writers, especially of farce and physically comedy - and are more successful than sitcomgeek. Noted.

Caveats done. So what did you think?
I saw Episode 1 and I'm not into it yet. It's early days, and my concerns with it may well end up being addressed. Here's my main observation. The show is all about the central character. Completely and totally. Other characters in the show are all played very straight - even the wonderfully funny Neil Edmond, and the cartoonish villains. I personally would have made the peripheral characters funny and given them lots of jokes. Geoffrey Whitehead really knows how to nail a joke, so its a pity he didn't have much to get his teeth into.

Now because the writers are good, the star of the show has nothing to prove as a comedy actor, and the production company are the mighty Hatrick, there must be some reason as to why all involved are not being carried shoulder-high through the streets of Shepherd's Bush. It feels like it was a conscious decision to focus the comedy on the central character, so the pressure is all on David Jason as the Royal Bodyguard to do every single one of the show's jokes. To sustain that level of scrutiny, the character needs to be completely watertight. But water is, I fear, seeping in. Or out. (which every is the bad way round).

Who is Hubble?
So who is this Hubble character? My main beef is that after watching him for half an hour, I still don't really know. I'm not after backstory. (Remember, backstory is comedy death) I need to understand what he wants. Is he incompetent, stupid, clumsy, unprofessional, hapless or out of his depth? These all overlap, but they're not the same thing.

First Impressions
And when we meet the character for the first time, we form our initial impression of him. And here is a confusing signal because at the very beginning, the Queen is getting into the coach. He picks up a crisp packet and explodes it in the face of a guard. Really? What an extraordinary thing for even a lowly royal car park attendant. He must be a really prankster. Or a live wire. Like Jim Carrey as Ace Ventura. Or massively unprofessional - in which case he wouldn't try to rescue the Queen. Who is he?

His exchange with the Hotel guy (Neil Edmond) doesn't quite establish him. We don't know whether he realises he's been massively overpromoted or not. It would be useful to clarify that. One way to go would be to make him pompous/Mainwairing-like and think its about time he was in charge, and this will give him the respect her craves. This could explain why he genuinely thinks that female assassin is attracted to him, because at the moment, that bit feels implausible. He would surely realise that he, as head of security, is a prime target for a femme fatale?

He is obviously fairly stupid. But how stupid? It sounds picky, but again, it would be useful to know exactly how stupid or, indeed, why he is so stupid. What desire or life-goal is hampering his judgment to badly? We encounter different types of stupid in the same show and we can tell the difference - think about Kramer, George and Newman in Seinfeld. In Dad's Army, Pike is stupid because he's young. In Allo Allo, the policeman is stupid because he's foreign/English. People often appear stupid ebcause they want something. What is it?

In the hotel room, Hubble seems surprised by someone who is obviously a hotel porter and a maid in the bedroom. Is he really that stupid? It's okay if he is. Very stupid is funny. But then he later, he correctly realises that leg of the assassin was different (and this thought is not triggered by anything). So he's not that stupid? And yet this is the man who didn't realise he was being seduced. And somehow didn't feel his key being taken from out of his sock.

English & Clouseau
Now I couldn't answer any of these questions in the case of Johnny English and/or Inspector Clouseau. And yet it feels like Atkinson/Sellars know in their hearts what their characters are like and what really makes them tick. And when The Royal Bodyguard really shows us who Hubble is, what he wants and why he can't have it, we'll have some serious comedy on our hands.

Central Character Needs Work

I've been working one particular sitcom idea for a few of years. It's a silly, jokey, studio-based show, rather than a searingly satirical non-audience piece. More Black Books than The Thick of It. The show has slowly moved around from one thing into another, losing one of the main characters and shifting focus, even though the tone has remained the same.

But all of the above has happened at such a slow speed that I've failed to notice that the key character is not clear enough. This has been pointed out to me by an exec (they're not all bad) and I've failed to properly address this, even though the script is on draft 6. If I'm honest, I have to admit that the comedy at the moment comes too much from the situation and the jokes - and not the key character at the centre of the show is based. We want to root for the guy - but we don't know how to because we don't know who he really is and what he really wants.

Some shows get away with this. I'd cautiously suggest that even one of my all time favourites, Seinfeld, has this failing. Jerry Seinfeld's character isn't quite sharp enough or focussed enough - but Elaine, George and Kramer cover that up well, as does a set of stand up at the beginning and the end. By the time the show was established, none of this seemed to matter. But they got lucky. (FYI Genius = luck + hard work + experience).

Anyway, before Christmas hits, I shall be asking myself these questions about my central character, which you may like to ask yourself of your characters that aren't quite working:

What does he want? Why? What does he think he wants? What does he actually want? How does this differ from what he actually needs? And what he gets?

What stops him from getting what he wants? How do the other characters stop him from getting what he wants? How is it ultimately his own fault?

How does he see the world? How does the world see him? How do the other characters see him? How does this differ with how we, the audience, see him?

If you don't answers for most of these, you've got a problem. So, if it's really not working, let's think the unthinkable:
Should he be a she? How does that change things?
Should he be something else completely?
Should he be deleted altogether? (I've already scrapped one character without replacing them - and it made it better).

Answer all of the above without resorting to tedious backstory. Backstory is comic death (because it's all reported) and doesn't move things forward. In sitcoms, characters need strong drives and clearly-defined quests and achievable goals - so that we know whether they are succeeeding or not. Whether they achieve them or not is up to you. But the more specific and defined the goal, the easier it is to understand. And if the audience isn't confused or baffled at any point, you stand a fighting chance of making them laugh. And that's what it's all about.

Episodes

So, Episodes.

Let's begin with the caveats. Let's bear in mind that my opinion doesn't matter to anyone; I'm an inexperienced comedy writer compared to the stupidly experienced David Crane who co-writes Episodes; I've read no reviews of Episodes and have no idea if it's already deemed a hit or a smash, so my opinion may be way off those of others, or blandly the same. My instinct is that critics will broadly be in favour of Episodes because it's about the media and they love self-parodying, industry stuff, even though most TV audiences show themselves to be consistently uninterested in this kind of thing. There. Caveats done. (and yes, 'caveat' is 3rd person present iussive subjunctive, and yes, I do have an A-Level in Latin and yes, I am keen to use it.)

Let us recall that scene in Seinfeld when Jerry and George pitch the idea for the show. George says it's about nothing. And the exec says one of those incredibly annoying things that execs say which is 'Why am I watching this show?' George tersely replies, 'Because it's on TV', implying that people will watch whatever's on.

Except George is wrong. And, it pains me to say, the exec is kind of right. "Why am I watching this show?" is one of those annoying questions to ask, but there's something in it.

And so I ask myself the question, Why am I watching Episodes? Well, I'm watching it because it's new, so I ought to watch it. It's written by one of the creators of Friends and bunch of other things. It's got Stephan Mangan and Tamsin Grieg in it - what's not to like? And, most of all, it's sort of about my job. There are four or five reasons right there.

And I'm glad I watched it. The performances were good. There were some jokes that made me laugh out loud. And before I had looked at my watch, it ended, which is a good sign.

But am I going to keep watching it? Am I excited about watching it again next week?

I have mentioned William Goldman's The Year of the Comet before on this blog. It was, apparently, the next screenplay he wrote after Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. Goldman knows how to write a really decent movie. And yet, he wrote The Year of the Comet, which vanished without trace. Why? Because nobody cared. Why did nobody care? Because it's a romantic comedy about a couple who are trying to track down a bottle of wine. Seriously. The trailer for it is here: (sorry if there's another ad first)

YEAR OF THE COMET: Movie Trailer. Watch more top selected videos about: Movie Trailers, Year of the Comet

Have you seen the trailer? Doesn't it look dreadful? 'From the writer of The Princess Bride and Butch Cassidy' says the voiceover... William Goldman laughs about it now. He writes about it in his excellent and compulsory follow-up to Adventures in the Screen Trade called Which Lie did I Tell? But the point is this: Who cares about a couple who's quest is a valuable bottle of wine? Could we be made to care about them? Maybe. Do we? No. And I think this is my main problem with Episodes. I don't really care. And that makes a big difference.

Caring about these people is going to be a tall order, since this is a sitcom about wealthy successful people, who are about to have mildly annoying things done to them buy even wealthier more successful people. And the problem is what I'm really meant to care about is an abstract sitcom. This sitcom of theirs is set in a boarding school and Richard Griffiths is in it. It's won some awards. That's all I know about it. I don't get any sense that this is a prized and loved thing that I should care about. This sitcom should be their baby. It should be a part of them. Changes to it should be excruciating. But I don't quite buy that the characters really care about their baby all that much.

Maybe their sitcom should be based on themselves in some way - about a married couple - or some personal experience - and therefore tampering with it causes serious personal trauma and pain, and a clash in their relationship. The cabbie who took them home from the BAFTAs could have quoted a line or a catchphrase from the show or something. Please, just make me care about the things the characters care about. Otherwise, all they're going to do is walk away quite wealthy and slightly tanned from a failed american sitcom.

I'm sure I shall watch next week - but partly because I want to know more about the original show of theirs, just like I've always wanted to see Ricky Gervais write a whole episode of When The Whistle Blows. Writing comedy about the comedy industry is one thing. Writing a character-based sitcom for a mainstream studio audience is another. Crane can obviously do that. His awards and record prove that. He probably has two personal assistants, three homes and four yachts to prove that. This is not a bad show at all. I laughed along, and it was easy to enjoy. But I don't love it. Yet.

What I learned from Seinfeld

Occasionally, I watch a TV show that is so good and perfect that I'm at a loss to know what I can learn from it. It's like looking at a Picasso or, my personal favourite, Claude Lorraine.

I mention this because recently, my latest TV treat has been Modern Family and I have almost nothing to say about it. It's an astonishing piece of work, reviving the family sitcom like a whiff of smelling salts. It has all the verve and brio of Arrested Development, and all the heart of, well, Arrested Development. And yet it's a domestic family sitcom, split over three households, with familiar storylines, retold in a stunningly original way.

Some time ago, I had similar feeling about Seinfeld. I've got every single on DVD (or at least I did until my friend Luke lost my Series 7, even though he swears I loaned him Series 5. It's okay, Luke. I forgive you.) I'm a huge fan and was always sad that BBC never committed to showing it at a decent time on BBC2, when the show has such British anti-sentimental sensibilities ('No hugging, no learning'.)

After multiple viewings and thinking about things, I spotted one thing that Seinfeld has the courage to do that no-one else seems to do. It makes peripheral characters funny. Really funny. In most comedies, the regular cast are the funny ones, and anyone else who is brought in for the week is normally played, or scripted, very straight. Harrassed shopkeeper, or disgruntled customer or whatever.

A good comedy actor knows the importance of playing straight, so that the comedy in the established funny character is heightened. But Seinfeld showed that his doesn't always have to be the case. Who can forget the Soup Nazi? Or the Bubble Boy? Or the infuriating Bania? Or Kramer's insane lawyer Jackie Chiles? Some of the characters, like Bania or Chiles, were so strong, they could recur again and again. And many recurred in that final (ill-advised) courtroom episode and we had no problem remember who any of them were and why they would be happy to stitch up the regular characters.

In some ways, the strength of these minor characters is typical of the show. Despite being a successful comedian, and having his name on the show, Jerry Seinfeld did the smartest thing he could have done: he effectively gave the show away to George, Elaine and Kramer - and to the comic genius of Larry David. Jerry is almost the straight man in the show, since he is always reluctant to get involved in Kramer's schemes or humiliate himself. The comedy world revolves around Jerry - his parents, his Uncle Leo, his nemesis Newman among others. You know you've got a hit on your hands when you create a 'world', and find yourself smiling when you even start thinking about it. (How many people reading this thought to themselves 'Hello Newman'.

There's no doubt that creating this kind of world is easier when you're doing 26 episodes in a run, and after four years find yourself shooting episode 100. But it is still easier said than done. Conventional wisdom says that all comedy should be focussed on the regular characters, since they are the ones that the audience have invested in. This is true - but there is another way. If you can get it to work.

So that's what I learnt from Seinfeld - and one day, I'll learn something from the flawless Modern Family.

In the meantime, here's Jackie Chiles in all his glory.

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For more of this sort of thing, you might want to think about getting my book, Writing That Sitcom, which is available for the Kindle/Kindle App via Amazon.

It's available as a bog-standard PDF here.

People seem to like the book, found it useful and have been kind enough to say so:

"A MUST Read for Aspiring Comedy Writers. This book gave me the feedback I needed and the tools to change and greatly improve my script." Dr. Rw Fallon

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.

Less is More in The Great Outdoors

Comedy writing is hard. Sometimes it looks hard and complicated and watching it is intimidating. Non-audience shows particularly can be fast and complex, especially narrated ones (eg. Scrubs and Arrested Development) Plots interweave and we jump from place to place and scene to scene, often just for one single joke. The jokes are finely chiselled, the set-piece scenes well-choreographed and beautifully shot. And it looks difficult and expensive.

Comedy writing is also hard because it can look so easy - especially the comedy that's filmed in front of an audience, where the scenes are longer, the pace is a little slower and it looks a lot like people sitting around and talking. What's the problem?

I am reminded of that line in Seinfeld when George, with no writing experience, talks about writing their show about nothing and he says something along the lines of 'How hard can it be? We're talking about a sitcom here?' That is one of those jokes that funny for different people for different reasons. The audience laugh because George is being disparaging about the form of the show he is in. The writers are laughing because George has no idea how incredibly difficult writing a simple-looking sitcom really is.

I mention this because I've just seen the first two episodes of The Great Outdoors (ep 2 here) which has been tucked away on BBC Four as part of some Outdoors season. It's about a small and dysfunctional rambling club - and they go on a ramble. Each episode starts at the beginning of the walk - and they walk and talk and do stuff. Looks easy. That's why it's good. It's no effort to watch. On both occasions, the first time I looked at my watch out, at least 25 minutes had gone.

Now, why was I looking at my watch? It wasn't boredom. The writer in me was thinking 'how long have they got to wrap this story up'? What interests me is that they stories aren't really wrapped up at all. In one sense, it's because there's a series arc of sorts. But in another sense, it doesn't really matter anyway. Not in sitcoms. Writers, producers, exec producers and directors get into a real tangle over this and I often find myself alone on this one. 'The room' often says 'But what about the unpaid invoice?' or 'How do they get back to shore?' or 'If he breaks his arm, shouldn't we see him in a few weeks so that we know he's all better'. My response is usually along the lines of 'The audience won't care'. The neatness of the ending is often irrelevant. Apart from anything else the audience, yes the smart audience, realise it's a sitcom and that we start from the same position next week as we did this week. If the kitchen has been burned to the ground, it'll be as good as new - well, as good as last week - next week.

Sometimes, endings do matter. In films, the ending is everything - because the protagonists go on a journey. They learn. They change. They end up in a different place from where they started. But in sitcom, they don't learn, they don't change and the end up back where they started. Sitcoms are about the journey. Films are about the destination.

And so, when your hero triumphs or fails, the show is over. So end it. The moment your show has climaxed, and the big emotional moment has been done, you've got about ninety seconds to wrap it up before the audience is bored, looking at its watch and wondering what's on next. You can probably forget about you hero's parking ticket, or weight gain, or broken toe. You can certainly forget about the peripheral characters' destroyed briefcase, ruined party or misplaced visa. Because it's not about those things, and never was. The audience knows that all will be well - and should be back next week for the same again.

That's why I've been enjoying going on a journey with the ramblers in The Great Outdoors. What is the destination? I don't really care. I'm really enjoying the journey.

The Garry Shandling Show

Over the last few days, I've seen a few episodes of It's Gary Shandling's Show. It ran for 4 years, and they made 72 episodes in total. In one sense, the show was before my time, beginning in 1986 when I was only 11. The show was a decontructed sitcom that broke the fourth wall, and played around with the cliches and tropes of sitcom. It was an anti-sitcom, pulling apart the format whilst playing along with it. At the age of 11, I was familiar with the sitcom format since I watched pretty much every comedy on TV as I grew up (hey, I had good parents, ok?!), but I wasn't terribly interested in seeing them parodied. Plus, I don't remember it being on much in the UK, but I think it was at various times and at various points.

As I watched the first four episodes, I was mindful that the initial impact was lost on me. The show came out in 1986 when there wasn't much smart, post-modern stuff like this around, and so there wasn't the buzz that you get watching something fresh and exciting. As you can probably tell, I was a little underwhelmed. I was surprised at how slow it was and how, on occasions, there were attempts at genuine emotion which struck me as a cheeky attempt to have your cake and eat it. I was also surprised at how charmless and unfunny his male best friend was - and it made me crave Jason Alexander. I really didn't believe that they were friends. There is plenty of good stuff in the show. Some nice jokes and Garry's vanity is funny (and obsession with how his hair looks is funny). But having watched four episodes, I wasn't inclined to watch any more.

My main problem with it is that lots of the jokes come from poking fun at the standard sitcom format. But that's so easy that it's barely worth doing. So why do comedians (and TV Critics) keep doing it? Sitcoms are contrivances. We all know that. We, the writers, know it. The studio audience know it. The viewers at home know it. We know that real life isn't that funny, and that coincidences don't happen that often and that our neighbours really aren't that wacky. It's a sitcom. So what's the joke?

Deconstructing yourself is a trick that's very hard to pull off. I've been working on the BBC2 sitcom Miranda in which Miranda's character regularly talks directly to camera, breaking the fourth wall. But we have to use that device very carefully and not overstep the mark. There are one or two lines delivered to camera in the middle of scenes like 'This is a like a farce' but these jokes have a law of diminishing returns, and we often write them, feel better and then delete them before they get to the readthrough. In fact, more accurately, I write them, feel clever and smug, and Miranda deletes them - because she knows that the audience aren't interested in my feeling clever and smug. They want jokes and characters and funny situations. They have invested emotionally in the world that's been created and they don't want to see behind the scenery.

Some might say It's Garry Shandling's Show paved the way for The Larry Sanders Show, which is undoubtedly a superbly crafted piece of work. In fact, it might be one of my all time favourites. But The Larry Sanders Show isn't deconstructing anything. It's a front-stage/back-stage character comedy. It's about relationships, real people and personas and the odd celebrity coming in and stirring things up.

To me, It's Garry Shandling's Show is the Beta version of Seinfeld, which is a sitcom about a comedian, and a best friend and a neighbour - with a certain amount of 'material' to 'camera'. Seinfeld is smart and clever and really funny - and it subverts the sitcom format by superb characters and sheer originality. The plotlines are so brilliant, partly because they are frequently based on stories that you couldn't make up. (Watch the DVD and interviews with the writers frequently reference a story or event that happened to them or a close friend). And they are crammed into episodes that last about 21 minutes. Now that's hard.

Why make swipes at a sitcom format that can reach the comic heights of Seinfeld and The Larry Sanders Show? Parodying sitcoms use of Surprise Birthday Parties, Having to Look After Someone Else's Child/Pet/Priceless Vase etc is funny for a few minutes, but it doesn't sustain. Why do that when you can create a Soup Nazi? Or have an episode waiting for a table at a Chinese Restaurant? Or The Contest?

The Wonder of Narration

I've been so short of things to watch on TV that a couple of things have happened. Firstly, I have rejoined Lovefilm, which is exciting. (We have another baby due next month, so I'll be chained to the sofa significantly more than at the moment.) Secondly, I rewatched some old DVDs including the joyous wonder that is Arrested Development. Just looking at pictures of the characters below is making me smile. The characterisation is so clear and crisp. Quite often, non-audience, single-camera shows pull their punches on their characters and nuance things a little too much. They're too, well, real. The characters below, however, are huge monsters who have really strong motivations and we know exactly they will react in any situation. That is so important when putting together a comedy show. And often those starting out think they can have characters who change their minds more often or aren't so extreme. Treatments and outlines include phrases like "Something Peter gets really angry for no reason, but other times he's really calm" or "Sally loves her boyfriend, but sometimes doesn't, and she doesn't really know why". I exaggerate, but take a look at the characters below and you'll see what characters need to be. Buster is dumb and frightened. Gob ludicrously overestimates his own abilities and is incredibly selfish. Tobias is living in a dreamworld. And Michael is a slave to being 'responsible'. Simple clear character points are essential. If you don't have them, you don't have a show.

Arrested Development is one of those problem shows that in some ways highlights the gap between those who have mainstream and non-mainstream sensibilities. The show was a critical hit, won plenty of awards and the esteem of everyone in the media. Media-types and writers forever gush about The Larry Sanders Show and Curb Your Enthusiasm. Arrested Development falls into that category. (By the by, Curb does nothing for me, really. It's masterful in it's plotting. Almost a masterclass. But I want a properly honed script. Gimme Seinfeld any day.)

But, as with The Larry Sanders Show, Arrested Development was never a ratings hit. Middle America just did not take the show to its bosom - and nor did the English (as if that would have made the difference). The show looked expensive and needed more viewers to pay for itself. You can't pay for a TV show with boxed-set sales (yet). And so, the show was cancelled halfway through it's third season. I believe the last four episodes were all dumped on one night. The show itself made references to it's own cancellation in some of the most skillful self-referential comedy I've ever seen. But nobody watched it. Most Americans, it turns out, would rather watch reruns of Friends, than a brand-shining new episode of Arrested Development.

It's hard to pin-point why this is the case. The show contains mostly unlikeable characters, which can alienate mainstream viewers. But then, Michael, George-Michael and Buster are very likeable. And Seinfeld's four main characters are all unlikeable and selfish. The Office has two key unlikeable characters. I'm sure everyone has a theory as to why Arrested Development 'failed' (in the ratings sense). I'd be very interested to hear the views of others on this one.

So why do I mention this? Firstly because it makes me feel good, just thinking about Arrested Development. But secondly, the show contains one thing that most out-and-out comedies do not - Narration. The narrator makes a huge difference to the show, and I view the narrator device with envy. Often, one of the hardest things to do in a sitcom is move the plot along, purely with people talking. In a novel, you can simply say what's happening. In a film like Austin Powers, you can have a character called Basil Exposition - who tells Austin what to do next. In sitcoms, characters have to say things like "I have to go and pick up my son from his football session", but you have to think of a characterful joke to glue to it. That can be very hard.

But Arrested Development has a narrator (and what a wonderful voice that Ron Howard has). He can say things like 'meanwhile' to emphasise that something is taking place at the same time as another scene - which may be significant. The narrator can say 'this would have been okay, but unfortunately...' and give you a heads up on something bad happening. The narrator can remind, mislead and even do jokes of his own. (There are plenty in the show)

The narrator means that 'the plot' is often as funny as the jokes or the characters, which doesn't happen all that often. In Seinfeld, this can happen, but usually the calamity in a sitcom means that the characters do or say funny things. But careful, skillful plot can be genuinely satisfying in its own right, almost apart from the characters. There are two notable British writers who are brilliant at this. The first is David Renwick whose One Foot in the Grave plots were very clever indeed, hiding crucial bits of information and revealing at just the right time to create wonderfully daft situations and moments. The other is Steve Moffat - who wrote some episodes of Coupling that were superbly plotted, as if a West-End play (a good one). There's is much to learn about plotting from these guys. Plot or story should be satisfying and service the characters. But sometimes it can exceed all expectations and be hilarious in its own right.

So here's the point and the warning. When you're plotting an episode of sitcom, one can be very ambitious in the amount of story that can be crammed in. But if you take Arrested Development's lead, you may come unstuck unless you have a narrator, or a clever device to enable you to cut through plot very quickly. Normally, I find I have too much plot and have to cut back. This can be painful if you've got funny dialogue that you've sweated over in order to get it across. And we return to the importance of proper planning. The best jokes often occur from thin air, when you're writing the script itself, but you need that bedrock of a strong outline. At least I do. (Carla Lane doesn't. And she did okay, didn't she?)

Not Liking Audience Comedy

Liam Mullan doesn't like studio audience comedy. He explains why over on Chortle here. He is, of course, perfectly entitled to his opinion - which is, I would argue, based on preference, not argument. I don't propose to take issue with everything he says, but one sentence strikes me as interesting and revealing. He says:

I previously wrote a piece for Chortle that after Seinfeld the three-wall/three-camera sitcom had been essentially perfected as an art form, at least in the American tradition...

There is no doubt that comedy is an art, and that situation comedy is an art form - albeit a bizarrely contrived one, but then it's not much more artificial than the theatre or an exhibition of sculpture. The contrivance is part of it. We all know that life isn't like that, and that most of us live in more realistic homes. But what interested me the most is that Mr Mullan seems to think that once someone's cracked it we all applaud, give up, go home and try something else. I'm relieved that painters didn't hang up their palette's when Van Gogh cranked out his set of Sunflowers. It's good that playwrights didn't stop scribbling once they'd seen Hamlet - and I'm glad that Shakespeare kept bashing on too, even though Timon of Athens isn't wonderful and King Lear has a very dodgy ending.

Comedy is an art - but no art is definitive, surely? Some is iconic, certainly. I agree that Seinfeld is almost perfect, and I cherish my boxed sets. But that encourages me to keep going with audience sitcom, not give up. When I flick on the TV first thing, and Frasier is on Channel 4, part of me has a pang of 'I'll never do anything that good' but the other part of me says 'Have you really tried?' Now I know Mr Mullan is not saying that there is no point in trying in so many words. He says:

That does not mean I believe it has been mastered in the UK or that it’s a genre no longer capable of offering high-quality entertainment.


But Mr Mullan seems to suggest the quest for the next studio sitcom hit will be a fruitless one (and the title of the piece, probably added by someone else, would suggest this genre has died anyway). And yet, the viewers at home are rather hoping that people like me - if not actually me specifically - will keep trying because audiences like studio sitcom. It's something that young comedians, some commissioners and a number of producers and critics find hard to accept. They like a highly condensed comedy format in which characters try and fail in an amusing way but things draw neatly to a conclusion after about 28 minutes. In fact, they like Everybody Loves Raymond (210 episodes) more than Arrested Development (53 Episodes) - which hardly seems fair, since Raymond is a fine family comedy show but Arrested Development is almost divinely inspired.

The reality is that millions of people like to watch funny people doing funny things in funny looking rooms whilst hearing a studio audience laughing like drains. And they get very cross when it's done badly because they care.

Mr Mullan dislikes this genre, as is his right, just as I dislike opera. We both wished this weren't so. Opera seems to be a wonderful thing if you're really into - people singing for hours with a vast live orchestra in massive costumes and ludicrous sets. Brilliant. What's not to like? But it just doesn't push my buttons. Shame. But to declare the genre died some years ago and that we didn't notice? Odd. Likewise, Father Ted is not the end. It's a high-water mark certainly, and sometimes the tide gets close and one day a wave will come along and be even higher. If I haven't written it, then I at least hope to be alive to see it and we can all laugh together. (Too schmaltzy? Maybe. What the heck. I like audience comedy.)

The Pressure of Perfectly Paced Plotting

BBC Radio 7 has been repeating Series 1 of Cabin Pressure - which I completely missed the first time round. I caught one or two episodes of Series 2, and enjoyed it, but am pleased to have heard almost all of the the first series. It's lovely show with an admirably small number of characters, as the title suggests - pressured relationships in one cabin of one aeroplane.

There's just a 1st Officer we know should be the Captain, but is a bit of a rogue; a Captain who's a bit uptight; the owner who's the headmistress kicking her boys into shape; and her son, the air steward who is breathtakingly dim (played by the show's writer, John Finnemore - who's a fine comedy actor as well as a superb writer. Yes another reason to dislike the thoroughly pleasant man.) There are more details about the show here and here.

In some senses, the central relationship, between first officer and captain functions a little like Wilson and Mainwaring in Dad's Army. I don't know if John Finnemore was, or even is, aware of this. Past shows influence all of us. When devising Hut 33, and created Charles and Archie, I realised I'd created a relationship akin to Glover and Figgis in Only When I Laugh. And pretty much every configuration of every relationship can be found in classic novels or Shakespeare. So this is not a criticism at all.

But it takes more than a central relationship for a show to succeed (unfortunately). In my last post, I wrote that it's important to do proper autopsies on sitcoms that die a painful death. Much can be learned. But one can also learn in an altogether more pleasurable - laughing hard at a decent show, and then thinking about it work so well.

I don't propose to list the virtues of the show. "I cannot find a single flaw in it. So top marks" said the Independent on Sunday. Praise indeed and well deserved. I've mentioned the characters. Oh, and there's the jokes. They're good. Properly funny. But the thing I'd like to praise Cabin Pressure for in particular is boringly technical - but this is a boringly technical blog. And frankly, if the boring mechanics don't work, you have a coughing and spluttering sitcom. After all, an Alfa Romeo may be fun now and then, but it's not got the boring mechanics to get you very far. Boring mechanics are only ever notable by their absence.

So here it is: the show is perfectly paced. There is exactly the right amount of story and plot to give the characters room to bounce off each other to maximum comic effect. There's not too much frantic running around at the end, ploddy bits of exposition or a mad dash to tie up loose ends in the last 90 seconds. That's what I find hardest to do in Hut 33 - but perhaps Mr Finnemore is reaping the benefits of having four regular characters (Hut 33 has six characters - and there is a war on). I'd be interested to know how Mr Finnemore does this - whether he spends a lot of time on the storylines so that they fit the show precisely, and unravel at exactly the right pace. This has the added benefit of increasing plausibility, which adds a health dose of 'this could really happen'. Which makes it funnier.

What are the temptations here, then? Why do some sitcoms often cram story in and become too frantic? It may be lack of confidence in the characters. It may be lack of confidence in one's own ability to write enough jokes. Much easier to blow up a car or lose a set of keys in the story to add extra frustation and 'mayhem'. But it may not make the show funnier. It may just make the show noisier. We can, I'm sure, think of examples in which that is the case. There are warning signs: If you find yourself typing the line "Wait a minute, there just one thing I don't understand" or "So the whole thing was covered by the insurance" or some other nebulous or unsatisfactory line. Plot is like marmite - best thinly spread.

But then, we can also watch an episode of Seinfeld and think 'How did they fit all those stories in 22 minutes?'

Sitcom is a dark art, a conjuring trick with no manual that requires hours of practice, the odd prayer - and even then one runs a serious risk of being pelted with fruit. Still, it beats real work. My dad was a farmer. I know what I'd rather be doing for living.

Getting out at the Top

It is a curiously British thing to take a sledgehammer to your own success, but that is what is regularly done - and it is, of course, partly the fault of John Cleese.

In the good old days, when your sitcom was commissioned, you milked it for all it was worth - and no-one thought worse of you for so doing. They still do that in the USA. And it's fair enough. If you manage the Herculean task of not only getting your show on air, but getting it recommissioned, and then re-recommissioned, why on earth stop? The odds are that it won't happen again. Note that even the greatest scriptwriters have penned plenty of failures that had all the ingredients but never quite worked. The cake didn't rise. The magic dust blew away. You get idea.

Fawlty Towers, a show that was largely ignored and disliked at first, may have been one at the vanguard of this habit of stopping just when they'd cracked it. Naturally John Cleese and Connie Booth were perfectly at liberty to do whatever they liked with the masterful comedy, and many people admire their restraint in stopping when the show was still good.

But why wouldn't three more series have been good? Episode 13-30 of Fawtly Towers could have explored any number of subjects and themes. Let's face it - they had the audience in the palm of their hand. The characters could all have been sellotaped to a giant bomb and it still would have got huge laughs. Once the engine of a sitcom is running, it'll serve you well for many years to come (unlike the engine out my VW Golf which I was forced to sell last year. That's for another blog - and doesn't even have a humourous story that's usable for a sitcom episode one day).

The Young Ones cut things short early and killed off everyone. Blackadder only gave us four series before hanging up their cod-pieces. Ricky Gervais 'got out at the top' in his own words on both The Office and Extras. Likewise, Corden and Jones seem unwilling to write more episodes of Gavin and Stacey - a lovely, heartwarming comedy with characters I'm only just getting to know. Why stop? I'm sure they have their reasons. New projects often seem more exciting than old ones. Understandable.

But what are British writers in general worried about? Is it concerns about a backlash? It is worries about people thinking you're cashing in your success? The British, after all, are very suspicious of success and wealth.

In America, they celebrate success. This doesn't make American's better people, by any means. Nor does it make them worse - although it does at least mean they can be happy for other people, and therefore not feel the need to constantly self-deprecate, that charming quaint British custom. This, perhaps, explains why their sitcom hits run and run and run. Friends, Frasier, Seinfeld and dozens of shows we've never even heard of make 24 episodes or so at a time. A show could run for ten years. I, for one, am glad there a nearly 200 episodes of Seinfeld. The last series was particularly funny and inventive (except for the finale - eek).

Of course, getting a show to run more than even 12 episodes is really hard work. But is that the reason Brits don't want to continue once they've done 12 or 18? Who knows? All I do know is that getting a new series up and running, and then to have it taken to the nations hearts, is even more hard work than keeping an old show fresh. I'm heartened that the writers of Peep Show keep bashing on. The fans love it. They cast and writers enjoy making it. Why stop success?