I was talking to some comedy writers last night - and we were thinking about why we liked BBC4 so much - the comedy, the documentaries and everything else. We thought it might be because the budgets are so small that anyone making a show isn't doing it for the money, but for the sheer love of it. People with passion are making TV they are passionate about, and figuring out a way of putting it on the screen. Their documentaries are superb for that reason - full of content, and people telling you stuff, rather than atmos, filler and 'coming up later, I'll be telling you about something juicy'.
And think about BBC4's sitcom output for a moment: The Thick of It, Lead Balloon, Getting On, The Great Outdoors. Throw in Screenwipe, We Need Answers and the delightful Diary of a Nobody, The Alan Clarke Diaries and Micromen it's rapidly looking like BBC4 is the HBO of British television. Has BBC4 had any out-and-out comedy failures? There were some shows that weren't to my personal taste, but there has been nothing out there that's really been bad, has there?
BBC4: The HBO of Britain. I salute you. (And it is really true your comedy budget has now been slashed to zero? Clever. With no budget at all, the quality should go through the roof!)
Showing posts with label The Great Outdoors. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Great Outdoors. Show all posts
Friday, 10 September 2010
Tuesday, 24 August 2010
Do People Really Talk Like That?
It's a question worth asking yourself all the time as you write. Do people really talk like that? There are plenty of moments where, if you're honest with yourself, someone has only really said something in a certain way in order to provide the set-up for a joke.
A stand-out example of this for me was the much un-loved Frank Skinner sit-com Shane. I watched an episode a year or so ago and rather enjoyed it. The only bit that diminished my enjoyment was that Frank Skinner had almost all of the jokes and that everyone else had feed-lines. On top of this, the feed lines didn't always sound right or natural, which telegraphed the fact that a joke was on the way and therefore spoiled the joke (and also made one aware that the whole programme is a conceit, which is not something you want to remind your audience of). Sometimes it's hard to avoid a clunky set-up line, especially when the joke you have in mind is a real cracker. But the skill of the writer is to make the dialogue sound real, or natural, or at least real enough.
When The Office came out, the critics and the industry went wild. Here was 'real' dialogue. This is true. The dialogue did sound real (although let's not forget that the character add times spoke directly to camera, in a documentary, and the they played fairly fast and loose with the docu-format).
The Office was truly brilliant as a non-audience show. (Critics then, bless them, returned to studio sitcoms and slammed them for being contrived or fake or silly, when, as I often say on this blog, the audience do realise it's a contrivance and they're okay with that). The Office, though, had an effect though on other writers, who wanted to write dialogue like the dialogue in The Office, and number of other shows, mostly forgotten, came and went that focussed on awkward silences and ennui. Spaced was another groundbreaking show that inspired another generation of writers, and created 'a way of talking'. Let's not forget Peep Show and The Thick of It.
Likewise, monstrously successful shows like Friends, Frasier and Seinfeld have almost created a 'way of talking' that really trips of the tongue and gives a show a feeling of pace. This is fine - if you're an American writer and writing for American audiences. But sometimes this kind of wise-cracking talking finds it way into British comedy.
The reason I mention this is because one or two shows recently - and the odd movie - have felt very unreal to me because of the dialogue and 'way of talking'. It's as if the writers were writing a show that were designed to sound like other shows. It's impossible to tell whether this is intentional - either because the writer in question is writing that way because he/she thinks the audience will like it, or because he/they likes it and it sounds good, or because he/we don't realise we're doing it.
The example that made me shout at my television the most was a movie on TV called Frequently Asked Questions about Time Travel - directed by a good comedy director and had funny actors in it. But it felt like the script was half-way between Hitchhikers and Hot Fuzz. That sounds like a good place to be - but it was just that and only that. It was only influences. I didn't believe any of the characters, or the set-up - and this was highlighted by the fact that people in real life just don't talk like that. What's more, the Hot Fuzz area is dangerous because it is a movie heavily influenced by other movies.
Screenwriters need to know how real people talk and write concise and characterful dialogue in that style. If you spend your life watching movies and TV, and TV influenced by movies, and movies influenced by TV, you'll end up trapped in an unreal life that doesn't connect with reality. Decent writing is about truth. If there's no ring of truth - in situation, character or dialogue - it's just someone talking cliche's or secondhand speech. If you're doing that, stop writing now and get a part-time job, get married and have a child, go into politics or just do something that isn't about TV.
Grandma's House, Roger and Val Have Just Got In, The Great Outdoors, - three brand new BBC comedies inexplicably premiered over July/August - do not fall into this trap, I'm pleased to say. Nor did Rev earlier this summer. In all those programmes, the characters feel real - like they are based on truth, not based on something based on truth. And truth, not wisecracks or contrived 'sexual chemistry', ultimately, is what keeps people watching.
A stand-out example of this for me was the much un-loved Frank Skinner sit-com Shane. I watched an episode a year or so ago and rather enjoyed it. The only bit that diminished my enjoyment was that Frank Skinner had almost all of the jokes and that everyone else had feed-lines. On top of this, the feed lines didn't always sound right or natural, which telegraphed the fact that a joke was on the way and therefore spoiled the joke (and also made one aware that the whole programme is a conceit, which is not something you want to remind your audience of). Sometimes it's hard to avoid a clunky set-up line, especially when the joke you have in mind is a real cracker. But the skill of the writer is to make the dialogue sound real, or natural, or at least real enough.
When The Office came out, the critics and the industry went wild. Here was 'real' dialogue. This is true. The dialogue did sound real (although let's not forget that the character add times spoke directly to camera, in a documentary, and the they played fairly fast and loose with the docu-format).
The Office was truly brilliant as a non-audience show. (Critics then, bless them, returned to studio sitcoms and slammed them for being contrived or fake or silly, when, as I often say on this blog, the audience do realise it's a contrivance and they're okay with that). The Office, though, had an effect though on other writers, who wanted to write dialogue like the dialogue in The Office, and number of other shows, mostly forgotten, came and went that focussed on awkward silences and ennui. Spaced was another groundbreaking show that inspired another generation of writers, and created 'a way of talking'. Let's not forget Peep Show and The Thick of It.
Likewise, monstrously successful shows like Friends, Frasier and Seinfeld have almost created a 'way of talking' that really trips of the tongue and gives a show a feeling of pace. This is fine - if you're an American writer and writing for American audiences. But sometimes this kind of wise-cracking talking finds it way into British comedy.
The reason I mention this is because one or two shows recently - and the odd movie - have felt very unreal to me because of the dialogue and 'way of talking'. It's as if the writers were writing a show that were designed to sound like other shows. It's impossible to tell whether this is intentional - either because the writer in question is writing that way because he/she thinks the audience will like it, or because he/they likes it and it sounds good, or because he/we don't realise we're doing it.
The example that made me shout at my television the most was a movie on TV called Frequently Asked Questions about Time Travel - directed by a good comedy director and had funny actors in it. But it felt like the script was half-way between Hitchhikers and Hot Fuzz. That sounds like a good place to be - but it was just that and only that. It was only influences. I didn't believe any of the characters, or the set-up - and this was highlighted by the fact that people in real life just don't talk like that. What's more, the Hot Fuzz area is dangerous because it is a movie heavily influenced by other movies.
Screenwriters need to know how real people talk and write concise and characterful dialogue in that style. If you spend your life watching movies and TV, and TV influenced by movies, and movies influenced by TV, you'll end up trapped in an unreal life that doesn't connect with reality. Decent writing is about truth. If there's no ring of truth - in situation, character or dialogue - it's just someone talking cliche's or secondhand speech. If you're doing that, stop writing now and get a part-time job, get married and have a child, go into politics or just do something that isn't about TV.
Grandma's House, Roger and Val Have Just Got In, The Great Outdoors, - three brand new BBC comedies inexplicably premiered over July/August - do not fall into this trap, I'm pleased to say. Nor did Rev earlier this summer. In all those programmes, the characters feel real - like they are based on truth, not based on something based on truth. And truth, not wisecracks or contrived 'sexual chemistry', ultimately, is what keeps people watching.
Friday, 6 August 2010
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.
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.
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