The Cheeky Monkey

by Tim Ferguson

  Don’t expect love. You are after their money.

  Don’t ask ‘Do you like it?’ The answer will be a polite ‘Yes’.

  Don’t ask ‘Do we have a deal?’ The decision will not be made in the room.

  Don’t be put off by silence as you pitch. A pitch is not a conversation.

  Know when you are done. Once you’ve covered the essential aspects of the show, don’t waffle or repeat yourself. Move directly to, ‘Any questions?’

  When the questions do come, expect the unexpected. They may seem irrelevant (e.g. ‘Is there are a bathroom on the set?’) or left-field (‘Have you considered the series as an animation?’, ‘What if all the characters are rabbits?’). They may seem at odds with the fundamental concept itself (‘Can it include footballers?’, ‘Would it work as a kids’ show?’).

  Be firm about your ideas, but show that you can listen. If the producer suggests an idea you like, say so. If they suggest an idea that is totally at odds with your concept for the show, there’s no need to argue the point on the spot. Promise to consider their ideas and get back to them.

  The pitch is over when you say so. When you’ve gotten everything across, and any questions are dealt with, there’s no need for too much small talk. Thank everyone, suggest you’ll call them in, say, a fortnight to discuss the concept further, then leave.

  Above all, relax. Nobody in the room wants your pitch to go badly. A successful show is the dearest wish of every producer and executive, and they’re hoping like mad that you’re a creative genius who’s come to save them from going broke or being fired. No matter how confident or intimidating they may appear, never forget they’re terrified for their own careers and desperate for your show to be The Big One. If your concept is good they’ll forgive any hiccups.

  When the Boat Comes in

  If a production company decides to take your show on, they may ask your permission to gallop straight to a network with only a handshake as their bond. This is generally okay if their handshake has credibility. Remember, you still own the copyright.

  Alternately, a production company or network may offer to purchase an ‘option’ on your concept. This short legal document gives them the right to develop and produce your show within a finite timeframe, usually one year with an option for another year. Fees for options range from $100 to infinity (guess which is the most common). These agreements sometimes specify how much you’ll receive as the series creator if the show goes into production. It may also give a no-obligation outline of any other role you may have in the production. Once the option agreement is signed, your concept is effectively owned exclusively by the producers for the life of the deal.

  Be aware that an option agreement does not usually cover the terms of your future involvement in the project, if any. This is covered by another document, typically a ‘writer’s agreement’, specifying your role or roles. At this point it’s worth approaching an agent to negotiate a deal that remunerates you adequately and takes your experience into account.

  A producer may also invest money in shooting a pilot episode or segment for presentation to a network.

  Once the show’s commissioned there’s a good chance the producers and the network will want to make changes to your concept. They may attach other writers, editors or producers, each of whom will bring their own vision to the show. Your level of experience and the deal you’ve struck will determine how much influence you have over this process, but no TV show is entirely the child of a single imagination. Collaboration is inevitable.

  This is not necessarily a bad thing. It’s possible for a six-part half-hour series to be fully developed by a single writer, but the show’s dialogue can become repetitive, the stories similar and the characters start to deal with familiar problems in the same old ways. The problem is exacerbated by the pressure under which most TV writing is produced. Once a show is commissioned, everyone wants everything yesterday, so there’s not much time for reflection and renewal. To avoid these problems the producer, with the network’s approval, will probably choose to bring in other writers and script editors. Rather than resist this, use your influence to bring in people whose work you respect and with the personal qualities that will make them lively and interesting collaborators. Most experienced television writers know how to work within a creative brief. Watching others expand your vision in ways you could not have imagined can be a joy and a wonder.

  Of course, if you’ve collaborated on the concept from the beginning then you’ll already have a writing ‘team’. But don’t automatically reject the suggestions of those outside the team, and be sure to work with a script producer or editor—their detachment is vital for clear communication with the audience.

  Ideally, you’ve chosen your producers well and they have enough runs on the board to provide useful advice and creative guidance. The best producers listen to the writer/s who’ve developed a concept and try to convey that vision to the audience.

  Above the production company are the network execs, the people who pay the big bucks for the show. Best-case scenario: they’re former producers with experience in the field of narrative comedy and/or drama. Worst-case scenario: they’re homophobic cricket enthusiasts who’ve come up through the ranks of the network’s sales department. Either way, they represent The Money and can insist on the last word in any creative decision. No matter where they’re from, there remains the slight chance they wouldn’t know a joke if it headbutted them. That’s television. Argue your case, but then move on.

  Once you’ve completed the first scripts and production gets underway, brace yourself for the inevitable horror of the actors and directors demanding their own changes to your precious baby. Terrifyingly, some may want the freedom to improvise using your script as a springboard only. By and large the degree to which the director and cast can change a script is under the producer’s control. Most of the time the producer will back the writer, particularly as the network has signed off on their version, not the actors’. Nevertheless, in the end it’s the producer’s call. Generally you won’t be able to speak to the director or cast directly; rather the producer will insist you speak through them so there are no crossed wires. (This is why so many writers become producers of their own work. In the US and the UK the senior producers of most TV comedies and dramas are also writers. To its detriment, Australia has no such tradition. Australian writers should actively acquire production skills and fight for their right to produce!)

  A Few Hard-Won Pearls

  RESEARCH

  The more you know about sitcoms, the better. Watch as many as you can, particularly the successful ones. (‘Successful’ means they rate. The grim reality is that TV ratings indicate whether a sitcom reliably makes people laugh. For the networks, they are the only meaningful criterion.) Don’t disregard a show because it’s not to your taste: if it’s a worldwide success, you need to work out why. In particular, don’t be a snob when it comes to domestic comedies: they constitute television’s most popular art form. Also, watch unsuccessful sitcoms to see where they went wrong.

  Use a stopwatch to time the length of scenes in popular sitcoms. Time how long it takes to establish a story, and how many seconds are spent on a given story throughout an episode. Time every little thing. You’ll be surprised (and daunted) by the pace at which sitcoms move.

  Read as many sitcom scripts as you can. (The internet is a good resource for scripts and transcripts.) The best way to become a good writer is first to read. So it is with sitcom. Better to stand on the shoulders of giants than wander, blindfolded, about their feet.

  Talk to comedy writers and producers. Join screenwriters’ guilds or internet forums—you’ll have greater access to people who know their stuff. Most people in the industry are generous with their time, if only because everyone likes to sound knowledgeable. Even if you’re a rookie, most professionals won’t discount the possibility that you’re the Next Big Thing. Be humble, but aim for the stars.

  READING SCRIPTS

&
nbsp; The best way to read a script is out loud. If you’re a producer, reading a sitcom script out loud gives it the best chance of communicating effectively. The pace will be regular and your natural timing will ensure that jokes won’t be skimmed over. Reading aloud gives the characters greater definition and makes the rhythms of the script more apparent. Overall, the script will make more sense if you take the time to hear it. Reading your own scripts out loud is essential for the reasons above and because any mistakes, repetitions or dull patches will stick out like an ice-skater’s nipples.

  Having someone else join you in reading your script is very useful. Ambiguous lines will bob to the surface when a reader who is unfamiliar with the script sees it for the first time. (Actors, in particular, seem to find things in a script that aren’t apparent at first glance.) Having a reading partner is also a good way of seeing if the jokes make others laugh.

  Crucially, reading aloud, particularly in front of an audience, is the most accurate way to gauge the length of a script. Pause for three to five seconds after the best jokes to allow for laughter and applause. With as little as twenty-one minutes to tell your story, every line counts.

  As you read the draft, keep a red pen handy. Strike through dialogue you don’t need and draw lines under dialogue you think you can tighten later. Keep an eye out for any line, word or even syllable that does not advance story or character. That includes ‘Um’, ‘Aaah’, ‘Y’know’, ‘Kind of’ and the amplification ‘really’. Unless such padding is central to a joke or the character’s speaking style, cut them. When in doubt about any line, cut it: if it turns out to be crucial, it will inevitably make its way back to the page. The more red lines you see at the end of reading an early draft, the better the writer you are. If you can’t find anything wrong with an early draft, hire an editor and change medications.

  Be aware that reading the same script several times can blind you to potential changes. Challenge yourself. Always ask, ‘Is there a sharper, shorter or punchier way to get through this page?’ Always use a reading to identify problems, not to revel in sections that you like.

  You are the person who created the script, not the producer who will buy it or the audience who will watch it. Beware of optimism and vanity. Read as though you don’t like the person who wrote it and are hoping it will not make sense or be funny.

  Identify the script’s jokes by circling the last word in each punchline, then measure the distance between them. As a rule, a page without a gag should be cut or revised to include gags. (An exception might be a point in the story that calls for true poignancy—in which case one page of poignancy is plenty.) Ideally, there should be at least three punchlines or comic moments per page.

  Ensure there is a healthy mixture of gag types throughout the script. (A variety of cover-ups, obvious gags, negations etcetera.)

  Check the script against the principles outlined in this book, e.g. the Hope or Victim’s-Fault principles.

  As you read, put yourself in the mind of one of your old school teachers—not someone you know well or personally. Ask ‘What would Mrs Whatever think of this script?’ The script may be funny to you, but you are a screenwriter, not an average audience member. Imagining how Mrs Whatever would think helps ensure you’re not just writing a show you want to see—you’re writing a show the world will want to see.

  Never, ever be daunted by the idea of chucking an entire draft into the bin and starting again.

  WRITING FOR COMIC ACTORS

  Writing for a particular actor requires big ears. Listen to them at work, identify their verbal rhythms and ticks.

  Identify the gag principles (taking things literally, distortion, slapstick etcetera) that work best for the character portrayed by the actor, and employ them.

  Nevertheless, maintain a meaningful variety of narrative gag principles. For example, if there are too many put-downs in an episode, they lose their zest.

  Timing is crucial in comic performance. Comedy-writers can help actors by writing dialogue that follows recognisable and workable rhythms associated with the character and the show.

  Keep dialogue as clear and economical as possible. Let the actors do their work.

  In particular, keep longer speeches as short as possible. Thirty seconds is a long time in TV.

  If you are a new writer coming onto an established show, research the show to identify the traits of the characters, the show’s moral themes, story structures, dialogue patterns, the works.

  GETTING ADVICE

  When our pilots for a live comedy show were being pulled in all directions by various capable specialists, executive producer Peter Wynne insisted we follow our own instincts, saying, ‘Opinions are like arseholes—everybody’s got one’. It’s a good idea to ask experienced people what they think of your project or scripts, but don’t ask too many. Even great producers will suggest ideas that conflict with those of their peers—where one sees a puppet show, another sees an animation. Find a couple of experienced people you trust, hear their thoughts and don’t be too proud to take their advice. Don’t ask for feedback from your lover, mother or best friend unless they know what they’re talking about. The affirmations of the ignorant can lead to disaster.

  REJECTION

  Don’t take rejection personally (unless instructed otherwise). Even if a reader says that your script is way off the mark, it’s the script they’re talking about.Take their ideas on board and see if they work. A writer’s skill base must include an ability to take no for an answer without having a breakdown. Every rejection can be merely another chapter in your struggle-to-glory memoir.

  Of course, some of those who reject your project may be genuinely unqualified to do so. Or they may simply be competent drama producers who lack comedy experience and are wary of the challenges a sitcom faces. Even the hugely successful Kath and Kim was originally rejected by the ABC for being ‘too broad’. Most of the time, however, producers and execs do know what they’re talking about. If a script has made them laugh and want to keep turning the pages, they know it’s good.

  Rejection may come with advice and an invitation to reapply. If so, be aware that every producer brings their own taste to your show. Even when their advice is valid, it may not be right for the project.

  Being good may not be enough to get a show to air. A sitcom can be rejected for reasons that have nothing to do with the concept. It may be that there are already shows that resemble it, the network schedule is full or they can buy a ready-made foreign sitcom for a fraction of the price of making one.

  Persistence pays. If your show is rejected, take it to someone else—there’s no law to say how long you can try and sell something. On the other hand, there’s an old Jewish saying: ‘If six people tell you you’re sick, lie down’. After multiple rejections there comes a point where you may have to face the fact that, no matter how good your show, it’s not what the networks are looking for. Put it aside and have another idea. You can always come back to it later.

  Copyright

  Networks and producers are all too aware of the dangers involved in reading a spec script. Before touching your script or bible they will usually ask you to sign an agreement that you understand they may have other shows just like yours under development. This is normal and nothing to get paranoid about. When Friends hit the screen, comedy writers the world over cried out, ‘Hey, that’s my idea!’ But it’s not a huge stretch to imagine that more than one writer came up with the idea for a show about the trials of a bunch of twenty-somethings living in an apartment block. It was a particular mix of characters that created the DNA that sets Friends apart—and only one writing team thought that up (David Crane and Marta Kauffman).

  The only reason to withhold a script from a suitable producer is if it’s not ready. The chances of having your sitcom ripped off by a network or production company are close to zero. A script is copyright as soon as you affix a copyright symbol (©) and show it to someone. Attaching it to an email and saving that email in your records wo
rks to prove the date of the copyright. Registering the concept with a writers guild is also useful for protecting your concept.

  The truth is, a premise is only as good as its characters, and characters are only as good as the writer who creates them. Taking an idea away from its originator usually means killing the idea. Even if producers see potential but feel you aren’t the person to execute it, generally they’ll say no thanks. In the rare case where your premise is a work of genius but they’re still convinced you lack the skills to bring out its full potential, they may offer to buy it from you. In this case, your own preciousness about your concept will decide whether they get their hands on it.

  In the unlikely event that you do feel you’ve been ripped off by a network or company to whom you have pitched your concept and script … let it go. It would never have made it to the screen unless the network was very sure of its ground and you’ll need a top-shelf barrister in any case. Ask yourself, ‘Do I want to die young and poor?’ and have another idea. Or find a cheap undertaker.

  Conclusion

  Comedy offers no specific path to success but once you’ve started on the journey, there is nowhere you can’t go.

  If there is a constant in a comedian’s life, it is travel. I’ve played in, and been thrown out of, venues ranging from stadiums and pubs to laneways and public urinals in every continent but Antarctica (where punters are scarce). Funny business has paved my own path through TV, radio, film, music, performance, commentary, comic books and novels. This promiscuous journey is not uncommon—comedy works in any medium.