Friday, 12 January 2018

How Long Should My Sitcom Script Be?

The question of script length comes up from time to time. And it's tricky to know how to respond for various reasons. Some measure sitcom scripts in pages. That's probably the industry standard, not least because when you're filming on location, pages get broken down into eighths and shooting time is allotted accordingly.

Scripts filmed in a studio in front of an audience have to be carefully monitored for length too. Most sitcoms I've filmed have started shooting at 7.30pm and you really have to be done by 10pm for two main reasons. Firstly, the cost of overrunning in terms of overtime, studio time and wages can get out of hand quite quickly.

Pic by Emily Tan via Flickr
But secondly, by 10pm, even with a jolly warm-up guy, the audience really has had enough. They probably arrived at 6.30pm and have been herded about. The magic of television has worn off and, to be honest, they're done by 9.30pm, but if you've got a strong ending to film in front of them with a big pay-off, you're probably going to be fine. 

Until 10pm. At which point the audience turn into pumpkins or mice or something that isn't known for laughing much. And you can't really stop them from leaving either. And some do. And it gets embarrassing.

A decent producer has a pretty good running time clock in their heads and your page count on the night should be about right. And if it's not, it's their problem far more than yours.

If you're looking for a rule of thumb for a pilot script that you're sending out, bear in mind you're trying to sell an idea and a set of characters, not a shooting script. I'd urge you to make your TV script as tight as possible. Something between 30 and 35 pages. Cut anything that doesn't belong. Cut jokes that are just there for the sake of it, especially in the second half of the show when you need to crack on. Be ruthless. I've written about that here and here and here and in my book here.

The Glory of Radio

It's tempting to think that in radio, where everything is much easier to record, all bets are off. There's no 'location' stuff to be pre-shot, no big reveals or stage management to work out. No props, no set and know make. Plus the actors don't have to learn lines. They just read them off the script. Which partly explains why actors love doing radio and you can often pull in bigger names than you think. It's all the fun of the show without all the drag of TV production. (But way less money, obviously.)

A typical radio studio sitcom episode might record at 32-34 minutes. Then there a few retakes. Then an interval. And you record another episode. Yes, you can record two shows in one night, and still be done by 9.30pm.

Twice Nightly
In fact, recording two episodes in one night is a blessing because the audience, who might not be very familiar with the show, especially if it's brand new, will be up to speed by the second show and be looking out for their favourite characters and catchphrases. They're not worried about knowing who everyone is. The cast might be more relaxed. As a result, the second episode tends to record better and the audience laugh more. (One day, I expect a note from an exec suggesting we record both episodes second.)

However, there are laws of diminishing returns here too. The plusses can become minuses. In the second episode, the actors might start to get tired, the studio can get a hot making the audience flag and dry up. You'll want to stick to a 32-34 minute recording. Any less, you've got little room for manoeuvre in the edit. Page formats vary in radio where there are fewer script standards and protocols (every single radio script I've done has been in Word, not Final Draft) so a page count isn't helpful. But in words, for me, that's usually around the 5500 mark.

It might be tempting to get away with a script of 6500 words. Or longer but if you listen to the Sitcom Geeks podcast with Graham Linehan, you'll hear why it's not a good idea.

Don't Forget Paris

In their first show, Paris, Linehan and Mathews learnt a few lessons the hard way. One is that if you write a script that's too long, and film all of it, it makes editing almost impossible.

The only way to produce a coherent 24-28 minutes is to cut jokes. Disaster. The story has to make sense. There has to be continuity. There's a lot you can't cut or the entire programme disintegrates and seems random, disjointed and unprofessional.

That's not an option.

What your producer and director and editor will cut are funny routines, gags and throwaway lines (which are literally thrown away).

It's always tempting to write long - and I've done so and regretted it for other reasons (when I wrote a 9000 word draft) - but writer beware. And if there's one thing you shouldn't do, it's Forget Paris.


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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 here.


Alternatively, 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

And listen to the Sitcom Geeks podcast here.


Monday, 11 December 2017

5 Ways To Get Your Characters Talking

Developing characters is really difficult. It's easy enough in theory. You could start with contrasting personality types, drawn from a Meyers-Briggs chart, or by bootlegging a Shakespeare play and plonking them in 2017. But so much of what a character is - or could be - comes from how they talk. I've written a bit about this before here.

It would be very easy to carefully plot and plan an entire pilot episode of a brand new sitcom, and immediately hit the buffers because you just don't know how the characters sound.

First scenes are really hard to write as it is. First episodes are even harder. First episodes of shows that don't even exist yet are the hardest of all. So you need to do everything you can in order to make your life as easy as possible. Here are some tips to prime the pump.

Let's say we've got an optimistic young mum character called Ruth. In the first scene, she's at a check-out of a supermarket. Baby in trolley. Let's try and write that.

Okay, erm. So.

Scene 1. Int. Supemarket. Day. 10.00am
RUTH is piling groceries onto the conveyor belt. She's hassled. She's getting cross with the baby for no good reason. The check-out lady is tutting. Ruth gives the baby something sweet to eat. The check-out lady is tutting again. Ruth looks defensive. The check-out lady doesn't say anything. No-one says anything. Because I CAN'T THINK OF ANYTHING FOR THEM TO SAY.

Nothing's occurred to me as I write those lines of action. And I'm not excited about it as the scene sound pretty negative and charmless. What's the joke? Who is Ruth? How does she talk? How can she talk in a way that is truthful to her character as well as funny? In short, think about your character from all angles. Interrogate them - and listen. Eventually, they'll start talking.

1. What's Your Name And Where Do you Come From?
Firstly, you need to know roughly whether the character is from. Where is the show set? Are we in Birmingham? Are they from that part of the world, or were they brought up elsewhere? Do they belong there? Did this young mum move from Leeds? Or Edinburgh? To be with someone, and it's all gone wrong, and now she's raising a child alone? That will affect they way she talks. She can still be an optimist - but Ruth's situation will make her sound a bit more desperate. Or in denial. Or super-determined to make a go of it.

2. Where Do You Think You're Going?
Backstory is normally toxic to pilot episodes. I've written on this before. Think, where is the character going? What do they want? Is she determined to set up her own business? Or under-estimate how much time and energy a baby will need? This, again, will inform the way she speaks. Suddenly, she's not just a character in the moment buying groceries. She's got a past, and more importantly, a future. In her head, at least. We don't want to hear the details - and the neither does the cashier she is buying the groceries from. But she does at least have an attitude which should make her easier to write.

3. Is it Someone You Know?
It may be this character isn't just dreamed up out of your head -  although it is in my case as I just plucked an example from the air because this is blog. Maybe this is your sister, or your cousin. Or your best friend. Or a teacher you knew at school. How would they talk in this situation? Channel that. Use it.

4. Who Would Your Dream Cast Be?
You could think about who is likely to play this part - most likely someone from another sitcom already on TV. Or a drama or soap. That might give you a clear sense of how they talk. It might be hard to make your character distinctive from that other sitcom. So you could think of some super A-Lister from Hollywood and imagine how they'd play the part. What if this character were played by Reese Witherspoon? (who is 41, but that's Hollywood 41, so 30-something to normal people). Same goes for Amy Poehler, but pick someone, and that might help at least with the sensibility of the character.

5. Have You Seasoned Your Outline?
When writing your outline for you pilot script, drop in lines and bits of dialogue as they occur to you. Sometimes a line crystallises very early on and becomes pivotal. There was one character in my first sitcom on BBC Radio 4 I wrote called Think The Unthinkable. At one point, in an early brainstormed outline, in response to being asked to think of solutions to get more people cycling in London, he said, without joking, "Could we get London to be mostly downhill?" It was a key line for the character because it said everything about him. A free-thinking idiot. In the end, that line was used in the final episode of the first series.

Any lines you can drop into your outline are really helpful. If none occur to you as you're writing the outline, maybe you just don't know the character well enough to start writing

With that in mind, let's have another crack at that opening scene with Ruth, our single mum optimist with shades of Reese Witherspoon, Amy Poehler and one of my sisters (I won't say which). And why should the check-out person be female. Let's make it a young man. Might be fun. Here we go.

Scene 1. Int. Supemarket. Day. 10.00am
RUTH is purposefully piling groceries onto the conveyor belt. HARRY, the baby (c. 9 months old) is in the trolley seat. The cashier, KYLE, is about to start running the items through till.

KYLE
Need any help packing?

RUTH
Yes. Dairy in the blue bag. Veg in the green.

RUTH throws her tote bags at KYLE's face. KYLE presses a button to get assistance. RUTH freezes.

RUTH
Wait!

RUTH pulls out a long shopping list and examines it closely.

RUTH
Balls.

KYLE
Excuse me, but I have a right to do my job without harassment-

RUTH
What? No, cotton balls! For Harry.

RUTH points at the baby and gestures bottom wiping. RUTH grabs some carrot batons in a bag open opens them. She hands them to KYLE.

KYLE
Erm, no thanks.

RUTH
They're not for you! If he screams give him a baton. I'll be back in a minute.

RUTH charges off muttering 'balls', leaving KYLE looking at HARRY.

KYLE
Your mum's scary.

KYLE eats a carrot baton.

And... scene.

Okay, it's not hilarious. But it's a start. Ruth already seems funnier and more motivated. Try your own version. Hope that helps.

----------------

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 here.


Alternatively, 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

And listen to the Sitcom Geeks podcast here.

Friday, 10 November 2017

Death by Ratings

A recent Twitter exchange prompted me to share a thought about the sitcom industry. It may well apply to shows other than sitcoms, but that's outside my field of expertise.

Here's the thought, posed as a question:

Do ratings matter?

Does it actually make any difference whether people turn up in great numbers to watch your TV show, or doesn't it? In terms of getting a second series.

These days, you get a blizzard of numbers about your show. There are the 'Overnights' which measure roughly how many people watched it live, with various segments within that. Then there are the 'Consolidated Figures' which add on catch-up TV over a specific period. And various blends of the number in-between over longer and shorter periods with different demographics. But do these numbers matter?

Ratings do matter. A bit. But no way near as much as you'd think.

I'm sure some TV commissioners and controllers would disagree and would like to think they apply the same criteria to measure each show's success and failure. But they don't, and there's no real reason why they should other than being seen to be scrupulously fair. But fairness is somewhat overrated, especially in the brutally competitive world of television.

How have I reached my conclusion? Because there are plenty of shows written by plenty of writers, some of whom I know personally, that drew a certain number of eyeballs - and were cancelled, because that number was not deemed to be high enough. And other shows which started with modest/dismal numbers and continued with said numbers for two, three or more largely unwatched series.

Why?

Because there's more to a show than the numbers. There's brand management of the channel - both to the viewing public and the industry. There's professional pride in the form of critical acclaim and awards. And there's the gut instinct or emotional investment of the commissioner or controller, who might see a show as 'their baby', or see another as an unloved orphan.

You easily get two scenarios different scenarios around roughly the same numbers.

Scenario 1
Producer: So are we getting a second series? The show averaged about 1 million viewers so it's not clear whether-
Commissioner: It is clear! It's a great show. I've always loved it. And I'm very proud of it. And this is exactly the kind of show we should be doing. And we should be backing talent. Let's do another series!
Producer: Great. (Leaves office. Pumps fist/does dance).
(Oh, BTW the writer is NEVER in meetings like this. Not in the UK anyway. Writers are just an embarrassment to the industry).

Scenario 2
Producer: So are we getting a second series? The show averaged about 1.1 million viewers so it's not clear whether-
Commissioner: Hmm. It's pretty clear to me. Sorry, but you're inheriting a good audience from Gardener's World and not keeping them. The slot average is 1.7 million, so I'm a bit disappointed to be honest.
Producer: I'm sure a second series could build on the-
Commissioner: I really don't think so. I mean, I love the show. If it were up to me, I'd recommission it.
Producer: Isn't it up to you?
Commissioner: Well, yes. Kind of. But it's complicated. Sorry, but I don't think that this show is coming back.
Producer: Fine. (Leaves office. Ponders on calling the writer, but decides to leave it 'til tomorrow.)

That stuff happens all the time. It's not a numbers game. There's much more too it than that. And that because there are a lot of issues at play. It's painful, and unnannoying, and our God-given insistence that everything is fair is frustrated. But life isn't fair. TV isn't fair. And if they don't like your show, or aren't invested in it, they ain't backing it.

This is all another reason why you should write for yourself - and not anyone else. Write what you think is funny, because whether the show gets on TV and stays on TV is completely out of your hands.


---------

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 here.


Alternatively, 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


And listen to the Sitcom Geeks podcast here.



Monday, 23 October 2017

Don't Know Whether to Laugh or Scream

Horror-Comedy cross-over, or 'Homedy', seems to be very popular at the moment. And it's obviously going to be popular in the next week or so, since Halloween seems to be a big thing now.

It just wasn't like that when I was growing up in the 80s in England. In this regard, at least, the 80s were simpler times. Overall, society seemed to think it was reasonable not to scare children out of their wits, so that they wouldn't spend the following months unable to sleep.

In those days, Halloween was a bit naff or camp, and was a warm-up to the more exciting Bonfire Night, a few days later: a celebration of the attempted-mass-murder of MPs with hot dogs, fireworks, sparklers and the possibility of a trip to A&E. What's not to like?

Halloween was no big deal, and if you wanted suspense, the incessant adverts about the dangers of fireworks were the most frightening thing you could see on TV in late October.

You can probably tell I'm not a fan of halloween. It's partly because I'm a full-on God-botherer (and, as usual, I'll be cheerfully celebrating Reformation Day on 31st October). It's also because I've never seen any horror films. None of the Freddie films, or the Jason ones or the Texas Chainsaw Massacre. I have to say the title put me off the last one.

As far as suspense and mystery goes, my upper limit is early episodes of the X-Files. Yes, if horror was a curry, I'd be sweating over the Chicken Korma and wishing I'd ordered the Butter Chicken instead. (Oddly, on curry, I'm at the other end of the spectrum).

Horror and Comedy

I mention this because I'm interested between the interplay between Horror and Comedy. In some ways, they are very different genres and in others they are very similar. I thought it might be interesting to dig into this for a moment. (If it isn't interesting, here's a picture of a cat dressed as the pope).

The reason I'm nervous about mixing the genres is because they are trying to do totally separate things. Horror is trying to get you to jump in fear. Comedy is (or should be) trying to get you to laugh out loud.

Horror is giving you as little information as possible to keep you in suspense, wondering what's going to happen next. It's trying to confuse you and create mystery. Readers of this blog and my book will know I always say that confusion is the enemy of comedy. If an audience is confused, it can't laugh. One of the reasons I dislike horror, apart from the obvious, is the feeling of continually being confused and wrong-footed.

And yet, comedy relies on wrong-footing your audience. It involves giving them limited information, or sending them in one direction, before pulling them into another. Both are like magic, telling the audience to look in one place, before surprising them in another. Comedy and horror both rely on surprise. Except in horror, it's more of a shock, than a surprise. (I'm hoping to pick this up in a forthcoming book I'm writing on the ethics of comedy and jokes).

Do these similarities in construction mean that horror and comedy go well together? Or are they oil and water? At the moment, I'm not sure.

What It All Comes Down To

However, for me, the main problem with Homedy is not the mechanics, but the execution. It's the fact that the jokes and plotting often lean heavily on referencing specific horror films - films that I haven't seen and will almost certainly never see. This is where the League of Gentlemen began to lose me. To me, Series 1 is one of the funniest TV series that has ever been. It was out-and-out funny. (Remember: there was an audience laugh track.) But then the show drifted away from dark eccentricity and grotesque and closer and closer to horror, and I began to drift in the other direction.

There is nothing intrinsically funny about recreating a scene from a horror film in a comedy. I see this a lot in sitcom scripts that I sometimes get sent and have to script edit or provide notes. Quite often the writer has to perform implausible leaps to get to that spot, and then spend too long once they are there. And I have to ask the awkward question: What's the joke? Why is it funny that our regular characters are re-enacting a scene from The Shining (which I've not seen), The Omen (which I've not seen), or Poltergeist (not seen) or IT, Amityville, Last House on the Left or I Spit on Your Grave (also not seen, not seen, not seen and not seen). As I say, I like laughing. And sleeping well.


These things can be funny for a beat or a moment, but they are not, what I call, load-bearing jokes. Echoes of other genres are fine. Homage to classic film moments can be satisfying. But they're not actually funny. We had a couple of Casablanca references in one episode of Bluestone 42 which, I think, were jokes in their own right. But less is very much more on this.

The Paucity of Parody

Most comedy writers my age probably started out writing a sketch for their friends or colleagues that was a parody of Blind Date. Fifteen years later, it was all Big Brother Sketches. Then is was X-Factor sketches. These work fine but they are ultimately derivative. The format is clear so the jokes work well. And parody is a great place to start, but it's not aspirational comedically. And yet Comedy-Horror seems to be a genre in which lots of people seem to aspire to, and it is often little more than parody. This might be why I find it even more unsatisfactory.

But each to their own. I've no problem with people like horror. I don't understand the fascination or the appeal, but then I don't understand the appeal of horse-racing, ballet or fishing. But that's okay. It takes all sorts to make a world go round. Perhaps that's what Halloween really teaches us. (It doesn't. It really doesn't. But I needed a neat-sounding ending)

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If you want to know more about my rules for writing a sitcom, or your struggling with your script, get my book, Writing That Sitcom, which is available for the Kindle/Kindle App via Amazon.


If Amazon or Kindle is not your bag, it's also available as a bog-standard PDF here.


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


"first-hand information on what it's like to write for major British sitcoms and get your own one made." Amazon Review

Monday, 16 October 2017

Why Would You Even Bother With Studio Sitcom?

On a recent Sitcom Geeks podcast, Dave Cohen and I interviewed Pete Sinclair, who wrote Bad Move (right) with Jack Dee for ITV having previously written Lead Balloon together. Both of those shows are single camera shows, but Pete's previous sitcoms were both studio shows (Mr Charity and All Along the Watchtower).

In the podcast - and in a written interview on this blog here, here and here - Pete goes through just how difficult it is to make a studio sitcom work. There are so many factors to get wrong. And even if you have a great script, a fab cast and get it right 'on the night' of the studio recording, that is no guarantee that it will work on the small screen in people's living rooms.

I remember Paul Mayhew-Archer, a few years ago, telling the story of how Chalk ended up on TV - and how at the cast read-throughs and rehearsals, everyone just laughed and laughed and laughed. No-one had any idea how people would take against it - and it isn't clear why they did.

On the podcast, the story is told of how Steven Moffat, the writer of Chalk, was said to be so relieved when his next sitcom, Coupling, went down well since he was then confident that he would no longer go down in history as the clown who wrote Chalk.

It's so easy to get studio sitcom wrong. So why bother?

Good question. Especially given that you can achieve so much more with a single camera show.

The studio format can be so limiting. My show, Bluestone 42, could simply not have existed in a studio setting. And the pace of a single camera show can be so much faster. Look at Modern Family or 30 Rock for sheer rapidity of gags and development of story. And you can do achieve amazing or cute effects when you're no longer confined to a studio - like the Modern Family episode that is mostly all on FaceTime.

So the question remains. Why would even bother with a studio sitcom?

I only have one answer to that question:

People love them.

In the Past
Firstly, look at the Top Ten Sitcoms from the 2004 BBC Britain Best Sitcom poll. Blackadder, Fawlty Towers, The Good Life, Yes Minister, One Foot in the Grave, Porridge, Only Fools and Horses, Open All Hours, The Vicar of Dibley and Dad's Army. Not to mention the next ones on the list: Father Ted, Keeping Up Appearances, Allo Allo, Last of the Summer Wine, Steptoe and Son, Men Behaving Badly, Ab Fab and Red Dwarf.

ALL of theses are studio shows. And you have to wait 'til Number 19 before you get to the Royle Family. And then you're back to To The Manor Born, Some Mother's Do Ave Em, and The Likely Lads.

Not only are these shows classics, they are remembered fondly, they are still available and still enjoyed and watched on UK Gold, DVD and YouTube. Dad's Army is still repeated on BBC2 and outperforms every other sitcom on BBC2 and Channel 4 almost every single week.

From America
Let's not forget how TV schedules have been propped up by hours and hours of American studio comedy. I've noted before how Channel 4 often starts the day with Everyone Loves Raymond, King of Queens and Frasier. That's a lot of studio comedy. Why, then, would people say it's out of fashion? I simply can't see how that's true.

In the Present
There is no doubt that BBC's biggest comedy hitters are studio audience shows, mostly obviously Mrs Brown's Boys, along with Still Open All Hours. Citizen Khan also does very respectable numbers. You may not like these shows, or assume they are just shows for old people and families and assume studio shows aren't for the young. But quite often the most watched studio sitcom on TV is on E4. And it's Big Bang Theory.

Look at the data. Studio audience sitcoms tend to do better. And the highly acclaimed nuanced single-camera shows tend to do worse in the ratings - or delight smaller numbers of people. We live in a world when you can have both. So why not have both?

So why would even bother with a studio sitcom? People love them. They enjoy their broad brush strokes (ooh, there's another one, Brush Strokes) and the feel of togetherness you get from the style of comedy and the studio audience laughing along. We're all included.

Of course, if you don't like the show, the sound of laughter is irritating, but so what? You don't like it. Walk away. There is no need to decry the form. But people do, and I'm afraid Ben Elton's right about the snobbiness that is around about 'trying to make people laugh'. (And you can listen to our discussion of Ben Elton's Lecture right here!)

Stephen Moffat, a great sitcom writer, walked away from studio sitcoms (see also Joking Apart). Can you blame him?

-------------------

If you want to have a go at writing a sitcom, or your struggling with your script, get my book, Writing That Sitcom, which is available for the Kindle/Kindle App via Amazon.


If Amazon or Kindle is not your bag, it's also available as a bog-standard PDF here.


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


"first-hand information on what it's like to write for major British sitcoms and get your own one made." Amazon Review

Tuesday, 19 September 2017

The Sitcom Geeks Podcast

It's partly laziness and partly overwork that has caused me not to blog as often as I have in previous years. But the main factor is this: time I would have spent blogging has been also been spent podcasting.

Dave Cohen and I have been knocking out a Sitcom Geeks podcast every fortnight for the last couple of years which has proved to be a lot of fun. It's the kind of show you wish BBC Radio 4 Extra would do, but don't, mainly because it's just too geeky.

Dave and I are keen to do more, up the content and maybe the frequency of podcasts. To that end, we've started a Patreon page so that you can become a subscriber and access various extra goodies. Do go and have a look.

If you're new to the podcast, let me point you in the direction of some of our greatest hits to get your started in no particular order.

In Episodes 42 & 43 we get some proper comedy wisdom from a Jedi Grandmaster of Comedy, John Lloyd.

In Episodes 46 & 47, I go to Eric Chappell's house, yes, to his house and talk to him about his glorious sitcoms like Rising Damp, Only When I Laugh and Duty Free.

Episode 51 is a personal favourite of mine in which Dave and I talk with Tom Edge (Lovesick, The Crown, Strike) about working with producers. In this one, something just clicked.

Episode 57 is a deep dive into Ever Decreasing Circles with the super-writer super-fan, Jason Hazeley.

In Episode 50, we talk with more sitcom royalty, Marks & Gran (right) at a live event for the WGGB.

Episode 17 has some really useful tips on writing topical comedy with The Now Show & Dead Ringers creator, Bill Dare.

Not to mention interviews with Barry Cryer (right), Andy Riley & Kevin CecilIan Martin and David Tyler. That's probably enough to get your started.

They're all here - thanks to the guys at British Comedy Guide - and on iTunes. Do have a look, and a listen. And if you like what you hear, subscribe to the podcast via Patreon and we can push the show further and make it more useful, exciting and special.

Monday, 4 September 2017

3 Ways to Improve Your Sitcom Script On Your Own

So, you've written a script. You do improve it without input from others? Three ways leap to mind.

1. Put it in a Drawer

Some drawers.
This is a metaphor obviously. Who prints out scripts? But the idea is that you write the script and allow yourself some time away from it. Write another script. Do your taxes. Go on holiday. Allow yourself as much distance as you can between drafts so that you can maximum distance on that thing you wrote. The more of it you can forget the better. And then you can be surprised by some of the jokes and the twists. Or baffled by your plot leaps that made sense at the time, but this time, not so much.

2. Print It Out and Switch off Your Computer

This is not a metaphor. Who prints out scripts? You. Print out the script.

Why? I find that reading scripts on a screen can be very unsatisfactory, not least because the internet keeps popping up, poking you and tugging at your coat. An easy way to avoid that is to print out the script, turn off your computer or walk away from it. I know. Don't freak out. How do you make changes without a computer?

A pen
Keep calm. Just get out a thing called a pen and make notes on the script. You might think of better of jokes, spot errors, realise scenes don't make sense or spot that a whole scene it boring or unnecessary.

The other reason I like to do this is because reading a script on your screen might encourage you to start making changes before you're ready. It's better to read the whole script through - ideally a couple of times - so that you can get a sense of the whole thing and whether or not it works overall.

3. Summarise Your Script

Write a summary of your script, that's scene by scene or page by page. This is a new one for me. I thought I'd try it the other day and it really helped. You may well have written an outline before writing your script. But scripts don't always follow outlines. That can be a mixed blessing. So throw away that outline (metaphorically) - and write a new one based on the script you have actually written.

I find this helps me to get to the end of the script without trying to make too many changes and helps me see it as a whole. So make a note of the scenes, and how long they are. Summarise what happens in each scene. Key jokes and moments. Where are the turning points?

Doing this, you might spot that the key moments come too close together, or too close to the end. Or don't even come at all! You might discover that nothing really happens until page 12. It really needs to happen on page 4. You might discover one character vanished for 20 pages. Fix that. You might need to make some cuts. Or you might need to jiggle things around. Or a bit of both. The structural problems should become obvious. Or at least more obvious.

I'm about to do 2 and 3 to a script right now. (Be Lucky for BBC Radio Wales, since you ask). I wonder what I'll find?

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: 


"Straight talking, supportive but never patronising, and clearly the work of one who actually knows." Amazon Review