by Tim Ferguson
While many knowledge-differential-based stories run on negative emotions (as in the example above), positive emotions can cause just as much single-minded obsession. Consider the flipside of the scenario above. What if Bob is convinced that Barbara is planning a surprise party for him, but in fact she is planning to kill her useless husband? Her scheming with Deborah, her knife-sharpening and petrol-purchasing as she prepares to murder her husband can all be misinterpreted by the lovesick Bob. ‘She’s planning me a surprise barbeque!’ (This of course has story ramifications that, in an ongoing series, are probably impossible to reconcile, but let’s leave that aside.)
Handled well, obsession-based knowledge differentials can lead a character to cling to their misapprehension even when other characters, fully aware of the situation, actively try to persuade him of the truth. For example, a man who believes his female workmate is hiding her love for him may distort anything she says or does to fit the picture in his mind. She slaps him? She’s playing hard-to-get. She says ‘I hate your guts’ and puts him on a harassment charge? She’s playing very hard-to-get. She sleeps with his best friend? She’s trying to make him jealous …
The complications stemming from a simple misapprehension can lead to the most outrageous or uncharacteristic behaviour.
Knowledge differentials are often the main ingredient of a sitcom’s main or ‘A’ story. (Subplots are often referred to as ‘B’ and ‘C’ stories.) Once the misunderstanding is established, most of the episode is spent increasing the ‘evidence’ that seems to support it, forcing or enticing that character into increasingly drastic action. Finally, the character is exposed or forced to confess their understanding of the events so far. The other characters reveal the truth, apologies are made or butts kicked, and the episode ends.
A knowledge-differential story may also involve a character realising that a misunderstanding has occurred and exploiting the situation rather than clarifying it. In Three’s Company, the three housemates become convinced their depressed landlord, Mr Furley is suicidal when he’s overheard asking someone on the phone whether ‘gas is quicker … and painless’. While they do their best to cheer Mr Furley up with massages, Aspirin and pep-talks, Furley doesn’t think to mention that he was in fact speaking to his dentist about a tooth removal. Once the crafty Mr Furley overhears the housemates discussing his impending suicide, he decides to exploit their kindness and fakes an even deeper depression. This sends the housemates into a frenzy of spoiling Mr Furley. Once they discover the truth, they decide to turn the tables and … well, you get the idea (‘The Goodbye Guy’ by Howard Albrecht and Sol Weinstein).
In building a story based on a knowledge differential, you’ll save time if you explore all plot permutations at the treatment stage, particularly if you plan to shift the differential during the story (as in Mr Furley’s case, above). Starting with a solid plan allows you to commence work on the script itself in the confidence that you won’t be retracing your steps when some enticing plot idea doesn’t work out. (Of course, if, despite careful planning, a better idea occurs to you while scripting, see it through. But exhausting most possibilities before you’ve begun keeps these seismic Eureka moments to a minimum, and your schedule on track.)
Chapter Six:
Humour and Story
Gags die. Humour doesn’t.
—Jack Benny
The driving force behind narrative comedy is character. Comedy deriving from character underpins all of the gag principles detailed in this chapter.
American playwright Neil Simon boasted that he wrote his comedies without ever writing one joke. Without starting a debate about his definition of a ‘joke’, Neil Simon’s comedies rely for their humour on the antics of his characters rather than straight-up, self-contained gags.
Often, a character has only to act in accordance with their nature to get a laugh. For example, David Brent in The Office is a character well-known for his hypocrisy. When Brent discovers a pornographic picture with his face pasted onto one of the participants, he roundly condemns the pornographic images that have been discovered in the office. He downloads porn photos to show his boss how easy it is to access such images. But then he’s distracted by the images and, as he continues condemning porn to his boss, views them with fascination (‘Work Experience’ by Ricky Gervais and Stephen Merchant).
This hypocritical behaviour is what the audience has come to expect from Brent and it provokes a cringing laugh. While the humour in this instance is a negation, there is no ‘gag’, no punchline or climax that culminates the negation. Instead, the entire scene is the joke, provoking laughter throughout. Brent acts in accordance with his nature. It’s the phenomenon of Brent that makes us laugh more than any particular joke he unknowingly provides.
Character gags aren’t all at the expense of their subject. In many cases, characters we love exhibit benign qualities that provoke affectionate laughs. Clownish characters like Chrissy in Three’s Company, Betty in Hey Dad..! and ‘Woody’ Boyd in Cheers are all over-endowed with friendly innocence. They are adults with a childlike view of the world, a contradiction that is bound to provoke laughter. They don’t need to provide a gag per se; their gullibility, naivety and general lack of life experience create the humour.
Benign qualities can cause as much trouble as malign ones. Clownish characters often fail to understand the jokes of others and misunderstand basic situations and concepts, (e.g. when Woody first arrives at Cheers, he expects to meet his pen-pal, Coach, with whom he’s been exchanging pens). Even such minor misunderstandings, although sweet, can lead to dire consequences.
All comic situations should arise from characters acting in accordance with their natures (see Chapter Five, ‘Creating an Episode’). Larry David (playing himself) in Curb Your Enthusiasm is a deeply flawed comic character with a petty streak. In ‘The Corpse-Sniffing Dog’ (by Larry David), he quibbles over whether he should thank a friend’s wife for the dinner that the friend paid for. But then Larry finds he needs to retrieve a dog he gave them lest the dog’s owner, after a complex turn of events, wreak a terrible revenge upon him. Larry visits his friend’s wife and pretends he’s apologetic for his pettiness. He claims that he now sees he was wrong not to thank her for dinner, even though her husband earnt the money that paid for it. Then he asks for the dog. The wife sees through his pretence, is appalled by his fraudulence and refuses to hand it over. Larry’s left in the lurch. Like Neil Simons’ plays, Curb Your Enthusiasm is relatively gag-free, relying instead upon Larry’s active-but-negative qualities.
A laugh can be generated when a character simply confirms by their actions a personal quality that the audience recognises. Eldin Bernecky in Murphy Brown is a renovator who arrives in the first episode and continues to renovate Murphy’s home throughout the series. Once Eldin’s dithering work ethic is established, he gets a laugh by simply mentioning a renovation he did that ‘lasted a year—it was a nightmare’. Because we know Eldin, this innocent observation is funny.
Characters’ shortcomings can drive stories that have the audience in stitches. Watching the stakes rise despite, or because of, a character’s frantic attempts to resolve their predicament is the force behind many a comic tale. A well-designed comic character, with well-chosen faults and blind spots, makes a strong launch pad for comedy. Sure control over who knows what when, and how characters react to the knowledge differential, can have us biting our nails with one hand and slapping our thigh with the other without ever hearing a witticism.
Narrative comedy relies on the limited self-awareness and outlook of its characters. None of us are fully aware of our flaws, and when we do point out a clear fault in others, they may see it differently. A racist may know that their views are broadly unacceptable but they draw a lonely superiority from the fact, telling themselves, ‘I’m just saying what everyone knows is true, but doesn’t have the guts to say’. This lack of insight can get us into a world of trouble and that’s where comedy begins.
Charac
ters who are aware of their faults are halfway to fixing them. Those who continuously stand back, see the big picture and make sensible choices have little place in comedy, unless they’re about to be hit by a bus or savaged by lions. Only when normally capable characters lose their way do they instigate comic hijinks.
Key to any comic character’s limitations is an inability to see the humour in themselves or their situation. Some of the funniest comic characters have no sense of humour at all (just ask Lucille Bluth, the wicked mother in Arrested Development). Tragic characters may fully appreciate the tragic dimensions of their situation, weeping and railing against the gods. Comic characters also weep and rail because they also think they’re in a tragedy. And that’s the way we like it. If Woody Allen’s characters ever recognised the humour in their situation they’d be a lot less funny.
Consider it a rule of thumb that if a character laughs at their situation, the audience doesn’t. And if they think they know something, they don’t know the half of it.
Narrative Gags
Narrative gags are comic events that reveal character, confirm a situation, offer a new perspective or move the story forward. They’re the bricks from which a comic narrative is built. Infinite in their variety, they are nonetheless governed by a limited number of time-honoured principles. These principles are not formulae but provide a framework within which anything is possible.
All narratives gags fall into seven categories:
Negations
Cover-Ups
Limited World Views
Taking Things Literally
Distortions
Running Gags
Catchphrases
A sound knowledge of these principles enables a writer to enhance a script’s comic moments, create a healthy mix of gags and select gags appropriate to the characters. Most of these gag principles will be familiar—but now you’ll be able to give them a name.
Although the principles are limited, the gags they generate are infinite in their variety. For example, the first principle in this chapter, Negation, can govern a character’s transition from safety to danger, dominance to subservience, rags to riches, love to fear, pride to humility, boldness to meekness. Negations reveal ignorance where knowledge was assumed and vice versa. It lays the mighty low and raises paupers to the throne. The possible transitions are endless and each transition can cover any number of gags.
The trick is to make the principles work for you, in your style. The only true limitation is imagination.
Once you know the principles, you’ll see them everywhere, from classics like Are You Being Served to newcomers like The Office. This doesn’t mean that observing the principles makes your script derivative—The Office, with its single-camera mockumentary style and character-based stand-alone sketches, is rightly regarded as a ground-breaking sitcom. The principles remain the same, but the characters, events and the ideas in any given script are as fresh as the writer’s approach.
Neither do the principles overlap. For instance, at first glance it might seem that cover-ups and distortions cover similar ground, but they are distinct. When a guilty character distorts an accusation, their intention may be to cover up, but the gag itself remains a distortion.
Though some narrative gags may seem more suited to buffoons, they are just as easily applied to sophisticated characters. Both Shakespeare’s clownish Bottom from A Midsummer Night’s Dream and the complex and contradictory David Brent from The Office have high if ill-founded self-regard, unrealistic ambitions and a tendency to self-aggrandise by belittling others. These qualities make both characters suitable for comic exploitation using the same techniques, though to very different effect.
NEGATIONS
Negation is essentially an instantaneous comic reversal. It’s a principle that had ’em rolling in the amphitheatre aisles way back when sandals were expensive anddesirable.
The most common form is character negation. This occurs when a character changes their mind under pressure, when they undermine themselves inadvertently through their own behaviour or have their views inadvertently negated by the behaviour of another.
Character negation can also derive from the reversal of a character’s accepted traits, for example a tough guy bursting into tears at the sight of a puppy.
The other form of negation is narrative negation. Here, the writer plays the joke on the character rather than the character negating themselves or being negated by another. For example one camper says to another, ‘Relax, I checked the weather forecast: it’s going to be fine for the next week’. Cut to the two campers huddled in their tent as the rain pours down.
Comic negations almost always pay-off instantly. If there’s too much time between the set-up and its negation, the connection between the two can be weakened or lost and the negation becomes part of the natural flow of the story and not a gag at all. To get a laugh, the pay-off must immediately follow the set-up. Punch says, ‘I am the master of my house’ and Judy whacks him on the head. That’s funny. Putting a song between Punch’s remark and Judy’s whack dissipates the impact of the negation. The whack may get a wry smile (Punch always deserves a whack) but the surprise is lost and therefore so is the laugh.
Almost any motivation can force a negation. People play dirty when it comes to their pride, status or heart’s desire. A desire to please or impress can have a character flipping cartwheels or turning their world upside down. A lazy employee can instantly transform into a ‘workaholic’ when the boss arrives. A normally honest man can become an outrageous liar in an effort to appear more intelligent, powerful or morally superior to a challenger. A muscleman can turn to jelly or a rocket scientist can become a mumbling idiot on meeting a supermodel. Similarly she might go to pieces when she meets them. The offer of free beer on Grand Final day can instantly turn a sworn enemy into a ‘friend’. Money, guns, love and sex each have the power to corrupt or convert even the most stalwart characters, reminding us that the only constant in life is change.
Of course, sometimes people just act stupidly. But stupidity alone isn’t enough to cause a credible and funny negation. ‘Because he’s an idiot’ is no justification for any character’s actions. Their stupidity must be coupled to an active quality such as pride or ambition. Even in the Farrelly brothers’ Dumb and Dumber, the heroes are driven to embark on an adventure together because of their honest natures and loyalty to each other. Their choices are ill-considered because of their stupidity, but they are not driven by it.
Character Negations can be inadvertent or deliberate.
Sergeant Jones in Dad’s Army manages to negate his own words inadvertently by the panic-stricken way he runs about shouting, ‘Don’t panic! Don’t panic!’
In Blackadder II, while discussing the colour of elephants, Lord Melchett spins on a dime to save his neck:
MELCHETT: Grey, I suspect, your Majesty.
QUEEN ELIZABETH: I think you’ll find they were orange, Lord Melchett.
MELCHETT: Grey is more usual, Ma’am.
QUEEN ELIZABETH: Who’s Queen?
MELCHETT: As you say, Majesty. There were these magnificent orange elephants …
—Blackadder II (‘Head’ by Richard Curtis and Ben Elton)
The Sydney Olympics official, John makes a quick choice between two problematic paths:
JOHN: Does anyone have any questions that don’t have anything to do with lacrosse?
REPORTER: How much over budget are the Games at the moment?
JOHN: Are there any more lacrosse questions?
—The Games (‘In the Public Interest’, by John Clarke and Ross Stevenson)
Karen in Will & Grace is a flinty woman capable of lightning-quick Negations. She welcomes Will and Grace to a party at her home: ‘I’m so glad you’re both here!’ As soon as their backs are turned, she hisses darkly to herself, ‘What the hell are they doing here?!’ (‘Bathroom Humor’ by Greg Malins).
Characters under pressure (most commonly from fear) may abruptly and delibe
rately reverse firmly stated moral positions. Sergeant Jones’ panic is genuine—the Germans posed a real and constant threat to the Dads’ Armies of wartime Britain. But other factors can drive negations. Karen’s negation above is based upon self-interest.
Pressure is a reliable goad for a comic negation. To give a pressured negation comic punch, the pressure should be placed on a recognised weakness in the character. This weakness can be malign (e.g. lust or vanity), neutral (e.g. forgetfulness or gullibility) or benign (e.g. sensitivity or compassion). Pressure on a recognised weakness makes a change of heart believable and any subsequent trouble the character’s own fault.
And there’s nothing like a physical threat to change a character’s mind:
MR HUMPHRIES and MR LUCAS are counting money.
MR HUMPHRIES and MR LUCAS: One for them and one for us, one for them and one for us, one for them and one for us.
Man holds up knife threateningly.
MR HUMPHRIES and MR LUCAS: All for them and none for us, all for them and none for us.
—Are You Being Served? (‘Fire Practice’ by Jeremy Lloyd and David Croft)
Often, pressure-based negations are underpinned by hope: the character faces a seemingly impossible situation, they change their position in a transparent attempt to avoid consequences, yet throughout they cling to a shred of hope that they’ll succeed.
Characters can undergo swift emotional reversals due to a new factor in their plight.
FRASIER: My wife had left me, which was painful. Then she came back to me, which was excruciating.
—Frasier (‘The Good Son’ by David Angell, Peter Casey and David Lee)
No character should ever change their mind for no reason, no matter how well this may suit the writer’s story structure. Appropriate pressure or a realisation will reliably render a character negation reasonable and believable, but negations also reveal character. They are turning points, albeit small ones, that reveal how characters behave under pressure. Of the three quotes above, Frasier’s line is arguably the funniest, simply because its negation is also an intelligent observation that reveals a human truth—that all relationships are a mixture of love and resentment. We laugh both at what it says about Frasier, and in recognition of an uncomfortable truth.