It sounds like the step up to a joke, doesn't it? Ask three different people and you'll get three different answers. But this stuff really matters if you're trying to write one and don't know how to get the tone and balance right.
I made a short YouTube video about this if you want to have look. It's only a few minutes long:
In fact, worrying about the tone and the balance of comedy with the drama are a bit of a red herring. What you're really looking for is clarity. What is the show? Do you know what it is? I unpack all of this in a 40 minute seminar called 'So What Is a Comedy Drama?' which you can watch as many times as you like for free. Go here for access to it. I hope it helps.
Previously on this blog (and my Youtube Channel), we’ve looked at 5 Mistakes In The First Ten Pages Of Your Sitcom Script. But I’ve thought of a sixth – and it partly comes from the previous post, What Makes A Truly Great Sitcom?
Here’s the mistake and then I’ll explain it. It’s this.
Mistake #6
You’re writing Fan Fiction. Not a sitcom. You’re writing fan fiction, not a sitcom.
What I mean by that is this: You love sitcoms. You loved watching them growing up as a kid. You watch them now. New ones. Old ones. Classics. And the ones that don’t work but still have a charm to them (like Paris or Nathan Barley). And you want to write them. Why wouldn’t you?
You’re basically in love with the form, and so you try to create your own. This is where a lot of people start, and I did this. In fact, fan fiction is technically writing something from an existing universe. So if you’re writing Harry potter short stories, that’s fan fiction. You can’t make money off it, but people do it.
In fact, when I was about 18, I wrote a fan fiction episode of Blackadder, except it was set during the Norman Conquest, and Baldrick managed to shoot Harold in the eye at the Battle of Hastings. I know great idea. (I now realise its basically the same as first episode of the original Blackadder series at the Battle of Bosworth.) I loved the show and I wanted to have a go.
This 'fan fiction' is not to be confused with the 'spec script' which, to be honest, is an American phenomenon and isn't such a thing any more. That’s where you show your credentials as a writer. It is writing an episode of an existing show to prove that you can write in someone else’s style or voice and that you are able to join a team or table of writers on sitcom.
In a way, it's a good exercise, because you’re taking proven characters in a proven situation and trying to make it work with a new story. It’s like riding a bike with stabilisers. All fine.
But it may be that you love sitcoms, you want to create your own. You want to be a sitcom writer. And you’ve come up with a situation that feels original, with some characters, and you’ve got some stories and some jokes. Now that’s all fine. You’ve assembled something that looks like a sitcom.
The problem comes when you send it off to producers and enter it into competitions. And it’s not getting anywhere. No-one’s interested. And you can’t figure why. In your mind, it looks exactly like the shows you see on TV. In fact, you think it’s better than some of the shows you see on TV. It's all very frustrating.
But what you’ve got there, and often becomes obvious in the first ten pages, is fan fiction. Not a sitcom script. It’s a love letter to the art of sitcom. But it’s not actually a sitcom in it’s own right.
Truly Great Sitcoms have a timeliness about them. Or they’re about something timeless. They’re about a particular kind of relationship expressed in a new way. Or they’re about a new situation that’s arisen in society, or a character we’ve not seen before but feels of the moment.
In short, any sitcom needs a reason to exist.
You can’t speak a sitcom into existence by saying here are some characters and a situation. Here’s a plot and are some jokes.
Worked Example
If I asked you what your script is about, you might say it’s about a car mechanic. And you point to the three guys in boiler suits, the tow truck, the receptionist and the MOT inspector. The plot is based on the realisation that a spanner has been left in a car and that car is now a death trap and they have to get if off the road without admitting they made a massive mistake.
Problem: That’s a sitcom and a plot that could have been in any sitcom about car mechanics for the last 60 years. It’s not enough. That's fan fiction. Why are you writing this show now?
So here would be my question: what your car mechanic sitcom really about? The answer should not be car-based. Car's are a symbol or metaphor. (The Top Gear of the Clarkson was not about cars, but freedom)
So what is your sitcom really about?
Is it a show about father and two sons, and he can’t decide who should be in charge when he retires? It’s not great but it’s a start.
It is about a guy who’s told old for cars because essentially, they require laptops and code to reprogramme these days and that’s a whole new ball game. The aging mechanic is in denial about it and he won’t listen to his daughter who is trying to modernise the business.
Is it about a woman who’s great at fixing cars but no-one will take her seriously, even a world where she thought equality had been settled?
Is it about a guy who fixes classic cars, who doesn’t want to live in the modern world because he doesn’t want to face up to some awful truth about the world and himself?
That’s the kind of thing you show should be about. (one of them. Be specific)
And do you know what? If your script has a really strong and clear reason to exist, a clear viewpoint, if it feels of the moment, the person reading that script will probably forgive mistakes 1-5 and might well get in touch. There's an awful lot of sitcom fan fiction about.
So look at your script and ask what’s it really about? And you need a really good answer.
If you don’t have one, you’re just writing fan fiction. Which is okay. It’s good to get it out of your system. You've done the exercises. You've gotten used to characters, situations, writing dialogue and all that. But you probably need to start again. In which case, I’ve got a video course for you which arrives on 7th January 2021.
If you're reading this blog, you may well be trying to write a sitcom?
Why?
Probably because you love sitcoms. There were some you loved growing up, then you found other shows and loved those. And there’s something that sets the format apart from dramas, murder mysteries and movies.
You’re wanting to write a sitcom as good as the great ones you watched. That’s the aim. The gold standard. That’s certainly the case for me. I was hooked by shows like Blackadder, BBC used to show Bilko (The Phil Silvers Show - much loved in the UK, much forgotten in the US), and then M*A*S*H, others shows like Rising Damp and Only When I Laugh, and then I discovered Yes Prime Minister, which is my favourite British show. And by favourite American show is probably Seinfeld, even though, like all Comedy writers my age or older, I love the Larry Sanders Show.
Obviously, I set out to make shows that good. If you’re in this too make money, you’re in the wrong game. The odds are not in your favour. You’ve got to be in it because you love the form and you have something to say.
So here’s a question that’s worth considering:
What makes a truly great sitcom?
This is a different question from what you need to make a good sitcom? Or what are the key ingredients? The answers to most questions like that is normally 'characters'. They are what draw you into a sitcom. The idea or setting might grab your attention. The plots are need to feel fresh and original, sure, but they are only really the ways in which your characters express themselves. Maybe you’ve read Story by McKee, or at least we feel like we have.
But story and character are not enough. The show needs a reason to exist NOW.
In fact, this moment is in an episode of Seinfeld when Jerry and George are pitching a sitcom to NBC (see it over on Youtube HERE) and the studio executive says ‘Why am I watching it?’. George says ‘Because it’s on TV.’ To which the exec says ‘not yet.’
The show needs a reason to exist. In that case with in Seinfeld, the reason was Jerry was a rising comedy star so that’s why he was pitching (and his friend George was ruining it). In real life, that might apply to Bill Burr, Melissa McCarthy, James Acaster – and you get sitcoms that do fine that come from comedians you’ve seen on panel games.
If you’re not a comedian who appears on panel games and chat shows, if you’re a writer starting out, if you don’t have a Youtube Channel with a million subscribers (which still wouldn’t be enough), if you don’t have a Twitter hander with a million followers, you need to write a pilot script for a sitcom that has to have a reason to exist now. It’s all about timing.
The Secret of Comedy
We all know the secret of comedy is timing. But it's not just the timing of the joke, but the timing of the show. When does it comes out? Is it riding a wave, or predicting the future in a believable or satirical way? Shows like The Day Today felt like the creators had seen the future, or at least where we were headed. It was like now only more so. This was the direction of travel of news. And they weren't far wrong. It felt perfectly of the moment. It was a truly great show, albeit not a sitcom.
The New Statesman is an example of a sitcom that was truly of the moment, satirically pushing Thatcherism to it's ultimate conclusion via the grotesquely evil and wonderfully named Alan B'Stard played by a comedy actor who was also of the moments. The planets aligned.
Timeliness
But timing is difficult. The experienced pros can get it wrong. Look at Nathan Barley which felt like it had missed the boat. The man behind (and in front of) The Day Today, along with the consistently brilliant Charlie Brooker, served up a sitcom that felt like its moment had already passed. It came out in 2005. It felt like we had all noticed this mad world of new media was filled with lightweights and airheads. The dotcom bubble had burst a few years earlier.
I was rather puzzled when I watched the show, expecting something more prophetic. If the show had launched in 1998, it would have been truly ahead of the curve and hit its stride when the bubble was burstying.
That said, I rewatched some episodes recently and found it funny, as it was a time capsule in it's own way. It's so entrenched in a time and place that 15-20 years on you don't worry about five years this way or that way. (The Goldbergs certainly don't!) You just remember a decade and think "yep. That's how it was. Or at least how it seemed".
It's one reasons why the broadcasters should make more historical comedies. They don't date. We still love Blackadder. Dad's Army still dominates the BBC2 comedy ratings. Maybe we should all take another look at the French and Saunders sitcom Let Them Eat Cake.
So there's something timely about a show that makes it great.
The Thick of It was a very timely show. There was a freshness to it which showed how we did politics then (and now) in a state of panic and terror and a media that sees and reports everything. It was well written and craft, with brilliant monstrous characters along with some jaw-dropping lines. One or two clips still give me a rush, like the time Malcom Tucker pushes back at the Goulding Inquiry and refuses to accept that he is the bad guy. And his scene with Olly, trying to talk about Star Wars, is just amazing. It's a great show. I watched every episode. It has all of the key ingredients. Including timing. It was timely. It was of the moment.
Timely is good.
Being Timeless
The only thing that could be better is being timeless, which is why there is a show I prefer to The Thick of It. My favourite sitcom of all time, Yes, Prime Minster. It's the Rolls Royce of sitcoms. Not only is it engineering perfection, but it feels like it's never out of date. Each episode is about an issue of contemporary life or public policy which is then examined from both sides in a measured and considerate way, by two wonderful characters played by brilliant actors whose lines are not only perfection but very very funny.
It's up there with the very best of Oscar Wilde and GK Chesterton. It's stuff people will still be quoting in a hundred years time. It's timeless. And truly truly great.
There is only one thing better than being timely and timeless. It is this:
Being Timely and Timeless
Of course, some shows aren't just timely or timeless. Somehow, they are both. And maybe that's why the platinum-sitcom in the UK remains Only Fools and Horses. It was, in its pomp, the ultimate sitcom in reflecting its time – and our story as a nation. Del Boy's journey from scrapping borderline criminal market trader dealing in probably stolen goods to wannabe yuppie. It was exactly of its time.
Even Rodney's journey from trading sidekick to computer programmer said something about the times.
But the whole show was about a family scrapping to survive. What could be more universal and timeless about that? Which is why it’s never off our screens, the Christmas special did huge business, it came back for some ill-advised new episodes, and it went on stage at the West End. People can't get enough of it. Because it's truly great.
This is what we’re aiming for in our sitcom scripts. Something either timely, or timeless or both. But this is, of course, easier said than done.
I say all over the above on my YouTube channel called The Situation Room.
And from 7th January 2020, my video course will take you through the whole process from beginning to end.
There's a cooking term I've always enjoyed the sound of. It's the phrase 'A rolling boiling'. You'd probably have something on a rolling boil if you're making some kind of sauce, or reducing a stock.
Quite often I read scripts that feel like a rolling boil. But this isn't usually a good thing. Maybe lots of things are about the script are good. It might feel like an original situation with good characters that have comic perspectives and they say jokes. And each scene contains events.
But you get to page 10 and you don't get a sense that anything is actually building.
By the time you get to page 20, you're still enjoying the script and jokes, but it doesn't look like it's going to boil over into calamity or chaos any time soon.
Then you hit page thirty and it all wraps up. Or at least, someone turns off the heat. Or, worse, the heat was turned off on Page 20 and the whole thing is starting to cool down.
I think I've pushed that rolling boil metaphor as far as it can go. Sorry about that.
A sitcom needs to be a series of dramatic and emotional peaks and troughs. But even that's not enough. They need to lead from one scene to the next. From one beat to the next beat. We don't want scenes ending with equilibrium being restored. You want to do that over the course of your script, but each scene needs to fit into that overall structure.
Imagine our opening scene in which our hero is trying to fix her car. If, by the end of that first scene, the car is fixed, and she drives off, there's no real drama or story there. It might be a lovely well-written scene with jokes and character, but it's the beginning of a story. It's not a vignette. Or shouldn't be. If she is able to fix the car for now, so that it runs, and but knows she needs it looked at - ideally by her dad, but she can't bear to ask him because he'll want something in return - now we have a story.
Mistake 5: You’re writing a series of vignettes, not a sitcom.
So, have you written a sitcom script? Or is it a series of sketches, or scenes? It needs to be more than the sum total of the parts. Each scene should end with a clear action point for the characters, an altered quest or a new hurdle to overcome. The rolling boil won't give you enough heat. There needs to be slightly too much heat, so the whole pot will boil over, and then we'll really see what our characters are made of, and it should be very funny.
----------------
Have you written a sitcom script? Would you like me to have a look and give you some notes? That can be arranged.
Or 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
I was asked this question the other day. (Actually it was on the private Facebook group for Patreon Subscribers for Sitcom Geeks. One of the perks of supporting the podcast)
What makes a truly great sitcom?
This is a different question from what you need to make a good sitcom? Or what are the key ingredients? The answers to most questions like that is normally 'characters'. They are what draw you into a sitcom. The idea might grab your attention. The plots are need to feel fresh and original, sure, but they are only really the ways in which your characters express themselves. We've all read Story by McKee, or at least we feel like we have. But story and character are not enough.
Three Questions
When I talk to new writers these days, I ask three questions. Why you? Why this? And why now? The first two questions are about why you, the writer, feel qualified to write about this idea. Do you have experience or passion? What have you insight do you have into this world of techies or surgeons or millennials? And can you execute a script accordingly? But that 'why now' question is easily missed. And I think it's the secret sauce here.
We all know the secret of comedy is timing. But it's not just the timing of the joke, but the timing of the show. When does it comes out? Is it riding a wave, or predicting the future in a believable or satirical way? Shows like The Day Today felt like the creators had seen the future, or at least where we were headed. It was like now only more so. This was the direction of travel of news. And they weren't far wrong. It felt perfectly of the moment. It was a truly great show, but not a sitcom.
The New Statesman is an example of a sitcom that was truly of the moment, satirically pushing Thatcherism to it's ultimate conclusion via the grotesquely evil and wonderfully name Alan B'Stard.
But timing is difficult. I never quite understood why Nathan Barley felt like it had missed the boat. The man behind (and in front) of The Day Today, along with the consistently brilliant Charlie Brooker, served up a sitcom that felt like its moment had already passed. It came out in 2005. It felt like we had all noticed this mad world of new media was filled with lightweights and airheads. The dotcom bubble had burst a few years earlier. I was rather puzzled when I watched the show, expecting something more prophetic. If the show had launched in 1998, it would have been truly ahead of the curve.
That said, I rewatched some episodes recently and found it funny, as it was a time capsule in it's own way. It's so entrenched in a time and place that 15-20 years on you don't worry about five years this way or that way. (The Goldbergs certainly don't!) You just remember a decade and think "yep. That's how it was. Or at least how it seemed".
It's one reasons why the BBC should make more historical comedies. They don't date. We still love Blackadder. Dad's Army still dominates the BBC2 comedy ratings. Maybe we should all take another look at Let Them Eat Cake.
Being Timely
So there's something timely about a show that makes it great. The Thick of It was a very timely show. There was a freshness to it which showed how we did politics then (and now). It was well written and craft, with brilliant monstrous characters along with some jaw-dropping lines. One or two clips still give me a rush, like the time Malcom Tucker pushes back at the Goulding Inquiry and refuses to accept that he is the bad guy. And his scene with Olly, trying to talk about Star Wars, is just amazing. It's a great show. I watched every episode. It has all of the key ingredients. Including timing. It was timely. It was of the moment.
Timely is good. The only thing that could be better is being timeless.
Being Timeless
Step forward my favourite sitcom of all time, Yes Prime Minster. It's the Rolls Royce of sitcoms. Not only is it engineering perfection, but it feels like it's never out of date. Each episode is about an issue of contemporary life or public policy which is then examined from both sides in a measured and considerate way, by two wonderful characters played by brilliant actors who's lines are not only perfection but very very funny. It's up there with the very best of Oscar Wilde and GK Chesterton. It's stuff people will still be quoting in a hundred years time. It's timeless. And truly great.
Being Timely and Timeless
Of course, some shows aren't just timely or timeless. Somehow, they are both. And maybe that's why the platinum-sitcom in the UK remains Only Fools and Horses. It was, in its pomp, the ultimate sitcom in reflecting its time. Del Boy's journey from scrapping market trader to wannabe yuppie was exactly of it's time. Even Rodney's journey from trading sidekick to computer programmer said something about the times. But the whole show was about a family scrapping to survive. What could be more universal and timeless about that? Which is why it's back again in the West End. People can't get enough of it. Because it's truly great.
I remember listening to an episode of Friends from another room. I couldn’t hear the dialogue. All I could hear was the audience laughter, and how frighteningly regular it was. It seemed every other line was getting a laugh. The metronomic frequency of those laughs is an astonishing achievement, given the writers are weaving story and character on top together at the same time.
But it’s easy to think about this the wrong way. I just did at the end of that last paragraph. I set up story and character as enemies of jokes, as if characters just say funny things regardless of situation or context. No, the context and the characters give you the jokes. Static characters that don’t move or have quests are merely spouting jokes. This can sustain for a while but only if the jokes are really funny.
Insert Name Here is a properly funny panel game
Panel games do this. Half a dozen people are rooted to chairs being asked questions or set challenges. There are different rounds to give some variation – and normally there’s a clever one (Stephen Fry or Richard Osman) and a less clever one (Alan Davies, Josh Widdicombe). And even those are artificial personae to some extent. Alan Davies is no fool!
They normally record panel games for two and a half hours, and only very best is selected and broadcast. The show is assembled in the edit.
You can’t do this in a sitcom. You can’t afford to shoot even 50 minutes and put it together in the edit for a number of reasons. Firstly, you don’t have the luxury of paying dozens of people thousands of pounds to produce television that’s going to be cut. There just isn’t that much money in the system, especially when you have a timeslot to fill.
Sure, you can shoot a movie thinking it’s going to be two hours. In the edit, you may discover it’s better at ninety minutes (most movies are). No-one really cares about the final running time because that money has been spent, and the cinema chains aren’t bothered if the movie runs at 87 minutes or 140 minutes. (The movie that is 87 minutes will probably be better, especially if it’s a comedy. Yes, I know, The Godfather blah blah blah.).
In TV, you have a slot to fill and you have to deliver the show to the right length, not just once but six, ten or 24 times over. And you can't afford to over shoot by ten minutes 24 times. That's four hours of television that's going in the bin without seeing the light of day.
Mistake 4: You’re writing a panel game, not a sitcom.
It’s not just about time and money (although there’s never enough of either, especially in a studio sitcom which I write about here, here and here). The other issue is storytelling. If you're writing and shooting long, your episode won’t make sense at 28 minutes. If the show is plotted properly the show should almost be uneditable as stories relate to each other, running jokes are established and the final third pays of the first two acts of set-up. You’re only recording 32 minutes if you’re filming in front of an audience. Maybe 34 if you’re shooting single camera. It has to be tight. Ask Jerry Seinfeld.
Remember, you’re trying to write a sitcom, not a panel game. You need to tell a story with a beginning and a middle and end. Get on with it. Be clear about who the story is about and what their goals are. The jokes then come as a result of that.
The mistake that is often made is that the first ten pages of a script are filled with jokes – essentially banter – and no story or character. This won’t do. Jokes without a context don’t really sustain or build momentum. You only need one joke that misfires and the atmosphere dips and the audience (and cast if you get that far) start to panic. Essentially, we’ve all looked down and seen we’ve run out of bridge and we’re all standing on thin air. We will fall to the ground like Wile E Coyote.
Make sure your characters have quests and attitudes, and trust that the comedy will come from that, rather than a string of one-liners and zingers, that often feel like they’re borrowed from other sitcoms anyway. (Side note, if you see any of the lines from your script on this list, delete and replace at once).
Next time, Mistake 5.
-------
Have you written a sitcom script? Would you like me to have a look and give you some notes? That can be arranged.
Or 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
In a sitcom script, especially the pilot, you’re trying to focus the audience’s attention on your lead characters. We don’t want the audience worrying about who the story is really about. Of course, if you call the show Miranda, and there’s a character called Miranda, then the name of the show and opening titles are doing a lot of heavily lifting for you. Same goes for Veep or My Name is Earl. It’s about the Vice President. Go it. It’s about Earl. Right.
So far, so clear. But even here it’s easy to slip up as you make mistake number 3 where it turns out that:
You’re Basically Writing A CV, Not a Sitcom
The temptation is always to focus on who the main characters are, where they are and where they have come from. Some of that detail is useful. But it’s a lot less important and compelling than who they want to be and where they want to go. The desires and dreams of your characters will probably tell you a lot more about their personality than their past. And their present situation will be obvious to see from their surroundings and their status clear from the way people interact with them.
If your character is a wannabe philosopher-poet, great. Let’s see them trying it out, and let’s see their flat or the work colleagues demonstrate how likely that goal is to be attained. Maybe they already think they are a philosopher-poet and the world is all wrong. Even better. What we don’t need to know is what GCSEs they got and what they’ve been doing for the last ten years, unless it’s strictly relevant to the plot going forward.
What did Captain Blackadder do before he ended up in the trenches of World War 1? We hear one tale of how he saved the future Field Marshall at the Battle of Mboto Gorge, but that’s about it. How did Alan B’Stard come into being? We don’t really care. We just know that he exists, that he rings true and that he is only interested in using the fig leaf of Thatcherism to promote himself.
Why is Edina a grown-up child? What as the Vicar of Dibley doing before she was even allowed to be a vicar? Why is Father Ted on Craggy Island? Who knows? Maybe we find out in Series 4 when writers are casting around for anything to spark a new plot. But what we don’t need is some sort of list of achievements (and failures) of the characters up until the time we're encountering them.
Your character needs a goal. We don’t need to know where they’ve come from, just where they’re going. Or at least, where they’re truly longing to be. Everything they do and say will be subsumed by that uber-goal. All their mini quests are taking steps along that road, even though they always end up back at the beginning.
So we’re not writing a Movie, a Murder Mystery or a CV. You’re writing a sitcom. So here’s something else to bear in mind:
Is it funny? If not, be funny!
But there a pitfalls to that. Welcome to the fourth way of falling off the horse. You’re galloping along, the horse pulls up and over you go. Not quite sure how that fits into this metaphor from the last two posts, but I just wanted to prove there are four sides you can fall off a horse. We’ll look at that in the next post.
